heard the clanking in the hallway and her heart skipped a beat. The door opened very quickly and the robot stalked in. "Duke!" she screamed.
The robot stared at her. She felt his alien, inscrutable gaze upon her face.
Lola tried to scream again, but no sound came from her twisted mouth.
And then the robot was droning in a burring, inhuman voice.
"You told me that a woman loves the strongest and the smartest," burred the monster. "You told me that, Lola." The robot came closer. "Well, I am stronger and smarter than he was."
Lola tried to look away but she saw the object he carried in his metal paws. It was round, and it had Duke s grin.
The last thing Lola remembered as she fell was the sound of the robot's harsh voice, droning over and over, "I love you, I love you, I love you." The funny part of it was, it sounded almost human.
The Beasts Of Barsac
I T WAS TWILIGHT when Doctor Jerome reached the ogre's castle. He moved through the fairy tale land of a child's picture book—a realm of towering mountain crags, steeply slanting roads ascending to forbidden heights, clouds that hovered like bearded wraiths watching his progress from on high.
The castle itself was built of dream stuff. Nightmare qualities predominated in the great gray bulk, rearing its crumbling battlements against a sudden, blood-streaked sky. A chill wind sang its weird welcome as Doctor Jerome advanced toward the castle on the hilltop, and an autumn moon rose above the topmost tower.
As the moon stared down on man and castle alike, a black cloud burst from the ruined battlements and soared squeaking to the sky. Bats, of course. The final touch of fantasy.
Doctor Jerome shrugged and trudged across weed-choked flagstones in the castle courtyard until he reached the great oaken door.
Now to raise the iron knocker . . . the door would swing open slowly, on creaking hinges . . . the tall, gaunt figure would emerge . . . "Greetings, stranger. I am Count Dracula!"
Doctor Jerome grinned. "Like hell," he muttered.
For the whole fantasy collapsed when he thought of Sebastian Barsac. This might be an ogres castle, but Barsac was no ogre.
Nine years ago, at the Sorbonne, he'd made friends with shy, fat little Barsac. Since then they had taken different paths —but it was impossible for Doctor Jerome to imagine his old companion as the ideal tenant of a haunted castle.
Not that Barsac didn't have some queer ideas. He'd always been a little eccentric, and his theories on biological research were far from orthodox but Jerome could bank on one thing. Barsac was too fat to be a vampire, and too indolent to become a werewolf.
Still, there was something strange about this invitation, coming after a three years' lapse in correspondence. Merely a scribbled note, suggesting that Doctor Jerome come down for a month or so to look over experimental data — but that was Barsac's usual way of doing things.
Ordinarily, Doctor Jerome would ignore such a casual offer, but right now it came as a lifesaver. For Doctor Jerome was strapped. He'd been let out of the Foundation, he owed three installments on his rent, and he had — literally — no place to lay his head. By pawning the remnants of his precious equipment he'd managed to cross the Channel and reach Castle Barsac. A month in a real castle with his old friend — it might lead to something .
So Jerome had seized Opportunity before the echo of its knocking had died away. And now he banged the iron knocker, watched the castle door swing open. It did squeak, a bit.
Footsteps. A shadow. And then —
"Delighted to see you!" Sebastian Barsac embraced his friend in the French fashion and began to make Gallic noises of enthusiasm.
"Welcome to Castle Barsac," said the little man. "You are tired after your long march from the railroad station, no? I will show you to your room — servants I do not retain. And after a shower we shall talk. Yes?"
Up the winding stairs, pursued by a babble of incoherent
The robot stared at her. She felt his alien, inscrutable gaze upon her face.
Lola tried to scream again, but no sound came from her twisted mouth.
And then the robot was droning in a burring, inhuman voice.
"You told me that a woman loves the strongest and the smartest," burred the monster. "You told me that, Lola." The robot came closer. "Well, I am stronger and smarter than he was."
Lola tried to look away but she saw the object he carried in his metal paws. It was round, and it had Duke s grin.
The last thing Lola remembered as she fell was the sound of the robot's harsh voice, droning over and over, "I love you, I love you, I love you." The funny part of it was, it sounded almost human.
The Beasts Of Barsac
I T WAS TWILIGHT when Doctor Jerome reached the ogre's castle. He moved through the fairy tale land of a child's picture book—a realm of towering mountain crags, steeply slanting roads ascending to forbidden heights, clouds that hovered like bearded wraiths watching his progress from on high.
The castle itself was built of dream stuff. Nightmare qualities predominated in the great gray bulk, rearing its crumbling battlements against a sudden, blood-streaked sky. A chill wind sang its weird welcome as Doctor Jerome advanced toward the castle on the hilltop, and an autumn moon rose above the topmost tower.
As the moon stared down on man and castle alike, a black cloud burst from the ruined battlements and soared squeaking to the sky. Bats, of course. The final touch of fantasy.
Doctor Jerome shrugged and trudged across weed-choked flagstones in the castle courtyard until he reached the great oaken door.
Now to raise the iron knocker . . . the door would swing open slowly, on creaking hinges . . . the tall, gaunt figure would emerge . . . "Greetings, stranger. I am Count Dracula!"
Doctor Jerome grinned. "Like hell," he muttered.
For the whole fantasy collapsed when he thought of Sebastian Barsac. This might be an ogres castle, but Barsac was no ogre.
Nine years ago, at the Sorbonne, he'd made friends with shy, fat little Barsac. Since then they had taken different paths —but it was impossible for Doctor Jerome to imagine his old companion as the ideal tenant of a haunted castle.
Not that Barsac didn't have some queer ideas. He'd always been a little eccentric, and his theories on biological research were far from orthodox but Jerome could bank on one thing. Barsac was too fat to be a vampire, and too indolent to become a werewolf.
Still, there was something strange about this invitation, coming after a three years' lapse in correspondence. Merely a scribbled note, suggesting that Doctor Jerome come down for a month or so to look over experimental data — but that was Barsac's usual way of doing things.
Ordinarily, Doctor Jerome would ignore such a casual offer, but right now it came as a lifesaver. For Doctor Jerome was strapped. He'd been let out of the Foundation, he owed three installments on his rent, and he had — literally — no place to lay his head. By pawning the remnants of his precious equipment he'd managed to cross the Channel and reach Castle Barsac. A month in a real castle with his old friend — it might lead to something .
So Jerome had seized Opportunity before the echo of its knocking had died away. And now he banged the iron knocker, watched the castle door swing open. It did squeak, a bit.
Footsteps. A shadow. And then —
"Delighted to see you!" Sebastian Barsac embraced his friend in the French fashion and began to make Gallic noises of enthusiasm.
"Welcome to Castle Barsac," said the little man. "You are tired after your long march from the railroad station, no? I will show you to your room — servants I do not retain. And after a shower we shall talk. Yes?"
Up the winding stairs, pursued by a babble of incoherent
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