Tunnels 05 - Spiral

sharply. “Smoke! I smell smoke!” he shouted.
    They both leaped to their feet and began sniffing. Of all the things a Colonist feared most, a fire was top of the list. Throughout the three-hundred-year history of the underground society, there had been several outbreaks that had gotten a grip, and the deaths that ensued were not from the fire itself but from smoke inhalation in the enclosed caverns and tunnels.
    “You’re right!” the First Officer yelled.
    They both dashed through the opening in the counter.
    At the entrance to the station — the only way in or out — huge flames were licking up over the swing doors.
    “MY GOD!” the First Officer cried, rushing to the cabinet where red-painted buckets of water were kept for this very eventuality. “Patrick — free the prisoners! We’re going to need help to put this out!”
    Dense smoke was already wafting into the Hold as the Second Officer quickly went along the row of cells and unlocked them. The occupants — Gappy Mulligan included — didn’t need to be told what to do. They formed themselves into a chain stretching between the entrance and the small room in the station with a freshwater faucet. Then they passed the filled buckets to the First Officer, who was throwing them at the blaze. He’d shed his tunic and wound some material over his nose and mouth as he continued to do battle with the flames. All the prisoners were coughing and their eyes watering as they worked tirelessly, passing the water-filled buckets forward.
    After several minutes, they’d managed to douse the swing doors sufficiently to open them, but still they didn’t stop. The water was making a sizzling noise as it fell on the large pile of timber outside at the top of the steps.
    Finally the fire was out. The First Officer, his shirt and uniform trousers soaked, was supporting himself against the counter as he broke into a racking cough. The prisoners were all coughing and trying to catch their breath, too, while the Second Officer began to inspect the damage. Grateful for the cool breeze outside the station, he examined the charred pile of timber. From the smell, there was little doubt in his mind that an accelerant had been used to start the blaze. Then the Second Officer spotted an old can that had been discarded by the side of the steps, and carried it back into the station with him.
    “Gasoline,” he announced, placing the can on the counter by his senior officer. “They were serious about burning us down, but there’s nothing on this to show who it was.”
    “You don’t say,” the First Officer replied, laughing and coughing. “I would have expected them to paint their name on it, at a bare minimum,” he went on sarcastically, then turned to the rabble of prisoners. “Listen, you lot, you can all go,” he declared. “You’re free.”
    The Second Officer leaned toward him. “Sir, don’t you think that’s a bit hasty? I mean —”
    “Give it a rest, Patrick. Are you worried the Styx will come down on us for releasing a motley bunch of losers whose crimes don’t amount to much more than rustling the odd chicken to feed their families?” the First Officer asked, then turned to all the prisoners. “No offense meant,” he added quickly. “I’m very grateful you all mucked in to help with the fire.”
    Gappy Mulligan was grinning, but a muscular-looking man with mad, staring eyes didn’t look so happy. He was known simply as Cleaver, named after the digging implement used everywhere in the Colony. “Losers?” he said indignantly. “I’ll ’ave you know I didn’t steal no bloody chicken. I’m up for disord’ly conducks, and a’ unpr’voked attack with a’ ax.”
    The First Officer guffawed loudly. “Is that an admission of guilt, Cleaver?”
    Cleaver was confused by this at first, but quickly caught on. “No, sir, no way I dun what they said I dun. No, sir. I’m inn’cent a’ a newborn sluice fish.”
    A petty thief with ratlike features, who was sitting on an upturned bucket at the end of the reception area, found this funny. He tittered loudly until Cleaver glowered at him.
    The Second Officer still wasn’t comfortable with his senior officer’s pronouncement. “Are you seriously going to free them?” he asked in a low voice so the prisoners wouldn’t overhear him. “They’ve all got charges to answer to.”
    The First Officer had no qualms about letting the prisoners know what he was thinking. “Patrick, we haven’t heard