Going Underground

by Denison, L. N

  He led them through the warehouse to the new print room. Myron and Jen were faced with a roomful of people.

  ‘I know what you’re going to say, but it had to be done!’ Oscar explained. ‘We are big enough to need the extra help.’

  Myron was not very happy with Oscar; he had jeopardised their whole world by bringing in strangers.

  ‘Oscar, can I have a word with you?’ Myron seethed.

  They left the print room, leaving Jen with the strangers.

  ‘Are you daft, man?’ Myron snapped. ‘How do you know that one or more of them aren’t moles? Did you even consider that when you decided to put our lives in danger?’

  Oscar reassured him he had help in that area. His inside source had vetted them. Plus, they had not shown any of the symptoms of being part of the clone race, or as Oscar referred to them, ‘the army of the dead.’

  ‘Well, I hope you know what you’re doing,’ Myron grumbled.

  They both walked back into the print room so that Myron could judge for himself.

  *

  After putting each one of the new recruits through a thorough grilling, Myron was satisfied that none of them would do anything to jeopardise their mission.

  Not only did The Independent Mind have the backing of the new recruits, they also had interest from other rebel cells. They had been in circulation since the war, causing the government much trouble and hindering the war effort.

  The new recruits were glad that someone had come along and finally revealed the true reasons behind the war. They were all interested in being a part of history—but unlike before, their lives would be in greater danger. The government bureaucrats and their loyal supporters now considered The Independent Mind public enemy number one. John Howard had pulled out all the stops to make sure that The Independent Mind could do no further damage to his administration, but so far it wasn’t holding them back.

  Myron described the robotic hordes he and Jen had encountered in the streets to Oscar, who already knew what was going on. Gerick Meyer had kept Oscar informed with every step of the operation. John Howard was of the notion his administration would run unhindered if he got rid of all the non-believers.

  *

  Jen made her own feelings clear to the roomful of strangers. To say she was slightly concerned was a gross understatement, and no matter how much Oscar tried to convince her otherwise, she wasn’t buying into it. Although Myron had welcomed them into the fold, he could see why Jen felt the way she did. He took her aside out of the newcomers’ earshot, into the main warehouse area.

  ‘One of the people in that room is going to betray our trust—I can feel it, Myron,’ Jen fretted. ‘You may think I’m being silly, but I think something bad is going to happen.’

  ‘I feel the same way, Jen,’ Myron agreed. ‘Oscar should have known better than to recruit strangers. In fact, he shouldn’t have done anything without our input. I know I put him in charge of the newsletter, but I didn’t put him in charge of the whole operation. I’m going to see how the recruitment of these people pans out. If anyone puts even a toe out of line, all of them go—then we pack up and move out.’

  ‘Sounds like a plan,’ said Jen. ‘What do we do in the meantime?’

  ‘Keep your eyes peeled for a traitor in our midst!’ he said grimly.

  *

  ‘Gerick Meyer, please report to John Howard’s office!’ blared a voice over the Parliament buildings’ speaker system.

  Gerick looked up at the speaker, his face as white as snow. What could John Howard possibly want with me? Has he found out about my secret communications with Saracen?

  Gerick was in no hurry to find out, but he knew that if he didn’t move swiftly he would be retrieved by force. The last thing he wanted to do was jeopardise the trust that Howard held in him.

  Gerick dashed the short distance to the administration office and, panting and sweating apprehensively, approached the administrator’s desk.

  ‘I shall let the Prime Minister know you are here! Please wait!’ the administrator said gruffly. He rose and knocked at Howard’s office before entering.

  Gerick stood nervously awaiting the administrator’s return. The man looked strangely familiar in Gerick’s eyes, but he didn’t know where he had seen him before. He wasn’t the regular administrator, that much was certain.

  Five minutes passed before the administrator returned to his desk. “You can go in now!” he snapped.

