Survival Tactics

by Al Sevcik

  Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net

  SURVIVAL TACTICS

  By AL SEVCIK

  ILLUSTRATOR NOVICK

  _The robots were built to serve Man; to do his work, see to his comforts, make smooth his way. Then the robots figured out an additional service--putting Man out of his misery._

  There was a sudden crash that hung sharply in the air, as if a tree hadbeen hit by lightning some distance away. Then another. Alan stopped,puzzled. Two more blasts, quickly together, and the sound of a screamfaintly.

  Frowning, worrying about the sounds, Alan momentarily forgot to watchhis step until his foot suddenly plunged into an ant hill, throwing himto the jungle floor. "Damn!" He cursed again, for the tenth time, andstood uncertainly in the dimness. From tall, moss-shrouded trees,wrist-thick vines hung quietly, scraping the spongy ground like thetentacles of some monstrous tree-bound octopus. Fitful little plantsgrew straggly in the shadows of the mossy trunks, forming a denseunderbrush that made walking difficult. At midday some few of the bluesun's rays filtered through to the jungle floor, but now, late afternoonon the planet, the shadows were long and gloomy.

  Alan peered around him at the vine-draped shadows, listening to the softrustlings and faint twig-snappings of life in the jungle. Two short,popping sounds echoed across the stillness, drowned out almostimmediately and silenced by an explosive crash. Alan started, "Blasterfighting! But it can't be!"

  Suddenly anxious, he slashed a hurried X in one of the trees to mark hisposition then turned to follow a line of similar marks back through thejungle. He tried to run, but vines blocked his way and woody shrubscaught at his legs, tripping him and holding him back. Then, throughthe trees he saw the clearing of the camp site, the temporary home forthe scout ship and the eleven men who, with Alan, were the only humanson the jungle planet, Waiamea.

  * * * * *

  Stepping through the low shrubbery at the edge of the site, he lookedacross the open area to the two temporary structures, the campheadquarters where the power supplies and the computer were; and thesleeping quarters. Beyond, nose high, stood the silver scout ship thathad brought the advance exploratory party of scientists and techniciansto Waiamea three days before. Except for a few of the killer robotsrolling slowly around the camp site on their quiet treads, there was noone about.

  "So, they've finally got those things working." Alan smiled slightly."Guess that means I owe Pete a bourbon-and-soda for sure. Anybody whocan build a robot that hunts by homing in on animals' mind impulses ..."He stepped forward just as a roar of blue flame dissolved the branchesof a tree, barely above his head.

  Without pausing to think, Alan leaped back, and fell sprawling over abush just as one of the robots rolled silently up from the right,lowering its blaster barrel to aim directly at his head. Alan froze. "MyGod, Pete built those things wrong!"

  Suddenly a screeching whirlwind of claws and teeth hurled itself fromthe smoldering branches and crashed against the robot, clawing insanelyat the antenna and blaster barrel. With an awkward jerk the robot swungaround and fired its blaster, completely dissolving the lower half ofthe cat creature which had clung across the barrel. But the backpressure of the cat's body overloaded the discharge circuits. The robotstarted to shake, then clicked sharply as an overload relay snapped andshorted the blaster cells. The killer turned and rolled back towards thecamp, leaving Alan alone.

  Shakily, Alan crawled a few feet back into the undergrowth where hecould lie and watch the camp, but not himself be seen. Though visibilitydidn't make any difference to the robots, he felt safer, somehow,hidden. He knew now what the shooting sounds had been and why therehadn't been anyone around the camp site. A charred blob lying in thegrass of the clearing confirmed his hypothesis. His stomach felt sick.

  "I suppose," he muttered to himself, "that Pete assembled these robotsin a batch and then activated them all at once, probably never living torealize that they're tuned to pick up human brain waves, too. Damn!Damn!" His eyes blurred and he slammed his fist into the soft earth.

  When he raised his eyes again the jungle was perceptibly darker.Stealthy rustlings in the shadows grew louder with the setting sun.Branches snapped unaccountably in the trees overhead and every now andthen leaves or a twig fell softly to the ground, close to where he lay.Reaching into his jacket, Alan fingered his pocket blaster. He pulled itout and held it in his right hand. "This pop gun wouldn't even singe arobot, but it just might stop one of those pumas."

