Tunnels 01, Tunnels

all this than he was being told. And he was determined to find out what it was.
    Back out on the landing, Will paused to admire an impressive light orb supported by a ghostly bronze hand protruding from the wall.
    "These lights, where do they come from?" he asked, touching the cool surface of the sphere.
    "I don't know. I think they're made in the West Cavern."
    "But how do they work?" Dad had one looked at by some experts, but they didn't have a clue."
    Cal regarded the light with a noncommittal air. "I don't really know. I do know that it was Sir Gabriel Martineau's scientists who discovered the formula--"
    "Martineau?" Will interrupted, recalling the name from the entry in his father's journal.
    Cal carried on, regardless: "No, I couldn't really tell you what makes them work -- I think they use Antwerp glass, though. It has something to do with how the elements mix under pressure."
    "There must be thousands of these down here."
    "Without them we couldn't survive," Cal replied. "Their light is like sunlight to us."
    "How do you turn them off?"
    "Turn them off?" Cal looked at Will quizzically, the illumination bathing his pale face. "Why in the world would you want to do that?"
    He started down the landing, but Will stayed put. "So are you going to tell me about this Martineau?" he demanded.
    "Sir Gabriel Martineau," Cal said carefully, as if Will was showing a distinct lack of respect. "He's the Founding Father -- our savior -- he built the Colony."
    "But I read he died in a fire in... um... well, several centuries ago."
    "That's what they'd have you Topsoilers believe. There was a fire, but he didn't die in it," Cal replied with a scornful curl of his lip.
    "So what happened, then?" Will shot back.
    "He came down here with the Founding Fathers to live, of course."
    "The Founding Fathers?"
    "Yes, the Founding Fathers, OK?" Cal said in exasperation. "I'm not going into all that now. You can read about it in the Book of Catastrophes, if you're so interested."
    "The Book...?"
    "Oh, just come on already," Cal snapped. He stared at Will and ground his teeth with such irritation that Will refrained from asking any further questions. They continued down the landing and went through a door.
    "This is my room. Father arranged another bed when he was told you had to stay with us."
    "Told? Who by?" Will asked in a flash.
    Cal raised his eyebrows as if he ought to know better, so Will just looked around the simple bedroom, not much larger than his own back home. Two narrow beds and a wardrobe almost filled it, with very little space in between. He perched on the end of one of the beds and, noticing a set of clothes left on the pillow, glanced up at Cal.
    "Yes, they're yours," Cal confirmed.
    "I suppose I could do with a change," Will muttered, looking down at the filthy jeans he was wearing. He opened the bundle of new clothes and felt the fabric of the waxy trousers. The material was rough, almost scaly to the touch -- he guessed it was a coating to keep out the damp.
    While Cal lay back on his bed, Will began to get changed. The clothes felt strange and cold next to his skin. The pants were stiff and scratchy, and they fastened with metal buttons and a belt tie. He wrestled into the shirt without bothering to undo it, and then slowly wriggled his shoulders and arms as if trying to get a new skin to fit. Last of all, he shrugged on the long jacket with the familiar shoulder mantle that they all wore. Although glad to be out of his filthy clothes, the replacements felt stiff and restrictive.
    "Don't worry, they loosen up once they're warm," Cal said, noticing his discomfort. Then Cal got up and clambered across Will's bed to get to the wardrobe, where he knelt down and slid out an old Peek Freans cookie tin from beneath it.
    "Have a look at these." He put the tin on Will's bed and pried off the lid.
    "This is my collection," he announced proudly. He fished around in the tin, taking out a battered cell phone, which he handed to Will, who immediately tried to turn it on. It was dead. Neither use nor ornament : Will remembered the oft-used phrase his father would trot out on such occasions, which was ironic considering most of Dr. Burrows's prize possessions didn't fit into either category.
    "And this." Cal produced a small blue radio and, holding it up to show Will, he clicked on the switch. It crackled with tinny static as he swiveled one of the dials.
    "You won't pick up anything down here," Will said, but Cal was already