Conclusion

The media blitz was overwhelming. It had begun with the unveiling of the particular Wonders and continued throughout the year of the contest. Regular updates were given of the attendance figures. Fans of each Wonder kept tabs and cheered on their favorite. Several regional newspapers got into the act and pushed for more and more people to keep the turnstiles spinning for their Wonder.

During the construction phase, James announced that he wouldn’t be competing. This only increased the interest as it made all of the players look vulnerable. He was appointed judge in case of any dispute. He took it good naturedly. This had all been his idea and now he’d be watching from the sidelines.

Travel clubs sprung up around the country organizing trips to each Wonder. People who visited all of them started calling themselves Seveners. (When James officially pulled the plug on his project the name changed to Sixers.) After their trips, they would get together and compare notes on which ones were their favorites. Long arguments were held through the blogosphere and opinion columns. Several cable channels had specials that gave TV tours so that everyone could experience them in one way or another.

The attendance numbers were easy to track and throughout the year it became obvious which Wonders were the frontrunners. Xian’s Garden couldn’t keep up and was soon dismissed as a serious contender. Roger’s Clockwork spectacle suffered the same fate. The Winter Tomb was counting on a wet winter to keep drawing people but the weather didn’t cooperate and it soon feel behind.

As they entered the final month it was still a three way race with no clear winner. Sam’s Tower was filled to capacity. Rex’s Labyrinth had long lines every day and it was pushed to it’s limit. The Temple of Beauty was solidly packed even though Lydia wasn’t there to see any of it.

At last the year was up and there was nothing left but to count noses and see who was the winner. Each number was modified by population by the formula that they’d agreed upon. To everyone’s surprise, the Temple of Beauty came out ahead.

Rex privately groused that they hadn’t modified her numbers enough to eliminate her advantage but he had agreed to abide by the rules. A round sum of $30 million was given to Lydia. This caused a bit of a problem.

Ever since the death at the Temple she had refused to give any interviews. In fact, she was hardly showing her face in public. The idea that she had caused that poor women’s death was too much for her. The accusation was too big to be faced. She couldn’t even chance that it would be brought up. Lydia had become a hermit.

The money was deposited in her account but the planned ceremony didn’t take place. A few days later a press release advised that the lion’s share of the prize would be given to various charities, mostly ones focusing on women’s health and well-being. Long articles were written about the parable that Lydia’s life had become.

The other side of the contest was much harder to judge. The idea was to decide which one would be remembered the longest. It’s a tough task to try and read the minds of future men. Especially when the Wonders had only been around for a short time themselves.

Each member had selected three judges to form a panel of twenty-one people. Most of them were professors of history or experts from the art world. The judges had traveled to each of the sites, most of them several times. They then filled out ballots ranking them 1-7.

James failed plan finished at the bottom. They asked him what he planned to build. He swore them to secrecy and told them. Many of them were impressed but of course they couldn’t give him credit for his intentions.

Lydia’s Temple was dismissed by most of them. It relied too heavily on staying current and would quickly become outdated. Fashion is merely the official fad and beauty is fleeting.

The Labyrinth showed a special problem. As a physical structure, it would probably outlast anything else that had been built. Being nothing more than a series of walls, it would need the smallest amount of care and maintenance. On the flipside, it brought very little to the table culturally. Many of the judges approved of it but couldn’t bring themselves to rate it very highly.

Roger’s Clockwork structure was nearly the opposite. It’s message was well taken and certainly culturally significant. It was hard to believe that such an intricate piece would last on the scale that many of the other’s would. It was also well liked but not a clear winner.

The other three were very close in the voting. In third place was Casey’s Winter Tomb. It was beautiful and would be an obvious attraction for years, maybe centuries. There was a group amongst the judges that thought it might be a little too derivative of the Taj Mahal. The lack of serious winter weather probably hurt it’s case, too.

Some thought that Sam’s tower was a little too close to the Eiffel Tower. It’s defenders pointed out the walking paths and many other attractions. Still, second place was the best that it would do.

That left Xian’s Garden as the winner. It had a simplicity that many found timeless. It was also widely held as the most spiritual of the Wonders. By a narrow margin, it was declared the winner.

The other competitors all lived up to their agreement and took out full sized ads in the largest newspapers. They praised Xian and her Wonder and urged the whole world to visit it and enjoy it’s calming effects. It had been a very difficult time for her and she looked forward to seeing the ads and feeling vindicated for her time and choices.

As she flipped from newspaper to newspaper, ad to ad, she realized just how wrong she’d been. She would trade all of the praise for another chance with her mother. There was only emptiness.

That night she took the whole pile of newspapers out to her Garden. She waited until it closed for the night and took the long walk out to the giant chimes. After a long period of just listening to them in the wind, she put the collection of ads down on the path. A quick flick from her lighter and she’d created a small pyre. As the ashes drifted quietly upward, she felt a sense of calm, and possibly forgiveness.

About six months later, Mr Emerson made another appointment to see him. As soon as Rex saw it, he had his secretary cancel it. The next day Mr Emerson showed up at his office and forced his way in.

“What do you think you’re doing, not seeing me?”

Rex looked at him coolly from behind his desk. Without saying anything he stood up and gestured at the chair on the other side of his desk. A slow motion with his hand below the desk and he spoke into the intercom, “See if you can reschedule my next appointment. I might be busy for a while.” Then to Mr Emerson who had sat down in the chair but was obviously unhappy. “I didn’t want to see you because that was our agreement. No more contact.”

“Well, you can hang all that!” He stood up and tried to menace Rex from across the desk. “You took it, didn’t you?”

“I have taken nothing. If you mean that little keepsake that you, eh, deposited a while back-“.

“Of course I mean that!”

“Calmly. And quietly. Otherwise I’ll call security and have you thrown out.”

“You just try it!”

Rex sat and looked at him, weighing the other man. “I’d rather just talk to you.”

Mr Emerson sat back down. “Then start talking. Where is it?”

“The…deposit?”

“Yes! Of course.”

“As far as I know, it’s still there. I haven’t taken it. Why? Is it gone?”

“Yes.”

“Look, I warned you. I said that I wasn’t running a bank. That was the risk you took. Someone else must have dug it up and left with it.”

“Well, maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“Well. We can’t find the site.”

It was all clear to Rex now. “Oh. I guess that does happen sometimes. It is a Labyrinth. Easy to get lost in.”

“Look, we took careful notes. We made all of the right turns. We just can’t…get back there.”

“Not my problem.”

“If we think that you took it, then it becomes your problem.”

Rex took a moment to think about this. His first thought was that it would be best if he could keep the situation calm. His visitor seemed like he couldn’t help from being emotional about this. If he kept blowing up, the whole thing could become very bad.

“Look, I was very specific with our agreement. You wanted a place to hide something and I have such a place. I told you that I wasn’t going to be responsible for whatever was hidden. That’s what you agreed to, right?”

