Saving the Cyber Soaps by Mike Morris (fiction novels to read TXT) 📖

under the earth.
The receptionist sat behind an old mahogany desk. The lady and the desk were polished like glass. She could have been a Soap Star, or a Porn Star, I thought, looking at her wispy dress. “William L Jones,” she said, fixing me with her cold gray eyes. “You are expected.” I looked at John, amazed, and he shrugged.
“And John Doe,” I told her. “Hope you haven’t forgotten about him.”
She pursed her lips and picked up an old black phone. “Twentieth floor,” she said after a second. “City Manager to your left. Please take the elevator.”
We got in. The little box smelled like sweat and polish and we were jerked upward like a yo-yo on a string when I pushed the jury-rigged button. Together we went sailing up, up, and the dim bulb flickered. I tried to remember what it was like when the elevators went all the way, a thousand feet up, a third of a mile, in cities in Chicago and New York, and Boston, all the big cities that used to light up the world. I was higher than I had been in two hundred years, and I started to feel sick.
The elevator jerked to a stop, and the doors opened. We saw paneled walls, thick and new carpets, and the air was fresh and warm. Some Topsiders, at least, were living well. Two big guys faced us, and, somehow they reminded me of the security guards who had led me to Jonesy, a lifetime ago.
“This way, gentlemen.” The smaller of the two padded down a plush corridor, and the larger guard fell in behind us.
Most of the offices looked like classrooms, and most of the classrooms were filled with men. Through frosted glass windows, I could make out instructors, pacing the floor, instructing earnestly. The place reminded me of a Police Training Academy in a Seminary. An office boy on a motor scooter zipped past, gripping a bunch of papers. We finally stopped in front of heavy oak doors which the first guard tapped deferentially.
“Send them in.” The voice was vaguely familiar, but unless I had met him two centuries ago, I didn’t see how I could know him.
The City Manager occupied an office that rivaled Big Dee’s. His back was to a large window that looked out on the ruins of Chicago, strangely beautiful in the early spring sunlight. Filing cabinets and storage bins gave the room a hard-working look.
“Sit down,” he said, and John and I sank into comfortable armchairs. The man steepled his hands and leant forward. I strained to see his vaguely familiar features against the glare of the sun. “It’s been quite a while, Bill,” he said, and I gasped.
“Lawrence Blake,” I said. I felt a surge of relief. Lawrence Blake had been the first man that Dee had sent out to contact the Topsiders, four years ago. He had succeeded in his mission beyond all expectations.
Out of the shadows the form of a man appeared. It was Jonesy, with a gun. “We’ve been waiting for you,” he said. He seemed nervous, so high up, so close to the window and the vast open spaces beyond. I was afraid that he’d shoot me right there and mess up the City Manager’s beautiful carpet.
“I didn’t think you’d make it.” He shook his head. “Who’d have thought, a stupid arrogant bastard like you.” He glanced at John. “getting friendly with the natives, are we,” he sneered.
“Bastard took me hostage,” John mumbled, turning into a couch potato. “I’m glad you got the bum. Jeez,” he went on, gaping at the office with childish wonderment, “you got a great place here. Maybe I can get a job, huh?” He looked anxiously at Lawrence. “On the first floor is OK.” He laughed nervously. “No harm in trying, huh?” He shuffled towards the door, and I made a mental note to recommend him for a bit part in my next show, in the unlikely event that we both survived.
“Just a minute.” Jonesy sounded strained. “You can’t be that stupid. And, if you are, that’s tough, we can’t let you go.”
John turned, deciding the game was up, and his stupid face vanished. “You bastards,” he said. “We’re just getting on our feet. What are you trying to do to us?”
Jonesy snickered. His nervousness at being in the clouds, exposed to the sun and the elements had not improved his temper. “You think we’re going to allow you morons to run things?” He snarled. “We control what’s left of the economy, trade, communications, the Internet. Think we’re going to give it all up to you because your precious Mayor and Chief of Police decide that Morons can run the world again?” His tongue flicked out, wetting his lips. “It took four years for Lawrence to get to this,” he said, “with our superior technology. Another few weeks and we’ll control this city.” He waved impatiently at Lawrence.
“Let them hear it all,” he said. “Doesn’t matter really. They’ll be dead in a few minutes, shot trying to assassinate the City Manager.” He laughed unsteadily. “Maybe we can blame the Mayor and the Chief.” He turned to me triumphantly. “What do you think we’re doing up here. We’re training an army to set things straight. With underground technology.” He paused, breathing hard. “ Once I get rid of that bitch Big Dee, we’ll have the company shuttle fleet, and company bombs, and we’ll flatten any other cities that get too powerful.”
I stared at him. “you know, Jonesy,” I said softly. “You’re insane. All those years underground, I didn’t realize.” I turned to Lawrence. “Can’t you see, he’s crazy, he’ll kill us all.”
