by Emily
"Take as many as you can carry," he advised Quait. "This place is scary," said Quait, who seemed not to have heard.
"How do you mean?"
Quait opened another drawer. More coins. And more. Every drawer was filled.
"So what's your point?" asked Flojian.
"These people left so suddenly, they didn't even take their money with them. How bad could the Plague have been?"
"Bad, I guess. I really have no idea."
"Remember what Mike said? They just didn't come to work one day and he never saw them again. Here, they left their money. If we look in the shops, the merchandise is still there. Or what's left of it. It's as if they just walked off the Earth."
"Listen," said Flojian, "why don't we talk about this later? I'm running out of pockets."
Flojian saw movement. Incredibly, a writing table near the front door rose onto three legs and strode forward into the center of the lobby. His hair rose. It looked like a six-foot-tall drawing board with a tapered head connected to a short pliant neck. Two flexible limbs emerged from beneath the table top, and one of them pointed something that looked like a pipe or nozzle in their direction. "Stop what you are doing," came a voice from directly overhead. "The police are on their way. Do not move unless directed to do so. Weapons will be used if you do not comply with all instructions."
Quait swore softly. "Lay down your guns and come around the counter."
Flojian debated his options and glanced at Quait. Was the nozzle a weapon? A gunfight with a machine that could simply walk over and shoot them did not seem promising. He heard Chaka behind him, in the window, say that she didn't believe this.
He took his gun cautiously from his holster, laid it on a table, and walked out into the lobby. Where he got the shock of his life.
Several piles of skulls and bones were heaped up on the floor at the base of the counter.
Quait came out behind him and caught his breath.
"We didn't mean any harm," Flojian said. "We're just passing through."
"Police are en route," said the overhead voice. "Remain where you are until they arrive."
"What police?" demanded Quait. "There are no police here."
"Remain where you are until they arrive or I will use force."
Flojian looked down at the bones. "Some of these people are still waiting."
Chaka disappeared from the window.
The table stood about ten feet away, swaying lightly on its tripod frame. But the nozzle, which was pointed at a spot midway between him and Quait, never wavered.
"What do you suggest?" he asked Quait, without taking his eyes off the thing.
"It looks a little rusty. The gun might not work."
"You want to take the chance?"
"We might have to. It's going to be a long wait for the police."
Flojian's heart was pounding. This was ludicrous. He was being held hostage by a writing table. But he was scared all the same. "How do you know the police are coming?" he asked the ceiling.
No response.
"I'm going to try backing away," said Quait. He shifted his weight. Moved a foot.
"That's far enough. Take another step and I will fire on you."
"Now, wait a minute," Quait said.
"There won't be another warning."
"This is crazy," said Flojian.
Chaka was back. With a rifle. But before she could begin to
bring it to bear, the nozzle moved past Flojian and he heard a sound like sizzling steak. Chaka screamed and dropped out of sight.
Quait spun on his heel and bolted for the window. The nozzle swung back and the sizzle came again. Quait turned into a ragbag, collided with the counter, and went down in a pile.
Flojian screamed at the table, but the voice came again, cool and unmoved: "Stay where you are until the police arrive."
19
The world kept trying to turn on its side and Chaka didn't care whether she lived or died. Avila's anxious face hovered over her. There was a damp cloth on her forehead and her blouse was loosened and Avila was telling her to rest.
The daylight hurt.
"Quail's awake, too." The words were only out there, hanging in air, devoid of meaning.
Quait. "Where is he?"
"Still in the bank. The table won't let them go." Avila almost managed a grin.
Chaka tried to get up but her head lurched and her stomach fell away. She brought up her breakfast. Avila gave her water to sip and reapplied the cloth, and she began to feel better.
The sun was directly overhead. She'd been out a couple of hours. "What are we going to do?" she asked.
"Actually," said Avila, "I have an idea. Wait here."
That was a joke. As if she could go anywhere.
Avila disappeared and Chaka closed her eyes. She just lay quietly, breathing, feeling as if all her muscles had come unstrung. When Avila came back Chaka saw she'd changed into clean clothes. She wore a new pair of dark blue linen trousers, a green blouse, and a white vest. "Do I look like a police official?" she asked.
Despite everything, Chaka giggled. "Try to frown," she said.
"The blouse is clerical. I was supposed to give it back when I left." She smiled. "I've always thought I looked good in it."
Chaka shook her head. "It'll never work."
"You have a better idea?"
"Not at the moment."
"Well," said Avila, "we know the table's eyesight is pretty good. Maybe it's not too smart." She bent over Chaka. "How are you feeling?"
"Better."
Good. Sit tight. I'll be back in a few minutes. I hope."
"Are you going in now?"
"Yes. I can get in the rear door. Which is a good thing. It wouldn't be seemly for the police to have to climb through the window."
"I don't think it's a good idea," said Chaka. "We're going to wind up with three people inside."
Avila looked at her. The wind was picking up. It was out of the west, and the forest swayed in its embrace. "I'm open for suggestions."
"Wait it out. When the police don't come it'll get tired and let them go. Anyway, what am I supposed to do when it adds you to the collection?"
