and spilled back through the enormous portal at the valley’s head into the
very bowels of the mountain. And over it all, perched on a reviewing stand
carved out of living rock, was their creator.
Looking them over, Craig reflected he had come a long way since those
first crude robots.
Now for the test. He had marked off hundreds of square miles of desert
south of the castle for a proving ground. There he would pit his creations
against each other to test his tactics and designs. When the battles for
the control of the new world began he wanted his armies to be perfect.
Flanked by his robot servants, Craig shifted in his elaborately carved
chair. The other chair on the platform was empty. Mikey had sent word at
the last minute that he would be too busy to watch the show.
As if he’s done anything since we got here, Craig thought. Aside from a
few robots he had whipped up for his own use, Mikey had never touched his
engineering workstation. Craig seldom saw him anymore and he palmed him
off with vague explanations when he tried to ask about his work.
Even if he was busy, he could have taken a couple of hours to see at least
part of the parade, Craig thought. He realized that part of it was
disappointment. He was sure Mikey would be impressed when he saw the
super-weapons he had whipped up. But no, he’s too busy even to come to the
damn parade.
Well, it didn’t matter. He’d created all this and now he’d work out the
winning tactics on the game board of the desert. When the time came Mikey
would be plenty impressed with how his armies performed in battle. That
was really all that mattered.
He turned to the robot to his right. “Move out,” he commanded.
The valley filled with the ear-splitting noise of ten thousand engines
starting up. Clouds of dust roiled over the scene as Craig’s army began to
move.
On wheels, on tracks, on legs and on cushions of air, the forces Craig had
fashioned out of magic and engineering began to pass by their creator in
review. In spite of the noise, the choking dust and the diesel and
gasoline fumes, Craig hung over the balcony rail and watched entranced for
hours.
Thirty-one: PICNIC ON PARADISE
Karin was as good as her word. They were breaking camp at dawn and by the
time the sun was full up they were back in the forest. By mid-day they had
found another camp site. The hillside Karin chose was not far from the
plain and its plentiful supply of dragon fodder, but the trees were tall
and broad enough to provide cover even for a dragon. There was a rock
outcropping with an overhang that would shield their fires from prying
eyes and could serve as a lookout spot as well. At the foot of the hill a
small stream wound through the forest.
By the time they had returned to their old camp site and brought their
goods to the new spot, it was late in the afternoon. This time Karin
insisted on gathering the firewood and she brought in several armloads of
dead branches.
“The wood is neither green nor rotten,” she explained as she threw down
the third load. “It makes almost no smoke.”
Dinner that night was a stew of dried meat, grain and dried fruit, all
from Karin’s rations. Tomorrow they could explore and see what kinds of
food they could find in the forest. For tonight it was easier to eat what
they had.
“So tell me about dragon riding,” Gilligan said as they scraped the last
of the stew out of their bowls.
“It is much the same everywhere, is it not?”
Gilligan shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. We fly airplanes, not dragons.”
Karin looked at him strangely.
“Machines,” Gilligan explained. “Non-living flying things.”
“I see,” Karin said slowly and then seemed to gather herself. “Well, it
takes several years to become a flier. You must bond with your dragon, of
course. Then you must learn how to maneuver, how to fly in formation and
combat tactics.”