The phone rang.
The phone was right next to him on the wall, fifteen inches from his ear, and Vincent jumped half out of his skin and spilled coffee all over his hand.
Hissing in pain, and feeling foolish, he answered it. "Hello?"
"Oh, you are there." Gill said smugly. "I called you twice last night, and there was no answer, I figured you must have gotten a better offer."
"Gill." Vincent said his name with a rush of air. "No, I... I was ignoring the phone."
"Yeah right."
Vincent was in no mood for this. Eugene Gillard, who preferred Gill as any man with such a name would, had been his friend since they'd started working together at the City Planner's Office, but he did tend to grate when he was enthusiastic about something. "Is there a reason you're calling?"
"Wanted to know if we were still on for poker tonight." Gill said, as though he could take it or leave it.
"Actually, I was..."
"Oh COME ON!" Gill exploded, but Vincent wasn't a bit surprised or put off. He'd been Gill's best mate for too long to take his emotional outburst seriously. "I'm in the zone! On a hot streak!"
"That's what you said when you went to Vegas." Vincent retorted. "I had to wire you cash for new shoes."
"Vegas." Gill scoffed. "I lied to you. I spent that shoe money on a Poker Game and I won big. You know why? Because I didn't go back to the casinos. Vegas is for chumps. They have all the casinos rigged. That's why the house always wins."
"No, that's why they call it gambling." Vincent told him, putting bread in the toaster. "You gamble too much Gill."
"You sound like my ex-wife." Gill waved that off quickly. "See you at the office."
~oo00oo~
"Ugh." Yasi complained. "I need a haircut. I hate that. Noale keeps cutting it way too short."
Dorcan glanced over. "Looks okay to me."
"It looks fine, but it's getting long enough that it'll get completely messed up when I take a subway ride."
Dorcan smirked.
Yasi caught it. "And we're still not telling anyone how often I do that, right?"
Dorcan held up both hands. "Hey, have I ever ratted on you boss? This is me, talking. I'm your guy; always have been."
Yasi smirked, pleased with that, and knuckled his shoulder.
Dorcan fell into step behind her. "And speaking of being ‘your guy'…" He added casually. "I was thinking, it's been a while since the lieutenant's post was filled…"
"We've been fine without one so far." Yasi brushed it off. "I can handle it by myself."
"Yeah, but it's still not good to leave the post open for too long." Dorcan pressed doggedly. "And let's face it, you're not going to find anyone better."
Yasi looked at him sharply. "Really? You want to be my second in command?"
Dorcan grinned. "Yeah. Who would you prefer? You telling me you never thought I might want to work closer with you?"
"No. Never." Yasi admitted.
Dorcan snorted. "Well as long as you've taken the time to consider the matter from all angles."
Yasi flushed, realizing too late what her mouth had gotten her into. "Sorry, that came out wrong. It's just… you never seemed interested before."
"Well, now I am." Dorcan shrugged. "Can you think of a reason to say no?"
"Nope." Yasi admitted. "I have to run it by Keeper and Archivist, but it should be fine."
Dorcan nodded. "Great." He licked his lips as they reached an intersection and went in opposite directions. A beat later he turned and called after her. "Yasi? Don't… I mean, if your hair gets cut short again, don't stress. You have a pretty neck."
But Yasi hadn't heard him call her back. She was gone; and Dorcan was relieved to see it. "Stupid, stupid." He told himself quietly.
~oo00oo~
Vincent called up the relevant information about Keist Telecommunications once he reached his cubicle. Their plan was unchanged, but the staff email account had a few extra messages coming in about requests for an answer, or new developments on the offer. He ignored them and looked at what they wanted. Archivist and Keeper were right. Refurbishing the old steam pipes to take Fibre-Optic cable would require tunneling, as well as rooting out of several of the pipes in question, to check for structural weaknesses and collapses.
If the Lostkind were using those tunnels for their own ends, they would almost certainly be discovered. Who knew what kind of additions they might have made to the hidden networks over the years?
