City

Someone calling!

Someone calling after almost a thousand years!

He staggered forward, dropped into the chair, reached out with fumbling fingers to the toggle, tripped it over.

The wall before him melted away and he sat facing a man across a desk. Behind the man the flames of a fireplace lighted up a room with high, stained-glass windows.

'You're Jenkins,' said the man and there was something in his face that jerked a cry from Jenkins.

'You… you-'

'I'm Jon Webster,' said the man.

Jenkins pressed his hands flat against the top of the televisor, sat straight and stiff, afraid of the unrobotlike emotions that welled within his metal being.

'I would have known you anywhere,' said Jenkins. 'You have the look of them. I should recognize one of you. I worked for you long enough. Carried drinks and… and-'

'Yes, I know,' said Webster. 'Your name has come down with us. We remembered you.'

'You are in Geneva, Jon?' And then Jenkins remembered. 'I meant, sir.'

'No need of it,' said Webster. 'I'd rather have it Jon. And, yes, I'm in Geneva. But I'd like to see, you. I wonder if I might.'

'You mean come out here?' Webster nodded.

'But the place is overrun with dogs, sir.'

Webster grinned. 'The talking dogs?' he asked.

'Yes,' said Jenkins. 'and they'll be glad to see you. They know all about the family. They sit around at night and talk themselves to sleep with stories from the old days and… and-'

'What is it, Jenkins?'

'I'll be glad to see you, too. It has been so lonesome!'

***

God had come.

Ebenezer shivered at the thought, crouching in the dark. If Jenkins knew I was here, he thought, he'd whale my hide for fair. Jenkins said we were to leave him alone, for a while, at least.

Ebenezer crept forward on fur-soft pads, sniffed at the study door. And the door was open — open by the barest crack!

He crouched on his belly, listening, and there was not a thing to hear. Just a scent, an unfamiliar, tangy scent that made the hair crawl along his back in swift, almost unbearable ecstasy.

He glanced quickly over his shoulder, but there was no movement. Jenkins was out in the dining-room, telling the dogs how they must behave, and Shadow was off somewhere tending to some robot business.

Softly, carefully, Ebenezer pushed at the door with his nose and the door swung wider. Another push and it was half open.

The man sat in front of the fireplace, in the easy-chair, long legs crossed, hands clasped across his stomach.

Ebenezer crouched tighter against the floor, a low involuntary whimper in his throat.

At the sound Jon Webster jerked erect.

'Who's there?' he asked.

Ebenezer froze against the floor, felt the pumping of his heart jerking at his body.

'Who's there?' Webster asked once more and then he saw the dog.

His voice was softer when he spoke again. 'Come in, feller. Come on in.'

Ebenezer did not stir.

Webster snapped his fingers at him. 'I won't hurt you. Come on in. Where are all the others?'

Ebenezer tried to rise, tried to crawl along the floor, but his bones were rubber and his blood was water. And the man was striding towards him, coming in long strides across the floor.

He saw the man bending over him, felt strong hands beneath his body; knew that he was being lifted up. And the scent that he had smelled at the open door — the overpowering god-scent — was strong within his nostrils.

The hands held him tight against the strange fabric the man wore instead of fur and a voice crooned at him — not words, but comforting.

'So you came to see me,' said Jon Webster. 'You sneaked away and you came to see me.'

Ebenezer nodded weakly. 'You aren't angry, are you? You aren't going to tell Jenkins?'

Webster shook his head. 'No, I won't tell Jenkins.'

He sat down and Ebenezer sat in his lap, staring at his face — a strong, lined face with the lines deepened by the flare of the flames within the fireplace.

Webster's hand came up and stroked Ebenezer's head and Ebenezer whimpered with doggish happiness.

'It's like coming home,' said Webster and he wasn't talking to the dog. 'It's like you've been away for a long, long time and then you come home again. And it's so long you don't recognize the place. Don't know the furniture, don't recognize the floor plan. But you know by the feel of it that it's an old familiar place and you are glad you came.'

'I like it here,' said. Ebenezer and he meant Webster's lap, but the man misunderstood.

'Of course, you do,' he said. 'It's your home as well as mine. More your home, in fact, for you stayed here and took care of it while I forgot about it.'

He patted Ebenezer's head and pulled Ebenezer's ears.

'What's your name?' he asked.

'Ebenezer.'

'And what do you do, Ebenezer?'

'I listen.'

'You listen?'

'Sure, that's my job. I listen for the cobblies.'

'And you hear the cobblies?'

'Sometimes. I'm not very good at it. I think about chasing rabbits and I don't pay attention.'

'What do cobblies sound like?'

'Different things. Sometimes they walk and other times they just go bump. And once in a while they talk. Although oftener, they think,'

'Look here, Ebenezer, I don't seem to place these cobblies.'

'They aren't any place,' said Ebenezer. 'Not on this earth, at least.'

'I don't understand.'

'Like there was a big house,' said Ebenezer. 'A big house with lots of rooms. And doors between the rooms. And if you're in one room, you can hear whoever's in the other rooms, but you can't get to them.'

'Sure you can,' said Webster. 'All you have to do is go through the door.'

'But you can't open the door,' said Ebenezer. 'You don't even know about the door. You think this one room you're in is the only room in all the house. Even if you did know about the door you couldn't open it.'

'You're talking about dimensions.'

Ebenezer wrinkled his forehead in worried thought. 'I don't know that word you said, dimensions. What I told you was the way Jenkins told it to us. He said it wasn't really a house and it wasn't really rooms and the things we heard probably weren't like us.'

Webster nodded to himself. That was the way one would have to do. Have to take it easy. Take it slow. Don't confuse them with big names. Let them get the idea first and then bring in the more exact and scientific terminology. And more than likely it would be a manufactured terminology. Already there was a coined word— Cobblies — the things behind the wall, the things that one hears and cannot identify — the dwellers in the next room.

Cobblies.