“That is understood,” the Master Observer snapped. “You will find the part with an A and you will hold it in your left hand.”

Trembling under the cold lash of the words, the watchman turned the object around until he found the correct letter and, clutching it in his left hand, held the device for killing triumphantly out before him.

“Next, then. The narrowing of the rear with the letter B on it is held in the right hand,” he glanced up as this was quickly accomplished, “then the rear of the device with the letter C is placed against the right shoulder.”

They all looked on expectantly as the man raised the thing and poked it against his shoulder, his left hand holding it from underneath and his right hand from the top. The Master Observer observed this, then gave a brief nod of satisfaction.

“Now I read how to kill. The device is pointed at the thing that is to be killed.” The Master Observer looked up and realized that he was directly in front of the device. “Not at me, you fool,” he spat angrily, and bodily pulled the watchman around until he was facing the side of the room where Chimal stood. The others moved back to each side and waited expectantly. The Master Observer read on.

“In order to kill, the small lever of metal with the letter D on it, which is on the bottom of the device, must be pulled back with the index finger of the right hand.” He looked up at the watchman who was trying vainly to reach the little lever.

“I cannot do it,” he said. “My finger is on top and the lever is on the bottom.”

“Then turn your bowbed hand over!” the Master Observer shouted, out of patience.

All of this Chimal had been observing with strong feelings of disbelief. Could it be that these people had no experience with weapons or killing? This must be true or why else should they act in this impossible manner. And were they going to kill him — just like this? Only the unrealness of the dreamlike scene had prevented him from acting before. And, in truth, he wanted to see how this strange weapon operated. He had almost waited until it was too late, he realized, as the elderly watchman turned his hand over and his groping finger reached out and depressed the metal lever.

Chimal dived to one side as the thing turned to point at him. As he did so there was a quick blast of heat and one of the devices against the wall behind him exploded and began to bum smokily. People were screaming. Chimal hurled himself into the thick of the crowd and the weapon sought him out and fired again. This time there was a screech of pain and one of the women fell over, the side of her head as scorched and blackened as if it had been thrust into a fire.

Now the large chamber was filled with fearful, running people, and Chimal pushed through them, knocking down any who came in his way. The watchman with the weapon was standing still, the device dangling, has eyes widened with shock. Chimal struck him in the chest with his clenched fist and pulled it away from his weak grip. Now, feeling stronger since he held the killing thing, Chimal turned to face any attack.

There was none, just confusion and a welter of shouted orders. He was ignored again, even though he held the device. He walked through the identically garbed crowd until he found the girl he had first met in the tunnel. He could have picked anyone: perhaps he chose her because he had known her the longest in this strange place. Pulling her by the arm he led her to the exit from the chamber.

“Take me away from here,” he ordered.

“Where?” she asked, twisting with weak fright in his grip.

Where? To some place where he could rest and eat some more. “Take me to your home.” He pushed her out into the corridor and prodded her spine with his new weapon.

In this corridor even the walls were of metal, and other substances he did not recognize, with no sign of rock anywhere. Door after identical door opened from the corridor and Chimal, walking behind the girl, almost ran into her when she stopped abruptly.

“This is mine,” she said, still half-dazed with fear of the unknown.

“How do you know?” he asked suspiciously, worrying about traps.

“Because of the number.” He looked at the black figures on the metal of the door and grunted, then kicked at the door which flew open. He pushed her in ahead of him, then closed and put his back to the door.

“This is a small house,” he said.

“It is a room.”

The room was no more than a man’s height wide and about twice as long. Something that was probably a sleeping mat lay on the ledge, and cabinets were against the wall. There was another door that he pulled open. It led to an even smaller room that contained a seat with a hid and some devices fixed to the wall. There appeared to be no other way out of this room.

“Do you have food?” he asked.

“No, of course not Not here.”

“You must eat?”

“But not in my room. At the teykogh with the others, that is the way it is.”

Another strange word, his head ached from so many of them. He had to find out where he was and who these people were, but he needed rest first: fatigue was a gray blanket that threatened to fall and smother him. She would call for help if he went to sleep; there was the box that talked to her that had brought aid when he had first found her.

“Take that off,” he ordered, pointing to the belt and hanging things about her waist

“It is not done with others present,” she said, horrified.

Chimal was too tired to argue: he struck her across the face. “Take it off.”

Sobbing, the red imprint of his fingers clear on her white skin, she did something to the belt and it loosened and fell to the floor. He threw it against the far wall.

“Is there a way out of this little room with the seat,” he asked, and when she shook her head no he believed her and pushed her into it. Then he closed the door and lay down against it so that it could not be moved without disturbing him, placed his head on his arm, held the killing thing against his chest and fell instantly asleep.

He awoke after some unknown length of time. The light came from above as it had before. He shifted position on the floor and went to sleep again.

The pushing annoyed him, and he mumbled in his sleep but he did not awake. He moved, to stop the irritation, and something about this bothered him and drove him up out of a heavy and engulfing unconsciousness. When he opened his eyes, thick with sleep, he could not imagine where he was: he blinked at the black figure that was running across the room away from him. Watchman Steel was at the door, opening it, before his befogged senses stirred to life. He heaved himself forward, reaching out, and just managed to clutch her ankle as she started through. Once he touched her all resistance stopped completely and she just lay inert, weeping, as he dragged her across the floor then rose and kicked shut the exit. He leaned against it, shaking his head, trying to wake up. His body was sore all over and he was still tired despite the sleep.

“Where is there water?” he said, stirring her with his toe. She only moaned louder, eyes open and filled with tears, fists clenched at her sides. “I’m not going to hurt you, so stop that. I just want some help.” Despite what he said he grew angry when she didn’t answer and he slapped her again. “Tell me.”

Still sobbing deeply the girl rolled over and pointed to the room where she had been imprisoned. He looked in and saw that the little chair had a cover that lifted on a hinge, and beneath it. was; a large bowl of water. When he bent to scoop some out the girl screeched incoherently. She was sitting up, shaking her finger, horrified.

“No,” she finally gasped out. “No. That water is… not for drinking. There, on the wall, the nodren, that water you can drink.”