‘Just in case. I’m sure I won’t need it -’
‘I’ll go with you,’ Dad interjected. Before Mum could protest (I heard her catch her breath), Conal said, ‘No.’
‘But -’
‘I don’t have a kid, Tuddor,’ Conal pointed out quietly. Whereupon Arkwright handed over his laser pen.
Dygall croaked, ‘We need some guns,’ but I don’t think anyone heard him. Except me. And perhaps his father.
Zennor frowned.
Dad said, ‘Give it ten minutes, Conal. Ten minutes . Then come back to BioLab.’
‘Right.’
‘And if you see anyone else, pass the word. BioLab.’
Conal nodded. He headed off down the tube, as samplers banked and soared around him.
‘Try not to touch anything!’ Mum called, and Conal lifted a hand.
‘That scream was probably just someone getting a shock,’ Lais quavered. ‘Like I did, when my chair went sticky.’
‘Yes, I’m sure that’s right.’ Zennor spoke in a soothing manner, putting his arm around Yestin. ‘Everyone’s in a highly agitated state. You have to remember that.’
Yestin gazed up at him, with a look of hope dawning on his face. Dygall rolled his eyes. Dad prodded my arm. ‘Come on, everyone,’ he said. ‘We can’t afford to hang around.’
So we pressed on towards BioLab, with many a backward glance. Finally, we lost sight of Conal. Dad was in the lead, followed closely by Lais. Mum and I were next in line. Zennor followed us, between Dygall and Yestin. Arkwright brought up the rear. He seemed to be thinking.
At the next junction, Dad checked the street to our right, but it was empty. He even yelled ‘Hello?’ and waited for a moment, in case there might be a reply. (There wasn’t.) He did the same whenever we reached a junction, with no success. We were passing through pressure cells designed for storage: chemical components, spare parts, gas cylinders – nothing that was going to yell back.
The residential cells that we passed were empty too. Their inhabitants were probably at emergency stations somewhere else on board. We didn’t see a single street shuttle, or On-board Transport Vehicle. Just lots and lots of samplers.
Bam kept chasing the samplers, so that Dygall had to call him to heel, repeatedly. Yestin didn’t. For the first time, Yestin seemed to have forgotten his rodog. He staggered along looking stunned.
‘That rodog might tell us a lot,’ Arkwright murmured, and raised his voice. ‘We should have a good look at it, Quenby, when we reach BioLab!’
‘Sure.’
‘If the CPU’s turned into a neurological network, I’m going to need all the help I can get,’ Arkwright went on.
I noticed that he kept lagging behind, lost in mental calculations. ‘We’ll have to work together. I’m not very clear on things like the central nervous system, or even the autonomic nervous system – is that what it’s called?’
‘Yes,’ said Mum. ‘But Plexus isn’t normal. We can’t assume anything.’
‘No. I know.’
‘I really don’t see – I mean, it’s going to be so hard -’
‘Ow!’
Ahead of us, Lais had run into Dad, who had stopped short. Bam was barking frantically. We all looked up.
A large shape was scuttling across the ceiling. I knew instantly what it was. Though it had slipped off its circuit rail, and its boxy composite sheath was now a kind of elastic shell, and its suction-valve brushes had turned into beating hairs, or cilia, and its padded wheels had transformed themselves into sucker-like attachments, I still recognised the greyish sheen and distinctive shape of a Remote Access Laundry Unit.
It seemed to pause overhead, its cilia pulsing.
Everyone froze. It was an instinctive reaction. To see something so big – so big and alive - touched the primitive homo sapiens in all of us.
Dad was the first to come to his senses.
‘Okay,’ he muttered, without taking his eyes off the RAL.
‘Okay, everyone, let’s keep going. Gently, now. Gently . . .’
Before we could move, however, the RAL’s suction
‘I’ll go with you,’ Dad interjected. Before Mum could protest (I heard her catch her breath), Conal said, ‘No.’
‘But -’
‘I don’t have a kid, Tuddor,’ Conal pointed out quietly. Whereupon Arkwright handed over his laser pen.
Dygall croaked, ‘We need some guns,’ but I don’t think anyone heard him. Except me. And perhaps his father.
Zennor frowned.
Dad said, ‘Give it ten minutes, Conal. Ten minutes . Then come back to BioLab.’
‘Right.’
‘And if you see anyone else, pass the word. BioLab.’
Conal nodded. He headed off down the tube, as samplers banked and soared around him.
‘Try not to touch anything!’ Mum called, and Conal lifted a hand.
‘That scream was probably just someone getting a shock,’ Lais quavered. ‘Like I did, when my chair went sticky.’
‘Yes, I’m sure that’s right.’ Zennor spoke in a soothing manner, putting his arm around Yestin. ‘Everyone’s in a highly agitated state. You have to remember that.’
Yestin gazed up at him, with a look of hope dawning on his face. Dygall rolled his eyes. Dad prodded my arm. ‘Come on, everyone,’ he said. ‘We can’t afford to hang around.’
So we pressed on towards BioLab, with many a backward glance. Finally, we lost sight of Conal. Dad was in the lead, followed closely by Lais. Mum and I were next in line. Zennor followed us, between Dygall and Yestin. Arkwright brought up the rear. He seemed to be thinking.
At the next junction, Dad checked the street to our right, but it was empty. He even yelled ‘Hello?’ and waited for a moment, in case there might be a reply. (There wasn’t.) He did the same whenever we reached a junction, with no success. We were passing through pressure cells designed for storage: chemical components, spare parts, gas cylinders – nothing that was going to yell back.
The residential cells that we passed were empty too. Their inhabitants were probably at emergency stations somewhere else on board. We didn’t see a single street shuttle, or On-board Transport Vehicle. Just lots and lots of samplers.
Bam kept chasing the samplers, so that Dygall had to call him to heel, repeatedly. Yestin didn’t. For the first time, Yestin seemed to have forgotten his rodog. He staggered along looking stunned.
‘That rodog might tell us a lot,’ Arkwright murmured, and raised his voice. ‘We should have a good look at it, Quenby, when we reach BioLab!’
‘Sure.’
‘If the CPU’s turned into a neurological network, I’m going to need all the help I can get,’ Arkwright went on.
I noticed that he kept lagging behind, lost in mental calculations. ‘We’ll have to work together. I’m not very clear on things like the central nervous system, or even the autonomic nervous system – is that what it’s called?’
‘Yes,’ said Mum. ‘But Plexus isn’t normal. We can’t assume anything.’
‘No. I know.’
‘I really don’t see – I mean, it’s going to be so hard -’
‘Ow!’
Ahead of us, Lais had run into Dad, who had stopped short. Bam was barking frantically. We all looked up.
A large shape was scuttling across the ceiling. I knew instantly what it was. Though it had slipped off its circuit rail, and its boxy composite sheath was now a kind of elastic shell, and its suction-valve brushes had turned into beating hairs, or cilia, and its padded wheels had transformed themselves into sucker-like attachments, I still recognised the greyish sheen and distinctive shape of a Remote Access Laundry Unit.
It seemed to pause overhead, its cilia pulsing.
Everyone froze. It was an instinctive reaction. To see something so big – so big and alive - touched the primitive homo sapiens in all of us.
Dad was the first to come to his senses.
‘Okay,’ he muttered, without taking his eyes off the RAL.
‘Okay, everyone, let’s keep going. Gently, now. Gently . . .’
Before we could move, however, the RAL’s suction
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