“Go get him, Case!” Chester yelled.
The giant whirled with a bellow, reaching for the injured spot with a huge right hand and for Case with the left. Case ducked, drove a left to the pit of the shaggy stomach, followed with a right—and went flying as the giant caught him with an openhanded swipe. Case rolled, came to his feet. The native champion had both hands to his stomach now; his hoarse breathing was audible to Chester, forty feet away.
“Case hurt him that time.”
“But Mr. Mulvihill—perhaps he’s injured too!”
“I don’t think so. His profanity sounds normal. In any event, he has their attention fully occupied. I’d better get started.”
Chester took out the penknife, looked over the lacing that secured the woven bamboo strips and started sawing.
“I hope this blade holds out. I never contemplated cutting anything more resistant than a cigar tip when I bought it.”
“Please work quickly, Chester. Mr. Mulvihill may not last long.”
Below, Case ducked aside from a charge, planted a hearty right in the big man’s short ribs, danced back as the other changed direction.
“There’s one,” said Chester as the strands of lacing fell free. “I think three more may do it. Anyone looking my way?”
“No, no one. Ohhh, Chester, I’m frightened. Mr. Mulvihill tripped and barely rolled aside in time to avoid being trampled.”
“Hey, don’t revert to the feminine now, Genie. Keep the computer aspect of your personality to the fore; it has a steadying effect.”
“Mr. Mulvihill has just struck the savage a very effective blow on the back of the neck,” said Genie. “It staggered him.”
“Two loose. I hope Case has a few more unorthodox blows in his repertoire. I’ll need at least ten minutes . . . ”
Chester worked steadily, freed a third joint, pulled a vertical member aside, and thrust his head through the opening. It was a close fit, but a moment later his shoulders were through. He reached up for a handhold, pulled himself entirely through, and clung to the wicker frame of the cage. He found a foothold, clambered higher, reached the rope from which the basket was suspended. A glance toward the fighters showed that all eyes were on the combatants. Chester took a deep breath, started up the rope.
The crowd shouted as Case hammered a left and a right to the giant’s body, turned to duck away, slipped, and was folded into his opponent’s immense embrace.
“Chester, he’ll be crushed,” wailed Genie.
Chester hung on, craning to see. Case struggled, reached behind him, found an index finger and twisted. The giant roared; Case bent the finger back, back . . .
With a howl the giant dropped him, twisting his hand free, and popped the injured member into his mouth.
Chester let out a long breath, pulled himself up onto the branch to which the rope was secured. He rose shakily to his feet, made his way to the main trunk, climbed up to the branch from which Genie’s cage was suspended, started out along it. In the clearing below, the crowd yelled. Chester caught a glimpse of Case darting past the giant, whirling to chop hard at the side of his neck with the edge of his hand.
Then Chester was at the rope, sliding down.
“Chester, you’d better leave me. Save yourself.”
Chester sawed at the bindings of Genie’s cage. “Even if I were enough of a coward to entertain the notion, it would hardly be a practical idea. Just another minute or two, Genie.”
The joints parted. Below, Case battled on. Chester pried the rattan aside, held the bars apart as Genie slipped through. She climbed up, reached the rope, shinnied up it easily. Chester followed.
Above him Genie gasped and pointed. Chester turned in time to see Case duck under a mighty haymaker, come up under his huge opponent and spill him off his feet. As the lumbering savage struggled up with a roar, Case caught him on the point of the jaw with a tremendous clout, knocking him flat again. The bigger man shook his head, stumbled to his feet and charged. Case threw himself against the oncoming behemoth’s knees. Chester winced as the immense figure dived headlong over Case’s crouched figure and smashed into the packed earth, face first. When the dust settled Case was on his feet, breathing hard; the giant lay like a felled tree.
“Unfortunate timing,” muttered Chester. “He should have held their attention for another five minutes.”
“They’re sure to notice us now,” Genie whispered, flattening her slender length against the rough bark.
“Don’t move,” Chester breathed. “We’ll wait and see what happens next.”
