The late screamer, in the violet blue of the medical services, was almost invisible in the darkness. She was chiefly represented by a large pale isosceles triangle, where Teague, with methodical violence, had worked an extensive décolletage. Shocked, but rational, she said, “Thank you very much. I was as much angry as frightened. What’s happening?”
Jane was suddenly glad to talk about it, to put into words what she had been suppressing even in her mind. “We’re getting out. We’re leaving the city. We’re going to start again in the outside world.”
Instead of disbelief, they got a reaction which neither had expected.
The girl said, “That’s wonderful. That’s a splendid thing. Can I come with you?”
Gaul said, “Now? Without question? Without going back for anything?”
There was hardly a pause. “Yes.”
“You’re in. Let’s get on.”
Moving at a run through the reduction bays and only joining the main stream for short stretches, they made it out to the main square as a detachment from Byrsa, with torches, jogtrotted into the widening funnel of the walkway system they had left.
The square was rapidly emptying. Those going to duty shifts had turned back and taken static ways over the main crowd and were making their way into Megara. Everywhere there was a move to get back to base and wait the outcome from the home scene. Already numbers had left the walkways and had been absorbed into the apartment blocks. Every minute would make them more conspicuous.
They stopped beside a fountain. Faint, shining streaks showed up its surface. Kalmar stepped over the low parapet and walked, in ankle-deep water, to its center pedestal. It carried a buxom figure in the modest pose of the Capitoline Venus. Finding generous footholds, he climbed to her shoulders and looked around.
The area hereabout was now deserted. Lights flashed at the four main exit lanes. It looked very much as though some thorough bastard, possibly Gruber, had decided to set up filters and check anyone leaving the square. It would not be long before they were isolated and as obvious as peas on a taut drumskin.
Close to the main way into Esmun, a narrow grille opened on an inspection tunnel, used by E.S. staff for periodic servicing of that branch of the system. If they could get in there, they could get through into the E.S. building itself. The lights of the roadblock were not twenty meters away. But still it was a chance.
Already the flow of people into Megara and Celesta had stopped and the lights were stationary as though the guards there were waiting for the next thing. It was time to go. The two girls were crouched below the rim of the marble basin, and without speaking he took a hand of each and led them across on a course which would give them shelter in the avenue of cypresses.
Under the trees the darkness was intense, so much so that it defeated the object by screening their target too completely. Once, they trapped another person moving blindly like themselves and caught him like a player in a child’s game of Blindman’s Buff. It was a man’s figure and Kalmar heard the sharp intake of breath which was to herald a shout. There was no time for rational question and answer. The breath was in, but a crushing grip round his throat kept it there like the air in an inflated paper bag. At the same time Gaul said, “Don’t make a sound. Okay?”
A restricted and agitated nod was all the answer a reasonable man could expect, but as he relaxed his grip, he followed up with, “Stay where you are and keep quiet or I’ll surely be back.”
Then they cut out between the trees onto the outer circular walk and a hundred meters ahead they could see the flash of four hand torches as a detachment of guards checked the remaining trickle of commuters going into Esmun.
Occasional roving beams of light threw grotesque shadows of trees and fountain statuary. An unlucky one could find them out. Gaul said, “Cross one at a time. Flatten against the wall and move up very slowly. You first, Jane.”
She was across before he had finished speaking.
The fashion trend setter had the instincts of a poacher; she went over with her back to the distant lights, so that no pale gleam of flesh could mark her out. When Gaul joined them they had made a good ten meters of careful sideways movement, with their faces towards the sheer wall of a Specialist Training Building, which ran for almost’ a hundred meters on this side of the square.
He passed over them, face averted from the light, hands touching their shoulders, and had time to reflect that if you had to do this sort of thing, he had found the right ones to do it with. Four minutes later they were at the grille.
It was set back in an archway; a simple affair dropped into two sockets on either side. Usually two men in an inspection team lifted it out. When he walked back out of the alcove, even the silhouette of it was impressive.
Jane Welland said, “Let me help.”
She received, “Get inside and move up about twenty meters, then wait. You too.”
Two shadows slipped into the darker blackness of the entrance and he walked round his gate and repeated the procedure in reverse. Taking it out had been easy. It was in its place and movement could be only one way. Getting it back was not so straightforward. Degrees of freedom were almost infinite. He had made two attempts to drop the pins into the sockets when a figure brushed against him in the narrow passageway and then knelt beside him. This time, hands guided the bottom left lug into its slot and this orientated the rest.
Steadying his helper to her feet, he recognized by touch that it must be the stranger. Since there was no suggestion of a scream and she couldn’t see that he had an honest face, he gave himself points for carrying an aura of righteousness.
Jane Welland had a momentary feeling that she had been unwise in her recruiting drive. It was now totally dark and she said, ambiguously, “What goes on?”
“Straight on, Jane. Hang on a minute, I’ll go ahead. There shouldn’t be any problem. Hold on to my belt and your friend can hold on to you.”
