2041 Sanctuary (Dark Descent)

by Robert Storey

  With some trepidation she opened the front door and stepped outside. She found herself at the top of a short flight of stairs, one she briefly remembered having climbed up the evening before in near darkness. Looking up she expected to see the great tower and a bright blue sky, but she recalled she was on a lower level of the base, having descended a massive lift system with Andrew and then been transported by a car to this apartment. Instead of the dome the chamber’s smooth, dense, rock ceiling lurked some hundred feet above, lined with row upon row of powerful floodlights which tailed off into the distance in all directions. Buildings, some nearly reaching the lights themselves, surrounded the area, all seemingly residential, much like the apartment she’d just been given.

  To her left the street ended abruptly in a large transparent wall. Through it she could see an amazing sight. A vast thoroughfare cut through the chamber, and not just on that level; as she approached the wall she could make out at least ten levels extending up towards the dome and ten more down towards the lower reaches of the base. Great lift systems, interconnected with a mass of complex road layouts, teemed with moving traffic, the muted roar and whine of fast moving machines penetrating the chamber where she stood looking out. Close to either side of the gigantic swathe, hewn out of the rock, wide walkways bustled with human activity as people went about their daily lives; as she’d learned to her cost earlier, the rear of Sarah’s apartment backed onto one of them.

  Looking left, and then right, she could make out a large, white, rectangular beam that hugged the rock walls. As she watched, on the far side and along such a beam, a blue and white train flew past at high speed. Below it another came in the other direction, but this one slowed, coming to rest in a futuristic glass-clad station, passengers exiting and boarding like on any major city network the world over. This place was something else.

  Looking back at her front door, she made a note of the numbers, S5 L15 C8 R12 D274. How could she be expected to remember that? She recalled the card in her zipped trouser pocket; Andrew had shown her this last night. Wake up Sarah! she told herself. Swiping the MF Card over the entry pad caused a red light to replace the green that had been glowing through the transparent plastic. Now the door was locked, her address code, S5 L15 C8 R12 D274, lit up in a muted white light on the emblem side of the card and then slowly disappeared. According to Andrew, the card was able to read her fingerprints and pulse rate, providing a unique identifier so only she could utilise it. Anytime she wanted to see the address all she had to do was hold the card for a few seconds and it would appear again. Simple, she thought, as long as I don’t lose it, that is.

  The inner streets of the chamber were quiet as Sarah made her way along them, her new shoes helping her to bounce along in comfort. Turning a corner, she found herself on a wide, sloping walkway that took her down to the transport channel she had just been looking at. A noisy cacophony of traffic came thrusting along the path towards her as she drew closer.

  Approaching the bottom, her nerves came to the fore when she saw two armed U.S. soldiers standing watch over a multi-arched gate system. As people moved through each barrier, they held up their card to something on the inside of the arch and then a blue laser flashed over their body in the blink of an eye. Most people walked through almost without slowing, but Sarah halted in front of one, apprehensive.

  One of the soldiers ambled over to her. ‘Are you OK, ma’am?’

  ‘Err, yes,’ she said, cursing her reluctance to just walk through as if she belonged. ‘Do I just swipe my card and walk on past? I won’t get zapped or anything, will I?’

  The soldier chuckled as his partner came over to join them, increasing her tension further. ‘No ma’am, no zapping. It just scans you – see.’ He pointed to a man as he passed beneath an arch unscathed. ‘It makes sure you have no unauthorised weapons, explosives, liquids and the like on you.’

  ‘Standard protocol,’ the other soldier told her gruffly.

  She gave a nervous smile. ‘That’s a relief; I didn’t fancy getting incinerated today.’

  ‘I like your accent,’ the first soldier said, ‘what is it, Australian?’

  Sarah laughed as she relaxed a little. ‘Australian! It’s English, East London. Land of Hope and Glory ‘n’ all that.’

