Slaves of the Switchboard of Doom, page 26
SATURDAY, 5:23 PM
His adversary had hardly slowed the flow of information that poured into the stolen Info-Slate. When Pitt saw these latest queries his face drained of color. He leaned back and tipped his hat back on his head.
Too close, he told himself. He is very close to …
Pitt checked the Projectile’s status. If he directed the robots to drop every other task and concentrate on completing the shell … and if he re-routed the Transport Tubes, to double up the prisoners … and if the evacuation began at once …
He pulled his slide rule out of its holster and ran a finger down its smooth, cool surface. Then he set to calculating an amended trajectory based on the Projectile’s new, adjusted final mass. It might … just … work.
It was time, then. Pitt quickly entered some additional orders for the ASAA officers through the Info-Slate system. It was sooner than he’d planned. But, still, what could go wrong?
He issued new directives to his robots. Down the hall there was a moment of silence as they digested the revised schedule. Then the hammering and hauling and riveting started up again at an even more feverish pace.
Pitt finally changed the routing for the Tube Transport system. He’d abandon the unfinished chambers altogether. They’d just have to share their rooms. The new priority was to finish the Projectile’s hull.
He hunched forward over the console and scanned his enemy’s Info-Slate feed. There. See what you can do about that.
SATURDAY, 5:29 PM
The General Quarters alarm sounded throughout ASAA headquarters. Maria dropped the latest useless file back into its drawer and ran out into the hallway. She joined the flood of blue uniforms that were forcing their way through the building to the main floor, where an even greater flood of officers was waiting for them. Orders blared out over the PA system.
A full evacuation of the city has been declared. Officers are instructed to disperse to their usual routes and guide all civilians to their nearest Tube Transport stations. This must be executed as quickly as possible, and in an orderly manner. No one is to be left behind.
“That’s.…” she heard.
“Millions…”
“Of people.…”
There was a squawk from the PA.
Mechanical persons are not in any danger. Only human citizens are to take part in the evacuation.
That was still millions of people, Maria knew.
“What about the … what about the District?” asked someone.
“He said everybody, didn’t he?”
But no one was assigned to patrol the District, of course. It was left to police itself.
The PA squawked one more time.
Unmarried officers from units seventeen, thirty-two, thirty-six, and fifty-five: you have now volunteered to evacuate the Experimental Research District. That is all. Go!
As the horde of ASAA officers scrambled for their rockets Maria felt very grateful that she’d been assigned to unit twenty-three. When she reached her cruiser she came to a halt. So after we get them into the Tube system, she wondered, where are they going to go?
SATURDAY, 5:33 PM
The unofficial Howard Pitt Containment Force spread out in a loose formation behind Harry and Albert. The accountants, roboticists, and operators did their best to look like a unified team. They were taken aback, though, when at the edge of the square they met a wall of robots.
Harry gave Albert a look.
“Yes, Harry. I made a call to the League just after we spoke.”
There had to be two hundred robots out there, maybe more. There were Big Lugs, of course, but there were also rarer models like the Submersible, the Drillomator, and the Loewy LumberJax. A short, determined line of clerical robots each held a large wrench, while in the ranks behind them Harry could see a forest of poles that were bent under the weight of the typewriters at their tips. The eyes of the robots were blazing like torches.
Harry coughed. “You know, Albert, we can’t have a mob here.”
The robot agreed. “But I asked them to be ready for anything, Harry. There are also boxes of medical supplies in case any of your people are injured.”
Harry looked behind him. “Well, thanks for that. But seriously, we have to keep this from getting violent. I understand what this whole … what Pitt’s robots mean to you. I really do. But we can’t take the law into our own hands.”
He turned back to the robot army. “Or, you know, appendages.”
Albert was watching him closely. “We do not condone violence, Harry. You need to trust me on this.”
Harry wondered if he did trust Albert. When it came down to it, the League president was an army all by himself; he just didn’t look like one.
“Well, we’d better form up, Albert.”
The two of them walked up to the head of what Harry hoped was not a mob.
“Big Lugs!” called Albert. “I want two ranks of you to surround the human people.”
He patted Harry’s shoulder. “It’s for their protection,” he explained. “Now let’s find that switchboard.”
The little antenna on his head led them on.
Their battalion marched in a column so wide that it nearly filled the street, trailing for some distance behind the two in the lead. It looked so much like a parade that pedestrians gathered on either side and waited for the big balloons. The odd thing about that was that there never seemed to be a crowd in front of the Tube Transport stations; Harry couldn’t see why. He turned from one side of the street to the other, and though he sometimes saw people standing in front of the Pods, when he looked back that space was always empty again. Strange.
“We should keep your people away from those,” said Albert. He must have been watching Harry. “Something there is not quite right.”
Harry made sure that his people were safe behind the Lugs. “That’s another one of Pitt’s projects,” he observed.
The robot president slowed. “I’m having trouble with the signal again,” he said. He looked back over his shoulder. “Rhonda, would you please?”
Harry saw one of the young switchboard operators get busy with her Info-Slate.
“That’s better,” Albert told her. But to Harry he said, more quietly, “I’ll need to get some altitude again. Soon.”
