By the time we reached the kitchen, the emergency lights were gone completely. Rohin beckoned with his light, and we groped our way through the maze of tables and equipment, to fetch up against a white-enameled door. It looked like the hatch of an ordinary cold-storage locker, but it was obvious from the way that Rohin fumbled with its latch that it was something more.
"Give me some light," he snapped, and Dr. Ran directed the beam of her handlight onto his hands. I did the same, the circles merging, and an instant later Rohin gave a grunt of satisfaction. There was a heavy click, then the groan of counterweights and pulley wheels, and the entire locker pivoted slowly, revealing a flat trapdoor. Light outlined its edges: someone was already down there. Rohin made another satisfied noise, and lifted the trap—it was lighter than it looked, and the hinges were freshly oiled—saying, "Alkres, I've brought the off-worlders."
There was a breathy exclamation, too soft to be heard, and then a boy's voice said, "All right. We're all here."
"Good." Rohin straightened, and swung his handlight, catching each of us for an instant in its beam. "This is the Tower's escape tunnel. It'll take you out to the cliffs above the Ostlaer, about a kilometer from Federston. Herself doesn't want to take any chances with people not of the Family. Please go on, now."
His words had a rehearsed ring to them, the sound of official news rather than of truth. I gave him a sharp glance, and he put a hand on my arm. "Hang back a minute, Trey," he said, very softly. "And you, too, Dr. Ran."
The others were already climbing down the steep, ladder-like stairs into the tunnel. I waited, watching Rohin. Dr. Ran sent Anila down the ladder—an Agnian steadied her from below—then straightened and turned to face the Demi-heir.
"Well?" she demanded, but softly.
Rohin took a deep breath. "Herself's sent the kids out, too," he said, and this time I knew he was telling the unshaped truth. "Alkres —he's the ult'eir—is in charge of them, but I've told him to do what you suggest, Trey. Please, both of you, Herself asks that you take care of the kids."
"But my duty to the wounded," Dr. Ran said, on a note of pain. "My duty—"
"We have doctors," Rohin said. "It's the kids who really need you."
"You can't hold the Tower?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.
Rohin shrugged, and somehow managed a ghost of his usual smile. "Anything's possible, Medium, but it doesn't look good."
The smile vanished abruptly as another explosion shook the Tower, and I said, "We'd better be going. Tell Herself we'll do as she asks."
Dr. Ran nodded, her eyes full of tears, and slid down the ladder into the tunnel. I started to follow, and Rohin said, "Trey, tell Rehur—" He stopped and shook his head, smiling again. "Never mind, go on."
There was no time to urge him. I started down the ladder, and Rohin lowered the trapdoor over me. As I reached the bottom, I heard the groan of the counterweights, and knew that the Demi-heir was moving the locker back into place over the trap.
"Medium?"
I turned my handlight on the speaker. He was a slight, dark boy of about fifteen, who wore tunic and trousers over an embroidered nightshirt: the ult'eir Alkres, who might well be the Halex Patriarch before clock-morning. There were more children, all younger than he, behind him. Fifteen counted as adult on Orestes. I wondered, irrelevantly, how he felt about being sent off like this, or if he recognized the necessity.
"Alkres?" I said, more out of politeness than because I wasn't sure, and the boy nodded.
"We'd better be going," he said, and pointed down the tunnel with his own light.
"Right," I said. "If you'll lead, I'll bring up the rear."
"All right," Alkres agreed. He glanced at the off-worlders, most of whom carried handlights of their own. "We should save the lights, though. I'll take one, and you take one, Medium, and one in the middle—"
"Dr. Ran," I said. She nodded and moved on up the tunnel, pulling Anila with her, until she was in the center of the group.
"—and everybody else turn theirs off until we say," Alkres finished. It was a good idea, something I probably wouldn't've thought of. I nodded again, and Alkres turned away, pushing past first the off-worlders and then his younger relatives, until he was at the head of the line. One by one, reluctantly, the rest of us dimmed our lights, until only three were lit. Alkres gave a soft whistle, and we started to move.
