Secret Histories 10: Dr. DOA (24 page)

“How’s that going?” said Molly.

“We’re working on it,” said Melmoth.

“How long have the Survivors been working on this cure for death?” I said.

“Afraid you’re asking the wrong man,” said Melmoth. “I’m a relative newcomer to the Institute. They offered me the best-equipped laboratories in the world, and no problems with funding, and I couldn’t say yes fast enough! I believe the Survivors, as an organisation, have been around for decades. There are scientists who’ve spent their whole working life Under the Mountain. There’s nothing like knowing you’re engaged in the Greatest Work of Our Time, to attract the best minds. Of course, it helps that we deal in pure science here; no moral or ethical restrictions to get in the way of whatever we decide is necessary. We pride ourselves on being very open-minded. It is, after all, the final result that matters. Putting an end to dying will justify everything we’ve done.”

“But you must have human subjects to experiment on,” said Molly. “How do they feel about these . . . moral ambiguities?”

She didn’t sound too pleased with what she’d heard so far. Molly didn’t have much use for morals or ethics herself, but she believed everyone else should. There’s no one more judgemental than an ex–supernatural terrorist. If Dr Melmoth recognised the open disapproval in Molly’s voice, he didn’t seem to care.

“They’re all volunteers,” he said. “Sometimes for the money, more often because there’s something wrong with them, that the world can’t put right. Or it’s a friend, or family, and then they volunteer their lives
in return for the Institute’s helping those they care about. It’s all so very public-spirited and uplifting! We treat all our subjects with the utmost care, Ms Metcalf. They are part of the Great Work.”

“What successes have you had?” I said bluntly, trying to bring him back to Earth.

“What have you got that you can show us?” said Molly.

“Why don’t I give you the unofficial tour of the Institute?” said Melmoth. “How would that be?”

“Unofficial?” I said.

“Well, we don’t get enough visitors for there to be an official tour, you see,” said Melmoth. “I think it best if I just . . . walk you round. Show you what there is to see. After all, we have nothing to hide! Nothing! This way, please.”

“Given how many secrets you must have, and how strict your security is, and that you greet your visitors with a whole bunch of armed guards . . . I have to assume there are some things you don’t want the outside world to know about,” I said. “Why are you being so open with us?”

“Because we want you to trust us enough to place yourself unreservedly in our hands,” Melmoth said earnestly. “We help you so you can help us. Lots of people here would just love to get their hands on a Drood. The things we could learn from you . . . while we’re helping you.”

“There is a limit to how much of myself I’m free to discuss,” I said. “My family’s security must always come first.”

“Always?” said Molly. “Even when you’re dying?”

“I’m still a Drood, Molly,” I said flatly. “I have duties and responsibilities. Some secrets aren’t mine to share. I won’t risk the safety and security of my family, just for a chance to save my own skin.
Anything, for the family
. It’s not just a T-shirt.”

Molly shook her head. When she finally had enough control of herself to speak, her voice was low and bitter. “Even now. After everything they’ve done to you . . .”

“Well,” I said, “that’s families for you.”

“Everyone here will be very grateful for whatever information you feel you can provide,” said Melmoth. “Now, if you’d care to come this way . . .”

*   *   *

He led us out of the stone cavern, hurrying on ahead with great enthusiasm, almost skipping along. He plunged into one of the un-signposted openings in the cavern wall, and just like that, we were walking along a gleaming steel corridor. The change in atmosphere was dramatic, like jumping straight from the Past and into the Future. The curving steel walls were entirely featureless, with no visible seams, as though the whole corridor had been extruded in one piece. It stretched away before us, lit by glowing half spheres set into the curved ceiling at regular intervals. Molly strode along at my side, glaring suspiciously about her. Making no secret of the fact that she didn’t trust Melmoth or our new setting. But then, to be fair, she felt that way about most people and most places. Melmoth just scurried along ahead of us, not even glancing back to see if we were keeping up. He hummed tunelessly to himself, hands thrust deep into his coat pockets, as though he didn’t have a care in the world. And this from a man supposedly so traumatized by the very thought of death that his hair had gone white.