  He brightened. ‘Ah, like the Royal family, yeah, I know. I really like your King and Queen, cool couple.’

  The other guard eyed her with suspicion. ‘We don’t get many foreigners in Sanctuary.’

  ‘Don’t mind him,’ the first man said, ‘he was born to get out of the wrong side of the bed.’

  Sarah looked at him. ‘You couldn’t tell me how to get to the Smithsonian Institution, could you?’

  ‘Sure.’ He held out his hand for Sarah’s MF Card.

  Taking the card from her he walked over to a robust looking wallscreen and swiped her card into the system. Up came all her details and her location on the map of the base.

  ‘So,’ the soldier said, as his colleague wandered off, disinterested, ‘you’re here and the Smithsonian is—’ he tapped and rotated the screen with practised ease, ‘here. Basically, you can get the monotube straight through without needing to change; you’re lucky.’

  ‘That makes a change.’

  ‘Bad day?’

  She made a face. ‘Bad few months.’

  ‘Well, things are looking up. You’re very lucky to get a job at the museum. It’s smack in the middle of the nicest part of the base. Most people need a high clearance level to be able to go there as much as you can.’

  ‘As much as I can?’

  He grinned at her naivety. ‘You really are new, aren’t you. Basically, as you work there, you could go seven days a week if you wanted, but most people would need a clearance level of six or above to go there that much. I have level three clearance, so I can only go to the New Park district on my days off.’

  Sarah was confused. ‘But you’re military; I thought you could go anywhere you liked?’

  ‘I wish,’ he said with feeling. ‘Military or not, we all have clearance levels and we all have restrictions; it’s how the base works. You haven’t got it all your own way, though; since you’re a level one, you won’t be able to get off at any other stop or sector along the way – during the days you work, anyway. Weekends or days off, some of your restrictions will be lifted to the main areas of recreation and commerce.’

  Sarah’s brow furrowed as she looked at the screen; she felt more disorientated now than she had before, and it must have shown.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ the soldier said, ‘you’ll get used to it. It always takes a while to adjust to Sanctuary; it’s so much bigger than the other bases.’

  ‘I haven’t been to the other bases,’ Sarah mumbled to herself.

  He leaned forward. ‘What was that?’

  ‘Eh? Oh, nothing. So I just catch this monotube thing straight to New Park Central?’

  ‘That’s right; you’ll need to cross over to the other side to catch it, though, or you’ll end up in the industrial sector.’

  The soldier gave Sarah directions to the station on the other side of the road and rail system, and it didn’t take her long to cross over using a few travelators and an elevator. The monotube took a while to arrive, but at last the futuristic machine cruised into the station and came to rest with the venting of some kind of gas, which rolled across the surface of the platform, covering the shoes of the waiting travellers, including Sarah; some kind of discharge from the braking system, she presumed. The bright blue and white exterior of the train was adorned at specific intervals with the transport system’s logo:

  When the doors opened, the barriers that prevented station users from plummeting to their deaths sank into the platform surface with a pneumatic hiss.

  Sarah boarded, deciding to sit at a window seat which provided some interesting views as the train sped through different sectors, levels and chambers of the base. After a particularly long section of interconnecting enclosed tunnels, the monorail
burst out of the darkness and onto the top surface of Sanctuary. Sarah couldn’t help but peer out from her vantage point in awe as the train took an elevated section of track towards its destination. The tower she had only glimpsed once before, located in the very centre of the base, cut a sleek profile high above, disappearing from view as it sliced through the realistic-looking blue sky of the great dome itself.

  The spectacle of the rest of the dome level of the city was also beautiful to behold. Trees and plants dominated swathes of the landscape, interspersed with ornate buildings utilising the most modern and aesthetically pleasing designs. A few miles away she could also make out an impressive huddle of manmade skyscrapers, or should that be domescrapers, she wondered. And off to the right the flat landscape was punctuated by a group of high hills, bordering on small mountains, and at their feet what looked like a sparkling chain of lakes.

