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“Stop.” Spi
He halted, clinging to the rungs, and hissed a warning up to Arrow Maker.
“What is it?”
“We’re in trouble,” Spi
“No, we’re not,” Maker said. “We’re descending more quickly than those thugs with the cross-bows. They didn’t follow us down here. So they have to follow the ramps; we’re going straight down.”
Spi
Arrow Maker straightened his arms and leaned out over the shaft; Uvarov, passive, dangled against his frame. “Oh.”
Morrow twisted his head to see.
There was a rough framework crossing the shaft, some distance below them. He felt a sudden surge of hope; was his climb nearly done? “Is that the base of the shaft?”
He saw the flash of Spi
Maker said, “How far would you say we’ve descended, Spi
Five hundred yards… They were scarcely past Deck Four, Morrow realized: beyond the scuffed walls of the shaft here were the shops to which he strolled to work every shift. Or had, before he’d become a hunted criminal.
The transient enjoyment leached out of him; a trembling ache descended on his legs and upper arms. There was still twice as far to go as he’d traveled already…
“Do you understand their amusement, Morrow?” Uvarov asked acidly, his voice obscured by his limp posture. “The shaft has been blocked.”
“Maker,” Spi
Morrow hooked his arm across a rung and looked down more carefully.
The platform blocking the shaft was quite a crude thing, of beams and plates lashed quickly together, roughly welded. A shadow crawled cautiously across the platform; there was a flare of laser-weld light, a small shower of sparks.
Spi
…In fact, he realized suddenly, he ought to know who that worker was.
He leaned further out and stared, squinting, trying to make out more of the stocky figure. He saw a sleeveless tunic, brawny arms and torso, surprisingly wasted legs…
“Constancy-of-Purpose. Constancy-of-Purpose.”
At the sound of Morrow’s voice, floating out of the gloom above her, Constancy-of-Purpose started. She dropped her laser weld, which died immediately, and scrambled backwards across the platform she’d been building. Morrow saw how she held her wounded arm away from her body, stiffly.
Morrow clambered briskly down the ladder, shouldering Spi
Constancy-of-Purpose got to her feet, warily. She pushed goggles up from her eyes. Morrow saw sweat gleam from her wide shoulders; where the goggles had been, dirt ringed her eyes. “What in Lethe — ”
“It’s all right. You don’t have to be afraid.”
“Morrow. What’s going on?”
“You have to let us through.”
“Us?” Constancy-of-Purpose glanced up into the darkness nervously.
“I have the forest folk with me. You remember.”
“Of course I damn well remember.” Constancy-of-Purpose reflexively rubbed her stiff arm and backed toward the wall of the shaft. “That little criminal shot me.”
“Yes, but — well, she was scared. Listen to me — you must let us through. Past this barrier.”
Constancy-of-Purpose looked at him, bafflement and suspicion evident in her face. “Why? What are you doing?”
“Don’t you know?” Actually, Morrow reflected, Constancy-of-Purpose probably didn’t know… The Pla
“I’m not stupid, Morrow,” Constancy-of-Purpose said. “I don’t know what’s going on, quite. But the Pla
“Listen. The Pla
As he talked, Morrow’s mind seemed to race, making leaps of induction. He remembered how Uvarov had taunted him for naiveté. Was it really possible that Superet had machined these weapons so quickly, in response to the arrival of the forest folk?
No, he decided. There hadn’t been time. Superet must have weapons stockpiled.
But Constancy-of-Purpose was shaking her head. “I don’t believe you,” she said.
“Believe it,” Morrow snapped. “Spi
Constancy-of-Purpose looked up uncertainly. “I… no.”
“Constancy-of-Purpose, if you let us past we’ll be home free. The Pla
Morrow tried to keep control of his own ragged breathing, not to let Constancy-of-Purpose be aware of his mounting fear.
“…All right.” Suddenly Constancy-of-Purpose, symbolically, moved aside. “Hurry. I’ll say I didn’t see you.”
Morrow reached out his hand, then let it drop. “Thank you.”
Constancy-of-Purpose frowned. “Just go, man.” She bent and, with the strength of her uninjured arm, began to prize up a partially welded plate, making a narrow gateway through the blocking platform.
After a moment’s hesitation the forest folk scrambled down the ladder and dropped to the platform, lightly. Constancy-of-Purpose glared at Spi
“Go on,” Morrow told Spi
The forest folk hurried across the platform, their bare feet padding, and Spi
Now Constancy-of-Purpose stared at Uvarov, still slung over Maker’s shoulder.
“Is he dead?”
“Who? The old man? Not quite, but as near as — damn it, I suppose… If I come by this way again, I’ll explain.”
“But you won’t be coming back, will you?” Constancy-of-Purpose’s blunt face was serious.
“…No. I don’t suppose I will.”
Constancy-of-Purpose backed away, her hands upraised. “You’re crazy. Maybe I should have stopped you after all.”
Arrow Maker, with Uvarov, was already through the platform, and Morrow sat down on the edge of the hole. He looked up. “Wish me luck.”
But Constancy-of-Purpose had already gone, out of the shaft and back to the mundane world of the Decks: to Morrow’s old life.
Morrow eased himself through the platform.
Before long Morrow’s shoulders and legs stiffened up again and began to hurt, seriously, and he was forced to take longer and longer breaks. The base of the shaft — illuminated by a ring of open ports — was a remote island of light that climbed toward him with infinite, cruel slowness.
Now they were far below the deepest inhabited level. Beyond the shaft’s cold walls, he knew, there was only darkness, stale air, abandoned homes. The cold seemed to pervade the shaft; he felt small, fragile, isolated.
They found ledges on which it was possible to rest — to stretch out, and even doze a little. Arrow Maker laid Uvarov down flat on the hard metal surfaces, and he showed Morrow how to massage his own muscles to stop them seizing up. Spi