Falling Free by Lois McMaster Bujold Page B

spilling. Hundreds of round metal wheel covers of some kind burst forth, ringing like a stampede of cymbals. A dozen or so rolled down the aisle in either direction as if bent on escape, wobbling into the corridor walls and falling onto their sides, still spinning, in ever-diminishing whanging pulses of sound. The echoes rang on in Claire's ears for a moment in the stupendous silence that followed. Oh, Claire! Tony swarmed back into the cell and wrapped all his arms around her, Andy between them, as if he might never let go again. Oh,Claire... His voice cracked as he rubbed his face against her soft short hair.
    Claire looked over his shoulder at the carnage they had created below. The overturned roboliftwas beeping again, like an animal in pain. Tony, I think we better get out of here, she suggested in a small voice.
    I thought you were coming behind me, onto the ladder. Right behind me.
    I had to get Andy.
    Of course. You saved him, whileI—s aved myself. Oh, Claire! I didn't mean to leave you in there...
    I didn't think you did.
    But I jumped—
    It would have been plain stupid not to. Look, can we talk about it later? I really think we ought to get out of here.
    Yes, oh yes. Uh, the pack . . . ?Tony peered into the dimness of the recess.
    Claire didn't think they were going to have time for the pack, either—yet how far could they get without it? She helped Tony drag it back to the edge with frantic haste.
    If you brace yourself back there, while I hang onto the ladder, we can lower it—Tony began.
    Claire pushed it ruthlessly over the edge. It landed on the mess below, tumbled to the concrete. I don't Page 47

    think there's any more point in worrying about the breakables now. Let's go, she urged.
    Tony gulped, nodded, moved quickly onto the ladder, sparing one upper arm to help support Andy, whom Claire held in her lowers, her upper hands slapping down the rungs. Then they were back to the floor and their slow, frustrating, crabwise locomotion along it. Claire was beginning to hate the cold, dusty smell of concrete.
    They were only a few meters down the corridor when Claire heard the pounding of downsider footcoverings again, moving fast, with uncertain pauses as if for direction. A row or two over; the steps must shortly thread the lattice to them. Then an echo of the steps—no, another set.
    What happened next seemed all in a moment, suspended between one breath and the next. Ahead of them, a grey-uniformed downsider leaped from a cross-corridor into their own with an unintelligible shout. His legs were braced apart to support his half-crouch, and he clutched a strange piece of equipment in both hands, held up half a meter in front of his face. His face was as white with terror as Claire's own.
    Ahead of her, Tony dropped the pack and reared up on his lower arms, his upper hands flung wide, crying, No!
    The downsider recoiled spasmodically, his eyes wide, mouth gaping in shock. Two or three bright flashes burst from his piece of equipment, accompanied by sharp cracking bangs that echoed, splintered, all through the great warehouse. Then the downsider's hands jerked up, the object flung away. Had it malfunctioned or short-circuited, burning or shocking him? His face drained further, from white to green.
    Then Tony was screaming, flopping on the floor, all his arms curling in on himself in a tight ball of agony.
    Tony? Tony! Claire scrambled toward him, Andy clamped tightly to her torso and crying and screaming in fear, his racket mingling with Tony's in a terrifying cacophony. Tony, what's wrong? She didn't see the blood on his red T-shirt until some drops spattered on the concrete. The bicep of his left lower arm, as he rolled toward her, was a scrambled, pulsing, scarlet and purple mess. Tony!
    The company security guard had rushed forward. His face was harrowed with horror, his hands empty now andr umbling with a portable commlink hooked to his belt. It took him three tries to detach it.
    Nelson! Nelson! he