Scene 4 — Seat 4412

The Fedora Handbook, Rule #20

“Don't do business with a man who is kind to waiters, he is performing. Do business with the man who is kind to no one, because he is at least honest about it.”

INT. HALLORAN UNION — ROOM 3C — WEDNESDAY, 7:00 P.M.

Our heroes and their helps are gathered around the folding table. Dice and paper are strewn across the table covered by a hat and a carry-out container of some sort of soup. Victor is at the whiteboard, drawing a diagram of a tower.

VICTOR

The registrar has given you a key and a path. You

walk through the forest until the trees thin, and

then you see it: the tower.

VICTOR

It is grey and the tallest thing in the area.

There is one door at ground level. There are no

windows on the front, but you notice as you

approach through the trees, that there are small

barred windows at the ground line. It is clear

that this tower has a basement floor.

RANGER

I check the front door.

VICTOR

The door is not locked and opens with little

resistance. Inside, the ground floor is mostly

empty: a few chairs, a desk, a painted sign that

says RETURNS.

PALADIN

Anybody here?

VICTOR

No. The air is still. The chairs are arranged in a

row. The desk has a bell on it. The sign is

painted very neatly.

CLERIC

I ring the bell.

VICTOR

The bell rings. The tiny sound is lost in the

giant, open room. No one comes and there is no

other sound.

DOCUMENTARIAN

I write that down! 'Ground floor: empty. The bell

works.'

The party explores. There is a staircase at the far end, and nothing else to see on the floor, so they decide to climb them.

VICTOR

You go up a floor. You step out into a tavern.

The party is surprised. This is not what they expected.

VICTOR

It is a tavern. Low beams. A long bar. Tables. A

fire. There are no windows. The fire is lit, but

it gives no heat. The sign above the bar has a

boar on it. The boar has no eyes.

PALADIN

I look around. Perception.

Roll for what Simon notices in the tavern on the second floor.

THE TAVERN ON THE SECOND FLOORDC 14

Echo: 0 · Score: 0

Victor looks at the dice. Then he looks at Simon.

VICTOR

Hm. Yes. Well.

SIMON

What?

VICTOR

You do not notice anything. The light is odd, but

that is all. The room is very clean.

Simon narrows his eyes. But Victor has moved on.

VICTOR

You can see out the windows from here. The ground

is far below. The forest is a dark green. The sky

is the colour of slate. It is all normal.

RANGER

(We saw basement windows from outside. Let's go back)

down and check the basement before we go higher.

VICTOR

You go down. The ground floor is exactly as you

left it. The bell. The desk. The sign. The chairs.

It is the same.

CLERIC

This place seems weird. What is it for?

VICTOR

The stairs to the basement are behind the desk.

You go down. The air cools. You step out into the

basement.

VICTOR

The basement still has windows outside. They are

high on the wall, and they are covered with

grates. The lock is broken. The door is sealed

shut. There is a heavy bar across it, and it has

been there a long time.

RANGER

So nobody gets in or out?

CLERIC

I explore. What's in the basement?

VICTOR

Shelves. Boxes. A smell of old paper and wet

stone. It is different from the floors above. It

is the first room that looks like it was used. But

the boxes are empty. The shelves are relatively

bare. There is no obvious purpose to any of it.

DOCUMENTARIAN

(I write down: 'Basement: locked. Empty. Barred on the)

inside.'

RANGER

What about the door? Can we unbar it?

VICTOR

The bar is heavy, iron. It looks as if it has been

lifted many times, but not by you. The door beyond

is shut, and the lock is quite rusted, with no

obvious keyhole.

PALADIN

Then we're not getting out that way. Let's go back

up.

VICTOR

You go up a floor.

PALADIN

Back to the ground floor.

VICTOR

You step out into a basement.

The table is quiet.

DEREK

We went up.

VICTOR

Yes. You went up. You are in a basement.

RANGER

Is it the same basement?

VICTOR

No. The walls are closer. The light is different.

It does not come from windows. It comes from lamps

that are on, though you did not turn them on.

There are no windows. You know it is a basement

because the air is old and because the floor above

you is too low.

The party looks at each other. Derek puts down his snack.

DEREK

Okay. Now we're lost.

The animal has not moved from the stairs. It is standing at the edge of the room, looking up.

RANGER

What does it see?

VICTOR

The stairs are gone. The way you came is a blank

wall. But across the room, there is a corridor.

