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Chapter 23
I took another sip of water, wished that it was a stronger liquid. Was glad that it wasn’t since a clear head was an important asset at this time.
“How old did you say these guns are?” I asked. There was no answer because our fake dog was digging away like a real dog throwing dirt behind it at a great rate. Burrowing down under the gun turret.
“Five hundred years old,” Floyd said. “How can that be? Why use something that old?”
“You use it if that is all that you have. There is a mystery here that we are about to solve. Remember the ancient explosive that blew up the lab? It was also antique. So consider this. What if this planet had been settled before they started dumping societal debris on it? What if there were settlers here-only they were hidden away underground? It’s a possibility. And if it is true, then it has been five centuries since they arrived. That’s how long these mysterious migrants have been hiding away up here. Or down here, really. They must have been settled well before the League ever found this planet. That’s why there is no record of them.”
“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 pla
I sniffed disdainfully as I unknotted the cords on the man’s wrists. “Don’t need a strategic pla
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.”
“Great. Just file everything and report later.” I turned back to our guest-who looked very impressed by the talking-dog sequence. “Well, friend. My name is Jim and this is Floyd. The furry fake is Fido. You have a name.”
“I am called Dreadnought, son of Impervious.”
“A pleasure to meet you. Now-can you tell us why you were about to be wasted by that firing squad?”
“Disobeyment of orders. I was on Watch. Saw your group approaching. I fired the Watchturret at you-but do not yourselves anger! I aimed to miss. To fire demands permission of Watch Commander. That is why I was to be executed. I sought not his permission.”
“Accidents happen.”
“No accident. Fired because of orders.”
“Are you following this?” Floyd asked.
“Not too well. Tell us, Dreadnought, who gave the order to fire if it wasn’t the Watch Commander?”
“We all decided together.”
“Who is we?”
“I can not tell you.”
“Understandable. Loyalty to your friends.” I clapped him on the back in a friendly ma
I dug through my pack and took advantage of the opportunity for a muttered conversation with my jawphone.
“Any ideas? From you – or your indispensable strategic pla
“Yes. If he won’t talk to you perhaps the associates he referred to might be more communicative. Try to arrange a meeting.
“Right.” I went back with the shirt. “Here, Dreadnought, get out of the cold.” He stood up and put it on. “Good. Now I’ve been thinking. I don’t want you to tell me things that you are not supposed to. But maybe your friends, the ones you just told us about, maybe they can let us know what is going down. Can we meet them?”
He bit his lip and shook his head.
“No? Well let’s try something else. Can you get back to your friends? Tell them about us. Talk about it. Find out if someone is prepared to tell us just what is happening. Okay?”
He looked from me to Floyd, even down at Fido who wagged its tail, before he made his mind up.
“Come with me.”
He was young and strong and trotted along at a mean trot. Floyd and the mechanical mutt kept up fine but my aches and pains were coming back. I trailed behind and was going to call a halt when Dreadnought stopped at the edge of a grove of polpettone trees.
“Wait this place,” he said when I had puffed and blown up to them. He twisted away among the trees. He didn’t notice that Fido, legs folded, tail and head retracted, had slipped silently after him in the guise of a black floormop. The cessation of physical activity was welcome-as was the instant-heating meal I dug out of my pack. One porcuswine burger with gravy. Floyd popped his mealpak as well and we were licking the last drops of yummy from our fingers when the shadowlike mop reappeared. Legs, tail and head popped out and it barked. I scowled at it.