We finally emerged into a massive cavern, big enough to hold a dozen cathedrals. High above, an artificial sun illuminated a great concrete plaza, surrounded by huge concrete arches leading off in a dozen different directions. All of them entirely functional, and not in any way decorative. Just there to serve a purpose. The sheer size and scale were intimidating.

There was no one else about. Molly stuck close at my side as we stood just outside the tunnel mouth. I felt like a target. This would make a really good place for an ambush . . . by people who really wanted to get their hands on a Drood and know his secrets. Melmoth stopped some distance ahead and looked back as he realised we weren’t keeping
up with him. He smiled brightly, and gestured for us to come forward and join him.

“Please; there’s nothing for you to worry about! Come and take a look; this is what you came here to see . . .”

He beckoned winningly for us to join him. When I went forward, I saw why he’d stopped. The concrete floor just ended, with no warning and no railing. Molly clung tightly to my arm as we both looked down. Past the drop-off, the cavern fell away farther than my eyes cared to follow. The cavern’s walls were lined with houses and habitations, buildings and science labs. Futuristic structures, huge inscrutable machines, and tall towers linked by a delicate spiderweb of walkways. Fiercely shining lights and flaring colours, and everywhere people, small as ants in an ant farm, just going about their business.

A whole city, built inside a mountain.

I could see clear traces of alien and future tech. Apparently, the Survivors had been gathering things they could use for some time and weren’t too fussy about the source. Because you couldn’t get anything like this anywhere reputable. That meant the scientific black market—Black Heir, and all the more-furtive areas of the hidden world. To acquire all of this, the founding Survivors must have gone shopping with pockets full of money, greedy as magpies for every bright and shiny thing they thought they needed. I made a mental note to inform my family. Some markets are forbidden because you can’t deal with those people, and some things not even a little bit people, without blood on your hands as well as theirs.

I couldn’t help a small smile. Even as I was dying, I was still doing my job as a field agent. Molly, delighted with the view, was going
Oooh!
and
Aah!
a lot. I wasn’t so sure. Something about these brightly lit, crowded-together rooms and windows made me think of cells. The solitary spaces of religious thinkers, of scientists and their apprentices; perhaps even the cells of some giant organism. A single engine driving
some Great Work incomprehensible to the individuals who laboured on it.

I looked at Melmoth, and he looked eagerly back at me, waiting for a response.

“Impressive,” I said. “Where do we go from here?”

Melmoth’s face fell. He’d clearly been hoping for more. “This way, to the elevators.”

He turned away from the long drop, and strode off toward one particular archway. I had to pull Molly away from the view so we could go after him.

“It must have taken some time, and a lot of resources, to build all this,” I said to Melmoth’s back. “So, who paid for it all?”

“Is there anyone more afraid of dying than a rich old man who’s finally understood you can’t take it with you?” said Melmoth, not looking back. “We’re never short of donations, from all sorts of people in all sorts of places. Every one of them desperate for a chance to cheat the Reaper. We make the results of our research known to all our patrons, in regular reports, but you’d be surprised how few of them want to try the things we have to offer. They all want to live on, but only on their own terms.”

“And you?” I said. “Given your particular problem with dying?”

“I have the option to try anything I like,” Melmoth said easily. “We all have. Perk of the job. But, as with so many of our more than generous benefactors, I’m waiting for just the right option. As to how this installation was constructed, everything you see was brought in through the teleport mechanism and assembled in place. Of course, it’s not finished. We’re constantly improving and upgrading the Institute.”

“Where did the Survivors get hold of such a powerful teleport mechanism?” said Molly. “They’re rare. I know where to look for a phoenix’s egg and a Maltese falcon, but I’d still have trouble getting my hands on a teleport mechanism that could do all this.”

“It was a gift,” Melmoth said blithely. “From someone who wanted our services, but didn’t have the money to pay for them.”

“Was this someone human or alien?” I said.

He shrugged. “Who can say? We try not to ask personal questions. The point is, it often works out that way. We let word get out as to what we need, and people rush to press it into our hands, in return for what we know. People can be very generous when their backs are pressed against a wall with really big spikes on it.”

