Canto 3: The Silicon Sea

Marcus awoke to his resurrected body dragging through black sand.

“Welcome back, sleepyhead!” Dante said and released his arm, which crashed into sand. “Quite a beating back there, huh? Took your brain code some time to return properly.”

Marcus rubbed his throbbing head. “Did I just…die?”

“You sure did, but only for a moment! The best thing about Hell is death is temporary. Well, so long as I’m around anyways.”

Marcus recalled the instantaneous yet immense pain of ice piercing through cranium. Death may be temporary, but his memories weren’t.

“Judas,” Marcus started. “He’s not targeting me specifically, is he?”

“I’m not sure, Marcus, did you have enemies in the outside world?”

“I…have no idea.”

“A pity. Well, it’s highly unlikely his attacks are targeted. Like I mentioned, Judas was at it for weeks before you got here.”

Marcus rose and shook the sand off his clothes. The tunnel exit had placed them in a cove between two sandstone bluffs. Dozens of yards away, the ocean crashing on the shore was not composed of saltwater but rather a boiling, metallic liquid with a thick steam on its surface.

“Behold, the Silicon Sea,” Dante said.

Starting from the shoreline, two conveyor belts ran along the sides of the cove and up each bluff, ending at the precipice. Hundreds of individuals in white laboratory suits and safety glasses stood single file on the belts, unnaturally still and upright as if lacking control of their bodies. One-by-one they were delivered off the precipice into the boiling sea. Once the violent screams and splashing subsided, they resurrected at the end of the line.

“Brutal,” Marcus said, following Dante to the shore. “What are they, mad scientists?”

“Indeed, the world’s greatest minds in science and engineering. Although ‘mad’ would be letting them off easy. They were in full control of the suffering they created.”

“What did they do?”

“As they do now: follow. You see, nothing those plummeting CEOs accomplished would have been possible without hard-working, unquestioning geniuses in their employment. By outsourcing their morality to that archaic adage ‘the market is always right’, they justified unyielding advancements in computing and artificial intelligence that led to the Great Chasm.”

Marcus was deeply disturbed by this answer. “What! They’re boiled alive on repeat for doing their jobs?!”

Dante nods. “They knew the trajectory society was headed but, instead of speaking out, they became catalysts. Their obedience drove society off the metaphorical cliffside.”

“If you say so,” Marcus replied, unsatisfied.

#

At the shoreline, they reached a small wooden boat with a gargoyle-like figurehead at its mast. The figurehead had a chiseled upper torso, oars in place of arms, and eyes locked open in a permanent frenzy.

Marcus rubbed his fingers on its perfectly sculpted acacia shoulders and was struck in the gut by an oar.

“Back with you, heathen!” the now-animated figurehead exclaimed. “Who dares disturb the ferryman?”

“It’s me, Charon,” Dante scoffed, helping Marcus to his feet. “It’s always me.”

“Ah, Dante. My oldest friend.” Charon extended an oar at Marcus. “Who do you bring for Charon this time? A soul bound for Hell’s greater depths?”

“Actually, this one is headed for Heaven.”

“A man delivered,” Charon sighed. “This is a rare and delighting experience for Charon.” He motioned an oar to the boat’s rigid interior. “Please, make yourselves comfortable.”

Once they were seated, Charon growled and drove his oars into sand, dragging them towards the Silicon Sea.

#

Marcus sat with arms tight over his body—not because he was cold, but because each time Charon rowed a few droplets of boiling metal sprayed onto Marcus’s flesh.

“You are awfully quiet, delivered one,” Charon spoke. “Tell me, what did you achieve in your life that earned your salvation? Charon wishes to learn the stories of those he carries, be they dreams or nightmares, so he may compare them to his own joyous existence.”

“I…I’m not sure,” Marcus responded, ashamed he hadn’t asked the question earlier. “Dante, does your hologram say what my profession was?”

“Most certainly,” Dante responded. “Let’s take a look.”

His rendering returned, this time in a lab coat beside the spinning word Neurosurgeon.

“We’ve got a doctor!” Dante exclaimed.

A new memory appeared to Marcus. He was in a surgery room wearing a lab coat with the lumped outline of a child-sized patient under blankets on the operating table. He input commands into a computer then watched a mechanized scalpel make incisions in the patient’s skull.

“A doctor,” Marcus sighed in relief as he returned to the present. He thanked his lucky stars for having chosen such an altruistic line of work.

“Indeed,” Dante skimmed through a holographic profile. “And not just any doctor, a world-renowned neurosurgeon turned engineer who developed technology that lengthened the lives of thousands. No wonder your voting outcome was so high!”

Marcus smiled for the first time since entering Hell.

“And Barbara?”

“Well, Barbara made the excellent decision of marrying you! Paradiso would be under a lot of heat if they denied entry to spouses.”

Marcus was about to ask another question when Charon interrupted.

“Il Dottore, any chance your capacity for repair extends to simulations?” He pointed an oar towards unnatural ripples in the sea. “Because that is not supposed to happen.”

The boat vibrated intensely.

“Judas,” Marcus said, locking worried eyes with Dante.

The ripples stopped and Marcus breathed a sigh of relief.

Then a silhouette appeared in the fog, starting small then rising the size of a mountain.

“Rogue wave!” Charon yelled, rowing urgently towards it. “We must traverse the crest!”

Silicon flooded the boat, painting Marcus in a canvas of third-degree burns.

“Ah!” He stood on his seat, attempting to balance while avoiding liquid metal.

Charon reached the base of the wave and ascended. “This is it, the moment I was destined for,” he turned to Marcus. “An eternity of ferrying in preparation for this ungodly surge. We will prevail, doctor!”

The boat elevated fast, smacked against the crest, and flung Marcus into the air.

Dante and Charon watched from on high as Marcus descended the face of the wave. He submerged halfway down with a scream, a splash, and a sizzle.