Grass by Sheri S. Tepper

“Trooper,” she said. “Take a quick look out the window. Some very dangerous creatures are rampaging around out there.”

He gestured her back, as though she were the dangerous one, she standing there in her crumpled clothing with no weapon at all, her hair falling untidily around her face. When he had seen, however, he looked confused, as though teetering among several desires.

“If we’re going to stay here,” she said, “we need to make ourselves as safe from those beasts as we can. We have to assume they’ll come here eventually.”

“How?” he asked. “What do you mean?”

“They can’t climb ladders,” she said. “But they aren’t stupid. They may know or be able to figure out what lifts are. We need to turn off the power to the chutes. We’re on the fourth level here. Without lifts, they probably can’t get up here.”

“Power controls are probably all the way down,” he said.

“Then we’ll have to go all the way down.”

He hesitated, starting toward the lift, then back,

“Come on, boy,” she snapped. “I’m old enough to be your mother, so I can yell at you. Decide what you’re going to do!”

He started to put his weapon down.

“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.”

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