“We didn’t think you’d try and steal it!”

“And I haven’t. Look around at this office. Look at this whole building. Notice the wealth? I don’t really need to steal money, now do I?”
Mr Emerson gave a nasty smile. ”I wonder if your accountant would say the same thing.” That hit scored. “Oh, yes. We’ve become aware of your financial situation. We think you might very well have needed to steal that money. And we want it back.”

“You want it back?”

“Yes. And we’re not all that particular if it comes from that package or from your own personal accounts.”

A light dawned for Rex. “Wait a minute. Is this your whole game?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s simple. You find a business man with a thin wallet. You get him to hold onto something for you, making sure that he doesn’t know what it is. Then you come back and tell him that it’s missing. He feels threatened and ponies up. The great thing for you is that he never got to see what was actually missing.”

“That would be a good game. Maybe next time we’ll try that instead of actually hiding the money.”

Rex took a long look at him, trying to get the full measure of the man. “I think you’re lying to me.”

There was a long pause. Mr Emerson glanced upward as if to study the ceiling. “It’s a shame that you’ve responded this way. It would be a real shame if something happened to your wife.”

Rex laughed. “That shows that you’ve never met her.”

Mr Emerson looked surprised and then laughed along with him. Then he took a closer look and noticed that a gun had found it’s way into Rex’s hand. This gun was pointed at his chest.

“Mr Emerson, I think it’s time you left. I’ll tell you one more time that I didn’t take the deposit. To the best of my knowledge, it’s still in there. I suggest that you keep looking for it. If you show up here again…it will be bad for you. I’m going to instruct my security that you’ve threatened me and they should treat you as dangerous. Those boys are anxious and a little bored. If I were you, I wouldn’t give them any excitement. Do you understand?”

During this speech, the visitor had been doing nothing but staring at the gun. Now his head rose and they locked eyes. “Yes. I understand. I will leave now.” As he moved towards the door, it opened and a pair of large men entered. He turned and looked back at Rex. “Good luck.”

“Please, escort him out of here.”

They left and Rex sat back down at his desk. He waited a moment to make certain that Emerson was truly gone. Then he turned to his computer and pulled up a secured intranet site. On the screen was the one and only current map of his Labyrinth. His gaze wandered over to an oddity.

In truth, Rex knew that the ‘package’ hadn’t been disturbed. It was still resting peacefully. No one could get to it. One of the first weekly changes had completely sealed off that part of the maze.

He leaned back in his chair and tried to decide how long he should let it sit there until he finally went out and inspected it. After a moment he pulled up his desk calendar. One full year ought to do it. With that done, Rex turned back to his regular work.

The Labyrinth was a huge hit. The idea had been popular from the start. It became even more popular once people got a chance to see it on their TVs. The promotions helped too.
Rex surprised people by forbidding any maps to be made. The public expected that they would be able to buy some to help them through. The idea that visitors would really and truly be going in there blind only increased the excitement.
There were measures taken to help anyone who was trapped and couldn’t get out. Emergency buttons would be placed at regular intervals. Anyone could use these if they were lost. The route to the nearest exit would be lit up. All that they needed to do was follow the path and they’d get out.
Lines were long to get in. Every morning there would be a crowd waiting for entry. Evenings became difficult, as it was harder and harder to get people back out before it got dark. The buttons helped but they soon found a problem that they hadn’t even thought about.
Some people actually wanted to stay in overnight. They’d bring camping gear in with their backpacks and picnic baskets. Small tents were pitched in out of the way corners. The sheer size of the place made it hard to police. If they wanted to overnight, Rex couldn’t easily stop them.
Sometimes you just have to roll with the punches. It was announced that overnight camping would be allowed Tuesday through Friday. The other nights, everyone must be out by an hour past sunset.
Every Sunday night, they’d fly a helicopter overhead with an infrared sensor. If they found people still in there, they would send in security to oust them. They’d be charged with trespassing and fined. Word soon got around that would be campers should play by the rules. It was easier (and cheaper) than trying to cheat.
Rex let two weeks go by before he made any changes to the walls. The adjustments were small, only effecting one major pathway. A handful of repeat visitors were confused but no one said anything. After that they made regular changes early on Monday mornings.
There had been a few people that had made their own maps. When they came back, they might find that the path they’d taken was no longer available. Eventually, word got back to a local news station and they decided to try and find out what was going on.
Rex quickly agreed to their interview. He gave them facts and statistics about his Great Labyrinth. Told them that he couldn’t be happier with it’s opening. When they asked about changing walls, he quickly shut them down. He wouldn’t answer any questions about the design of the Labyrinth. Anything that might be real information, was given a curt “No comment”.
News quickly spread online. Rex had hoped this would happen. He had a few agents ready to go on chat sites and both stir up the mystery and give wrong information. Rex developed a habit of reading these sites late at night. He sometimes stayed in his office and simply laughed at the posters.
The trick was to stay mysterious. As soon as the public felt that it was a tame Wonder, interest would die off. Subtle, yet continuous changes would stop that. At least that’s what Rex told himself. His marketing people didn’t know what to think but he was the one signing the checks. It was also hard to argue against success. The number of visitors was higher than they’d dreamed of.
The thing has been terribly expensive to build. He’d make the money back eventually but it wouldn’t be quick. Not unless he won the contest. That would take care of everything. That was the goal that Rex kept in mind.

One week later they met again. Rex had been torn. Should he consult with his legal department? They would certainly tell him not to do this. And the smart thing to do would be to wash his hands of all of this. The only problem is that he really did need the money.

He’d spent a few restless nights thinking about it. Was there some way to protect himself in case this all came to light? Probably not from the publicity. Legal or not, if large packages of money were being buried in his Wonder, it would create a stink. On the other hand, if the money was enough, he wouldn’t be all that bothered by it. The marketing angle practically wrote itself. Not too ethical but there it was.

Mr Emerson was escorted into his office. They shook hands and exchanged pleasantries. Rex got to the point.

“I want to help you but I need some help from you first.”

“And what would that be.”

“I’d like you to sign something.” He got out a piece of paper and put it on the table. It was handwritten, not typed.

Mr Emerson picked it up and read it. It said, “To the best of my knowledge there is no legal penalty for the storage of these packages,” and there was a place for a signature.

“I just need you to sign that and then we can come to an agreement.”

A small smile. “Of course.” He took a pen from the desk and signed with a flourish.

They started to discuss logistics. Would they do the burying themselves? Yes they would, but they’d take Rex’s advice on where they should go. How would retrieval be handled? It would be after hours. Should Rex be notified? No, he wanted no knowledge of the items after they were placed. He pointedly and repeatedly said that he wouldn’t be responsible for whatever was put there. They were in agreement.

Then Mr Emerson handed Rex an envelope. They shook hands again and then he left. The envelope was nice and heavy. He hefted it. It would help quite a bit.

