“Of course. They’re on the way.”
A half an hour later a small package drifted down from the sky hanging from a gray-lifter-which zipped up and vanished as soon as the package had been removed. I popped the end open and shook out a handful of false fingernails. I popped my eyes at these-then remembered how Steengo had been buffing his own fingernails when he told me about MIPSC.
“Tricky,” I said.
“High tech and perfect concealment,” he said. “There should be glue in the package. They come in pairs. The one marked E goes onto the index finger, left hand. M glued to the pinkie of the same hand. Inside the nails are holographed circuitry so they can be trimmed as small as needed to fit. Without damaging the circuits in any way.”
“E? M?” Floyd asked.
“Earplugs and microphone.”
“Then what?” I asked, almost humbly, dazed by the sudden appearance of a communications wizard in our midst.
“They are powered by the destruction of the phagocytes that come to eat them where they touch the cuticle. Which means that the power is always on. Anytime you are outside or in a building with thin floors-your signal zips up to the satellite and back down to the other receiver. Simple. Just put your index finger into your ear and talk into the microphone on your pinkie.”
I measured a pair, trimmed and glued with, I must admit, a certain amount of trepidation. Stuck my finger into my ear and said, “I hope it works.”
“Of course it does,” Tremearne said, speaking through my fingernail instead of my jaw for a change.
While we had been installing the MIPSCs we had been going over and over all of the possibilities, had returned always to the only viable plan.
“Let’s do it,” Madonette said, admiring her new communicating fingernails. She put on her pack, shrugged it into comfortable position, then turned and walked off on her side of the barrier. With each step the wall grew higher, until, very quickly, it was as high as her head, then higher. After a last wave of her hand she vanished from sight.
“Keep in touch,” I said into my pinkie. “Regular reports and sing out if you see anything-anything at all.”
“Just as you say, boss.”
We slipped on our packs and started walking. By the time an hour had passed the wall was high and unscalable. Though I stayed in radio contact with her, Madonette was now completely alone. I kept telling myself that armed help could zip down from the orbiting spacer if needed. This did not make me feel much better.
“First tilled fields coming up,” Floyd said. “And more than that, That dust cloud next to the wall-it’s coming our way.”
“Weapons ready-and I have some concussion grenades handy if things get hairy.”
We stopped and waited and watched. In the distance it looked like a horse that was trotting towards us.
“Horse-but no rider,” I said.
Steengo had the keener vision. “Looks like no horse I ever saw before. Not one with six legs.”
It slowed to a stop and looked at us. We returned the favor. A robot, metal. Jointed legs and in the front a pair of tentacle-like arms to boot. No head to speak of, just a couple of eyes that rose up on a stalk. A loudspeaker between its arms rustled and squawked metallically.
“Bonan tagon-kaj bonvenu al Paradizo.”
“And a good day to you as well,” I said. “My name is Jim.”
“A masculine surname, most agreeable. I am called Hingst and it is my pleasure to greet you-”
The creature’s words were drowned out by a throbbing roar and a cloud of black smoke emerged from its rear. We stepped back, weapons ready. Hingst’s flexible arms lifted straight up.
“I wish you only peace, oh strangers. You would not know it, since you are untutored in science, but the sound and fumes are merely the exhaust of my alcohol engine. Which is rapidly turning a generator which in turn . . .”
“Charges up your batteries. We know a thing or two as well, Hingst, greeter of strangers to Paradise, and we are not your usual goaty nomads.”