Falling Free (11 page)

The forklift stopped below them, beeped to itself, and turned ninety degrees. With a whine, its lift began to rise.

At this point, Claire recalled that theirs was the only empty cell in this stack.

It's coming
here!
We're going to get squashed!

Get out! Get out on the ladder! Tony yelped.

Instead she scuttled back to grab Andy, whom she'd laid at the rear of the chamber as far as possible from the frightening edge while she'd helped Tony shove the pack forward. The chamber darkened as the rising crate eclipsed the opening. Tony barely squeezed past it onto the ladder as it began to grind inward.

Claire! Tony screamed. He pounded uselessly on the side of the huge plastic crate. Claire! No, no!

Stupid robot! Stop, stop!

But the forklift, clearly,was not voice-activated. It kept coming, bulldozing their pack before it. There were only a few centimeters' clearance on the sides and top of the crate. Claire retreated, so terrified her screams clotted in her throat like cotton, and she emitted only a smeary squeak. Back, back; the cold metal wall behind froze her. She flattened against it as best she could, standing on her lower hands, holding Andy with her uppers.He was howling now, infected by her terror, earsplitting shrieks.

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Claire! Tony cried from the ladder, a horrified bellow laced with tears. ANDY!

The pack, beside them, compressed. Little crunching noises came from it. At the last moment, Claire transferred Andy to her lower arms,below her torso, bracing against the crate, against gravity, with her uppers. Perhaps her crushed body would hold the crate off just far enough to save him—the robolift's servos skreeled with overload. . . .

And began to withdraw. Claire sent a silent apology to their oversized pack for all the curses she and Tony had heaped upon it in the past hours. Nothing in it would ever be the same, but it had saved them.

The robolift hiccoughed, gears grinding bewilderedly. The crate shifted on its pallet, out of sync now. As the lift withdrew, the crate skidded with it, dragged by friction and gravity, skewing farther and farther from true.

Claire watched open-mouthed as it tilted and fell from the opening. She rushed forward. The crash shook the warehouse as the crate hit the concrete, followed by a booming shattered echo, the loudest sound Claire had ever heard. The crate took the forklift with it, its wheels whirring helplessly in air as it banged onto its side.

The power of gravity was stunning. The crate split, its contents spilling. Hundreds of round metal wheel covers of some kind burst forth, ringing like a stampede of cymbals. A dozen or so rolled down the aisle in either direction as if bent on escape, wobbling into the corridor walls and falling onto their sides, still spinning, in ever-diminishing whanging pulses of sound. The echoes rang on in Claire's ears for a moment in the stupendous silence that followed. Oh, Claire! Tony swarmed back into the cell and wrapped all his arms around her, Andy between them, as if he might never let go again. Oh,Claire... His voice cracked as he rubbed his face against her soft short hair.

Claire looked over his shoulder at the carnage they had created below. The overturned roboliftwas beeping again, like an animal in pain. Tony, I think we better get out of here, she suggested in a small voice.

I thought you were coming behind me, onto the ladder. Right behind me.

I had to get Andy.

Of course. You saved him, whileI—s aved myself. Oh, Claire! I didn't mean to leave you in there...

I didn't think you did.

But I jumped—

It would have been plain stupid not to. Look, can we talk about it
later?
I
really
think we ought to get out of here.

Yes, oh yes. Uh, the pack . . . ?Tony peered into the dimness of the recess.

Claire didn't think they were going to have time for the pack, either—yet how far could they get without it? She helped Tony drag it back to the edge with frantic haste.

If you brace yourself back there, while I hang onto the ladder, we can lower it—Tony began.

Claire pushed it ruthlessly over the edge. It landed on the mess below, tumbled to the concrete. I don't
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think there's any more point in worrying about the breakables now. Let's go, she urged.

Tony gulped, nodded, moved quickly onto the ladder, sparing one upper arm to help support Andy, whom Claire held in her lowers, her upper hands slapping down the rungs. Then they were back to the floor and their slow, frustrating, crabwise locomotion along it. Claire was beginning to hate the cold, dusty smell of concrete.

They were only a few meters down the corridor when Claire heard the pounding of downsider footcoverings again, moving fast, with uncertain pauses as if for direction. A row or two over; the steps must shortly thread the lattice to them. Then an echo of the steps—no, another set.

