City Of The Living Dead

Chapter 9

Blade awoke in a comfortable bed. He was surprised not only at the bed, but at still being alive to wake up at all. Apparently the Watcher had merely knocked him unconscious, rather than frying him like a piece of bacon. It had left a few traces behind-his head ached, and his skin prickled as if he'd been slightly sunburned all over. He started to sit up, felt a wave of nausea rising in him, and lay down again with his eyes closed until it passed.

At last he sat up and looked around the room. It was impressively large-it would have held all five rooms of his London flat with plenty of space left over. A ceiling of metal hexagons was at least thirty feet above his head. The bed under him was large enough for three or four people and almost too soft for comfort. Red and gray-checked blankets of some musty-smelling synthetic material were piled thickly on it. Blade threw off the blankets and climbed out of the bed.

The floor underfoot was soft and springy, except in a few places where bare stone showed through. The floor covering seemed to grow out of the stone, like pale blue grass, rather than lying on it like a rug.

Apart from the bed, there was nothing in the room but three chairs around a low table in one corner and a large double wardrobe standing in another corner. Blade somehow had the feeling that this austerity was the result of neglect rather than a deliberate decorating scheme.

Except for the wardrobe, the room and everything in it were well-worn, almost shabby. It was absolutely immaculate, as though it were dusted several times a day. But the metal of the ceiling was tarnished, the walls were stained and patched in several places, and the furniture was threadbare and faded. It reminded Blade of the kind of room he'd seen in old houses owned by families who could no longer really afford them, filled with slowly decaying family heirlooms. He wasn't quite sure what he'd expected to find beyond the Wall, but this room certainly wasn't it. If he were supposed to be a prisoner, it was about the oddest cell he'd ever seen!

Blade walked over to the wardrobe. It looked brand-new and was made of something like pale gray plastic with a pebbled finish. When he was three feet away, the front of the wardrobe quietly folded itself up. Inside he saw his clothing and gear, all of it cleaned and hung on hooks as neatly as a trained valet could have done. A quick examination told Blade that nothing was missing except his bow and arrows. Even the knife and the spare sword he'd tied to his pack were there.

He began to wonder if he were a prisoner at all, or some sort of guest. He decided the only way to find out was to search out his captors-or hosts. He also wanted to find Twana. If the Wall-people hadn't killed him, they probably hadn't killed her, but she might be half out of her wits with fear over actually being in the hands of the Watchers. He wanted to calm her, and when he'd calmed her, they could start planning what to do next-including escaping, if that turned out to be necessary.

On the opposite side of the room from the bed was a pointed archway fifteen feet high and ten feet wide. Blade could see a lighted corridor beyond it. He pulled on his clothes and hid the knife in one boot, but left his sword behind. The sword was more likely to offend the Wall-people than protect him from their weapons.

Blade was almost to the archway when there was a sudden metallic rattling and squealing, and another robot entered the room. This one was about the same shape as the Watcher, but lay on its side instead of standing erect. It had eight wheels instead of an air-cushion fan and no visible arms or weapons. Instead, it had large hatches at either end, and in the middle, what looked like a control panel, with knobs, dials, and winking tights. The robot seemed to detect Blade the moment it entered the room. It rolled rapidly toward him, then stopped with a last squeal of wheels, so close that he could reach out and touch it. Like the Watcher, this robot showed tarnishing, pitting, and dents that suggested hard use and poor maintenance over many years.

As the robot stopped, the hatch at one end sprang open, and a platform rose up out of the robot's interior. On the platform was a tray holding two metal bottles, several covered dishes, tableware, and a pile of napkins. Room service had arrived without even being called!

The logical thing to do with this free meal was to eat it. Blade did so. The bottles contained water and something tasting vaguely like stale beer. He didn't drink much of it. The food was a vegetable soup, cutlets grained like meat but tasting more like tuna fish, more vegetables so heavily salted they all tasted the same, and a sort of custard pie. Blade had eaten better meals, but not usually in prison. He could eat this food for months if he had to.

He finished the meal and was putting the tray back on the platform when the robot suddenly spoke.

«Was it pleasing to the Master?»

The words came out in a dull, heavy, metallic tone. There was so much crackling and buzzing along with it that it was like listening to a radio during a thunderstorm.

Blade replied, speaking as slowly and distinctly as the robot.

«It was good.»

«It is good that the Master is pleased.» The robot started to back away. A thought struck Blade.

«Do you wish to please the Master again?»

«It is an order, to please the Master.»

«Good. Tell me where the-the woman Master who came with me lives.»

The robot sputtered and hissed for so long that Blade thought perhaps he'd asked a question it could not answer. Then the robot's other hatch opened, and what looked like a thin television screen unfolded. A moment later the screen lit up, showing what appeared to be a map of the interior of a building. The robot made a spitting sound, and a sheet of what looked like plastic-coated paper shot out from the top of the screen and fell to the floor.

Blade picked it up. One room was outlined in green, another in red. The robot spoke before he could ask.

«The Master is in the green room. The other Master is in the red room. Is it the Master's wish that they be together?»

Blade was about to say yes, then realized that might make the robot bring Twana to him. He would rather go to her and explore this building on the way.

«The Master will go to the other Master,» he said. «That will please both of us.» The robot made another spitting sound and produced another map. This one had a route from Blade's room to Twana's, marked out with a silver line that seemed to glow faintly. Blade picked up the second map. «This is good. You have pleased us. You may go.» The robot turned about and rolled out of the room.

Spacious living quarters, good food, and now a map that showed him the way to Twana. The mystery of where he was and who had brought him there was growing with every minute. However, finding Twana was still the first thing to do. Blade decided it would be safe to take his sword, took it out of the wardrobe, belted it on, and strode out into the corridor.

