"Is this the end?" Bill croaked as the green ground rushed up towards them.
"Fighting Devils die laughing — with a song on their loudspeakers! Yo-ho Tee-tee Ho-Ho!"
"Kiss me, hearty, Bill!"
With an incredible crunching and snapping the dragon crashed into the jungle, because that was what the green stuff was. Great boughs broke under its weight, thick vines stretched and snapped. Down and down, slower and slower it fell through the verdant vegetation that gave way, bit by bit, and slowed their descent. Until, with one last snap of one last giant liana, they dropped softly into the field of tall grass below.
"That was nice," Meta said, stepping gently down from the dragon's back onto terra firma. The others joined her and they all looked with sympathy at the dragon who was gloomily poking at the remains of the severed wing with one claw.
"Not easy to...gulp...fly with one wing," it whimpered with self-pity and a black, oily tear formed at the corner of one eye and rolled down to splash onto the ground.
"Take it easy, old hoss," Mark I said with sadistic sympathy, extruding a large-bore cannon. "The end of a wild dragon is always a tragedy. Close your eyes, you won't feel a thing. Saving us was a far, far better thing you did than you have ever done. The rest you go to now is a far, far better rest than..."
"Just put that shooter away, you unctuous metal bastard!" the dragon shouted, rearing back. "You're too quick on the draw." It began to eat the broken wing, glaring down at Mark I as it did. "I can grow a new one in a couple of weeks. Meanwhile I'm grounded."
"And so are we," Meta said, looking around at the verdant foliage. "At least this stuff looks a lot more homey than all that sand, coal, metal and oil..."
"Eeek!" the Fighting Devil eeked as it shivered and withdrew a test prod from a broken tree branch. "This is terrible. All this soft, gundgy stuff contains water! This is a poison plateau! We will rust, corrode, die in agony —"
"Oh shut up," the dragon suggested disgustedly, biting off a chunk of wood and swallowing it. "This stuff burns great. Just keep your extremities well oiled and watch where you sit down."
Bill's stomach growled and he nodded in agreement with it. "If we are going to be here a couple of weeks we are going to have to find food and water."
"All this repellent soft stuff contains water," Mark I said kicking the grass and shuddering. "If you eat that —"
"When I want dietary advice from a metal moron I'll ask for it," Meta said, turning on her heel. "Come on, Bill, we'll go find something. Fruits, vegetables —"
"You'll find the nasties who shot us down," the Fighting Devil said spitefully. "We metal morons will just stay here, vegetating, while you swan about through all that filthy muck. And don't hurry back."
Meta stuck her tongue out at it, took Bill by the arm and started down what looked like a path.
"That Fighting Devil is right," he said gloomily. "Who knows what hideous horrors lurk behind the jungle wall."
"You got your blaster — so blast them," Meta said with great practicality.
"The Chingers took it away. What about yours?"
"The same. Wait here, I got an idea."
She went back down the path while Bill listened to the noises of the jungle and chewed his fingernails. He was on his last pinky nail when she returned and handed him a strange looking weapon.
"I was right. That Fighting Devil is so loaded with artillery that it could break off a couple and not miss them. That's a lightning-bolt hurler you got there. Just aim and press the red button on top."
"Nice," he said, blowing the top off of an innocent tree. "What do you have?"
"Gravity beam. It trebles the mass of anything you shoot. Immobilizes it until the charge wears off."
"That's heavy stuff. We are going to be OK."
"Well if the truth be known, you are not," the red man said stepping out of the undergrowth, pointing a long and ugly weapon at them. "I would be truly obliged if you'all would hand over the hardware thus guaranteeing your safety. You have my word, as a southern gentleman, that you won't get hurt."
Meta would not give up without a struggle. She jumped aside and aimed her weapon — and found the point of a sword pinking her lightly in the throat.
"One twitch of your delicate pink trigger-finger, Ma'am, and you have bought the farm. Drop it."
The gun in his other hand was still pointing steadily at Bill. They had no choice. As soon as he had kicked their weapons aside the red man slipped his sword back into its sling, lowered his weapon and bowed politely.
