On reaching the balcony, Tracy turned to look at Chuck coming up behind her, but suddenly her face changed and she brought a knuckle up to her mouth.
“Chuck . . .” she said quietly.
He looked up at her word and furrowed his brow. “What?”
“I . . . think we’re in trouble.”
Chuck glanced back toward where she was staring and saw three samurai warriors, swords glinting in their hands, bounding over some pipes and coming right at them.
“Jesus!” Chuck said fervently.
He looked around frantically for a weapon, saw nothing, and ran up the last few steps to the balcony. Spying a length of aluminum pipe, he grabbed it up. At the same time he grabbed the frozen Tracy by the arm and yanked her savagely back. Turning her around, he shoved her toward another ladder, one leading upward to another balcony. “Climb!” he commanded.
Tracy started up the ladder, then slipped and fell two rungs to the balcony floor, but she grasped the rungs again and dashed upward.
Chuck looked back over his shoulder just in time to see the first samurai swinging his sword. Chuck ducked, his aluminum tube coming up automatically and deflecting the blade upward and striking a control panel on the balcony, which smashed a readout monitor and exploded glass into the room. Chuck immediately swung the pipe with all his strength and the Nipponese warrior staggered back under the impact; groping backward for the railing, he missed it, fell into the opening of the stairs, grabbed again for the railing. But his momentum carried him over the railing of the downward-slanting steps and he fell from the balcony.
There was no scream. Only a rattling crash.
In an instant the other two warriors rushed up the stairway at Chuck, who was scrambling up the second ladder after Tracy.
She stood at the top, looking around desperately: there was only one way to go—out along the catwalk to the cabin of the overhead crane, which was retracted to that end of the big room. Running along the narrow catwalk, she fumbled at the cabin door. It opened and she climbed in, glancing back at Chuck as he scrambled out onto the catwalk, his pipe-weapon scraping along on the gridwork.
Chuck turned to smash down at the samurai coming up the ladder, but the warrior ducked back and the reporter’s blow resounded off the gridwork square. He turned and ran toward the crane.
“Get it running!” he yelled.
Tracy looked at the control panel and reached out with a trembling finger. The cabin vibrated slightly as the motor whirred to life. Chuck jumped in the door and slammed it behind him.
The cabin, unfortunately, had no lock and plenty of glass.
They started moving only when Tracy shoved forward a lever, but by that time both of the samurai had gained the catwalk. One of the Orientals jumped for the moving crane as the other turned and started moving along the upper balcony.
“This glass box is no protection!” Chuck shouted and opened the door.
“Watch out!” Tracy screamed as the crane started out over the machinery far below.
Chuck stepped onto a very tiny and narrow catwalk that ran along the horizontal neck of the crane. The samurai warrior was crouched on the crane, his eyes glaring. He was ready for Chuck. The reporter took a good grip on the slim aluminum pipe and advanced gingerly toward the oriental attacker.
The samurai’s sword flashed out and Chuck barely avoided losing a leg. He stuck out the pipe, holding on to it with both hands, as the Japanese did his sword. Then a movement caught his eye: the second warrior was pacing them on the balcony that ran along the wall.
The Japanese struck again, his sword clanging metallically off Chuck’s protective pipe. Chuck moved back, then jumped sideways as the warrior’s sword slashed down.
I have to keep him away from Tracy, Chuck thought, and swung his pipe in a strong baseball-bat swing. The pipe only touched the parrying samurai sword, but on the backswing the reporter managed to strike the warrior’s arm. No harm was done, but the samurai seemed more wary.
The second samurai paced along meanwhile, sword glinting, waiting.
The Japanese attacked again and Chuck was hard put to keep the blade away from his body. He could not attack, only defend, and he knew that on flat ground the warrior would have gutted him in moments.
Another movement now caught his eye. The third warrior, the one who had fallen, was climbing the crane’s trailing cable, hand over hand. Looking around, Chuck gave his attacker a sudden flurry of blows, driving him inexpertly back. Then he turned and jumped to the door of the crane’s cabin.
