"Does anything in here seem different to you?" Slightman asked suddenly, and Jake felt his blood turn cold.
"No," Andy said, "but I have great respect for human intuition. Are you having intuition, sai?"
There was a pause that seemed to go on for at least a full minute, although Jake knew it must have been much shorter than that. He held Oy's head against his thigh and waited.
"No," Slightman said at last. "Guess I'm just getting jumpy, now that it's close. God, I wish it was over! I hate this!"
"You're doing the right thing, sai." Jake didn't know about Slightman, but Andy's plummily sympathetic tone made him feel like gnashing his teeth. "The only thing, really. 'Tisn't yourfault that you're father to the only mateless twin in Calla Bryn Sturgis, is it? I know a song that makes this point in particularly moving fashion. Perhaps you'd like to hear - "
"Shut up!" Slightman cried in a choked voice. "Shut up, you mechanical devil! I've sold my goddam soul, isn't that enough for you? Must I be made sport of, as well?"
"If I've offended, I apologize from the bottom of my admittedly hypothetical heart," Andy said. "In other words, I cry your pardon." Sounding sincere. Sounding as though he meant every word. Sounding as though butter wouldn't melt. Yet Jake had no doubt that Andy's eyes were flashing out in gales of silent blue laughter.
TWELVE
The conspirators left. There was an odd, meaningless jingle of melody from the overhead speakers (meaningless to Jake, at least), and then silence. He waited for them to discover his pony, come back, search for him, find him, kill him. When he had counted to a hundred and twenty and they hadn't returned to the Dogan, he got to his feet (the overdose of adrenaline in his system left him feeling as stiff as an old man) and went back into the control room. He was just in time to see the motion-sensor lights in front of the place switch off. He looked at the monitor showing the top of the rise and saw the Dogan's most recent visitors walking between the boom-flurry. This time the cactuses didn't move. They had apparently learned their lesson. Jake watched Slightman and Andy go, bitterly amused by the difference in their heights. Whenever his father saw such a Mutt-and-Jeff duo on the street, he inevitably said Put em in vaudeville . It was about as close to a joke as Elmer Chambers could get.
When this particular duo was out of sight, Jake looked down at the floor. No dust, of course. No dust and no tracks. He should have seen that when he came in. Certainly Roland would have seen that. Roland would have seen everything.
Jake wanted to leave but made himself wait. If they saw the motion-lights glare back on behind them, they'd probably assume it was a rock-cat (or maybe what Benny called "an armydillo"), but probably wasn't good enough. To pass the time, he looked at the various control panels, many of which had the LaMerk Industries name on them. Yet he also saw the familiar GE and IBM logos, plus one he didn't know - Microsoft. All of these latter gadgets were stamped made in usa. The LaMerk products bore no such mark.
He was pretty sure some of the keyboards he saw - there were at least two dozen - controlled computers. What other gadgetry was there? How much was still up and running? Were there weapons stored here? He somehow thought the answer to this last question was no - if there had been weapons, they had no doubt been decommissioned or appropriated, very likely by Andy the Messenger Robot (Many Other Functions).
At last he decided it was safe to leave... if, that was, he was extremely careful, rode slowly back to the river, and took pains to approach the Rocking B the back way. He was nearly to the door when another question occurred to him. Was there a record of his and Oy's visit to the Dogan? Were they on videotape somewhere? He looked at the operating TV screens, sparing his longest stare for the one showing the control room. He and Oy were on it again. From the camera's high angle, anyone in the room would have to be in that picture.
Let it go, Jake , the gunslinger in his head advised. There's nothing you can do about it, so just let it go. If you try poking and prying, you're apt to leave sign. You might even set off an alarm .
The idea of tripping an alarm convinced him. He picked up Oy - as much for comfort as anything else - and got the hell out. His pony was exacdy where Jake had left him, cropping dreamily at the bushes in the moonlight. There were no tracks in the hardpan... but, Jake saw, he wasn't leaving any himself. Andy would have broken through the crusty surface enough to leave tracks, but not him. He wasn't heavy enough. Probably Benny's Da' wasn't, either.
Quit it. If they'd smelled you, they would have come back.
Jake supposed that was true, but he still felt more than a little like Goldilocks tiptoeing away from the house of the Three Bears. He led his pony back to the desert road, then put on the duster and slipped Oy into the wide front pocket. As he mounted up, he thumped the bumbler a fairly good one on the saddle-horn.