Chapter Ten
Lightning cracked and sizzled overhead. Rainwater cascaded in sheets along the path that sloped toward the tunnel entrance."Down there?" I said somewhat stupidly to no one in particular.
Seamus came along side me and draped a lanky arm over my shoulder. He kicked at stream of water. "Just go with the flow, boyo."
"At least we'll be out of the bloody rain," said Sean.
The short trip underground that Missus Grier had promised was almost twice as long as our passage from the surface of Neworld to the Basin. We went down about the same distance, but the tunnel, excavated out of solid bedrock, was straight and not as severely sloped. The floor was rounded so water running down from the Basin was channeled to either side, giving us a dry path to tread. Once in the full shelter of the tunnel, we were able to stow our helmets, gloves, jackets, and outer boots, making this part of our trek much more comfortable.
Revitalized by a walking lunch and the anticipation of what lay ahead, I was able to reflect upon the journey. Every image I brought into focus challenged what I knew, or thought I knew, about Neworld. At first, I dwelled upon the strange nature of the hidden world that was the Basin. My mind slowly settled on images of man's intrusion: the long network of lights, the way stations, and now this tunnel. Who did all this? How long did it take? Why? A shiver ran up my spine, not of fear or cold, but of realization. I was part of something big—something grand—something that spoke to the greatness and importance of man.
We arrived at a short stretch of level ground that terminated at a rise of wooden steps that bridged a shallow chasm and lead to a door constructed of stout timber and metal strapping.
"Welcome ta Observation Base, lad," said Bedford as he pushed open the door and lead us into a short, unlit hallway. A thunderous jumble noises reverberated down the passage. I tried to sort the sounds in my mind. The low grinding of grain mill? The high whir of a static box? The metallic clanking of a chain being pulled through a pulley? The rhythmic beat of a massive clockwork? People shouting?
We traversed the hall and entered a large, circular room some forty meters in diameter. Like the tunnel, the base was sculpted from the bedrock. It was composed of three concentric galleries ringing a central pit. Each gallery was about five meters deep and two meters higher than the previous level. Sturdy iron balustrades ringed each gallery. While all the vertical surfaces were rough-hewn rock, the gallery floors and steps were as smooth and polished as those in the Mount.
From my vantage point on the middle ring, I saw that the bottom two galleries contained equipment and tools organized into specialized work areas. Eight men and women were working at their stations. The top gallery fronted a series of rooms that were framed out in finely crafted wood that again reminded me of the dark word panels and moldings found in the Mount. Some had large glass windows, which I assumed served as offices. The others were most likely living quarters.
I walked to the gallery rail to get a better look at the pit. It was about ten meters in diameter. Its floor, constructed of heavy timbers strapped with metal, was moving slowly, as if it were a lid being slid into place. My eyes followed a substantial metal track that bisected the floor and led to the right side of the first gallery, where it connected to a set of large gears. The mechanism slowly ground to a halt as the floor approached its final position, and the base became silent except for the voices of workers.
"Hatch secure?" called a man stationed by the gear mechanism.
"Hatch secure," confirmed a woman on the opposite side of the pit.
"Operation terminated. Discharging power,' came a voice from somewhere unseen.
Missus Grier joined me at the rail and pointed to the pit, “That is the portal to your final destination. And that,” she motioned upward, “is your transportation.”
The ceiling was a grid of walkways that enclosed what I can best describe as a giant clockwork. It was a complex system of gears, ratchets, and coils of spring steel. Suspended directly over the pit was a metal sphere big enough to hold a man—big enough to hold me. Its surface was not solid, but rather a metal mesh supported by a tubular internal framework. Distributed across the surface were rectangular openings inset with glass. Bulging canvas bags were lashed to the circumference of the sphere. Attached to its bottom was a very large version of a focused static lamp.
What had Millan called me back in the manor house? The descender?
“So, you want to lower me in that contraption, into what I can only assume is another hole in the ground, to have a look around and draw you some pictures of what I see.”
“That’s about right,” she said. “However, that is not just another hole in the ground. Do you have any idea where you are?”
“In the Basin somewhere…” Images flashed through my head. One came into sharp focus. The map I had glimpsed in the manor house.
"East of Primacittá…" I concentrated on the lines that snaked out from Primacittá into the Basin. They led to a vague swirling pattern. My mouth gaped open at the thought of it.
“The Fount of Life. You want to lower me into the Fount of Life.” My voice quavered at the realization. The Fount rose from the Below. It was the source of life and the place where the vaporous kon returned upon death. It was not a place for the living.
Missus Grier took my hand in hers and spoke in a motherly manner, “Fallon, our protocol could only protect you from being tainted with our ideas and expectations. Now you must try to rid yourself of the teachings you received since you were a child. Do you understand?”
I didn’t… I couldn’t answer.
“I know what is going through your mind. But remember what you said to me at the Mount? About needing proof? Do you remember, Fallon?”
I nodded.
“You will discover the truth. You will bring the truth back to Neworld.”
“But won’t I… the Fount… Below… won’t I die?”
“No!” she grasped me by the shoulders. “I fear I must break the protocol to counter the effects of your conditioning. I will tell you this much about our beliefs. We think there is nothing at all supernatural about the Below or the Fount. It is a natural feature of Neworld. Your kon will not be pulled from you as you descend.”
“But you told me yourself that I might not return.”
“Because I am a truthful woman, Fallon. You might be injured or possibly be lost or even die. That is true. But the reason is not what you imagine. The reason is all this.” She made a sweeping gesture across the room. “This technology is untested. Something can go wrong. If it does, it will be our fault, not the result of some supernatural act. Make this descent. Your observations and sketches will reveal the truth to us all.”
I was ashamed of my fear, yet I could not muster my resolve.
When I did not reply, Missus Grier looked at me sympathetically. “Come. Let me show you to your room.” She led me toward the upper gallery.
“If our calculations are correct, the settling will not be complete for another two days. Then we will have about a day and a half in which we can safely make the descent. Ah, here we are. Unpack and relax. Take time to sketch what you’ve seen so far and think about what I’m asking you to do. But don’t feel pressured. All will not be lost if you decline. If you don’t go, Sean or Seamus will make the descent. They don’t have your powers of unbiased observation or your drawing skills, but they can bring us back the basic data we need. Feel free to walk about and explore. Someone will get you when dinner is served.
I unpacked and changed into fresh clothing. Then I sat in a daze. For how long I am not sure. My mind couldn’t process everything; therefore I couldn’t focus on anything. I needed to empty my mind, so I began to sketch. As the images flowed from me, my thinking cleared. My enthusiasm grew with each completed sketch.
There was a knock at the door. It was Seamus, “Dinner’s on, Fallon. Come on and I’ll show you to the mess.”
I shuffled my drawings into a stack and took them with me to the mess. It was a spacious room that served both as a kitchen and dining hall with two long wooden tables.
“Over here, lad,” called Bedford, motioning to an empty space on the bench opposite. “I saved a seat for you.”
Missus Grier was sitting in a chair at the head of the table. As I sat, I tossed the stack of sketches where both she and Bedford could see. Missus Grier picked up the papers and began to leaf through them. She examined one, then passed it to Bedford. He passed it on to the next person and so on.
I ate as casually as I could while this process went on. I observed the looks exchanged among the people at the table and the smile on Missus Grier’s face. When all the sketches had made it around the table, I said, “I’ll do it. I’ll make the descent. I think this is what I’m meant to do.”
“I think you’re right, lad,” said Bedford. “This is what you’re meant to do. Now here’s the plan.”
– End Chapter Ten –
