He was out, in the light, in the air, his naked feet pounding the ground, arms pumping, feeling like falling forward and trying to catch up with himself. It wasn't running, it was out of control, a confused flight down a roaring, howling corridor of flickering colors-
Apes. Those were apes, jumping and screeching in their stands, and to the left of him was open space, the green expanse of the lawn that the racetrack looped around, and all of a sudden, Burke remembered where he was again, and the whirling mass of noise and color snapped into sharp focus again - the racers all around him, and to his right, the grandstand packed with enthusiastic fans.
Not apes, fans. Just fans.
Burke eased up a bit, letting himself fall behind the field to catch his breath and regain control of his movement. The roar of the crowd was surging against his skin in showers of prickling energy, as the tiny hairs of his body reacted to every swelling of the noise, every peak of excitement while the announcer whipped the spectators into an ever higher frenzy.
It was like surfing a wave, or could've been, but he had missed the right moment, and now he was struggling underwater, tossed around by the current, dragging his numb legs through sucking silt, fighting for the next breath. His chest ached, and his legs were shaking.
He was still in a panic, but there was nothing he could do about it, except trying to finish that race and be done with it. Burke tried to ignore the cacophony to his right, and focused on the racers ahead of him. He didn't care about winning this race, but if he pretended that the field before him was a tactical problem he had to solve, maybe he'd be able to at least reach that finish line.
Ahead of him were three racers running head-to-head - they wore different colors, so maybe they didn't consciously try to block him, but it wasn't completely out of the question; sometimes, runners teamed up temporarily, to force a dangerous competitor to take the longer route over the outer lane, or against one of the more aggressive racers of Vilam's kennel. Once the common enemy was out of the way, they would resume their natural competition and try to outrace, or out-foul each other.
Intentional or not, the effect was the same - if Burke wanted to overtake them, he'd have to take the outer lane, too. He'd have to be much faster than even a weak racer, just to have a chance.
Well, he had just decided that these assholes were nothing more than a problem he had to solve, like some damn equation at school. He could either ram through - but then he might get disqualified by the stewards - or just run circles around them, and show them what racing really meant.
It occurred to him a moment too late that swerving out brought him closer to the stands.
Later, Burke could never tell what had set him off; he didn't even remember overtaking the first racer. Maybe it had been the roar of the crowd as they saw Liquid Fire gear up for another of his famous sprints from behind; maybe it was the sudden movement above him, as hundreds of excited apes jumped up from their seats at the same moment; maybe it was the smell that wafted down from the stands, not sweat - apes didn't sweat like humans - but something dark and musky.
Like the smell in Urko's dungeon.
It was as if a curtain dropped on Burke's mind, filtering the crowd's screams into the hoarse shouts of the bounty hunters. A horse whinnied in the distance, and he was back in Atlanta, racing down an overgrown alley, no openings to either side, no chance of escape. He could only run, and run, down a winding road under a leaden sky, hunted by Urko's men, by bounty hunters, by apes, by a hissing, tearing darkness-
His lungs were aching, air rushing through his throat in heaving sobs, but he didn't dare to stop, to glance back at what was coming after him. He didn't know where he was anymore, who he was anymore; he only knew that the thing chasing him couldn't catch up, couldn't get him, couldn't drag him back to that place again...
To the cheers of the crowd, Pete Burke ran for his life.
Halda closed the door behind her, and slowly approached the desk. "You did? Who was it?"
Zana just watched her, ready to bolt if she made a sudden move.
"You have no proof I had anything to do with Felga's death," Halda said sweetly, and stretched out her hand. "But I just caught you trespassing and stealing the charity's property. Well, trying to."
Zana moved to the corner of the desk, keeping the distance between them. "Where were you in the night of Felga's death, Halda?"
Halda moved around the desk, and Zana stepped around the next corner. They were circling each other like a pair of bushcats. "I was at home."
Zana smiled sadly. "No, you weren't."
Halda said nothing to that, but the glint in her eyes told Zana that she realized at once who had inadvertently betrayed her. Now she probably regretted letting Zana invite her children for a day at the fair.
"You have no alibi for the night of Felga's death - and Vilam's death, either, by the way," Zana continued. "And I," she held up the book, "just found a compelling motive for you. That combination will make Rogan reconsider the murder weapon."
