or Carol or Mary Ann Stavros-by the things that were called by those names, that is.
And Ruthanne had to be warned. Maybe they could go together-though Ruthanne had time yet.
She came to the end of the belt of trees, made sure no cars were coming, and ran across Winter Hill Drive. Snowpillowed spruce trees lined the far side of it; she hurried along behind them, her arms folded across her chest, her hands in their thin gloves burrowed in her armpits.
Gwendolyn Lane, where Ruthanne lived, was somewhere near Short Ridge Hill, out past Bobbie's; getting there would take almost an hour. More, probably, with the snow on the ground and the darkness. And she didn't dare hitchhike because any car could be Walter, and she wouldn't know till too late.
Not only Walter, she realized suddenly. They would all be out looking for her, cruising the roads with flashlights, spotlights. How could they let her get away and tell? Every man was a threat, every car a danger. She would have to make sure Ruthanne's husband wasn't there before she rang the bell; look through the windows.
Oh God, could she get away? None of the others had.
But maybe none of the others had tried. Bobbie hadn't, Charmaine hadn't.
Maybe she was the first one to find out in time. If it was in time…
She left Winter Hill and hurried down Talcott Lane. Headlights flashed, and a car swung from a driveway ahead on the other side. She crouched beside a parked car and froze, and light swam under her and the car drove past. She stood and looked: the car was going slowly, and sure enough, a spotlight beam lanced from it and slid a wobble of light over housefronts and lawns of snow.
She hurried down Talcott, past silent houses with Christmas-lighted windows and Christmas-light-trimmed doors. Her feet and legs were cold, but she was all right. At the end of Talcott was Old Norwood Road, and from there she would take either Chimney Road or Hunnicutt.
A dog barked nearby, barked ragingly; but the barking dropped behind her as she hurried on.
A black arm of tree branch lay on the trodden snow. She set her boot across it and broke off half of it, and hurried on, holding the cold wet strength of branch in her thin-gloved hand.
A FLASHLIGHT GLEAMED IN Pine Tree Lane. She ran between two houses, ran over snow toward a snow- dome of bush; huddled behind it panting, holding the branch tightly in her aching-cold hand.
She looked out-at the backs of houses, their windows alight. From the rooftop of one a stream of red sparks lofted and danced, dying among the stars.
The flashlight came swaying from between two houses, and she drew back behind the bush. She rubbed a stockinged knee, warmed the other in the crook of her elbow.
Wan light swept toward her over snow, and spots of light slid away over her skirt and gloved hand.
She waited, waited longer, and looked out. A dark man-shape went toward the houses, following a patch of lighted snow.
She waited till the man had gone, and rose and hurried toward the next street over. Hickory Lane? Switzer? She wasn't sure which it was, but both of them led toward Short Ridge Road.
Her feet were numb, despite the boots' fleece lining.
A LIGHT SHONE BLINDINGLY and she turned and ran. A light ahead swung toward her and she ran to the side, up a cleared driveway, past the side of a garage, and down a long slope of snow. She slipped and fell, clambered to her feet still holding the branch-the lights were bobbing toward her-and ran over level snow. A light swung toward her. She turned, toward snow with no hiding place, and turned, and stood where she was, panting. 'Get away!' she cried at the lights bobbing toward her, two on one side, one on the other.
She raised the branch. 'Get away!'
Flashlights bobbed toward her, and slowed and stopped, their radiance blinding. 'Get away!' she cried, and shielded her eyes.
The light lessened. 'Put them out. We're not going to hurt you, Mrs.
Eberhart.'
'Don't be afraid. We're Walter's friends.' The light went; she lowered her hand. 'Your friends too. I'm Frank Roddenberry. You know me.'
'Take it easy, no one's going to hurt you.'
Shapes darker than the darkness stood before her. 'Stay away,' she said, raising the branch higher.
'You don't need that.'
'We're not going to hurt you.'
'Then get away,' she said.
'Everyone's out looking for you,' Frank Roddenberry's voice said. 'Walter's worried.'
641,11 bet he is,' she said.
They stood before her, four or five yards away; three men. 'You shouldn't be running around like this, no coat on,' one of them said.
'Get away,' she said.
'P-put it down,' Frank said. 'No one's going to hurt you. 51 'Mrs. Eberhart, I was on the phone with Walter not five minutes ago.' The man in the middle was speaking. 'We know about this idea you've got. It's wrong, Mrs. Eberhart. Believe me, it's just not so.'
'Nobody's making robots,' Frank said.
'You must think we're a hell of a lot smarter than we really are,' the man in the middle said. 'Robots that can drive cars? And cook meals? And trim kids' hair?'
'And so real-looking that the kids wouldn't notice?' the third man said. He was short and wide.
'You must think we're a townful of geniuses,' the man in the middle said.
'Believe me, we're not.'
'You're the men who put us on the moon,' she said.
'Who is?' he said. 'Not me. Frank, did you put anybody on the moon?
Bernie?'
'Not me,' Frank said.
The short man laughed. 'Not me, Wynn,' he said. 'Not that I know of.'
'I think you've got us mixed up with a couple of other fellows,' the man in the middle said. 'Leonardo da Vinci and Albert Einstein, maybe.'
'My gosh,' the short man said, 'we don't want robots for wives. We want real women.'
'Get away and let me go on,' she said.
They stood there, darker than the darkness. 'Joanna,' Frank said, 'if you were right and we could make robots that were so fantastic and lifelike, don't you think we'd cash in on it somehow?'
'Tbat's right,' the man in the middle said. 'We could all be rich with that kind of know-how.'
'Maybe you're going to,' she said. 'Maybe this is just the beginning.'
'Oh my Lord,' the man said, 'you've got an answer for everything. You should have been the lawyer, not Walter.'
Frank and the short man laughed.
'Come on, Joanna,' Frank said, 'p-put down that b-bat or whatever it is and-'
'Get away and let me go on!' she said.
'We can't do that,' the man in the middle said. 'You'll catch pneumonia. Or get hit by a car.'
'I'm going to a friend's house,' she said. 'I'll be inside in a few minutes. I'd be inside now if you hadn't-oh Jesus… She lowered the branch and rubbed her arm; and rubbed her eyes and her forehead, shivering.
'Will you let us prove to you that you're wrong?' the man in the middle said. 'Then we'll take you home, and you can get some help if you need it.'
She looked at his dark shape. 'Prove to me?' she said.
'We'll take you to the house, the Men's Association house-'
'Oh no.
'Now just a second; just hear me out please. We'll take you to the house and you can check it over from stem to stem. I'm sure nobody'll object, under the circumstances. And you'll see there's-'
'I'm not setting foot in-'