The Labyrinth was finished before schedule. Rex took a helicopter ride above it so he could inspect it from the air. The walls were in place. It would take some time for the vegetation to grow in, especially the ivy.

The preplanned picnic spots stood out from the air. The one in the middle had a number of large oaks. It would make a wonderful shelter. Provided one could find the way out, of course.

They had run a series of checks on the machinery and everything worked. The selected walls would move without a hitch. There would be subtle changes in the maze every week or so. Rex could hardly wait until rumors started floating about that.

The work had been completed a few weeks before they were ready to open. His marketing team had come up with some wonderful promotions for this time. The most publicized was a race between members of Texas’ top sports teams. The ratings would be through the roof.

It also left him time for a much quieter task. He would be giving a private tour to a few wealthy guests. Specifically, a Mr Emerson was going to come through with a few men. They just might be bringing something with them and then leaving without it.

Rex met them at the gate. They requested a map, but he couldn’t give them one. None had been made. In fact, none would be made. The Labyrinth would contain it’s secrets and Rex was completely inflexible on this point. Instead, he had paper and pens provided to them.

They set out on foot and Rex made certain that the pace was slow. He wanted Mr Emerson to have all the time he needed to ensure an accurate map. It only seemed fair and he wanted to make sure that no one thought they were being taken advantage of.

Rex had a specific place in mind. He led them there, stopping at every turn or branch so it could be written down. This place was about a mile from the entrance, though much less as the crow flies. It was the last part of a short dead in. He’d picked this spot because he thought people would easily see that they couldn’t go any further and then they’d backtrack.

Mr Emerson looked it over carefully and finally decided that it would do perfectly. He selected a corner spot. They cut through the newly laid sod and dug down a few feet. Then they put the case in and refilled the hole. The sod fit neatly back down. Everything looked just as it should. There was nothing to draw your eye to anything unusual.

Once they were satisfied, they walked back out. At the gate, Mr Emerson thanked Rex again. Rex returned the thanks. They both agreed that it would be bad for them to be seen together any more. If the package needed removal, it would be done quietly. Rex wished them luck and they were on their way.

About five days later an appointment suddenly appeared on Rex’s calendar. It was for a meeting with a Mr John Smith. This wasn’t a name he was familiar with. He checked with his secretary and she said that he was a business man. His support staff was very good about weeding out the crackpots and he’d come to trust them.

When the time came around, Rex was curious. He’d been spending all of his time at the Labyrinth and it might be nice to think about something else for a change. Who knows? Maybe this would provide some kind of answer to his money squeeze.

Mr Smith was announced and escorted in. Rex glanced at the clock. At least he was punctual, whoever he was. They shook hands and Rex guided him over to a chair.

The visitor got right to the point.

“I need your help with something.”

“Oh? And what would that be?”

“You are building a giant maze.”

“Yes.”

“It will be something for people to run around in, correct?”

“Something like that.”

“And it will be very large.”

“Very. Something like nine square miles inside of it.”

The man smiled. “That sounds perfect.”

“I’m glad you approve.” There was a pause and each man sized each other up. “Perfect for what?”

“You see, there are times when my friends and I have need of a special service. We think your maze-“

“Labyrinth. It’s a Labyrinth.”

“Of course. We think your Labyrinth might work well for us. We could pay quite well.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Rex was very aware that the man was avoiding his question. “What would that service be, Mr…Smith was it?”

“Yes. It is…Smith. The service. It wouldn’t be anything large or difficult. It would be ongoing but wouldn’t require any real work from you.”

Rex decided that he was done fencing. “Ok. You want to be evasive. Shall we get to the real questions?”

The visitor smiled, “If you’d like.”

“First of all, how about we start with your real name? I don’t like dealing with someone who isn’t honest with me.”

“Of course. I’m sorry about that. Sometimes it pays to be a little secretive. Especially when you’re scouting someone out. My real name is Frank Emerson.”

“Glad to meet you, Frank. Ok, second question. Just how illegal is the ‘service that you’re asking me to do?”

“A very good question. May I ask you one first?”

“I suppose.”

“Are there any recording devices here in your office?”

“None that I know of. I don’t make it a practice to spy on my guests.”

“A very commendable policy. I wish more people would follow that. Especially our government.”

“I’m not taping you but if you’re that worried about what you’re going to say than I probably don’t want to hear it.”

Mr Emerson put his hand up, as if to ask for a moment of time. “I was trying to avoid telling you anything so that you could honestly claim ignorance if it came to that. The thing we ask for is against the law but isn’t anything morally wrong. If I could convince you that the ‘service’ is nothing bad, will you hear me out?”

Rex thought for a moment. Illegal but not immoral. That was pretty tricky ground. It existed, Rex was certain of that. His years in research and development had shown him plenty of it. He wondered if he’d agree to that description.

“Go on.”

Another smile. “Thank you. What we want is a place to hide things. Your maze seems like the perfect place for it.”

“You want to hide something that’s illegal but not immoral.”

“Yes.”

“Is it drug related?”

“No, nothing of that kind.”

Rex breathed a sigh of relief. “Ok. So what is it?”

“Money.”

“Really? Why not just put it in a bank?”

“More specifically, it’s money that we don’t want the government to know about.”

“So you can avoid taxes or something?”
”Yes. It would be better if they never knew it existed.”

“Why not some kind of off shore account or something like that?”

“We…have our reasons. And they needn’t concern you.”

“Fair enough. Where does the money come from?”

“Do you really need to know that?”
”If I’m going to judge it’s morality, then yes.”

Mr Emerson chewed that over for a moment and then answered. “It comes from black market activities. The government has seen fit to tell us what we can sell and what we can’t. We don’t agree and neither do the citizens who want to buy from us.”

“Black market stuff. Anything I should know about?”

“Tell you what, ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies.”

“So it’s…illegal because you don’t want to report it to the government but it didn’t involve anything immoral.”

“Yes.”

“And you won’t tell me anything else about it?”

“That’s right. I want to, but my hands are tied here. I’m only allowed to say so much.”

“Even if that means I’ll refuse?”

“We’re hoping that doesn’t happen. But yes, even if that means you tell us ‘no’.”

“I’ll have to think about that before I agree. One other thing, I can’t guarantee the safety of anything that’s hidden in the Labyrinth. It’s not a bank.”

“We know that. That’s one of it’s charms. No one would expect to find anything in there. They won’t even look.”

“I suppose that’s true. But seriously, wouldn’t you be better off finding some place out in the mountains and hiding it there?”

“Too remote. We’d like some place more accessible. That way we can withdraw it more easily if we need to.”

“One more question. How much?”

Mr Emerson gave a figure. Rex was surprised and it took an act of will to keep his eyebrows from raising. He thought for a moment. “I want to help you but I’ll need to think about it. Can we set up an appointment for…next week sometime?”

