Dark Of The Woods

dispenser that connects to a central chemical depository. It looks like you dial out the formula for what you want. But I don't know any formulas."
    "Try something random."
    "I did. Four times. Nothing happened."
    His thoughts were flitting through his mind too fast for him to fully comprehend any one of them. And before he could manage to slow them down to a reasonable speed, the warning lights and sirens went on all over the complex. Someone had breached the observation niche's false rock door. The Alliance men were now in the fortress.
    "Quick!" he shouted. "Before they stop the lifts!" He pulled her backwards, into the bubble car, and punched for the basement. The lift dropped so suddenly their stomachs flipped over, and a moment later the doors opened on the last level of the installation.
    "There's the sled," she said, pointing to the grav-plated snow vehicle sitting along the far wall. It was light, with a large, flat surface to sit on, no comfortable seat, only belts to hold the passengers on the hard metal it was constructed from. It had been meant for short distance travel in stormy weather, not for 86-mile rides. But it was going to have to do.
    There were two rucksacks strapped on the luggage rail, lights and guns strapped to the hand rail on the other side to give balance. It looked sturdy enough, as if it could take a good bit of knocking around, and it was no doubt fast. But he didn't relish getting on it and opening up its drive motor to see what it could do.
    They slipped into the heavy coats, buttoned them up, pulled the hoods in place, and worked thick gloves on. Davis felt a strange itching in the small of his back from having his wings covered. It seemed unnatural, and he wished he could shed the coat. But this was going to be a long haul. It might be 86 miles to Fortress Two as the Demosian flew. But they were going to have to stay out of the sky, and they were sure to find a ground route was a hell of a great deal longer.
    The lift closed its doors and went up, speeding to bring the men of the Alliance down on them.
    "Here are the controls," Leah said, quickly identifying each of the pedals and each of the knobs on the semicircular steering wheel. This is for opening the concealed door to let us out. "This is for closing it once we've gone through."
    "Get on," he said.
    They sat on the flat surface of the sled, strapped themselves down. Leah grabbed him around the waist, laid her face against his shoulder so she could see just a little of what was ahead. "Go," she said.
    The door in the rock wall slid open.
    He lifted the sled, shot it forward, through the raised stone, and into the snowy world outside. He pressed to close it the instant they had gone through, and then they were separated, forever, from the complex, alone in the dark and the wind.
    Above, near the peak, Alliance copters chopped the air apart, lowering men to the observation deck where the stronghold had been breached. He wondered if they knew that the two winged people they saw were the same they had certified dead several weeks earlier—back in the times when only one of them could fly. According to Leah, who had monitored the news out of the port city, both of their pictures had been flashed on every communications media on the planet, complete with an in-depth report on what happens to good citizens who give in to evil and perverted lusts and break the law of the Alliance and the Supremacy of Man party. And though his own features did not even remotely resemble those the television audience had glimpsed, she looked the same. And no one, he was certain, could ever forget her face having seen it only once. They probably knew, well enough, that the girl was Leah. And if they didn't suspect his identity, they'd know for sure when they found the Artificial Wombs and deduced their purpose.
    He concentrated on steering the light, fast craft along the top of the snow. Its grav field was so strong that the thing could support itself on the crust without stirring a breath of air in passage. The only noise it made in the Demosian night was a soft, contented purring, like a cat who had been on prowl and has found what it's been looking for.
    There were no hardships this time, and no moments when either of them thought they had seen their last breath of air drawn—except once, when a bull moose with spiderweb antlers (which were really antennae) loped across their path, directly in front of them. They had missed it by inches, and it