Read Online Watchers of the Dark by Lloyd Biggle jr. - Free Book Online
Authors: Lloyd Biggle jr.
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first?”
“Maybe to his hotel, but he’ll have a reservation, or he’ll telephone for one from the airport. We haven’t, and can’t. At least, I haven’t seen any phone booths.”
“Nor any Travelers’ Aid,” Darzek said thoughtfully. “And yet there must be some way for a stranger to engage a hotel room or its equivalent. I just noticed that the transmitter on the end has no destination board. Anyone using it just presents his solvency credential. Watch.”
“Do you think—”
“I think it’s possible. All the other transmitters are free. Shall we try?”
They approached the transmitter. Miss Schlupe tucked Biag-n’s sample case under her left arm and placed her right hand over the solvency credential scanner. “It clicked,” she said.
“Try it again. We both want to go to the same place.”
“It clicked again.”
“Good. I’ll go first.” He unbuttoned his coat. “Wait two minutes. If the trouble is still going on when you arrive, just hit the floor and leave it to me.”
He stepped through the transmitter. When she joined him, two minutes later, he was calmly relaxing on a hassock and smoking one of his dwindling supply of cigarettes.
She looked about her in amazement. “Are we back on the ship?”
“No. The layout is the same, but the gravity is normal and the rooms are larger.”
“Then it is a hotel!” She darted excitedly to ripple open doors. “A hotel compartment on the same order as our ship compartment.”
“The ultimate in standardization,” Darzek agreed. “The glorified average—the arrangement that will satisfy the needs of the most people.”
“I’d feel better about it if there was a fire escape. Or at least a window.”
“You are enjoying the hotel of the future. A honeycomb hotel. With perfect lighting and air conditioning, no windows are needed. With a transmitter in every suite, every inch of space can be used for rooms. When travelers want accommodations, they pay with their solvency credentials, and a computer assigns them to a vacancy. They can transmit directly to their rooms from the transmitting exchange, or from the corner drugstore, or even the hotel lobby, if there is one. Neat, don’t you think? There’s a service transmitter in the table, so we can eat as long as our solvency lasts.’’
“I’d still like it better if there was a fire escape.”
“So would I. I’m wondering how long it will take our friends to trace us.”
“I didn’t know we had any friends!”
“But we do,” Darzek said confidently. “We must have. The Council of Supreme is expecting us. Supreme himself is expecting us. Eventually someone will think to put a tracer on our solvency credentials, and find out where the computer put us.”
“If our friends can trace us, what’s to prevent our enemies from doing the same?”
“That’s another thing I’ve been wondering about. When someone finally shows up, how will we know which it is? While I’m watching the transmitter, why don’t you look through our ex-friend’s sample case.”
She sorted through dozens of circles of cloth, clucking her tongue softly over the superb quality of the fabrics, but she found nothing but samples. She returned them to the sample case and got out her knitting. They waited, Darzek watching the transmitter steadily, automatic in hand, and Miss Schlupe directing wary glances toward it as she knitted.
Time passed.
They came so suddenly that Darzek was startled into momentary inaction. There were three of them, and they loomed hugely in the small room: creatures of a kind they had not yet seen—gaunt, segmented stalks with a multiplicity of knobby limbs, looking like weirdly animated flowers because their angular bodies terminated in tinted, transparent hoods that covered their heads.
Darzek murmured, “Who goes there, friend or foe,” and rose slowly, automatic leveled. He could not discern whether the oval that gleamed faintly behind the hood was a face or a huge,
“Maybe to his hotel, but he’ll have a reservation, or he’ll telephone for one from the airport. We haven’t, and can’t. At least, I haven’t seen any phone booths.”
“Nor any Travelers’ Aid,” Darzek said thoughtfully. “And yet there must be some way for a stranger to engage a hotel room or its equivalent. I just noticed that the transmitter on the end has no destination board. Anyone using it just presents his solvency credential. Watch.”
“Do you think—”
“I think it’s possible. All the other transmitters are free. Shall we try?”
They approached the transmitter. Miss Schlupe tucked Biag-n’s sample case under her left arm and placed her right hand over the solvency credential scanner. “It clicked,” she said.
“Try it again. We both want to go to the same place.”
“It clicked again.”
“Good. I’ll go first.” He unbuttoned his coat. “Wait two minutes. If the trouble is still going on when you arrive, just hit the floor and leave it to me.”
He stepped through the transmitter. When she joined him, two minutes later, he was calmly relaxing on a hassock and smoking one of his dwindling supply of cigarettes.
She looked about her in amazement. “Are we back on the ship?”
“No. The layout is the same, but the gravity is normal and the rooms are larger.”
“Then it is a hotel!” She darted excitedly to ripple open doors. “A hotel compartment on the same order as our ship compartment.”
“The ultimate in standardization,” Darzek agreed. “The glorified average—the arrangement that will satisfy the needs of the most people.”
“I’d feel better about it if there was a fire escape. Or at least a window.”
“You are enjoying the hotel of the future. A honeycomb hotel. With perfect lighting and air conditioning, no windows are needed. With a transmitter in every suite, every inch of space can be used for rooms. When travelers want accommodations, they pay with their solvency credentials, and a computer assigns them to a vacancy. They can transmit directly to their rooms from the transmitting exchange, or from the corner drugstore, or even the hotel lobby, if there is one. Neat, don’t you think? There’s a service transmitter in the table, so we can eat as long as our solvency lasts.’’
“I’d still like it better if there was a fire escape.”
“So would I. I’m wondering how long it will take our friends to trace us.”
“I didn’t know we had any friends!”
“But we do,” Darzek said confidently. “We must have. The Council of Supreme is expecting us. Supreme himself is expecting us. Eventually someone will think to put a tracer on our solvency credentials, and find out where the computer put us.”
“If our friends can trace us, what’s to prevent our enemies from doing the same?”
“That’s another thing I’ve been wondering about. When someone finally shows up, how will we know which it is? While I’m watching the transmitter, why don’t you look through our ex-friend’s sample case.”
She sorted through dozens of circles of cloth, clucking her tongue softly over the superb quality of the fabrics, but she found nothing but samples. She returned them to the sample case and got out her knitting. They waited, Darzek watching the transmitter steadily, automatic in hand, and Miss Schlupe directing wary glances toward it as she knitted.
Time passed.
They came so suddenly that Darzek was startled into momentary inaction. There were three of them, and they loomed hugely in the small room: creatures of a kind they had not yet seen—gaunt, segmented stalks with a multiplicity of knobby limbs, looking like weirdly animated flowers because their angular bodies terminated in tinted, transparent hoods that covered their heads.
Darzek murmured, “Who goes there, friend or foe,” and rose slowly, automatic leveled. He could not discern whether the oval that gleamed faintly behind the hood was a face or a huge,
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