Tracy had, slowly, so as not to cause Chuck to fall, swung the crane to the opposite wall and then had worked it just as slowly back to the other side, as the samurai on the balcony approached the far side of the room.
“Come on!” he bellowed at Tracy, pushing her out onto the balcony opposite the samurai. The warrior he had been duelling bounded along after them and Chuck turned to fight once more. The alien’s sword swished through the air, striking Chuck’s pipe held now in both hands; the blade skittered along the pipe and Chuck barely escaped losing his fingers. He grabbed the pipe and swung hard while the warrior was temporarily off balance.
The pipe smashed into the samurai’s helmet and the warrior lurched, toppling over the railing and grabbing at the metal siding of the balcony. But his grip was hasty and he lost his hold, falling to the floor below. Chuck did not watch, but turned and ran after Tracy, who was running along the balcony away from the second samurai.
Tracy and Chuck scurried down the staircase to the first balcony and had nearly reached the floor of the huge room at the moment when the third samurai joined his fellow-warrior above. Chuck looked up to see them quickly descending, and urged Tracy on to the lab floor. She cried out as she struck her side against the steel railings but kept grimly on.
Then, suddenly a figure swung into their view and dropped to the floor before them. It was one of the Japanese, swinging down on an electrical cable, one of many that hung from the ceiling. Tracy and Chuck skid to a halt. They were cut off. The clatter behind them told them that the other warrior was coming down fast.
Chuck pointed at a nearby room, which appeared to have a heavy airlock door. It stood open.
“There!” he yelled, and shoved Tracy toward it.
She jumped through and the reporter followed, but the warrior on the ground was extremely fast. His sword hissed through the air and almost decapitated Chuck, who managed to dodge only at the last minute. He hit out with his pipe at the Japanese fighter, giving him a solid blow in the chest and staggering him back. The warrior’s arm became entangled in the very cable he had used to swing down from above.
This gave Chuck just enough time to jump into the room, a “clean white” chamber. The door swung closed with heavy slowness and was just clanging tight as the two warriors arrived outside together.
Chuck spun the inner wheel, but the silent fighters outside grasped the wheel outside and stopped the turn. Chuck dropped his pipe and grabbed at the flailing wheel desperately urging it toward locking position, but he was not strong enough to stop the opening turn of the airlock wheel.
He looked around desperately, and saw another, similar door deeper inside the chamber.
“Tracy! There! Back there! That other door! Fast!” he commanded.
When she had scrambled through, Chuck let go and dived for the inner hatch, snatching up his aluminum pipe as he went. He got this second door closed securely before the warriors entered the “clean room.” He thrust the aluminum pipe, now much knicked and battered, through the spoked wheel to lock the hatch in place.
Chuck and Tracy cowered against the inner wall of the chamber, which was dimly lit from two tiny holes on either side. Both were breathing hard and gazed around for some way to escape.
“Oh, my God—look!” Tracy exclaimed in horror.
Chuck stared incredulously as the inner hatch wheel turned slowly, bending the heavy aluminum pipe as though it were putty.
“They’re—” Tracy�
�s eyes blinked rapidly. “It’s like nothing to them!”
The pipe bent like spaghetti and the wheel slowly turned. The door swung back, making a terrible scraping shriek as the pipe rasped momentarily over the floor. The samurai entered, their swords weaving in the semi-darkness like the tongues of deadly snakes.
Chuck moved to cover Tracy, but his eyes were watchful. He knew they were going to die, but he was hopeful that something—something—would happen.
The two samurai separated as much as the chamber would permit, their curved swords thrust out, held two-handed. They were obviously ready for their killing blows . . .
The sound was low when the four first heard it, building up through the perceptions, seeming to grow out of the beat of blood and the hum of machinery. And then the lights in the chamber snapped on full and bright.
The two warriors froze in position.
“W-w-what happened?” Tracy gulped.
Chuck looked at the suddenly immobile warriors and edged toward the door. Neither of them appeared to notice him. “I—I don’t know,” Chuck gasped, the blond video reporter after him.