Long. Grey. Lined with doors. No numbers. No

signs. Just doors, as far as you can see.

PALADIN

Is that the only way?

VICTOR

It is the only thing that looks like a way.

The party stands at the mouth of the corridor. The doors are all the same colour. The air smells faintly of old paper and dust, and the light in the corridor is the colour of a page left in a drawer too long.

VICTOR

You can hear, very faintly, from behind the doors,

the sound of dice being rolled, one after another,

like someone is setting up a game that never

starts.

Cut to:

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ZELL (O.S.)

You should keep moving. The floor doesn't like it

when you stand still. It starts to notice you.

Owen

Who are you?

ZELL (O.S.)

Zell. My name is Zell. And you're—

The pause is different this time. Interested.

ZELL (O.S.)

—you're new. Both of you. Oh, that's wonderful.

The radio crackles once, and for a moment they can hear Lazlo again, very distant, saying something about a door. Then Zell's voice returns, gentle and close.

ZELL (O.S.)

Don't worry about Lazlo. He'll find you. He always

does. Now—

And then everything arrives at once.

The radio detonates with sound. Not static — a cacophony. Voices. Hundreds of them. All speaking at once, all perfectly clear, all overlapping. A man reading coordinates. A woman singing something in a language neither of them knows. A child counting backward from a number that never seems to get smaller. A voice that might be Lazlo's, screaming something about the walls.

MAYA

Turn it off!

Owen fumbles with the radio. The volume knob does nothing. The channel knob does nothing. The voices keep coming, layering over each other, until they stop being voices and become a single tone, high and pure and wrong.

Then silence.

MAYA

What was that?

Somewhere far away, but getting closer, something moves. Not footsteps. Something heavier. Something that drags.

Owen

We need to move.

They move. The radio stays silent, but the silence has a quality to it now, like the pause between lightning and thunder.

The basement stops being a basement.

The concrete floor tilts downward. The cinderblock walls roughen, then crack, then become something else entirely. Stone. Wet stone. The ceiling opens up above them, and the fluorescent lights keep going, mounted on nothing, buzzing in the dark.

It's a cave. But the cave has office furniture.

A desk juts from the cave wall like a fossil. The stone has grown over one corner of it, but the other corner is clean, like someone was sitting there yesterday. A filing cabinet stands in a stalagmite field, its drawers slightly open, dripping water.

The further they walk, the more the cave becomes an office. Or the office becomes a cave. It's impossible to tell which direction the transformation is going.

Cubicle walls rise from the stone floor, their fabric surfaces beaded with condensation. A water cooler bubbles in the corner, but the bottle is full of something dark. An office chair sits perfectly still at the mouth of a tunnel, facing away from them, like it's waiting for someone to come back.

MAYA

This isn't the campus.

Owen

No.

Behind them, the dragging sound. Closer now.

They keep moving. The office-cave swallows them. The ceiling lowers. The cubicle walls become more frequent, forming corridors. The stalactites wear cable ties. The stalagmites have power strips wrapped around their bases.

And then, through a doorway that is half stone arch and half doorframe, they see it: light. Real light. Not fluorescent. Monitor light.

MAYA

Is that—

It is. A computer lab. Rows of monitors glowing in the dark, their screens casting blue light on the stone walls. Some of them are fused to the rock, keyboards emerging from stone like strange flowers. But some of them — most of them — look almost new.

One monitor at the far end is brighter than the others. It's already on. Someone was using it, or something wants them to think someone was.

Owen

There.

They run. Behind them, the dragging sound stops, as if whatever it is has reached the edge of something and is waiting.

The computer lab hums. The monitors flicker in unison. And on the bright screen at the far end, a cursor blinks on an empty login prompt.

INT. THE BLACK BOX — TUESDAY 14 APRIL, 7:00 P.M.

The Guild has a show in three weeks and no music, because the two people in the Guild who play anything are both in it and cannot be in the pit as well.

ELI

I have asked the Music Society and they have

referred me to a form.

LENA

(from up a ladder)

There's always a form.

ELI

It is a form to request a form. I am not being

funny. There is a preliminary form.

Owen

How much music do you need?

ELI

Four minutes. Something under the last scene that

isn't sad, because the scene is sad and Lena says

you don't do both.

LENA

You don't do both.

Owen

I could probably make a machine do four minutes.

Eli looks at him the way he looked at him in the print shop in October.

