Part 9 (1/2)

From inside the room he still couldn't see any doors.

There was only one opaque wall to inspect. He moved along it, rapping. It sounded hollow.

Door controls on the headboard? Nuts. You'd have to walk clear around to the other side-wait, there was something on the back side. Three thumb-sized circular depressions of chrome yellow against black headboard. Corbell pushed them.

The back wall slid up in three unequal sections.

The biggest one was a closet. Corbell found half a dozen garments in it, all one-piece long-sleeved garments with lots of pockets. Some had hoods. A layer of dust at the bottom of the closet was two to three inches thick.

The second section was smaller, no bigger than a telephone booth, with a free-form chair in it. Corbell stepped in. He found another chrome-yellow depression on the wall, and touched it. The door shot up behind him.

A chair. Funny. Now he saw the great hole in the seat of the chair. A toilet? But there was no water in the bowl, and no toilet paper...nothing but a glitteringly clean metal sponge attached to the chair by a wire.

He left the cubicle. By any terms, it was pretty basic for a house with this complexity of design. The owner should have been able to afford something better.

He turned to the clothing still hanging on shaped hangers. Funny, he couldn't tell if they were made for a man or a woman. He tugged at the fabric. It was amazingly resilient-and very dusty. He tugged harder, then tried in earnest to tear the cloth. It stood his full strength.

This clothing seemed new.

But the dust?

Say there were temporary clothes, meant to be thrown out when styles changed, and clothes meant to last longer. How long? If that layer of dust was the temporary clothes.

He still hadn't found a door.

The third cubicle looked promising. There was nothing in it at all except for one unmarked switch like the yellow circle in the bathroom, and a panel of four white-glowing touch points.

”I think I've found an elevator,” he said. ”I'm going to try it.” He used the yellow touch point. The door came up; he turned on his helmet lamp.

Peerssa said, ”Dangerous. What if the elevator takes you down and then breaks down?”

”Then you beam me another manhole to climb out of.” Corbell pushed the top b.u.t.ton. Nothing happened.

He'd expected that. He must be at the top. He pushed number two.

Peerssa's voice came unnecessarily loud. ”Corbell. Answer if you can.”

”Yeah?” There had been no sense of motion, yet something something had changed. There were eight more white-glowing touch points: two additional vertical rows beside the first, set closer together, and each of these was marked with a black squiggle. had changed. There were eight more white-glowing touch points: two additional vertical rows beside the first, set closer together, and each of these was marked with a black squiggle.

Corbell jabbed at the door b.u.t.ton.

Peerssa said, ”You have changed position by four point one miles southwest and two hundred feet loss of alt.i.tude. I place you in One City.”

”Yeah.” Corbell looked out into a different room. He was beginning to feel like a wandering ghost. Everything was spooky, unreal.

He stepped out, round what once must have been a floating desk but was now only knee-high. Screens and pushb.u.t.ton panels set into the desk made it look like the control board in the Womb Room; but they were ruined. It must have rained here for hundreds of years.

There was a rug like half-melted cotton candy, deep as his ankles. It squished beneath his boots, and tore, and stuck to his suit fabric. He stepped to the edge of an empty picture window frame and looked out and down.

Thirty stories of windows and empty frames dropped away beneath his toes. He saw much taller buildings around him. There, to the right, a masonry behemoth had fallen, taking buildings and pieces of buildings with it. Beyond that gap, beyond the mist and rain, he thought he could trace a gray-on-gray outline: a cube, impossibly large, whose walls had a slight outward curve.

”Peerssa, did the State ever have any kind of instant transportation? Like a telephone booth, but you dial and you're there?”

”Well, these people did. I should have guessed. Me, of all people! That house wasn't a house, it was only part of a house. I've found the office. It's in the city. There ought to be a bathroom and a dining room and maybe a game room, G.o.d knows where. What we broke into was the bedroom.”

”It's likely that the machinery has not been tended for a long time. Bear that in mind.”

”Yeah.” Corbell stepped back into the cubicle. Where next? He pushed the third down in the row of unmarked b.u.t.tons.

A light flared to life in the ceiling. The extra b.u.t.tons had vanished. Corbell stepped out, and smiled. Definitely, this was the bathroom.

The outside temperature register at his chin was dropping.

”I think this place is air-conditioned,” he said.

”You have traveled three point one miles west by southwest and have lost six hundred feet of alt.i.tude.”

”Okay.” Corbell opened his faceplate. Just for a moment, he'd close it fast if- But the air was cool and fresh.

It came to him, as he let the heavy backpack section fall, that he was exhausted. He pulled himself out of the rest of his armor and crouched at the edge of a bathtub almost big enough to be called a pool.

He couldn't read the markings on the water spigot. He turned it all the way in one direction and pushed it on. Hot water splashed into the tub. He turned it the other way. Boiling water spurted out, spitting steam. He recoiled. If he'd been in in the tub... the tub...

Okay, the ”cold” water was hot, but it wasn't too hot to stand. It flooded out and around him as he lolled on the curved bottom.

A tiny voice called, ”Corbell, answer.”

He reached and pulled the helmet to the edge. ”I'm taking a rest break. Check back in an hour. And send me a dancing girl.”

IV.

A tiny voice peeped, ”-can. Repeating. Corbell, answer if you can. Repeating. Corbell-”

Corbell opened his eyes.

Every texture was strange to his sight and his touch. He was nowhere aboard Don Juan. Don Juan. Then where-? Then where-?

Ah. He'd found two projections at the edge of the sunken tub, soft mounds like a pair of falsies, just right to rest his head between. His neck was still between the pillows. Lukewarm water enveloped him. He'd gone to sleep in the tub. He'd found two projections at the edge of the sunken tub, soft mounds like a pair of falsies, just right to rest his head between. His neck was still between the pillows. Lukewarm water enveloped him. He'd gone to sleep in the tub.

”-if you can. Repeat-”

Corbell pulled the pressure-suit helmet to him. ”Here.”

”Your hour's gone, and another hour and six minutes. Are you sick?”

”No, just sleepy. Hang on.” He pulled the spigot on. Hot water spurted through cool water and mixed. Corbell stirred with his foot. ”I'm still on a rest break. Anything new at your end?”

”Something's watching me. I sense radar and gravity radiation.”