Descending Road - LIKE RATS IN A ROASTER by Dana W. Paxson

LIKE RATS IN A ROASTER

1563 4D

The guards the rebels had posted at the stairwell exit inside the Complex didn’t want to let the children in. One of the guards, an exhausted-looking woman in a blood-smeared brown coverall, said, “They’ll tear things up in here. We can’t let them in.”

“They’ll get in and out anyway, and you know it,” Andrew said. “They alerted us to an attack force that trailed us to this stairwell. They came with us on their own.”

“An attack force? On foot?” The girl nodded in answer. The woman said, “Just don’t strip our people, all right?”

Mama Bones looked around her brood of smaller children, then looked straight at the woman and grinned. The children began to spread along the wall; in a moment they had vanished.

The woman pulled out a comm and said, “One One, we have a sighting in Well 17. Attack force, unknown size, on foot, heavy weapons.” She listened, and put away the comm. “We’re going to lay nerve bombs on them if they try coming up this way.”

An alarm began a distant, dismal hooting. Heads swiveled toward the sound, coming from around the corridor bend to the left. A disembodied voice cut through the hoots. “Attack in Area Nine Four. Attack in Area Nine Four. Cut nonessential power now.”

A helmed rebel soldier in brown bolted from a side door. Two more sprinted past him, cursing, fumbling autoclips into beam weapons. A beamer cartridge bounced across the floor to roll at Andrew‘s feet.

“Where’s Nine Four? Is that the stairwell?” Jeddin called.

“No, no. Air circulation control. Come on, we need fighters down there. If we lose that we’re all dead.” The soldier at the door slammed it shut and ran after the others.

“Seven One, Seven One,” the voice in the air called. “Seven One is calling for backups. Major attack in progress.”

The lift door opened to disgorge two scorched soldiers supporting a one-legged officer between them. The officer’s head hung low. “Where’s the fucking hospital? Where’s the hospital?” one of the soldiers said. The man hanging between the two seemed lifeless, but they held him up. The lift door slammed.

Over the alarms, shouts and echoing announcements and orders, the woman with the comm unit called to them, “You’re about five levels low. Get back in the lift when it gets here again and take it to 620.”

The soldier said to Andrew and Jeddin, “They caught us by surprise. Perfect coordination. Bugboys broke into the rail terminus and shut down our links to the outside.” He paused, panting, his eyes shut, tears leaking out from lids with no lashes. “And the regionals and the corps got up an old air shaft and broke into the air circulation control center. They nearly took us out right away with that.” He puffed and sucked air again. “We’ve had to pour everything into holding onto air control. All they’d have to do is cut fresh air, or load the air with psychogas, and we’d all drop like rats in a roaster. The hospital’s gotta be jammed. Where’s that crapping lift?” He probed his blistered red and brown cheek with grimy fingers. The lift door finally opened.

Breaking in, a blistered woman with sizzled hair shouldered out of the lift and confronted Andrew and Jeddin. “You guys know your weapons and your street fighting?” Andrew nodded, and she went on, “Get up topside, to Aswar Hendarzha, at the power distribution dome. We’ve had to send the best down to the airflow center and the rail terminus, and we’re short up there now. Munitions up one level, just tell them where you’re going and they’ll outfit you, helm and all.”

Turiosten berated Andrew. Now tell me how I’ll eat when you’re fighting? Do you really think I’ll just let you go on and on like this? What if you get hurt and I have to try to fix you up without reserves?

Climbing the stairs, weariness dragging at him, Andrew muttered, “I don’t know. I’ll just do what I have to do. When I get to the end of that, we’ll see.”

You know, if it had been Leil burned in that hospital back there, you’d have—

“SHUT UP.” Jeddin stared at him. The two of them stumbled out of the stair into a melee of brown-coveralled men and women collecting gear from a harassed trio of andro men. Helms, weapons, ammunition, armor massed in heaps along the wall facing the stair entrance. Heat crept through Andrew‘s body. Dizziness seized him and he reeled. Hands caught him before he fell.

“Hey, friend, you’d better sit down and rest before you start on the next dance.” A woman. She and Jeddin lowered Andrew to the corridor floor by the stair entrance.

“It feels like a fever,” Andrew said. “I don’t understand. I don’t get sick.” His head throbbed.

