He took his gun cautiously from his holster, laid it on a table, and walked out into the lobby. Where he got the shock of his life.
Several piles of skulls and bones were heaped up on the floor at the base of the counter.
Quait came out behind him and caught his breath.
“We didn’t mean any harm,” Flojian said. “We’re just passing through.”
“Police are en route,” said the overhead voice. “Remain where you are until they arrive.”
“What police?” demanded Quait. “There are no police here.”
“Remain where you are until they arrive or I will use force.”
Flojian looked down at the bones. “Some of these people are still waiting.”
Chaka disappeared from the window.
The table stood about ten feet away, swaying lightly on its tripod frame. But the nozzle, which was pointed at a spot midway between him and Quait, never wavered.
“What do you suggest?” he asked Quait, without taking his eyes off the thing.
“It looks a little rusty. The gun might not work.”
“You want to take the chance?”
“We might have to. It’s going to be a long wait for the police.”
Flojian’s heart was pounding. This was ludicrous. He was being held hostage by a writing table. But he was scared all the same. “How do you know the police are coming?” he asked the ceiling.
No response.
“I’m going to try backing away,” said Quait. He shifted his weight. Moved a foot.
“That’s far enough. Take another step and I will fire on you.”
“Now, wait a minute,” Quait said.
“There won’t be another warning.”
“This is crazy,” said Flojian.
Chaka was back. With a rifle. But before she could begin to
bring it to bear, the nozzle moved past Flojian and he heard a sound like sizzling steak. Chaka screamed and dropped out of sight.
Quait spun on his heel and bolted for the window. The nozzle swung back and the sizzle came again. Quait turned into a ragbag, collided with the counter, and went down in a pile.
Flojian screamed at the table, but the voice came again, cool and unmoved: “Stay where you are until the police arrive.”
19
The world kept trying to turn on its side and Chaka didn’t care whether she lived or died. Avila’s anxious face hovered over her. There was a damp cloth on her forehead and her blouse was loosened and Avila was telling her to rest.
The daylight hurt.
“Quait’s awake, too.” The words were only out there, hanging in air, devoid of meaning.
Quait. “Where is he?”
“Still in the bank. The table won’t let them go.” Avila almost managed a grin.
Chaka tried to get up but her head lurched and her stomach fell away. She brought up her breakfast. Avila gave her water to sip and reapplied the cloth, and she began to feel better.
The sun was directly overhead. She’d been out a couple of hours. “What are we going to do?” she asked.
“Actually,” said Avila, “I have an idea. Wait here.”
That was a joke. As if she could go anywhere.
Avila disappeared and Chaka closed her eyes. She just lay quietly, breathing, feeling as if all her muscles had come unstrung. When Avila came back Chaka saw she’d changed into clean clothes. She wore a new pair of dark blue linen trousers, a green blouse, and a white vest. “Do I look like a police official?” she asked.
Despite everything, Chaka giggled. “Try to frown,” she said.
“The blouse is clerical. I was supposed to give it back when I left.” She smiled. “I’ve always thought I looked good in it.”
Chaka shook her head. “It’ll never work.”
“You have a better idea?”
“Not at the moment.”
“Well,” said Avila, “we know the table’s eyesight is pretty good. Maybe it’s not too smart.” She bent over Chaka. “How are you feeling?”
“Better.”
“Good. Sit tight. I’ll be back in a few minutes. I hope.”
“Are you going in now?”
“Yes. I can get in the rear door. Which is a good thing. It wouldn’t be seemly for the police to have to climb through the window.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” said Chaka. “We’re going to wind up with three people inside.”
Avila looked at her. The wind was picking up. It was out of the west, and the forest swayed in its embrace. “I’m open for suggestions.”
“Wait it out. When the police don’t come it’ll get tired and let them go. Anyway, what am I supposed to do when it adds you to the collection?”
“Throw rocks,” said Avila. “Seriously, if that does happen, go to the alternate plan.”
“Which is?”
“Your idea. Wait. Take care of the horses and wait for it to get bored.”
Five minutes later Avila squeezed through a cluster of wisp-berry bushes and strode briskly in the back entrance of the bank. She was carrying her wedge concealed in the palm of her hand. You never knew.
“Somebody here call police?” she asked.
Both men were seated on the floor. But Avila’s gaze locked on the dust and bones. It was her first glimpse of the skeletal remains, and her stride faltered as its significance struck home. Quait’s back was to the counter, and he looked dazed and discouraged. When he saw her he registered disapproval and shook his head no. Flojian had the presence of mind to show the hangdog reaction of a man about to be hauled off to incarceration. “Yes,” said the overhead voice.
“I’m Investigator Avila Kap,” she said, hoping she’d guessed right on the title. “I’ll take charge of them now.” The table made no move to back away. She looked severely at the two on the floor. “Trying to rob the bank, were we?” She reached behind Flojian, took him by the back of his neck, and raised him to his feet. Simultaneously she motioned Quait up. “This is a lawful town, and we don’t have much patience with your type.” She hoped she sounded sufficiently official. “Lei’s go, you,” she told Quait, pushing him toward the door.
“Just a moment, Investigator Kap.” The voice was flat. Emotionless. “Please give the authorization code.”
She looked at Quait and Flojian, at the ceiling with its hidden voice, and at the three-legged table, arthropodic and serene. She made a pretense of fumbling in her pocket. “I seem to have forgot it,” she said. At that moment, as unobtrusively as she could, she aimed the wedge at the table and squeezed it. The weapon vibrated slightly. Aside from that, nothing happened.
“We require the authorization code before we can release the prisoners, ” said the voice. “Policy memorandum six-eight-one-echo slash one-four, dated March 11. 2067.”
“I’ll have to go back to my office to get it,” she said. “Why don’t I take the prisoners with me and I’ll send the information back to you.”
“Why don’t you call your office?”
Avila imagined herself leaning out the window and yodeling for the authorization code. “There’s something else I have to check on,” she said. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“Leave the malefactors.”
“Righl,” she said. She signaled Quait and Flojian that she would find a way, and started for the rear exit.
“Inspector Kap.”
She stopped. Turned around.
“I would not presume to tell you how to perform your job, but these two look desperate. You might want to bring assistance when you return.”
“I knew it was dumb.”
“Okay. What’s your suggeslion?”
“I told you. Wait it out.”
“That’s already been tried.”