“Who are them?”
“Your guess is as good as mine . . .”
“Yarf!” our dogbot said, yarfing through a muzzle covered with dirt. “There is a fiber-optic cable going into the ground, obviously controlling this turret.”
“Going down to the caverns. So, the next question-how do we get in . . .”
“Jim,” my jaw said. “There is an interesting development taking place about three clicks away from you, in the same direction you have been walking. We’ve got image amplifiers on the electronic telescopes so we can see quite clearly . . .”
“What can you see quite clearly?”
“A group of armed men has emerged from some kind of opening in the ground. They appear to be dragging along one of their number who is bound. Now they are erecting a metal post of some kind. There is a struggle going on-apparently they are securing the bound man to the post.”
Memories of a thousand ancient flicks flooded my forebrain. “Stop them? It could be an execution-death by firing squad. Do something!”
“Negative. We are in orbit. Short of launching an explosive torpedo, which is contraindicated at this time, there is nothing we can facilitate that will get there inside fifteen minutes at the very quickest.”
“Forget it! ” I was digging into my pack as I whistled to the houndbot. “Fido? Catch!”
It jumped high and grabbed the gas bomb out of the air. “Go. Thataway. You heard the message-get to those guys and bite hard on that thing.”
My last words were shouted in the direction of the tail that was vanishing among the shrubs. We grabbed up our packs and followed. Floyd easily outdistanced me and by the time I got to the scene, staggering and panting, it was all ancient history. Our faithful friend was barking and, foreleg lifted and tail outstretched, was pointing at the sprawled bodies.
“Well done, man’s best friend,” I said, and easily resisted the impulse to pat its plastic fur.
“For the record,” I said for the benefit of my radio. “All males, all armed with shoulder weapons of some kind. There are twelve of them wearing camouflage uniforms. Thirteenth man-surely an unlucky number-tied to the post. No shirt.”
“Is he inured?”
“Negative.” I could feel a steady pulse in his neck. “We made it in time. Interesting, he’s young, younger than the rest. What next?”
“Decision made by the strategic planning computer. Take all weapons. Take the prisoner and remove him to a safe distance, then interrogate. ”
I sniffed disdainfully as I unknotted the cords on the man’s wrists. “Don’t need a strategic planning computer to figure that one out.”
Floyd caught him as he slumped free, threw him over his shoulder. I grabbed up the packs and pointed. “Let’s get to that gully and out of sight.”
The bomb that the ersatz hound had exploded was a quick in-and-out gas. One breath and you were asleep. For about twenty minutes. Which was all the time that we needed to hump our loads through the mud of the rain-eroded gully until we found a dry spot under an overhanging bank. Our prisoner -guest?-began to roll his head and mutter. Floyd and I, and our mascot, sat down to watch and wait. It wasn’t long. He muttered something, opened his eyes and saw us. Sat half up and looked very frightened.
“Fremzhduloj!” he said. “Amizhko mizh.”
“Sounds like really bad Esperanto,” Floyd said.
“Just what you would expect if he and his kinfolk have been cut off from any outside contact for hundreds of years. Talk slow and he’ll understand us.”
I turned to him and raised my hands palms out in what I hoped was a universal sign of peace. “We’re strangers, like you said. But what else did you say? Sounded like `my friends’?”
“Friends, yes, friends!” he said, nodding like crazy, then shied away when Fido began barking.
“Aida, please. Will you shut your plastic poodle up. He’s frightening our guest.”
The thing stopped barking and spoke. “Just want to report that I am in contact with the watchers above. They report that the others who were rendered unconscious by the gas have regained consciousness and have retreated.”