It was nicely put. He was disclaiming special personal interest.
They went on in file, slowly, for a hundred meters before Gaul walked into another grille. This was something he did not remember. Presumably on his last visit, some years ago, the intervening grilles had been off their hooks. There was no point in rehanging it and time lost could be measured in seconds.
Counting paces, he estimated then” position below the street plan of Esmun. Confirmation came when the sides of the passage disappeared. They were below the E.S. Building. Here the passageway was lost with many others in an area of vaulting like an underground cistern.
Kalmar stopped, careful to remain facing the way their tunnel had led them. Then he cleared his engineer’s mind of every other factor and tried to superimpose a working diagram of the system onto the blackness in front of him. Slowly the details emerged and he knew where to go. A direct line should take them to the farther wall, then following it left was bound to lead to the bottom of the elevator shaft.
Their record on the monitor was puzzling an operator. They had been parallel with, but out of, the general stream of traffic into Esmun. He imagined that his machine, working with reduced power on an emergency Link-up, was running on a harmonic instead of true frequency and showing them out of line. From his surface map this was confirmed. Only ectoplasm could walk where they were shown to be walking. But it was very odd that nobody else was affected.
It was, very definitely, three together. Had it been two, he would have reported it at once. As it was, he intercepted Gruber on one of his restless pacing treks through the underworld.
“Controller.”
“Yes?”
“There’s an unusual thing here. Three readings from a place where no one can be.”
“Why not?”
“It’s the building line. Anyone there would have to be walking through solid stone.”
“Show me.”
The location in the center of the E.S. Building, not showing depth, was not very significant and the operator saved himself from cuing in a very nasty line by going
on hastily with, “They moved this way.” He traced a path from the square with a black marking stylus.
Gruber disappeared. The operator felt that it was a change for the better, but he had congratulated himself prematurely. On a count of ten the Controller was back, like a genie, with a rolled transparency, which he began to fit over the plan. It showed the main conduits and inspection ways. The black line slotted neatly between the two dotted lines of the service tunnel from the main square beside the walkway into Esmun.
Gruber looked more pleased than at any time for the last forty-eight hours. Being a purely relative change this could hardly make him agreeable, but it was something. He plugged himself in to the nearest console and began issuing precise directions. He felt quite sure that one of the three would be Kalmar and he would personally take on the interrogation. If one of the others should be Jane Welland it would make his day.
Down in the cellar the shuffling crocodile of three had reached a vertical curved surface, which Kalmar identified as the elevator shaft. Moving round it with more confidence, he reached the entrance. It was sealed off by its protective shutters, locked solid, as all such inlets would be, by the power failure.
He felt round for the two handles and had some trouble in locating them. There was nothing handy to use as a lever, so he stood squarely in front of them and took one in each hand. Then he emptied his mind of every other consideration and talked himself into a concentration effort like a weight-lifter.
The catch was meant to hold the doors closed and prevent any absent-minded self-destruction bid by a preoccupied traveler. They were not meant for the strain they were being given. Jane Welland sensed the physical tension which he built up and was afraid for him. Her hand was on the knotted muscles of his back and she said, “Don’t, Gaul, leave it.”
But she was not heard. The catch tore from its light alloy socket and the doors flung back, as if driven by pistons, to slap noisily into side members.
Exploring with one foot like the first bather of the year, Jane said, “There’s no cage.”
“It’s just as well, we’d be stuck in it. Up to the second floor. There’s a trellis side, like a staircase.”
The other girl said, “I can’t stand heights.”
“That’s all right. It doesn’t matter in this case. There’s nothing to see. Jane first, you next. I’ll be right behind you. You can’t fall farther than me.”
“That sounds very nice.”
Jane Welland said, “Let’s get on. I’ll make a start.”
She felt her way to the edge and stretched her arms left for the structural ribbing. It was like the man said, easy trellis work. Behind her she heard a voice which was too sugary by half saying, “Just show me where to put my hands.”
Kalmar took the girl in one arm and swung them both out to meet the diamond rungs. There was no doubt that the late P. V. Teague had been a very thorough man. When she climbed reluctantly away, he was left in the darkness with a second tactile impression of cool velvet skin and tautly pneumatic, curved surfaces.
It was as good a thing to think about as any other on the long chore of climbing the shaft. There was no light from above or below. They were suspended in an unreal, dreamlike sequence out of space and time. Every now and again the girl stopped and he nudged her calves with his head. She was finding it heavy going and he could feel the muscular trembling of her legs. But she did not complain and they went on until the leading climber declared an end of the first pitch.
Jane Welland said quietly, “Gaul, this must be the second floor. There’s another sill and the trellis stops.”
“Hold it then.” He climbed past the middle partner, who was holding on in tense concentration. On the way he put in an encouraging pat, which in the event fell on a quivering buttock and was misleading. But it was effective and for some minutes she was more relaxed.
The gates to the second floor were no problem. Manual release gear was fitted to the inside. He had helped Jane through and was leaning down to pull in the other girl when the blackness below them began to gray off. He plucked her out like a brand from the burning and they lay flat looking over the edge.