"Welcome to Barthroom," he said in a soft southern accent. "Strangers are not welcome here, so may ah compliment you on your very good luck that you encountered me upon yore arrival. Mah name is Major Jonkarta late of the Confederate Forces, and ah claim Virginia as my home. And though I may resemble a native of this world — I am not. I came from a distant planet. I was pursued by aborigines; I sought refuge in a cave where ah fell asleep. There was witchcraft there, ah do believe, my spirit left my body, came here..."
"Whatever you have been smoking has got a real kick to it," Meta said. "The galaxy is full of psychos with identity problems, mothers impregnated by gods, changelings, noble infants stolen at birth..."
"What are you — a shrink or something?" Jonkarta pouted — then beamed with pleasure. "But mah dear, if you really are a specialist in problems of adjustment, Doctor, I have been having these awfully strange dreams..."
"My name is Engine Mate First Class Meta Tarsil. Meta to my friends — and you can be one too if you knock off the mystic crap."
"Why you just consider it done, Meta honey! Ah just love your strength..."
"Do I get to talk too? I'm Second Lieutenant Bill of the Space Troopers."
"How very nice for you, military rank and everything. Well, welcome you all."
Introductions out of the way they had a chance to examine each other. Jonkarta examined Meta — who was far better to look at than Bill who was getting decidedly scruffy. Meta thought so too and found herself growing more and more interested in the newcomer. He was tall and broad shouldered, with plenty of red skin showing because of the clothes he was not wearing. No clothes at all, but wore instead a harness, sort of a modified horse's harness with buckles, jewels, daggers and things hanging from it. The only clothes, per se, that he wore was a kinky riveted mini athletic supporter. Well filled she noted, eyes glowing. Leather boots, rippling muscles, smart swagger, he was really something to write home to mother about. Though she wouldn't do that because mother might want one too.
"So — when all the eyeballing is done, you get to tell me what you are doing here," Jonkarta said.
"We were shot down," Bill said. "Did you have anything to do with that?"
"You ain't just whistling Dixie, pardner. Ah did it with mah own little radium rifle. This here plateau is more than a little short of raw materials so any time one of those machines flap over we just blast it. Use the metal to make swords, guns, knives, bombs, you know the sort of thing."
"We sure do," Meta said. "But don't you have any metal left over for cheese-graters, colanders, tubas or baby rattles?"
"Ah admire your quickness of mind, Meta honey. You sure can't make war with colanders."
"You wouldn't mind telling us, Rusty, who — what, or which — you are at war with?"
"Why it's ma pleasure. There are two intelligent species that inhabit this plateau. One more intelligent than the other, it goes without saying. There are the red men of Barthroom, and the revolting, hideous and very smelly green men of Barthroom. These repugnant critters can be easily identified, even in the dark, not only by their smell but because they have four arms. And tusks just like you, Bill. Which makes me slightly suspicious."
"Count the arms!" Bill said angrily. "Anyway, four arms and green, that's just like the Chingers. Maybe they are related."
"Might ah inquire — who are these Chingers?"
"The enemy we are at war with."
"War? My, my. Now don't you
tell me that you fight them with baby rattles and colanders?" He winked at Meta when he said this. She sniffed.
"So we got a war too. Doesn't mean we have to like it."
"Well ah shore like mine. Ah come from a long line of fighting men..."
"Listen," Bill said, raising his voice to be heard over the loud borborygmus of his empty stomach. "It has been a very long time since we ate last. Could we have this chat over dinner — if you know where we can find dinner."
"No problem. Food aplenty — as soon as you enlist."
"There's always a catch."
"Not in this one. Here, look at this nice cut of meat." He unclipped a leather bag from his harness and from it took a smoked thoat ham. "Might ah suggest a short service commission. Just one foray and you get an honorable discharge. And it's a mission of mercy as well."
"I just joined," Meta said as she grabbed for the meat. "Gimme."
"Me too!"