“Someone’s coming!” Tracy said with a husking gasp.
Chuck stopped and watched the still-open inner door. Moving slightly, he could see between the two warriors and out both hatches to the research room beyond. He stood quietly, listening to the approaching footsteps, which were amplified by the double-chambered “clean room.”
All at once a man was peering into the first open airlock door. He was bearded and squinty, wore coveralls with a greasy rag in the hind pocket.
He looked across toward them suspiciously. “What the hell are you standing in there for, anyhow?” He gestured impatiently. “Come on outta there!”
Tracy took a step, then stopped. “Is . . . is it safe?”
The bearded worker looked disgusted. “You ain’t died and gone to heaven, have you? ’Course it’s safe.” He cocked a thumb at the two warriors. “You can kick ’em in the butt if you want. They won’t do nothing.” Again he gestured for them to come out. “Now, come on!”
Chuck and Tracy slipped between the two warriors and out of the two chambers. Without a word, the workman turned and walked away. He indicated they should follow but did not look back.
Tracy looked at Chuck and they both shrugged.
The workman moved along with a kind of bent-over-sideways shuffle, his head turning this way and that cautiously. A belt kit of tools bobbed on his right hip as he stumped toward a small door in the lab. Trotting, Tracy and Chuck caught up to the man as he opened the door with a plastic key.
“Listen, we don’t know how to thank you,” Tracy began. “We—”
The eyes of the workman danced over the two reporters, then he grumbled at them. “Just hurry up’ll do fine. Come on!” He held the door open and ushered them through. “There’ll be a whole damn army of iron here in a minute!”
The door closed behind them and the workman switched on a flashlight as the door closed out the light from the laboratory. Tracy and Chuck realized that they were at the same concrete “gopher hole” they had entered from.
“Go on, go on!” the man urged almost angrily.
Tracy went down first, followed by Chuck. The workman looked back, hearing a sound; then he hurried down into the darkness after them.
• • •
A big lab door swung open and Mort Schneider burst in, leading a platoon of Delos guards. They began to search the area at once. Schneider moved to the body of the samurai warrior, which lay crumpled on the floor. Then he looked up. The crane had completed its circuit and had turned itself off, resting against the far end of the big room.
The scientist’s gaunt face was suppressing fury. He stared at the searching guards.
One of the robots came up to him to report. “No trace of anyone here now, sir. But we have the monitor tape ready.”
Schneider nodded. “All right. Let’s look at it.”
• • •
The floor of the tunnel was wet and gritty as Tracy, Chuck, and the bearded workman hurried along. The man was muttering to himself, but in the echoes of their passage Chuck was unable to understand what he was saying.
They came to a crossroads in the tunnel system. The workman scuttled past both reporters, rounded a corner, and stopped, breathing heavily. Chuck and Tracy caught up with him, also puffing for air, and the bearded man heaved a sigh of relief.
“It’s okay. We’re safe now!” he said, giving them a quick, squinty look.
“Won’t they search down here?” Tracy asked anxiously.
He shook his head. “Naw! Ain’t no piece of iron ever comes down here. It’s too wet for them.” He giggled, shaking his shoulders. “Screws up their circuits. Had a fire in the castle once. Sprinklers went on—and you should have seen them robots.” He cackled happily. “Staggered around like a bunch of drunks at a Legion convention. Funnier ’n’ hell . . .”
Tracy and Chuck exchanged looks. In a short time they had got back at the spot where they had first entered the tunnel system.
The workman pointed. “The powerhouse is up there. You can go back the way you came.”
He turned and started to leave, but Chuck stopped him.
“Um—I’d sure like to talk to you.”
“Got nothing to talk about now,” the man shrugged, looking away from both the reporters. “Maybe later,” he added.
Tracy stepped up to him, smiling warmly in her best break-the-ice manner. “You see, we’re reporters and we’d—”
“I know who you are,” the workman interrupted, shifting his feet and not glancing at them.
“Look, uh . . .” Chuck turned to Tracy, then back to the overalled workman, who squinted briefly up at him. “I don’t know your name.”