Unable to help himself, Vincent opened a web browser and began searching. Looking for ‘secret city' led him to a few sites about subterranean dwellings and stores in Montreal and Australia. Searching for ‘lostkind' brought him to a few music groups, and some Role Playing Games…
Vincent sat back in his chair a moment before going to the city planners own archives and doing a search. He had the names ‘Werner', ‘Wells' and ‘Camden', and he did a search for them. They had records in the patent office; they had records in the Banking Industry… Nothing after the 1920's… A few news stories that suggested they had committed suicide, as so many millionaires did in the days of the Great Depression…
From their own records, there was no sign of anything.
Davidson, his immediate superior in the department tapped on the frame of Vincent's cubicle. "McCall, I wanted to ask you about Keist Telecommunications. They wanted to know when they would get an answer. There's no great rush of course, and I'm aware it'll take a while to get the information together; but it would get their PR guy off my back if I could tell him when to expect word."
"I'm actually looking at that now." Vincent nodded. "Give me two or three days. I'll go through the records, see what I can shake out."
Davidson nodded. "I'm sorry to dump this on you Vincent, but this Fibre-Optic deal has to potential to either be a great source of revenue for the city, or a hideous boondoggle that'll cost someone their job over there."
"And lucky me, I get to figure out which one." Vincent said with grim understatement. He bit his lip. "Hey boss? Where would I look if I wanted to find out about the original steam pipe system? I mean the very original plans?"
"All that stuff would have been converted to digital format... But if you mean the original hard copy, I suppose that would be in the archives somewhere. Under about thirty feet of crap and dust. I don't think the archives have been opened for twenty years."
~oo00oo~
Davidson was correct. When Vincent went downstairs himself, he started coughing before he got within three feet of the Archives Room Door.
Vincent stared at the room for more than a full minute once he got the door open. The room had probably been organized at one point, but was now clearly a dumping ground for the employees. The door wasn't even locked, and the few feet from within the door there were piles of boxes, which clearly were not city property, a few kids' bikes, and behind them, row after row of shelves and filing cabinets. It was the most crowded mess that Vincent had ever seen, even without the sheer volume of dust that made it seem like it had been snowing in here; or the huge cloudy weaves of spider webs.
Gill came crashing in, coughing on the dust. He stopped short when he saw the room and gave it a dark glare. After a long moment, he offered Vincent his professional opinion as an engineer. "Well… this is daunting."
"No kidding." Vincent agreed grimly.
"God, I thought the boss was making a joke when you said you were down here. Has this place even been opened since the Office went to computers?"
"Probably not. For sure it hasn't been dusted." Vincent looked down at himself and waved at the thick layer of dust that had clung to him.
"What on earth could you possibly be looking for?"
"I'm..." Vincent waved obscurely. "You know, the Fibre-Optic Deal."
"We don't have all that on computer? Somebody would have transferred it surely."
"Yeah, but I wanted to see the original." It was a thin story. Paper thin. There was no way he would buy that.
"Why?" Gill aske
d in confusion. "What are you looking for?"
"The reason they suggested the steam pipes in the first place." Vincent said. "They can't believe the pipes will actually save them money, do they?"
Gill shrugged. "Who cares? It's their money to waste."
Vincent bit his lip. "Right." He coughed.
"Lunch?" Gill offered.
"I should get into this."
"Really?"
"It's not that bad…"
"No, I'm sure it's not." Gill said with sarcasm. "Once we get a few more boxes of crap stuffed in here, everything will be fine."
Vincent went to the nearest filing cabinet and pulled the top drawer open. Something inside it screeched like a rabid animal at being disturbed, and both Gill and Vincent jumped back with a girlish squeal as the drawer slipped shut again.
The two friends had a moment of silence.
"So. Lunch?" Gill said finally.
"Lunch." Vincent agreed, and they both fled the Archives Room.