  They said the blast with your name on it would find youanywhere. This looked like Alan's blast.]

  Slowly Alan looked around, sizing up his situation. Behind him the darkjungle rustled forbiddingly. He shuddered. "Not a very healthy spot tospend the night. On the other hand, I certainly can't get to the campwith a pack of mind-activated mechanical killers running around. If Ican just hold out until morning, when the big ship arrives ... The bigship! Good Lord, Peggy!" He turned white; oily sweat punctuated hisforehead. Peggy, arriving tomorrow with the other colonists, the wivesand kids! The metal killers, tuned to blast any living flesh, wouldmurder them the instant they stepped from the ship!

  * * * * *

  A pretty girl, Peggy, the girl he'd married just three weeks ago. Hestill couldn't believe it. It was crazy, he supposed, to marry a girland then take off for an unknown planet, with her to follow, to try tocreate a home in a jungle clearing. Crazy maybe, but Peggy and her greeneyes that changed color with the light, with her soft brown hair, andher happy smile, had ended thirty years of loneliness and had, at last,given him a reason for living. "Not to be killed!" Alan unclenched hisfists and wiped his palms, bloody where his fingernails had dug into theflesh.

  There was a slight creak above him like the protesting of a branch tooheavily laden. Blaster ready, Alan rolled over onto his back. In themovement, his elbow struck the top of a small earthy mound and he wasinstantly engulfed in a swarm of locust-like insects that beatdisgustingly against his eyes and mouth. "Fagh!" Waving his arms beforehis face he jumped up and backwards, away from the bugs. As he did so, adark shapeless thing plopped from the trees onto the spot where he hadbeen lying stretched out. Then, like an ambient fungus, it slithered offinto the jungle undergrowth.

  For a split second the jungle stood frozen in a brilliant blue flash,followed by the sharp report of a blaster. Then another. Alan whirled,startled. The planet's double moon had risen and he could see a robotrolling slowly across the clearing in his general direction, blastingindiscriminately at whatever mind impulses came within its pickup range,birds, insects, anything. Six or seven others also left the campheadquarters area and headed for the jungle, each to a slightlydifferent spot.

  Apparently the robot hadn't sensed him yet, but Alan didn't know whatthe effective range of its pickup devices was. He began to slide backinto the jungle. Minutes later, looking back he saw that the machine,though several hundred yards away, had altered its course and was nowheaded directly for him.

  His stomach tightened. Panic. The dank, musty smell of the jungle seemedfor an instant to thicken and choke in his throat. Then he thought ofthe big ship landing in the morning, settling down slowly after a lonelytwo-week voyage. He thought of a brown-haired girl crowding with theothers to the gangway, eager to embrace the new planet, and the nextinstant a charred nothing, unrecognizable, the victim of a design erroror a misplaced wire in a machine. "I have to try," he said aloud. "Ihave to try." He moved into the blackness.

  Powerful as a small tank, the killer robot was equipped to crush, slash,and burn its way through undergrowth. Nevertheless, it was slowed by thelarger trees and the thick, clinging vines, and Alan found that he couldmanage to
keep ahead of it, barely out of blaster range. Only, the robotdidn't get tired. Alan did.

  The twin moons cast pale, deceptive shadows that wavered and dancedacross the jungle floor, hiding debris that tripped him and often senthim sprawling into the dark. Sharp-edged growths tore at his face andclothes, and insects attracted by the blood matted against his pants andshirt. Behind, the robot crashed imperturbably after him, lighting thenight with fitful blaster flashes as some winged or legged life camewithin its range.

  There was movement also, in the darkness beside him, scrapings andrustlings and an occasional low, throaty sound like an angry cat. Alan'sfingers tensed on his pocket blaster. Swift shadowy forms moved quicklyin the shrubs and the growling became suddenly louder. He fired twice,blindly, into the undergrowth. Sharp screams punctuated the electricblue discharge as a pack of small feline creatures