The foreman, Crane, nodded and the party began to walk down the endless expanse of ill-lit corridors. They would have to traverse considerable lengths of darkness, and flashbeams were but few. That was why the older men, and the unmated youths, bore small, rapid-firing rifles and formed a solid knot around the couples. The lives of the younger women and healthy males of mating age were far too precious to permit any unnecessary risks—a somewhat mocking thing, now, for the demands of the City, with its unvarying program of production of material needs and production of defense and offense materials made any real semblance of adequate protection of any inhabitant questionable to say the least. But, to their weary thoughts, they were as safe as their resources could make them, and they walked on, in broken ranks, vaguely conscious of the overhanging menace that crept and crept upon them.
"Is it an attack?" asked one of the women, half tremulously.
For a moment or so no one answered.
"Hasn't been an attack that I can remember," volunteered one man, who walked with a limp.
"No," replied an old woman, old by the City's standards, "it isn't an attack. The alarm sounds then. It's a sharp ringing sound that you can never forget. This is something else."
"Do you remember an attack?" put in Crane.
"No. My father used to tell me about them many years ago. He heard the alarm once. . . . "
Jensen put down the wrenches slowly and crawled out onto the stone floor. His race bore the helpless look that was continually on the countenances of what few mechanics were left in the City. He wiped the grease on his hands on his trousers mechanically, and turned to his helpers.
"I guess we're wasting our time here," he stated at last. "This thing will never run again."
The others made no comment; no expressions of disappointment or despair lined their faces. This was a matter of course, something to be reported. The rarity was when the mechanic told them that he thought a machine might be made to work again.
Even here, the steady throb of the machines that were running could be heard. That is, it could have been heard by one newly entering the City. The defenders were aware of the incessant vibration only when it was altered by another unit ceasing work.
"What's that gong?" Olney wanted to know.
"Council meeting," quavered old Jep. "Somethin" happening. Ain't an attack because if they was, you'd feel that bell ringin' and a ringin' right through you."
Silently they checked their weapons and prepared to adjourn to the council chambers.
Old Jep's eyes showed that he was worried, as he trailed along behind Jensen and the other. They were coming to one of the dark corridors, where nothing was visible but a faint glow far in the distance which told of lights still in operation.
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