Two minutes before class starts, he slips into the stairwell and lights up. The door closes behind him.
But this time, it makes a distinct click.
Locked. This is a first. He cusses, and yanks on the handle for a while. Then he takes another drag, hitches his book-bag back on his shoulder. And he starts to head for the flight of stairs which will take him down to the second floor.
But the plan, tailored to fit, requires him to go upstairs.
On the fourth-floor landing, just above, the stairwell door opens. His head swivels -
Yelling for the door to be held a sec, he leaps up the stairs, snagging a last drag as he does.
And it's kept open, all right. Just for him.
He's through it before he wonders - and looks at the door, still pinned open. Who -
Then he stops. Maybe a yard to his right, between him and the elevator, there's a big... box. Just sitting there. It's pretty dark in the hallway. He could've run right into it -
A red light blinks on, near the wheels. And a second one...
He steps back. It's about the size of a bookshelf. Two parts, split by something that bulges out. Pipes sticking out of the top.
A motor clicks on. Two motors? What the hell, he thinks. It can't be a floor polisher. Something clicks, inside. Twice.
Somebody's project, he decides. Sophomore physics. It looks too well-made, though. Or maybe a psych experiment. Either way, he's not too hap-
The far end starts rolling away. Stretching...
A net?
It is.
The box picks up speed. Blocking the hallway. Thick netting, a good seven feet tall. From the way it drags across the floor, it's gotta be weighed down. A thick cable, maybe.
Smooth. Fascinating -
Outa here. He backs up... right into the door.
He just has to look. Uh-huh. He was looking at the door that led to the stairs. It had been open, fifteen seconds ago. Now it wasn't. And he had a real bad feeling.
Without taking his eyes off the net, he fumbles behind him for the handle.
Locked.
No way.
The box slams into the far wall. Apparently the net was measured to fit. He eyes the closer box, wondering if there was any chance he could tip it over. Push it back far enough to slip by, get to the elevator -
A new sound. Getting louder. He looks down, and sees another red light. Incoming...
It's another box. Much smaller. Faster.
It has a pole, too. About four feet high, curving a little. More flexible. On the end of the stalk... is a white hand. Holding something.
As he recognizes it, he starts to yell for help.
Absolutely impossible. This can't be happening...
It rolls right up. Something is shoved into his face.
Feathers.
He leaps back! Stuttering. Almost going down, recovering, and he breaks into a full run. Yelling louder now. Hearing the echo.
A feather duster. Fuck. Little robot... Like a maid, right? Maid-bot. Gone nuts. He glances at the dark cross-hatch of the netting. It's still taut. Like a wall.
The little box changes course - and rolls straight for him. Robots. Some nerd is gonna die. No doubt about it...
He darts over, to the door of a classroom. Locked. He shouts again... longer, and real loud. Crosses the hall and tries another door handle.
They're all locked. According to plan.
The larger boxes are rolling. Toward him. The net is pulled tight across the hall. And it's coming closer.
He tries one more door, and then has to dodge the damn thing. Kicking it doesn't help - it's too heavy, and he didn't have time to wind up for a decent kick. He looks around wildly. Only two more classrooms... and no stairwell. This is the shorter wing. The other stairwell is at the far end, way past the elevators. Past the net. Fire escapes, instead, outside these last two rooms -
The box is almost on him again. He can't tell if the stalk is leaning in toward him, or if it's just bobbing with the momentum. He's running out of hallway.
Okay, fake left, then blow by it. Go.
He hops -
The door to his right is locked, too.
But the last door isn't.
The robot angles in, and he turns. Feathers slap his arm. It backs up a little, retargeting...
If he slides past it, he has to climb the net. Or he can dart into the classroom. Fire escape -
Neither choice is all that attractive. He yells again, as loud as he can. No one responds.
He's gotta buy time. Pivoting, he cuts to his left. His bookbag slams into the doorframe, making him stumble. And the door is heavy -
He swings it out as fast as he can.
The little robot smacks into the door. Outside.
He makes a triumphant noise.
Really, it was almost too easy.
The stupid thing keeps ramming the door. Whap, whap, whap.
He catches his breath, and tries the door handle. It opens right up. What kind of sick experiment is this?...
Boy, is he gonna raise hell. Making him climb down the fire escape. And it's been raining all day. Cold, rusty metal. Charming.
The robot slams the door again. He wonders if it'll give up eventually. If he can't get the window open, he's trapped.
In no great hurry to get all wet, he pulls out his cigarettes. Screw the rules, he thinks, I've just been chased down the hall by a net and a feather duster. They'll be lucky if I don't sue their ass.
He smokes in the dark, feeling rebellious.
Whap.
It's still out there. He has to assume the net is, too. Even if those big boxes run out of juice, the net will be still be there. Stretched across the hall. Unbelievable, all of it -
He hears a very soft click, and the lights come on.
A horrible idea occurs to him, about ninety seconds too late.
There's something behind him. Just at the limit of his peripheral vision. Left eye.
He puts his forehead on the door, and takes a deep breath. At some point he'll have to spin around and look at what might be in the room with him. He really, really doesn't want to look. Slowly, he tugs on his cigarette to steady his nerves. Eases the smoke out, and takes a last drag. Drops the cigarette and steps on it carefully. Then he turns around.
Boxes? No -
Robots. Everywhere. Fifty of 'em, all different sizes.
The slender poles stick out of their tops. Some have horizontal arms, too. Every box has a glove reaching up, or a pair of gloves, and they're all equipped with something...
Most of the shorter ones have straps, lassos of rope, or handcuffs.
The majority of the gloves are holding feathers. Oh, a fair number are clutching brushes. And some have two gloves, with a silk scarf pulled tight between them - ready to buff something.
His left palm, still flat on the surface of the door, feels a vibration. Just one.
Something just moved within the door. There wasn't any sound, but he knows. He's sure.
On the base of a nearby robot, a small red light blinks on.
"No," he says quietly.
Ten more lights come to life.
The first box starts to roll toward him. It's carrying a loop of oiled black rubber, with a self-locking buckle.
There's no point, really, but he reaches for the door handle, watching a few more robots start their approach. There. He found it -
But the handle... won't budge. He reefs on it, and tries to slam it down.
He can't open the door.
That comes as no surprise. None at all.
16jun02