The Descent

Ali   walked   along   the   flatcars   between   boxes   and   crates   and   earth-moving equipment. She joined a crowd on a flat landing dramatically perched at  the  rim  of  the great  chasm.  The  landing  was  bordered  with  a  stone  rampart  like  those  at  Grand Canyon  or  Yosemite,  but  instead  of  viewing  scopes  along  the  wall,  there  were  gun mounts  and  electric  cannon.  Far  below,  she  saw  the  upper  reaches  of  a  path  snaking back and forth along the ridge wall, sinking into pitch blackness.

Some  of  the  locals  were  mingling  with  the  expedition  members.   They   had  not washed  in  many  months  or  years.  The  patches  on  their  caked  clothing  looked  more soldered  on  than  sewn.  They  gaped  with  coal  miners'  eyes,  brilliant  white  holes  in their grime. Ali thought she saw mild  insanity  here,  the  sort  that  zoo  animals  fall  into. The  handles on their guns and machetes were  shiny with use.

A  famished-looking  man  with  freshly  scraped  cheeks  was  delivering  a  welcome speech on behalf of the  township.  He  was  the  mayor,  Ali  guessed.  He  proudly  pointed out  the  turquoise  cliffs,  then  launched  upon  a  brief  history  of  Esperanza,  its  first human habitation four years  ago, the 'coming' of the railroad a  year  later,  how  the  last attack  – 'well over'  two years  ago  –  had  been  repulsed  by  local  minutemen  and  about recent discoveries of gold, platinum, and iridium deposits. He then began  a  description of   his   town's   future,   the   plans   for   cliff-front   skyscrapers,   a   nuclear   generator, round-the-clock lighting for the entire chamber,  a  professional  security  force,  another tunnel  for  a  second  rail  line,  and  one  day  maybe  even  their  own  elevator  tube  to  the surface.

'Excuse me,' someone cut him off. 'We've come a long  way.  We're  tired.  Can  you  just tell us where  the science station is?'

The  mayor  looked  helplessly  at  the  notes  for  his  speech.  Bits  of  tissue  stuck  to  his shaving nicks. 'Science station?' he said.

'The research  institute,' someone shouted.

Shoat  stepped  in  front  of  the  mayor.  'Go  inside,'  he  told  the   scientists.   'We've arranged for hot food and clean water.  In an hour, everything  will be explained.'

'There  is no science station,' Shoat told them. A howl went up.

Shoat  waved  them  quiet.  'No  station,'  he  repeated.  'No  institute.  No  headquarters. No laboratories. Not even  a base camp. It  was all a fiction.'

The  auditorium,  deep  within  the  bunker,  exploded  with  curses  and  shouts.  Though appalled by  the deception, Ali had to give Shoat credit.  The  group's  outrage  verged  on the homicidal, but he didn't cower.

'Just what are you doing?' a woman cried out.

'On  behalf  of  Helios,  I  am  protecting  the  greatest  trade  secret  of  all  time,'  Shoat responded. 'It's a matter  of intellectual property.  A matter  of geographical possession.'

'What are you raving about?'

'Helios  has  spent  vast  sums  to  develop  the  information  you're  about  to  see.  You've no idea how many other entities – corporations, foreign  governments,  armies  –  would kill for what will be revealed.  This is the last great  secret  on earth.'

'Gibberish,' someone yelled. 'Just tell us where  you're hijacking us to.'

Shoat  never  flinched.  'Meet  the  chief  of  Helios's  cartography  department,'  he  said, and opened a door on one wall.

The  cartographer  was  a  diminutive  man  with  leg  braces.  His  head  was  large  for  his body.  He  smiled  automatically.  Ali  had  not  seen  him  on  the  train,  and  presumed  he had arrived  earlier to prepare  for them. He cut the lights.

'Forget  the  moon,'  he  told  them.  'Forget  Mars.  You're  about  to  walk  on  the  planet inside our planet.'

A  video  screen  lit  up.  The  first  image  was  a  still  of  a  yellowed  Mercator  map.  'Here was  the  world  in  1587,'  he  said.  The  cartographer's  silhouette  bobbed  across  the bottom  of  the  large  screen.  'Lacking  facts,  young  Mercator  plundered  the  accounts  of Marco  Polo,  which  were  themselves  based  on  plundered  hearsay  and  folklore.  Here, for  instance'  –  he  pointed  at  a  misshapen  Australia  –  'was  a  total  fabrication.  A medieval   hypothesis.   Logic  suggested   that   the   continents  in  the   north   must   be counterweighted  by  continents  in  the  south,  and  so  a  mythical  place  called  Terra Australis  Incognita  was  invented.  Mercator  incorporated  it  on  this  map.  And  here's the marvel  of it. Using this map, sailors found Australia.'