What happened next seemed all in a moment, suspended between one breath and the next. Ahead of them, a grey-uniformed downsider leaped from a cross-corridor into their own with an unintelligible shout. His legs were braced apart to support his half-crouch, and he clutched a strange piece of equipment in both hands, held up half a meter in front of his face. His face was as white with terror as Claire's own.

Ahead of her, Tony dropped the pack and reared up on his lower arms, his upper hands flung wide, crying, No!

The downsider recoiled spasmodically, his eyes wide, mouth gaping in shock. Two or three bright flashes burst from his piece of equipment, accompanied by sharp cracking bangs that echoed, splintered, all through the great warehouse. Then the downsider's hands jerked up, the object flung away. Had it malfunctioned or short-circuited, burning or shocking him? His face drained further, from white to green.

Then Tony was screaming, flopping on the floor, all his arms curling in on himself in a tight ball of agony.

Tony? Tony! Claire scrambled toward him, Andy clamped tightly to her torso and crying and screaming in fear, his racket mingling with Tony's in a terrifying cacophony. Tony, what's wrong? She didn't see the blood on his red T-shirt until some drops spattered on the concrete. The bicep of his left lower arm, as he rolled toward her, was a scrambled, pulsing, scarlet and purple mess. Tony!

The company security guard had rushed forward. His face was harrowed with horror, his hands empty now andr umbling with a portable commlink hooked to his belt. It took him three tries to detach it.

Nelson! Nelson! he called into it. Nelson, for God's sake call the medical squad, quick! It's just
ki
d
s!
I just shot a
k
id
!
His voice shook. It's just some crippled
ki
d
s!

Leo's stomach sank at the sight of the yellow pulses of light reflecting offthe warehouse wall. Company medical squad; yes, there was their electric truck, blinkers flashing, parked in the wide central aisle. The breathless words of the clerk who'd met their shuttle tumbled through his brain—.. .
found in the
warehouse . . . there's been an accident . . . injury . . .
Leo's steps quickened.

Slow down, Leo, I'm getting dizzy, Van Atta, behind him, complained irritably. Not everybody can bounce back and forth between null-gee and one-gee like you do with no effects, you know.

They said one of the kids was hurt....

So what are you going to do that the medics can't? I, personally, am going to crucify that idiot Security team for this....

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I'll meet you there, Leo snarled over his shoulder, and ran.

Aisle 29 looked like a war zone. Smashed equipment, stuff scattered everywhere—Leo half tripped over a couple of round metal cover plates, kicked them impatiently out of his way. A pair of medics and a Security guard were huddled over a stretcher on the floor, an IV bag hoisted on a pole like a flag above them.

Red shirt; Tony, it was Tony who'd been hurt. Claire was crouched on the floor a little farther down the aisle, clutching Andy, tears streaming silently down her ragged white mask of a face. On the stretcher, Tony writhed and cried out with a hoarse sob.

Can't you at least give him something for pain? the security guard urged the medtech.

I don't
know.
The medtech was clearly flustered. I don't know what all they've done to their metabolisms. Shock is shock, I'm safe with the IV and the warmers and the synergine, but as for the rest of it—

Patch in an emergency comm link to Dr. WarrenM inchenko.Leo advised, kneeling beside them. He's chief medical officer for the Cay Habitat, and he's on his month's downside leave right now. Ask him to meet you at your infirmary; he'll take over the case there.

The Security guard eagerly unhooked his comm link and began punching in codes.

Oh, thank God, said the medtech, turning to Leo. At last, somebody who knows what the hell they're doing. Do you know what I can give him for pain, sir?

Uh...Leo did a quick mental review of his first aid. Syntha-morph should be all right, until you get in touch with Dr. Minchenko. But adjust the dose—these kids weigh less than they look like they ought t o—Ithink Tony masses about, um, 42 kilos. The peculiar nature of Tony's injuries dawned on Leo at last.

He had been picturing a fall, broken bones, maybe spinal cord or cranial damage. . . . What
happened
here?

Gunshot wound, reported the medtech shortly. Left lower abdomen and . . . and, um, not femur—left lower limb. That's just a flesh wound, but the abdominal one is serious.

