I, Robot - Isaac Asimov [38]
Powell followed the dim finger, “Check! Now fasten your eye on the robots and pray they don’t move too far from that part of the tunnel. They’re my light sources. Are all seven there?”
Donovan counted, “All seven.”
“Well, then, watch them. Watch every motion!”
His detonator was lifted and remained poised while Donovan watched and cursed and blinked the sweat out of his eye.
It flashed!
There was a jar, a series of hard vibrations, and then a jarring thump that threw Powell heavily against Donovan.
Donovan yowled, “Greg, you threw me off. I didn’t see a thing.”
Powell stared about wildly, “Where are they?”
Donovan fell into a stupid silence. There was no sign of the robots. It was dark as the depths of the River Styx.
“Think we buried them?” quavered Donovan.
“Let’s get down there. Don’t ask me what I think.” Powell crawled backward at tumbling speed.
“Mike!”
Donovan paused in the act of following. “What’s wrong now?”
“Hold on!” Powell’s breathing was rough and irregular in Donovan’s ears. “Mike! Do you hear me, Mike?”
“I’m right here. What is it?”
“We’re blocked in. It wasn’t the ceiling coming down fifty feet away that knocked us over. It was our own ceiling. The shock’s tumbled it!”
“What!” Donovan scrambled up against a hard barrier. “Turn on the flash.”
Powell did so. At no point was there room for a rabbit to squeeze through.
Donovan said softly, “Well, what do you know?”
They wasted a few moments and some muscular power in an effort to move the blocking barrier. Powell varied this by wrenching at the edges of the original hole. For a moment, Powell lifted his blaster. But in those close quarters, a flash would be suicide and he knew it. He sat down.
“You know, Mike,” he said, “we’ve really messed this up. We are no nearer finding out what’s wrong with Dave. It was a good idea but it blew up in our face.”
Donovan’s glance was bitter with an intensity totally wasted on the darkness, “I hate to disturb you, old man, but quite apart from what we know or don’t know of Dave, we’re slightly trapped. If we don’t get loose, fella, we’re going to die. D-I-E, die. How much oxygen have we anyway? Not more than six hours.”
“I’ve thought of that.” Powell’s fingers went up to his long-suffering mustache and clanged uselessly against the transparent visor. “Of course, we could get Dave to dig us out easily in that time, except that our precious emergency must have thrown him off, and his radio circuit is out.”
“And isn’t that nice?”
Donovan edged up to the opening and managed to get his metal-incased head out. It was an extremely tight fit.
“Hey, Greg!”
“What?”
“Suppose we get Dave within twenty feet. He’ll snap to normal. That will save us.”
“Sure, but where is he?”
“Down the corridor—way down. For Pete’s sake, stop pulling before you drag my head out of its socket. I’ll give you your chance to look.”
Powell maneuvered his head outside, “We did it all right. Look at those saps. That must be a ballet they’re doing.”
“Never mind the snide remarks. Are they getting any closer?”
“Can’t tell yet. They’re too far away. Give me a chance. Pass me my flash, will you? I’ll try to attract their attention that way.”
He gave up after two minutes, “Not a chance! They must be blind. Uh-oh, they’re starting toward us. What do you know?”
Donovan said, “Hey, let me see!”
There was a silent scuffle. Powell said, “All right!” and Donovan got his head out.
They were approaching. Dave was high-stepping the way in front and the six “fingers” were a weaving chorus line behind him.
Donovan marveled, “What are they doing? That’s what I want to know. It looks like the Virginia reel—and Dave’s a major-domo, or I never saw one.”
“Oh, leave me alone with your descriptions,” grumbled Powell. “How near are they?”
“Within fifty feet and coming this way. We’ll be out in fifteen min— Uh—huh—HUH—HEY-Y!”
“What’s going on?” It took Powell several seconds to recover from his stunned astonishment at Donovan’s vocal gyrations. “Come on, give