After the first twenty meters, the tunnel narrowed abruptly, becoming a rough-drilled tube barely high enough for a tall Oresteian to walk upright. I am not particularly tall, by Oresteian standards, but even so, I had to duck occasionally to avoid lumps of harder rock that the drill had left behind. The tunnel was so narrow that I couldn't hold my arms out straight from the shoulder and we had to walk single file. Even so, I swept my torch back and forth ahead of me, making sure none of the children had somehow fallen behind. Anything was better than thinking about the Tower, and the people we'd left behind. Rohin, Corol, Jesma, Ixora, even Herself—and all the parents of the children who walked so silently ahead of me. . . . If the Tower did not hold, God only knew what would happen to them. I closed my mind to those fears and kept walking, sweeping the light ahead of me.
We walked for an interminable time through the unchanging tunnel. At some point—I had somehow left my timepiece back at the Tower, and refused to ask what time it was—we rested, because the younger children were getting tired. Later still, we took turns carrying the littlest ones. Then, at long last, the tunnel twisted like a snake, doubling back on itself, and narrowed even further, so that I had to crawl and even the smallest children had to stoop, and we came out into a broader cave, with sunlight showing at the far end. One of the children gave a short whoop of delight, quickly hushed, and we all hurried for the opening. It was heavily overgrown, and most of us were marked with bleeding scratches by the time we'd fought our way through the rough-barked vines.
As Rohin had said, the tunnel mouth opened on a broad ledge halfway up the Ostlaer cliffs. The slope down to the river itself was steep, but manageable even with the children. Almost before I'd made a conscious decision, I slid down the bank to the water's edge, looking up and down the river. The current was dangerously fast here, as it was for almost the full length of the river, but the flat ground at the base of the cliff was easily wide enough to walk on. It stayed wide as far as I could see, and I turned back to the group on the cliff.
"Which way's Federston?"
Alkres pointed downstream. His voice came back very thin and high. "About a kilometer, I think, or a little more."
It was a long way for the children to walk, especially after the interminable trip through the escape tunnel, but I didn't particularly like the idea of leaving them behind while one of the adults went ahead for transport. If the worst had happened, and the Brandr had patrols out looking for stray Halex—well, it seemed a bad risk. And if the kids walked to Federston on top of everything else they'd done, at least they'd be tired enough to sleep without worrying about their families.
"Doctor?" I called, and Dr. Ran slid down the cliff to join me. Her round face was scratched and dirty, and her waist-length braid had come loose at the tip, the coarse strands fraying. "Do you think the kids can walk to Federston from here?"
She nodded slowly, worrying at her tail of hair. "They're a tough bunch, and we can carry the little ones." She looked up then, meeting my eyes. "I think you're right, Trey."
It took us over an hour to reach Federston, arriving at just past five hours of the clock-morning, according to the Methusalan's chronometer. The town was small, barely more than support facilities for the UHST station, with only one metalled street and no airfield. There were lights on in most of the houses, but nothing moved in the single street. Still, I was aware of eyes watching us from behind slitted thermal blinds, and shifted the five-year-old I had been carrying on my hip since we left the cave. She made a noise of protest, and I soothed her, hoping she wouldn't decide to start crying. Alkres, walking on my right, gave her
a look that would have melted armor plate, and I said, hastily, "Do you know the foreman here?"
The ult'eir shook his head. "No, but that's his house."
I looked in the direction he was pointing. The house stood next to the UHST station, but was separated from it by a woven fence half covered with some sort of flowering vine. It had a broader porch than the other houses, and a carved door with an imposing knocker: clearly the place belonged to someone of importance.
"He's an Ansson," Alkres went on. "Most of the UHST people are Anssons."
"Oh," I said. I could only hope that bit of knowledge would be useful someday.
Then we were at the foot of the steps that led up to the porch, and Alkres turned, holding up his hand. "All of you, please wait here. Medium, if you'd come with me?"