Gunshot! Leo stared aghast at the guard, who reddened. Did you—Ithought you guys carried stunner s—why in the name of God—

When that damned hysteric called down from the Habitat, yammering about his escaped monsters, I thought—Ithought—Idon't know what I thought. The guard glowered at his boots.

Didn't you look before you fired?

I
damn
near shot the girl with the baby. The guard shuddered. I hit this kid by accident, jerking my aim away.

Van Atta panted up. Holy shit, what a mess! His eye fell on the security guard. I thought I told you to keep this quiet, Bannerji. What did you do, set off a bomb?

He shot Tony, said Leo through his teeth.

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You idiot, I told you to capture them, not murder them! How the hell am I supposed to sweep
thi
s— he waved his arm down Aisle 29, under the rug? And what the hell were you doing with a pistol anyway?

You said—Ithought—the guard began.

I swear I'll have you canned for this. Of all the ass-backwards—did you think this was some kind of feel ie-dreamdrama? I don't know whose judgment is worse, yours or the jerk's who hired you—

The guard's face had gone from red to white. Why you stupid son-of-a-bitch, you set me up for this—

Somebody had better keep a level head, Leo thought wretchedly. Bannerji had retrieved andb olstered his unauthorized weapon, a fact Van Atta seemed to be unconscious of—the temptation to shoot the project chief shouldn't be allowed to get too overwhelming—Leo intervened. Gentlemen, may I suggest that charges and defenses would be better saved for a formal investigation, where everyone will be cooler and, er, more reasoned. Meantime we have some hurt and frightened kids to take care of. Banne rji fell silent, simmering with injustice. Van Atta growled assent, contenting himself with a black look toward Bannerji that boded ill for the guard's future career. The two medtechs snapped down the wheels of Tony's stretcher and began rolling him down the aisle toward their waiting truck. One of Claire's hands reached out after him, fell back hopelessly.

The gesture caught Van Atta's attention. Full of suppressed rage, he discovered he had an object on which to vent it after all. You—1he turned on Claire.

She flinched into a tighter huddle. Do you have any idea what this escapade of yours is going to cost the Cay Project, first to last? Of all the irresponsible—did you con Tony into this? She shook her head, eyes widening. Of course you did, isn't it always the way. The male sticks his neck out, the female gets it chopped offfor him. . . .

Oh, no. ...

And the timing—were you deliberately trying to smear me? How did you find out about the Ops VP—d id you figure I'd cover up for you just because she was here? Clever, clever—but not clever enough....

Leo's head, eyes, ears throbbed with the beating of his blood. Lay off, Bruce. She's had enough for one day.

The little bitch nearly gets your best student killed, and you want to stand up for her? Get serious, Leo.

She's already scared out of her wits. Lay off.

She damn well better be. When I get her back to the Habitat... Van Atta strode past Leo, grabbed Claire by an upper arm, yanked her cruelly and painfully up. She cried out, nearly dropping Andy; Van Atta overrode her. You wanted to come downside, you can bloody well just
try
walking—back to the shuttle, then.

Leo could not, afterwards, recall running forward or swinging Van Atta around to face him, but only Van Atta's surprised, open-mouthed expression. Bruce,he sang through a red haze, you smarmy creep—lay
off.

The uppercut to Van Atta's jaw that punctuated this command was surprisingly effective, considering it
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was the first time Leo had struck a man in anger in his life. Van Atta sprawled backwards on the concrete.

Leo surged forward in a kind of dizzy joy. He would rearrange Van Atta's anatomy in ways that even Dr. Cay had never dreamed of—

Uh, Mr. Graf,the security guard began, touching him hesitantly on the shoulder.

It's all right, I've been waiting to do this for weeks, Leo assured him, going for a grip on Van Atta's collar.

It's not that, sir...

A cold new voice cut in. Fascinating executive technique. I must take notes.

Vice President Apmad, flanked by her flying wedge of accountants and assistants, stood behind Leo in Aisle 29.

Well, it wasn't
my
fault, snapped ShuttleportAdministrator Chalopin. I wasn't even told this was going on

.She glowered pointedly at Van Atta. How am I supposed to control myj ursidiction when
other
administrators hopscotch my properly established channels of command, blithely hand out orders to my people without even informing me, violate protocol...