Krumm found the shop, and prices were much better than in other parts of town, particularly the expensive strip his co-workers favored. Oddly, it was better than the military exchange prices, too. Still, after looking over the stock, he opted for a rather high-end mountain bike. Krumm had spotted a very nice frame hanging near the back of the shop. The owner had the proper range of parts to build one to order, and Krumm chose the less flashy but reliable components. Having been at one time an avid cyclist, he recognized the difference, and looked forward to rekindling the old flame.
There were other shops of interest to entertain him while the bike was being assembled. He ended up having dinner there before picking up his bike. Loading his purchases in the baskets evenly distributed low on the frame, he quite enjoyed the ride back. Indeed, he used his map and fully explored the area.
He advised the others of the price differences, but only Ripley was brave enough to check it out. He returned the next day with a rather simple scooter. The others could not overcome their fear of the Morality Police. Perhaps this was as it should be, since a couple of them were a bit unrestrained. Those who bought their own scooters complained, but paid the higher prices in the wilder section of the city.
Once things were brought up to usability, Manford had been working hard to properly measure and draw the facility for submission to the military contracting authority. Krumm was helping him translate markings on the generator. Krumm noticed for the first time one corner of the chamber had a large steel plate set into the face of the concrete wall. Taking a closer look, he noticed what seemed like odd discoloration near one edge. There were two spots roughly the size of his hand with tiny indentations, as if someone had been tapping on the metal with some sort of circular tool.
Pointing it out to Manford, the two tried with a screwdriver, but could not get any separation from the concrete. They discussed it for a moment. Manford wondered aloud, “What would produce such marks?”
Krumm had a random thought. “A magnet?”
They both turned suddenly to look at each other. Manford hurried upstairs. “Jordan, do we still have those ate-up loudspeakers?” A few minutes later, sweat on his brow, he returned with two very large, powerful ring magnets. He placed them on the odd wear patterns in the steel panel with a thump, but there was the distinct sound of a secondary thump behind the panel. He glanced at his toolbox, then quickly reached in and pulled out a large wrench and placed it as a handle across the two magnets. Pulling gently at first, they were both stunned when the panel swung open, hinged on the opposite side from the handle.
It took no time for them to investigate and find on the other side what amounted to a large bomb shelter. There was a water storage tank, and a set of primitive built-in toilets cast from concrete. These were in a smaller room by themselves; there were no doors on any openings. They found two other rooms of good size, and one very large area. The whole bunker ran the full length of the dock above them. It was dusty, but otherwise fairly clean.
Previously the back channel communications network Krumm had learned from the the phone system operator had shown little interest in the facility, noting merely it was nice to have a generator on hand for the all too frequent power outages in the city. Thus, they offered no support to test and supply the beast. When Manford informed them of the bomb shelter, all that suddenly changed. Krumm had to fight to keep his basement space as the constant stream of military officials came and went, measuring and discussing how the shelter might be used. At one point, the crew realized they were close to being moved to some other place — any other place — before someone way up the chain got involved. Somebody in HTS decided to fight and probably called their favorite congressman. Suddenly, the military interest vanished, but Krumm later heard through the back channels the military began searching the area for other relics of the period of Soviet Occupation.
Meanwhile, the HTS folks got more involved in their own facility. It was all Ripley and Krumm could do to convince them to at least take into consideration what the military had proposed to avoid wasting resources on improbable plans cooked up by academics trained in social sciences. Krumm ended up having to cadge a lock for the steel door on his basement server room. The constant parade of HTS personnel exploring the shelter seemed to think he had nothing better to do than show them around. He ignored any knocks which weren’t pre-arranged over the phone from his co-workers.
Eventually the place was fitted with a modicum of emergency equipment and supplies. Typically, when the first rush of excitement died down, it seemed the HTS officers pretty much forgot about it. The military staff waited patiently. Eventually they put it to use as a secure conference room. Ripley discretely agreed to do what he could to avoid HTS personnel hindering them. The military staff had it swept for electronic devices, and no one was surprised it was clean. The emergency items were pushed into one of the smaller rooms, and collapsible tables and chairs were placed in the larger chamber. Krumm noticed the pattern of use was sporadic and infrequent, but always in bursts of several meetings together over just a few days.