I heard the echo of Herself in the boy's thin voice, and had to bite back tears. "Of course," I said, and was relieved that my voice was reasonably steady. I climbed the steps behind Alkres, and put myself at his left as he pressed the elaborate knocker.
The door opened almost instantly, and I knew the foreman had been watching us since we entered the town. Alkres said, "I'm sorry to disturb you so early, sor, but I plead urgent Family business. I am Alkres Halex."
The foreman, the first really heavy man I'd seen on Orestes, threw the door open wide. "Come in, sor, come in—all of you, please. I'm Ruland Ansson, foreman of this town."
We followed Ruland into the main room of the house, and dropped onto the chairs and benches without waiting for his invitation. I was suddenly overcome with weariness, and leaned back against the wall behind the narrow bench. It seemed almost indecent to be so comfortable, and infinitely worse not to take advantage of that comfort. I closed my eyes.
The next thing I knew, the room was striped with sunlight, and Alkres was saying, "Is there any news?"
Frightened, I stole a glance at the Methusalan's timepiece: I'd only been asleep for a few minutes, but still, I didn't dare stay seated. I pulled myself to my feet and went to join Alkres, hoping no one had noticed my lapse.
Ruland shook his head, including me in the conversation with a glance. "No, sor, nothing beyond what you've told us. All we knew was, we lost the 'net link with the Tower, and then we heard the fighting." He looked deliberately at me, and added, "Someone'll have to be sent."
I grimaced, but nodded. He was right—someone would have to go and survey the damage for themselves, and I, as a medium and thus theoretically inviolate, was the logical person to send. But I didn't have to like it very much.
"I don't think you should go, Trey." That was Dr. Ran, coming up behind us with her bag slung over her shoulder. She had treated the worst of the cuts and scratches as soon as we reached the foreman's house, without the slightest break, and still didn't look tired. I thought I envied her.
Ruland raised an eyebrow at her, and Alkres said, "Why not?"
"Because Trey's not a doctor," Ran answered. "Send me; I can maybe do some good, as well as letting you know what's happened."
She touched her emergency bag as though it were a talisman. "There're people up there who'll need a doctor."
Alkres said, "All right." His voice was less certain than it had been before.
Ruland nodded thoughtfully. "I can send our flyer and a portable comnet," he offered.
"I could go along, too," I said, and Alkres looked up quickly. "No, stay here."
Ruland said, "You might be better monitoring the 'net, at that, Medium."
He gave me a speaking glance, and I understood. The code still had to be observed. If a ghost tried to contact the ult'eir, I would have to take the call. Federston was too small a place to have a medium of its own. I said, "You're right, both of you. I'll stay."
"I'll send my boy for the flyer," Ruland said. "Teacher and my wife can look after the kids."
The next hours remain a blurred memory. Dr. Ran raided the UHST station's medical kit, and then vanished. Some time later, we heard the throbbing beat of the flyer's old-fashioned rotors. The children, exhausted, slept fitfully, except for Alkres and one or two others old enough to understand what might have happened. Ruland's wife, Ulrika, and the young man who ran the town's primary school —I never learned any name for him except "Teacher"—moved among them, encouraging them to rest. The off-worlders huddled together, not talking much. Anila Ran and the Methusalan drew a patterned square on a piece of scrap paper, and played some simple board game over and over again. They moved the stones that served for counters very gingerly, afraid of noise.
At some point in the interminable morning, the comnet technician appeared in the doorway and beckoned to Ruland. They spoke for a few moments, low-voiced so as not to disturb the sleeping children, and then Ruland waved for me to join them.
"The 'net's up again," the technician said, without preliminary, "but I can't raise the Tower. I thought you might ought to listen in, Medium, just in case."
I nodded, and looked over my shoulder to find Alkres. The ult'eir was asleep at last, curled in what was probably Ruland's favorite chair. Ruland saw the direction of my glance, and smiled.