“This particular benefactor, with the teleport,” I said. “Any connection to Black Heir?”

Melmoth smiled. “I couldn’t possibly comment.”

“I could,” said Molly.

“How many people work here?” I said quickly. “Under the Mountain?”

“Something like twelve thousand, I believe,” said Melmoth. “In their own various disciplines. We are a broad and eclectic church. And that’s not counting all the patients and volunteers, the security, and support staff. Let’s go meet some of them!”

“Let’s,” I said.

*   *   *

We finally came to a pair of perfectly ordinary-looking elevator doors. Melmoth hit the call button, and the doors opened immediately, as though they’d been waiting for him. We all filed in, and Melmoth turned to a really long row of buttons, chose one near the bottom, and stabbed it dramatically with a long finger. The doors closed and down we went, into the depths of the city.

“How many floors are there?” I said, looking dubiously at the many buttons.

“Depends on your security clearance,” said Melmoth. “Only a few have access to all departments, on all levels. Most people only work within their own speciality, never seeing anything beyond their own few floors. But you, as our honoured guests, get to see anything you want.”

“How nice,” said Molly.

Melmoth beamed at her. “It is, isn’t it?”

His relentless good humour was beginning to get on my nerves. No one smiles that much without their brain being chemically challenged. It isn’t natural.

The elevator seemed to descend forever. At least there was no music. Molly and I looked at each other, behind Melmoth’s back. Molly’s expression asked me how I wanted to play this, and I shrugged in my best
Take it as it happens
manner. Melmoth was humming again.

The doors finally opened onto what could have been an office floor in any building. Thick carpet, pleasant setting, cheerful atmosphere. Melmoth strode off down the corridor, leaving us to hurry after him, and led us to a surprisingly spacious room, packed with monitor screens showing views from all over the city. Dozens of people sat bolt upright in front of them, studying the views with great concentration. None of them looked round as we entered. Because we wouldn’t be there if we didn’t already have permission. I was starting to think nothing unexpected ever happened Under the Mountain. Because it wouldn’t be allowed. Melmoth strolled around quite happily, peering over shoulders at various views.

“Behold!” he said grandly. “It’s all here—scientific laboratories, medical wings, demon surgeons, and magical grottos. Hope, in every shape and form. Everything from genetic manipulation to radical surgical procedures, the grafting of exotic genetic materials, and forbidden alchemical practices. Nothing is considered out of bounds, Under the Mountain. Except failure, of course.”

“Of course,” I said.

I leaned forward. I couldn’t help noticing the wide proliferation of armed guards, standing to attention outside closed doors, or patrolling brightly lit corridors in large groups. I pointed out a particularly heavily armed gathering, escorting a coffin on a hospital gurney. The coffin was wrapped in very heavy chains.

“Why do you need so many armed men, Dr Melmoth?”

“We give as much attention to internal security as external,” said Melmoth. “Safety is paramount. And we do have the occasional problem with disturbed patients trying to escape from the secure areas. We can’t allow that. Some are infectious, some present a danger to themselves and others, and some are simply deluded. The guards are there to protect the medical staff.”

“Armed guards,” I said.

“Well, of course.”

“You shoot your patients?” said Molly.

“Only the ones who complain,” said Melmoth. He chuckled happily. “Little bit of hospital humour there.”

“Show me some of your success stories,” I said. “Cases where you’ve actually achieved something.”

“Of course!” said Melmoth. “We have nothing to hide. And much to be proud of.”

And I thought, but didn’t say,
Then why did I have to ask? Why didn’t you volunteer to show them off?

We left the monitor room, and not one single person turned to watch us go. In my experience, you don’t get that kind of discipline without staff indoctrination bordering on brainwashing, backed up by severe punishments for even the smallest infringements. Under the Mountain was starting to feel less like a medical establishment, and a lot more like Fanatics “R” Us. Melmoth took us back to the elevator, and this time the doors actually opened as we approached. Bit of a giveaway, that. Someone was watching.