NetherWorld by Daniel Pagan (each kindness read aloud .TXT) 📕

knows where that pure taint be found.”
“Flash Playas! But to get there we have to go through…” said a nervous Whizzy.
“That’s Right. You gots to go through SpamTown. Ain’t no other way.”
“NazKlan has spys and kooks all over that area. Either way, thanks Byte. I owe ya.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll collect. You know where to ping me. I gotta plunge on.” The hip Byte rotated around in a paranoid fashion before slipping out of the Jaba Hut.
Nick watched Whizzy suck the down the Linux con Leche with one of his silver tubes and the Double Digit Mini Mocha with another. It looked like two elephant trunks siphoning water, only a bit more delicate. After a couple of tubular burps, Whizzy appeared sated.
“Ok. Off to SpamTown I guess. Yes, off to SpamTown,” Whizzy said with more than a little trepidation as he plunged his way out of the Jaba Hut and back on the sidewalk. They headed north down MainStream in search of the Disco recommended by the Byte called Visor.


Chapter 9
Silicate Slums

Book of TranFor:

Surface is a curious concept. It would not exist lest what lies beneath be different. Surface is what wraps our insecurities, allowing them to mature into fatal flaws. Only the Virtual will shed the matter, exposing only that which is pure.


Passing a crowd of Bytes plunging their way towards Jaba Hut, the duo marched down the sidewalk. The sidewalks were filled with busy Bytes strolling around the walkways along MainStream. Some were seeking jaba, others a tube wash and dry, others just out for a good time. Nick noticed that the pure blue Bytes spun above the crowd en route to whatever higher calling they were charged with. The blue-greens and green-blues plunged in the more terrestrial sidewalks or surfed the sullied green streams.
After some time, they reached a series of blocks that grew increasingly more dilapidated. Only a few colored squares blinked in each building. Many were pitch black. Their usual mirror finish was cracked and faded.
“This is creepy part of town,” said Nick.
“Silicate Slums is not a place you ever want to end up in. I wish there was another way to the Duke, but we got to go this way,” replied a resigned Whizzy.
Looking around, Nick noticed very few Bytes plunging on cracked sidewalks or surfing the mucky streams. A few derelict looking Bytes wobbled under doorways, they stared at the duo as Nick Whizzy walked by. This area was not commonly travelled by healthy Bytes. Whizzy looked apprehensive looking left, right and behind to see if any shifty characters were following them. Slum stories of data theft, tube extractions and worse were widely circulated.
Pieces of arguments floated within earshot. An entire underground economy ran though Silicate Slums. There was little organization, which led to Byte fights and other violent exchanges.

“How do I know the data’s clean Byte?” asked a green globe with half a head of flaccid tubes. He did not look far from deletion.
“That’s not my problem. Now hand over encryption protocols,” answered a mean looking green Byte as he pushed the other Byte to the ground.
They began attacking each other with claws and tubes flying in awkward directions. It looked like some sort of Silicate Kung Fu. A few lethargic Bytes looked on, but chose not to intervene. Deep guttural grunts follow each attack move.

“Don’t look at them Picky. You’ll only draw attention to us. Can’t you feel everyone watchin’ us?” asked Whizzy while Nick stared on, transfixed by the global melee. After a few ticks, Whizzy pulled Nick away from the fight.
“Ok! Sorry, it’s just so…weird watchin’ those things battle,” said Nick.
“Hey! I’m one of those ‘things’!”
“Sorry Whizzy. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Alright, just watch it Sticky!”
“The name is Nick!”
“Got it Bic!” said Whizzy with sly smile. He clearly enjoyed teasing the Karbon.

