Dark Benediction

Mitch looked around the gloomy rotunda. There was a desk at the far wall. Recessed in a panel behind the desk were a microphone, a loudspeaker, and the lens of a television camera. A sign hung over the desk, indicating that here was the place to complain about utility bills, garbage-disposal service, taxes, and inaccurate weather forecasts. A citizen could also request any information contained in Central Data except information relating to defense or to police records.

Mitch crossed the rotunda and sat at the desk facing the panel. A light came on overhead. The speaker crackled for a moment.

“Your name, please?” it asked.

“Willie Jesser.”

“What do you wish from Information Service, please?”

“A direct contact with Central Data.”

“You have a screened contact with Central Data. Unauthorized personnel are not permitted an unrestricted contact, for security reasons. Your contact must be monitored by this unit.”

Mitch shrugged. It was as he had expected. Central Data was listening and speaking, but the automatics of the P.I.U. would be censoring the exchange.

“All right,” he grumbled. “Tell me this: Is Central aware that the city has been abandoned? That its population is gone?”

“Screening, screening, screening,” said the unit. “Question relates to civil defense.”

“Is Central aware that her services are now interfering with human interests?”

There was a brief pause. “Is this question in the nature of a complaint?”

“Yes,” he grated acidly. “It’s a complaint.”

“About your utility services, Mr. Jesser?”

Mitch spat an angry curse. “About all services!” he bellowed. “Central has got to suspend all operations until new ordinances are fed into Data.”

“That will be impossible, sir.”

“Why?”

“There is no authorization from Department of City Services.”

He slapped the desk and groaned. “There is no such department now! There is no city government! The city is abandoned!”

The speaker was silent.

“Well?” he snapped.

“Screening,” said the machine.

“Listen,” he hissed. “Are you screening what I say, or are you just blocking Central’s reply?”

There was a pause. “Your statements are being recorded in Central Data. Replies to certain questions must be blocked for security reasons.”

“The war is over!”

“Screening.”

“You’re trying to maintain a civil status quo that went out of existence three years ago. Can’t you use your logic units to correct present conditions?”

“The degree of self-adjustment permitted to Central Service is limited by ordinance number—”

“Never mind!”

“Is there anything else?”

“Yes! What will you do when fifty men come marching in to dynamite the vaults and destroy Central Data?”

“Destroying city property is punishable by a fine of—” Mitch cursed softly and listened to the voice reading the applicable ordinance.

“Well, they’re planning to do it anyway,” he snapped. “Conspiracy to destroy city property is punishable by—” Mitch stood up and walked away in disgust. But he had taken perhaps ten steps when a pair of robot guards came skating out from their wall niches to intercept him.

“One moment sir,” they croaked in unison.

“Well?”

“Central wishes to question you in connection with the alleged conspiracy to destroy city property. You are free to refuse. However, if you refuse, and if such a conspiracy is shown to exist, you may be charged with complicity. Will you accompany us to Interrogation?”

A step closer to jail, he thought gloomily. But what was there to lose? He grunted assent and accompanied the skaters out the entrance, down an inclined ramp, and past a group of heavily barred windows. They entered the police court, where a booking computer clicked behind its desk. Several servo-secretaries and robot cops were waiting quietly for task assignments.

Mitch stopped suddenly. His escorts waited politely.

“Will you come with us, please?”

He stood staring around at the big room—at the various doorways, one leading to traffic court, and at the iron gate to the cellblock.

“I hear a woman crying,” he muttered.

The guards offered no comment.

“Is someone locked in a cell?”

“We are not permitted to answer.”

“Suppose I wanted to go bail,” he snapped. “I have a right to know.”

“You may ask at the booking desk whether a specific individual is being held. But generalized information cannot be released.”

“Mitch strode to the booking computer. “Are you holding a woman in jail?”

“Screening.”

It was only a vague suspicion, but he said, “A woman named Marta.”

“Full name, please.”

“I don’t know it. Can’t you tell me?”

“Screening.”

“Listen! I loaned my bicycle to a woman named Marta. If you have the bicycle, I want it!”

“License number, please.”

“A 1987 license—number six zero five zero.”

“Check with Lost and Found, please.”

Mitch controlled himself slowly. “Look—you check. I’ll wait.”

The computer paused. “A bicycle with that license number has been impounded. Can you produce proof of ownership?”

“On a bicycle? I knew the number. Isn’t that enough?”

“Describe it, please?”