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  “You do all that work just for a ball?” Emal asked.

  “Well, I mean, it’s not just any ball. This ball bounces, and I have to chase it down. Then I can toss it in the air, and it bounces again, and I have to chase it down again. It’s really something special. Trust me; I know my balls. I’m a dog,” Apollo said with as serious a voice as he was capable of.

  “I bet you do,” Emal muttered.

  “Why are you sad, buddy?” Apollo asked.

  “What are you, a certified therapist as well?”

  “Actually yes, many studies have shown the positive effects of petting a dog’s butt. Do you have issues you want to work through?”

  “You would tell me that. I’m just tired, I guess, and a little lonely,” Emal said sadly. “It’s been a long day and I am lost.”

  “Awww, toughen up, buttercup,” Apollo said as he bounded out of Emal’s lap. He stood in front of Emal now and bounced up and down with pure excitement.

  “You’re sad because life is tougher than you want it to be? Life is beautiful. Smell this place,” he said as he stuck his nose in the air. “All kinds of people and things coming and going. No one telling people what to do or how to think. Anyone can do whatever they want here. Or be whoever they want. Sure, it might be a little creepy when it’s fifty-year-old men pretending to be thirteen-year-old girls, but that’s the price you pay.”

  “It is pretty nice, I suppose,” Emal demurred.

  “You suppose? This is the greatest thing mankind has ever done, well, other than making the bouncing ball,” Apollo said as he began to spin in circles, now trying to catch his tail, which had just caught his short attention span. “Get out there, buddy. Experience life! Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he said, spitting out his tail, “I’ve gotten myself so excited that I need to get sniffing so I can play with my ball.”

  Without another word Apollo took off down the tube, and Emal saw him bound away, roughly sniffing people as he ran with pure joy. Maybe this place wasn’t so bad after all, he thought as he watched the traffic speed past. People of all shapes, colors, and types jogged past on their way to various parts of the Verse. Perhaps I am lucky to be here and to be alive. He got back to his feet. That furry dog’s excitement was contagious, and Emal decided it was time to get moving. Time to do what he was here for. He didn’t know where he was going to go, but he was going to run around and find out.

  He did some stretches that he had seen the dog do and straightened out his skirt. He tried, and failed miserably, to get some of the golden fur off his clothes. He started to walk with the traffic and let people weave around him as he did so.

  Soon though, he was running.

  Life in the tubes

  ~

  Emal, like Stella, had gotten his groove back.

  He was jogging from tube to tube with a smile on his face. His clothes were finally drying completely, though they were giving off a pungent odor from all the sweat and mold he had been accumulating. No one was stopping him to tell him he stank though, so he kept going. He moved lazily through the tubes, finally starting to enjoy himself again. That package sniffing dog had been right, Emal thought. This is a spectacular place full of wonder, excitement, and lots of cats. He saw small cats, big cats, brown cats, black cats, and green cats. He saw cats with hats on, cats in little suits, cats sitting in boxes, cats bursting out of boxes, cats chasing other cats, and lots more cats.

  Seriously though, the cats were everywhere.

  He decided to take only tubes on his right for a while, and after a bit he switched to tubes on his left. Then he ran straight before finally running backwards for no reason whatsoever. He went down narrow tubes and wide tubes and tubes with sizes in between. The walls of all the tubes were smooth and usually rounded, you know, like a tube. He found bright white tubes like the one where the cats had attacked him, and he found darker and older ones with strange smells worse than his own. None of these older tubes, however, were in as bad a shape as the swamp he had been in. In those sections of the Verse, the paths were a combination of brick and chipped concrete; occasionally there were empty cobwebs in the corner and green slime on the walls. In contrast, the newer tubes seemed to be made of a smoother material, and they were always bright, clean, and very busy.

  Emal thought he was really getting a feel for this Internet place.

  The traffic, which had at first appeared chaotic to him, was actually very organized once he learned to look closer. People ran in masses on what would be their right sides of the tubes, and there was always some type of invisible barrier in the middle that kept them from crossing and getting jammed up. Whenever openings appeared within a tube, additional turn lanes would form to allow graceful exits and entrances.

  The sides closest to the curved walls typically had a sidewalk-size area that was free of people, where Emal sometimes stepped off to the side to catch his breath or just watch the traffic. During these times, he wondered why these other people didn’t need to catch their breath too. He observed that they never went in the median between the opposite flows of traffic. Emal could stand there, stretching his arms out, and feel the breeze created from those speeding past. He also noticed a constant buzzing noise that he quickly found comforting. He hadn’t heard it before because he hadn’t been in these busier tubes since he had awakened, but he learned that the Internet was constantly making noise. The sounds changed some, depending on whether the tube was new or old or narrow or wide. But no matter where he was, there was always a constant humming, thrumming, buzzing, or whining.

