Source: The Next Floor

About a quarter mile from the complex, the road deteriorates into a shattered mess of paving. Lan pauses, listening to the distant sounds of the squeakers, smelling a faint organic saltiness on the breeze. Then he steps forward, feet crunching on the fragments.

A mile later, the bushes thicken across the road, and he pushes through a stand of hydrogen trees to step into the sunlight. A causeway leads out onto the ocean. To the right, the dock follows the shore. Surprised, Lan sees two small battered vessels shifting and grinding against the dock, tethered with thick wire cables.

Lan scratches his beard as he stands in front of the first vessel. He judges the ebb and flow of its motion and jumps across to the metal deck, landing hard against the deckhouse pylon. He pushes back and looks around. The paint has held well, considering how long the vessel must have been unattended, but the deck and fixtures are marked with large patches of corrosion.

He climbs the ladder to the deckhouse. The door at the top is locked. He walks along the catwalk toward the front of the cabin. The windows are intact. He cups his hand against the glass and peers inside. Though messy, it seems mostly intact. Probably doesn't work, though, he thinks.

Back on the deck, he tries to unlock the hatch to the lower deck, but corrosion has frozen the dogs. Finally he gives up and wanders the deck, peering over the side to the dark water at a couple of points. Then he regains interest and walks back to the dock. Down the dock to the second vessel, a somewhat larger one, with a variety of deckhouses and fixtures. Deep in a maze of narrow corridors, he finally steps into a compartment crammed with motors, pumps and conduits. He eyes the engines skeptically in the dim glow from a filthy skylight. But there seems to be minimal corrosion, though there are a number of leaks and stains of dubious origin.

By the time he reaches the deck, the sun has slumped toward the waves, casting vast shadows of the vessels across the dock. He stands, arms loose, looking out over the ocean. A brief breeze shivers him and suddenly his legs are weak. He forces himself to sit, even as the dizziness sweeps across him. He can hear Clu's voice like a distant vibration in the bones of his ears, like waves from the sea, like the blood pounding in his brain.

I can't do this, he thinks. Why should I have to? Haven't I given up enough? Can't someone else do this?

The exhaustion hits him and he starts to sob in agony, like a wounded animal. His body shudders with every cry. "I'm so sorry, Clu! I'm sorry I couldn't stop you..."

Yet somehow, distant from this, he watches, knowing he could stop it if he chose, and knowing he shouldn't, that he had been slamming the lid to hold this this under, and that now, away from the rest, was the one time, now or later, when he could release it - and that if he didn't release his fear, his self-blame, his burden, just for a moment, it would destroy him.

Again and again in a torrent, he relives seeing her off to work that morning. It had just been a normal morning, except he had been angry and depressed at being unable to get out from under inactive teaching status. He had hugged her, but it was perfunctory, something to do, not an expression of his values. And now it was too late.

But she knows I love her, he tells himself. If she was alive. And she had to be. If she wasn't, then what he could hope for was justice. Revenge on what destroyed her. What destroyed his family and everything they cared for.

There is only one kind of action that matters, he thinks.

He feels the terror, sadness, and guilt receeding, though his stomach is still knotted with uncertainty. He rubs his eyes, and the cold digs into the corners. But he struggles to his feet, hands shaking, and finally stands in the last light of the sun, hands in his pockets, face flushed with sadness and anger.

The wind shivers the weakened window frames, and a cold edge seeps through. Lan, at his desk in the grey morning cast from behind him, feels the faint draft. But soon he hears the sound of the heating vents clicking and pinging as their metal responds to the first artificial heat in over a decade.

He scans the papers on his desk, many of them hand-written with graphite stylus. On top is a brief note on the progress of the bridge defenses. Beneath it, if he were to lift the sheet, is a list of materials needed to complete the repairs on Clu and Norisk - names given in honor of the casualties of resistance; Pierre Norisk was the prisoner whose death had provoked Lan's action. As much as was possible with so much sadness involved, Lan felt a distant pleasure at the thought that, if the repairs could be completed, those names would be borne by a last line of safety and a first line of expansion.

There is a knock at the door, and Elise peers in with a tentative look.