The map took him down the corridor, around three successive right-angled turns, then up two flights of stairs. At the second turn Blade found a bathroom, with four large sunken tubs, seven shower stalls, a number of toilets, and two robots watching over it all. The robots were wheeled cones, with four jointed arms at the top and four more spaced equally around the base.

The map now led Blade through a narrow corridor with an arched ceiling and a floor that sloped gently upward. The corridor began to curve around to the left. Blade followed it and abruptly found himself facing one of the armed Watcher robots. In the narrow corridor it looked even bigger and uglier than it had out on the Wall.

The head swiveled toward Blade as the Watcher sensed his presence. He stood where he was, but made no move to disarm himself. The Watcher's reaction should tell him more about whether he was a prisoner or a guest.

The man and the robot stared at each other for several minutes. Each minute seemed like half an hour to Blade. When he was satisfied that the Watcher wasn't simply going to shoot him on the spot, he lowered a hand to the hilt of his sword. Slowly, an inch at a time, he drew the weapon. Then, even more slowly, he raised it to striking position. He was totally alert and ready to drop it if the Watcher showed any reaction at all.

In another minute or two the robot's head began to swivel away from Blade. He let out all the breath he'd been holding and quickly thrust his sword back into the scabbard.

Instantly the Watcher hooted in alarm, and the head swung back toward him, eyes pulsing angrily. Blade froze, with the knowledge that he'd brought himself very close to being killed or stunned. How?

Again man and robot faced each other, and again the robot finally turned its head away. Blade's arms flopped to his side almost of their own weight-and again the Watcher went on the alert. This time it raised all four of its arms and held them out toward Blade. Again Blade did his best to imitate a statue for several hour-long minutes. As he stood, his mind was working furiously.

What had alerted the Watcher? Sheathing his sword and dropping his arms to his sides. Both were movements. What else did they have in common? Another moment of furious thinking, then ….

He'd made both movements quickly. Everything else he'd done slowly. Could that be it? Could the Watcher be programmed to react to fast movements and ignore slow ones?

It made sense. The Watchers might be programmed to deal with primitive people, who would be frightened by them and run in panic, like Twana. More civilized people, like the Watchers' Masters, would not be frightened. They would not run.

At least it was worth an experiment.

Without waiting for the robot to turn its head away, Blade raised his arms above his head-slowly. Then he lowered them to his sides, even more slowly. The Watcher kept its eyes on him, but was silent. Blade drew his sword, held it over his head for a moment, then slowly sheathed it. By the time he was half done, the Watcher was turning its head away again.

Blade was almost tempted to leave well enough alone, but there was one more thing he felt he had to know. Even more slowly than before he drew his sword. He held it out in front of him and moved toward the Watcher one step at a time. It showed no more response to him than if he'd been ten miles away. He stepped up to it, raised the sword, and laid the edge against the metal body. Nothing happened-nothing at all.

Blade virtually held his breath as he slipped around the robot, sword still held ready to strike. If something did go wrong now, he was fairly sure he could drive the point into the robot's head, taking out its eyes and weapons before it could strike him down.

At last he was past the Watcher and into a stretch of corridor with four doors opening off it, three on the right and one on the left. According to the map, the middle door on the right was Twana's room.

A moment later the map was confirmed. With a shriek that mixed surprise, fear, and delight, Twana burst out of the room into the corridor. She was bare to the waist, and her hair was a tangled mess.

Behind Blade, the Watcher hooted sharply, and a shrill whine filled the corridor as its fan started up. Blade froze and shouted to Twana.

«Stop! Don't move!»

The sheer volume of his voice caught Twana and held her. Behind Blade the whine and hooting of the approaching Watcher grew deafening. He forced himself to take one slow step at a time, as he moved out of the robot's path. If his guess about its programming were correct ….

He'd guessed right. The Watcher was already slowing down by the time it passed Blade. Its head was turned toward him, and the arms on one side swept within inches of his face. The Watcher glided slowly up to Twana, looped a tentacle gently over one bare shoulder, then cut off its fan, and settled to the floor with a thud. Twana's eyes were enormous, but she was standing totally motionless. Blade could only hope she wouldn't faint right in front of the Watcher.

She didn't. She stood not even breathing deeply, until the Watcher drew back its tentacle. Then it glided off the way it had come, to take up its guard post again. Before Twana could faint, Blade scooped her up in his arms and carried her into her room, out of the Watcher's sight. They fell down together on the bed, with Twana's hands pulling at Blade's hair and his lips on her breasts. Somehow they found themselves naked, then locked together in a furious, exuberant joining that held more sheer relief than real desire.

At last they lay together on the bed, catching their breath. Twana raised her bead from Blade's chest and drew back her hand from his cheek.

«Blade-what were you doing-out there, when you told me to stop? The Watcher could have killed us!»

Blade ran a hand lightly down her back. «You just demonstrated what I think is going to be our best way of getting out of here. I think the Watchers only attack people who are moving fast. You remember that when you stopped, the Watcher slowed down. When you let it touch you without trying to run, it lost interest in you. It didn't think you were dangerous.»

«Then-we can go back over the Wall?»

«Perhaps.» He didn't want to arouse hopes that might be disappointed, not when there was so much more he needed to find out here. «Certainly we know how to be safe from the Watchers as long as we are here. Meanwhile, we have food, we have water, we have comfortable places to sleep. Are you in such a hurry to leave?»

Twana giggled. «No, I will be happy to stay here for many days.» Her lips moved down his body.