Tales From The Mortal Conglomerate: Beyza’s Balneotherapy
Before reading this, it is advised that you read and understand my disclaimer regarding the perception drive.
Exploring the various strata of The Mortal Conglomerate can be a very physically taxing job. The modest stipend we earn for our efforts barely affords food, lodging, and transportation. Any request for additional funds requires a lengthy process of writing out an entire petition that will immediately get denied if there is a single spelling or grammar error (ironic, considering we all read each other’s intent through the perception drive), as well as a sequence of various other forms and documents. There are those throughout the strata who understand and empathize with the archivists and will often donate or barter with us in hopes that their stories will join the archives.
On one of my expeditions into a more wealthy, exclusive stratum, I was lucky enough to patronize a particularly philanthropic person named Beyza. She owned a spa called Beyza’s Balneotherapy, and it was one of the most fascinating and relaxing places I’ve had the pleasure of visiting in The Mortal Conglomerate.
As I said, this particular stratum was very exclusive and housed some of the most wealthy people I had seen in my travels. Although who can say for sure where the top of such an obfuscated economy lies. When I first arrived at the entrance to the strata, I was greeted with a massive, circular, golden door with various locking handwheels and complicated gears. As soon as I approached the door, a small porthole swung open, and I was face to face with the bright red face of an angry-looking guard. The small porthole framed his face in a way that betrayed his expression, and in my sleep-deprived state, I nearly started laughing.
“State your business!” he screamed at me.
“I’m an archivist; I was invited here to examine this strata and archive my findings on behalf of The Archivist’s Guild.” I replied as I pulled out the official invitation.
“Let me see that,” the guard said as he moved his face away from the port hole and reached his arm through.
I was tempted to tease his hand with the piece of paper and play a little game of keep away, but decided against it. I had to be careful here; I didn’t know what might get me thrown in whatever their judicial system defined as a prison or what would land me in front of a firing squad. Archivists were promised diplomatic immunity, but that wouldn’t necessarily prevent me from any snap judgements that could happen if my insurrections were seen as too extreme or if they weren’t aware of the extent of my immunity. Deciphering the overlap and hierarchy of conglomerate laws was an unknowable science, so I handed over the invitation respectfully.
After a moment, he responded, “I’ll have to verify this.” and shut the port hole.
I took off my backpack and sat down on the ground next to the door. I pulled out my word processor and started working on an article that I was 30 days behind on. After about an hour, I had managed to write maybe 50 words when the port hole finally opened again and the guard’s face reoccupied the opening.
“Alright, you’re — “ the guard began before seeing that I wasn’t standing in the same position, “get off the ground, you’re cleared for entry.” He rolled his eyes as his face disappeared again. The door began clicking and groaning as the handwheels and gears began to spin. I quickly lifted my word processor into my arms and dragged my backpack away from the door as it slowly started to swing outward.
What I saw at first on the other side of that giant door was beautiful and fascinating, but I soon learned how grotesque and off-putting it all was. The ground was paved with natural stones, a stark contrast to many of the other strata that were paved in plain, grey cement or featured metal walkways. The stones that made up the ground here were of all different colors, creating a kind of muted rainbow path that led into the main square of the stratum. This square wasn’t as large as some of the others I had seen, probably owing to the fact that the population here was also equally small; wealthy people don’t seem to like to share their space with too many others. In the center of the square was a large, stone-carved fountain featuring various different creatures spouting water out of their mouths. Around the fountain were potted plants of distinct types and small shopping stalls with vendors selling all manner of wares, from candy, snacks, and food to jewelry, clothing, and artwork. Along the outer edge of the square was a raised wooden walkway (another building material rarely found within The Conglomerate), which led to the entrances of what I assumed were more permanent shops and was roofed with awnings covered in ceramic tiles (which I later learned were called imbrex and tegula tiles). Lastly, at the far end of the square was a gondola lift leading to the apartments.
Everything inside the square, from the stones in the ground to the plants and roof tiles, were all stolen from planets harvested by The Conglomerate. Nothing here was original or genuine besides the temporary shopping stalls around the fountain. It had all been taken from other cultures because someone here saw it and thought it looked pretty enough to keep it before the planet it came from was eventually destroyed.