"Throw rocks," said Avila. "Seriously, if that does happen, go to the alternate plan."
"Which is?"
"Your idea. Wait. Take care of the horses and wait for it to get bored."
Five minutes later Avila squeezed through a cluster of wisp-berry bushes and strode briskly in the back entrance of the bank. She was carrying her wedge concealed in the palm of her hand. You never knew.
"Somebody here call police?" she asked.
Both men were seated on the floor. But Avila's gaze locked on the dust and bones. It was her first glimpse of the skeletal remains, and her stride faltered as its significance struck home. Quail's back was to the counter, and he looked dazed and discouraged. When he saw her he registered disapproval and shook his head no. Flojian had the presence of mind to show the hangdog reaction of a man about to be hauled off to incarceration. "Yes," said the overhead voice.
"I'm Investigator Avila Kap," she said, hoping she'd guessed right on the title. "I'll take charge of them now." The table made no move to back away. She looked severely at the two on the floor. "Trying to rob the bank, were we?" She reached behind Flojian, took him by the back of his neck, and raised him to his feet. Simutaneously she molioned Quail up. "This is a lawful town, and we don't have much patience with your type." She hoped she sounded sufficiently official. "Lei's go, you," she told Quail, pushing him loward the door.
"Just a moment, Investigator Kap." The voice was flat. Emotionless. "Please give the authorization code."
She looked at Quait and Flojian, at the ceiling with its hidden voice, and at the three-legged table, arthropodic and serene. She made a pretense of fumbling in her pocket. "I seem to have forgot it," she said. At that moment, as unobtrusively as she could, she aimed the wedge at the table and squeezed it. The weapon vibrated slightly. Aside
from that, nothing happened.
"We require the authorization code before we can release the prisoners, " said the voice. "Policy memorandum six-eight-one-echo slash one-four, dated March II. 2067."
"I'll have to go back to my office to get it," she said. "Why don't I take the prisoners with me and I'll send the information back to you."
"Why don' tyou call your office?"
Avila imagined herself leaning out the window and yodel-ing for the authorization code. "There's something else I have to check on," she said. "I'll be back in a few minutes."
"Leave the malefactors."
"Righl," she said. She signaled Quait and Flojian that she would find a way, and started for the rear exit.
"Inspector Kap."
She stopped. Turned around.
"/ would not presume to tell you how to perform your job, but these two look desperate. You might want to bring assistance when you return."
"I knew it was dumb."
"Okay. What's your suggeslion?" "I told you. Wait it out."
"That's already been tried."
"Say again?"
"There are bones in there from the bank's last visitors."
"Oh." Chaka shook her head. "We need a new approach."
"Good."
"Think about Mike."
"What about Mike?"
"Gray boxes. Maybe we can find its gray box and shut it off at the source."
Avila's eyes registered respect. "That's a good idea. You think it would be in the building?"
"We have to assume it is. If it isn't, we're not going to find it."
Avila sat down on a fallen log. "There're closed doors in the passageways. They're the only places I can think of to look. But they're almost certainly locked. Or warped. Or both. So unless we can find a way to guess the right door and take it down in a couple of seconds, I don't think the prospect is good."
"How many doors?"
Avila closed her eyes and pictured the corridors. "Six," she said. "Or maybe eight."
"Pity you didn't pay more attention."
"I was busy. Why don't you stick your head in the window and look? If you push in a little bit you can see down one hallway."
"You made your point," Chaka said. She tried to get to her feet but was driven back by a wave of vertigo.
"The weapon is a little like the wedges," said Avila.
"Yeah," said Chaka. She was damp with perspiration, and her eyes were closed. "Except that the thing they have means business." 'It doesn't kill," Avila said.
"No. But it takes the fight out of you." She lay quietly for several minutes, and Avila thought she'd gone to sleep. But Chaka took a deep breath, opened her eyes, and eased into sitting position.
"Feeling better?"
"A little. Listen, how about if we just walk in and jump the thing. That ought to work."
"That sounds like a last resort," said Avila. "I might have a better idea." She looked through the window. The table was still standing motionless in the middle of the lobby, apparently watching its victims. "It strikes me there's a humanity in these procedures that we might be able to turn to our advantage."
"A humanity?"
"The weapons don't kill. The ones in the bank don't. The ones Mike gave us don't."
"But they scramble your head pretty well."
"Chaka, you and Quait were shot and are still alive. That shows a reluctance to kill. Maybe that reluctance will give us a chance."
Chaka strolled in through the back door, carrying a leather bag, trying to appear simultaneously casual and concerned. She took several steps into the lobby, stopped, looked around, carefully smothered her reaction to the piles of bones, and pretended to spot the two men on the floor. "I'm Dr. Milana," she said to Quait. "Have you been injured?"
"Yes," said Quait, who looked puzzled but was smart enough to play along. "Broken ribs, I think."
"Who's in charge here?" she asked loudly. "And who," asked the ceiling, "summoned you. Doctor?" "We were told there was a medical emergency here." She knelt beside Quait and put her ear to his chest. "Good thing I happened to be in the neighborhood. This man has an irregular heartbeat. He's going into Quadristasis." Quait groaned.
