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slippery, and the shaft started tilting to an awkward angle. I stopped now and
then to look up and check everyone s progress.
Darla and the men were doing all right, but Susan was struggling with her
heavy backpack. I saw her lose her foothold several times, with Darla boosting
her rear end back up. We continued the long descent. The air currents
weakened as we got further down, then the odd angle worsened until it became a
real problem to hang on, making it necessary to use the rungs as handholds
only and fight for purchase with our heels against the smooth wall of the
shaft, skidding and scuffing our way down. The angle was steep, but further
ahead it began to level out. Before we got that far, the shaft began to move,
sometimes lurching violently, banging up against us and making it hard to
judge where to grab next. I heard a squeal, and before I could look back,
Susan slid past me, disappearing into the darkness. Then the shaft buckled
crazily and John was next to go. I reached out for him, but missed. The hand
grips were almost directly above now and were impossible to grab if you were
sliding. The flexible shaft was dancing like a length of rope in the wind,
pitching wildly in every direction, and it was Darla s turn next, but I
managed to catch her as she passed and lost my grip in the process.
It was a quick trip down. Very soon we were off me smooth plastic of the tube
and onto a wet, warm sliding-board of organ-tissue. In the total darkness, I
braced for a sudden stop, not knowing what we were sliding into, but before
long I could see light ahead. Then the slope leveled out and we skidded over
flat surface for a dozen meters until we stopped. We were soaking wet. A torch
beam hit me and then swung to Darla. It was John, and he walked over, Susan
with him.  Interesting idea for an amusement-park ride, he said.
I got up and helped Darla to her feet.  Where are we? I asked him. He played
the beam ahead and I
saw a few parked vehicles in the distance.  Good, I said, got out Sam s key,
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and was about to call when something hit the back of my legs and bowled me
over. It was the kid. He apologized, then groaned, as anyone would with 90
kilos of truckdriver on his chest. I got off him. John swung his light in the
direction of the shaft. Lori and Roland were skating toward us like champions,
then broke into a nimble trot over the treacherous surface until they reached
us.
 You people were in a hurry, Lori said cheerily.
 What was all that jerking around about? I asked.
 Oh, that s nothing. We don t bother to spray down empty areas. And the
floor s so slippery because we didn t put down rosin here.
 Oh. I keyed Sam.
 Where are you now?
 Turn on your high beams.
He wasn t more than a minute s walk away.
After me, it was Lori whom Winnie hugged when we all got in, and I was at a
loss to explain how
Winnie could have gotten any sense of betrayal from Darla, for clearly she
had. At first, she barely acknowledged her onetime friend and interpreter.
Perhaps she read the guilt in Darla s face, invisible to me, but by now
Winnie s empathic powers were a given. I only wondered as to their extent.
Whatever that was, I knew that Winnie s second sight was keen enough to see
Darla s grief, and perhaps her regret at using Winnie as a pawn, because
before long Winnie was hugging Darla too, her capacity for forgiveness and
compassion probably greater than anything. It was a moment of revelation for
me, because up until then I really didn t have a robust sense of Winnie s
personhood, couldn t really accept her as the thinking, feeling being she
obviously was. I didn t know what prejudices had gotten in the way; I have my
share, but maybe the problem had been a simple lack of attention on my part.
Winnie s subtle brand of personality and intelligence were easy to lose amid
the gunfire, the frantic chases, the noise, and the intrigue. Her innate
shyness and reticence didn t help either. All along I had caught glimmers of
the light she was hiding under a bushel of soft, ape-brown hair, but I hadn t
had the time nor the opportunity to groom through the shag and see what was
glowing. Nor did I now. We had to get somewhere, and quickly. But where?
 The pyloric tube between this sac and Fiona s starboard stomach-cluster would
be best, Lori said.
 Sounds cozy, I said, thinking that it sounded horrible. But before we could
get going, we had the kid to contend with. He said he was coming along for the
ride, but was adamant about finding his car.
 I don t want my Chevy burped up like a pizza, he told us.
 Where we re going, I said,  it could wind up as whale food.
 Not my car, buddy.
I silently agreed with him. That vehicle could give anyone an ulcer. The kid
borrowed John s torch and walked off into the gloom. Lori said that there was
something she wanted to look for, and left too.
The rest of us took the opportunity to get out of wet clothes. The digestive
fluid was beginning to eat through them and irritate the skin. Susan wailed
that her new suit was ruined. I told her to shove all our laundry in the
Sonikleen right away.
Lori returned first, carrying a piece of gear that consisted of two tanks worn
on the back, connected to a length of hose with a spraygunon the end. She
explained that one tank contained aluminum hyroxide, the other an
antispasmodic chemical.
 It numbs Fiona up so she doesn t get the dry heaves, she said.
About ten minutes later the kid s strange vehicle pulled alongside us in the
aisle. Abused vehicles lay all around, the result of Sam s forcing his way out
of the pack. I hoped Pen-dergast s insurance was paid
up. I convinced the kid that the best bet would be to drive his car into the
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