The crowd, standing mute with astonishment, suddenly whooped, surged in to clap Case on the back, prod the fallen champion, dance about jabbering excitedly. Chester saw Case shoot a quick glance toward the cages, then stoop suddenly, come up with two large, smooth stones. The crowd grew still, drawing back. One or two unlimbered spears. Case raised his hand for silence, then casually tossed one of the stones up, transferred the other to his right hand in time to catch the first with his left, tossed up the second stone . . .
“That’s the idea,” Chester whispered. “Good old Case. He’ll entrance them with his juggling routine. Let’s go, Genie.”
They clambered silently to the ground. Chester looked back to see Case snatch up a third stone, add it to the act. The natives watched, mouths open. In the shelter of a giant tree bole Chester and Genie paused for an instant, then stole away from the clearing, found a rough trail among the trees, broke into a run. Behind them the cheers of the savages rose, growing fainter now, fading in the distance.
“In the clear,” Chester gasped, pulling level with Genie. “Now all we have to do is search a few hundred square miles of woods until we find the rug and the chairs.”
“That’s all right, Chester,” said Genie, running lightly at his side. “I think I know the way.”
“Well,” Chester puffed, “let’s just hope that when we get there the computer is still waiting with its meter ticking.”
4
Chester staggered the last few yards across the grassy slope to the rug and sank down in one of the yellow chairs. “Next time I go for a romp in the woods” he said, groaning, “I’m going to be wearing a good grade of boots; these melon-slicers are killing me.”
“I see no signs of pursuit,” said Genie. “Mr. Mulvihill is apparently still holding their attention successfully.”
“Hold it, Genie.” Chester pointed. “There’s smoke rising from back there. You don’t suppose . . . ?”
Genie looked concerned. “I don’t think they’ve had time to start roasting Mr. Mulvihill—yet.”
“Good Lord, Genie. You think—maybe . . . ?”
“It isn’t impossible, judging from what I observed of the cultural pattern.”
Chester got to his feet. “We have to go back, Genie. Maybe we can surprise them.”
“As you wish, Chester. But I’m afraid we would accomplish nothing. Neither of us is sufficiently robust to overcome an antagonist by force.”
Chester’s shoulders slumped. “I’ve always led such a . . . civilized life. I never thought I’d have any occasion for muscles.”
“We’d better go on, Chester. We’ll obtain arms and hurry back.”
“I suppose that’s all we can do. Poor Case—he’s probably broiling alive. He sacrificed himself for us. For heaven’s sake, hurry. Genie! You are in contact, I hope?”
Genie considered, then smiled doubtfully. “Yes, I think so. I’ll try. Stand close to me, Chester.”
He gripped her hand. The sunny scene faded, to be replaced by a wide expanse of black macadam: a city street. All around, tall buildings struck upward out of shadow into high sunlight. A rumbling machine swerved past on the left. Two smaller ones, snorting, veered by on the right in a howl of brakes. An immense truck bore down, air brakes hissing, ground to a halt, towering over the brocaded chairs with its front tires resting on the fringed edge of the rug. Behind the dusty windshield, the drive yelled and shook his fist. The shout was drowned in a torrent of horns, voices, engines. Chester leaped up for the sidewalk, pulling Genie with him.
“Something’s wrong!” he gasped. “Where are we, Genie?”
“I don’t know; there’s some sort of imbalance in the co-ordinates, Chester. Maybe it’s because Mr. Mulvihill was left behind.”
A stout man with an open vest over a soiled shirt discarded a toothpick and stepped from a doorway under three tarnished brass spheres.
“Hey, sister, ain’t you forgot something?” He leered as he lowered his eyes to ankle level and came up slowly. A man behind him jostled him aside.
“Hiya, babe,” he said breezily. “A broad like you and me could get along, kiddo. You’re kinda skinny, but Benny likes ’em thataway.”
Chester stepped forward. “You don’t understand. We’re involved in an experimental . . . ” Benny glanced at him, rammed stiff fingers into his sternum. “Get lost, punk.” Chester doubled over, gasping. The crowd ringing the tableau separated as a wide figure in a pink uniform and a chrome-plated helmet pushed through, nightstick twirling. He looked Genie over, reached for her arm.