Jonkarta stepped back as they reached for the ham, half drawing his sword. "Just a moment longer, ah beg of you. The oath first. Place your right hand over your heart — you do have hearts? Good. And repeat after me. Ah swear by Great Embollizm, ruler of the sun and the stars, overseer of Barthroom, protector of the red men, enemy of the green men, sure death on the white apes, giver of gifts, protector of all, that ah will be loyal to Jonkarta of Barthroom, and all who serve under him, will obey all orders and shower at least once a week."
They repeated, choking on the saliva that filled their mouths as they smelled the succulent thoat flesh, then eagerly grabbed the chunks he hacked off with his sword.
"Mighty fine vittles, is it not? Smoked it myself. And while you munch I'll tell you what we must do. It seems that Princess Dejah Vue, whom ah am passionately in love with, was returning from the air plant, where all the air on this planet is made, when her party was attacked by a marauding war party of cruel green men led by the cruelest of all. Tars Tookus. Her companions were all butchered horribly, her riding thoat was killed — you just ate part of it, ah didn't want it to go to waste — and she was abducted by Tars Tookus and his repellent horde."
"Were you there?" Bill asks miffedly.
"No. To mah everlastin' regret ah arrived on the scene too late — or none of those fiends would have survived. I read all that transpired in their tracks in the trackless moss for ah am a mighty hunter and tracker. No other could find a trail in the moss. I alone, trained by Apache warriors..."
"Could we save the ego-trip until later?" Meta implored.
"You are correct, Ma'am, ah do apologize. Where was I?"
"Tracking the green girl-grabbers across the trackless wastes."
"Yes, of course. I could not attack their encampment singlehandly, so I was returning to the city of Methane for reinforcements when ah heard your voices. By enlisting your aid I will save many days march and we can take them by surprise."
Meta swallowed the last morsel and wiped her hands on the tall grass. "Got anything to wash that down with?"
"Of a certainty, Ma'am." He handed her his leathern drinking bottle and she glugged deeply. "That is kvetch, made from fermented thoat's milk."
"Tastes like it too," she yekked, spitting out lumps of it. "How many of these greenies do we have to fight?"
"One, two, more. Ah'm not so good at mah numbers. Just killing."
"One or two, OK," Bill said, gagging on the kvetch. "We can handle that. If it is going to be a big number, like more, we are going to need help. You better enlist our friend back there, Mark I Fighting Devil."
"That is rightly an ugly and dangerous critter, that is why ah did not approach. Is it your metal slave?"
"Hardly. But it will obey orders. Wait here and I'll bring it back."
The dragon, which had polished off all the broken branches and was contentedly puffing green smoke, was now working on the hanging vines; a length of one hung like spaghetti from its mouth. It waved a languid paw at Bill and pulled down another vine.
Fighting Devil was not enjoying its stay quite as well. It sat on a dry rock with its legs tucked up under it.
"Got some work for you," Bill said, but it never moved.
"Is it dead?" Bill asked the dragon.
"Not quite. Got its power shut down to save its batteries."
"That's great. How do I get to talk to it then?"
"Seems pretty obvious. Use the phone."
Bill walked around the rock and saw that there was a metal box on its back with strange and cabalistic characters stamped on it.
"Is this it? Looks like AT&T."
"You got it in one."
Bill broke his last remaining nail prying the box open. He took out the handset and spoke into it.
"Hello — anyone home?" It crackled and rustled in his ear.
"This is a recorded message. The Fighting Devil is powered down right now. If you would like to leave a message it will get back to you as soon as possible..."
"Show some life, will you. We got work to do." But the response was only silence. Bill cursed and put the phone back on the hook, slammed the box shut. Then he saw that the open lid had concealed a red button labeled FOR EMERGENCY USE ONLY.
"That's more like it," he said and pressed hard.
The results were quite dramatic. The Fighting Devil's legs punched down hard and shot the creature high into the air. As it fell sheets of raw energy crackled lambently, shells burst in the surrounding forest, while a siren hooted insanely.
Bill dived behind the dragon as bullets clanged off its metal hide.
"I tried to warn you," the dragon said. "But you were so impetuous."
"What's the emergency?" Fighting Devil shouted, spinning its optics in all directions.