"We'll have to get him to surgery immediately." She turned to Flojian and peered into his eyes. "This one, too. Injured iris. Can you walk, sir?"
"I think so, Doctor."
"Just a minute. No one goes anywhere until the police get here."
The voice came from above somewhere, but beyond that
she couldn't narrow it down. The role called for her to glare
indignantly, but it was hard to do when there was no target.
She tried anyhow. "Who are you?" she demanded. "What's your authority here?"
"Technoguard Security Systems. We're hired—"
"All right, Technoguard Security Systems. One of these two men may die unless he gets immediate medical care. The other may suffer permanent eye damage. I've no intention of allowing that to happen. So if you want to stop us from leaving you'll have to shoot me too."
"/ don't think so, Doctor."
Chaka helped Quait to his feet. She signaled for Flojian to follow, and began edging toward the door.
"If you persist, I will simply target the two malefactors again."
"If you do that, you'll probably kill this one. Is that what you want?"
"The weapon is nonlethal."
"Nonlethal? Whose bones are these?" "They belong to previous malefactors."
"Whom you killed."
"They died awaiting the police. I merely apprehended them." "You killed them. Why were you holding them for the police?"
"Because they tried to rob the bank."
"And why is that a reason to have them arrested?"
"Don't be foolish. Bank robbery is a violation of the criminal code."
"And I put it to you that murder is a violation of the criminal code. You should be turned over to the police. For capital crimes."
She kept moving.
"It's not true."
"Of course it's true. And you're about to do it again. You're determined to kill these men by keeping them here and refusing them the medical assistance they desperately need."
"That is not so."
"It is so. And you know it is so."
She'd reached the rear corridor. The table stood swaying but otherwise motionless in the middle of the lobby. Its weapon had not tracked them. It was still aimed toward the counter.
"Police have been summoned." The voice went to a higher pitch.
"Summon them again," said Chaka. "We've caught a murderer."
"Brilliant," said Quait. They walked away from the bank in a jubilant mood, shaking hands and embracing all around.
"That wasn't even the plan," laughed Chaka.
"That's right," said Avila. "The plan was for her to distract them long enough for me to make a run into the side corridor. There was a decent chance that the device that controls the table would be behind one of the doors. I was hoping to reach it and shut it off. But she was doing so well, I stayed put."
"I saw the doors," said Flojian. "What makes you think they wouldn't have been locked?"
"If I couldn't get in, or the table came after me, Chaka had a rock in the bag."
"She was going to hit it with a rock?" asked Flojian.
"Yes," said Chaka. "It was a big rock." She showed them. There'd be a lot going on, and we thought I might get a good shot at it."
They all laughed.
"Listen," Avila said, "it's not as desperate as it sounds. We had a backup plan too."
"What was that?"
Chaka did a double thumbs-up. "You were great in there, Flojian," she said. And she hugged him. "The backup idea was to build a fire outside the window. There's a stiff wind, and we might have been able to get enough black smoke inside to shake things up. Maybe even set off some sort of anti-fire system. Who knows? But we'd have got a lot of confusion."
"Confusion?" Quait looked
back at the heavy shrubbery surrounding the building. "You'd have got a conflagration. Those bushes would have gone up like dry timber."
"Well, yes," she said reluctantly. "We knew that. That's why it was the backup plan."
"To the other wild idea," laughed Flojian.
Avila sighed. "I wouldn't make fun of it. She got you out."
The strange sort of half-life that had generated the sound in the pole and the response in the bank seemed to infest Ann Arbor. Lights came on outside a stone house as they approached, and blinked off as the last horse (hurried along by Chaka) passed. Elsewhere, a few bars of soft music drifted from a three-story brick building and repeated over and over until they were out of earshot. In a glade, Flojian leaned against a forty-foot-long metallic fence and was startled when a bell rang and three gates sprang open. (There were a dozen gates altogether in the fence, but the others stayed motionless.)
It was restless country and they were glad to be out of it.
They traveled late that evening, moving before a line of thunderclouds, and found shelter in a small Roadmaker church. It was an ideal situation, with a decent supply of wood left over from the last visitor, and a roof that was sufficiently decayed to let out smoke, but whole enough to protect them from the storm. The front door was missing, but that was okay because they were sharing the building with the animals. They watered and fed the horses and rubbed them down and then relaxed wearily in front of a fire.
They had no ale or wine left with which to toast the good fortune of the day, but Quait produced his Walloon. His fingers danced across the strings, and he invited requests.
"A good camp song," suggested Chaka.
"Indeed, you shall have it, my lady," he said. "Avila, do you know The Golden Company'?"
Avila held up her pipe and essayed a few bars. And Quait sang:
I left my girl at Billings Point
The night we made for Maylay;
She kissed my lips and kept my heart,
And watched me ride away.
Ride away,
Ride away,
She kept my heart and watched me ride
With the Golden Company.
Quait had a tendency to sing off-key, but nobody cared. They all joined in:
We get no ale while on the trail,
No wine nor women neither;