She nodded at Halda's scarf. "I heard you have hundreds of those. In every color of the rainbow... including blue."
Halda made a sudden grab for the book, lunging across the desk, and Zana jumped back, almost knocking over the visitor's chair.
"That book doesn't prove anything," Halda snapped.
"It proves that you were laundering money for Olman, at least," Zana retorted; they had both stilled, and were now watching each other across the desk, ready to jump to action at the slightest provocation. "The same Olman you wanted to frame for Felga's murder. Did he blackmail you? Did he want to use the shelter for something else, something even you balked at?"
"Are you trying to provoke me into some sort of confession, Alta?" Halda sneered. "What for? To satisfy your curiosity?"
"You and Felga were best friends, Halda!" Zana kept her eyes trained on the little Chimp, while trying to feel the distance to the door with her mind - the empty space behind her. She couldn't just retreat to the door, or Halda would jump at her from behind that desk at once. She had to make a dash for it, at a moment where the other woman was distracted enough to miss that first tensing of her muscles, that subtle leaning of her body into the motion...
"You attacked her from behind, while she had turned her back to you," Zana continued. "She trusted you, and you betrayed that in the worst possible way. I don't think 'curiosity' is the right word here."
"I didn't betray her," Halda snarled. "The shelter suffered no damage, nobody was hurt-"
"Two people were killed, and you claim that nobody was hurt?"
"No human was harmed!" Halda yelled. "They weren't even in the stadium, so what was the problem? Why did she suddenly care so much about this slave-holder?"
It took Zana a moment to catch up with Halda's erratic thoughts. "Levar? He didn't abuse his humans with Blaze-"
"No, he just abused them on the racetrack," Halda hissed. "That was so much better! It's amazing what a penis can suddenly make acceptable!"
"You forged that complaint in Felga's name," Zana accused her. "What did you hope to gain? Felga would've revoked it the moment she'd learned about it, at the court summons..." They had circled the desk again, and now Halda was between her and the door, and Zana found herself wedged between the desk and the wall.
Halda stopped moving.
"He'd have broken up with her, and she'd have finally come to her senses again," she said. "And once the police gets notified about possession of Blaze, it doesn't matter anymore who told them. They'd have searched his grounds, and then he'd have ended up in jail, just as he deserves."
"You like dealing out justice to people who deserve it," Zana casually propped her hands on the edge of the desk. It was entirely possible that Halda would shove the desk against the wall, trapping her, and she wanted to be prepared for that. "What did Felga do to deserve your brand of justice, other than to uncover your shady dealings with the man you wanted to frame for her murder?"
Halda just stared at her.
Then she jumped over the desk, eyes wide and wild.
Zana ducked and raced around the desk, dropped the book, and yanked up the chair to ram its legs into Halda's chest. The Chimp stumbled back against the desk with a thump, but in the next moment, Halda had pushed away again, and grabbed the chair's legs. Zana hung on to the backrest, too afraid of what Halda would do with the chair to let go.
They wrestled with the chair, too focused on the fight to speak for a while. "You betrayed her when you killed her, Halda," Zana finally gasped. "Don't play dumb. You killed your best friend, for a man you both despised!"
"She didn't want to listen," Hada snarled, and yanked so hard at the chair that Zana stumbled towards her before she could dig her heels in.
Halda let go of the chair and threw a punch, too quickly for Zana to react; sharp pain suddenly exploded in her nose, crushing the inside of her bones so hard that her teeth hurt and her eyes watered, and for a moment, everything went black.
When her head cleared, she was lying on her back, with Halda looming over her. Hot fingers closed around Zana's throat.
"I had to protect my babies," Halda said, her fingers twitching against Zana's skin. "That's something you can't understand, you barren cow."
She squeezed, and white sparks began to dance before Zana's eyes. Above her, Halda bared her teeth. "Felga would've had me locked up in jail. Who would've taken care of my children then?"
The edges of Zana's vision began to blacken. She tore at Halda's wrists, but it was like scratching at marble. "I only agreed to that deal with Olman because my children were starving," she heard Halda's voice far above her. "Mending clothes, keeping books... they all wanted my services, but nobody wants to pay fair. That's something neither Felga nor you understood - life isn't fair." The pressure on her throat increased.
"If you want to survive, you can't afford mercy."