“That would be just fine.” Mr Emerson stood up and they shook hands. Then he quickly exited and left Rex alone with his thoughts.

The first job was to get the outer wall up. It was a big job but not one that was technically demanding. It would be twelve miles worth of wall, fifteen feet high the whole way around. They could throw labor at this problem and they did.

As soon as the wall was established, they started working on the engineering of the interior. Secrecy was important here, and Rex insisted on strong measures to protect it. Scaffolding with tarp was set up to shield the work from the wall builders. This only enhanced the reputation of the site.

Fortunately, the secret stuff was done quickly. Then they could use that labor that had gone into the outside wall to build the inside ones. The ideal method was to start at the middle and work back towards the outer walls. Rex divided the maze into sectors and put each one under the control of a different foreman. Rewards were given to the teams that achieved certain milestones first. He could hardly believe how quickly it came together.

These walls were only ten feet tall. The tops all doubled as planters and a separate crew filled them with earth and seeded them for ivy. This would be allowed to grow wild. Not only would this mask them from aerial views, it would add to the overall atmosphere of the maze.

Rex had wanted to call his Wonder, ‘The Great Labyrinth’ but he ran into opposition from certain scholars. They advised him that he wasn’t building a ‘labyrinth’ but a ‘maze’. The former only had one path and no decisions to make. As soon as you included choices and dead ends, it became a maze.

Rex thought this was a stupid distinction but he was very aware of the scholarly aspect of the contest. Could he afford to antagonize a group of people that would be judging his work? That was something that he seriously had to consider. He’d let the whole thing go except for one thing, he really loved the name.

He talked to his public relations people and asked for their opinion. They suggested that he take his case to the people. An excellent idea! He called up reporters from all of the states large newspapers and talked them through the problem he was having. He also set up a web poll where the public could vote on the name.

The response was overwhelming. The people didn’t care for any distinction that was set forth by academics. They wanted to keep the word ‘labyrinth’. This heartened Rex on many levels. He issued a press release emphasizing his respect for the academic world but announced that he would be going ahead and doing it his own way.

Later he would look back fondly about this time. If only all of his problems could be solved so easily. His biggest obstacle was money. He’d decided to make an amazingly large Wonder. He was doing it in an incredibly short period of time. The way to make up the gap was to throw money at it. Rex became irritable with his accountants.

“Boss, you have to remember that you’re building something big here.”

“Of course I know that.”

“This is something that can be seen from space!”

Rex turned to his computer and pulled up a mapping site. He quickly got an aerial view of a residential neighborhood in Houston. He turned the monitor so everyone could see it.

“These are everyday houses. None of them represented special engineering challenges or anything like that.” He was quiet for a moment and no one said anything. Finally he continued, “Where did these pictures come from?”

“Um, satellites or something like that.”

“They came from space. There were seen from space.” More quiet and Rex hoped that the lesson was sinking in for them. “Don’t use that expression around me again.”

“Ok, so that was a poor choice of words, I’ll admit that. Still, you know what I’m saying. We’re creating literally miles of wall out here. It’ll look amazing once it’s done but…it won’t come cheap.”

Rex looked down at his desk but no answers appeared there. “You’re right of course.” He looked back up at them. “So, what do we do? You know my money situation. I’ll finish this but then I’ll be cleaned out. We won’t be able to spend on publicity or promotions or anything like that.”

There was more quiet in the room as everyone faced the facts. They had done everything they could think of to keep costs low. The one thing in their favor had been the overall low technology of the majority of the site. You didn’t need skilled labor to lay bricks.

Rex spoke again, “Ok. What we need is some way of bringing more money in. I’ll see what can be done.” With that he dismissed the accountants and called for his marketing team.

As his car approached he could see the long tall outer wall. He smiled to himself. It looked like something the Chinese would put up to keep out the invaders. They started driving past it and his smile kept getting bigger.

The thing stretched for nearly three miles and it was fifteen feet tall. At first, he had been bothered by something when he looked at it. It didn’t look quite…right. All at once he’d realized that it didn’t have any towers on the corners. The whole thing looked like an unfinished castle! He’d toyed with the idea of adding something, but decided against it. Maybe that would come later.

The amount of brick and stone that they were using was already enormous. The Labyrinth was a full three miles across and the same amount long. The space between each row was a good fifteen feet. That meant that the maze had over 1000 walls on both the horizontal and vertical sides.

They’d done some back of the envelope math when they started to develop this monster. If you lined up all of the walls you’d get something over 6000 miles long. Something that would reach from New York to L.A. and back without any trouble. Rex wanted to awe people and this would certainly do that.

It wasn’t just a huge brick pile though. They’d found about fifty good spots within where they could leave an open place. These were for picnics and other gatherings. The center was left open and an aid station was built there. The average distance from one of the openings to the middle was about four miles. A moderate hike. If you knew the way.

That was the trick to the entire thing, not knowing the way. Rex had worked hard on that one issue. Keeping the mystery in place was his top priority. He impressed this on his workers and the construction staff.

The way he saw it, there was two things that could eventually ruin the secret. The first was high tech. Anyone who could access an internet map would get a straight birds-eye view of the place. Throw in a printer and they’d have a map of the whole thing.

This had to be countered. A few well placed words to the right people (and a nice gift or two) and he was able to control when they would update his little stretch of heaven. That was only a temporary solution though.

To add camouflage, they also put planters on the tops of many walls and planted ivy. When this grew out it would be harder to tell what was a wall and what was grass. It wasn’t something that would fool an expert at orbital reconnaissance but it would make it harder for the average tourist.

The second method to crack a maze was much lower tech and much harder to defeat. Anyone with sufficient time on their hands could simply go in there with a pencil and some graph paper. If they were careful they could develop a map. As long as the walls stayed in the same spots, this would work just fine.

Rex’s solution? Let some of the walls move around.

Not all of them. That wouldn’t be economical. Just a couple hundred key sections. That ought to do nicely.

This required some heavy duty engineering. Rex worked his people hard but they found some nice solutions for him. In fact, they did such a nice job that they gave him a new problem. He really wanted to brag up this part of the Wonder but he couldn’t!

The better way, far better, was to manipulate the maze every so often and never admit that you’d done it. Someone would notice eventually, but so what? As long as he didn’t confirm it, they wouldn’t be believed. And if he didn’t sound trustworthy? That would only add to they mystique.

He could picture it easily. Smart guys out there making maps and comparing notes. Would there be internet sites devoted to laying out the whole plan? He thought there would be. Another idea came to him. If nothing happened spontaneously, they could create their own sites and feed them misinformation!

Rex loved this idea. He’d been a prankster all of his life. The biomedical field didn’t do much to feed this part of him. He suddenly felt like life had handed him a whole gag shop worth of tricks. It should be illegal to have this much fun.

