Part 16 (1/2)
I was ready to pull and shoot; I wanted the cop to kill me before he picked me up.
He slowed up, looked at me sharply, looked at his instrument panel, then drove on. I just stood there, flabbergasted. I knew as well as I knew anything that he'd beamed that plate in my arm!
As the car turned at the next corner, I backed into a nearby doorway, trying to figure out what I should do next. Frankly, I was jumpy and scared; I didn't know what they were up to.
I got even more jumpy when the door behind me gave. I turned fast and made a grab for my gun. But I didn't take it out.
The smoothly dressed girl said: ”What's the matter, Grandfather?”
It wasn't until then that I realized how rattled I was. I looked like a very old man, but I wasn't acting like one. I paused to force my mind to adjust.
The girl was in green. The one-piece shortsuit, the sandals, the toenails, fingernails, lips, eyes, and hair. All green. The rest of her was a smooth, even shade of pink.
She said: ”You needn't be afraid that anyone will see you. We arrange-Oh!”
I knew what she was oh'ing about. The charity brown of my tunic.
”I'm sorry,” she said, frowning. ”We can't-”
I cut her off this time. ”I have money, my dear,” I smiled. ”And I'm wearing my own tunic.” I flashed the chartreuse on her by opening the collar. ”I see, Grandfather. Won't you come in?”
I followed the green girl in to the desk of the Program Planner, a girl who was a deep blue in the same way that the first girl was green. I outlined what I wanted in a reedy, antic.i.p.ating voice and was taken to a private room.
I locked the door behind me. A plaque on the door was dated and sealed with the City stamp.
GUARANTEE OF PRIVACY.
This room has been inspected and sealed against scanners, microphones, and other devices permitting the observation or recording of actions within it, in accordance with the provisions of the Privacy Act.
That was all very fine, but I wouldn't put enough faith in it to trust my life to it. I relaxed in a soft, heavy lounge facing the one-way wall. The show was already going on. I wasn't particularly interested in the fertility rites of the wors.h.i.+pers of Mahrud-not because they weren't intrinsically interesting, but because I had to do some thinking to save my own skin.
Senator Rowley, in order to keep his section under control, had coupled in his own robot's sensory organs with those of the city's Public Services Department and those of various business concerns, most of which were either owned outright or subsidized by the senator.
But something had happened to that computer; for some reason, its actions had become illogical and inefficient. When the patrol car had spotted me on the street, for instance, the son.o.beam, which had penetrated the flesh of my arm and bounced off the tantalum plate back to the pickup, had relayed the modified vibrations back to the Central Files for identification. And the Files had obviously given back the wrong information.
What had gone wrong? Was the senator still alive, keeping his mouth shut and his eyes open? If so, what sort of orders was he giving to the robot? I didn't get many answers, and the ones I did get were mutually contradictory.
I was supposed to be back before dawn, but I could see now that I'd never make it. Here in Groverton, there weren't many connections with Public Services; the robot couldn't keep me under observation all the time. But the deeper into the city I penetrated, the more scanners there would be. I couldn't take a private car in, and I didn't dare take a flitter or a ground taxi. I'd be spotted in the subways as soon as I walked in. I was in a fix, and I'd have to think my way out.
I don't know whether it was the music or the soft lights or my lack of sleep or the simple fact that intense concentration is often autohypnotic. At any rate, I dozed off, and the next thing I remember is the girl bringing in the papers.
This gal was silver. I don't know how the cosmeticians had done it, but looking into her eyes was like looking into a mirror; the irises were a glittering silver halo surrounding the dark pupil. Her hair was the same way; not white, but silver.
”Good morning, Grandfather,” she said softly. ”Here are the newspapers you asked for.”
I was thankful for that ”Grandfather”; it reminded me that I was an old man before I had a chance to say anything.
”Thank you, my dear, thank you. Just put them here.” ”Your coffee will be in in a moment.” She moved out as quietly as she had come in.
Something was gnawing at the back of my brain; something like a dream you know you've had but forgotten completely. I concentrated on it a moment, trying to bring it out into the open, but it wouldn't come, so I gave it up and turned to the paper, still warm from the reproducer.
It was splattered all over the front page.
MYSTERIOUS TROUBLE AT THE LODGE.
Police Unable to Enter
The Police Department announced this morning that they have been unable, thus far, to pa.s.s the defenses of the Lodge after receiving a call last night that Senator Rowley had been shot by his secretary, Mr. Edgar Gifford.
Repeated attempts to contact the senator have resulted in failure, says a Department spokesman.
Thus far, three police Hitters under robot control have been shot down in attempting to land at the Lodge, and one ground car has been blown up. Another ground car, the first to respond to the automatic call for help, was stolen by the fleeing Gifford after killing the four officers in the car. The stolen vehicle was recovered early this morning several hundred miles from here, having been reported by a Mr.
It went on with the usual statement that the police expected to apprehend the murderous Mr. Gifford at any moment.
Another small item in the lower left-hand corner registered the fact that two men had been accidentally caught by a street cleaner and had proceeded to damage it. One of the men was killed by the damaged machine, but the other managed to escape. The dead man was a charity case, named Brodwick, and his a.s.sociates were being checked.
So much for that. But the piece that really interested me was the one that said:
SENATOR LUTHER GRENDON OFFERS AID.
”Federal Government Should Keep Hands Off,” says Grendon.
Eastern Sector Senator Grendon said early this morning that he would do all in his power to aid Northwestern Sector in ”apprehending the murderer of my colleague and bring to justice the organization behind him.”
”There is,” he said, ”no need to call in the Federal Government at this time. The citizens of an independent sector are quite capable of dealing with crime within their own boundaries.”
Interviewed later, Senator Quintell of Southwestern Sector agreed that there was no need to call in the FBI or ”any other Federal Agency.”
The other senators were coming in for the kill, even before it was definitely established that the senator was dead.
Well, that was that. I decided I'd better get going. It would be better to travel during the daytime: it's hard for a beam to be focused on an individual citizen in a crowd.
While the other Immortals were foreclosing on Senator Rowley's private property, there might be time for me to get back safely.