It was harmless curiosity at first. Sylvia and I were bored, so we decided that instead of waiting in the foyer we'd do a little exploring. We ambled down one wood-panelled corridor after another, ignored by security, the hallway floor graded slightly downward all the way. Before long the wood gave way to gleaming walls of silver and black, while the carpeted floor transitioned to hard marble. We came to a single elevator; a bald man with a grey goatee gestured us inside, but didn't join us in the car. I leaned against the back of Sylvia's wheelchair; she looked up at me and shrugged. We were on our way with time to kill.
The elevator door opened and suddenly we were swimming through an underground river, kicking and paddling our way through floodlit stone catacombs. We breached the surface several minutes later and swam into another hallway, none the worse for wear; our clothes weren't even wet. This time the floor was carpeted again, though the walls retained their modern silver and black look. The hall was like a corkscrew driven deep into the earth; down, down and down we walked, passing many doors that led to offices and schools and laboratories.
At last we came to a large set of oak double doors, above which huge bold type declared "OBSERVATORY." But we didn't enter, because a custodian popped out of the wall and waved us over to his side. We followed, and he led us down a darkened service tunnel that ended in a horizontal arrow-slit, through which we peered and beheld a sprawling suburb beneath a cement sky.
The custodian pointed at a drain at the suburb's outskirts, a bottomless black hole.
"That's where we throw all the dirt," he explained.
"Is this a bomb shelter of some kind? A sanctuary?"
The custodian only shrugged. Our hotel room in Jasper, kilometers above our heads, waited. But we'd never return.
The elevator door opened and suddenly we were swimming through an underground river, kicking and paddling our way through floodlit stone catacombs. We breached the surface several minutes later and swam into another hallway, none the worse for wear; our clothes weren't even wet. This time the floor was carpeted again, though the walls retained their modern silver and black look. The hall was like a corkscrew driven deep into the earth; down, down and down we walked, passing many doors that led to offices and schools and laboratories.
At last we came to a large set of oak double doors, above which huge bold type declared "OBSERVATORY." But we didn't enter, because a custodian popped out of the wall and waved us over to his side. We followed, and he led us down a darkened service tunnel that ended in a horizontal arrow-slit, through which we peered and beheld a sprawling suburb beneath a cement sky.
The custodian pointed at a drain at the suburb's outskirts, a bottomless black hole.
"That's where we throw all the dirt," he explained.
"Is this a bomb shelter of some kind? A sanctuary?"
The custodian only shrugged. Our hotel room in Jasper, kilometers above our heads, waited. But we'd never return.
