"Laugh now, while there is still time. Not robots or such, these types are alive enough. I just don't think that they are human, that's all. There are aliens among us."
"Perhaps you better have some more sleep. I'll turn down the light."
"Don't humor me, damn it! I have been thinking about this ever since I first met Kraj, so it is no figment of a recently tortured mind. There is all sort of evidence. The Cliaand soldiers are deathly afraid of Kraj and his thugs and won't even talk about them. The gray men are cut off from normal Cliaandian life and different in every way from them. Almost as though they were not the same people. I can visualize these gray men doing a survey of the human planets and finding Cliaand just ripe for their picking. A stratified, militarized way of life with everyone in uniform. All they had to do was take over at the top and they would be in control. And this they seem to have done. They appear in none of the tables of organization or charts so dear to the military mind—yet they seem to be running things most of the time."
"Well…"
"There. You're not convinced but you are beginning to doubt. Then you'll help me get a specimen gray man?"
"Help?" She clapped her hands with sheer girlish enthusiasm. "I'm simply looking forward to it. Of course he might get a little damaged while I'm bringing him in, but as long as he still works that is really all that matters, isn't it?"
Before I could answer Taze ran in and threw an armload of clothing onto the bed.
"Get dressed, quickly," she ordered. "The boots are the biggest we could find and I hope they fit." "Is there any reason for all this rush?" I asked.
"There certainly is. There are troops and heavy weapons on all sides. This building is completely surrounded by the enemy."
Chapter 16
The boot was tight and delicately pointed, but I squeezed my foot in as fast as I could. "Were we followed here?" I asked Taze.
"No—of course not. I am no beginner at this business. Nor is the stolen car here any longer."
I cudgeled my sluggish brain into thought while I struggled with the second boot. The telephone rang and I froze—as did the two women—staring at it like a poison snake. It rang just once more then the tiny inset screen lit up and Kraj stared out of it, as emotionless as ever.
"You know that you are surrounded," he said. "Resistance is useless, diGriz. Surrender quietly and none of your friends will be hurt…"
My boot hit the screen and Kraj's image flared and died; I ripped the entire instrument out by the roots and hurled it against the wall. A fine cold sweat dotted my skin. I knew that most phones can be turned on from central with the right equipment, but this was a bad time to see the theory proven.
"Don't panic!" I shouted, mostly to myself I imagine, because Angelina and Taze were perfectly calm. I hopped about the room getting on the other boot and tried to jar some clear thought into my tangled brain. The last hop ended me up sitting on the cot, panting, counting off on my fingers.
"Let us forget that call for a moment and figure out what is happening. One, we were not followed when we came here. Two, our transportation is gone so that could not be traced. Three, Kraj knew that I was here, which means they may have planted a directional radio transponder in me. In which case the services of a surgeon and a good x-ray machine will be needed as soon as we get out of here."
"You are forgetting a simpler explanation," Angelina said.
"Don't keep it a secret. If you can think better than I can—which is no compliment right now—let's have it."
"The torture box. You said it was radio controlled."
"Of course! A directional apparatus is probably an integral part of the mechanism. Is the thing still here, Taze?"
"Yes, below. We thought there might be a use for it."
"There is now. When we leave the box stays here. Maybe this will keep their attention on the building—and once away they won't find me this easily again. Now brief me, Taze, what kind of a building is this—and how do we get out of it?"
"It is a factory, owned by one of our members. And there is no possible way out, we are doomed to fight and die, but when we do we will sell our lives well and take many of those swine-pig-dogs with us…"
"That's fine, yes indeed. But we'll sell our lives dearly only if we have to. DiGriz can find escape routes where others only despair. Is your factory owner here? Good, send her up as quickly as possible."
Taze left on a run and I turned to my wife.
"I assume you brought the usual equipment with you? The sort of thing we had on our honeymoon."
"Bombs, grenades, explosives, gas charges, of course."
"Good girl. With you for a wife I have a growing sense of security."
Taze ran back in followed by another uniformed amazon. A little older perhaps, with a very attractive touch of gray to her hair, yet full-bosomed and round-limbed in a maturely fascinating way… I caught the cold look frosting in Angelina's eyes and quickly put my thoughts on more pressing matters.
"I am James diGriz, interstellar agent and spy."
"Fayda Firtina of the Guard," she barked and snapped a salute.
"Yes, very good Fayda, glad to meet you. At ease. I understand that you own this building."
"That is correct. Firtina Amalgamated (construction) Robutlers, Limited. The finest product on the market."
"What is?"
"Robutlers."
"You wouldn't think me dense if I asked what a robutler is?"
"A luxury product that is a necessity for the proper home. A robot that is programmed, trained, articulated and specially designed for but a single function. A butler, a servant, a willing aid around the house that makes the house a home, relieving the lady of the establishment of the chores and cares and stresses of modern living…"
There was more like this, obviously quotes from a sales brochure, but I did not hear it. A plan was forming in my mind, taking shape—until the sound of firing broke through my train of thought.
"They have made a probing attack," Taze said, a com-radio to her ear. "But were repulsed with losses."
"Keep holding them. They shouldn't try the heavy stuff for awhile since they still hope to get me alive." I waved over the factory owner who seemed ready to go on with her sales talk. "Fayda, will you give me a quick sketch of the ground plan of the building and the immediate area around it."
She drew quickly and accurately, military training no doubt, indicating doors and windows and the surrounding streets.
"What do your robutlers look like?" I asked.
"Roughly humanoid in form and size, the optimum shape for a home environment. In addition—"
"That's fine. How many do you have ready to go, field tested or whatever you call it, with their little power packs charged?"
She frowned in thought. "I'll have to check with shipping, but at a rough guess I would say between 150 and 200."
"That will be just perfect for our needs. Would you be terribly put out—your insurance might cover it—if they were destroyed in the cause of Burada freedom?"
"Every Firtina robutler would willingly die, happily, if it had any emotions for the cause. Though of course they are incapable of bearing arms or of violent acts of any kind."
"They don't have to. We can take care of that. Our robutler brigade will be the diversion that gets us out of here. Now come close girls and I'll tell you the plan."
The old diGriz brain was really turning over at last. The firing in the background only stimulated me to grander efforts, while I was buoyed up on a wave of cheerful enthusiasm. Within minutes the preparations were being made, and within a half an hour the troops were ready to attack.
"You know your orders?" I asked the dimly lit shipping bay full of robots.
"That we do sir, yes sir, thank you sir," they all answered in the best of cultured accents.
"Then prepare to depart. What you do now is a far far better thing than you would have ever done in an electronic lifetime of domestic service. When I say leave, each to its appointed task."