SRT grinned at him. “It doesn’t matter, huh?”
The door jiggled slightly, but the chair held it shut.
“I guess it does matter,” THX said, surprised to hear himself saying it. “It still does.”
The robot’s voice, unruffled, unhurried, the perfect public servant, said, “Remain calm. The door seems to be jammed or locked. Please check the lock on your side. We are not going to hurt you. Everything will be all right.”
They heard a faint buzzing sound, and the acrid smell of something burning. A tiny glowing spot appeared on the door just below the latch.
Not going to hurt us!
THX spun around and plugged in the earphones and mike again.
“Emergency!” he called. “Emergency! Fire in Station DBR 2618, Reproclinic 12. Repeat. Emergency. Fire in Station DBR 2618, Reproclinic 12. Top priority. Condition red!”
He turned to SRT. “Get ready to run.”
An automatic tape blared from the celing:
“EMERGENCY! EMERGENCY! HEAR THIS! HEAR THIS! Fire in Station DBR 2618, Reproclinic 12. Discontinue all operations until…”
“Now!” THX yelled.
SRT whisked the chair away, THX yanked the door open, and they bolted past the police robots, which were standing dumbly listening to the instructions from the overhead speakers. Before the robots could react, the two men were out of the clinic and pounding madly down a main corridor.
“Upstairs to the factories!” THX gasped as they ran. “More people, easier to hide…”
Control was truly agitated. He swallowed another sedative and listened to the reports on his communicator.
“Monetary unit totaclass="underline" 5000 and rising. Account on 1138 prefix THX has just exceeded primary budget.”
“Have you seen them? They must be somewhere in corridor 3-L73.”
“Analysis indicates they are heading up toward the next level. Possibly arming for the superstructure.”
The chief of Mercicontrol police appeared on Control’s giant viewscreen. His puffy face and beady little eyes made him look almost like the legendary First Control. He looked flushed, though, and apprehensive.
“We almost had them,” he said to Control. Speaking first to Control, before you were spoken to, was a privilege that only a very few had.
“They’ve been very clever.” Control maintained his outward calm only with an enormous exertion of self-control. “But one would imagine that with a city full of police robots, observers, remote cameras, and such—you could apprehend two simple fugitives.”
“We got SEN 5241,” the chief said defensively.
Control said, “It’s the two fugitives I’m interested in. They must be caught! It’s uneconomic to allow them to remain free. The costs of apprehending them are already unbalancing the economic forecast for the month! If you don’t get them soon the entire year’s forecast will have to be redone!”
The police chief blanched. For Control to raise his voice, to show worry or anger—the chief began to tremble.
“We’re trying. This has been a severe test of our equipment and procedures. In… uh, in my last annual report I pointed out the need for an improved-model robot. Our present Mark XV’s are just too slow to keep up with an adrenalin-drenched adult male. And we need long- distance weapons. The electric rods are no good when the fugitive’s half a corridor length ahead of you.”
Holding his aching head in his hands, Control snarled, “Find them and bring them to justice. Quickly!”
THX and SRT pounded up another spiraling metal stairwell, heading for the second level. Far below them they could hear echoing:
“Yes, we hear them. Attempting sonic localization.”
“Connect me with Mercicontrol Dispatch, operation 1138 prefix THX.”
“Monetary unit totaclass="underline" 5750 and rising.”
This time the corridor they stepped into was alive with people. Not the frenetic bedlamites of the shopping levels, but the solid, quiet, serious-faced factory workers who had just put in a tiring four-hour shift and were plodding homeward.
The workers were pouring out of the huge yawning entryways all along the corridor and shuffling wearily toward the transport terminal a few hundred meters from the hatchway that THX and SRT stepped through.
THX could see the terminal. A long line of tram cars stood there, being obediently filled, one at a time, by the workers. Every few seconds a tram would start up, its electric engine whining. Men and women would back out of the way as the tram car lurched forward and then sped smoothly off into the distance, accelerating as it went.
Despite the fact that the workers were mostly quiet and sedated, their sheer numbers caused a constant uproar of voices and sounds in the corridor. After the quiet of the computer and clinic levels, the noise here was a shock to THX.
But the crowds meant camouflage, protection and safety, and THX laughed as he joined the jumble and uproar, with SRT right beside him. They let the crowd push them toward the tram cars.
For a flash of a second, as they were climbing into the tram, THX remembered his last ride in one. Suddenly he wanted to back away, to run from the tram, but it was too late. The crowd surged on and pushed him and SRT on board.
There was no room to sit, so they stood jammed against other people as the car lurched, shuddered, then slid away, swaying around a curve. The rapid transit tunnel outside turned into a meaningless blur of speed.
The tram whizzed past several stations, then slowed to a stop. There was a station platform outside, but the doors did not open. The jampacked crowd began to mutter. An old woman pounded on the door with her fist.
Outside on the platform, other workers were milling around, looking either curious or angry at the foul-up.
Then the ever-present loudspeakers said:
“Two fugitives from justice are somewhere on this tram car. The entire station has been sealed off and police are on their way here to make an arrest. Please remain calm.”
“I want to get off!” a man shouted.
The crowd in the tram car roared its agreement.
“I don’t want to be involved in any police arrests!” the old lady at the doors said.
“C’mon, force the doors open!”
The tram rocked dangerously as the crowd surged against the folding doors in the center of the car. The old woman screamed with pain and then the doors buckled and sprang open. The crowd spilled out onto the platform.
THX and SRT jumped onto the platform, pushed by those behind them.
“Look!” SRT called.
Down a flight of moving stairs, a long file of black-jacketed chrome police robots was gliding toward them. Everyone on the platform froze into obedient stillness.
Except THX.
He bolted toward the other end of the platform.
After an instant’s hesitation, SRT raced along behind him.
“Autos!” THX called out. There were a few jetcars parked at the end of the station platform. An overhead speaker was saying:
“Do not park in yellow-zoned sections for longer than three minutes. Jet acceleration must not exceed two percent in the dispersal area. To avoid being singed by jet exhaust, please exit your vehicle on the right and walk through the blue zone on the left.”
THX jumped off the end of the platform and sprinted for the nearest jetcar.
“Can you drive?” SRT shouted as they ran.
Nodding, THX wrenched open the hatch on the nearest car and slid in behind the wheel. He slammed the door shut, looked over the control panel briefly, found the starter switch. Thumbing it, he saw all the control indicators flash green. The turbine engine growled to life, then howled into such a high range that it passed human hearing. He only felt its thrilling vibration, heard the faintest bone-shivering whine.