~oo00oo~
Vincent had mostly gone along with the Lunch idea to get Gill away from the records before he noticed something; but he was glad he'd come. Grabbing lunch with Gill, like he did every day, had given the day a dose of normality that it so desperately needed.
It finally dawned on Vincent. The world hadn't changed, he had. Gill was proof of that. He was still talking like he always did, still griping about the results on yesterday's horse races. He bought a pack of menthols from the vending machine like he always did.
The difference wasn't his world, it was him. He had changed. He was suddenly aware of everything.
"...at the very least I had to get off the full tar. I mean forget what they do to your lungs; they make everything you eat taste like..."
The old woman feeding the birds in the plaza, a million odd pigeons gathered around her. The kid sitting on the curb, fiddling with the storm drain. His eyes noticed all of them now.
Are they more than they seem? Vincent thought to himself. Hiding in plain sight?
"...told him that didn't make any sense, but you know what Bookies are like. Hey? You okay?"
Vincent was startled out of his observations. "What?"
"Vincent, what's wrong? You've been off with the pixies all day." Gill laughed. "Everything all right?"
Vincent shook his head. "Fine, just fine."
Lunch was a sandwich stall at the entrance to the subway. It was close to their office, the prices were cheap and the sandwiches were good enough that they didn't care enough to go elsewhere.
They left the stall, Vincent glancing back at the station entrance despite himself, and they sat on a bench to each.
"...steered me wrong before, and you've floated me a loan when I needed it, so I figured I'd return the favor. You in or out?"
Vincent suddenly refocused. "Sorry; what?"
Gill sighed hard. "Are you going to tell me what's on your mind?"
Vincent bit his lip. "Um... no." He changed the subject quickly. "But you were saying something?"
"I got a hot tip and..."
Vincent rolled his eyes, having heard it all before.
"...and I want you to come along." Gill persisted. "The race is tomorrow morning. Kindled Fire at six to one odds. Come on, it's a sure thing!"
"You gamble too much Gill, and I'm not helping you do it anymore."
"What is this aversion you have to free money?" Gill taunted him.
Vincent noticed a boy with a dirty face slip out of a narrow alley and snatch a pigeon. The boy was wearing a set of flight goggles on top of his head, and was barefoot. The pigeon didn't seem to have a problem with being carried, and the boy vanished back into the alley instantly.
His pet? Carrier pigeons? Tonight's dinner? Vincent wondered. How is it possible nobody ever notices any of this?
He noticed a homeless woman holding out a paper cup to people passing by. "Spare change?" She croaked out. She had lines in her face, etched in black dirt and grime. It was hard to tell how old she was. Her eyes were red, and she was wearing many layers.
Gill followed his gaze. "Mm. They shouldn't let people like that wander around this part of town. Who knows what they'd get up to?"
Vincent was floored for a moment. "What do you mean ‘this part of town'?"
"You know what I mean. I have as much sympathy for the Homeless as you do, but if they need a place to sleep, they can go to the bloody shelters, get themselves a hot meal. They won't find it here. And if they come here, somebody will make trouble for them. People around here don't like being hassled for money." Gill drained his coffee. "We better get back. Coming?"
Vincent bit his lip. "I'm… going to get a coffee myself. You head back."
Gill nodded. "Last chance? Kindled Fire, six to one?"
"No deal."
Gill scoffed. "Just remember, I gave you the choice."
Gill headed off and Vincent bought a coffee and another sandwich from the sandwich stall, making his way toward the woman.
"Spare some change, Mr McCall?" The woman held out her cup to him.
Vincent put some money in her paper cup, and offered her the sandwich too; not at all surprised she knew his name.
"Yum, roast beef." She seemed very pleased with that as she took a bite. "You don't remember me, do you?" The woman said after a moment, her voice suddenly a lot more aware and alert than a moment before.
Vincent grimaced around his coffee and looked down. "You're her then? The one out the front of my apartment building."
She tipped her hat to him coyly. "Wotcha, at your service."
"Wotcha." Vincent repeated. "As in 'Watcher.' Because you... watch."
