By God, you fool, that would be the she-wolf of some Romulus and Remus, I swear it.
Someone has done. No no, not Haruni, one friend, who plays chess and pins insects. Paranoid, Dahlgren. But someone. Laughers? Whisperers?
THERE WERE ONLY FOUR.
You knew even that.
Someone. He sighed.
“Does it still hurt so badly, Dahlgren?”
Eyes slitted, he saw erg-Dahlgren, needle in hand, push back his sleeve and inject.
Pain clawed again. “I had forgotten it,” he whispered.
Erg-Dahlgren threw away the needle, lifted Dahlgren’s head, brought a cup to his lips.
“What is that?”
“Edible alcohol. I had it synthesized for you.”
“Good Lord, man, that is pure hellfire! Add an equal amount of water.”
“I am sorry, Dahlgren. I did not know how men drink.”
“No. Thank you. I am grateful.” It was good, going down, it made a hearth in his belly. Little taste to it, but it was good enough. Pain ebbing and the hearthfire spreading even to the source of the life that might last, oh God, long enough to do battle.
Erg-Dahlgren smiling, because Dahlgren had called him man.
ARGUS WAS four meters high and wide, seven in length. Up front he had a control room, a lavatory cubicle, and a crew quarters with four narrow bunks. In back the room for carrying animals had brackets for holding cages, tanks and other enclosures, though all these had been removed. Narrow guttering coursed the floors in a flushing and drainage system; most of his lower bulk held retractable wheels and runners, tool kits, waste compactors, and two engines: one a hayburner that could use any kind of organic matter, including fossil fuels, the other a diesel with fuel tanks for oil and kerosene. He was the least sophisticated of all machines on Dahlgren’s World, and the most adaptable.
* * *
Shirvanian slept on the guttered floor among bags of moss, mouth-breathing harshly, snorting a bit through his swollen nose; Yigal lay beside him. Ardagh, Mitzi, Joshua, had cried themselves out with fear and weariness as well as grief, and were sprawled on the jouncing floor, backs to the wall. Their eyes were red, their faces sweaty and dirt-smeared. Joshua had a light haze of beard and looked years older. They were too tired to climb into the bunks for comfort. They did not think of comfort. There was no place in the world to find it.
The counter in the control room registered .9 millirads internally, a great improvement over the external one, which was running near .8 rad. Sven had found the stores of water and air filter capsules, untouched through the years. The heavy clay interiors of one or two had crumbled or been attacked by organisms; the others might take them as far as they needed to go. Argus had only one window, in his control room, a round port of thick yellow lead glass. It did not give much of a view, but the telescreen was working.
“Sooner or later they’ll jam that,” said Esther. She was riding on Sven’s shoulder as he watched Argus pushing ahead on the detritus from the channel, scanning for changes in terrain that would require the shift to wheels or tractor tires.
“No, that’s independent, but we’ll probably have to disconnect the transmitter ... They’ll send drones, five-fifties, aircars. We’re a beautiful striped target.”
“No way to camouflage ... if we put leaves and branches on top, maybe the aircars ...”
“The growth’s too fine and brittle. That’d ruin the intake system.” Argus’s roof was a catchment basin, covered with fine mesh, for collecting and filtering water and air. “When Shirvanian gets up we’ll see what he can think of.”
They did not talk of Koz. What use? Esther could not cry, and Sven would not.
There was another problem. Because Argus had been bonded to a boy of ten his control, for safety’s sake, was limited in speed and direction, and Sven did not know where to find or how to use the override controls allocated to regular crews on working missions. He had had nearly an hour’s head start at about 8 kph. It was not much to build on. Top speed would not take that lumbering transport much higher than twelve. Sven had spent a frustrating hour trying to explain to Argus the importance of that extra four kilometers. Argus would not believe that all other machines were enemies.
YOU MUSTN’T PLAY DANGEROUS GAMES, SVEN. DAHLGREN WILL BE ANGRY.
“Argus, for God’s sake, all other machines are renegade!”