“Rest a bit,” the woman said. “Get a helm on. Angie‘ll help you out. Here.” She crossed the corridor, elbowed her way in and snatched a helmet from the nearest stack.

“Hey,” the andro guarding the helms called, without interest; then he turned to restack a pile that had been upset by someone else.

“Thanks.” Grease and moisture slicked under Andrew‘s fingers on the helmet liner, but he jammed it on his head, smelling a burned stench for a second. His head throbbed in a tightening vise.

Angie came on. “Hi there. Angie here. And you?”

“I’m Andrew,” he said softly. “We’ve met before.”

“Oh, that’s what they all say,” the female voice laughed.

Who’s this? Turiosten.

“Turiosten, this is Angie, my helmbuddy. Angie, I’ve got a friend in my head named Turiosten. She and I argue a lot. And she can play with my chemistry. Want to try calibration on me?”

“Sure, Andrew. Here we go. Oh, you’ve got a fever. Let the calibration wait a bit. Let me see what’s best for this one.” A short quiet followed that made Andrew grateful for the helm‘s noise suppression. Then Angie burst out, “Cretins and crappers, it’s an industrial, a headsmith. How’d you get one? You’re no andro.”

Andrew looked over at Jeddin, who chatted with his own helmet. “I’ve got a friend I can blame. Can you make it feel okay?”

Well, not until I eat.

Angie‘s voice overrode Turiosten‘s. “Sure. I can lower the feeling of fever. But these things can take you out for a little bit, you know? Like you’ll need to sleep. And I read you as down on energy and sleep right now.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad. I could use the rest.” Andrew turned partly to one side, curling against the wall.

“You should see the purple man soon.”

Andrew didn’t understand, and didn’t care what this meant.

Look, why don’t you just eat something for yourself? What’s the matter with you?

“I’ll eat later.” The world and its female voices and muffled noises and hard surfaces went away.

Story List	SURPRISE ME	Author Page
USER SURVEY	PUZZLE ME	MAKE ELM MARK

HOVER Lucida Bright BARE	HOVER Lucida Bright FULL	HOVER Palatino Linotype BARE
HOVER Palatino Linotype FULL	HOVER Times New Roman BARE	HOVER Times New Roman FULL
PAD Arial BARE	PAD Arial FULL	PAD Lucida Bright BARE
PAD Lucida Bright FULL	PAD Times New Roman BARE	PAD Times New Roman FULL