"Hi, Elise," Lan waves her in. "What's up?"

She stands uneasily at the corner of his desk. "You know we're coming up on the inspection date."

"I haven't been able to find an x-ray scanner, if that's what you want to know."

She sighs and removes her patched glasses. "I know. But what if something goes wrong?"

"I understand." He tries not to dwell on it, but this installation had been the last gasp of private initiative before the revolution crushed everything. That it runs at all is a miracle. It is too easy to take it for granted. And, too dangerous.

"But I have an idea," Elise continues.

He leans back, relieved. Along with the lack of a doctor, this is the issue that worries him the most.

"Tell me."

"The aviation installation. They might have a scanner. They might have needed one for checking turbines and airframes."

"But we have to check pipes."

She shrugs, looking right at him. "Unless you're prepared to make one, I know I can't hope for anything perfect. If we can find it, we'll find a way to make it work."

He nods. "All right." He jots down a note on his issues list. "I'll try to get an expedition out there. You'll need to go, I assume, and it'll take you away for a couple of days. Make sure you have everyone in place to handle things while you're gone. I may go, also. I've been wanting a look over there for a while. If we could find one or two aircraft.... not that we'd find the fuel, I suppose, but you never know 'till you look. After all, who would have guessed at all of the oil and gasoline we'd have here?"

Her hand fidgets on her thigh. "I'd better get back. Thanks."

"Are you doing all right?" he asks. He wonders at her dedication. She spends eighteen hour days monitoring, testing, training and managing. He worries about what makes that possible and whether it can continue.

"I'm fine," she replies. "I think another week and Jule will have enough for me to leave him on as third shift. I could use the sleep."

Behind him he hears the flutter and soft hooting of a diaphane on the window ledge. Elise smiles warmly at the sight. "So they come here, too? Do you feed them?"

"Feed them?" he asks, startled, turning toward the window. "Why would I do that?"

She raises an eyebrow. "For fun? Winter's coming, you know."

He shakes his head and turns back to the desk. "I don't think I've got time to take care of anything else."

Cool evening finds him sitting on the roof of the building staring up at the stars, wrapped in a blanket, feeling the faintly cold breeze pluck at his hair as if searching for something.

Each night he tries to find the constellation that holds Prometheus, but each night he fails. Perhaps it is over the horizon to the north - without charts he has lost track of the stars, and his mathematics seems to be receeding.

He sighs and pulls the blanket tighter.

But behind him, the door creaks open, releasing a slash of light across the rough pebbles of the roof.

He turns sharply, to see nothing but a silhoette of a figure in the doorway. "Yes?" he asks.

A woman's voice reaches him. "I heard you liked to sit up here."

For a moment, his mind reacts to hope and he hears Clu's voice - but a moment later the assumption crashes. "I didn't know my habits were a subject of discussion."

It is Elise, wrapped in a rough and ready coat that had come from the military stores, but is already patched and worn. "They talk about you, but they're a little intimidated," she replies. And perhaps it is just the night coolness that makes her voice a little unsteady.

Her grey hair is caught up in a high ponytail, and her glasses are a good pair, with brass wire frames and oval lenses low on the nose. The light from the door disappears as she closes it. "Sorry about the light."

He shrugs. "Night vision comes back." He looks back up at the sky, eyes narrow. "What's up?"

"I don't know," she replies from the darkness. "I suppose I thought I'd find out what you can see from up here. I spend too much time in the reactor."

He sighs, his restful loneliness broken by responsibility. "I know."

"So, what do you see?"

"Just the stars."

She senses his distance, and looks up.

The second truck rumbles through the gate and turns up the road toward the warehouse. It halts, hissing and steaming, until the massive sliding door is rolled aside.

Lan is hiking along the road to the dock, pulling a cart with parts for the boats. Oloron jogs across the gravel to join him as he enters the overhanging forest. "How are you doing?" Oloron asks. Lan grins, "Is that your truck?" Oloron nods - "Yeah, we brought in some paint. You know, Dirolio is a some trader. I think he had four people who brought in different pieces of the deal."

