“Your knob stomach is getting empty”, came a voice on the tannoy, a monitor echoed its warning in a large anxious typeface. I pushed a button to signal that I understood and rotated the pod inside the capsule so I could activate knob stomach refilling. I opened the control panel and switched the device to full. I could hear parts of the capsule start to hum, deep in the walls that surrounded me. Machinery cranked and circuit boards sparked motors into action. I am in the centre of the capsule, sat inside in a 360 degree rotating pod that controls all aspects of my life support in this, man’s first subterranean “space” station - buried deep in the earth’s mud and rock.
While the automated knob stomach computers took over the process of refilling; I charted the days progress on the onboard depth computer. This humble piece of technology provides me with a 98% accurate 3D model of exactly where I am in the rock as I slowly descend, with the aid of gravity and weight rockets, closer to the centre of the earth and probable death.

“It’s a damned suicide mission.” The General had told me. “You’ll never come out of this alive, it’s sheer damn fucking impossible. D’you know how hot it is down there? It’s hotter than any damn sandy oil hole. You’ll melt like a fleshy marble.”
The General had come to look on me as a son, one of the best this country ever gave sloppy vaginal birth to. I had impressed him as a Private with my knowledge of kitchen implement interrogation techniques and my excellent use of stairs on reefer addicts inside the army. I god damned hated those laughing sons of bitches.
“But the service you will provide to your nation will be celebrated throughout the ages.” The President said, he was there too. “If what our scientists are telling us is true, there could be a route through the centre of the earth that would enable some kind of underground tunnelling so man could travel direct to the other side of the planet. You would be uniting the world in the spirit of transport! A to B. You know. Brilliant. Go, do it. Well done.”

Everyone had wished me the best of luck and I climbed into the capsule. The sub launch pad was above the deepest area of quick-sand in the world and after dropping I quickly got up speed. Now, four months later, working slowly through some pretty tough rock, with only friction as a tool. I read. I have some underground experiments going on, growing a sun flower using candles as light, seeing whether water behaves differently nearer the centre of gravity and every morning I crush a spider in the on-board spider abattoir, just to see what happens.
A communication coming in from Base... It’s just a recipe. I have an oven, and I want to make some cakes. Battenbergs. Didn’t know the recipe, but using all the technology I have here at my disposal, it was quite simple to ask Base to find out for me. “Roger.” I replied. There’s quite a temptation, after four months being down here, to forget the officialities of military language in place of more colloquial expressions. ‘Thanks’ for example. Especially since, after Week Two, my only communication with Base has been through direct phone line to the Base secretary, Miss Barry, and she doesn’t use any military language. But she humours me though.

It’s strange being down here though! Nothing for miles but rock and rock and mud. The President was right, this is an important mission, even if the Military don’t fully get it to start with, they’ll see. I’m a modern day Chris Columbus. Nobody believed him when he said there was a short cut around the earth, but he went on the mission. And he discovered the United States of America. He opened up new trade routes. He enlightened mankind! And if I discover the short cut through the Earth just think what fantastic things will happen. You’ll be able to travel from Washington to Moscow. Children digging in their back gardens in England can tell their parents, “Yes, we will dig to Australia, it can be done.” The whole world will unite in a ‘can do’ attitude. We’ll be mining spice on Mars in a decade.

**************************

A year later and I am approaching the core of the planet Earth, the rock is now flowing well and I’m being drawn along on the lava tides. High tide this evening and things were a little choppy, a little turbulence, and lava breached the outer casing of the capsule. I repaired it with bread. The Military have started to take a little more interest in my day to day activities. There was a masturbation ban for the last three days which allowed me to concentrate on running the ship, although it’s difficult. I ate the last of the sunflower pot mud last night with some chocolate and bean ration. It’s getting tough. I need to make quicker progress once I’m through the centre, back out the other side or I’ll starve or suffocate. I wasted most of the air supply on blowing bubbles in the lava with the capsule mounted oxygen cannon. And water supplies are low due to washing the rice so much before cooking. Last night however, it was biscuits. The General said once I’m through the centre they’ll send a ration digger down to meet me, with a drill on the front. I hope it doesn’t blow up.

