Tunnels 04, Closer

was now humming to himself again, and the older man took that as a sign that he'd said all he had to say, for the time being. "I very much doubt that," One-Six-Four responded ponderously. "After all... they're just Colonists... a policeman from the Quarter and his family... what would they know of such things?"
    "Too true, too true," Two-Three-Eight conceded so quickly it sounded as if he was sneezing. "The explanation could be perhaps that she was on peak physical form when the Styx brought her in and so the degradation is less marked than it would be for a normal subject."
    One-Six-Four rubbed his forehead as if her was developing a headache. "Desist! All this conjecture is a waste of my time," he rebuffed Two-Three-Eight, growing weary of the other man, who was forgetting his position. It wasn't Two-Three-Eight's place to speculate on such matters -- he had years before his apprenticeship would be served. "As you know we're cutting open her cranium in the morning... to undertake a multiple-section investigation of her cerebral tissues. It will be intriguing to see which areas of her brain were destroyed or disrupted by that intensity of Dark Light exposure."
    "I'll put my money on the rear lobes being porridge," Two-Three-Eight chirped up. "Once we make the first incision there'll be slop dribbling out all over the examination table so some sort of capture tray may be necessary as we don't' want to be treading the neural matter all over the floor or losing it down the drain before it can be fully analyzed."
    That was it. Two-Three-Eight really had overstepped the mark this time -- neural physiology and the application of interrogation technology was One-Six-Four's specialist area, and he didn't like some fast-talking young whippersnapper attempting to usurp his authority. Particularly if he might be right.
    "Enough... prepare her for dissection," One-Six-Four ordered coldly. "Shave her scalp and hook her up to a drip. I don't want her popping her clogs before tomorrow -- I like to dissect my subjects while they're still fresh and the heart's still pumping."
    Chastened, Two-Three-Eight nodded in a suitably subordinate manner, then beetled over to the instrument cabinets that lined the wall. He didn't much care for the way One-Six-Four lorded it over him, but he was prepared to bide his time. One day it would be different. He would have his own specialist area, his own apprentices and his own bodies to hack up.

    * * * * *

    Mrs. Burrows was perfectly aware of where she was. She'd emerged just sufficiently from the dark refuge inside her brain so she could listen to the exchange between the two Scientists. Although she had no way of knowing what they looked like, for some reason she pictured a pair of Dr. Burrowses standing there and discussing her, as if she was nothing more than a piece of meat they were about to carve up. These academic types were so engrossed in their subject, they reminded her a little too much of her husband, with his all-consuming, selfish passion for his blessed archaeology.
    She felt Two-Three-Eight's rough handling of her head as he sliced randomly at her hair with a pair of scissors. Then he threw a bowl of water over her scalp, slapped on some soap, and began to scrape a cut-throat razor across it. Another ignominy -- losing all her hair -- but she wasn't going to do anything yet. Not quite yet.

    * * * * *

    Drake tore down the spiral steps on Eddie's heels. He was sweating so heavily beneath the thick Noddy suit that his eyepieces kept fogging up. And the fact that his breathing was restricted by the gas mask didn't help matters much, either. So when the Styx stopped without any warning, Drake nearly collided with him.
    "What is it?" he asked over the radio link, straining to see what lay ahead.
    "Have a look for yourself," Eddie replied, parting some dark skeins of vegetation. It could have been ivy, except for the fact that the numerous lobate leaves on each stem were glowing with an eerie greenness. "I give you the former kingdom of the Bruteans," the Styx announced. "The most feared race in the whole of Eurasia in the twelfth century BC."
    Drake came alongside him, pushing more of the vegetation aside as he regulated his breathing, so his eyepieces would clear.
    "Holy God!" he exclaimed, as he appreciated just where he and Eddie were poised.
    They were peering out of an opening in a sheer-sided cavern wall, around a hundred meters above ground level. At first glance, it was