  After a couple more stops, the train slowed again and a simulated voice announced the destination she wanted. ‘New Park Central station. Please enjoy your visit.’

  Sarah departed the monotube and passed through the cleanest and most minimalistic station she had ever been in, the footfalls of the other passengers echoing between the glass confines and tiled flooring as they made their way out. Sarah took note that many of the people in this district wore casual and expensive looking clothing, compared to the more functional work attire of those she had been around at the start of her journey. As before, armed soldiers patrolled the area; however, these guardians wore a grey uniform instead of standard issue, the smart attire befitting their surroundings.

  The gate system at this station matched the one she had previously used and Sarah flashed her card at the arch. Having been scanned, she moved off out into a pleasant sun-drenched plaza bordered by various exits and well-tended flowerbeds, the sweet scents drifting on a light breeze to prickle her senses.

  Digital scrolling signposts guided her to the museum. Unfortunately, once she got there, she was unable to enter as she hadn’t the credits. More than a little disappointed, she spent the rest of the day wandering the area and looking for ways someone might escape. From a high vantage point, atop an observation platform, she couldn’t see any lift mechanisms, not one, throughout the twenty mile wide expanse, that led to the surface, which meant only one thing; they were located outside of the dome and the USSB itself, a fact that would prove to be a major obstacle to her plans.

  That night, after returning to her new quarters, she slept well, tired after the day’s exploration and a lot of walking, which she was unused to after her long confinement. Like a finely woven silk sheet, the night slipped past and Sarah woke, the prospect of her new job the first thought to penetrate her mind. Deciding it prudent to dress in the grey uniform rather than go baggy casual, Sarah was careful not to open the blind of her window prematurely having given everyone an eyeful the day before.

  After a quick breakfast of cereal and toast, she left the apartment for the museum once more; this time, however, it was seven in the morning. Outside the air was surprisingly crisp and fresh, almost as if she was on the surface rather than in the bowels of the Earth.

  Normally starting a new job would bring with it a certain anxiety and thrill, but as she had no intention of staying there, or making a good impression, she just felt alert, and wary of the people she might meet. All she wanted was to earn some credits and then meet up with Trish and Jason at the earliest opportunity.

  This time when she reached the impressive building of the Smithsonian Institution she was able to gain admittance via the workers’ entrance she had scoped out the day before. Reception guided her through some open-plan offices and up a flight of stairs to the archives department, where her enforced labour was to begin. Greeted by a tiny elderly woman whom Sarah towered over, her photo was engraved onto her new MF Card and she was then presented with a company computer phone. The phone had a direct link to the USSB’s cloud system, but also had a few credits on, perhaps enough to enable her to call Trish and Jason. Her spirits rising, the rest of the day flashed by as she bumbled along, forgetting most of what she was being taught, which was very little and all utterly tedious.

  Rather than waste all the phone credits on a voice call, she sent a text message to both Trish and Jason and was overjoyed when she received replies from each of them. The following three days began and finished much the same way, although Sarah made sure to take photos and videos of the base whenever she was able; people needed to know about this place, she knew it was far too important to be kept hidden away like it was.

  When the end of the week arrived Sarah’s desire to see her friends grew with each passing hour. They had arranged to meet at the museum on Saturday morning and Sarah found it difficult to sleep the night before; her excitement spilled over into the next day as she took her now usual route into work. As she’d been informed by her supervisor in the office, her credits for that week would enter her account at midnight on Friday and, thankfully, they were as good as their word.