"So we can have paint." Lan thinks of the corroded parts of the boat hulls, and the apartments established in the main offices.

"So we get paint. Hey, can I pull that for a while?"

"Sure. Too much driving?"

"Too much."

They walk together in companionable silence, enjoying the unsaid.

"I'm going on a trip," Lan remarks.

"No kidding! That's great. It's about time you got a little break." Oloron waves a hand in exuberance.

Taskov is apoplectic, face congested with emotion. "But you can't just go off for a week!"

Lan is sitting on the steps in front of the offices, looking out over the bustle. Sunset is streaking long shadows across the cracked street, and his hands are slightly nervous - on his knees, then on the concrete of the steps. Finally, he asks, "Why is that?"

"Well... the raid, the boats, the ammunition factory. Don't you have enough to do?"

"That can get done without me. They don't need me to watch every minute." He stretches and stands. "We need the technology, and everyone here can take care of what they do without me. If not, I suppose I'm a massive failure."

"But the planning..." The last light of the sun glints from his glasses.

"Everyone worked on the plans, if they have to make decisions, so be it. Besides, I need a break."

The steam truck wheezes down a final hill, to be confronted with a thick wall of hydrogen trees. Lan pulls the truck to a halt and looks over at Elise. "I guess we walk from here."

The trees had pushed their way up through the road, and shattered fragments, worn by the sun and weather, lie everywhere, making hard walking. The improvised packs are heavy and uncomfortable, and though the weather is cooler, before long, they are jacketless and their sleeves are rolled up.

"Maybe there isn't anything left?" Elise asks dubiously while they pause for water.

"Maybe." His eyes narrow as he peers into the woods. "The road's certainly worse than ours. But there should be hangars and storage areas. And, with any luck, they're better protected. I hope you'll recognize this thing if we find it."

Elise sips from her bottle and resolutely caps it. "Me too. And I hope we're going to find some water, or this is going to be a short trip." Her greyish hair is disordered, and the lenses of her repaired glasses are a little dusty, but she puts the bottle back in the pack, and uses the flap to wipe her glasses, all the while looking around with a faint squint.

"Map shows a stream maybe a mile or so ahead." Lan replies, feeling oddly protective.

"Think everything's OK back at the plant?" she asks, shouldering her pack.

"You're worse than I am," he replies. "Oscar was worried about the same thing. They can get along without us for a few days. They have to be able to. Right?"

"Well," she replies, starting off, "I trained my people and they know their jobs. They should know how important they are."

Lan sighs, joining her. "As long as they know that, then we should be fine. I hope. But it's hard to be battered into following orders and then suddenly have to think for yourself."

She glances sharply at him. "I'm one of them, too, you know. You and Oscar, and Henri are probably the only ones who aren't. Don't get superior."

For a moment he is mystified by the names, and then he recalls their aliases. He laughs. "I'll try."

An hour later, the sun has receeded behind the clouds. There is a distant crackle of thunder. They try to walk faster, but the vines make a complex path more intricate. By the time the rain begins, they are still a mile or more from their destination.

They shudder under the wetness dripping from the swaying floatboadies, and push through the stems and vines with even greater determination. Suddenly the forest comes to an end, trailing into underbrush and then a large desolate plain, studded with structures. In the distance, they can see the rainfront receeding, trailed by occasional bolts of lightning.

"I guess we found it," Lan grins.

But Elise is dismayed. "How are we going to find anything? It's huge!"

He sighs, elation dimmed. "We'll start with the first building, and keep looking until it gets dark. When it does, we'll camp and look in the morning. What else can we do?"

The wide door is a construction of rusted metal slats that has been partly retracted above. Shafts of sun, escaping the torn remnants of the storm clouds, wedge past the door, darkening the interior and casting Lan and Elise's long, articulated shadows toward it.

His flashlight waves into the darkness, and at the distant edge of its range, a variety of bulky shapes, some cloaked in fabric, are barely visible.

They duck slightly under the door, and suddenly are blinded by the dark. They wait stiffly, staring around, as their vision begins to fade in. And in a moment, they can see that not far ahead, the floor is torn open by collapse into a basement. Narrow steel beams cross some of the opening, and rags of concrete cling to the edges.

