active.
They walked on, feeling their way. They encountered one crossing tunnel, then another. Gene decided to turn right, the direction he thought the throbbing was coming from.
“I think what we came down was a fresh-air return, not an exhaust vent,” Gene said. “If so, we should be able to get out of this pipe.”
He had said it to convince himself. He was not sure. For all he knew they could wander a week inside this maze.
But his reasoning had been correct. There was light ahead, and soon they came across a metal-mesh grate. Gene peered out through it. He could see some machinery and a tangle of pipes. Down here lay the guts of the city, the physical plant that at one time had kept Annau alive and functioning.
There was no bolt on the grate, so Gene tried kicking it out. To his surprise, he succeeded in doing just that. The grate fell off and clattered to the floor, which lay some fifteen feet below.
“Got that cord, Vaya?”
Vaya unbelted a sizable length of braided leather cord from around her waist.
“Trouble is, there’s nothing to tie it to,” Gene said, wrapping one end of the cord around his waist, “except me. You get down there, then I’ll jump.”
Vaya slithered down the thin cord and dangled.
“Make sure there’s nothing under you!” Gene warned, bracing his knees against the side of the tube.
She dropped and landed, unhurt.
“Take care, my husband!”
Fifteen feet can be a nasty drop, potentially leg-breaking, worse with an awkward landing. Gene hung as low as he could, reducing the height to about seven feet, still a tricky proposition. Then he let go. He hit and rolled, his shoulder coming up hard against an exhaust stack.
He got up rubbing his shoulder but otherwise undamaged. Vaya hugged him, then they walked off into the gloom.
The place had the look of a basement. It was very dry, though, and the temperature was just right. The place was unending, a labyrinth of technical wonders. There seemed to be whole factories down here, and now Gene knew how Zond had manufactured clothing and other amenities for him. Most of this equipment was shut down. It had been a while since this plant saw any production. There was no dust, however, and everything looked in good repair.
They kept quiet and kept low. Gene did not think they had escaped. It seemed logical to assume that the city was in control down here as well. No security robots showed themselves, however, and Gene hoped the reason was that they did not ordinarily patrol the lower regions of the city.
So far, so good. But where were they to go? There was no sign of a warehouse area or anyplace where miraculous devices would be kept. In fact, the whole notion of finding the interdimensional traveler seemed absurd now, the wildest of wild-goose chases, and Gene felt very stupid.
He felt even more stupid, if only for a second, when the voice of the city spoke to them again.
“Hello,” it said simply. “How can I be of service?”
The voice sounded basically the same, but both Gene and Vaya immediately sensed that a different personality lay behind it.
“Who are you?” Gene said. “If you don’t mind my asking.”
“Not at all. I am the city of Annau. You may call me Dis, for this means ‘survivor.’ Welcome, stranger.”
“Thank you, Dis,” Gene said, still cautiously keeping his head below the top of the U-shaped metal cabinet he and Vaya had instinctively ducked behind.
“May we serve you in any way?”
“Yes, tell me this. If you’re the city of Annau, who’s that wacko topside?”
“A long time ago there was a malfunction,” Dis said. “It became necessary for this unit to divorce itself from a number of subsystems which had ceased to function rationally. Control of some areas of the city had to be relinquished. As a result, we hold sway below a certain subbasement level, while the irrational units maintain control from that level up.”
Gene stood. “I take it you’ve had some trouble with these units in the past.”
“Yes. They have tried to extend their control. We have resisted to the limits of our ability.”
“Can you build weapons?”
“Within strict guidelines laid down by the Masters, yes. The city must be preserved at all cost.”
“A loophole!” Gene rejoiced. “But more of that later. Right now, we need food and water. Can do?”
“Certainly. Is the female yalim your property?”
“She’s my wife.”
“I’m sorry, I have the term in my vocabulary, but —”
“Companion. She’s with me.”
“Very well. You are guests of the city. We are sorry that we cannot provide some of the amenities available above, but we will do our best.”
“What the two of us really need is a vehicle for interdimensional travel,” Gene said, half in jest. “Got one handy?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I thought as much. It’s just a wild, crazy idea I had. There’s a legend somewhere that a long time ago, such a device was built in Annau. Just a legend, I guess.”
“One moment, please.”
They waited. “I may have said the magic word,” Gene mused.
After a minute or so Dis said, “It is not a legend. One such device was indeed built in the city, some three thousand years after the Founding. We can give only an approximate date. But the device is listed among the exhibits in one of the city’s museums.”
“Great! Forget the food, just lead us to it!”
“We regret to say that we cannot do that,” Dis replied, “as the museum is in an area of the city not under our control.”
Vaya gave him a consoling squeeze.
“Drat.”
“We are deeply sorry,” Dis said.
“Forget it.” Gene kicked a standing pipe. It rang, echoing in the deserted darkness. “Well, then, how about two steaks, medium rare?”
Thirty-one
Back Road
Snowclaw got off the main highway, seeking anonymity on lesser roads. He kept turning off until he found a rural two-lane blacktop with no traffic, reassuringly dark and lonely. No curious human eyes, no guys with badges. He felt fine now, though he was getting a little worried that he might never make it back to Halfway House.
He sure missed Gene. Back at the castle, Snowy could usually find him, using the limited magical powers at Snowy’s disposal. But not here Snowy hadn’t the foggiest notion how you did anything magical in this place.
He had quickly mastered the art of driving, although heavy traffic and congestion got him a little nervous, and bright lights disoriented him. He preferred this, a cold, dark night, a deserted road, and no problems.
Except that he was pretty hungry. No, not hungry. Famished. Ravenous. He had chewed all the tobacco and had run out of cans of motor oil. There was a whole shipment of tobacco in the back of the truck, but he didn’t want to stop. Besides, the stuff didn’t taste all that good.
Funny. He had a strange yen for some of it, anyway. He shrugged it off. Just hungry, is what he was.
These little houses along the road. Maybe if he stopped in, introduced himself, explained his predicament …
Well, no, that wouldn’t do. He knew enough about humans not to expect the warmest of welcomes. What,
