Eloise

Dumarest walked towards it, carefully studying the floor. It was smooth, set with a tessellated design of red and black, polished to a dull sheen. A ring of benches stood ten feet from the wall, broken into equal segments. Beyond them, barely visible, set behind the chair, showed the outlines of a trap door. A means of access to the regions below. Natural enough if men had built this place; technicians would have to be allowed admission to the regions which held the bulk of the machine.

Dumarest stood on it, moving his feet from edge to edge, feeling the surface yield a little. He pressed harder and the spot beneath his boot sank; the far end of the trap rising to reveal a narrow stair, a dimly lit opening from which came a gust of frigid air.

Ten feet down the stair widened into a platform; more stairs continuing the descent. To the side nearest the chair stood the humped bulk of a complex lattice, from which came a numbing chill. Other machinery could be seen further down; electronic apparatus of unfamiliar pattern, snaking conduits supported on rigid frames.

There would be more lattices lower down, crystals set in containers of liquid helium; the memory banks and directive apparatus of the gigantic whole.

Dumarest placed one foot on the head of the stair then paused, shivering.

Men had built this place. The Cyclan perhaps, a nagging doubt; but if men had made it, then it could be used. And there were things he needed to know.

Sitting in the chair, he rested the flat of his palm on the plate inset into one of the arms.

"Dumarest. Who built you?"

A fraction of a pause and then a cold, flat, emotionless voice.

"The Larchi. A band of men who held the belief that technology could solve all human problems."

"Not the Cyclan?"

"An unfamiliar term."

"Search your banks. Find relative associations." Dumarest described a cyber in detail, the organization to which he belonged. "Could they be the Larchi?"

"No."

Dumarest relaxed a little, yet he had to be sure.

"Are you in contact with anyone on or off this planet?"

"No."

"Is anyone in contact with you?"

"No."

A pounding came from the door by which he had entered. Turning, he saw the panel bulge from the impact of heavy blows. The Monitors, frustrated for a while by the welds, but they wouldn't be frustrated for long.

He said, quickly, "Withdraw all Monitors from the immediate vicinity."

"That directive cannot be obeyed."

"Tell them to cease all activity."

A moment, and then the pounding stopped. At least he had gained a little time. Glancing again at the screens, he saw that more now showed fire and smoke. Arbush and the others were doing a good job.

"The upper installations of the city are in danger. Send all available help to confine the destruction."

"Sufficient help has been provided."

"Send more."

"Sufficient has been provided."

It was like arguing with an echo. Dumarest looked at the door, sensing the Monitors beyond, the others who would be waiting. If he was to escape there was little time and yet, he felt there was more he could do. A trick, perhaps? He remembered something a computer man had once told him. Machines are idiots; by a simple paradox they can be totally incapacitated. And Camolsaer was no more than a machine.

He said, "The next thing I say to you will be the truth." A pause, then he added. "Everything you have learned or heard is a lie."

If the truth, then the penultimate sentence had to be a lie. But if it was a lie, then the ultimate sentence could not be the truth.

A paradox which would not have occupied the attention of a man for longer than he cared; but for a machine based on the iron rules of logic it presented a problem which had to be solved.

And while the thing was occupied, he would add to the confusion.

Torch in hand he ran down the stairs, slamming the trap shut behind him. Welded, it would stay firm. Breath vaporing from the cold, Dumarest ran down the stairs to the platform, eyes searching for points of greatest potential damage. That conduit, cut, would drop to touch that machine and reduce it to molten ruin. A hole burned in the container would release the coolant and perhaps destroy some of the memory banks. A strut burned free would sag and weaken the balance of a support, which might yield a fraction to ruin the arrangement of a monitoring device.

And, above all, he had to find a way out.

* * * * *

The noise was nothing he had ever heard before; the panic totally outside his experience. Adara stood, dazed, frightened at what they had done, the chaos all around.

"Here!" Eloise thrust a bundle of burning rag into his hands. "Set some more fires. Hurry!"

She was a woman possessed, hair bound with a strip of golden braid, her face smudged with soot and ashes. In the daubed mask her eyes burned with a savage intensity, a horrible gloating which he had never seen before. A woman taking her revenge on the place which had held her for so long.

The city which had saved her life.