"Considering the condition of your rifle that might not matter," Elgars said, heading for the door. "And neither of us is packed."
"We'll head for the range," Wendy said. "Shari, lock it down; at the least we have a riot on our hands."
"Okay," she said, standing by the door. "Be careful."
"How about 'be back'?" Wendy said. "Here goes nothing."
* * *
Wendy started to take the main route to Sector A, but the primary passages were choked with underground dwellers. The situation wasn't actually a riot, yet. But the groups were all milling around like cattle that smell smoke but are unsure of which way the fire would come. It wouldn't take much of a spark to start them stampeding.
Wendy shook her head and started off down a tertiary corridor then through a series of turns that quickly left Elgars totally confused.
"I thought I was getting used to this place," the captain admitted. "But if it wasn't for the signs I'd have no idea where you were going or how."
"It takes a native," Wendy admitted, opening a door that was marked "No Admittance." "Preferably a native that has emergency access privileges."
The corridor that they had entered was apparently a maintenance access for the innumerable pumps and pipes that moved the Urb's water and sewage. There was a large pump on the left-hand side throbbing and gurgling and a half a dozen gray pipes over a meter in diameter running into and out of it.
Wendy led the way to a ladder that ran from a lower level upward to the next. "Time to climb."
The ladder stretched upwards at least five levels and Wendy quickly ascended with Elgars following. It was clear that whatever other problems she might have had, the girl could climb.
"Where are we?" Elgars asked.
"Just between the juncture of A and D sectors," Wendy answered moving to the end of a corridor identical to the first. "If memory serves, this should open out into a secondary corridor and that should connect to the main route to the range." She stopped as she was about to open the hatch and first put her hand on the door and then laid her ear against it. "Do you hear something?"
"Feel it, more like," Elgars said. The floor seemed to be shuddering at irregular intervals."
"That's . . . new," Wendy said, popping the portal.
The corridor they stepped into was empty, but for the first time there were screams in the distance and then, close, the sound of a gun, probably a shotgun, discharging.
"Okay, that's bad," Wendy said. She looked up and down the corridor unsure which way to go. "Left is to the range," she muttered. That was also the direction of the greatest noise.
As they stood there, the decision was reached for them. A mob appeared at the right end of the corridor and a group of them sprinted down the other direction. On the left, at almost the same time, a large figure in a wheelchair appeared, wheeling in the opposite direction for all his might.
"Oh, shit," Wendy breathed. "Oh . . . merde." She felt faint for just a moment and a taste of iron was in her mouth; she really didn't like the way things were going.
"Hi, Wendy," Harmon said, sliding to a stop as the panicked refugees poured by. "Fancy meeting you here."
"Did you know I'd come up the tunnel?" she asked and shook her head.
"Well, I didn't figure you'd used the escalators," he admitted. "It was this one or ladder seventeen-B and if you used that one you'd be dead by now, so I figured I'd come over here."
"Oh, shit, Dave," she said, looking into the maintenance room. The idea of lowering Harmon down that ladder was not appealing.
"Let's step inside, shall we?" he asked, rolling past her. "And close the door."
* * *
"What happened?" she asked, sealing the memory plastic portal. She wished it was a blast door.
"Dunno," Harmon said. "I ran across a security goon; they said that the computer was refusing to recognize the Posleen or declare a system-wide emergency. So other than calling people and telling them to get out, there was nothing to do. And they didn't get the word from the corps atall ; the Posleen were just on the Urb before anyone knew anything was wrong. I was at my quarters; I couldn't even make it to the range." He reached into his carry bag and pulled out a short barrel pump shotgun. "Of course, nothing says I didn't have a backup."
"But it's like Rochester," Wendy whispered. "If they're on the entrances there's nothing we can do."
"I was wondering about that," Harmon said. "There's more than just personnel entrances; the grain elevators have a completely separate area. If you go down to H level through Hydroponics and into the elevators you'll come out about five miles from Pendergrass Mountain in an industrial park. Posleen can't be everywhere; once you make it up in the mountains . . ."
"That . . . might work," Wendy said, some of the shock coming off of her. "How in the hell are we going to get you down to H Sector, though?"
Harmon laughed and shook his head. "You're not. I am going to take the ladder down to D and then head for the cafeteria. But that's as far as I'm going."
"Dave . . ."
"Shut up, will you?" he asked. "We need to move and I need your help. I can climb down the ladder myself, but I need somebody to get the chair down."
"Can do," Wendy said. "But what about . . . ?"
"Wendy, if you can make it out of here, especially with the kids, it will be a miracle," he said. "You will not make it out dragging a . . . guy in a wheelchair. Too many ladders, too many small passages that are not exactly 'handicap friendly.' Understood?"
"Understood," Wendy answered.
Getting him down the ladder was easier than it appeared. Wendy found a length of tie-down strap and lowered the wheelchair almost the entire way, then Elgars climbed down and held onto it while Wendy climbed down and repeated the operation. Harmon, as he had said, was able to descend the ladder using only his arms. Maneuvering him into the chair at the bottom was tricky, but even that was accomplished with little trouble.
The corridors had actually thinned out as people gravitated to anywhere they considered safe. They wheeled the former police officer to the cafeteria, which was already filling up with people. As anticipated, many of them had managed to find a weapon "somewhere." Wendy wheeled him into the echoing hall and settled him behind a hasty barricade.
"I still don't like it," she said. She looked around and noted that most of the people in the room were older or infirm. On the other hand, most of them also looked like they were ready to handle anything hostile that came through the door.
"If it's a small incursion and anybody else turns up with a weapon we might make it," he said with a shrug. "And as long as you guys keep out of the way, we'll see each other later."
Elgars walked over and kissed him on the forehead then rubbed his stubble. "Aim low," she muttered. "They might be riding shetland ponies."
Harmon laughed and nodded. "I will. Get out of here."
One of the other defenders came over, a big old man with silver hair and hands that still had the calluses of a guy who had worked for a living. He was carrying a shortened pump shotgun similar to Harmon's and two mugs of steaming liquid. "Coffee, Dave?"
"Damn, where'd you get that, Pops?" Harmon asked with a laugh. "And I see that you are carrying a weapon, in clear violation of Sub-Urb regulation," he added in a stern tone.
"Oh, this?" the old man said, holding up the well-tended shotgun. "I just noticed it lying there in the corridor on my way over here. Undoubtedly it was dropped in panic by some miscreant. Probably at the thought of how angry Security would be if they caught him with it; I'm sure that he was shaking in his—or her, come to think of it—boots." He reached into his cavernous smock and pulled out a handful of twelve-gauge cartridges. "You fixed for ammo?"