  By now, Gerick was swimming in his own sweat. He dabbed his handkerchief at his dripping forehead with a trembling hand and then shuffled to the door. He knocked three times as the administrator had done, before John Howard answered:

  ‘Enter!’

  Gerick slowly turned the knob and stuck his long beak of a nose through the opening.

  ‘Get in here, Meyer!’ the infuriated prime minister stormed. ‘I haven’t got all day!’

  Gerick moved so quickly he astonished himself.

  ‘Shut the door!’

  Gerick closed it and sidled over to the desk to come face-to-face with John Howard’s jowly, beet-red, hound-dog-like face. He waited for an invitation to sit down, but it never came.

  ‘What do you think you are playing at?’ were the first words to come from John Howard’s mouth as Gerick stood ramrod straight before him with his hands behind his back, like a naughty schoolboy about to be caned by the headmaster.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean, sir,’ Gerick replied innocently.

  ‘When I asked you to create the perfect clone specimen, I can’t recall telling you to make them into robot-like zombies!’ Howard railed. ‘They are not very convincing replicas—piss-poor in fact! What are you going to do to rectify the situation?’

  Gerick didn’t know how to respond. He had never been placed in such a position before.

  ‘Nothing to say for yourself, eh? Maybe a spell in the Medical Wing will loosen that tongue of yours!’

  ‘Don’t be hasty, sir! I will start again. I promise that the new specimens will be perfect. Please give me another chance!’ Gerick begged.

  Howard sat back in his chair and pondered Gerick’s request, all the while thinking how gullible Gerick was. Of course he wouldn’t carry out his intention to send him to the Medical Wing, but he knew that just the threat would have Gerick running to the hills.

  ‘You have one more chance to get it right, Mr. Meyer. I suggest you get cracking!’

  Gerick had never been so relieved to leave John Howard’s office. He had never felt so intimidated by him before either, and from that point on, he knew that everything had to be perfect—but it wouldn’t stop him from continuing his secret life as part of the very cell that was trying to bring John Howard to his knees. As far as Howard was concerned, Gerick would be towing the line as asked. Behind the scenes, though, he would be trying his best to sabotage the creations that he had been forced to make out of the tissue of the dead.

  Oscar had given Gerick instructions to carry out the sabotage before Christmas festivities began five months hence. What John Howard didn’t realise was that Gerick had purposely created the last batch of clones to appear conspicuously robotic—again, by order of Oscar Saracen.

  *

  The moles were becoming a nuisance in the eyes of The Independent Mind; they needed to be found before they could do any more damage to their plans. They still weren’t sure if one or more of the moles had infiltrated their cell during the recruitment drive. Yes, according to Oscar they had all been vetted by Gerick before they were informed about the warehouse. But what if one of them had slipped through the net? Everybody would be in danger—and no one more so than Myron, Jen, and Oscar themselves. If their positions as ringleaders of the most influential cell in the history of the British Isles became known, their lives wouldn’t amount to much once the torture technicians at the medical wing had finished with them.

  Should the leaders of The Independent Mind ever be arrested, Prime Minister Howard decreed they were to be shown no mercy at the ha
nds of the technicians, and once they had divulged the desired information, they would be sent to their deaths. No trial, no rights, no mercy! If anyone would be blamed for their capture, it would be Oscar. So far, they had nothing to worry about. They had been as careful as possible around the newcomers.

  *

  Gerick had been placed under increased surveillance on his return to his laboratory. Every move he made was scrutinised. Orders had already been given for his arrest in case anything suspicious happened. Gerick’s life was difficult enough without the added stress.

  For hours, Gerick secretly pondered how he was going to get information to The Independent Mind. He was finding it difficult to even breathe, surrounded by the prime minister’s henchmen. They were trained to spot irregular breathing patterns, and knew what they meant. Gerick was finding it extremely difficult to remain calm under the pressure he was under, and feared he would crack under the strain.