Jonesy was rapidly reaching boiling point. Twenty stories above ground, with his back to an entire city, he must have felt like an ant on a mountain. He was ready to explode, and suddenly, as a cloud passed over the sun, John Doe pointed at the window, yelling “look out!” and Jonesy spun around in terror and tripped as I knocked the gun from his hand.
The gun went off, and I felt the bullet graze my ear, deafening me. Out of the red haze of my headache, and the stickiness of trickling blood, I saw Jonesy disappear through the wall before I fainted.
When I came to, the large guard was bending over me. “He’s fine,” I heard him say from a far distance, and I sat up with a grimace.
“Send the nurse up.” Lawrence said, and the guard looked doubtfully at John, who was leaning casually against the desk. “Do it,” Lawrence said sharply. “These men just saved my life.”
When the guard had gone, John relaxed a little, flexing his shotgun arm stiffly. “Lawrence tells me he’s a changed man,” he growled, “but I’ll keep an eye on him in case he changes back.”
“Honestly, William,” Lawrence looked at me miserably. “I was just going to enjoy myself up here. I really like it above ground, but I’ve been used to the good life. This was perfect. I have the whole twentieth floor, I’ve been making it comfortable for years..”
“While people down there,” John roared, waving at the ruined city beyond the window, “were starving.”
Lawrence looked at me pleadingly as John flexed his deadly arm ominously. “Since Jonesy appeared, I’ve had no peace of mind. At first, I thought he was jumpy because of the height, but I realized today that he’s crazy. He wants to crawl down below and seal himself in and blow all the cities to bits. He’s got ideas about growing all our food underground, tells me Moles are self-sufficient already.”
I nodded. “He’s just about right, too, if you don’t mind eating food that tastes like cardboard, and breathing air that smells like a dirty clothes hamper.” I was beginning to understand why Lawrence had stayed up here, abandoning Big Dee and her plans for the future.
“You’re still a good actor, Lawrence,” I said, and he looked frightened. “But I think you realize you have no option but to throw your lot in with us. With Jonesy on the loose, we’re none of us safe.” My head was clearing now. “Where the hell did he go, anyway.”
Before anyone could reply, the nurse strode through the doorway with the guards, and started to swab my head, none too gently. He looked like an ex-boxer, and his breath smelt of garlic, but he was thorough, and when he had finished I resembled a brain-damaged Frankenstein, and felt like I was wearing a hat three sizes too small. “What’s going on with you guys?” he asked suspiciously.
Lawrence took over. “Somebody got into my office,” he said angrily. “We’re supposed to have ironclad security, but someone got in and tried to kill me.” He looked scathingly at the three men. “While my own guards were picking their noses, or taking a crap, or whatever, two delegates from the Mayor’s office helped me chase away an assassin. I suppose you’ve got the building locked up tight.” The guards looked uncomfortable. “I want the entire building sealed off,” he exploded. “Not just this floor. I want a detail of armed men outside my door. I want men who are awake, alert, and trustworthy.” He looked hard at the two guards. “I’m holding you responsible. If you don’t find this person, you’ll be patrolling a garbage dump somewhere in an Edge district. Now, get out.”
“Not bad,” I said after they had left. “Now, just where did Jonesy disappear to?”
“Gravity well behind the wall,” Lawrence said, and I looked at him stupidly. Somehow, I’ve always associated gravity wells with underground living. They’d been invented down there, and it seemed unnatural for a gravity well to be operating up in the sky. “Goes right down into a tunnel system under the City,” Lawrence said. “Part of the Blue Line, and God knows what else he’s had dug down there. Big Dee doesn’t know anything about it.” He sighed. “He’s gotten away by now in his electric car, all the way to Big Dee Warren.” He walked over to the far wall and touched a piece of molding. The well went straight down, about wide enough for two people who weren’t too embarrassed to hug.

CHAPTER 9 – Down to Earth
I peered into the darkness. “I have to go after him,” I said. “He’ll make his move on Big Dee now that his cover’s blown. She has to be warned. Don’t you have any old subway maps?” I asked. “You’re supposed to be the City manager.”
“Sure,” he told me, opening a storage cabinet. “But it’s like a maze down there. The Warren is thirty miles on a straight, and you’ll be on foot. Even with the car, Jonesy is nervous about traveling down there.”
He was right. “Wait a minute,” I looked at John. “Remember the office boy that almost ran us down. I’ll bet that little scooter can do 40mph. Think it’ll squeeze down the shaft?” John nodded and I looked at Lawrence. He called the guards.
“How many office scooters do we have on this floor,” he asked a bewildered, uniformed guardian of the door.
“Three or four,” I think, the man stuttered.
“Bring me three,” Lawrence snapped, “on the double.” The man hurried away, and Lawrence rubbed his hands. “Hope they have enough gas. I can’t think of any way to have the tanks filled without raising suspicions.”
I started to argue half-heartedly that this was my mission. “I owe Big Dee,” Lawrence said wryly, and John rasped that he wasn’t going to be left holding the bag.
When the scooters arrived they looked to be in good condition. Owning one of these babies must