Read Online Subterrestrial by Michael McBride - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Michael McBride
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considerable increase in usage once we’re able to run power lines all the way down there. Until we’re confident we have the flooding under control, we don’t want to risk, you know . . . Z zzzt !”
The others looked as overwhelmed as Payton felt. Their combined specialties painted a picture that made his heart race. The problem was that none of them seemed to know exactly what was down there. They’d each been given just enough information to stimulate their professional curiosity. He’d hardly begun discussing it with Dr. Hart when the others arrived. She said Thyssen had shown her a picture for which she could think of no rational explanation. While she hadn’t gone into detail, she did say that if she was right, they were potentially dealing with a previously unclassified primate with transitional traits. Transitional, meaning not one species or another, but somewhere in between. That was his stock in trade, physical adaptation in the midst of the process of evolving. If there really were such remains down there, then the coming days would undoubtedly be the most exciting of his life.
“And this, ladies and gentlemen, is the moment you’ve been waiting for.” Thyssen pulled open the cage door and stepped inside. It was eight feet deep and three feet wide. An orange girder reminiscent of a construction crane ran straight up the right side, along with cables for both support and power. A handwritten sign had been affixed to one of the posts: LASCIATE OGNI SPERANZA, VOI CH’ENTRATE!
“What does that sign mean?” Calder asked.
“Our crew has an interesting sense of humor.”
“It’s Italian,” Hart said. “From Dante’s The Divine Comedy . It means ‘abandon all hope, ye who enter here.’ It’s the inscription over the gates of hell.”
“Interesting being a subjective term, I suppose,” Thyssen said.
Payton ducked inside and made room for the others. The floor was solid steel and painted blue to match the framework. Butler stepped to the side into a small control room about the size of a phone booth and positioned himself in front of a simplistic console that featured two buttons—one red and one green—and a joystick. Butler caught Payton looking.
“The controls are designed so that even an engineer can figure them out.”
His laughter echoed from inside the earth as the cage slowly descended.
“This elevator will take us all the way to the bottom at a rate of one hundred eighteen feet per minute,” Thyssen said. “While that may not sound all that slow, trust me, this will feel like the longest four minutes of your lives.”
The rock on both sides was smooth at first, but they rapidly reached sections reinforced by concrete, rebar, and gigantic metal rings. Pebbles pinged from the roof, although from where they originated was anyone’s guess. The only light came from the dim halogen tubes in the ceiling fixture and the spotlights mounted underneath the platform, which cast an eerie bronze glare down the shaft.
Payton watched the patchwork earth pass with growing unease as he chiseled a white crust of evaporated salt from the grate with his thumbnail. He alleviated the pressure building behind his ears with a yawn. He was only peripherally aware of Butler’s voice as the man detailed how they established the shaft in a matter of days following the accidental collapse of the tunnel by the TBM. The way he described the events culminating in the deaths of the entire crew was almost nonchalant and was punctuated by nervous laughter.
“We try not to dwell on it,” Butler said. “We just keep reminding ourselves that the greatest knowledge often comes at the highest cost.”
“Why wasn’t any of this on the news?” Nabahe asked.
“So far we’ve been able to contain the situation,” Thyssen said.
“An accident responsible for the deaths of eighteen people is more than just a ‘situation.’ I won’t be party to any kind of cover-up.”
“Nor will anyone ask you to be.
The others looked as overwhelmed as Payton felt. Their combined specialties painted a picture that made his heart race. The problem was that none of them seemed to know exactly what was down there. They’d each been given just enough information to stimulate their professional curiosity. He’d hardly begun discussing it with Dr. Hart when the others arrived. She said Thyssen had shown her a picture for which she could think of no rational explanation. While she hadn’t gone into detail, she did say that if she was right, they were potentially dealing with a previously unclassified primate with transitional traits. Transitional, meaning not one species or another, but somewhere in between. That was his stock in trade, physical adaptation in the midst of the process of evolving. If there really were such remains down there, then the coming days would undoubtedly be the most exciting of his life.
“And this, ladies and gentlemen, is the moment you’ve been waiting for.” Thyssen pulled open the cage door and stepped inside. It was eight feet deep and three feet wide. An orange girder reminiscent of a construction crane ran straight up the right side, along with cables for both support and power. A handwritten sign had been affixed to one of the posts: LASCIATE OGNI SPERANZA, VOI CH’ENTRATE!
“What does that sign mean?” Calder asked.
“Our crew has an interesting sense of humor.”
“It’s Italian,” Hart said. “From Dante’s The Divine Comedy . It means ‘abandon all hope, ye who enter here.’ It’s the inscription over the gates of hell.”
“Interesting being a subjective term, I suppose,” Thyssen said.
Payton ducked inside and made room for the others. The floor was solid steel and painted blue to match the framework. Butler stepped to the side into a small control room about the size of a phone booth and positioned himself in front of a simplistic console that featured two buttons—one red and one green—and a joystick. Butler caught Payton looking.
“The controls are designed so that even an engineer can figure them out.”
His laughter echoed from inside the earth as the cage slowly descended.
“This elevator will take us all the way to the bottom at a rate of one hundred eighteen feet per minute,” Thyssen said. “While that may not sound all that slow, trust me, this will feel like the longest four minutes of your lives.”
The rock on both sides was smooth at first, but they rapidly reached sections reinforced by concrete, rebar, and gigantic metal rings. Pebbles pinged from the roof, although from where they originated was anyone’s guess. The only light came from the dim halogen tubes in the ceiling fixture and the spotlights mounted underneath the platform, which cast an eerie bronze glare down the shaft.
Payton watched the patchwork earth pass with growing unease as he chiseled a white crust of evaporated salt from the grate with his thumbnail. He alleviated the pressure building behind his ears with a yawn. He was only peripherally aware of Butler’s voice as the man detailed how they established the shaft in a matter of days following the accidental collapse of the tunnel by the TBM. The way he described the events culminating in the deaths of the entire crew was almost nonchalant and was punctuated by nervous laughter.
“We try not to dwell on it,” Butler said. “We just keep reminding ourselves that the greatest knowledge often comes at the highest cost.”
“Why wasn’t any of this on the news?” Nabahe asked.
“So far we’ve been able to contain the situation,” Thyssen said.
“An accident responsible for the deaths of eighteen people is more than just a ‘situation.’ I won’t be party to any kind of cover-up.”
“Nor will anyone ask you to be.
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