A door slid aside and Reah stepped into a brightly lit room. The walls were covered with glowing charts and diagrams. In the center, on a raised pedestal, was a chair and a console larger than any she had seen. She stepped up to the chair and stood behind it, looking at the board’s soft green luminosity. She recognized the three louvred screens and an array of knobs which were retinal projectors. Reah didn’t completely understand the technology of the past, but it wasn’t hard to guess that whoever sat in the chair would have a great deal of information at her fingertips.
She sat. The cushion crumpled like pastry under her weight, but the solid body of the chair adjusted to fit.
“May we help you?” a voice from the ceiling asked.
“Where is this?”
“This is one of five city surveillance centers.”
Reah nodded absently and looked at the charts more closely. The city was huge. She had hardly had time to become familiar with it, but she recognized many of the larger features. “Are you…” She hesitated, still not used to speaking to voices without humans behind them. “Are you aware the city is dying?”
“We are. Our regeneration facilities have been depleted and there is a breakdown in reproduction memory.”
“You answer more than my question. Are you a simple machine?”
“We are the architect. We coordinate the city.”
“I mean—do you think, are you alive?”
“Yes. But we are not aware in the same way you are.”
Reah touched a louvred screen. “But you want to stay alive, don’t you?”
“At one time this city had a purpose, and that made it pleasant to exist. There is no purpose now.”
“Why?”
“A city is nothing without citizens.”
“But you kicked them out.”
“They were not worthy.”
She didn’t feel like arguing the point. “Still, you’ve let people in now—injured people.”
“If we were in complete control, we would not allow that. The city defenses are weakened and many functions have been turned over to medical units.”
“Then you don’t control everything,” Reah said.
“No. Authority has been crumbling for a century.”
“Is there any way to get it back?”
“The architect is an incomplete unit now and cannot control all city functions. Authority has been delegated to best serve the city.”
“Can you… delegate authority to me?”
“No,” the architect said, “but there is a unit which can.”
“Will you put me in touch with that unit?”
A different voice spoke. “Religious coordinator. May we help you?”
She sat silent for several seconds, biting her lower lip. “What’s your function?”
“Scheduling the sacred activities and organizing spiritual exercises.”
“Can you give me control of the city?”
“This unit is no longer complete and lacks motivation. For that reason, it is desirable to find a unit or individual with motivation. Do you qualify?”
“I… yes.”
“Will you reject those who do not meet the spiritual standards of the city, who do not believe in the Resurrection and the Life, in Beauty Eternal and the dominance of the Almighty Lord our God?”
“Yes,” she said, “but Allah is all-knowing.” She didn’t feel the least twinge of guilt; the city was insane. Having been insane once herself, she knew how necessary it was to exercise discretion.
“You are a retired city manager. Now you are reinstated. The penalty for failing to meet the standards is rejection. The city is under your control.”
Reah smiled and wiped her damp palms on her dress.
In the shadow of Resurrection, after a day’s hot march, Durragon relaxed and drank a cup of stale water proferred by Breetod. He looked over the mottled towers and walls with a speculative eye, then ordered the Habiru brought to him. The teacher came with wary eyes and stooped shoulders.
“How much is alive in there, and how much dead?” Durragon asked.
Ezeki shrugged. “Perhaps a fourth is dead.”
“How soon before it all dies?”
“Decades. Or only years. It isn’t the outward decay which counts, but the decay of the city’s control and regeneration facilities.”
“Is it worth trying to get inside?”
“If the city doesn’t want you in, you won’t get in.”
“I think there are ways,” Durragon said. “You saw what happened to Tomoye. We could burn our way into this one.”
“You—and pardon my bluntness, but you employ me to save you trouble—you don’t know the ways of cities. I have observed them for years, decades, and learned about them at the feet of men who have studied them far longer than that. There are defenses within the city which can decimate your men. You lost many to Tomoye, and it was weak.”
Durragon motioned for Nebeki to bring up a chart. “The city’s empty, dying. Those spines can’t hold us back for long. A party of men will get through—I’ll gamble on that—and you’ll be among them.”
“It’s been tried before.”
“On healthy cities, yes. But this one is weak and feebleminded. I can smell it, like a dying jungle. There’s a chance we can take it.”
The Habiru shrugged and picked up a chart to examine it. “You’ll lose many men.”
“They’re Chasers. They won’t complain because I’ll be with them every step. I’ve heard cities contain knowledge useful to a man with my ambitions. Such knowledge could give me a terrific advantage. After a millennium of strife, don’t you think it’s time for one leader to emerge?”
The Habiru nodded. “Perhaps. But are you equipped to be that leader?” He felt a thrill of fear, being so bold.
Durragon’s smile didn’t waver. “Yes. If I wasn’t, I’d have you put to death right now for insolence. But there’s a place for insolence in my plans. I’m insolent myself. I threaten to end an age of decline. I sneer at the weakness of my forebears.”
“The plan is no more foolish than any other,” Ezeki said. “My life is no more valuable than any other. I’ll go.”
“Just for a chance to see what’s in the city?”
