I started to use them regularly they wouldn’t be any problem, but right now they refused to yield to my prying fingers. I worked at it in a very slow-paced way, not feeling up to much more, and it was fully five minutes before my judicious wiggling of the left-hand clip unfroze it. I was about to start on the other when a voice asked, “What are you doing?”
I had my face in my hand at the moment, and I jumped guiltily at the sudden sound. I composed myself as best I could before I looked around. It was Zena Andrus standing there.
I said, “What are you doing?”
She said, “I live back there,” pointing to a door not so far down the way. “What are you doing?”
I pointed through the grate at the collecting chute. “I’m going down in there.”
“You mean down in the ducts?”
“Yes,” I said. “Why not? Does the idea scare you?”
She bristled. “I’m not scared. I can do anything you can.”
With deliberate malice, I said, “In that case, come on along with me.”
She swallowed a little bit hard, then knelt down beside me and looked through the grate, feeling the indraft and becoming conscious of the distant sound of fans. “It’s awfully dark down there.”
“I have a light,” I said. “We won’t need it much, though. It’s more fun running along in the dark.”
“Running?”
“Well, walking.”
Uncertainly, she looked back at the grate again. They say that misery loves company, and I was bound to make someone else miserable.
“Oh, well,” I said. “If you’re afraid to come along . . .”
Zena stood up. “I am not.”
“All right,” I said. “If you’re coming, stand aside and let me get the grate off.”
In a minute I had the other clip pulled to the side. I set the grate on the floor and pointed to the black hole. “After you.”
“You’re not going to shut me up in there?”
“No,” I said. “No, I’ll be right behind you. Go through feet first.”
Since she was a butterball, it was a tight fit for her, but after she did some earnest wriggling, she popped through. I handed the chalk and the light down to her and then I slid through myself. When I was standing on the floor of the duct, I took the chalk and light back.
“Put the grate on,” I said, and while she was doing that I made an X-mark and put a neat circle around it, the chalk squeaking lightly on the metal.
“That’s the mark for home,” I said. The ducts corresponding to arteries have pushing fans, the ducts corresponding to veins have sucking fans. Between the chalk marks I make and the direction and feel of the wind, I always have a good enough idea where I am, even in a strange place like this one, to at least find my way home again. There was certainly more similarity here to the ducts at home than there was in the layouts of Alfing and Geo Quads proper. I didn’t think it would take me long to get my bearings.
When Zena had the grate in place, we set off.
I walked first down the metal corridor. Zena followed uncertainly behind me, tripping once and skidding, though there was nothing there to trip on except her feet. The duct itself, fully six feet wide and six feet high, was made of smooth metal. The darkness was complete, except for the occasional grille of light cast into the dust at a grate opening, and the beam cast by my little light. As we passed them, I numbered the grates and the cross-corridors to give me a ready idea of how far from home I was.
As we passed the grates, occasionally noises penetrated from the outside world, but it was clearly another world than the one that we were in. The sounds of our world were the metallic echoes of our whispers, the sound of our sandals padding dully, and the constant sound of the fans.
I had read more than one novel set in the American West two hundred years before Earth was destroyed, where conditions were almost as primitive as on one of the colony planets. I remembered reading of the scouts who even in strange territory had the feel of the country, and I felt much the same way myself. The feel of the air, the sounds, all meant something to me. To Zena they meant nothing and she was scared. She didn’t like the dark at all.