"Thank God," Pat put in.
Dan gave her a glum look. "I figured I had to be cautious," he said, defending himself although Pat obviously hadn't intended an attack. "There was a lot of destruction, some of it still going on. I saw a big damn thing that looked like a school bus-"
"A bus?"
"Well, it was all yellow, and it had wheels, or anyway those big ball-bearing things, and it was on fire. I could see it melting, liquid metal flowing out onto the ground like water, and a stink you wouldn't believe. And then there was this other thing right next to it, kind of a pyramid, and it began to burn, too."
"I hope you had the sense to get out of there," Pat said.
Dan gave her a somewhat mollified look. "You bet I did. But wherever I went there was all this wreckage. Oh, and bodies. I saw a couple dead Dopeys and a bunch of others I couldn't recognize-maybe like that thing you said you saw, Patrice? That looked like the Bashful? But these were too burned to tell, and some of them were pretty ripe, too. I think they'd been lying there for days, some of them."
That seemed to conclude the report. No one spoke until Rosaleen said philosophically, "Your food is ready. Me, I think I will get some sleep."
Martin was frowning over the pile of metal rods Dan had dropped. "And what are these things?"
"I picked them up," Dan said, selecting one of them and hefting it. "I thought they might do for clubs. Or spears, maybe. And who knows? We might be needing some kind of weapons before long."
There was another unwelcome thought for Patsy. Weapons. To defend themselves, that was, against some invisible enemy that could melt metal objects without even being seen. Perhaps some of her fellow prisoners could take comfort in having a club to bash somebody with-if they ever came across somebody who could be dealt with by simple bashing-but all the rods meant to Patsy was one more wholly inadequate response to problems they could not really hope to solve.
For lack of something better to do, Patsy picked out a couple of packets of food and carried them over to where Rosaleen lay huddled in silence, next to the water tank. Although the old lady wasn't moving, Patsy didn't think she was asleep. Still, she tried to be quiet as she juggled the food packets, but she dropped one.
It made hardly any noise as it bounced from the mesh flooring, but Rosaleen opened her eyes and looked at her. "Oh, sorry," Patsy said. "I didn't want to disturb you. I thought you might be, ah-"
"Yes? You thought I might be what?"
"Well, praying, I guess."
"Praying?" Rosaleen looked surprised, then comprehending. "Ah. You saw me crossing myself."
"Well, yes." Patsy was embarrassed to have brought the subject up; conversations about religion, with religious people, always embarrassed her. She said, "It's just that- Well, how long have we known each other, Rosie? And I never knew you were religious before."
"Am I?" Rosaleen pondered the question. "I don't think I am, exactly. You might say I'm just stubborn. It's a kind of a family tradition. My mother's grandfather was the metropolitan of Rostov, back in Soviet times. He died in the camps, like a lot of our family, so I kind of go to church every now and then just to spite the memory of Joe Stalin. On the other hand-" She looked wistful, then smiled. "You know, my mother didn't want me to take science courses in school, she thought it would ruin me as a believer. Now, if there's really some scientific proof of Heaven, I'd really like to have had a chance to show it to her."
Patsy suddenly shivered. "You know-maybe you will."
But really, you had to face up to this eschaton thing, she told herself. You can't just go on ignoring the whole subject. Suppose what the French colonel said is real. Suppose it doesn't matter all that much what happens to you here, even if maybe you die. No, she amended herself, that's not a maybe; you damn near certainly will die here, and probably before very long. Okay. Fine. For if the colonel was telling the truth then all that happens is you go to sleep, and next thing you know you're wide awake and healthy and happy and, hey, immortal! That wasn't too shabby, was it? Living forever in Heaven…
But it wasn't really a very comforting thought. Future immortality was a theory; dying was a fact. Not to mention the other thing. Even if the theory was right, what about these damn mysterious Horch? Or, for that matter, about the equally damn mysterious Beloved Leaders?
She shuddered again, and began picking over the stored foods. They were as discouraging to her as ever, but she settled on something that called itself potato soup and set it to soak in cold water; maybe it would turn itself into vichyssoise, she thought optimistically. Then, on second thought, sighing, she picked out a couple of others and set them to soak for when the others woke up.
Rosaleen was giving her a questioning look. Patsy said sorrowfully: "I wish I hadn't got you into this, Rosie."
Rosaleen looked surprised, then gave her a little never-mind headshake. "Oh, don't blame yourself, Patsy. Look at the bright side. I'm not dead yet-here, I mean. Whereas actually, if I understand what has happened, the one of me on Earth isn't that lucky. So perhaps accepting your invitation to come along has produced a net gain for me after all." Then she smiled. "What foolish things we think of. Shall I tell you what has been on my mind for hours now? I have been wondering who might have taken over my old office at the observatory."
Nearby, Patrice confided, "You know, so am I, Patsy. Who do you suppose has taken over ours?"
"I hope nobody," Patsy said with indignation. "This jail thing must be some kind of misunderstanding; when it gets cleared up we'll be back in charge."
Patsy looked at her in surprise, then nodded. "Oh, yeah, I see what you mean. That would make a problem, wouldn't it? I mean if we all got back. Anyway," she said, stretching her arms, "I wonder how old Papathanassiou's getting along with his gamma-burster counts. And poor dumb Mick, and all the rest of the guys…"
"And-" Patrice began, and stopped, frowning. Something was moving toward them through the maze of machinery. Everyone was suddenly standing, half of them with metal rods already in their hands.
They they saw what it was: a Doc, walking slowly and gazing from side to side. When it saw them it stopped, immobile, waiting.
And what it was waiting for…
That appeared a moment later. It was Dopey, bedraggled, limping along, hurrying fearfully toward them.
"Please!" he begged. "Help me! They'll kill me if they find me!"
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Patsy
There was the world turned upside down for you, Patsy thought, their arrogant little jailer now pleading hysterically for their protection. "It is not safe here," he sobbed, wringing his fussy little hands. "They go about looking for the Leaders' people and they butcher us. Also they're destroying everything in the base!"
"The Horch?" Pat asked, moved to sympathy.
"No, not the Horch themselves! What would the Horch be doing in a place like this? It is the machines they've sent, the killing ones… and I am very hungry."
Dannerman gave a quick look at Pat-how kindly did she feel to the little freak?-before he said, "I'm afraid we really don't have enough even for ourselves-"
Dopey looked astonished, then indignant. "But I cannot eat your food! No, there is plenty of good food for me in the base, but I dare not go near it-the whole area is swarming with the surrogates of the Horch. You must help me! I have thought this out carefully; what you must do is very clear. You are a very violent race. I am well informed in this respect; remember, I monitored your whole planet for some years. You can fight them, drive them out-"
"With this?" Dannerman demanded, brandishing his spear. "You took our guns away from us."
"But you can have them back," Dopey said eagerly. "I can get them for you. There are better weapons as well. Beloved Leader weapons! Very powerful! As powerful as those of the Horch surrogates, and I will show you where they are."