  The people moving about all obeyed the same, seemingly unwritten, rules. My fellow messengers are young and old, male, female, and in between. Some had plain clothing like yoga pants and t-shirts—reasonable clothing for a run through the Verse. Some had on fancier outfits like suits and evening dresses. Most, though, had on what appeared to be elaborate costumes. He saw pirates running next to people in business suits and nuns running next to naughty nurses. He even saw a nun that appeared to be a porn star, but no matter how fast he ran, he hadn’t been able to catch up to her to be sure. Of course, he also saw people running with nothing on at all, but he tried not to stare. Despite all these messengers being different, no one gets priority over anyone else. Nuns or porn stars, big or small, The Tubes seem to love them all.

  He was now traveling through some of the smallest tubes he had seen, when he came upon a strangely shaped opening in the wall. He poked his head in to find another tube, even smaller than the one he was in. The ceiling wasn’t much taller than himself, and it was only wide enough to stretch out his hands. The opening here wasn’t round like all the other entrances. It was rectangular like a doorway to a house, albeit one without a door. He pulled his head out and peered around him. Most of the openings here were unique, either in the actual shape or with an identifier of some kind, like welcome mats or signs in front of them. Of all the tubes he had seen so far, some had looked older, wider, or taller, but they all looked generically the same. These openings were new for Emal, and he decided to venture inside, choosing one with a pleasant looking wind chime hanging over the rounded opening.

  This narrow tube was dark, and he stuck close to the wall. As he walked forward, he heard the sudden sound of rusty metal hinges. A white light began to creep out from ahead. Continuing toward it, he was suddenly bumped into the wall by someone running past. He staggered a bit before catching himself. He forgot his manners and stared, open mouthed, as naked women moved past. Hundreds of them flew by as he gawked. He kept moving toward the light, noticing with fascination that the naked women were all the same. The only thing that changed was the facial expression as they ran past. There was no water in this tube, but soon her short blond hair began to appear wet, like she was taking a shower.

  He walked closer and watched as hundreds of versions of the woman leapt into the light of the open portal. They vanished without a sound, but more kept coming. He tried to jump into the opening after the women, curious as to where the
y were going, but he was bounced back on his butt, landing against the wall. He watched as the flow of people created a story in front of him.

  After about twenty seconds, every other person was suddenly different. Emal observed with horror as a person with a knife appeared in the steady stream. Soon, the scene flickered back and forth between the naked woman and the person making stabbing motions with their knife. The naked woman’s expression quickly changed from pleasure to pain. She is being murdered by a psycho, Emal thought.

  Emal quickly got to his feet as the stream of people continued. What did I just see? What kind of place is this? Is this going to be my fate?

  With a strong desire to find a crowd of people, he retreated as fast as he could with the incoming traffic still pouring in, and made his way back toward larger tubes. His mind was spinning as he came to an intersection, taking a sharp right. As he sprinted along, lost in his thoughts, he suddenly bumped into a young woman with a cell phone to her ear. He did a half spin, muttering an apology, did a half spin back, and ran into someone else. He zigged past them and was soon having to move around more people because they were starting to run slower. This was rather unusual as they almost always ran faster than him. He continued on for a little ways until everyone was walking, and soon enough they were forming lines and barely moving at all. Just as quickly, it was stop-and-go traffic.

  Emal made out ahead that they were just short of a three way intersection, and he noticed that all the traffic seemed to be lining up to turn right. There was just a slow trickle of people coming back towards him. Emal had seen a few traffic jams but never anything like this. He squeezed his way out of the line and into the median, deciding to see what the holdup was about. He turned to the right and was surprised to see a brick wall filling the path.

  He studied the wall for only milliseconds before realizing it was just like the wall he had run into when he had first “woke up.” It was the same brick, and seemed to have small gaps, but unlike the rest of the tube, it looked new. He carefully walked up to the wall and confirmed that the narrow openings were indeed the only way through. The openings were along the floor, and they were only two feet tall and two feet wide. People were having to enter or exit on their hands and knees, one at a time.

  He watched for a moment and considered crawling into one of the openings to see if there was something special on the other side. Jumping into the line, he got to his hands and knees and peered in before remembering that this was exactly how he had found Brittany. She had been stuck at the very end of the opening in the brick wall, with almost a third of her out in the open. Yet, the tube had been so packed that she hadn’t been able to move. Even with Emal’s help, she hadn’t popped out easily. Emal had no desire to get stuck. He could try and go in the opening that people were coming out of, but, he thought, What if someone came in from the opposite direction at the same time? He had no idea how far it was to the other side or even what was over there. His curiosity was not strong enough for this adventure, and he decided crawling into one of these constricted areas was something he might try later—but only if he really had to.

  He was about to head back the way he had come when a familiar voice rang out from the other tube at the intersection.

  “See here, you little maggot . . .”

  Fancy meeting you here

  ~

  “I don’t know who you think you are . . .”

  It was a very familiar voice indeed, and Emal started making his way toward it. The indignant voice was coming from around a bend in what he had thought was an unused path. He rounded the corner and saw Brittany just as he had last seen her. She was wearing her tennis shoes, knee-high black socks with a black skirt, and her button-up white shirt, which was still only half buttoned. He remembered, quite well now, that he had seen someone like her on at least two occasions. He wondered if it had been Brittany or just people who looked remarkably similar.

