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G
for Ground? Yes. He exited into a darkened lobby.
It was a neat little place, elegantly furnished but in the manner of a
business rather than a home, with potted plants and a reception or security
desk. No one around. No signs. But there were windows at last, and transparent
doors. They reflected a dim replica of the interior; it was night outside. He
leaned on the comconsole desk. Jackpot. Here was not only a place to sit down,
but data in abundance... hell. It was palm-locked, and would not even turn on
for him. There were ways to overcome palm-locks -
how did he... ? - the fragmentary visions exploded like a school of minnows,
eluding his grasp. He nearly cried with the uselessness of it, sitting in the
station chair with his too-heavy head laid in his arms, across the blank
unyielding vid plate.
He shivered.
God, I hate cold
. He wobbled over to the glass door. It was snowing outside, tiny scintillant
dots whipping by slantwise through the white arc of a floodlight. They would
be hard, and hiss and sting on bare skin. A weird vision of a dozen naked men
standing shivering in a midnight blizzard flitted across his mind s eye, but
he could attach no names to the scene, only a sensation of deep disaster. Was
that how he had died, freezing in the wind and snow? Recently, nearby?
I was dead
. The realization came to him for the first time, a burst of shock radiating
outward from his belly. He traced the aching scars on his torso through the
thin fabric of his gown.
And I m not feeling too good now, either
. He giggled, an off-balance noise disturbing even to his own ears. He stifled
his mouth with his fist. He must not have had time to be afraid, before,
because the retroactive wash of terror knocked him to his knees. Then to his
hands and knees. The shivering cold was making his hands shake uncontrollably.
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He began to crawl.
He must have triggered some sensor, because the transparent door hissed open.
Oh, no, he wasn t going to make that error again, and get exiled to the outer
darkness. He began to crawl away. His vision blurred, and he got turned around
somehow; icy concrete instead of smooth tile beneath his hand warned him of
his mistake. Something seemed to seize his head, half-shock, half-
blow, with a nasty buzzing sound. Violently rebuffed, he smelled singed hair.
Fluorescent patterns spun on his retinas. He tried to withdraw, but collapsed
across the door-groove in a puddle of ice water and some slimy orange glop
like gritty mold.
No, damn it no, I don t want to freeze again... !
He curled up in desperate revulsion.
Voices; shouts of alarm. Footsteps, babble, warm, oh blessed warm hands pulled
him away from the deadly portal. A couple of women s voices, and one man s:
"How did he get up here?" " - shouldn t have gotten out." "Call Rowan. Wake
her up - " "He looks terrible." "No," a hand held his face to the light by his
hair, "that s the way he looks anyway. You can t tell."
The face belonging to the hand loomed over his, harsh and worried. It was
Rowan s assistant, the young man who d sedated him. He was a lean fellow with
Eurasian features, with a definite bridge to his nose. His blue jacket said
R. Durona
, insanely enough. But it wasn t
Dr
. R.
So call him... Brother Durona
. The young man was saying, " - dangerous. It s incredible that he penetrated
our security in that condition!"
"Na sec rty." Words! His mouth was making words! "Fire safty." He added
reflectively, "Dolt."
The young man s face jerked back in bewildered offense. "Are you talking to
me, Short Circuit?"
"He s talking!"
His
Dr. Durona s face circled overhead, her voice thrilled. He recognized her even
with her fine hair loose, falling all around her face in a dark cloud.
Rowan, my love
. "Raven, what did he say?"
The youth s dark brows wrinkled. "I d swear he just said fire safety.
Gibberish, I guess."
Rowan smiled wildly. "Raven, all the secured doors open outward without
code-locks. For escape in case of fire or chemical accident or - do you
realize the level of understanding that reveals?"
"No," said Raven coldly.
That dolt must have stung, considering its source... he grinned darkly up at
the hovering faces and the lobby ceiling wavering beyond them.
An older, alto voice came in from the left, restoring order, disbanding the
crowd. "If you don t have a function here, get back to bed." A Dr. Durona
whose short-cut hair was almost pure white, the owner of the alto voice,
shuffled into his field of view, and stared thoughtfully down at him. "Dear
heart, Rowan, he almost escaped, disabled as he is!"
"Hardly an escape," said Brother Raven. "Even if he d somehow gotten through
the force screen, he d have frozen to death in twenty minutes out there
tonight, dressed like that."
"How did he get out?"
An upset Dr. Durona confessed, "He must have gone past the monitor station
while I was in the lav. I m sorry!"
"Suppose he had made it this far in the daytime?" speculated the alto.
"Suppose he had been seen? It could have been disastrous."
"I ll palm-lock the door to the private wing after this," the flustered Dr.
Durona promised.
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"I m not sure that will be enough, considering this remarkable performance.
Yesterday he couldn t even walk. Still, this fills me with hope as much as
alarm. I think we have something here. We had better set a closer guard."
"Who can be spared?" asked Rowan.
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