"Looks like they didn't reinforce it," Elise comments. "Typical shortcuts. They used to skip it in the mines all the time. They didn't care if there were cave-ins, as long as the supports lasted long enough."

"Which I suppose they didn't." Their voices echo in the vast hidden space.

"No." But she is looking around. "Not usually." He wonders at the awful things she is remembering behind that harshly shaded expression.

"You do know what this thing looks like?" he asks.

"Well... not exactly. But I should be able to recognize it. It won't be too big, I don't think. It's at least partly portable."

He steps forward a bit, peering down the shaft of light. "We'll have to open the crates then. Good thing we brought some tools."

The accident happens as the last of the sun is shading into twilight with a thin sheet of light across the concrete. They are walking across a space of clear floor to a final cluster of boxy draped forms when the floor gives way. Lan staggers under the sudden movement, and pitches forward as the concrete dissolves into blackness. Then something very hard hits him across the cheek, and the chest, and piles on his back, crushing breath out into dust.

For a long time he cannot move. It is as if he is reluctant to move, for no good reason, though, as the pain has not begun. But the strange lassitude and numbness begins to shift toward bruised fire in his joints, and he rolls his head, crunching some hard grit under his cheek and temple. "Elise..." he croaks.

But he hears nothing, sees nothing.

There is a brief grinding sound and then another sound like pouring sand. Then nothing.

His arms can move, so he moves them. The weight across his back is stiff but segmented, and it shifts as he gathers effort to push upward. Finally, he can raise his head, and the thin sheets of rock cascade from from his back. "Elise!" he calls.

His eyes are adjusting and now he can see that they are in a basement of some sort, with the last light of the day filtering through a grid of narrow metal and wood beams just above.

The he hears a sound - perhaps a whimper, or a shift. "Elise?"

"Phillippe?" The sound is almost a scream.

"Yes, I'm here," he calls, consoling. But he can barely tell where she is because of the echoes. But she can't be far, and he is afraid to move, not wanting to step on a limb or otherwise cause more damage.

"Oh, it hurts. Can you help me?" Her voice echoes, but he is able to tell more of her location. He steps cautiously and lightly forward.

"I can't see you. Keep talking."

Suddenly he realizes that he is still wearing the pack. He stops and takes it off, as Elise starts to talk.

"I think my ankle may be broken. It really hurts." There is a shifting sound as he finally find the flashlight in his pack. Suddenly light blooms into a powerful cone. The air is still filled with dust, but he can see a small pile almost directly in front of him that moves slightly.

He hurries forward and catches sight of her hair, greyed further with concrete dust, face turned away from him.

"I'm here," he responds. "Let me get this stuff off of you."

The concrete remains are thin and are easily shifted. When she turns her head to look at him, the dust is streaked with tears. "Oh, it hurts." She moves her arms and pushes herself up, turning to look around. "Oh, my ankles."

He bends down to look at her leg. His heart is racing. What if something is really wrong? He has almost nothing to help. But he forces himself into a state of calm, and looks at the outline of her leg. "It doesn't look broken. Can I touch it?"

She rolls over to sit, though she winces with pain. "OK."

In the end, they conclude that damage has been done, but there is no overt break. Lan racks his brain for information on broken bones, but it is very sparse knowledge. "Can you wiggle your toes?" he asks.

"I can move them. But if I move my feet, it hurts."

"Maybe it's just a sprain. We need to find some way of helping you get out of here."

He shines the flashlight around. The room is filled with file storage. Paper, cardboard, metal. None of it really useful. He steps over the debris to a nearby cabinet and opens it. Inside, the files are racked on metal bars. Perhaps...

Soon, between the use of the bars and the cardboard, and some strips of cloth from a tattered tablecloth, they have made two splits for the feet. "Which one hurts the least?" Lan asks. He helps her up from the other side and she leans on him heavily, musk with sweat and dust. "I'm sorry," she says. "For what?" he asks. "It's not anyone's fault." She looks away and then up. "I don't know if I can get up there. And what if we do and just fall back through?"