“Name’s Harry,” the man said grumpily. “Harry Croft.”
“Yeah, well, Harry, we’ve really been looking for someone like you.” Chuck smiled and patted the man’s shoulder. ‘‘You know, somebody who really knows this place and isn’t afraid to talk about it.”
Harry looked around some more, then gave Chuck a piercing, almost hostile look before his eyes slid off. “I don’t know about that. I did you a favor ’cuz I don’t like to see anybody get in trouble.” He pulled out his greasy rag and wiped his hands. “But I don’t know about the talkin’ part,” he mumbled.
“Harry, do you know who this lady is?”
Harry narrowed his eyes at Tracy Ballard. Then he looked away. “She’s a reporter, ain’t she?”
Chuck was incredulous. “A reporter? Harry, she’s an electronic journalist!” He waved his hand in Tracy’s direction. “She’s got a verified fifty-five million viewers worldwide, and she wants to interview you for her program.”
Harry took a pause, then looked up at Tracy. “Is that right?”
Tracy quickly backed Chuck’s play. “Uh, sure. Yes! You bet.” She smiled reassuringly.
Harry brightened up and grinned at both of them. “I’ve been here since it opened,” he bragged, waving his rag at the surrounding complex. “I mean, you know the right one—way back.” He was warming up fast to the idea of being on television and was quickly giving his credits. “I seen it all,” he said with confidence.
Chuck moved his hand across the air. “Harry Croft,” he murmured almost reverently, “the man behind the iron mask of Delos. That’s a story!” he concluded triumphantly.
Harry had a sudden suspicious remorse. “I . . . don’t know . . .” Then he brightened again. “Say, would they see me in Cleveland?”
“You bet they will,” Tracy promised.
“My mother lives in Cleveland!” He scuffed at a grease spot on the concrete floor. “I guess she’d get a kick out of it.”
Chuck clapped him on the shoulder. “Hell, man, she’ll be proud!”
Harry shot them both a happy, bearded grin, then ducked his head again. “Well, I guess it won’t hurt.” He looked around quickly, squinting into the shadows. “Just so Sc
hneider don’t find out. He’s meaner ’n’ a rabid dog.”
Harry paused a moment, then made a movement as if he had decided. He started back into the tunnel from which they had just come, beckoning to the two reporters. “Come on!” This way.”
Chuck and Tracy exchanged glances and followed Harry, an excitement building in their hearts.
• • •
Schneider and two guards opened the door to Tracy and Chuck’s suite without knocking, flipped on the lights, and spread quickly out. Two guards bounded up the stairs and into the video star’s room while Schneider walked quickly to Chuck’s bedroom.
He came out of the empty room frowning, and glanced up as the guards emerged from Tracy’s chamber.
“They’re not here, sir,” the man reported.
“No,” Schneider said, nodding to himself. “They must be with Harry!”
The robot guards followed the scientist out of the room. They did not bother to turn out the lights or close the door.
• • •
The two shuffled along the concrete tunnel until Harry told them to stop. Their flashlights were out and the workman advised them to stop fidgeting and be quiet.
After a long moment, which seemed to stretch on and on, Harry grunted and turned on his light again. “Nobody there,” he grunted and waved them on. Rounding a corner, they perceived an end to the damp passageway a short distance ahead.
“Watch it, here!” the workman warned. “Lemme get the light.” He hopped over to the tunnel side and light flooded out toward them.
Tracy and Chuck climbed down into Harry’s living quarters and looked around. It was a little corner tucked away under a mass of pipes, boiler plate, conduit, insulated air-conditioning ducts, and sundry valves, switch boxes, and inspection plates. They ducked under overhead pipes and found that Harry Croft had a small workshop here, too, with a bench littered with tools and some partially assembled—or disassembled—pieces of equipment. They saw a cot with a rumpled blanket, and on the wall next to it a number of pin-ups torn from magazines. A refrigerator was fitted neatly between some vertical pipes. In the center of a small cleared space stood a battered wooden table and a few mismatched chairs.
Delos 2 - Futureworld Page 12