Beyza, the owner and operator of Beyza’s Balneotherapy, had volunteered to host me during my stay there. After entering through the large door, the guard introduced me to her and returned to his post. Beyza stood out from many of the other people in the square; her grey, cropped tank top and orange broomstick skirt contrasted many of the stiff black suits and gaudy, cool-tone dresses that the patrons in the square were wearing. Her wavy, black hair was in a messy bun, and despite the crisp, dry air, her golden olive skin glowed beneath the sunbeam lamps. Her smile spread across her whole face, and I was taken aback when she hugged me like an old friend.
“Welcome,” she said to me in a smooth, quiet voice. “I’m so glad you could join us here.”
Surprised by the warmth of her hospitality, I said, “Thank you so much, I really wasn’t sure what to expect.”
“Of course. I hope I can show you the small bit of generosity that hides in this place.” She smiled again and began to lead me through the square.
Beyza explained to me how the temporary shopping stalls here in the square were those of vendors invited from other strata every other day. Luckily, I had won the coin flip on arriving on one of these days. As we walked past each of the stalls, the vendors and Beyza would greet each other by first name and share some brief small talk about their lives. She would introduce me and inform me about each of the vendors and their wares: “This is Toinette, she bakes the best pastries I’ve ever had,” insisting I try a sample. “This is Garban, his rings are made from a unique…” “Alloy,” Garban interjected, “thank you, a unique alloy that no one else in The Conglomerate knows how to make.” And so on around each stall in the square until we had made a full rotation. “And this is me,” she said, pointing to one of the permanent shops on the edge of the square. We stepped up onto the wooden walkway, and I asked about the other shops. “Don’t worry,” Beyza responded, “we’ll have plenty of time for them. Today might be the only day you’ll get to meet any of the temporary vendors.” Beyza later went into more detail about how the vendors might spend everything they had on transportation and rental fees just to have a stall for the day, and that if they didn’t earn enough that day, they might not be able to make the return trip for quite a while. It was a huge risk for them, but they could potentially make more there in a single day than they could in a week at their home stratum. Beyza had advocated for the stratum to allow the vendors to come there every other day to sell their unique wares, and luckily her husband, Gull, had the political connections to help make it happen.
Beyza showed me inside her facility, and I immediately felt at ease. The pleasant smell of some mixture of herbs and flowers that I had never smelled before wafted through the air, and the room was much warmer and humid than it had been in the square. Beyza took my bag for me and showed me to the dressing rooms. She asked if I wanted to experience the baths firsthand, and I decided I should. I was instructed to undress in the dressing room before entering through the curtain on the other end of the room, and she handed me a towel. After undressing and donning the towel, I opened the curtain and was greeted by one of the most magnificent sights I had seen within The Conglomerate. The large room was filled with thick layers of steam, making it impossible to see how far it stretched on, but a false, moonlit, starry sky projected on the domed ceiling gave the impression that it wasn’t a room at all but a planetary landscape. In the center of the place was a large pool of steaming water, with a wooden walkway extending down the middle. The edges of the pool were made from what appeared to be natural rock formations, which went up into tiered sections of smaller amorphous pools. Through the thick steam, I could almost make out the vague silhouettes of other bathers relaxing in the pools.
Beyza told me how the large central pool was treated with a mixture of salts, oils, flowers, and other various ingredients that she curated each day based on a different theme. That day’s theme happened to be “Callosity’s Cure”. We walked a short distance across the central walkway, and Beyza invited me to enter the pool. I looked around at the other patrons nervously, and Beyza explained to me that a perception alteration was always running that made other guests only appear as silhouettes if they didn’t intend to be seen nude. Comfortable with this information, I removed my towel and slowly entered the water. It took me a moment to adjust to the warmth, but as I did, I instantly felt relaxation wash over me and tension release from places in my body that I didn’t realize had been holding tension.