Light strengthened. After the total darkness it was brilliant and showed up the way they had come, a considerable climb. Then the bright button of a torch turned directly up the shaft and they heard voices analyzing the available facts and making four. Feet moving away at a run. One light still shining.
It was obvious the detachment had left a sentry and had gone along to the service stairs. They would come out on the main floor where work would be going on with the wrecked control panel. A detour round the circular corridor, more stairs, and they would join the group.
Kalmar said, “There’s only up. One thing, there are no stairs and the elevator is out, so everybody has to come this way. At the back there’s a kind of service ladder. Pegs alternating on either side of a pole. Same order. Get on with it, Jane.”
The etiolated light from below was enough to see what they were aiming for. Jane Welland moved silently across and was away. Depth was now a recognizable factor and Gaul had a near mutiny on his hands. Finally she was over and moving emotionally upwards. Like the psychologists always said, life was one thing after another and you just had to adjust to it. She adjusted better, if Gaul partially overtook her, so that she had a feeling of being supported. Obviously a very feminine type.
Darkness was becoming real again when Jane literally hit the bottom of the stationary cage. It had been on the way down when the power failed. Her tap was answered by some frenzied knocking from inside. The stranded balloonist thought that a relief party had come. Bourne’s aggrieved voice said, “It’s about time. What are you playing at down there?”
Jane Welland with the remnants of a party spirit said, “Who’s that up there saying, ‘Who’s that down here?’?”
Gaul climbed past the two girls. He reflected that in the dark there was a different texture about people and that he was getting to know these two very well. They would have to transfer to the other half of the shaft. He found easy handholds on the bottom of the cage and swung out over the drop. At the limit of the cage he explored with his feet and found the rungs of the other ladder. Then he went back and told all to Jane Welland.
“Can you manage that?”
“Since there’s no option, yes.”
“Off you go then.”
It was no use expecting the other one to do it. He climbed back until he was arched over her on the same rungs and said, “I want you to put your arms round my neck and hold on.”
She took to the idea immediately and found extra security by crossing her ankles behind him. It was a very Vedic involvement and would have looked well in bas-relief.
The extra weight made it a difficult journey and she tended to cushion him away from the holds he wanted to take, but it was done and she was once more a reluctantly independent climber.
They went on steadily. Pursuit was taking its time. After all there was nowhere to go except in the dome, and once the lights went up, they could be spotted there like flies on a ceiling.
When the firefly lights appeared again round the stationary cage, they had reached the complementary unit in the channel they had moved to and the change had to be made again. More drumming from below told that Bourne was back at his self-deluding chore.
This time Jane Welland merely called back what she was doing and reversed the previous drill. She sounded very tired indeed, but she swung across without hesitation. The girl simply waited for him and took up her passenger seat with obvious pleasure.
Kalmar had been thinking for some time that he ought to make a gap in the ladder, but there seemed no way of doing it yet. As they went on, he began to check through in his mind all the stores which were kept at the top. Given a few minutes grace, he would be able to dig something out which would do the job.
Slower now, they went on in the interminable darkness. There was no security value in silence, so he began to talk to the g
irl to take her mind off the climb. He established that she was Goda Hurst and worked at dietetics with some concern for experimental hydroponics. Jane called down, “That’s fine. We’re overweighted with engineers, we need a cook.” Since the tone was not a hundred-percent welcoming, Goda let it pass and concentrated on the rungs.
Below them the lights were coming up faster now. But there was not far to go. Kalmar made some investigations behind the bar. It was in five-meter lengths. Each length had two anchoring points about half a meter in from its end. Some kind of expanding bolt had been driven back into the wall. So he needed a powered spanner. Those were available in the storeroom. The question was whether he would have time.
“Jane.”
“Here.” She stopped climbing and the three piled up at her heels.
“Don’t stop. Listen as you go. You know the set-up on top. Three doors off the landing. When we get there you have to do a quick job of finding something. From the elevator entrance, take the door extreme left. There’s a manual operating lock. Inside keep right. Racks of overalls, then some trays. I want a power spanner.”
He looked down between his feet at the mounting lights.
“You’ll have about a minute and a half.”
“Check.”
Less then a minute passed before she said, “We’re there. I’m touching a roof.”
“Quick then, traverse left. There’ll be trellis again.”
“You’re right.”
She was gone and he climbed up beside Goda, who was going through a spasm of reaction. This time he took her left hand and forcibly moved it to the trellis. Then he went across himself and leaned back to put an arm round her shoulders. Side-stepping along the trellis brought them to the door and he left her incredulous with delight patting the solid floor.
Jane Welland stumbled into them. He said, “Careful now. There’s a hole here,” and received the compact spanner from her. Then he was swinging out again.
When he reached the end of the five-meter section, the leading guard was visible in the light of his torch. A burly man with heavy shoulders, he had his head down and was making a steady purposeful climb.
Eight Against Utopia Page 8