Lydia was taken up to her office. A doctor was called in and he quickly gave her some tranquilizer. The transition from the victories of the previous night to the horrible scene she’d just looked at was too much for her. He strongly suggested a vacation.

The police ruled that the death was a suicide. The Temple had clearly aggravated the poor woman but she was solely responsible for her own death. They decided she must have come for the gala and found a way to hide herself somehow. After everyone else had left, she pulled out her note and her knife.

The Temple’s security staff developed a new nighttime routine to make certain that no one else could hide out that way. They were thoroughly embarrassed about the entire thing. Privately they were glad that she had only attacked herself. The damage she could have done with her knife would have been enormous.

The media had a field day. Every station in New York sent reporters to cover the scene. It quickly became a national news story. More editorials were written. Men and women who had used their looks to get high paying jobs reading the news, clucked over the way society had failed this poor woman.

Lydia followed the advice of the friendly therapist and took that vacation. She hoped that the time away would bring her some perspective. Maybe she would understand why this woman felt so personally wronged. She doubted it.

If nothing else, some distance would certainly help. She couldn’t stand the accusatory looks. Every person around her became an enemy and she didn’t know how to handle it.

Someone at the staff suggested that they build a memorial to the poor Bag Lady. They could make a plaque for her. Maybe a small poem saying something about inner beauty.

When Lydia heard about this she carefully considered it. She requested a meeting with the man who suggested it. He walked in and was summarily fired. There would be no memorial.

In a perverse way, the publicity only brought in more people. Everyone wanted to see what was so beautiful that it would cause someone to commit suicide. Submissions for the pictures of the beautiful increased fivefold. There was a hunger for beauty in the world and Lydia would climb over anyone to provide it.

The phone woke her early. She hated when this happened. Was it a real call or just some crank with a wrong number. Or worse, could it be someone trying to sell her something? A different thought occurred to her, it could be someone from the media wanting to ask about last night. Well, that was too bad, they would have to wait until she was good and ready to get out of bed. She pulled the covers back over her head.

It rang again. Great, not only was someone calling at the wrong time, but they weren’t giving up. Well, that was just too bad. This morning was her own time and she wasn’t going to let anyone spoil it. It stopped ringing and she rolled over and tried to get back to sleep.

Another ring. Well, whoever it was, they were persistent. She got out of bed and moved towards her bathroom. It didn’t matter if someone was calling to tell her that the building was on fire. She wasn’t going anywhere until she’d had a shower and fully woken up.

After she was done, she went to get dressed. The phone wasn’t ringing anymore. Whoever it was had given up. It must not have been terribly important then. She picked up the phone and noticed that the calls were coming from the Temple. That wasn’t good. Oh well, someone probably spilled some wine last night and they’re freaking out about it.

It was time to go in anyway. Lydia called for her car to meet her downstairs. She’d pick up a muffin or something and be on her way. As she got in, she decided to avoid the news on the radio and listen to some light music. If today was going to be hectic, and the calls suggested that it might be, then she was going to enjoy as much peaceful time as she could.

The car pulled up to the side of the temple and she looked out of the window. As luck would have it, the timing was perfect. The building across the way was glimmering in the refracted light from one of the crystals. She just sat in the back of the car and appreciated it for a moment. It really was beautiful. Yes it was prideful, but my God, she had done so much for this city.

The moment passed and she walked into the Temple. One of the curators saw her right away, “Where have you been? We tried and tried to reach you!”.

“Yes, well, I decided to sleep in this morning. What possible emergency could have happened. I half expected to pull up and find the Temple in flames.”

This had been an attempt at humor but it fell flat with him.

“You’d better come this way.”

For the first time, Lydia noticed a handful of policeman and other official looking people. They were near the wing with the paintings. There was a crowd gathered and that’s where the curator was dragging her. The people noticed that she’d finally shown up and one by one they all began staring at her.

She stopped. “Well, what is it? What’s happened?”

The crowd parted and she could see a leg lying on the floor. It was connected to a body. As they gave her more space, she could see that body was lying in a pool of blood. Next to it was a knife, the obvious murder weapon.

A part of Lydia’s brain noted the rusty color on the floor and couldn’t help but compare it to the painting above. The painting had rich green tones and the colors complimented each other well. Whoever it was had the good sense to die in the right spot. She was immediately embarrassed by this thought.

Who was it? The way the body lay, it was hard to tell. She shifted around to get a better look at the face. Well, she should have figured it out from the clothes. It was the Bag Lady.

She looked at the nearest policeman. “Who killed her?”

Someone rushed up to her with a piece of paper. “There was a note. I think you should read it.”

To Whom It May Concern:

Why is Beauty important to me? I don’t really know. I see it everywhere in my life and it never makes me feel good or uplifted. It only reminds me that no one likes me or wants to spend even one second of their life with me. I see some guy with some stupid model and I know that he’d never ever talk to me if he could help it.

I’ve come to your Temple everyday. I’ve seen the beautiful things you want to show. I’ve looked at the pictures of your beautiful people. It all makes me sick.

They could all be stupid and shallow and not care about anyone at all. Would that matter to you? Not if their cheekbones were at just the right angle. Not if their nose was cute enough. Not if their eyes said just the right thing. The worst person in the world would still get into your good graces if they just had good enough abs or a plunging neckline.

Well, that’s enough. I was somehow unfortunate enough to be born into a world that is this screwed up. I’m not pretty enough for you, much less beautiful. I won’t lower myself with surgery or makeovers. You’re not worth it.

What does Beauty mean to me? It means that I’m not good enough. The world belongs to the painted whores. Well, go ahead and have it. This will be one less piece of dirt for you to avoid.

There was complete silence while Lydia read the note. After she was finished she looked down at the dead body. Then back at the note and she read it again. Back to the body and she just stared for a moment. She looked as if she was trying to put everything in order. They could see her struggling and then something broke.

“This wasn’t about you!”

She nearly doubled over such was her rage. She straightened and then sank to her knees. Softer now, “Why would you do this to us? What did we ever do to you?”

Lydia collapsed into sobs. The Temple workers quickly pulled her away and up to her office. They weren’t quick enough and both of her knees were stained with blood.

The night of the ceremony had gone flawlessly. They had brought each of the winners up on stage and let them wave for the camera. The lady from Oregon had her poem read aloud as she stood there and blushed. They’d gotten lucky with the girl from Brooklyn as she was cute as a bug.

Lydia stood in the back and watched. She sometimes liked the long view. It gave her a better idea of what the folks at home could see. Not bad. Not bad at all.

The after party was also fabulous. The cream of New York’s hippest crowd had all shown up. Someone started calling it BeautFest and the name caught on. There was a general expectation that this should become an annual thing.

Lydia got some strange thought of the Olympics in her head and she couldn’t shake it out. Every time they held one of those things there were stories about the Olympic village and all of the athletes romping together. Apparently hundreds of children were created each time. Maybe BeautFest would have the same kind of dynamic. Just think of it, hundreds of years from now the children would be noticeably better looking and in some small way she was to thank for it.

