"We'll stay together," St. Cyr said. "Dane and I will walk abreast, Jubal and Alicia behind us, Hirschel and Tina at the rear. Keep your eyes open; we won't hear him coming if he doesn't want us to."
In the corridor, St. Cyr picked up the nearest phone link to the house computer and directed it to turn on and keep on every light in the mansion. Teddy had night vision. They didn't. He further ordered the house to shut down all but one elevator, which only they would be permitted to use. Without curiosity, the computer obeyed.
"Can a master unit override the orders I just gave the house?" the detective asked Jubal.
"No." Tired. Confused. Rich, yes, but what did that matter now?
"Perhaps, if he tampered with it—"
Jubal shook his head fiercely. "The house computer is a perpetual care unit that repairs itself. It's housed in the rock strata under the mansion, sealed up tight. There is absolutely no way that Teddy could have gotten to it."
"Good enough," St. Cyr said. He was beginning to feel as if it was all so much ritual from this point on, the obligatory chase before the inevitable ending. "We'll leave the bag of evidence in Hirschel's room. It contains Teddy's gun and claw, his two major weapons. That makes him less dangerous but not harmless, so watch your back while we're checking out the rest of these rooms." In fifteen minutes the fifth level was cleared. St. Cyr lifted the phone link to the house computer and said, "I want you to lock all the doors, patio doors and windows on the fifth level, inside and out I don't want you to unlock them except when you're told to do so by a human voice."
"Yes, sir."
He hung up and turned back to the others, grimaced and picked up the phone again.
"Yes?" the house asked.
"Can you distinguish between human voices and tapedeck constructions?"
The house said that it could.
He hung up again, "Let's go down a level," he said to the others.
The fourth level was clean, the lights burning brightly, the rooms still and deserted.
St. Cyr directed the house computer to lock all of the doors and windows as they left.
"Yes, sir," it said.
It sounded polite and obedient. He knew that no one could have gotten to it to make it behave otherwise. Yet… He supposed he would never fully trust another machine.
Illogical.
He was startled by the bio-computer's comment, chiefly because it was the first thing it had contributed since St. Cyr had begun to explain the nature of the crime to the family gathered in the kitchen.
They went down to the third level.
The library was clean.
So was Jubal's den, and Alicia's music room.
When they entered the main sitting room, where they had gathered to discuss the case on St. Cyr's first night in the mansion, Teddy drifted rapidly toward them, a dart gun affixed to the stump of his right arm. But that was impossible, St. Cyr thought. They had left the gun behind them, locked in Hirschel's room.
Teddy fired.
The dart stung St. Cyr's neck.
He plucked it out, though he knew it was too late. Evidently Teddy had been prepared for any contingency: He had manufactured two dart pistols.
Behind him, the others were hit too; they cried out and plucked the darts angrily from their chests and legs and arms, tossed them away. When he turned he saw that Teddy appeared to be a good marksman, for everyone was reacting as if he had been hit.
A second dart bit the detective's thigh. He pulled it loose, wondering: poison this time?
Hirschel went down on one knee, the rifle already up against his shoulder.
Why didn't I react that fast? St. Cyr wondered. He dropped into the familiar firing position to make up for lost time.
Hirschel pulled off a shot at point-blank range, worked it right into the center of the master unit's body trunk. As he fired, he let out a war whoop; obviously, even though he had been hit by a dart, he was happy to be embroiled in a fight.
Even in the brightly-lighted room, the intense laser pulse was noticeable, like a quick, ghostly flicker of life in another dimension — or like the slit-mouth smile of a native Darmanian impressed upon the air.
Dane fired too.
And Tina.
St. Cyr raised his rifle, sighted, felt the hallucinations hit him as his finger went around the trigger. A dozen Teddy master units appeared where only one had been a moment earlier. He did not think he should risk a shot now, for he could no longer be certain that there was no human between him and the robot.
Teddy reeled backwards under the impact of the vibra-beams, then turned and fled toward the window in the far wall.
"Dammit, he's getting away!" Hirschel shouted. He got up, stumbled towards the retreating machine, fell full length as he tripped over some imaginary obstacle.
Teddy smashed through the huge picture window, sent shards of glass flying in all directions, and disappeared into the darkness.
FIFTEEN: A Desperate Barricade
In the sitting room, while the others fumbled drunkenly with pieces of furniture to make a crude barricade at the smashed window, St, Cyr held onto the telephone link of the house computer, held on with both hands, and said, "Hello? Hello?"
The house did not reply.
"I want you to lock every door and window in the lower three levels right now," he commanded it.
The house did not acknowledge the order.
"You there?" he asked.
The house was not there.
He hung up, leaned against the wall, shoved away when he felt himself sinking into it, the plaster closing around him like butter, greasy and warm. Carefully placing one foot before the other, he plodded to the door, where Jubal was sprawled across the entrance. The old man stared stupidly at the ceiling and mumbled something that St. Cyr could not hear, did not want to hear, and ignored. He stepped over the drugged patriarch arid was about to venture into the corridor when Alicia caught hold of his arm from behind.
"Where you going?" she asked. She was accustomed to the drug, and far less affected by it than they were.
This house computer have a manual programming board?" St. Cyr asked.
She nodded. "But why don't you use the telephone link?"
"I tried that," he explained patiently, though he found it difficult to be patient with a woman whose face constantly changed shape: now squashed and ugly, now flat like paper, now drawn thin and humorous. He said, "Teddy got to the in-house lines as well, sometime just before he jumped us."
"And he had a second pistol," Alicia said, as if St. Cyr were to blame for not having located that weapon when he ransacked the cabinets and drawers in the workshop.
Maybe he was to blame.
He didn't want to think about that now. Indeed, he couldn't think about it, because he needed all his concentration to handle the single topic of the house computer.
To a thin-faced, squinty Alicia, he said: "I want to get the electric locks thrown on the bottom three levels, before Teddy has a chance to come back into the house through another door."
"He'll already have done that," she said.
To a round-faced, porcine Alicia, he said: "Maybe; maybe not. The hits the others made with vibra-beams may have stunned him. They may even have damaged or erased memory banks."