37. Showdown at 5,280 Feet (Part 1)

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 So everyone knows what happened next. At least, everyone seems to think that they do. But if I've learned one thing over the last couple of months, it's that you can't believe half the shit you read on those powerazzi sites.

If you want to hear the real story, you're only gonna get it from the people who were there. And not the players, either - the movers and shakers who've got an angle on the story and a horse in the race. You've got to talk to the regular people. The man on the street, who was just minding his own business, going about his day, when -POW! BIFF! BAM! - the whole world changed before his very eyes.

And if it seems like it's taking longer than it should for him to get to the point, with all the tangents and personal anecdotes? Well suck it up, baby - that's just what history is.


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There was no way I was just gonna stroll on through the front door. Not with all those hired guns on duty, every last one of them desperate to prove themselves worthy of "permanent placement". Not in this economy.

I was sucking down my ninth cup of coffee, listening to Spliff detail a plan that would've involved bribing a window washer and somehow breaking through the glass on one of the upper floors, when it finally came to me...

A couple of days before, there was a story on the news about the history of the Hyperconverter project; how the technology evolved from Tesla's original death ray, to the construction of the actual unit itself. Mostly just free publicity for Vaig Hyperspeed TV and Internet- but at one point, the attractive, Vaig-approved spokeswoman explained that they were so far ahead of schedule because a lot of the digging had already been done for them - over a century ago. 

I knew a little bit about it, thanks to a sixth grade field trip to the Colorado History Museum. When were down on the lower level, our tour guide told us all about the intersecting network of tunnels that run beneath the city. Originally meant for transporting coal and wood when the snow was too deep on the roads, they were eventually utilized for more nefarious purposes: running booze during the prohibition, as a passageway for horny politicians who wanted to get from the Brown Palace  to the brothel across the street. According to our guide, one of those tunnels was directly beneath our feet. Right there, under the museum. 

The same Colorado History Museum that was leveled, just a few weeks earlier, so the city could build a brand new history museum not two blocks away. Because that's how we roll in Denver; always throwing a few more cranes up into the skyline, in order to make everything shiny and new again -- even our 'history'.

Maybe it's just the Freudian love affair for gaping, dark holes that's shared by all grown man-children, but I had been by that construction site a dozen times, to look through the fence at the giant crater where the building used to be. And there, along the sides of the sinkhole - burrowing into the earth, and even deeper, into the depths of my subconscious -was what remained of one of those old tunnels. 

So I got to thinking: the construction site wasn't particularly secure... I could sneak into the tunnel first thing in the morning and make my way north. It was possible that they would've blocked off access to the converter itself, but I was working off the assumption that theymay not have even bothered, considering most of the entrances were either already secured or forgotten a long time ago. And no matter what, it was better than sitting there, doing nothing at all to help Gwen. I would wear Spliff's spare uniform, and if I could at least get close enough - I'd call from my phone and have him help me find away in. 

As he listened to my plan, Spliff's eyebrows started rolling across his forehead, like caterpillars on acid, the way they way they always do when he's deep in thought. "I don't know, man... those things are supposed to be a freakin' maze. Besides, you'd never be able to get a signal from down -" he stopped short, the caterpillar on the right making a sharp, inverted V, like it was yanked up by a fish hook. "Wait... you've got a company phone... right?"

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