Forever Begins Tomorrow by Bruce Coville Page A

over the keypad, then waited for it to read the combination and play it back.
    Fifteen seconds later the door swung open.
    Roger stepped through, trying to move as soundlessly as possible. He patted the robot control unit again, just to make sure it was still in his pocket.
    The warehouse was almost pitch black. The moon had disappeared behind a cloud, so even the skylight provided virtually no illumination. Only the dim red glow of the mandatory EXIT signs gave him a sense of space and direction.
    Wishing he had taken the time to grab a real flashlight, Roger twisted the outer edge of his watch to activate the glow ring. The effect was minimal, but he could see enough to avoid running into things.
    Looking ahead, he thought he saw a flash of light. He held his breath, waiting to see if it repeated itself.
    There! That had to be their friend—or their enemy, if this was indeed a trap.
    Suddenly Roger wished he had not been in such a hurry, after all.
    Who was waiting for him in the darkness?
    Moving slowly, silently, he began to work his way toward the light.
    It flashed again, closer now.
    Roger tried to swallow, found his mouth was too dry; his throat had closed up on him. He wondered if he would be able to talk—or cry out for help—when he came face-to-face with whomever he was approaching.
    He took a few more steps, stopped when he saw the light flash—it was much closer now—then started again. Another flash and he could make out the dim outline of a short figure.
    A shiver rippled down his spine. Black Glove was short. Could this be him?
    Roger suddenly understood what it meant when someone said their blood ran cold. He felt as if his whole body had been plunged into ice water. Part of him wanted to turn and run. Another part, stronger, demanded he see this through. After all, Anza-bora had more than one short person
    Now they were only a few feet apart. Suddenly the mystery person stopped. “No closer!” said a hoarse whisper. “Shine a light under your face. I want to see who you are.”
    Roger hesitated for an instant. It had not occurred to him that their friend might be as nervous as he was. “I don’t have a very good light,” he said softly. “See if this—”
    He was interrupted by a hideous shrieking. Tearing out of the dark, splitting the silence, it froze him where he stood. It took only an instant to realize it was coming from one of the guard robots.
    â€œDon’t worry!” he called, fumbling for the control unit. “I can take care of this.”
    But their mysterious friend had already slipped into the darkness.
    â€œAt least tell me who Black Glove is!” cried Roger. Then the robot came roaring around a corner just ahead of him, and he had to turn his attention to the problem at hand. Nothing fancy required here—no need to make the robot do anything but stop in its tracks.
    He pushed the appropriate button.
    Nothing happened.
    He pushed it again, then screamed.
    The scream was involuntary. The robots were designed to inspire fear. Even when you knew what they looked like, the sight of one of them racing down on you out of the darkness, its red eyes flashing, its demonic face lit with a hellish glow, was enough to scare the bravest man.
    Roger tried the button one more time, then every other button on the control panel.
    Nothing happened.
    He tossed the panel aside and ran for his life.
    The robot was faster. In seconds it was close enough for several of its tentacles to come snaking out and grab him. Closing around his arms, they snatched him off the floor.
    Roger’s scream of terror was almost loud enough to drown out the sound of his bones snapping in the robot’s grasp.

The Severed Connection
    When Roger opened his eyes, he saw the concerned face of Dr. Celia Clark peering down at him. Her thick braid of chestnut hair, dangling past her prominent nose, came perilously close to tickling his ear.
    Is she our secret