Most buildings were shedding sheets of fish scale silicate casing, exposing rooms filled with little red creatures that looked like four legged hot dogs. Their mouths were lined with tiny sharp teeth. They were busy biting into the wall and floors, hastening the decay. Silicate dust flurries fell from the buildings and accumulated on the abandoned streets. It appeared that most Bytes avoided this part of town. Quite a bit of the white dust was piled up on the sidewalks. Drifts taller than Whizzy rested against the outer walls. Nick almost felt as though he was back in Karbonon during mid-winter.
These city blocks were full of buildings condemned by SolidState. Large red signs posted in front of the doorways warned all Silicates to keep out. From the looks of it, no one inhabited these derelict structures. Nick was reminded of the slums he once saw far from the comfort of his cul de sac. He remembered his parents suddenly locking the door and instructing him not to stare at anyone. Fortunately for Nick, there were no Silicates around to stare at.
“Where are we Whizzy? I don’t see many people around and the buildings are crumbling to the ground,” asked Nick.
“We’ve reached the SpamTown. Spammers took over these buildings cycles ago,” answered Whizzy.
“Spammers?”
“Once Karbons began trying to sell each other useless things they never needed, Spammers became popular. In your world they clog email boxes. Down here they infest our buildings, causing the forced eviction of thousands of hard working Bytes.”
“Why are the buildings in such bad shape?”
“The Spammers, which look like red sausages with four little legs, sneak into buildings. Once they’re in, it’s all downhill. They feed off of Silicate material in buildings, the way termites eat wood in your world. This dust falling isn’t snow, it’s Spammer dust. They produce it when they eat the buildings.”
“Sounds hideous.”
“Once they infest the buildings, there is nothing we can do. Since they self replicate, it only takes one Spammer to slip through and the building is toast. The SolidState then condemns the building and makes everyone leave.”
“How do they get in if they looked so different than regular Blue Bytes?” asked Nick as he watched a few scurry across the sidewalk into the next building.
“They start out very tiny, almost as small as a spy or kook. Once they settled in, the Spammers eat everything in sight and grow rapidly.” Whizzy dodged a few more Spammers as they ran through his legs. A pronounced snicker followed. Spammers were notorious pranksters. If not for their tendency to chew entire buildings to the ground, they could be quite adorable.
“How do you stop them from getting in?”
“We installed Spam filters around the area infested to make sure none escaped to do more damage. These buildings were damaged before they were deployed. We now stop about ninety percent of the Spammers from getting through.”
“Their actually kinda cute,” said Nick bending down to pet the sausage like creature. It purred while rubbing its head into Nick’s hands.
“Don’t do that! Stop right now! You can’t pet these vermin,” said a tizzied Whizzy.
“Why?” said Nick, who pulled back from petting the Spammer.
“Once you pay attention to them, they never go away. This little guy will follow you everwhere,” said Whizzy as the purring sausage rubbed up against Nick’ leg.
“What do we do?” Nick began to think through the implications. These self-replicating vermin could infest all of the Walled City as Nick and Whizzy travel to Tera.
“Fear not Sticky. There is a Spam filter up ahead.” As Nick and Whizzy crossed the invisible filter, the Spammer was held back. It appeared to bump into a wall that wasn’t really there. With a whimper, he tried again and again to breach the wall.
“Whew!” said a relived Nick. Watching the Spammer repeatedly bump into the invisible barrier.
“Next time, stay away from the Spammers. As cute as they may look, they can bring down our entire city. The filter won’t hold them forever, so let’s not remind them that they are currently trapped in a small area.”
Along the way a homeless bunch of pale blue Bytes lined the path. Their tresses looked terrible. Each Byte seemed to be missing most of their tubes. Some were completely bald. Most were incapable of plunging, surfing or spinning, which are vital Silicate functions. A few could still walk on their spindly legs, while the rest rolled around with broken limbs dangling deformed plunger feet.
“What’s up with these guys?” asked Nick.
“Ahh. The Unclean. They have been attacked by NazKlan’s spys and kooks. Terrible things. Spys and kooks hide in their tubes and report information back to NazKlan. These are some really unhealthy ones. They’ve progressed to Stage Three: Terminal.”
“Terminal?”
“The spys and kooks eat away at the tubes. They feed on them. This weakens the roots of the tubes. Eventually, they die and fall off. Since we exchange data through our tubes, they are needed to stay up to date.”
“What happens if they lose all their tubes, like that one over there?” Nick pointed out a pale blue byte that barely rolled around. His spin was so slow; he was on the verge of falling to the ground.
“Without current data, we begin to lose memory. The Batchers then take us to the Bin for a proper shredding. Bald Bytes can’t communicate with anyone. They are cutoff. A horrible fate.”
“Why are they such a light blue color?”
“Without current data, we lose out blue. They are very pale, which means the Batchers could snatch them up at any time.”
Some of the Unclean rolling in front of them tried to block their path. With a few feeble rotations, they managed to block the duo. One of the sickly Unclean turned his attention towards Whizzy.
“What nice healthy tresses that one has,” remarked the bald Byte. His visor was cracked. His mouth seemed stuck in the open position. Yellow drool dribbled out onto the ground. “Howz about givin me some of those fine tubes, pal? You can spare one.”
“Back off buddy. These tubes are staying right where they’re at,” Whizzy warned.
“Come on pretty boy, just a tube. You won’t even miss it.” Frothy yellow bubbles boiled from holes that once housed healthy tubes. The entire alley smelled of urine. It was especially strong near the boiling Byte.
“You know the spy will just eat that tube up. Face it, your terminal. Don’t linger here. You time is up. I’m sorry, but a tube won’t help. The Batchers are coming. Look up, pal.” Sure enough a small collection of the black robotic bird circled the itinerant group on infirmed Silicates.
“They’ll never take me alive. I’ll rip their wings off,” threatened the psychotic bald Byte. He rolled for cover in desperation. Yellow blood spilled out onto the street as he rotated. Some of the urine like liquid spilled on Nick.
“Man that stuff stinks. This whole smells like a truck stop bathroom. Jeesh!” said Nick. He scrambled