	LIKE RATS IN A ROASTER 1563 4D The guards the rebels had posted at the stairwell exit inside the Complex didn’t want to let the children in. One of the guards, an exhausted-looking woman in a blood-smeared brown coverall, said, “They’ll tear things up in here. We can’t let them in.” “They’ll get in and out anyway, and you know it,” Andrew said. “They alerted us to an attack force that trailed us to this stairwell. They came with us on their own.” “An attack force? On foot?” The girl nodded in answer. The woman said, “Just don’t strip our people, all right?” Mama Bones looked around her brood of smaller children, then looked straight at the woman and grinned. The children began to spread along the wall; in a moment they had vanished. The woman pulled out a comm and said, “One One, we have a sighting in Well 17. Attack force, unknown size, on foot, heavy weapons.” She listened, and put away the comm. “We’re going to lay nerve bombs on them if they try coming up this way.” An alarm began a distant, dismal hooting. Heads swiveled toward the sound, coming from around the corridor bend to the left. A disembodied voice cut through the hoots. “Attack in Area Nine Four. Attack in Area Nine Four. Cut nonessential power now.” A helmed rebel soldier in brown bolted from a side door. Two more sprinted past him, cursing, fumbling autoclips into beam weapons. A beamer cartridge bounced across the floor to roll at Andrew‘s feet. “Where’s Nine Four? Is that the stairwell?” Jeddin called. “No, no. Air circulation control. Come on, we need fighters down there. If we lose that we’re all dead.” The soldier at the door slammed it shut and ran after the others. “Seven One, Seven One,” the voice in the air called. “Seven One is calling for backups. Major attack in progress.” The lift door opened to disgorge two scorched soldiers supporting a one-legged officer between them. The officer’s head hung low. “Where’s the fucking hospital? Where’s the hospital?” one of the soldiers said. The man hanging between the two seemed lifeless, but they held him up. The lift door slammed. Over the alarms, shouts and echoing announcements and orders, the woman with the comm unit called to them, “You’re about five levels low. Get back in the lift when it gets here again and take it to 620.” The soldier said to Andrew and Jeddin, “They caught us by surprise. Perfect coordination. Bugboys broke into the rail terminus and shut down our links to the outside.” He paused, panting, his eyes shut, tears leaking out from lids with no lashes. “And the regionals and the corps got up an old air shaft and broke into the air circulation control center. They nearly took us out right away with that.” He puffed and sucked air again. “We’ve had to pour everything into holding onto air control. All they’d have to do is cut fresh air, or load the air with psychogas, and we’d all drop like rats in a roaster. The hospital’s gotta be jammed. Where’s that crapping lift?” He probed his blistered red and brown cheek with grimy fingers. The lift door finally opened. Breaking in, a blistered woman with sizzled hair shouldered out of the lift and confronted Andrew and Jeddin. “You guys know your weapons and your street fighting?” Andrew nodded, and she went on, “Get up topside, to Aswar Hendarzha, at the power distribution dome. We’ve had to send the best down to the airflow center and the rail terminus, and we’re short up there now. Munitions up one level, just tell them where you’re going and they’ll outfit you, helm and all.” Turiosten berated Andrew. Now tell me how I’ll eat when you’re fighting? Do you really think I’ll just let you go on and on like this? What if you get hurt and I have to try to fix you up without reserves? Climbing the stairs, weariness dragging at him, Andrew muttered, “I don’t know. I’ll just do what I have to do. When I get to the end of that, we’ll see.” You know, if it had been Leil burned in that hospital back there, you’d have— “SHUT UP.” Jeddin stared at him. The two of them stumbled out of the stair into a melee of brown-coveralled men and women collecting gear from a harassed trio of andro men. Helms, weapons, ammunition, armor massed in heaps along the wall facing the stair entrance. Heat crept through Andrew‘s body. Dizziness seized him and he reeled. Hands caught him before he fell. “Hey, friend, you’d better sit down and rest before you start on the next dance.” A woman. She and Jeddin lowered Andrew to the corridor floor by the stair entrance. “It feels like a fever,” Andrew said. “I don’t understand. I don’t get sick.” His head throbbed. “Rest a bit,” the woman said. “Get a helm on. Angie‘ll help you out. Here.” She crossed the corridor, elbowed her way in and snatched a helmet from the nearest stack. “Hey,” the andro guarding the helms called, without interest; then he turned to restack a pile that had been upset by someone else. “Thanks.” Grease and moisture slicked under Andrew‘s fingers on the helmet liner, but he jammed it on his head, smelling a burned stench for a second. His head throbbed in a tightening vise. Angie came on. “Hi there. Angie here. And you?” “I’m Andrew,” he said softly. “We’ve met before.” “Oh, that’s what they all say,” the female voice laughed. Who’s this? Turiosten. “Turiosten, this is Angie, my helmbuddy. Angie, I’ve got a friend in my head named Turiosten. She and I argue a lot. And she can play with my chemistry. Want to try calibration on me?” “Sure, Andrew. Here we go. Oh, you’ve got a fever. Let the calibration wait a bit. Let me see what’s best for this one.” A short quiet followed that made Andrew grateful for the helm‘s noise suppression. Then Angie burst out, “Cretins and crappers, it’s an industrial, a headsmith. How’d you get one? You’re no andro.” Andrew looked over at Jeddin, who chatted with his own helmet. “I’ve got a friend I can blame. Can you make it feel okay?” Well, not until I eat. Angie‘s voice overrode Turiosten‘s. “Sure. I can lower the feeling of fever. But these things can take you out for a little bit, you know? Like you’ll need to sleep. And I read you as down on energy and sleep right now.” “That doesn’t sound so bad. I could use the rest.” Andrew turned partly to one side, curling against the wall. “You should see the purple man soon.” Andrew didn’t understand, and didn’t care what this meant. Look, why don’t you just eat something for yourself? What’s the matter with you? “I’ll eat later.” The world and its female voices and muffled noises and hard surfaces went away.