I KNOW, SVEN, the Dahlgren speaker said. WE’VE PLAYED THAT MANY TIMES.
Sven swore and kicked the panel, until he remembered he had done that as a child too, and turned red. “Better wake Shirvanian.”
Shirvanian’s face was bruised, grimy, creased with strain. His eyelids twitched in sleep. Esther’s heart wrenched for him, in spite of his transparent unpleasantness. She did not want to wake him. His arms were flung out, one hand clutching his box. Esther saw through the rent in his shirt that his hairless armpit was tattooed with one small triskelion. She looked up. Her eyes met Ardagh’s.
Ardagh said dully, “Yeah. He’s one of us.”
Us. “Will he become like Koz?”
“No ... oh, no! He belonged to a different order.”
“Of delinquents, you mean. What’d Shirvanian do, make one machine too many?”
Joshua laughed, weakly, bitterly. “When he was six he built a robot to steal cookies and repair parts for itself. His parents found it, and it set the whole scientific world in an uproar. Made him famous. We didn’t believe him when he told us, but we do now.” He closed his eyes, shook his head and sighed. “Oh yes, we do.”
“But he went too far ... ?”
Ardagh said, “At nine he had a whole fleet of them ripping off components all over Sol Three and selling them at wholesale prices. He could have retired at twelve if he wasn’t found out.”
Arms akimbo, Esther hunkered beside the child. “And look where it got you.” Black eye, blood-caked nose. She slapped his cheek lightly. “Wake up, genius. Sven wants you up front.”
Shirvanian stirred, opened his eyes with some effort, lifted his head, giving the involuntary sneer of the gesture. “Wah?” He seemed stunned.
“Sven needs you up front,” Esther repeated.
“Uh,” Shirvanian dragged himself up and lurched off, slamming his shoulder against the wall as he went.
“Shame to wake him ...” She turned back to the others. They were well knocked about. Not much rebellion left. “You had some independent plans? Hope you put them aside.”
Joshua asked under his brooding lids, “How did you know?”
“Triskelions. You got lumped together, somehow, did all that planning. Why would you stop? Look.” She touched Joshua’s zipper tag. “Carelessness? Mitzi’s boot soles. Why didn’t you throw those away?”
“I made them,” said Mitzi. There was a pinch of pride in her voice, the only flavor of that quality Esther had ever found in her.
“And you kept them clean in all the mud—even the soles.”
“What are you going to do about us?” Ardagh asked.
“Try to keep you safe, what else? You’ve had enough battered out of you for a while.” She gave her attention to the snoring Yigal, stroked his flank as it rose and fell. “Let him sleep a bit longer.”
* * *
Shirvanian yawned. “Attach my spy-eye to the visual system so you can get a whole-horizon view.”
“Okay, but where are the crew controls?”
“Likely behind this panel. We’ll have to stop so I can work on it.”
“I don’t like that much ... the radio’s off so they can’t pick us up, but—”
“Shut down the visuals and intercom too, just in case, and make a detour.”
“Navigate with that one little window?”
“Yah, I’m surprised we haven’t had aircars after us yet. You shouldn’t have let me sleep so long.”
“I thought you’d fall apart if you didn’t. Maybe there’s some lead suits in that cupboard. Take a look.”
“Just one,” Shirvanian reported. “My size, but it’s got four sleeves.”
“Sven!” Esther bounded through the door. She was shaking more than the bouncing of the craft accounted for. “Sven! Yigal is—”
“Keep on course, Argus, to track two and east.” He hung up the mike. “What—”
Yigal was gasping and vomiting, his limbs twitched. His eyes were still closed. Ardagh had his huge head on her lap, stroking it as the thin bile ran over her boots.
“What is it?”
Her eyes met his, and Esther’s; she swallowed. “He got knocked on the head, didn’t he?”
“Yes, but he got up, and he was—he seemed all right.”