SATURDAY, 5:44 PM
Lillian knew her time was growing short. She wished she’d found some way to communicate with all her other selves; if one of them had already located the switchboard then there wasn’t any need for haste. Oh, well. She’d devised the plan in a hurry, after all.
She was working her way down Finnegan Road, a narrow, pleasant street filled with small businesses and overhead apartments. There was a lot of activity in the buildings. It looked like everybody was pouring out on their way … where? she wondered.
She ducked into a newsstand. “Could you have a look at this picture?” she asked.
“Haven’t you heard? We’re being evacuated!”
The newsagent was bundling a few important things into a small box. “We’re all supposed to head for those stations”—with a wave at the Tube Transport stations along the road—“and get to safety.”
Lillian frowned. “… from what?”
“No time! The ASAA says it isn’t safe to stay here!”
The newsagent pushed Lillian out of the way and locked the newsstand door. Lillian toyed with the eyepiece of her glasses. But no, not necessary, she decided. Instead she walked alongside the newsagent toward the line that was forming in front of the Tube.
“Well, while we wait, anyway,” Lillian said, “have you seen this man in the neighborhood?”
She held out the photograph of Howard Pitt.
The newsagent gave it a glance. “No, I don’t think so.”
So Lillian went up and down the line and asked her question again and again. It was convenient, having them all arranged neatly this way. She wished she’d thought of it herself.
At regular intervals of one to two minutes the Transport station’s door would hiss open and first one, then two or three of the people in line would hop in. Each time the door hissed closed there was a sound of rushing air; then, after another one to two minutes, the door would open again.
It wasn’t all that fast a way to evacuate a neighborhood, she thought, and then she thought again. “Say, how many neighborhoods are being cleared out?”
“All of them,” said the newsagent from behind the Pod door, just as it shut again.
The whole city? All climbing into Pitt’s Pods?
Lillian took her photograph to the end of the line. New arrivals were appearing all the time now.
“Have you seen this man?”
A woman with two toddlers draped over her moved one child to the left in order to see the picture. “Oh, him. Sure. Right here.”
Lillian leaned in, but she was careful to avoid the zone around the baby. “When you say ‘here’…” she started.
The woman waved at the Pod. “Right behind there,” she said. “I think he does some kind of maintenance on the Tubes.”
Well, maybe he did, and maybe he didn’t. Lillian tried not to overreact: Pitt had business all over town. She stepped behind the Transport Tube Station and found the maintenance hatch. It didn’t want to open for her, but Lillian had her ways. She checked the time again.
She’d make it a quick look.
Six minutes later Lillian shot out of the hatch, startling the much shorter line of evacuees, and scanned the air above the street. Not an ornithopter in sight! She’d have to try the intersection.
Behind her, the Tube Station door hissed open and four people stuffed themselves into the Pod. She had a feeling they weren’t going to like where they were headed.
SATURDAY, 5:49 PM
Maria wasn’t going to her assigned evacuation site. She felt a little guilty about that, just in case this danger was real, but she was pretty sure that the whole business was another Info-Slate hijack.
There had been no records of any kind about that house where she’d seen the fugitives: and no record at all was, in itself, pretty interesting. Maria knew very well that you could hardly sneeze in Retropolis without filing a form of some kind with some civic organization that was known only by its capital letters. So a house that had been built without any permits, apparently, and which had no electrical power, or water, or any other utilities … that was a very unusual kind of house. She could see it on its hill, just a few blocks ahead.
She descended in a graceful arc toward the landscaped side of the building. Off in the distance she could just make out a small furry creature with rather long arms: it was heading off into the trees. When it turned and looked back at her, Maria had to tell herself that you don’t often find a face like that in the city. But then it was gone.
She set her rocket down and let out the mooring cables. A couple of quick taps into the grass anchored it in place; its inertrium body bobbed up gently in the breeze. It was only then that she turned back to the frozen pair of people who were staring at her in terror from the door of an empty hangar.
Rusty, on the other hand, came bounding forward and waved.
“Miss Gardner? And Mr. Kent?”
Of course there was a lot of confusion in the next few minutes, but eventually each of them had a sort of half-formed idea of who they all were and what they’d all been doing, even though Lillian Krajnik’s living arrangements had not been described in very much detail.
“So, okay,” Maria said at last. “I’m pretty sure the other officers are busy at the moment but even if they weren’t, I doubt they’d shoot at you if I was to give you a lift.”
Dash Kent peered into her rocket’s cockpit. “Uh, you really think we’ll all fit in there?” he asked.
“Where there’s a will…” Maria told him. “I hope we’re all feeling friendly, is all.”
Nola’s eyes were fixed on her watch. “That’s it,” she said. “It’s over. Either Aunt Lillian found the switchboard, or…”
They all scanned the sky for one tiny ornithopter.
SATURDAY 6:11 PM
Robot R-54KG lurched from the catwalk to the final section of the Projectile’s skin. All along its length, R-54KG’s fellow workers were racing to complete their accelerated tasks. R-54KG was starting to think that they could really finish on time.
