The question of how to warn the above-grounders plagued Nick for hours each day. How could he alert the masses without pushing himself into the fire in the process? There were so many things that could go wrong; would they spend their last moments on earth burning and looting? Not to mention the fact that contact between the charmed ones and the above-grounders was strictly forbidden and dangerous. If anyone ever caught wind of the underground city, there would be a masacre. Only select governments were notified of its creation, only select races. After all, this was mankind's second chance at the perfect society.

Nick sweated these questions as he made his way back to his bunker from the learning machine. Today's program had been about the first human writings; heiroglyphics, cuneiform and such, and how, much like grape juice turns to wine, words concentrate power over time becoming outdated and dangerous. This was why the great moral institutions were obliged to re-read and revise all great works according to "the times." Those lazy old farts, thought Nick, They don't care about other people's morality, they just want to keep the power of the old writings for themselves. If they care so much about the status quo, why don't they write something new? Nick reached his bunker and pulled the door open. He paused and turned, gazing over the panoramic wasteland vista, the red dusty artificial sun. Maybe I'll write a book, he thought.