Tunnels 03, Freefall

and the other officers. She was walking towards Mr. and Mrs. Rawls, when Mr. Rawls, his arm still around his wife's shoulders, simply turned and glared at her, shaking his head. Mrs. Burrows stopped in her tracks. She'd bumped into him once or twice in the Highfield police station, but he had been very stony faced and uncommunicative with her on each occasion. One of the officers on the case had later informed her that Chester's parents, on learning she had been zonked out on sleeping pills the evening both boys were discovered missing, were furious. They blamed her for not keeping an eye on the two boys. Mrs. Burrows didn't accept she was at fault -- Will had always gone off to do his own thing. At least is was digging, and not causing trouble down the High Street with the other kids.
    But now she felt quite shaken by Mr. Rawls' reaction. By the side of the stage, she spotted a water cooler and went to get herself a drink. As she sipped the water, she heard voices coming from behind a rack of equipment.
    "So you think she did it, then?" a voice asked.
    "Sure. She's as guilty as sin," another voice with a Scottish accent replied. "Nine times out of ten, somebody in the family is the killer -- you know that. How many sob stories from distraught relatives have we had here in the studio and, Bob's your auntie, a month later they're banged up inside?"
    "Yeah, that's true."
    Did you take a good look at her? That Burrows woman is a bitter old no-mark and no question. She's so typical of suburbia -- full of repressed rage and fed up to the back teeth with her pointless, phony life. Probably had a little something on the side, and her husband found out, so the topped him. And her kids knew too much, so she did them in too while she was about it. Her son's best mate, Charley or whatever he was called, well -- the poor little sod -- he got himself caught up in it, too."
    Mrs. Burrows edged around the equipment so she could see who was talking. One, a squat, portly man with a shaved head and a full beard, was coiling up an electrical flex as he spoke; the other, a skinny individual in a white T-shirt, was drumming his thigh with a microphone as he listened. They were just a couple of studio technicians.
    "Yeah, she looked like she could be a right old dragon," the skinny one said, as he scratched the back of his head with the tip of the microphone.
    The bearded man caught sight of Mrs. Burrows, and cleared his throat loudly. "Better check what they want in studio 13, Billy, he said.
    The skinny man slowly lowered the microphone to his side, a confounded expression on his face. "But we don't have a studio 13..." he said. As he glanced across and saw Mrs. Burrows standing there, he realized what his co-worker had been trying to tell him. "I'm on it, Dave, right this moment," he muttered as they fell over each other in an effort to make their getaway. Mrs. Burrows remained where she was, watching them go, the plastic cup crumpled in her hand.

Part Two
Martha's Shack

7

    It was quite astonishing to see how Martha got herself about, propelling herself down the tunnels like a ball bearing hurtling through a length of drainpipe. At odds with her appearance, she could move with the swiftness of a leopard; it was evident that she'd lived in the low gravity environment for some time and was completely attuned to it.
    Bartleby was quietly watching her, and tried to follow her example as she rebounded from one side of the tunnel to the other. Time after time, he misjudged how much thrust was needed and hurtled out of control towards the roof or the opposite wall. Will and Chester grew accustomed to the spectacle of the hapless cat cavorting through the air, giving surprised meows as he went.
    The boys were making every effort to keep up with Martha, but Will refused to go too quickly because he was worried about jarring Elliott. As their unlikely savior stopped yet again to allow them to catch up with her, they could hear her babbling to herself. It was difficult to understand what she was saying, and Will realized that she might not even be aware she was doing it.
    "What can we do for the girl?" she murmured in their direction, then swiveled away from them.
    "Well, like I told you, she's got a broken--" Chester began.
    "What?" Martha interrupted him, turning to look at him.
    "You asked about Elliott. She's got a broken arm."
    "I didn't ask you anything, and you've already told me that," Martha said, frowning at Chester as if he was the