"I'll tell him, Medium, when he wakes up."
"Thanks," I said, and followed the technician out of the foreman's house and across the dusty strip of ground to the UHST station. The comnet office was bigger than I'd expected, but then I realized it must serve the town as well as the UHST line. The technician led me through the glass-walled outer office and into the smaller, warmer room where the machines themselves were kept. Lights glowed green and orange across the multiple consoles, and the technician gave his boards a quick, practiced glance before waving me to the couch that stood against the room's third wall.
"This line's programmed to keep searching for the Tower signal," he said, gesturing to one of the rows of lights, "and I've kept another three open to any signals on the emergency frequencies. I've got another five lines I can use to call the other towns around here, and that still leaves one line free for UHST business." He gave me a sort of grin, but it faded quickly. "I thought I'd call Asten and Monas Major, for starters."
"Go ahead," I said, and leaned back against the couch's cushions. I was dead tired, after only four hours' sleep and the attack; I could feel myself slipping into a doze, and was powerless to stop it. I heard the technician talking to his fellows at the other UHST stations to the south and west of the Tower, but their words registered only as vague impressions, surreal images of fear and uncertainty. No one on the UHST link knew much more than we did at Federston. Monas Major, just south of the Tower, had heard explosions and seen flames, but their foreman had forbidden anyone to investigate until she was sure the fighting was over—a sensible decision, but a frustrating one. Nansivi', on the main line to the north, had heard a lot of air traffic, but had known nothing of the fighting that followed. The Destiny station was broadcasting a garbled message about Brandrs taking over the port, but was cut off before the technician could clear the line. The Tower station did not answer our technician's calls, and there was still no word from Dr. Ran. I drifted into deeper sleep, broken only by confused dreams.
"Medium!" The technician's voice jolted me awake, and I reached instinctively for the room controls before I remembered where I was. "I've got the doctor," the technician went on, oblivious to my confusion, and twisted a knob that sent sound pouring into the room.
"—Federston Station. Please respond."
It was unquestionably Dr. Ran's voice, driving the last vestiges of sleep from my brain.
"This is Federston Station," the technician answered smoothly. With his free hand, he gestured frantically toward a switch marked "Foreman's House." I pressed it, and he nodded, saying, "We are on-link, Doctor. What's your message?"
"Things—things are very bad here." Ran's voice was not quite steady, and I could feel my own muscles tense in answer. "The Tower is almost destroyed, and I have not found any survivors or any signs of survivors. There has been a fire; I assume there are bodies in the rubble."
"What—?" the ult'eir began, and broke off with a visible effort, watching the technician.
"Bad news," I said, quietly. "The Tower's burned."
"Oh, my God," Ruland said. Alkres said nothing, but I saw his hands tighten slowly on the hem of his tunic.
"Doctor, can you give us a picture?" the technician was saying. "Please ask Vereck to transmit a picture."
There was a moment's silence, and then Ran said, "All right."
The technician flipped a series of switches, eyes fixed on a central screen. The display board beneath it flickered, numbers shifting, and then steadied. Slowly, an image began to take shape on the screen above. The technician made another adjustment, and the picture sharpened abruptly.
It took me a minute to recognize what was left of the Tower. The upper floors were gone, and one corner seemed to have been completely blown away, so that only a slanted stub remained of the original building. Smoke still curled from the stone, but it was clear that the fire was almost out. Alkres gave a single cry of protest, but did not look away.
The 'net crackled, and Dr. Ran said, "Federston Station, I think you should contact the neighboring towns—and the nearest Branch Holders—to see if any survivors were brought there."
Ruland leaned forward so that his voice would reach the microphones. "I'll do that, Doctor."
"There's not much I can do here, by the look of it," Ran continued.
"I'm going to stop transmitting now, and make a closer search for survivors or bodies." Her voice faltered a little on the last word, and Alkres made a soft, unhappy noise of agreement.
The Kindly Ones Page 20
