Poking his head out over the edge he looked down, then moved back, craning his neck, trying to see up into the shadows.
Which way? Had she gone up or down?
He looked about him, locating the cameras, then frowned, puzzled. There was no way the cameras wouldn't have seen her come out of the room and onto the platform. No chance at all. Which meant that either she hadn't gone into the v maintenance room in the first place or those cameras had been tampered with. And she had gone into the room. :
For a moment Karr stared at the camera just across from him, then struck by the absurdity of it, he laughed. It was all too bloody easy. Since the City had first been 1 built Security had been dependent on their eyes—their cameras—to be theirji watchdogs and do most of their surveillance work for them, not questioning for a moment how satisfactory such a system was, merely using it, as they'd been taught. But others had. The Yu, for instance. They had seen at once how weak, how vulnerable such a network was—how easily manipulated. They had seen just how easy it was to blind an eye or feed it false information. All they needed was access. And who had access? Technicians. Maintenance technicians. Like the five dead men. And the girl. And others. Hundreds of others. Every last one of them tampering with the network, creating gaps in the vision of the world.
False eyes they'd made. False eyes. Like in wei chi, where a group of stones was only safe if it had two eyes, and where the object was to blind an eye and take a group, or to lull one's opponent into a false sense of security by letting them think they had an eye, whereas in fact. . .
Pulling his visor down, he leaned out, searching the walls for heat traces.
Nothing. As he'd expected, the trail was cold. He raised the visor, sighing heavily. What he really needed was sleep. Twelve hours if possible, four if he was lucky. The drugs he was taking to keep awake had a limited effect after a while. Thought processes deteriorated, reflexes slowed. If he didn't find her soon . . .
He leaned back, steadying himself with one hand, then stopped, looking down. His fingers were resting in something soft and sticky. He raised them to his mouth, tasting them. It was blood, recently congealed.
Hers? It had to be. No one else had come here in the last few hours. So maybe she'd been wounded in the firefight. He shook his head, puzzled. If that were so, why hadn't they found a trail of blood in the corridors outside? Unless they hadn't looked.
He went to the edge of the platform, feeling underneath, his fingers searching until, at the top of the service ladder, three rungs down, they met a second patch of stickiness.
Down. She had gone down.
Karr smiled; then, drawing his gun, he turned and clambered over the edge, swinging out, his booted feet reaching for the ladder.
toward THE bottom of the shaft it became more difficult. The smaller service pipes that branched from the huge arterials proliferated, making it necessary for Karr to clamber out, away from the wall, searching for a way down.
The trail of blood had ended higher up, on a platform thirty levels down from where he had first discovered it. He had spent twenty minutes searching for further traces, but there had been nothing. It was only when he had trusted to instinct and gone down that he had found something—the wrapping of a field-dressing pad, wedged tightly into a niche in the conduit wall.
It was possible that she had gone out through one of the maintenance hatches and into the deck beyond. Possible but unlikely. Not with all the nearby stacks on special security alert. Neither would she have doubled back. She had lost a lot of blood. In her weakened state the climb would have been too much. Besides which, his instinct told him where he would find her. Karr moved on, working his way down, alert for the smallest movement, the least deviation in the slow, rhythmic pulse that filled the air. That sound seemed to grow in intensity as he went down, a deep vibration that was as much within his bones as in the air. He paused, looking up through the tangled mesh of pipework, imagining the great two-Zi-high conduit as a giant flute—a huge k'un-ti—reverberating on the very edge of audibility: producing one single, unending note in a song written for titans.
He went down, taking greater care now, conscious that the bottom of the shaft could not be far away. Even so, he was surprised when, easing his way between a nest of overlapping pipes, his feet met nothing. For a moment he held himself there, muscles straining, as his feet searched blindly for purchase, then drew himself up again.
He crouched, staring down through the tangle of pipework. Below him there was nothing. Nothing but darkness.
In all probability she was down there, in the darkness, waiting for him. But how far down? Twenty ch'i? Thirty? He pulled his visor down and switched to ultraviolet. At once his vision was filled with a strong red glow. Of course ... he had felt it earlier—that warmth coming up from below. That was where the great pumps were—just beneath. Karr raised the visor and shook his head. It was no use. She could move about as much as she wanted against that bright backdrop of warmth, knowing that she could not be seen. Nor could he use a lamp. That would only give his own position away, long before he'd have the chance to find her. What then? A flash bomb? A disabling gas?
The last made sense, but still he hesitated. Then, making up his mind, he turned, making his way across to the wall.
There would be a way down. A ladder. He would find it and descend, into the darkness.
He went down, tensed, listening for the slightest movement from below, his booted feet finding the rungs with a delicacy surprising in so big a man. His body was half turned toward the central darkness, his weapon drawn, ready for use. Even so, it was a great risk he was taking and he knew it. She didn't have night-sight—he was fairly sure of that—but if she were down there, there was the distinct possibility that she would see him first, if only as a shadow against the shadows.
He stopped, crouching on the ladder, one hand going down. His foot had met something. Something hard but yielding.
It was a mesh. A strong security mesh, stretched across the shaft. He reached' out, searching the surface. Yes, there!—the raised edge of a gate, set into the mesh. He traced it around. There was a slight indentation on the edge farthest from the ladder, where a spanner-key would fit, but it was locked. Worse, it was bolted from beneath. If he were to go any further he would have to break it open.
He straightened up, gripping the rung tightly, preparing himself, then brought his foot down hard. With a sharp crack it gave, taking him with it, his hand torn from the rung, his body twisting about.
He fell. Instinctively, he curled into a ball, preparing for impact, but it came sooner than he'd expected, jarring him.
He rolled to one side, then sat up, sucking in a ragged breath, his left shoulder aching.
If she was there . . .
He closed his eyes, willing the pain to subside, then got up onto his knees. For the briefest moment he felt giddy, disoriented, then his head cleared. His gun . . . he had lost his gun.
In the silent darkness he waited, tensed, straining to hear the click of a safety or the rattle of a grenade, but there was nothing, only the deep, rhythmic pulse of the pumps, immediately beneath. And something else—something so faint he thought at first he was imagining it.
Karr got to his feet unsteadily, then, feeling his way blindly, he went toward the sound.
The wall was closer than he'd thought. For a moment his hands searched fruitlessly, then found what they'd been looking for. A passageway—a small, low-ceilinged tunnel barely broad enough for him to squeeze into. He stood there a moment, listening. Yes, it came from here. He could hear it clearly now.