Of course they’d have to vary the question for next year’s contest. Not too hard to do. They could ask about ‘What is Beauty?’ or ‘What can we do to share more Beauty?’ or something like that. The response would be just as popular. No, she corrected herself. After word got out about how wonderful all of this was it was sure to be twice as popular. Maybe ten times!

As she was driven home that night she kept reflecting on the entire evening. It really had gone just about perfectly. The production was good. The people they had honored were very telegenic. All that and she had thrown a mean party. What more could she ask for?

Well, one thing. She picked up her phone and called her personal assistant. Everything had gone so well that she was going to treat herself tomorrow and come in late. They didn’t need her in early. For just one day they could fend for themselves.

As she went in to her apartment and readied herself for bed, she couldn’t help but congratulate herself again. Every part of this, from the Temple to the artwork to tonight’s silly promotion had been her idea. She had put it all together from scratch. As she got into bed she wondered if this was how the gods felt.

There were incidents of course. One morning they found that someone had spray painted ‘ONLY SKIN DEEP’ across the front doors. They quickly had it removed but not before some pictures were taken. One of them ended up on the cover of the tabloids.

Lydia laughed the entire thing off. It was an obvious comment and she was surprised that it hadn’t happened earlier. When she was interviewed by the media, she simply said that the vandal didn’t really understand what they were trying to do.

She said that they weren’t trying to promote ‘beauty’ as the best of all things. The Temple was there merely as a means to celebrate it. Recognizing one virtue didn’t mean you were condemning all the others, did it?

This led pundits and talking heads from all over the city to speculate on the role that ‘beauty’ should play in everyday life. When the New York media starts talking about something, it’s only a matter of time before it becomes a national conversation.

Lydia couldn’t have been happier. They were talking about her Temple, after all. Controversy had a way of selling tickets. She could picture people from all over the country reading about this and deciding to visit the place and see for themselves. If she could only keep it going somehow, it would mean even more publicity.

Then the idea struck. She could sponsor a contest. She’d have people from all over write in to the Temple, explaining why ‘beauty’ is important! Each entry would be judged and they’d select some winners. They could host an award ceremony right there in theater. It was a perfect idea.

Ideas came in from all over the world. They were almost all around the theme of enriching life. There were a few that took a more cynical approach and suggested that beauty was just a way to keep the powerful in hand. A few men wrote that it was there for their own personal satisfaction.

Lydia had her staff read through the entries and winnow them down so that they could select a winner. She also got together with her marketing people so that they could figure out what regions to take winners from. It was decided that at least one should be from Europe, preferably from France. They should also pick a West Coaster and probably one from a child that lived right in New York.

It was easy enough to find the winners. A man in France suggested that beauty inspired his life and he didn’t know what he’d do without it. A lady from Oregon had written a poem about the beautiful things she saw outside of her window and how it was a gift from God. A little girl from Brooklyn wrote about how beautiful her mother was. All sure fire winners.

Lydia sat back at her desk and reflected on how much good publicity they’d end up with when this was done. All because some wacko decided to try and ruin everyone else’s fun by spray painting something on her Temple. She hoped that somewhere they appreciated the irony. Too bad she’d never know.

There were so many details to figure out. Who should host the ceremony? When should they schedule it? Should this be an annual thing? They’d have to wait until the numbers got back to them, but she liked the idea.

Maybe they could invite some of the young ladies whose pictures they had featured. It shouldn’t be too tough to find a few that had ended up with positive life changes because of it. They could come in and say a few words into a microphone. She liked this idea too.

Well, the first thing they needed to do was to find a spot on the calendar. Once that was done they could arrange the rest. It was important to get everything in the correct slot after all. Then the rest became easy.

There were a few users that really did come to the place on an almost daily basis. As she recognized them, she began to study them relentlessly. Most of them liked the sculpture but what really drew them in were the paintings. There was a small dedicated group that would show up late on weeknights, when the galleries were less crowded. Most of these would set up sketching pads and try and reproduce what they were looking at.

There was one that Lydia had trouble categorizing. This patron was a lady, probably in her 40’s. It looked life had treated her roughly.

Lydia had picked her out early because she stood out. Her jacket was out of date and on the cheap side. She didn’t match up to the standards that the other patrons set as far as fashionable style. Lydia didn’t know her name, but had mentally given her a title so she could better keep track of her. She thought of her as the Bag Lady.

Maybe that was too harsh. Probably it was, but she kept it to herself. There was no way she could be hurt by it, so what was the harm?

The Bag Lady visited almost every day. She’d come in the early evening and look around to judge the crowd. If the people allowed, the first place she’d visit was the contemporary wing. She’d look at the pictures of the models and the amateurs with a curious longing on her face.

Lydia wanted to know her story but couldn’t think of any way to really find out. Well, she could hire a detective or something if it came to that. She decided she didn’t want to know badly enough to do that. The idea of simply walking up and talking never occurred to her.

Why did she come and stare at the young women like that? Was she jealous? The Bag Lady’s looks weren’t anything spectacular. In most places people wouldn’t give her a second glance. Here in the Temple of Beauty, she seemed almost repulsive. It very well could be jealousy.

Another idea occurred to Lydia. This one was far more romantic at least. What if she’d lost a daughter years ago and was hoping to find her picture here! Wouldn’t that be something. Lydia could almost put together the breathless news stories already.

Or maybe it was more frightening story. What if the Bag Lady had once been a model herself and she was somehow hoping that an old picture of her would show up and be immortalized. Lydia looked more closely at her face. Even if she smoothed out the violence that age had brought, that story didn’t fit. It must be something else.

Sometimes Lydia thought this was a silly game to play but it didn’t stop her. She was busy, very busy and if it took something harmless like this to keep her sane then so be it. Besides, didn’t everyone look at strangers and wonder what their story was?

There were others that caught her attention. One was the Poet. He’d show up every Sunday night. Each week he’d pick out a different piece of art and stand in front of it. Then he’d turn and get everyone’s attention and read a poem, most likely of his own writing. The patrons would sometimes applaud and other times look embarrassed.

Lydia had discussions with the rest of the Temple staff, trying to decide what they should do about him. The consensus was to leave him alone. Every place needed color and he helped provide it for them. Besides, Sunday was a slow night and he didn’t bother many people.

There was also the Fox. This one worried Lydia. He was an older man, dressed all in black. He looked at the art as most of the patrons did but there was something about him that spooked her. He seemed to be casing the place, looking for weaknesses. She fully expected to find out that he’d stolen something from them.

She even called together her security team and had someone sent over from her insurance people. They took a long look at him but found nothing they could act on. In the end, they decided that whenever he entered, a special signal would go to the front desk. He’d be watched the entire time he was there. That was really the best they could do unless he gave them cause.

