I, Robot - Isaac Asimov [37]
“We could flood the mines, if this weren’t an airless asteroid.”
“A witticism, no doubt,” said Powell. “Really, Mike, you’ll incapacitate me with laughter. What about a mild cave-in?”
Donovan pursed his lips and said, “O.K. by me.”
“Good. Let’s get started.”
Powell felt uncommonly like a conspirator as he wound his way over the craggy landscape. His subgravity walk teetered across the broken ground, kicking rocks to right and left under his weight in noiseless puffs of gray dust. Mentally, though, it was the cautious crawl of the plotter.
He said, “Do you know where they are?”
“I think so, Greg.”
“All right,” Powell said gloomily, “but if any ‘finger’ gets within twenty feet of us, we’ll be sensed whether we are in the line of sight or not. I hope you know that.”
“When I need an elementary course in robotics, I’ll file an application with you formally, and in triplicate. Down through here.”
They were in the tunnels now; even the starlight was gone. The two hugged the walls, flashes flickering out the way in intermittent bursts. Powell felt for the security of his detonator.
“Do you know this tunnel, Mike?”
“Not so good. It’s a new one. I think I can make it out from what I saw in the visiplate, though—”
Interminable minutes passed, and then Mike said, “Feel that!”
There was a slight vibration thrumming the wall against the fingers of Powell’s metal-incased hand. There was no sound, naturally.
“Blasting! We’re pretty close.”
“Keep your eyes open,” said Powell.
Donovan nodded impatiently.
It was upon them and gone before they could seize themselves—just a bronze glint across the field of vision. They clung together in silence.
Powell whispered, “Think it sensed us?”
“Hope not. But we’d better flank them. Take the first side tunnel to the right.”
“Suppose we miss them altogether?”
“Well what do you want to do? Go back?” Donovan grunted fiercely. “They’re within a quarter of a mile. I was watching them through the visiplate, wasn’t I? And we’ve got two days—”
“Oh, shut up. You’re wasting your oxygen. Is this a side passage here?” The flash flicked. “It is. Let’s go.”
The vibration was considerably more marked and the ground below shuddered uneasily.
“This is good,” said Donovan, “if it doesn’t give out on us, though.” He flung his light ahead anxiously.
They could touch the roof of the tunnel with a half-upstretched hand, and the bracings had been newly placed.
Donovan hesitated, “Dead end, let’s go back.”
“No. Hold on.” Powell squeezed clumsily past. “Is that light ahead?”
“Light? I don’t see any. Where would there be light down here?”
“Robot light.” He was scrambling up a gentle incline on hands and knees. His voice was hoarse and anxious in Donovan’s ears. “Hey, Mike, come up here.”
There was light. Donovan crawled up and over Powell’s outstretched legs. “An opening?”
“Yes. They must be working into this tunnel from the other side now—I think.”
Donovan felt the ragged edges of the opening that looked out into what the cautious flashlight showed to be a larger and obviously main-stem tunnel. The hole was too small for a man to go through, almost too small for two men to look through simultaneously.
“There’s nothing there,” said Donovan.
“Well, not now. But there must have been a second ago or we wouldn’t have seen light. Watch out!”
The walls rolled about them and they felt the impact. A fine dust showered down. Powell lifted a cautious head and looked again. “All right, Mike. They’re there.”
The glittering robots clustered fifty feet down the main stem. Metal arms labored mightily at the rubbish heap brought down by the last blast.
Donovan urged eagerly, “Don’t waste time. It won’t be long before they get through, and the next blast may get us.”
“For Pete’s sake, don’t rush me.” Powell unlimbered the detonator, and his eyes searched anxiously across the dusky background where the only light was robot light and it was impossible to tell a projecting boulder from a shadow.
“There’s a spot in the roof, see it, almost over them. The last