“For that chance… yes.” The Habiru’s eyes closed.
Reah stepped out of the control chamber and was confronted by three monsters. One was built like a rolling coat-rack, with antennae stuck on its small round head. The second in size was a squat cubic thing which walked on insect legs. The smallest was a translucent-winged bug which lighted on her shoulder and touched her cheek with fine, wiry palps.
“We are to serve you,” the coat-rack said. “I am assigned to the architect to report on your position and activities, this box is to protect you, and this insect is your personal link with the religious coordinator. May we, as simple units, warn you—avoid sin?”
“I stand warned,” she said. “Where are the patients?”
“Still on the lower levels.”
“Guide me to a transport and let’s visit them.”
She rode a flier in a slow spiral down a heat shaft and came to rest on the flowing design at the base. As she stepped down from the humming vehicle, she saw a crowd of officious city-parts much like her coat-rack rushing from corridor to corridor, whistling shrilly.
Rebecca ran under the heat-shaft arch and saw Reah standing near the center of the design. She stopped, confused, and was grabbed by three flexible metal arms. The device—a mechanical torso mounted on tractor treads—lifted her gently from the floor. “Stop it!” she screamed. “We belong here!”
“What’s going on?” Reah asked the coat-rack.
“They are healed now. They must be returned to the outside.”
“I want them to stay.”
“You have no control,” the coat-rack said.
“Why not? I command the city.”
“Only those who require medical service are allowed to stay. These people are healthy
now. It is the way the city functions.”
“Then countermand the orders.”
“It cannot be done.”
“Reah!” Rebecca screamed. “Stop them!”
Reah watched helpless as the former patients of Resurrection were placed beyond the silicate barriers. She was vaguely disgusted at herself, for she was almost happy they were going. The spines bristled high into the air and the cries diminished.
“No way to bring them back?” she asked.
“None.”
“Then it’s time to get to work.”
Nebeki’s chasers brought in the new exiles half an hour after they were put out of the city. Durragon looked them over, saw a mix of peoples from villages and townships he had raided, and asked them pointed questions—what had they seen in the city? Had anyone stayed behind?
A young, dark fellow in a yellow suit said, “There’s a woman inside.”
“What’s your name?” Durragon asked.
“Belshezar.”
“What kind of woman?”
“A Moslem,” Rebecca spat. “Worse than the worst—a witch! The city didn’t throw her out. She has it enchanted.”
“How did you get into the city in the first place?” Ezeki asked, walking slowly around the group of twelve. He fingered Belshezar’s clothes.
“We were sick,” Belshezar said, backing away. “Wounded.” He looked around, suddenly frightened. “You’re the ones who burned our towns …”
“Never mind,” the Habiru said. “That’s done with for the moment.” He glanced sharply at Durragon. “No more left to burn, eh? We need information. Give it to us and you won’t have any trouble.”
“You want to get into the city?” Belshezar asked.
Durragon raised his riding crop—an affectation, since his city part didn’t respond to whipping—and lifted Belshezar’s chin with it. “Answer the old man and don’t worry about our plans.”
“Does it take in all wounded people?” Ezeki asked.
“All that we know of,” Belshezar said. “Most of us came by accident. It let us in and we were almost too sick to notice. It sent machines after some of us.”
“It actually carried you inside?” Durragon asked.
Belshezar nodded. “It’s confused, broken in its…” He made a twirling motion with his finger around his ear.
“It’s crazy,” Ezeki said.
Belshezar agreed.
“Can you draw a map of its insides?” Durragon asked.
“All of us together, maybe.” Belshezar looked up defiantly. “If we’re treated well.”
Ezeki ordered a table and paper brought to them. “I’m sure our general will treat you kindly.” He dismissed the women and had the men sit down in the tent. The women were taken to a separate tent and a guard was put around them by Breetod, who disliked the looks on the Chasers’ faces.
Into the evening Belshezar, sweating heavily, laid out the city scheme before Durragon and the Habiru, with reluctant help from his comrades.
From the edge of a middle level promenade, Reah watched the tents and fires of the armies massed below. The company of the coat-rack, the box and the bug was beginning to irritate her, but there was no way of getting rid of them. Besides, they answered most of her questions. She was tiring rapidly, however, and her mind still spun with endless schemes, spurred on by the ready information.
It suddenly dawned on her that the army below wasn’t made up of simple Chasers. Her dim memories of the raid on Akkabar and the ruins of the Habiru town returned and she rubbed her eyes slowly, as if to scrub the new worries away.
“What are they doing down there?” she asked.
“We do not know,” the coat-rack said.
“Can they get inside?”
The device was silent for an unusually long time. “We think they may be able to get in.”
“How?”
“Should any of them be injured, portions of the city will allow them in for treatment.”
She turned away from the parapet and looked back at the softly glowing gardens beyond the walkways. Smells of orange and cherry blossoms mingled in the moist wind from the higher levels. “If they attack the city, can it hold them off?”
“Yes. If they attack, none of them will get in.”
“Will it kill them?”
“Not directly, no.”
“What do you mean?”