Who came to the Temple? Lydia obsessed over this. She decided early on that she would sell passes to see it. There would be daily passes that could be purchased at the door. Others would be bundled in with regular museum passes that were city wide.

The most important for her were the season passes. These were good for a year and Lydia thought they would represent the repeat visitor. Maybe even the chronic ones. She had rigged a way so that they system would give her a light whenever one of these passes was used to enter.

For years Lydia had wondered who was interested in her products. She would linger in magazine stores to see who bought the her issues. She had promoted survey after survey to see who her readers were. When the internet became a factor she had worked on different ways of tracking her readership. It was something of an obsession for her.

The signals from the season passes were part of the same story. For the first time in her career, she had made something that people could enter in the flesh. She could just sit back and watch them.

The casual visitor didn’t interest her very much. Lydia was glad for their money and their time but it wasn’t difficult to see what made them tick. The Temple had been heavily advertised. It was featured prominently on entertainment news shows. The building was on the cover of several magazines, even some that she didn’t own.

She had campaigned heavily with the tourism boards of New York City to have them promote this gem. This caused them to put it into their commercials right between the Statue of Liberty and Washington Square. It became a regular stop for sight seeing busses.

In the end, she had even bribed the mayor to talk it up. This didn’t sit easily with Lydia. Well, the girl had been fascinated with him for years. It wouldn’t hurt her career either. Even if it became public knowledge, affairs like that only seemed to hurt the politician.

It was the people who visited more often that she was fascinated with. The art was good but was it really twice a month good? Should even the features that changed regularly, like the photos, bring someone back on a regular basis? Of course Lydia hoped they would but her long time obsession with the customer made her doubt it. The chronic visitor might hold the key.

There was an added element for her too. The people that came back again and again, what did they look at? Was it the paintings or the sculpture? Were there certain spots that they liked to stop at or was it different for each person. If Lydia could craft the art to just the right specification, could she get more people to come back time and again?

Or maybe that was the wrong approach. Were there pieces they should be spotlighting? She enjoyed her walk through the sculpture every day. What if they promoted that exact behavior? Could they get more New Yorkers to come in and try it for themselves? Her dream plan was one where a huge number of locals thought of her Temple as a necessary daily stop.

They sold a large amount of season passes. Most of them would only be used a couple of times. Another large number would be passed around to others. Lydia understood this and didn’t really begrudge the buyers. It screwed up her data but she really couldn’t help it.

Lydia

There was a time each morning where the sunlight would hit one of the crystal tips on the roof and then glow through to the building across the street. The refracted light would shimmer ever so slowly. It looked like a spell of some sort had been cast, adding a bit of magic to the city.

Lydia was always happy to be near a window each morning when that happened. It was an unexpected highlight of the day. It made her feel proud. She'd wanted to add some beauty to the city and this was one more small way that she had succeeded.

Of course something small like a little light show was completely overshadowed by the much larger things. The galleries were the best example. She had employed designers and art historians to go out and find just the right items for her. The weren't looking for the most famous or the most technically rendered pieces. Their only instruction

was to find the most beautiful.

They had been wildly successful. Each section of the galleries was nothing short of gorgeous. Lydia loved to watch the patrons move from piece to piece. Their reactions were obvious. They all loved what she had done.

Well, most of them. There was a vocal minority that considered anything beautiful to be too bourgeois. They panned her efforts.

Oh well, it couldn't be helped. There would always be people who were jealous of beauty. It only made sense that so many of these people would get jobs tearing down others creativity. As the saying goes, 'if you can't do, make it hard for those who can'.

At least their criticism wasn’t keeping the crowds away. She had a small office above the main floor. It was disguised so that no one down there could see it for what it was. She wanted to be able to see people wander through. Some part of her got an extra kick out of the fact that she was watching them from a secret spot.

She looked down at the wing that housed paintings. There was a crowd of people, jammed in there looking at each piece. Many of them had guide books or ear plugs for the self guided tour.

Down the other wing was the sculpture. They had found various examples of nude men and women through the ages for this. You could walk down one side of it and see 2500 years of body appreciation. She liked the effect and often started her day with this little treat.

The third wing was for contemporary beauty. They had pictures of models that were rotated out on a weekly basis. Women fought for a chance to be showcased there.

They also had a popular place where patrons could submit their own photos. Each week a new one would be chosen and blown up for display. It was widely believed that this was a sure path to stardom. This competition was also fierce.

Lydia had wanted a small amphitheater where TV shows could be filmed on remote. The designers had tried to steer her away from this, telling her that it would be tacky and take away from the classical feel that she was trying for. Her mind was filled with images of celebrity talk show hosts fighting for the space.

She had to have it. In the end, they compromised by making it into a replica of ancient Greek theater space. It would be live beauty, right? The attention that would bring couldn’t be overestimated. People would come from all over the world to walk in the same footsteps as a super model.

Not that there hadn’t been problems along the way. The first live broadcasts had run into technical trouble. There were always bugs to shake out of any system and most people understood that. Everything was fixed as quickly as it could be.

That wasn’t good enough for this particular host though. She demanded to see Lydia and then tore into her for what she called ‘shoddy workmanship’. Lydia remained calm and waited for the super model to wind down. When she did, Lydia simply requested a copy of the contract. It was brought to her. She scanned through it, found a section on penalties due and then ripped it up.

Then she had words of her own. “This is a temple dedicated to Beauty. Your ugliness has sullied it. I want you and your production crew out of here immediately.” Then she turned to leave.

“You can’t do this to me! Do you know who I am?”

She turned back. “Oh yes. I know who you were and I know who you are now. Furthermore, I know who you’re going to be. Nothing. You’re finished in this town.”

And she was. Lydia made certain that her frame of the argument got out. The host was made to look like the spoiled brat that she was. Others were encouraged to come out and share their stories. Each one made her look worse and worse.

Lydia used her connections within the fashion journals to increase the black eye. Every bad picture of the model, somehow found it’s way to daylight. The police were tipped off about every loud party, especially when she was drunk. Her reputation nosedived.

Six months later the plug was pulled on her talk show. It had all started going badly when she bad mouthed the Temple. Lydia made certain that this story circulated in the proper circles.

In the end, no one believed the part about the cat. James hadn’t really expected that they would. He guessed that it didn’t matter. It wouldn’t change his mind. He’d been thought crazy before and it hadn’t hurt him.

The survey crew had been missed after they were overdue by a couple of hours. No one up top had heard the collapse. Once they found the rock fall, help had been called for.

The rocks were removed carefully but with haste. Extra supports were brought in to keep more of the ceiling from collapsing. They found the other two survey members under the debris, dead.

Ms Gao was still unconscious when they found her. She was badly beat up by the rocks but there was nothing seriously wrong with her. A few days in the hospital and she should be fine.