ELI

Could you.

Owen

It's a list of numbers and each number is a note.

That's the whole of what music is to a machine.

LENA

(still up the ladder)

Say that to a music student and see what happens.

Cut to:

INT. THE BLACK BOX — WEDNESDAY, 11:40 P.M.

He is there because the Guild four minutes needs playing through the room before anybody signs it off, and LENA is there because she is painting a flat and has been since eight.

He plays the Guild four minutes. It is fine. Lena says it is fine and goes back to the flat.

Then he plays the other one, because he has been carrying it round all day and there is nobody else he can play it to.

Thirty notes. About forty seconds.

Lena stops painting at the ninth one, which is the two and a half seconds, and does not start again.

LENA

What is that?

Owen

It's a seat.

LENA

It's a person.

Owen

It's a seat number and a set of timings. There's

no name on it. There's no text on it. They don't

keep the text.

LENA

Play it again.

He plays it again.

She listens to the whole of it with a brush in her hand.

LENA

He's typing along, he's typing along, and then he

stops for two seconds, and then he goes again

faster than he was going before.

Owen

That's what the numbers do, yes.

LENA

That's not what the numbers do. That's somebody

getting to a word and not knowing whether to put

it.

Owen does not say anything.

LENA

And the long one's five seconds. You don't stop

for five seconds in the middle of a sentence

unless somebody's come into the room.

Cut to:

Then, because she asks him what he does with it, he shows her.

Twenty-seven of thirty. The three that go are the two and a half seconds, the five and a half seconds, and the second and a bit.

Played through the band, the seat is somebody typing evenly for forty seconds and never once stopping, and it is not a person and it does not sound like a person and there is nothing wrong with it anywhere.

He wrote that function on the second of March. It took nineteen minutes. It is on the sheet as a removed reading is not an error and must not be reported.

LENA

Play the second one again.

He plays the filtered one.

Forty seconds of even typing.

LENA

Right. So somebody upstairs is looking at that one

and thinking that is what a person is.

Owen

Nobody's looking at it. It goes into an aggregate.

LENA

Then somebody is looking at a number that came out

of that one.

She puts the brush across the top of the tin, which means she has stopped for the night.

LENA

I want to say something and I want you to let me

say the whole of it.

Owen

Go on.

LENA

I was in a place for six years where the light

never went off, and the thing I have never been

able to explain to anybody, including Eli, is that

it was not cruel. Nobody was cruel to me. Somebody

fed me and somebody changed the sheets and

somebody wrote things down.

LENA

What I have got instead of a childhood is a record

that somebody kept properly, and there is nothing

in it about a five-second pause, and I have read

it.

That is the first time she has told anybody that she has read it.

LENA

So when you ask me what I think about your four

hours a week, that's what I think. Not that you're

a bad person. That the record is going to be very

good and there will be nothing in it.

She goes and washes the brush out, which takes a while, and when she comes back she says goodnight in the ordinary way and goes.

Owen sits in a black box with the lights up.

He plays the unfiltered one once more. Thirty notes. Two and a half seconds, five and a half, a second and a bit.

Then he looks up what seat 4412 is.

It is not a name. It is a room and a desk number, and the room is on the third floor of Beckwith, and the third floor of Beckwith is the open stacks.

Nobody is timetabled in the open stacks. Nobody is meant to be typing in there at all.

Blackout.

FEDORA SOCIETY#constitution

VictorPRESIDENT15 Apr, 11:04 PM

Six channels and five members. Two of the channels are moderated

by two people and there is no mechanism for a disagreement

between them.

Miles15 Apr, 11:06 PM

there has never been a disagreement

VictorPRESIDENT15 Apr, 11:06 PM

Which is when you put the arrangement in place.

Derek15 Apr, 11:31 PM

is that a role or a thing you are

VictorPRESIDENT15 Apr, 11:33 PM

Both. It is unpaid and it is permanent.

Simon15 Apr, 11:52 PM

who votes on it

VictorSUPREME MODERATOR15 Apr, 11:58 PM

All five, and it carried.

Miles15 Apr, 11:59 PM

when

Simon16 Apr, 12:14 AM

he was at the guild until eleven

Simon16 Apr, 12:15 AM

im not making a point

Five phones go off in five rooms at four minutes to midnight and one of them is in a bag in a black box, on silent, under a seat.

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One seat, one afternoon, in the gaps between the keystrokes.