Beyza joined me in the water and explained to me the different theories of balneotherapy and all of its benefits through maintaining the skin’s ionic homeostasis and the suppression of inflammatory cytokines. Most of it went over my head; I was more interested in how she came to own such an impressive facility. She told me that as a child, she grew up on a planet called Poros Bula, where her family owned and operated a natural hot springs resort. She was a rebellious child who enjoyed helping her parents with the business, if only for the opportunity to meet the various travelers and vacationers who would stop at the resort and hear any stories they might have to tell her about the other far-off places on Poros Bula. She was 19 when The Mortal Conglomerate first came to her planet. They came down in small groups and tried to recruit people to join The Conglomerate and “come live among the stars!” Beyza’s parents immediately saw through their lies and promises of wealth and opportunity; they forbade her from speaking to any of the Conglomerate officers, but she desperately wanted to know what it was like to live up there and what kind of adventures they might tell her about.
Over the following year, a regular customer started visiting the hot springs, explaining that he had just started a physically demanding job on a farm nearby and that the hot spring water was the only thing he could find that would relieve his muscles after a long day of work. He obviously didn’t grow up anywhere nearby, but settling down far from home on Poros Bula wasn’t uncommon. Beyza quickly grew fond of this man, and they would often share baths together as he would tell her stories about his travels. The man, named Gull, eventually confided in Beyza that he was a runner working for The Conglomerate Vanguard, the first line of people who would come to a planet that was scheduled to be harvested and try to recruit people to live in The Conglomerate. Gull told her that he hated his job; he didn’t want to be the person who had to tell people that their planet was about to be harvested and then try to sell them on the idea of living in space on a megastructure spanning their entire galaxy. He had tried to do what he could within his power to try and save as many people as he could and choose people who he thought were good, decent people who deserved another life away from the impending destruction. But he couldn’t do much in such a low position; he could barely convince a handful of people from each planet he was assigned, and he couldn’t escape the guilt of what was happening to those who remained.
In the end, Beyza and Gull fell in love, and she decided to leave with him. Her parents tried to stop her, but she had already made her decision. She tried to get them to come with her, Gull had even secured them a good place to stay where they would be comfortable, but they wouldn’t listen to anything he had to say to them. Her parents never responded to any of her letters, and eventually she gave up any hope of seeing them again. Over the next few years, Gull worked his way up into a higher position, was able to secure an apartment in this wealthy stratum, and eventually petitioned for a grant for Beyza’s Balneotherapy. Beyza and Gull tried their best to carve out little parts of the stratum that could be more welcoming and accepting of the general public, but it wasn’t easy with all of the other residents and politicians wanting to keep it as exclusive as possible. The public shopping days took a year to approve and implement, and they had to work in secrecy and with great effort to build a secret entrance to the baths that could be accessed from outside the main stratum entrance for residents of other strata.
That night, Gull and Beyza invited me out to a lavish meal at their favorite restaurant. They recommended dishes to me that I had never heard of, and I shared stories with them from places they had never heard of. Gull was as generous a host as Beyza, but I felt a kind of dark presence lingering behind his eyes. I wasn’t sure what it was at that moment, but I later found out he had an addiction that he was hiding from all of us — a story for another time.
I won’t lie to you and recommend that you visit Beyza’s Balneotherapy whenever you’re in The Conglomerate, because by the time you’re reading this, it isn’t there anymore. But I will tell you that after leaving that stratum, I accessed the central archives and looked up Beyza’s parents. They had eventually left Poros Bula and found a home in The Conglomerate, but hadn’t managed to find a way to contact Beyza or hadn’t worked up the courage to do so. I sent them each other’s contact information, but for my own sake, I never followed up to see if they reunited. In all of my travels, I’ve learned that family affairs like that are private and messy, and I’d prefer to spare myself the disappointment of finding out the possible conclusion.
Instead, I prefer to imagine my own happy ending where Beyza is running into her parents’ arms and they share a warm embrace before looking over at Gull and welcoming him in. Maybe you think that feels like a cop-out, not telling you the truth that I could easily find out for you, but I insist that when you read the eventual tragedy that became of Gull and Beyza, you’ll want to hold onto that brief moment of happiness, whether it was real or not.
