The last cell door—the one that caged the large avian—shuddered open. The humans who had begun peering out of their cells flinched back.
Red lights began to strobe, mixing with the pale yellow lighting.
The huge bird stepped out, lifting and flexing its wings as if it had forgotten how to use them. Perhaps it had. Its gold and red gaze swept the chamber, stopping at the sight of Tim.
His throat went dry.
Then, far above, he heard the cry of the other avian. This one lifted its head, returning the cry. Its wings began to beat the air, stirring up old dust into mini vortexes. Its massive legs bunched, and then it surged up, the wings frantically beating in its drive to rise. At the opening, it was forced to contract those wings, but it seemed as if it had enough glide force to pass through and out of sight.
Pale light now filtered down through the dust and strobing lights as the avian flew out of sight.
T’Korrin remained, reemerging to begin its frantic calling and flying around and around.
“I know,” Tim said. “We need to go.
The structure began to shudder harder now, which just seemed petty to Tim. He’d just unloaded what had to be a lot of weight.
He waved at the humans, hoping it was the right thing to do, and opened the lift hatch door.
“We have to go!” he called out, aware they probably couldn’t understand him.
Now he could see stairs at each level of the prison. The humans, after some shuffling, began hurrying toward the stairs. The shaking of the various levels was probably helping to motivate them.
They scrambled down the stairs, their progress mostly orderly. This gave him hope. If anyone pushed or shoved, he’d make sure they weren’t on the lift with him.
As they reached the ground floor, he directed them into the lift. They didn’t look happy about it. He didn’t blame them. It looked like yet another trap. But it was the only way out for those without wings.
He did a head count and some calculations. They might all make it inside. Though there were many cells, they weren’t all inhabited.
There was a human woman clinging to the shaking railing as she descended the last set of stairs. A gap was growing between her and the rest of the humans. Tim left his post and ran to her, lifting her onto his back in a smooth movement that had to be a leftover memory from his time as a robot.
He felt and heard her gasp, but after a moment, her arms slid around his neck. He ran back toward the lift. They were the last ones, and the doors were starting to grind closed. He put on a burst of speed and managed to get them inside.
It didn’t feel like a win when the lift began to rise in slow, jerking movements. The humans made small, distressed sounds, but no one panicked that Tim could tell.
“We’re coming up,” he told Riina, not sure she could hear him over the groaning protests of the failing structure.
The shaking and shuddering increased. His systems had recorded how long it took him to descend. They were close, but were they close enough?
He lowered the woman, indicating to a male human to support her, then moved to the center of the lift and looked up. There was an access hatch. He crouched and jumped, punching through the hatch, before dropping down again.
He crouched, jumped again and this time was able to catch hold of the edge and pull himself up on top of the lift. It only took a moment for him to realize that the cable was taking too much strain for its age and condition.
He grabbed it, reducing the strain, shifting that strain to his shoulders and arms and legs. Did he have enough left of the robot to do this? He wasn’t sure.
He looked up, saw the hatch just above them.
“Can you open the hatch to the lift, Riina?” She hadn’t answered him before. He wasn’t sure why.
The lift strained upwards toward the dark rectangle.
He wasn’t sure how long he could do this.
Then the hatch slid open and Riina leaned out.
The relief might have given him the needed push for the last bit.
Of course, the lift stopped just shy of the hatch. It was yet one more part of this never-ending day.
