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. Quait’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. Simultaneously she motioned Quait 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 Quait, pushing him toward 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 11. 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’t you call your office?”
Avila imagined herself leaning out the window and yodeling 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.
“I 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.”