  Jason and Trish were both waiting for Sarah when she disembarked the first train of the day from her sector to arrive at New Park Central station. Approaching the gates, she drank in the sight of them as they stood impatiently at the main exit. Trish, her best friend, looked thinner than she remembered her, but then that was to be expected if she had been fed the same way Sarah had while in the military jail. Her hairstyle had also changed from being tied back to being let loose into a big frizzy explosion, like she’d worn it back in her uni days. Trish’s dark brown locks framed a harsh but attractive face, her light brown skin and full lips a giveaway to her mixed ancestry. Jason, the Welsh moron as Trish occasionally referred to him, sometimes to his face, didn’t seem to have lost much weight, but his tanned skin had definitely lost some of its colour, much like her own. Jason’s face, as ever, looked mildly comical to Sarah’s eyes, but then he did tend to play the fool which may have had something to do with her perception of him, besides the fact that a giant cheeky grin was never far away from hijacking his features.

  After Sarah passed through one of the scanners, the three friends could contain themselves no longer; running forwards they embraced one another.

  ‘Why are you hugging me, too?’ Trish asked Jason, looking at Sarah over his shoulder and rolling her eyes in amused exasperation.

  ‘Just getting in the spirit,’ he said in his Celtic lilt.

  ‘You’re such an idiot.’ Trish laid a hand on his shoulder with a fond familiarity.

  Sarah noted the inflection in her friend’s voice and realised for the first time that there might be something between her two pals, something more than friendship alone. She looked to Jason who winked at her. Sarah tried to hide her smile. Trish may have her hands full if he got his way. She’d always known Jason wasn’t as stupid as he made out and this only served to confirm her suspicions.

  As the three of them chattered away excitedly they ambled towards the Smithsonian.

  ‘Can you believe this place?’ Jason said to Sarah, looking up at the dome and marvelling at the simulated sky. ‘It’s friggin’ awesome.’

  Sarah gazed upwards too. ‘I don’t think I could ever get used to it, even if I lived out the rest of my days here.’

  Trish made a disgruntled sound. ‘That may well end up being the case for us all. How are we ever going to get out of here?’

  ‘Get out?’ Jason said in genuine surprise. ‘Do you know what some people would pay to be in a place like this, to just know that it exists, even? Hollow Earth nuts would literally pass out in I told you so overload if they knew all this was down here.’

  Trish gaped at him as if he’d just sprouted a tree out of his head and a long trunk from his nose. ‘Are you kidding me? You want to stay here, a prisoner for the rest of your life, no chance of going back to the surface – ever?’

  Jason gave the question careful consideration. ‘Well, not the whole of my life, but a few years down here – imagine what you could learn. Don’t you think, Sa
z?’

  ‘I don’t plan on staying here any longer than I absolutely have to,’ Sarah said as they approached the entrance to the museum. ‘Although I think we are about to find out all we need to know right now.’ She indicated the large turnstile gates ahead.

  The front of the museum consisted of a single convex pane of frosted acrylic nano-sheet, two hundred foot wide, with the name of the building in large, bold, chrome lettering arcing across its surface:

  SMITHSONIAN

  MUSEUM OF SANCTUARY

  Offering their multifunction cards at one of the booths, they were each provided with a free information booklet and guide before proceeding inside. The front foyer was typically a large open area full of signposts, milling people and even the prerequisite souvenir shop off to one side. All three, however, were too busy reading through their respective pamphlets to take much notice of anything else.

  ‘Oh my God,’ Jason said, as he read through it, ‘are you two seeing this?’

  Sarah was indeed seeing it all. Exhibits covering a mind-boggling array of everything and anything to do with Homo giganthropsis. From the earliest remains and artefacts to detailed models of huge unearthed complexes which, according to the text, dwarfed anything seen in Egypt, Mesoamerica or anywhere else found on the surface.

  ‘To process all this would take a lifetime,’ Trish murmured.

  Trish was right; the Smithsonian had amassed a staggering amount of objects and this enormous multi-level museum only contained a fraction of what was still being found on an almost daily basis. Sanctuary was, for all intents and purposes, an archaeologist’s dream come true. Not just any old dream, but the mother of all dreams, a dream pumped up and engorged on a plethora of narcotics fit for a thousand drug-addicted rock stars ten times over.