He glanced at his captors. They were pushing him gently through the door. Evidently Central's talents did not extend to bricklaying, and she could not judge that the cell was less than escape proof.
The door clanged shut behind him.
"Marta," he called.
Her face: had disappeared from the opening. There was no answer.
"Marta."
"Let me alone," grumbled a muffled voice.
"I'm not angry about the bicycle."
He walked to the hole and peered through the partition into the next cell. She crouched in a corner, peering at him with frightened, tear-reddened eyes. He glanced at the opening in the rear wall.
"Why haven't you gone outside?" he asked.
She giggled hysterically. "Why don't you go look down?" He stepped to the opening and glanced twenty feet down to a concrete sidewalk. He went back to stare at the girl. "Where's your baby?"
"They took him away," she whimpered.
Mitch frowned and thought about it for a moment. "To the city nursery, probably-while you're in jail."
"They won't take care of him! They'll let him die!" "Don't scream like that. He'll be all right."
"Robots don't give milk!"
"No, but there are such things as bottles, you know," he chuckled.
"Are there?" Her eyes were wide with horror. "And what will they put in the bottles?"
"Why-" He paused. Central certainly wasn't running any dairy farms.
"Wait'll they bring you a meal," she said. "You'll see."
"Meal?"
"Empty tray," she hissed. "Empty tray, empty paper cup, paper fork, clean paper napkin. No food."
Mitch swallowed hard. Central's logic was sometimes hard to see. The servo-attendants probably went through the motions of ladling stew from an empty pot and drawing coffee from an empty urn. Of course, there weren't any truck farmers to keep the city supplied with produce.
"So that's why… the bones…in the other cells," he muttered.
"They'll starve us to death!"
"Don't scream so. We'll get out. All we need is something to climb down on."
"There isn't any bedding."
"There's our clothing. We can plait a rope. And if necessary we can risk a jump."
She shook her head dully and stared at her hands. "It's no use. They'd catch us again."
Mitch sat down to think. There was bound to be a police arsenal somewhere in the building, probably in the basement. The robot cops were always unarmed. But of course there had been a human organization for investigation purposes and to assume command in the event of violence. When one of the traffic units faced a threat, it could do nothing but try to handcuff the offender and call for human help. There were arms in the building somewhere, and a well-placed rifle shot could penetrate the thin sheet-steel bodies.
He deplored the thought of destroying any of the city's service machinery, but if it became necessary to wreck a few subunits, it would have to be done. He must somehow get access to the vaults where the central data tanks and the coordinators were located-get to them before Ferris's gang came to wreck them completely, so that they might be free to pick the city clean.
An hour later he heard the cellblock gate groan open, and he arose quickly. Interrogation, he thought. They were coming to question him about the plot to wreck Central. He paused to make a hasty decision, then scrambled for the narrow opening and clambered through it into the adjoining cell while the skater came rolling down the corridor.
The girl's eyes widened. "Wh-what are you-"
"Shhh!" he hissed. "This might work."
The skater halted before his cell while he crouched against the wall beyond the opening.
"Willie Jesser, please," the robot croaked.
There was silence. He heard the door swing open. The robot rolled around inside his cell for a few seconds, repeating his name and brushing rubble aside to make way. If only he failed to look through the opening!
Suddenly a siren growled and the robot went tearing down the corridor again. Mitch stole a quick glance. The robot had left the door ajar. He dragged the girl to her feet and snapped, "Let's go."
They squeezed, through the hole and raced out into the corridor. The cellblock gate was closed. The girl moaned weakly. There was no place to hide.
The door bolts were operated from remote boxes placed in the corridor so as to be beyond the reach of the inmates. Mitch dragged the girl quickly toward another cell, opened the control panel, and threw the bolt. He closed the panel, leaving the bolt open. They slipped quickly inside the new cell, and he pulled the door quietly closed. The girl made a choking sound as she stumbled over the remains of a former inmate.
"Lie down in the corner," he hissed, "and keep still. They're coming back in force."
"What if they notice the bolt is open?"
"Then we're sunk. But they'll be busy down at our end of the hall. Now shut up."
They rolled under the steel cot and lay scarcely breathing. The robot was returning with others. The faint twitter of computer code echoed through the cellblocks. Then the skaters rushed past and screeched to a stop before the escapee's cell. He heard them enter. He crawled to the door for a look, then pushed it open and stole outside.
He beckoned the girl to his side and whispered briefly. Then they darted down the corridor on tiptoe toward the investigators. They turned as he raced into view. He seized the bars and jerked the door shut. The bolt snapped in place as Marta tugged at the remote.
Three metal bodies crashed simultaneously against the door and rebounded. One of them spun around three times before recovering.
"Release the lock, please."
Mitch grinned through the bars. "Why don't you try the hole in the wall?"
The robot who had spun crazily away from the door now turned. He went charging across the cell floor at full acceleration-and sailed out wildly into space.
An ear-splitting crash came from the street. Shattered metal skidded across pavement. A siren wailed and brakes shrieked. The others went to look-and began twittering.
Then they turned. "You will surrender, please. We have summoned armed guards to seize you if you resist." Mitch laughed and tugged at the whimpering girl.
"Wh-where-?"
"To the gate. Come on."
They raced swiftly along the corridor. And the gate was opening to admit the "armed guards." But of course no human bluecoats charged through. The girl muttered in frightened bewilderment, and he explained on the run.
"Enforced habit pattern. Central has to do it, even when no guards are available."
Two repair units were at work on the damaged booking computer as the escapees raced past. The repair units paused, twittered a notation to Central, then continued with their work.
Minutes later they found the arsenal, and the mechanical attendant had set out a pair of.45's for the "armed guards." Mitch caught up one of them and fired at the attendant's sheet-metal belly. The robot careened crazily against the wall, emitted a shower of blue sparks, and stood humming while the metal around the hole grew cherry red. There was a dull cough. The machine smoked and fell silent.
Mitch vaulted across the counter and caught a pair of submachine guns from the rack. But the girl backed away, shaking her head.
"I couldn't even use your shotgun," she panted.
He shrugged and laid it aside. "Carry as much ammunition as you can, then," he barked.