The robots had to clamber around the hundreds of Transport Tubes that were now fixed to the Projectile’s hull. It seemed like every few seconds another Pod arrived through each tube. The Pods were decanting thousands of human persons into the Master’s immense structure.
Yes. All seemed to be going according to plan.
He wondered what had happened to the Plumber. It didn’t really matter anymore, but R-54KG felt a little disappointed. But of course the Plumber was a human person, and human persons were not predictable. Still …
Over to his left, R-54KG saw an inertrium plate start to drift upward.
“Look lively over there!” he bellowed. “We’re not finished yet!”
The plate was caught and pulled slowly back to the Projectile’s frame. R-54KG himself stood on its edge while the other robots heated the rivets.
It wouldn’t be much longer now.
SATURDAY 6:17 PM
Dash felt a tug on his arm and looked down. Rusty was jumping from side to side with one arm stretched out to the East.
Nola had seen it, too, and he heard her yell, “There it is! There it is!”
The little ornithopter was silhouetted against the Moon. As it drew near Dash could hear the faint ping ping ping of its metal feathers. “Oh, I sure hope she found it,” he breathed.
The ornithopter settled on his shoulder and he paged back through its video spool. Sure enough, there were directions there.
“You know where that is?” he asked Officer da Cunha.
“Sure,” she said. “I know it.”
“Then what I’d like you to do is to take Nola and Rusty there, seeing as you’ll be with them now. But me, I want you to drop me off over by Pitt’s big construction project.”
Nola didn’t seem so sure about that.
“I think it’s best,” he said. “You’ve got the officer with you. Just get the evidence we need against Howard Pitt, which should be pretty easy except if he’s got…” He looked over at Maria. “… more security measures.”
Maria nodded.
“But the thing is that whatever he’s really doing, it has something to do with what’s under that construction site. And if your Aunt Lillian’s right, then it’s really, really bad. The officer can take care of you two. I figure I’d best get in the middle of this other thing.
“So you folks should go get the goods on Pitt at the switchboard and report him to the law, and I’ll do what I can to stop him on my end. Then I guess we can all celebrate when it’s over. Okay?”
Rusty shook his hand, but that was nothing next to the hug that Nola gave him. Then the three human people squeezed into the much-too-small cockpit of Maria’s ASAA rocket. Rusty unpegged the mooring lines and hopped onto the back, just ahead of the rocket’s tail, and a moment later they were airborne.
17
THE SWITCHBOARD OF DOOM
SATURDAY, 6:20 PM
It had taken a while for the small army of robots, operators, technicians, and accountants to pile up behind the leaders of their column. But Mrs. Broadvine, Harry Roy, and Albert King had scarcely noticed this even though they now knew exactly where to go.
They were crowded into Finnegan Road near—but not in front of—the Transport Tube station that was still admitting its small group of evacuees in groups of one to (now) four persons. The evacuation came as a surprise, right on the heels of the larger surprise they’d met as they rounded the corner.
A rather determined-looking woman had been standing just about where Mrs. Broadvine stood now. She had been speaking into the face of a little winged robot which began to beat its little metal wings with a ping ping ping that Mrs. Broadvine recognized: she’d heard it before when an ornithopter had taken off and flown through the window of Rusty’s attic apartment. And she was sure it was another of these ornithopters that the strange woman had been speaking to.
This, unexpected as it was, was not the surprise. The surprise came when the woman somehow imploded into a sparkling, misty shape that seemed not to grow smaller, but somehow more distant and indistinct, as though it was rushing away from Mrs. Broadvine, from Finnegan Road, from Retropolis, and from everything else; and stranger still, the vanishing outline of the woman was surrounded by another outline, and another, and another, as though she was a transparent Russian doll that went on forever or, conceivably, about 15,000 times. There was a faint popping sound and then the woman was just … gone.
Mrs. Broadvine had been keeping step with Mr. Roy and keeping up with Mr. King. The three of them came to a halt when they saw this bizarre exit from the road.
They were still bewildered by what they had just witnessed. But when their followers had bunched up in the road to the point where no more bunching was possible, Mr. King simply shook his enameled head and shrugged.
“Well, we’re not going to find her, and she probably has nothing to do with any of this, anyway.”
Mr. Roy wasn’t convinced.
So Mrs. Broadvine, in the spirit of middle management, spoke: “We will table the question of the Mysterious Woman until later, won’t we? I’m sure a group of like-minded persons can get to the bottom of that problem when we have the time to consider it. And until then, Mr. King, it seems certain that the switchboard must be somewhere behind that Pod station. I suggest that we concentrate on the problem that has led”—with a look at the crowd behind them—“all of us here.”
She wasn’t alone in watching their milling horde. The line of refugees, which was now steadily decreasing in size, was fascinated by them, too. In fact those at the head of the queue had started to crowd a little closer together just in case two hundred or so robots might decide to crash the line.
In the end it was Mr. Roy who edged behind the station and found the hatch, now wide open. He thrust his head into the tunnel beyond. Then he called, “It’s going to be a little snug in there, Albert. We could try it double file, maybe single file for the Lugs.”