  ‘Don’t worry, Gerick, old boy, we’ll be out of your hair before too much longer!’ one of the henchmen teased him as he and his associates made preparations to install the new surveillance equipment. ‘Howard’s planning to have new CCTV put up in your lab and office. They’ll be replacing the old system, meaning we can spy on you at all angles! By the way, the current cameras haven’t been working for some time.’

  With the henchmen underfoot, Gerick had to digress from making video calls via his computer. He would not be able to forward any more information until they’d finished installing the new cameras.

  In the meantime, for the sake of Gerick’s safety, Oscar was going to have to rely on the scanty information that was circulating around the networks for his next newsletter. There was only one problem: Oscar wouldn’t know of Gerick’s predicament, as the scientist had no way of telling him.

  *

  Oscar had been left back at the warehouse to carry on with the latest offering. Oscar preferred not to be overcrowded while he was trying to get the material together. The new recruits were asked to scatter in Hyde Park, not even Myron and Jen hung around anymore. Oscar seemed to work better when he was left to his own devices.

  Slowly and methodically, he pieced together the little information he had. It was a case of marrying together information from the previous newsletters, but trying to make it seem fresh and new. Oscar had thought about fabricating information for the sake of a good read, like Britain’s notorious tabloids had long done, but thought better of it.

  The final newsletter was mediocre at best, its contents almost laughable. Readership had been down considerably over the past several weeks, and Oscar feared this lacklustre issue might make them a laughingstock. He was going to have to get some more information from his informant and soon, before all interest was lost.

  In desperation, Oscar had dared to use the video phone Gerick had suggested he get. For hours he tried to reach his inside source, and for hours he received nothing by way of a reply, only the static interference that the video phone emitted at a high-pitched screech.

  Much to his annoyance, Oscar had no choice but to go with what he had for that issue of the newsletter. Ten thousand copies of drivel were about to hit the networks of London, and there was nothing that Oscar could do about it.

  *

  ‘What the hell is this shit?’ one bystander grumbled to another. ‘We know all this!’

  That was the general consensus of everyone who had read Oscar’s latest offering, making his fears a reality as he passed through the disgruntled masses to get to Myron and Jen. Murmurs of disillusionment echoed through Oscar’s ears, and the threat of losing any support was becoming very apparent. He was now desperate to get hold of his inside man.

  Meanwhile, John Howard was determined to get the people on his side. He conceived the brilliant idea of setting up his own newsletter, claiming every word in The Voice of the People was nonsensical rubbish and shouldn’t be believed.

  *

  ‘We have a problem!’ Oscar said in a panic-stricken voice, racing toward Myron and Jen in their section of the tunnel network.

  ‘Calm down, Oscar! Take a deep breath and tell me what’s wrong,’ Myron replied calmly.

  Oscar trembled at the thought of having to tell Myron the newsletter had hit rock bottom. There was no easy way to say it, so Oscar just came straight out with it.

  ‘You obviously haven’t heard what is going on outside. We are losing support rapidly! The newsletter is dying, and everything we’ve achieved is slowly melting away, and I don’t know what to do about it!’ Oscar wailed.

  Myron wondered how things had turned so quickly against them. He had to think of something to win back the respect of the people, but it wasn’t going to be an easy task—and with Gerick having his collar felt from every corner, information was scarce at the moment.

  ‘Your source—has he decided against helping us further?’ Myron demanded.

  Oscar shook his head. ‘No, not as far as I’m aware. He would have said something if he didn’t want to keep aiding us,’ he replied, wondering what could have possibly gone wrong.

  ‘Has it occurred to you that your source may not be in a position to help at the moment?’ Myron suggested logically. ‘I have heard whispers on the street that John Howard has become increasingly paranoid and is keeping a close eye on everybody around him.’

  Oscar smacked himself in the forehead. ‘You’re probably right! I forgot all about Occam’s razor: the simplest answer is often correct!’