She cackled. "We all have our parts to play. The ones that came from the Upside pick their own when they find their place; because the only thing we really bring with us is our name."
Vincent glanced over. "Then you... and Keeper and Archivist..."
"Are all from your world, yeah." Wotcha took a bite big enough to puff her cheeks out, and she went silent a moment as she chewed.
"You're not worried about... I don't know, being noticed?"
Wotcha just looked at him like he'd just drooled on his shirt. "Please. Nobody notices."
"Nobody notices homeless people, but... Well..."
"One having a conversation with a 'normal' person gets seen?" Wotcha grinned. "Let's find out, shall we?"
"How?" Vincent asked curiously, but she was already moving.
She walked out into the sidewalk and started screaming at the top of her lungs. "EVERYONE! Listen to me! THERE'S A SECRET WORLD LIVING UNDER YOUR FEET! A WHOLE SECRET CITY!" Wotcha started grabbing people at random as they passed by. "I'm telling the truth! They're everywhere! Right under your feet! A WHOLE CITY!"
Vincent felt his jaw drop open. Sure enough, nobody was stopping, nobody was listening, nobody was even making eye contact. Further along the street in both directions people were noticing, and crossing to the opposite side of the street without hesitation, turning around and walking the other way.
Wotcha didn't try to hold on to any of them, moving on before any of them could fight back or break free. After several seconds of this, she lost interest and returned to Vincent's side and took the last of his coffee from him. "Thanks for the sandwich."
"That's my coffee." Vincent pointed out.
"But you only bought it so you'd have an excuse to stay here when your friend went back to work. You didn't want it, you just wanted to see if I was homeless, or Lostkind." Wotcha grinned and toasted him with the cup. "Waste not, want not."
Vincent grinned and went back to work.
~oo00oo~
Six hours later, he was still staring at the offer from Keist on his computer screen.
They are down there illegally. The Underside is a deathtrap... Wouldn't it be better to have the place discovered? There are kids down there, living so deep there is no way it could be healthy for them... Wouldn't it be better if they rejoined the surface? Nobody lives that far underground that lo
ng because they're afraid of the sun.
Vincent looked at the lantern Yasi had left him. Something special, admittedly...
He thought of Wotcha. He had seen her for the first time. He had treated her like a person for the first time. She had been on his doorstep for a week, and he only looked in her direction when he knew about what was down there... if the whole world found out about it, maybe the Underside would be closed... but maybe it wouldn't; maybe it would just make people realize as he had; make them notice things, as he had…
Keeper's voice came back to him. "If you won't help us, there's nobody else who can. And all this, will be remembered. And being remembered is the worst thing that could happen to us."
No. Vincent decided finally, and began typing. The place is... magical. I can't just let it die.
~oo00oo~
To: Keist Telecommunications
CC: New York City Planners Office
Re: Fibre-Optics Approval Still Pending
Dear Sir,
The original plan to lay the Fibre-Optic through the underground, but now defunct steam pipes are not as cost effective as first thought. The pipes are only convenient in their locations, networked through five boroughs.
With the added costs of reactivating the network distributors, and replacing all the hardware to protect your Fibre-Optics, plus the inevitable corroded pipes in various locations around the city, maintenance costs will be far higher than previously thought.
Also, it should be considered that the steam pipe network is still active in some places and non-existent in other, newer neighborhoods and buildings.
It is the opinion of the NYC Planners Office that a newer network is far more affordable. Adding your Fibre-Optics to existing pipes still in city-wide use is far more practical for your company, and your investors.
~oo00oo~
That's it Vincent. He told himself. Do it quickly, don't think about it.
Davidson tapped on the frame of his cubicle, the wedding ring making a loud clinking sound. "Hey. You still here?"
Vincent stood up automatically. "Yessir. Just finishing up the proposal for Keist Telecommunications."
"Already?" Davidson seemed impressed. "They only came to us two days ago. You got it done that fast?"
The Lostkind Page 4