The sharp corner was a problem, and for all the sinuousness that he could muster, he still wasn’t sure that he could twist his protesting body and get the push from his legs that would take him around and onto the next stretch.
There was no light at all now. The last vestiges from the lab, bleeding into the duct, were now just a memory.
The cold draft of air had become stronger, colder as he entered the straight section, moving on. His elbows were rubbed free of skin, but he focused on the pain, using it to drive him on. He refused to think about the possibility of the duct narrowing. There was no way he could crawl backward, and the terror of being trapped was actually too great for him to even contemplate.
The air was freezing now, and his body shuddered with involuntary shivers, making progress even harder. But through the intense cold, Dean realized that he had reached a junction in the air ducts. The cold seemed to bear down on him from above, and his shoulders were like blocks of ice…blocks of ice that were no longer being rubbed raw by concrete.
It was too dark to see, but he could only surmise that he had reached a point where a larger central duct had been sunk as a shaft from the surface, which meant that there was more than this one duct. Logically, then, there had to be other exits.
It was something of which he couldn’t have been sure before now, but knowing that there was another way out cheered him, and gave purpose to his determination. Testing the distance around him by extending his arms, he found that the central shaft was wide. Experimentally, he raised his head and shoulders, slowly lest he crack his skull.
There was no ceiling here. With great care not to cramp his protesting muscles, Dean found that he was able to stand in this part of the shaft, and stretch his aching and confined limbs.
He tilted his head and looked up. There was no sign of light, no indication of where the shaft eventually surfaced.
After pausing for a few moments to savor the lack of confinement, and to breathe deeply of the cold air, Dean began to grope blindly around the parameters of the shaft. It seemed to him that it was like the axle of a wheel, with the duct leading from the lab being one of the spokes that connected centrally to this point. Being sure to note where he began—not wanting to accidentally return the way he had come—he turned in a circle, feeling for the openings to the ducts.
There were eight in all, seven for him to make his choice. Picking one diametric to the duct from the lab, he dropped to his knees again.
“Just got to keep going now,” he whispered to himself, striking out across the floor of the shaft and into the duct.
“WELL, CYCLOPS, this is a nice little surprise.”
Ryan would have started at the sound of Harvey’s voice behind him, but he found that he was still unable to move freely.
Jenna, on the other hand, had no such trouble. Squealing with faked fright, she jumped back from the one-eyed man, grabbing a fur from the bed and using it to cover herself. Her eyes took on an accusatory cast, and Ryan felt the heaviness lift from his mind, independence return to his limbs.
He turned, and saw that Harvey was standing in the opening to the chamber, the drapes held back.
Alien stood beside him.
“I think you may have some explaining to do, friend Cawdor,” the baron said softly.
Ryan shook his head. “No explaining. You think what you will.”
The one-eyed man knew that whatever he said, he wouldn’t be believed. If he tried to explain about Jenna’s power, about Dean, about her proposition, none of it would be believed. The baron was completely in her thrall.
“This is no way to treat your hosts, Cyclops,” Harvey said with relish. “I reckon it’s just plain bad manners. Shall I chill the fucker now, Alien, or do you want to do it yourself?”