"I know. We'll try that door." He points the light.

The door is metal, and is locked. Lan is angry, and helps Elise brace herself against a nearby cabinet with the light, while he uses the prybar from her pack to force the edge of the door next to the lock. With a pang and a reverbrating crash, the door slams open. "Lousy doors, too," he yells. Then he turns back to help her. "Come on, let's see if we can get out."

The final door opens into the starry night, outside, not in the hangar. They stagger, exhausted, over to the hangar wall and slide down to rest. Lan fishes the water bottle out of the pack and offers it to Elise. She takes it and drinks greedily for a moment, then, with a visible effort, hands it to him. "If we just had some salical," she whispers.

"Still hurts?"

"Yes, but, it's better than it was."

"Maybe it will be OK in the morning."

"I'm sure it will be," she replies. "Just needs some rest."

The breeze is substantially cold and moist. "We should get inside somewhere, maybe I can go out and find some wood for a fire."

She nods, shivering slightly. "Yes, I wouldn't mind that."

"Wait here." He squats besider and hands her the light. "When you hear me call, turn it on for a moment."

"Won't you need it?"

"I'll be OK. It won't be long. Just try to stay comfortable."

In an hour they are safely ensconced in an office, with a fire in a perforated can near a door that faces away from the wind. They talk quietly for a while, and finally, Lan curls up in his coat to sleep in a corner, while Elise watches the light of the fire play across his face.

The truck lurches across the bridge, and Lan realizes he is exhausted. The sun is high and the day is warmer than usual, and the heat seems to fill the cab and steal his alertness. With the gate in sight, he can feel the temptation to relax, and for a second, the momentum of the truck almost carries him to the edge of the road - until he regains his alertness with a sudden spike to his heart rate.

In the back of the truck, Elise watches the small cluster of crates vibrate with the uneven road. Her ankles still ache, and she knows she has pushed a little bit too hard. For a moment, she worries about her age, and whether she will be able to properly heal. Then she worries about worrying about it. Then her focus shifts to Philippe, and she is worried about her age for another reason. Finally, she remembers that she was a prisoner in the mines for so long that it seemed she would be a slave until she died. She smiles and laughs at how far-fetched her concerns are compared to that now distant reality.

Lan stands over the sketch for the raid. He looks up at Oloron and Taskov. "We need to do this soon so we can get back to the airfield. We definitely need more manpower out there."

Dawn on the roof. Lan sits back in a flimsy chair from one of the workrooms, one foot on the low wall at the edge of the roof, and the other on the pebbly surface. Beside him, a thin pile of paper flutters with the vague thrusts of morning breeze. His pencil scratches softly on the paper.

Behind him, steps scratch pebbles, but he hears nothing.

"It's time for the raid meeting," Taskov's gravelly voice rasps across the silence.

Ahead of him, still faced away, Lan holds up a hand, and his voice is distant. "I have to finish this first."

Taskov sighs and takes off his glasses, rubbing them with a kerchief. He waits.

Finally, Lan sighs and puts his paper aside, looking out at the sun. "I've been missing the whole thing. I mean, how mathematical it is. start with the premises, follow the formulae, compare to reality, correct, build higher. It really isn't that hard."

Taskov walks over to the wall and sits down facing his young leader. "You're the one it's hard to understand."

Lan smiles, and the the smile brightens his eyes and the shape of the face beneath the beard. "Look, it's partly a problem of politics... but its really a problem in morality." He leans forward eagerly. "You see, the only way we've become willing to accept the unacceptable is because we believe it is right. That's what we have to change. We have to show everyone how immoral this system is. And why."

His friend is amused. "Oh, that sounds simple," he remarks caustically.

But Lan smiles easily. "Yes it is. I'm just starting to find out how simple it is. A few basic ideas, a simple method of logic. Just like fusion."

Now Taskov is bored, and he looks out over the compound below. "We don't need fusion right now. We need to know how we're going to succeed on the raid."

Lan leaps up. "You're right, of course." He scoops up the papers, curls them under his arm, and strides back toward the door. "For the moment."

Then he stops. "But we have to be worried about more than the moment, you know..."