She pushed up Yigal’s eyelids with her thumbs. The eyes were blank, glazed, almost all pupil. She slid her fingers around the skull, through the silky hair. “Not even a bruise.”
“Yigal!” Esther cried.
He gasped and shivered. His slack tongue lay along his teeth. “He won’t have much more to throw up. If we heap the sacks in the corner and try to make him comfortable, maybe we can clean this part up.” Ardagh stroked his muzzle gently, as if her fingers could stop the twitching nerves. “We’ll have his urine and—and stuff to contend with.”
“Contend with!” Esther screamed and slapped her face. Sven grabbed her.
Ardagh’s cheek reddened and her eyes filled with tears. “I can’t help it, Esther,” she whispered. “He’s dying.”
Esther exploded from Sven’s arms and flung herself, X, over the white heaving body. “No!”
Sven knelt beside them. “Just from that bang on the head?”
Ardagh said, “He must be hemorrhaging inside ... In a hospital, in the lab they could ...”
Yigal lifted his head with fearful slowness; it wavered with the bouncing of the carrier. Slowly his eyes opened, his vague pupils tightened, only a little. His tongue moved, ticked the roof of his mouth. “Es—Esther, I can’t.” His head fell back, lids closed, he retched again.
Esther clenched shaking fists in the hair of his neck and screamed. Mitzi clapped hands over her ears and shut her eyes. Joshua drew up his steep knees and wrapped his arms about them. Yigal did not speak again, then or ever.
Ardagh went on stroking the shuddering head, and Sven knelt with the thin bile stream sliding in the guttering under his knees.
Shirvanian yelled, “We have a skimmer coming southeast by east!”
Sven jumped to his feet and ran up front. “How far?” On the screen it was a dot above the horizon.
“About three kilometers.”
“That’s the end. We’re finished.”
“Turn westward into that gully where it’s overgrown.”
Sven gave the orders to Argus blindly.
“Now stop. Open the door. Shut off all systems. Why are you crying? Are you scared?”
“Yigal is dying from that blow on the head.” Tears ran into the corners of his mouth.
“Oh,” Shirvanian scuttled back, ignored all others, pawed through the sacks on the floor in frantic haste till he found the other bomb, ran back to the control room where the outer door was open, tore yet another strip from his diminishing garment, twined it in a wick as he had done before, and fumbled in his pockets till he found Mitzi’s lighter.
“You can’t blow up that egg,” Sven said.
“I don’t intend to.” Bomb in hand, Shirvanian jumped out the door.
“Shirvanian!” Horrified, Sven leaned out.
“Shut up. I know what I’m doing.” Shirvanian followed Argus’s tracks in the damp gravel for about fifteen meters, watched the sky, counting silently with his lips, lit the wick, waited till it began to burn down, hurled it with all his strength northward, ran back with arms pumping and hair streaming, jumped in. “Shut the door!”
The metal egg sang overhead zzing! An instant of silence, WHUMP! A sizzle and a hum fading.
Mitzi, at the inner door, shrieked, “What is it?”
“An aircar,” Sven said. He slid open the control-room door, jumped to the ground, Shirvanian following.
Back up their trail was a black fused star of glassy rock, crossed exactly by a long charred streak. The air reeked and shimmered. “What happened?” Sven asked.
“Once our transmission was off it had to home on heat or light. I gave it an intense source to distract it.”
“The fire hit it exactly. I thought you said they were clumsy.”
“I thought they might be, but I was wrong. They were trying to put us off guard, or your transmitter made the drones keep them away.”
“We’ve got no more bombs.”
“If we’re lucky it recorded a hit. You think you could figure out their codes if I took a chance on the radio?”
“I could if they haven’t changed them for nine years.”
“I don’t see why they should. They didn’t need secret codes.” He pushed toggles and the little read-out screen lit up and flickered. “Huh. GalFed symbols. Too bad we can’t reach a spacelight.”
“Think they’d waste an interstellar radio on a transport that does twelve kph at top speed?”