John’s leg had been badly broken. Fixing it required several pins. He’d always walk with a limp. James visited him in the hospital and promised him that he’d be doing some convalescing in the Canary islands if he wanted.

James went back and searched for the cat but never found a trace. Maybe he had just imagined the entire thing. That’s what people told him but he never quite believed it. Yes, it was strange but it had really happened.

It was because of this that he shelved the entire project. He just couldn’t risk that somewhere in the digging that they wouldn’t harm the poor kitty. That would be the most ungrateful action possible and he wouldn’t chance it. Even thirty million dollars wasn’t worth it.

Instead he created a small shrine in the small cave space that the cat had shown him. Once he had real lighting in there he could see that the walls really did seem to be stripped somehow. The experts dismissed it as a curious trick of the rock formations but he didn’t really believe that.

Small numbers of people came to see the place. His story had leaked out and they wanted to judge for themselves. Some brought stuffed animal cats and left them as a tribute. These were the people that desperately want to believe in something larger than the truth. James had never counted himself amongst them but now he understood.

Every once in a while he’d go down there by himself after the place was closed to the public. He’d turn off the lights and click to the darkness. He’d tell the empty spaces that there were more chin scratches if it wanted them.

Maybe someday he’d be taken up on that offer. He dearly hoped so.

It was a small brrrt noise. Not loud and not particularly aggressive. In fact, if it made any sense he’d think it was a cat.

Of course it didn’t make any sense at all. He was trapped hundreds of feet underground in an old abandoned mine. There were no cats down here. It was only the three of them. And hopefully a crew of rescuers. Mustn’t forget about them.

Brrrt.

There it was again and this time he was sure he didn’t imagine it. He really and truly did hear it. Whatever made the noise was real. And it really did sound like a cat.

Well, it wasn’t…impossible. Maybe some stray cat wandered down here sometime in the past years. It could try and find mice or other vermin. Maybe it could live quite comfortably.

Except that they hadn’t found any sign of mice. And there was no water. Ok, maybe it wasn’t such a great theory. Still, what else could he have heard?

Louder this time, brrrt. This time he gave in and clicked his tongue in that universal cat call. Brrrt. He’d been answered. James took a step forward and clicked again.

And then he noticed something. There was a bubble of light up ahead. Kind of orange in tone. Maybe there was another way out! He started moving forward, trying to be quiet, all the while listening for the cat.

Then he saw it. It was an ordinary orange tabby cat. If you saw it in a window you wouldn’t give it a second glance. There was only one thing different about it. It was glowing.

It looked like there was a light bulb inside of it. That’s what James thought. It was like a cross between a lamp shade and a cat. The mine walls were lit up around it.

James looked at the walls on either side of it. Still smooth and he couldn’t see a way out behind it. Then it spoke again. Brrrt. And it did that little back arch that cats do when they want to be petted.

He was a cat person and he knew how to read the signs. He got into a catcher’s crouch and stuck out a finger to be inspected. The cat moved cautiously forward and stretched out it’s neck so it could safely sniff. Once the protocol was satisfied it came closer and rubbed up against him.

“How are you doing that?”, James couldn’t help but ask. He was finally able to take a closer look. The cat looked perfectly normal from head to shoulder and then it was undoubtedly glowing. For a second he wondered if he hadn’t take a blow to the head after all. He was surely seeing things.

But he must be feeling things, too. The cat was very soft and extremely affectionate. As soon as he started to pet, it began to purr. The light seemed to dim and grow brighter in sync with the purring. He didn’t know how it worked but somehow, it really did.

What now? The cat seemed content to just stand there and be petted. This wasn’t a bad way to spend time but James needed to do something constructive. He could pet this strange cat for hours and they’d still be trapped. Should he keep going forward and look for a way out? Maybe he could carry the cat. At least he didn’t need to worry about the flashlight batteries anymore.

“Will you show me a way out? Will you help me in return for some chin scratching?” That seemed a fair bargain and one of the only things he could really offer right now.

The cat looked up at him and gazed into his eyes. Rrrow?

“Sure.” And James started scratching. The cat began to press more firmly against his hand. The purring got louder and the cat glowed brighter. After a few minutes, the cat looked at him again and started walking away.

James followed. He didn’t have much choice. This seemed like a better option than stumbling back to the cave in. Who knows, maybe the cat really did know of some way out. Wouldn’t that be something?

They started moving down through the mine. This had already moved beyond the realm of implausible and into the realm of hallucination. No one would ever believe that any of this ever happened. He was there walking behind the impossible cat and he didn’t believe it.

They made their way deeper and deeper into the mine. James walked about twenty feet behind the cat. He was afraid that if he was any closer he’d distract it. They sometimes have a maddening habit of trying to walk between your feet and he also wanted to avoid that.

The cat stopped and looked back at him. James stopped also and looked back. Then he raised his chin to look at the walls around him. It looked much like the rest did. He looked back down and the cat was walking towards the side. Then it disappeared.

Not entirely as it was still glowing. There must be an opening there! James quickly moved forward and got down to look. There was a hole, maybe two feet wide. It was tough to tell how deep it was but the cat had already moved through it and seemed to be in a larger chamber.

He got down on his hands and knees and followed after. The opening was a little tight but he found he could still move his arms and legs. James made a quick study of the rest of the small tunnel. The worst possible thing that could happen would be if he got stuck in there somehow. And that would be pretty bad. It seemed big enough. The glow started fading and that settled the issue for him. He quickly crawled through.

It couldn’t have been more than ten or fifteen feet. When his head emerged he noticed he was in a much larger space. The cat was sitting about thirty feet away, near the middle of the room, facing him. James quickly wriggled out and had a look around him.

The ceiling was very high. It was tough to tell how far up it went in the uncertain lighting. The walls were…stripped? He couldn’t tell if they really were or if the cats fur was somehow shading them.

He moved towards his feline friend. The cat let him approach and give out more chin scratching. More purring and again the light brightened. He started to look around but decided that he should keep his attention on the cat.

After a short time, he was given another brrrt. Then his companion moved forward again to the far wall. Yet another small tunnel. This time James didn’t want to chance getting left behind so he followed closely behind. When he emerged they seemed to be back in the mine.

The cat turned and started walking. James followed. At this point, what else could he do?

After a short while he thought he heard voices up ahead. The cat stopped and looked at him. James gave the cat more scratches and listened. Yes, that really did sound like voices. He took a step towards them.

And then the cat moved back the other way. James was torn. Should he follow his little savior or should he go for help? The answer was obvious but painful.

“Thank you, little guy. I’ll look for you again, ok.”

Brrrt. And with that the cat ran off. After a few seconds the light stopped as if a switch had been thrown.

James turned on his flashlight and moved towards the voices. In a moment he was back in the main tunnel. Off to his side there was a crew of men, moving with obvious tension and purpose.

He called to them. It was his rescue party. They were saved.