"There's no emergency," Bill said, hesitantly leaving cover. "I wanted to talk to you..."
"That's what the phone is for. It is a violation to press the emergency button if there is no..."
"Will you please shut up and listen! We've got a little job to do."
"Since when? All I have to do is sit on my can for a couple of weeks while the dragon regenerates its wing. How is it going?"
Fighting Devil extended a pickup towards the dragon who pointed with a claw at a metal bulge on its side. "Going great."
Bill was getting angry. "Listen here, Fighting Devil, it's time to live up to your name. We got more to do than sit around and watch the dragon's wing grow. There's a war going on out there."
"You're welcome to it. Powering down now. All systems gone. Ten...nine..."
"Hold it! You were ordered to take orders from me!"
"No way, squishy one. I was ordered by the great Zots to rescue the other squishy and bring you both back alive. That's the limit of my responsibility. Night-night..."
"No! Hold it right there. You've got to bring us back, right? And we have to wait here for two weeks. But if Meta and I don't eat we'll die. Now we have made a deal for food in exchange for a little bit of fighting. But we need your help, get that? So you have to come with us."
"Impeccable chain of logic I would say," the dragon said. "I'll be here when you get back."
You could hear the wheels spinning as Mark I tried to think of a way out of this one. There was no escape. Lights came on and motors hummed as it switched back to full power.
"Well," it said, with philosophic resignation. "It's better for a Fighting Devil to fight than to estivate — so let's get on with the job. Where's the war?"
CHAPTER 13
Jonkarta was very suspicious of Bill's companion. He stood behind Meta, sword in one hand, his weapon in the other.
"Don't come any closer, hear!" he ordered. "This here rifle fires radium bullets that will go right through your tin friend."
Meta shied away from him. "Are you crazy or something? Radium? You must glow in the dark — and have the life expectancy of a gerbil!"
"Ah admit that the new radium bullets do glow in the dark — and explode in the dark as well. So beware! The old ones, fired at night, did not explode until t
he sun's rays struck them next day. But no more. Can you trust that creature?"
"It obeys orders — and that's enough. Now put that gun down. And stay as far away from us as possible."
"If this metal critter is to join the cause it must take an oath of allegiance..."
"Never!" Fighting Devil boomed out in a brazen voice. "Loyalty cannot be subdivided and I have sworn an oath in oil to golden Zots, my liege lord. But I will follow and I will obey instructions in order to keep my ward, this squishy one here, alive — so you are going to have to settle for that, bud."
"Ah'm not sure..."
"Well I am," Bill said, tired of the entire stupid argument. "And this thing is not human in any case, it's just a machine..."
"I am not just a machine'!" Fighting Devil grated.
"Hold it there!" Meta shouted, but no one was listening. "There's one way to settle this," she muttered, raised her weapon and shot all three of them.
The shouting ended at once. Bill and Jonkarta instantly fell to the ground, dragged down by the three gravities projected by the gun. Even Fighting Devil ground its gears helplessly. Meta sat on a fallen log and hummed to herself as she wove a circlet of wild flowers. As the charge wore off they began to stir and moan. She patted the flowers into place on her head, stood and stretched.
"Now that the argument is over — can we maybe get this war over with as well?"
"We march," Jonkarta ordered, pouting slightly at being put down by a mere woman. "You will find their encampment just one day's journey from here, at the edge of the long-dead city of Mercaptan. We will take up our positions in darkness. The battle will be joined at dawn."
"You're the boss," Meta said. "Lead on. And could I have another slug of that fermented thoat's milk, just for the road."
Jonkarta knew every path and trail in the jungle and on the mossy plain and went silently on little cat's feet. (He had killed the little cat and skinned it and used its feet to make soles for his moccasins. An old Barthroomian custom that brings good luck. But not to the cat.) Unknown dangers lurked here, but as soon as they made themselves known they were blasted by Fighting Devil who was now enjoying itself. Very quickly fragments of giant python, wolverine-possum, as well as bits of the hideous latke-eater, littered the ground. Jonkarta was more relaxed now, seeing that the newcomers really were fighting on his side.
On the Planet of Robot Slaves Page 10