“BZV GFX 178,” Shirvanian translated. “That’s— Barrazan Five, GalFed Experimental. The original aircars were designated one-seven-five to two hundred. They must be using the old system.”
“And that squiggle?”
“Is our code for call. There it is on that key.”
“MOD 777 ... reporting right to the top, and X ... 933 ...”
“Nine-three-three is Argus, and X, I suppose, marks the spot.”
“I hope it holds them.” The screen went blank, and Shirvanian shut off. ‘We might as well stay here and do the work. Once we’re heading east it’ll be too sticky.” He looked up. “Where you going?”
“To see Yigal.”
“I’ll need you on the mike.”
“Don’t worry,” he could not keep the edge out of his voice. “I’ll be back.”
Mitzi was waiting by the bunkroom door, hair wild and fingers clawing the air. “I can’t stand it!” she wailed. “Esther’s screaming over that beast and she won’t let go!”
“Go in and rest on a bunk. Are you hungry?”
“No! I’m sick!”
“Lie down.”
In the rear quarters he found Ardagh crying, trapped under the shuddering bulk of Yigal, Esther flung over him screaming rage and grief through her teeth. Joshua, backed into a comer, was folded tightly in on himself, blinking and silent.
Sven lifted Yigal’s head and shoulders to free Ardagh. “Get into the bunkroom.”
“But I—”
“You can’t help. Go on. You too, Joshua.”
He knelt beside the two people he had loved so deeply all his life, ran a hand down Yigal’s neck, a hand over Esther’s head. A little blood was clotting darkly in Yigal’s nostrils and at the comers of his mouth. In a loving useless gesture he pushed bags under the big head; then he uncoiled a hose pipe from the wall and flushed the cleared area of the floor.
Esther stopped screaming, picked herself off Yigal, and sat beside him. She watched the breath fluttering his lax pale tongue. She pushed open one of his lids as if she might find his gruff stodgy spirit in the dark pool of his eye. Her own lids were thickened and inflamed. “Nothing can be done.”
Sven did not even shake his head.
She said, “There’s another triskelion you’ll want to know about. Tattooed in Shirvanian’s armpit.” She bent down to stroke Yigal’s head. “Not a type like Koz, He had an operation going, stole and sold machine parts.”
“I’ll watch them.”
“Larcenous brats. Stupid to like them, eh?”
He was afraid, but mainly for
her, sorrow glassing her eyes.
“I wonder ... how long, do you think?”
“Esther, I don’t know.”
* * *
“The crew controls are here, all right, but they’ve also got sensors and monitors for i.d. You know who the crews were?”
“Usually a couple from Barnard Three. They had eight limbs and smelled of formic acid.”
“Then I’ll have to reroute to get our extra four kilometers.” He added in a small voice, “The next one will probably get us, you know. I don’t have any more tricks up my sleeve.”
In one sense, I’m glad of that, Sven thought. But he couldn’t say it to this idiot savant who had saved his life so many times. A small child, exhausted and fearful, who had cried for Mama. “Can you do the work before nightfall?”
“Nothing I’d want anybody to see, but it’ll operate.”
“Because we’re going to run night and day and stand watches. We don’t dare go on automatic.”
“We can monitor the radio that way at least, maybe get some warning ... we’re nearly out of liquid fuel.”
“Then we start sweeping and compacting scrub, and waste, too, so we can switch to the hayburner. I’ll make supper. If the heat-chamber still works.”
Muddy stew, tasting of old plastic boiling bags. They choked it down while the sun fell; they had nothing to say.
* * *
Sven stood first watch as Argus navigated on infrared, installed originally not to disturb forest life. Now, perhaps, it might not arouse ergs. He did not feel much comfort in being dry for the first time in days as the familiar lightning streaked and the rains lashed the trees. Yet he dared himself to remember, dreamed himself back to a time that seemed in comparison sweet.
“Sweep and pack, Argus. Fill the tanks. Our enemies never give up.”
NO, SVEN. THEY SEEM TO COME FROM NOWHERE.
O Master Caliban Page 16