I spin around in the pod, bringing up a computer screen with a drawing of a yellow and orange ball with a white centre and a big bleeping dot that is me. Bleeping nearer and nearer to the white abyss of legend and story tale. The capsule began to shudder. A klaxon goes off, the tannoy announces;
“Warning, Big Death Expected.”
I fastened my seat belt and initiated cooling fans on the outside of the capsule. A red flashing light.
“God Damn.” The cooling fans had melted in the lava. The whole vehicle groans under the weight of melting Earth, an Alarm sounds, sprinklers pop out of the walls, and activate. I am soaked, my vest is stuck to my skin, my pens - useless. Sparks spray down on me from an electronic fire above. I slam my hand on the big emergency red button and a red emergency flare fires outside. I spin frantically, trying to find something to rescue the situation. There are seven parachutes but no electric fire extinguisher. Shelves after shelves piled full with beans and rice. I start to cry, but am woken out of my cowardice by a radio billowing the General’s orders at me.
“Sit up you fucking piece of shit!”
“Yes sir!” I rotated into an upright position and the General talked me through emergency shut down procedures to isolate the electrical fire and put it out. In no time at all, the inside of the capsule was fire - although not smoke - free. But the integrity of the outer walls of the capsule was fading and I was stuck bang in the middle of the planet, a melting hell of rock and fire. Sinners float past my window and for a moment I forget where I am, but it is simply the days ration of acid taking it’s effect.

I stop the alarms and turn off the scream hooter which had been particularly getting on my frayed nerves. I recite certain details from my monitors back to the general via the radio. He nods silently.
“Things are looking pretty bleak for you down there.” He says eventually after a pause of several hours.
“Yes, sir.”
“But things are starting to look up, up here. If you’ll excuse the joke...”
I laughed heartily, implementing standard Army procedure when an officer makes a humorous comment.
“Yes,” The General continued, “On the surface we’ve just struck a deal to send an oil pipe along the route you’ve been travelling the last year or two. And since the pipe goes directly through the planet, the amount of money saved on bending pipes around the curvature of the earth can be spent on wheels for children!”
“Oh that’s great news!” I said, smiling into a mirror. “That really is truly great news.”
“Isn’t it just.” The General replied. “I’m going to be so fucking rich my wife can’t believe it. She’s being buying underwear with frills on them, and in different colours.”
“Great news, sir.”
“Yes, son. And it’s all thanks to you. Your sacrifice on this day has led to a truly great, great day for all mankind, and everyone else. This pipeline will be like a great human pipeline of truth. Bringing oil to somewhere, from somewhere else. Nobody can argue with a fact like that. That is one of the few fundamental truths humanity can rely on in this crazy twisted up world.”
“You’re right sir.” I said, trying to keep conversation with the General while frantically rotating in the pod, reprogramming capsule defence programs to recognise a new smaller safety perimeter as the outer walls of the capsule peeled off like a boiling orange. Alarms blared again cutting off the General as he spoke.
“... magnets, and after that’s all in place.... massive, absolutely fucking huge....”
“I’m sorry sir.” I interrupted him. “But I appear to be having a bit of a problem here, I might have to ask you to stop talking a little....”
“Problems isn’t all you’ve got.” The General replied. “You’ve got an even bigger problem, the problem of dying and being all melted into volcano juice. That’s a fucking problem.”
“I... yes, sir. I realise... that was the problem I was, talking about, sir.” A glob of lava dripped down infront of me, melting through the sheet music I had been rehearsing yesterday, but then cooling in a tub of ice-cream I had left it on top of. Phew.
“Anyway, we’ve got you as far as I think you’re going to get, son. The President says ‘well done’ so at least you have that.”
“I suppose I do sir.”
The lava was now flowing into the capsule freely and a mixture of skin steam and machine smoke filled the air. Alarms melted and slowed, my legs gradually dripping off as I drifted away screaming into permanent, peaceful sleep.



© Darren Cullen 2004