  Here, however, there was no doubt that this was the same Brittany he had literally run into earlier. She was standing with her fists clenched at her sides and calling someone names. None of this was surprising.

  What Emal did find very surprising, and not at all familiar, was that she appeared to be arguing with what Emal could only describe as a troll.

  The troll looked just like you would think. It was very large, towering over Brittany by at least a few feet, and it had pointy ears that twitched randomly. Its skin was bumpy and green, and it wore animal furs. The menacing creature also carried a large club slung over its shoulder, and as Emal watched, the troll began slapping the club in its palm, apparently emphasizing a threat of some kind.

  “Who you calling maggot, little girl?” The troll said, its voice booming throughout the tube. The voice was deep and gravely, and Emal would have assumed it was a male troll, but he really had no evidence to base that on. “I find bigger maggots than you in my stool every morning.”

  “Yeah?” Brittany laughed. “You have maggots in your stool every morning? You should probably see a vet. I hear they give out pills for that now. Although that might explain your breath you . . . you . . . troll!”

  Both of them were so absorbed in their argument that they didn’t see Emal walk up near them, listening in.

  “My breath? My breath is amazing. I floss every day just like my dentist tells me to. Three times a day. I bet you don’t! Yeah, I bet you have really bad personal hygiene; in fact, I can smell you now. You reek of mold and . . . and . . . other stuff,” the troll shouted, gesturing at her with its club and pretending to plug its nose with its free hand.

  Emal wasn’t sure, but he thought the troll grew a bit more after that last comment.

  Brittany smelled under her arms quickly and with satisfaction stated, “I don’t smell, you loser. It must be your hairy back.”

  This time, there was no mistaking it, the troll grew a little taller and said, “Haha, sure you don’t. You reek. I’ve smelled better corpses . . . or stool. Yeah, stool, I’ve smelled better stool.”

  Emal involuntarily chuckled at the absurdity of the argument, and Brittany whipped her head around to see him for the first time. Her eyes were like fireballs; the two flames roared with recognition and threatened to catch Emal’s hair on fire. Emal immediately regretted coming in this direction and the involuntary chuckle his body had betrayed him with. He meekly threw his hands up in defense.

  “Heyyyy . . . Britts,” he said rather uncomfortably.

  “It’s Brittany, bitch,” she snarled, turning back to the troll.

  Emal turned toward the troll as well, debating if he should get in on this argument. Perhaps I can get on Brittany’s good side if I argue with her against this . . . thing. He wasn’t sure what the fight was even about since they hadn’t been making much sense up to this point, but one has to choose sides in an argument.

  “I told you I didn’t smell,” Brittany snapped at the troll. “Smell him. He’s finally wearing clothes at least, but he smells like wet dog. A wet dog that rolled in something dead, then ate the dead thing, puked it up, rolled in his puke, and then ate it again.”

  Emal began to reconsider whose side he wanted to be on, but then the troll spoke again.

  “Ohhh,” it said with excitement. “You called your smelly boyfriend to fight your battles for you.”

  “Listen here, maggot . . .,” Emal and Brittany said together.

  Emal and Brittany glanced at each other, but the fire in her eyes no longer terrified him as he was sure they had come to some type of agreement. They were now in this battle together. No one was going to romantically link the two if they could help it.

  “What do you know?” Emal said to the troll. “You’re just an ugly . . . ugly green thing!”

  “Yeah,” Brittany said weakly in support. It wasn’t her fault she said it weakly; it was just a really lame comeback on Emal’s part, making it difficult to support.

  The troll shook with laughter. “Haha, the stinky ugly boyfriend is defending his stinky ugly girlfr
iend.”

  “I got this,” Brittany said to Emal and stepped between him and the troll.

  “Just because one of us is a woman and one of us is a man doesn’t mean we are going to be lovers. I am not going to be someone’s sexual object. I have independent thoughts and conversations that don’t rely on a man. I can even have a meaningful conversation with another woman without it being about a man. I can pass the Bechdel test,” Brittany yelled at the troll.

  “No you can’t,” the troll said through more laughter. “You are the only named female character so far in this farce of a novel. The main character is a man. Albeit a man wearing a skirt, but still something of a man. The author, and I use that term loosely, hasn’t even had the courage to describe what your boyfriend looks like because he doesn’t want to admit that he is white!”

  “You don’t know that,” Brittany yelled back. “Maybe he hasn’t described what people look like because he wants to let the reader decide. Emal could be any color in the rainbow for all we know.”

  “That’s lame and you know it. He probably hasn’t described what people look like because he sucks at descriptive prose. I mean have you been reading this drivel?” the troll argued back at Brittany, gesturing about the tube to emphasize that the writing to this point, indeed, had been drivel. The author hadn’t even described the scene properly. No one seemed ready to defend the author, and so the troll continued.

  “Besides, what about the Bechdel test? You still don’t pass that.”

  Brittany raised her fist in frustration but didn’t have an argument against that, and she let her arm fall back to her side. Smoldering, she turned a dangerous shade of red, until she noticed that the troll was wearing a name tag on its clothes. Pinned right above the right breast was a sticker that read “Mary.”