  ‘We are just going to have to bide our time and wait for the dust to settle on the streets before we even attempt to print again,’ Myron replied. ‘We need to get the people we’ve lost back on our side!’

  *

  Gerick found himself under great pressure to ensure that he pleased the prime minister. The work that he had undertaken was not going as well as he would have liked. Maybe it was the fact that it was being scrutinised every minute of the day by the new cameras that watched over him, or maybe it was the fact that he didn’t want to do the crazed prime minister’s bidding in the first place. Gerick didn’t know what was happening; everything appeared to be falling apart at the seams, and his life had been balancing precariously on a wire for the last few weeks. Regardless, he needed to produce the perfect clone army, free of flaws and impurities in such areas as pigmentation and mannerisms. They could not appear pale or robotic, as with the last batches.

  Gerick looked with dismay upon the pods containing the grotesque forms of his failed attempts. Each time he changed a parameter or made a slight tweak to his formula, however, the results appeared to improve. This knowledge bolstered his confidence, but time was a factor, and it was rapidly running out. The New Year was on the horizon, and the prime minister had expressed the wish that the new clone army be ready over the Christmas period to quash the seasonal revelry. People couldn’t be seen having fun, not as long as John Howard was in the seat of power.

  This could be a good time for The Independent Mind to come into their own, but the dearth of information from Gerick made the prospect of people perishing under Howard’s reign much more likely.

  Gerick was desperate to help The Independent Mind again, as he had so much he needed to share with them—information that would put them back in the people’s favour. Within the walls of the Parliament buildings’, Gerick had heard whispers of the discontentment on the street. He hatched schemes for getting his messages through to Oscar, but it was risky (if not impossible) with the new camera system in place. He had considered attempting to hack the new system in order to freeze the cameras trained on him, but he would have to do it in such a way that it didn’t arouse the suspicions of those monitoring him.

  Anything that Gerick planned would have to be done later on that evening before the changeover of the security guards. He had ten minutes in between shifts to disrupt the system and get a link in place to make it appear as though he was still working on Howard’s clone army.

  The two hours that remained before the changeover dragged at a
snail’s pace. In that time, he concentrated his efforts on thinking of ways to create the perfect clone, while sabotaging his efforts at the same time.

  *

  The alarm had sounded for the changeover to begin throughout the Parliament buildings’, and time was now of the essence. Gerick quickly transferred the information from his computer to the security system to interrupt the cameras honed in on his office. He had already calculated that he would need every precious second of the changeover ritual to carry out the procedure. There was no margin for error, he had done this before.

  With the link successfully in place, the cameras were trained on moments before the alarm went off. Gerick seemed to be working over his subjects. Now feeling safe, he could finally help The Independent Mind again.

  Gerick had so much that he wanted to share with his compatriot—so much, in fact, that the people’s unfavourable opinion of the secret cell would be quashed almost straight away with the publication of the next newsletter, and any attempts John Howard made to turn the people further against them would vanish.

  Gerick was almost excited at the prospect of sharing what he had found out, but at the same time remained apprehensive. The fear remained in the back of his mind as to what would happen should he get caught committing his treacherous deeds.

  Meanwhile, Oscar waited by his video phone with as much patience as on his last attempt, and the time before that. A sudden click of disturbance had Oscar reaching for the receiver.

  ‘Hello! Is there someone there?’ he said excitedly.

  Again the video phone crackled into action, but still no reply. Oscar became frustrated to the point of wanting to destroy the device, but then it came.

  ‘Hello! Oscar?’ Gerick’s voice came over the video phone, much to Oscar’s relief. He hadn’t yet mastered how to get Gerick’s face up on the display, but he had managed to put him on speaker.

  ‘Gerick! I doubted I’d ever hear your voice again! Do you have any news?’ Oscar said expectantly.

  ‘I have much to tell you, but very little time!’ Gerick replied.