Midafternoon now, and the sky was growing cloudy. There would be no more reflected sunlight to give warning of whatever might be lying in wait for them, at least not today. Before long the sky had turned gray, and a premature twilight began to spread across the land. Blade and Twana stopped, drank without eating, and went on. Fatigue and strain had bleached Twana's face to the color of bone, and her feet were swollen and blistered. Yet she still seemed quite ready to follow Blade to the end of the Wall, or even farther.

Suddenly Blade heard a faint hooting, like the sound of a distant owl. It came from ahead, but a moment later it was echoed from behind them. Blade stopped and drew his sword. Twana pressed herself against him for a moment, then stepped back, drawing her own sword and standing to guard his back.

The hooting came again, from both in front and behind. It was either louder or closer or both. Then it came a third time. The cat had finished watching the mouse. Now it was stalking. In another moment it would leap. Blade was not sure exactly what the cat would be, but he suspected it would be something against which a sword would be as useless as a feather duster.

The hooting came again, still louder, with a distinct metallic note in it. No living throat could be making that sound. Blade sidestepped toward the edge of the Wall. With only a minute or two more, he could let down the rope to make an escape route for Twana. He himself would probably have to ….

Then the hooting was echoed from close at hand, so loudly that the Wall seemed to quiver from the sound. There was a rushing and roaring of violently disturbed air from beyond the blindness field. A blast of wind hit Blade and Twana, hard enough to force the girl to her knees. Something that seemed to be the size of a small house shot high into the air from inside the Wall. It hung in the air above Blade, long enough to give him a grisly moment's anticipation of being crushed flat under it. Then, with another hurricane blast of air and a ringing metallic crash, it came down on top of the Wall.

Twana's mouth fell open, and she gave a gurgling scream of sheer terror. «A Watcher!» she cried. Her sword was shaking in her hand, but somehow she held her ground.

Blade's mouth was open in surprise rather than fear, although he didn't blame Twana. He stared at the Watcher, and from what he had to call its head, two yellowish eyes stared back at him.

The rest of the Watcher-well, start with a rectangular metal box the size of a small truck, set on end. Put the dome-shaped head on top of that, with the eyes, half a dozen antennae, and the twin glassy-blue muzzles of what looked very much like lasers or guns. On each side of the box, stick two arms-the upper one a pair of long, jointed rods ending in massive steel claws, the lower one an eight-foot steel tentacle. Mount the whole thing on a circular base ten feet in diameter. Color it a dirty bronze-tinted blue all over, and add a few dents, patches, and scars.

That was a Watcher, as Richard Blade faced one for the first time on top of the Wall.

He could hear Twana's breath coming in quick gasps, and he didn't blame her. Even if one hadn't gone in fear of the Watchers all one's life, they weren't a pleasant thing to meet. Particularly when there wasn't much hope of either fighting or running.

Those weren't the only choices, fortunately. This machine had to be the creation of an advanced civilization. If its masters were watching through its eyes and listening through its ears, perhaps there was a way to communicate with them. Certainly it was worth trying.

Carefully Blade laid down his sword. Then he straightened up, holding his empty hands well out from his sides, fingers spread wide. If the Watcher's masters were humanoid, the gesture should have its almost universal meaning of «Peace.» Then he whispered sharply to Twana, «Do the same as I've done.»

«Blade, I-«

«Do it!»

He heard Twana suck in her breath with a hiss. Then at last her courage deserted her, and she turned and ran. Before she'd taken two steps, the Watcher let out another ear-splitting hoot, rose a foot off the ground with a whine and a blast of air, and started after her. All four arms were raised, and both eyes were blinking rapidly.

Blade threw himself to one side, just in time to save his life. A beam of dazzling white light flared from one of the blue muzzles in the Watcher's head. It played across Blade's sword, and when it passed on, it left the metal blackened and warped.

As Blade sprang to his feet, the Watcher's arms on the side toward him lashed out. The tentacle whipped around his knees, while the claw on the upper arm unfolded until it could span his waist. Blade was jerked off his feet and into the air, as the Watcher swept by in pursuit of Twana.

The girl screamed as she saw the Watcher gaining on her. Then she stumbled and went down, the sword flying out of her hand. Blade's arms were free. He reached down to the jointed arm that held him by the waist, grabbed the elbow with both hands, and heaved with all his strength.

It should have been impossible, flesh matched against metal in this way, but Blade's strength somehow made it possible. The arm gave with a screech of twisted and torn metal and went limp, pouring out smoke and sticky bluish fluid. Blade found himself dangling in midair, held only by the tentacle around his knees. He tried to swing himself toward the body of the Watcher. If he could get a firm grip there and then start on the joints with the knife from his belt-

He never made it. The head turned toward him, and Blade had a moment of staring into the mouth of one of the blue tubes-a moment just long enough for him to know that he was about to die.

Then Twana screamed again, and the world dissolved around Blade in white fire and terrible pain.

Chapter 9

Blade awoke in a comfortable bed. He was surprised not only at the bed, but at still being alive to wake up at all. Apparently the Watcher had merely knocked him unconscious, rather than frying him like a piece of bacon. It had left a few traces behind-his head ached, and his skin prickled as if he'd been slightly sunburned all over. He started to sit up, felt a wave of nausea rising in him, and lay down again with his eyes closed until it passed.

At last he sat up and looked around the room. It was impressively large-it would have held all five rooms of his London flat with plenty of space left over. A ceiling of metal hexagons was at least thirty feet above his head. The bed under him was large enough for three or four people and almost too soft for comfort. Red and gray-checked blankets of some musty-smelling synthetic material were piled thickly on it. Blade threw off the blankets and climbed out of the bed.

The floor underfoot was soft and springy, except in a few places where bare stone showed through. The floor covering seemed to grow out of the stone, like pale blue grass, rather than lying on it like a rug.

Apart from the bed, there was nothing in the room but three chairs around a low table in one corner and a large double wardrobe standing in another corner. Blade somehow had the feeling that this austerity was the result of neglect rather than a deliberate decorating scheme.

Except for the wardrobe, the room and everything in it were well-worn, almost shabby. It was absolutely immaculate, as though it were dusted several times a day. But the metal of the ceiling was tarnished, the walls were stained and patched in several places, and the furniture was threadbare and faded. It reminded Blade of the kind of room he'd seen in old houses owned by families who could no longer really afford them, filled with slowly decaying family heirlooms. He wasn't quite sure what he'd expected to find beyond the Wall, but this room certainly wasn't it. If he were supposed to be a prisoner, it was about the oddest cell he'd ever seen!