No reason not to encourage them.
Smiling to herself, Aryl slipped her hand through her metal bracelet and tapped it sharply on the pipe.
She might have poked her finger in a rattlers’ crate. Everyone scrambled. Most threw away their containers and ran—or tried to run—up the stairs, disappearing through the opening. One fell—she winced—from near the top, to land with a sodden thud. It didn’t move again.
The two nearest the machine dropped down behind it, which she hadn’t anticipated. One leaned from that cover to point a small device in her direction. The other shouted in protest then leaped up as if running for shelter.
Aryl slid down, using the pipe as protection.
A snap, a flash of light and . . .
BOOM!
As explosions went, Aryl told herself, that hadn’t been much, but when she cautiously looked past the pipe, she saw it had been sufficient.
The puddles of white burned. The machine was in scorched pieces—as were those who’d been near it.
The staircase, however, was intact. Mostly.
I’ve found a way up, Aryl sent to Enris, Naryn, and Haxel.
You aren’t serious.
Aryl blinked at Enris. “It’s perfectly safe.”
“A part just fell off,” Naryn pointed out, her face pale. “How is that safe?”
The First Scout shrugged. “Wait here, then.” She went to the staircase and began to climb, using the supports rather than the steps themselves.
As Aryl went to do the same, Enris protested. “Haxel can send a locate once she’s reached the top. If she does.”
Though made from scraps of metal and fastened with everything from rope to elaborate clamps, the stairs were solid. After all, they’d carried a multitude of beings and outlasted an explosion. They’d most certainly hold two M’hiray. He should know that.
How did she? The question distracted . . . the answer eluded . . . “Wait if you want,” Aryl said more tersely than she intended. Turning temper to action, she swarmed up behind Haxel, quickly catching up.
Aryl!
Warned by Haxel’s sending, she leaped through the opening at the top.
To find herself staring into golden eyes the size of her fist.
Chapter 2
ARYL WASN’T SURE WHICH of them shouted first, but she knew which took off at a run. She was giving chase before Haxel’s exhortation to “Get it!”
Something in her responded to the speed, to following a target. She grinned as she hit the right pace, arms and legs pumping smoothly, focus narrowed to the figure ahead. Her surroundings mattered only when they presented obstacle or hazard.
Like the aircars filling this tunnel. Aryl stayed close to the curved wall, avoiding that traffic as it whizzed alongside. Not aircars, she noted absently. Most were the same size, and a featureless gray. ’Bots. Machines that could fly on their own. Moving too quickly to avoid, in both directions. At least some had lights on their sides so she could see.
One zipped across her path, aiming for the wall. Aryl dove and rolled, feeling her clothing lift in the wind left by the machine. There wasn’t a collision. The wall simply opened a circle to receive the machine and then closed again.
Aryl!?
Interesting layer, she sent, breaking into a run again.
The one she chased kept looking over its shoulder, huge eyes reflecting the lights of the ’bots. Hardly wise, Aryl thought. Not only did it slow by a stride each time, but exiting ’bots were a constant threat. A shame if one of those killed the creature before she caught it. They needed a guide.
A guide with special knowledge. Its trailing coat was tanta lizingly close to Aryl’s outstretched fingers when another ’bot zipped in front of it. Instead of stopping, her quarry whirled to follow the machine through the opening wall.
She leaped after both, the unusual door closing too quickly for comfort. On the other side, the ’bot darted into yet another stream of moving machines, one that curved upward within their tunnel.
The thud of footsteps heading right told Aryl which way to go. And that her quarry hadn’t slowed.
Admirable. If annoying.
Immense pipes. Now thousands of machines. Just as well, Aryl decided cheerfully, she didn’t have to worry about such things, only to catch one irritating creature.
Two legs. Two arms. A green fuzz of what might have been hair sprouting from its head. Those overly large golden eyes were all she remembered of its face. The flapping white coat disguised everything else. It had screamed in a voice like hers; presumably, it could talk.
It stopped without warning, slapping one hand against the wall. A lift! This one came from the floor, taking the creature with it. It turned to give her a mocking bow.
Until she jumped, fingers catching the edge, and was over and on top before it could react. “Got you,” Aryl panted.
She’d startled, not stopped it. Her quarry jumped every bit as high as she had to reach the edge of the opening above them, hauling itself up and away.
A challenge.
Aryl jumped after it, only to find herself on yet another different layer of Norval.
Still no sky. Light spilled from the buildings that rose on every side. None were very large; none stood alone. They were stacked on one another in no order she could find and shared walls with their neighbors. Doors opened on roofs. Instead of roads or walkways, steps led from rooftop to rooftop. The stack meandered upward to a distant ceiling, obscured behind the lines hung with wet clothes that stretched across every open area.
Water trickled along pipes cut in half. They met or poured into lower pipes, the pattern continuing to produce a minor waterfall. It disappeared through a wide grate, half choked with debris, close to where the lift had brought her.
Everywhere, people. Aryl hadn’t imagined so many people could exist at once, let alone be in the same place. People leaning out windows. People sitting on steps. People walking along rooftops. Talking. Shouting. The sounds of work and life. Laughter and argument. Smells and colors and warmth.
Her mind said “people,” but these weren’t M’hiray. Human, most of them, if the similarity in shape mattered—though Human seemed to cover a remarkable array of possibilities—as well as a few, stranger, forms.
All this Aryl took in with one sweeping glance. Her quarry wasn’t that far ahead. The white coat helped, but she knew how it moved, now. Even in a crowd, it couldn’t hide from her.
As if it knew, it didn’t stay in a crowd. Instead, it scampered up a wall, grabbing laundry lines and windows for handholds to a chorus of amused—or angry—shouts, twisting its body to fling itself onto the next roof.
This was more like it, Aryl thought gleefully.
Haxel wants a report. A barely contained hint of worry, which wasn’t the First Scout’s.
Still following our guide, she assured her Chosen, tamping down her excitement. It knows this place.
Send a locate. I’ll help.
She looked up at the wall, but tactfully refrained from sharing that image. Too many would see. I’ll find a place.
And started to climb.
Messy. Cluttered. Busy. All things that made for handholds and footholds and a variety of ways to move through space without colliding with those who chose more predictable paths.
Aryl’s feet and hands rarely touched the same object twice as she surged over the rooftops in pursuit. For the first time, she had the advantage. Her quarry might know its terrain, but every part of her knew how to move like this, when to use balance and momentum instead of strength, when to use strength to increase speed and distance.