by Dalton S. Spence
Part V - Welcome to Below
Vincent watched from his usual place in the shadows as his father comforted the crying stranger. How many times had he stood there over the years, watching as his father greeted those who sought sanctuary from the world Above. Watching as he tried to heal their wounds, both physical and spiritual. At first, as a child, it was simple curiosity. Later, as a man, he came to regard it as one of his duties, to protect his father and the tunnels if the stranger turned out to be a threat to them. Fortunately, he had not yet been needed in such a capacity. And though he knew that this one's fears and loneliness were real, and that she meant them no harm, still he watched her. He could sense she was hiding something.
Deanna hated to lie. It went completely against her Betazoid background, and she was never very good at it. Even the casual tact she used with her patients was the result of years living among the head blind. So she had fully expected that her performance would be greeted with more than a little skepticism. She was right. What she had not anticipated was how little those doubts would mean in the face of her obvious distress.
"Perhaps, after all these years, Vincent's empathic abilities are beginning to rub off on me," thought Father as he handed "Deanna" his handkerchief to dry her tears. Although he doubted that her amnesia was real (or at least as severe as claimed), he didn't think her agitation was totally feigned. She was clearly upset about something that she didn't want to (or was afraid to) talk about. What ever it was, it was important enough for her to risk being placed at the mercy of strangers.
If they were, in fact, strangers to her. What had disturbed him more than her probable deception was the brief look of recognition on her face in that first moment when she had seen him. Could she be a Helper, or perhaps a former resident, who did not want to be identified? Although the theory was tempting, he quickly discarded it. He was sure he would have remembered if they had ever met before. Most likely he reminded her of someone she knew. Father decided that he would play her game for now. There would be time enough for his questions later.
These thoughts had taken but a moment. "I will try to answer your questions. Yes,I am a doctor. My son, Vincent, found you unconscious in the graveyard, and brought you here to our home. You did not have any identification with you, so we have no idea who to contact, or where you live. Before I explain about this place, I must have your word never to discuss with anyone what I am about to tell you. There are people who rely on this place for safety and sanctuary, and if it were discovered, many of them would have nowhere else to go."
"I promise," Deanna said after a moment, "never to discuss this place with anyone who does not already know about it. I don't want anyone to be hurt. I just want to know what's going on." Father was encouraged by her hesitation to give her unqualified word. It meant she was more likely to keep it once given.
"You are currently in the city of New York, or more precisely, under it. There are hundreds of miles of tunnels beneath this city. Old abandoned sewer lines and forgotten subway spurs, steam tunnels and secret passages used by bootleggers and smugglers, the basements of buildings razed and built over. There are also natural passages and caves, carved from the bedrock by underground rivers and the seepage of ground water."
"This is where we live. We are those who have been rejected by, or have chosen to reject, the world Above. This is a secret place, safe from hate and harm. Here we have built our own world, based on the principles of friendship and kindness. We survive on the castoffs of the city, fashioned into things we need by our own hands. When we cannot salvage what we need, we rely on friends Above who give us what they can. In a very real sense, we are a family."
"There are not many rules here, but there are a few. The first, and most important one, you have already agreed to: to keep this place a secret. We lead a very fragile existence here. The wrong word in the wrong ear could lead to disaster for us. For some of us," he said, looking into the shadows, "it could mean their lives."
"We cannot always adhere to the letter of the law, but we do try to keep to its spirit. From this comes our second rule: we are not criminals and we refuse to harbour them." Father looked steadily at Deanna, trying to impress upon her the importance of this rule. "We do not require those who wish to stay here tell us any of their secrets, but we can not afford to tolerate outright deceit. If we discover a person is wanted by the law, they will be asked to leave."
Satisfied that Deanna understood, he continued. "Those who live here permanently are expected to contribute to the community in some way. This is not a requirement, and we will not turn away those who need a place to heal. However, we have many things that need to be done here on a regular basis, so idleness is discouraged. Many people uncover hidden talents and skills while they are Below, that can lead them to new and satisfying careers, either here or Above."
"Our final rule, the center and reason for our existence, is to help where you can without harm. This is not restricted to those who live Below, or to our Helpers who live Above. It has been brought to us, quite forcefully on occasion, that what happens Above will have an affect on our lives Below. Our responsibility does not end where the sun starts to shine. Some of us do volunteer work where a pair of helping hands is more important than a Social Security number. Others lend their aid to recycling efforts (since we were doing it long before it became fashionable). The important point is, to see where help is needed, and then do what you safely can."
He paused, allowing his thoughts to travel back over the years. "There was a time when we were much more reluctant to involve ourselves in the troubles of the world Above. They were what we had sought to escape by coming here, and the security of the community was too important. It took a very special person to show us that all things were indeed possible. That if we left our safe places, we could make a difference. She had a great deal of courage, and she changed all our lives."
Coming back to the present, he turned to Deanna. "You may stay here as long as you wish. If you wish to leave, tell me and I will see that you are escorted safely to the surface. Don't be concerned about your memory loss. I'm sure it will return in due time."
Deanna was amazed. This man did not believe her story, and yet he seemed perfectly willing to trust her with his secrets. She knew only one other man with that sort of courage, and even Captain Picard would have been hard pressed to trust her in similar circumstances. Much less obliquely give her permission to keep her secrets while at the same time warn her of the consequences of betrayal. That sort of trust demanded that it be returned.
"Thank you," she said gratefully, "I would like to stay. I seem to have nowhere else to go. I wish I could tell you more, but I just can't. I honestly have no idea how to get home."
Deanna had been aware of the watcher from the shadows for some time now. It was the same one whose pain she had sensed earlier, a pain that had flared when the old man had mentioned the "very special person" who had changed their lives. She had a very good idea who the watcher was by now. Although tempted to force a confrontation, she noticed how tired her two hosts were. It can wait until morning, she decided.
Apparently the old man had a similar idea. Stifling a yawn, he said, "That should be enough for tonight. It's time we all got a little sleep. I'll have someone look in on you from time to time to make sure there are no lingering effects from your accident. I will see you in the morning. Goodnight."
Vincent watched silently as his father picked up his cane, and left the hospital chamber. Although he wanted to stay to try to figure her out, he followed his father out of the room, pausing for just a moment to bid his own silent "goodnight" to their guest. He never heard her reply.
A man called Pope had just received a telephone call. He was a man who despised loose ends, considering them evidence of sloppy planning. Now he discovered that one particular loose end he had thought dead and buried for four years was currently waking up in a secret government hospital. He had to decide what, if anything, to do about it. He should be safe. She had never known anything about him. He decided to have her watched. Better safe than sorry.