“Take it,” she commanded. “They could get into the hotel while we’re down below.”
They fell into the down chute together, Marjorie complaining bitterly under her breath at the slowness of the thing. Luxury seemed to be equated with slow chutes. The Port Hotel held itself out as luxurious. They floated past the doors like dust motes, ending up five levels below the ground with a further five levels still beneath them indicated upon the board.
“Winter quarters down there,” said Marjorie. “I’d forgotten there would be winter quarters.”
“It must get really cold here, huh?” the guardsman wanted to know as he looked vaguely around himself.
“I have a feeling cold is only part of it,” Marjorie answered. “Now where?”
He pointed. The power room was opposite the chute, a heavy metal door opening into a room full of consoles and bubble meters.
“We should probably shut it all down,” said Marjorie.
“All? You won’t have any water up there or anything. Besides, how’ll we get back?”
“Climb the chute,” she said succinctly. She moved down the console, reading labels. Main power control. Main pump. The main pump seemed to be on a separate circuit from the power control. It might be possible to leave them with water. She folded back the barrier and thrust the power control sharply across. The room went black.
“Damn,” she snarled.
A blazing light came on in her eyes. “I should’ve had it on already,” the trooper confessed, adjusting his helmet lamps. “Where do we climb back?”
“Up the chute,” she said. “Up the emergency ladder.”
They went back to the chute, leaning out over a well of chill dark to seize a cold metal rung. They climbed, Marjorie first, their ascent lighted by the trooper’s lamp.
“That’s a handy gadget,” she commented between puffs as they neared the fourth level once more. “Your helmet, I mean. Does it see in the infrared?”
“Infrared,” he agreed. “Plus about six other filter combinations. It can tell living stuff from dead stuff. And it’s got a motion detector. And if you tie it to the armor arm controls, it’s got automatic fire potential.” He sounded proud of it, and Marjorie approved of his pride and confidence. He might need it. Their safety could depend on it.
“Now,” she said when they had reached the fourth level, “you might as well come inside the suite. We’ll close and lock the door behind us just in case something—anything—gets up here.”
Rigo still slept. He looked drawn and worn.
“He’ll be hungry when he wakes,” she said. “We don’t have any food here.”
“Emergency rations,” the boy said from behind her, tapping a long compartment down one armored thigh. “Enough for one man, ten days. Enough for the three of us for a while, at least. They don’t taste like much, but the Cherubim tell us they’re sustaining.” He gestured at the sleeping man. “Has he been sick?”
She nodded. Yes. Rigo had been sick. All the riders had been sick.
“What’s your name?” she asked him. “Are you Sanctified?”
He grinned proudly. “Favel Cobham, ma’am. And yes, I’m Sanctified, ma’am. The whole family. I got registered when I was born. I’m saved for eternity.”
“Lucky you,” she said, turning again to Rigo’s bed. Here in the Port Hotel she and Rigo weren’t saved for even this life if the Hippae got in. Tony was, maybe, if someone found a cure soon. And Stella. Remembering how Rillibee had looked at her, perhaps Stella was saved. If not for eternity, at least for a very small being’s lifetime, which was all one could expect.
She went back to the window, looking across the battle to the huge barns against the wall. The horses! She could see the barn where they were stabled. It was stout, true, but not impenetrable. It was connected to the building they were in by the tunnel network. Everything was connected to everything else. Could she find her way there? She fumbled in her jacket pocket, finding the trip recorder that Brother Mainoa had returned to her.
“The Seraph, he had a few men in town,” the trooper said.
“What will they do?” she wondered.
He shook his head. “The Seraph, he’s what you’d call conservative, ma’am. I’ve heard the Cherubim say that, a few times. He’ll wait until morning, then he’ll prob’ly make a sweep from the wall with all the men moving on automatic fire. By that time, he’ll have more men down from the ship.”
“There’s at least one tunnel where the Hippae came in,” Marjorie said. “It’ll have to be blown up, or flooded, or something.”
“Do the people in the town know that?” he asked. When she nodded, he said, “Then they’ll tell the Seraph and he’ll take care of it. Maybe even tonight if he can get an assault hopper down. Seraph has an assault group moves with him, wherever he goes. Assault group’s got all kinds of demolition stuff.”
“Would he have taken a group like that into town?” she asked incredulously.
“Everywhere,” he said soberly. “Everywhere he goes, even to the toilet. In case something happens while he’s gone and he has trouble getting back to his command. Like a mutiny or something.”
She shook her head, amazed. How insecure a Hierarch must feel to make a routine provision for mutiny.
“Mutiny?” asked an angry voice from the door. Rigo, stripped to his trousers, feet bare. “What’s going on?”
Marjorie stood aside from the window to let him see.
“They’ve come through,” she said. “This young man and I have turned off the power to the hotel,” she said. “They won’t be able to get up here unless there are some stairs I’m unaware of. By the same token, however, I’m afraid we’re trapped. For the time being.” She believed they might not outlive their entrapment, though she did not say so.
Rigo looked expressionlessly out the window. “Hippae,” he said unnecessarily. “How many?”
“Enough to do a great deal of damage,” Marjorie replied. “I quit counting at eighty some-odd, and there were