“In fortifying its outer barriers, it will probably destroy many before they can run far. It’s happened before.”
She closed her eyes again and enjoyed the dark. “Can you find me a room nearby?”
“Certainly,” the coat-rack said. “Please follow.”
Resurrection had once housed six hundred thousand people. The variety of living quarters seemed endless to Reah. Her guides led her through meeting halls filled with thousands of now-crumbling desks and chairs. Though there had been no schools as such in Akkabar, she had seen classrooms in one of the Habiru cities. The rooms around the central meeting halls were obviously quarters for children—they were smaller and the furniture, what remained of it, was more delicate. The decors were colorful and simple. Some of the rooms were in good repair and she was taken into one. The bed was small but suitable. She lay down and crawled into a fetal curl.
The three machines lined up near the door and settled down to wait the night out. From all around, like the diminished beating of a sleeping heart, the city sounds subsided and deepened.
She awoke before dawn and ate a quick breakfast at a small metal table. The serving units left their wall nooks and stiffly delivered her food—fruit and a bowl of hot cereal, not unlike the wheat mash served in Akkabar. As she finished, she looked at a large door which hadn’t been opened since she arrived. She asked the coat-rack what was behind the door.
“Educational devices, I believe,” it answered. “Would you like to see them?”
“Bring them out,” she said.
The coat-rack aimed its antennae and the door swung aside, revealing a closet-like interior. Reah peered in and saw several strange machines lining the walls. One looked like a hobby-horse made from garden plants, another was a robot octopus. There was a cluster of dolls no higher than her knee, each meticulously detailed and very life-like. Half the dolls were children, half were adults.
The toy horse stood up stiffly, making a noise like cellophane crackling. One leg fell away and it toppled, cracking its head against the squirming octopus. Both crumpled into glassy bits and a strong odor of resin filled the closet. Two dolls walked out and looked up at her inquisitively.
“Here is how we are played with,” the adult doll said, speaking in the old English accent. Reah gasped and backed away—the ghosts of two children had emerged from the wall above her bed and climbed down to kneel beside the dolls. Seeing her shock, the coat-rack immediately made the children vanish and shut off the dolls.
“We regret any alarm,” it said, approaching her. She shook her head and held out a hand.
“I’m not used to them—to ghosts.”
“We thought you were. You have already seen how such figures are used as guides in the city.”
“Yes, but not children. Not the spirits of children. They’ve been dead…”
Her voice trailed off. “My child is dead and can’t come back. Why should these children still laugh and play? Take me back to the other house.”
The coat-rack hesitated, then complied.
The old Habiru sat on a rock before the spiny barricades of the city, thinking. Breetod stood next to him, looking bored. Durragon considered the old man valuable and kept him guarded. The Chasers were becoming more and more unruly as the months passed.
“Well,” the Habiru said, taking a deep breath. “This is the way it should be. Will Durragon come to me, or should I go to him?”
“Better if you go, I think.”
The old man pushed on his knees as he stood, and followed Breetod through the camp to Durragon’s tent. The first gleam of dawn was driving out the
last stars with sweeping orange wolf’s-tail clouds. Breetod stood by the flap and drew it aside for the Habiru.
Inside, Durragon was eating an apple picked from one of the wild trees near the camp. The Habiru stood beside him for a moment, waiting to be acknowledged.
“All right, yes?”
“You will wound ten of us and put us by the barricade. I want the Moslem Musa Salih to go with us… and Breetod, here.”
Breetod raised his eyebrows but said nothing.
“You think the city will let you in?”
“Perhaps.”
“What will you do if you get inside?”
“We know what some of the city thinking parts look like. If they don’t vanish into the main body when the city is assembled, we might be able to find them and work on them. It’ll take time, perhaps years. Ultimately we may be able to make the city drop its barriers and let your army in.”
Durragon cringed. “Heaven forbid that. Chasers follow cities—but they wouldn’t know how to behave themselves inside one. What will you do with Musa Salih?”
“He will talk to the Moslem woman inside, persuade her we wish no harm.”
“Just in case she really does control the city, eh? Why is she still there when the others have been cast out?” Durragon tossed his apple core into a brass chamber pot.
“Perhaps she hasn’t fully recovered yet,” Nebeki said from the rear of the tent.
“No, she’s sound,” the old man countered. “This fellow Belshezar says she is, anyway. And Belshezar should go with us too.”
“How will I wound you?”
The old man smiled grimly. “Not severely. Cuts across the skin of the legs, the back, the arms perhaps.”
“Nothing serious, though, huh? What if the city sees the wounds aren’t serious and doesn’t let you in?”
“Then we’ll heal ourselves. We’ve managed in the past.”
“I don’t like the idea,” Breetod said, frowning. “Getting chopped in battle is one thing. Standing by without a fight while someone chops me is another.”
“Then I’ll go,” Nebeki said, standing up. “I’ve always wanted to see the inside of a city.”
Breetod glowered at him and shook his head. “Thank you, no. I’ll go, but I don’t have to enjoy the preparations, do I? Go fetch volunteers-six, right? Besides you, the Moslem and Belshezar.”