"Ho-ho-ho!" the loudspeakers thundered.
"Just what the bowb is going on here?" Praktis asked, staring in amazement at the display.
"A fake is going on here," Cy said. "The Great God Mars is just a bag of electronic tricks. But who is pressing the buttons?"
Bill pointed to a curtained alcove to the rear of the temple and they all smiled wickedly, drew their swords, and tiptoed over to it.
"Ready?" Bill whispered and they nodded viciously. "Then — here goes!"
The dark curtain was on tracks just like a shower curtain. In fact it was a shower curtain Bill realized as he whisked it aside. They stared — and their swords slowly dropped to their sides.
Because inside the curtain was an instrument console with dials, a TV screen, and projecting brass levers. "Ho-ho-ho!" the little bald-headed man said into the microphone and behind them "Ho-ho-ho!" boomed the amplified voice of Mars.
"We have a little of the old Ho-ho-ho for you as well," Bill said.
"Be with you in a moment," the man muttered, feverishly working the levers. "Damned smoke generator won't extinguish...Arrrrgh!"
He arrrrghed! in shocked horror as he suddenly realized he was no longer alone. He spun about, fell back against the console, bulged his eyes, gasped with shock and clutched his chest.
"Who..." he gurgled, "are you?"
"That's funny, Pops," Praktis said. "We were just going to ask you the same question."
"You brutes," Meta said, brushing past them and taking the old man by the arm. "Can't you see how awful he looks? Do you want to give him a heart attack? There, there, take it easy." She pulled over the wooden chair that stood beside the console and eased him into it. "Sit down. No one's going to hurt you."
"That's arguable," Merlin said, striding forward, sword raised. "If he's the voice of Mars he's the sod who has been causing all the trouble for Avalon!"
Bill reached out and pinched Merlin's funny-bone. He squawked loudly and the sword dropped from his numbed fingers. "Let's get some answers to some questions first, before the swords start swishing," he said, then turned to the man in the chair. "Explain. Who are you — and what are you doing here?"
"It had to come some day, that was certain," the man muttered. "In a way — I'm glad it's over with at last. Climbing those steps was killing me." He raised moist eyes to Meta. "On top of the console, my dear, if you don't mind. Brandy. Just a bit in the glass."
As he sipped the color returned to his face. Then he had a moment's reprieve before he faced his captors again because the captors were passing the bottle from hand to hand and gurgling it down. By the time it got to Merlin there was about a single shot left; he scowled and drained it, hurled the bottle aside.
"Explain, varlet!"
"The name is not Varlet. I am the wizard of Zog."
"Aye, bach, and I'm the wizard of Avalon. Get on with it."
"It's a long, long story."
"We've got all the time in the world. Speak!"
He spoke:
THE WIZARD OF ZOG'S TALE
It all goes back a long, long time. Centuries at least. I found the log book, but the entries were all very old. And what with no calendar here, no change of seasons worth mentioning, it's hard to keep track of time. But I managed to piece the story together, from what my father told me and what I read in the log book of the spaceship. An immigrant ship I gather, the SS Zog, carrying settlers to a distant world. There was trouble aboard, the details are not clear, some tragedy. Perhaps there was a mutiny, or the beer ran out, or the toilets exploded, perhaps all of them. There are dark hints of strange events. In any case, the Zog was diverted and landed on this planet. Was destined never to leave. And, as you see, the settlers remain here to this day.
There was trouble from the very first. The ship's captain was named Gibbons and I am descended from him for I am named Gibbons as well. The captain wanted to organize the settlers in his own way, but the first mate, an evil chap named Mallory, wouldn't go along with it. He had his own ideas how a civilized society should be organized. He took his followers and left, marched to the far side of the plateau and founded Avalon.
My grandfather was glad to see them go, for that is written in the log. Medieval rubbish he called their culture, very inferior to the Glories that were Rome. His followers settled on this end of the plateau and thrived in the salubrious climate. There is also something written in the log, scarcely legible now, about a third group that were traveling steerage. They would have nothing to do with either group and marched off to the Barthroomian plateau and have not been heard of since.
And that's the way it has been down through the centuries. Captain Gibbons knew that the trappings of science and technology were not needed for a simple agrarian society so he withdrew here to oversee his charges. The Temple of Mars was built, all of the equipment secretly installed, and so has it been down through the ages. The Roman Legions do their thing, Arthur and his Avalonians do theirs — and a watchful Mars watches and keeps order.
There was silence after Zog Gibbons had finished speaking, as they digested his words — and the brandy. It was Merlin who spoke first.
"I appreciate the history lesson. But don't appreciate in the slightest your keeping the war going. Why?"
"Why? You have to ask why?"
"Yes," they all chorused. Zog started to rise from the chair but was pressed back. There was no escape. He sighed heavily, and spoke.
"Survival I suppose, and the easy life. And playing god. It is heady stuff to throw thunderbolts and order everyone around. It beats working for a living. The sacrifices include the best wine, roast rack of lamb, honey-dipped mice, everything. I like that. I also like keeping the war going. If I didn't someone would catch wise as to what was happening. There would be peace and prosperity for all. And progress. Oh how I hate that word! Progress was what caused all of mankind's problems. My ancestor, Captain Gibbons was firm on that. I have read his writings and agree with every word. With progress comes politicians, graduated income tax, advertising agencies, fem lib, pollution, all the things that make modern life so hideous. Better the Golden Age of Rome. No decline and fall here!"
"I'm beginning to think that this guy is crackers," Praktis said.
"Don't knock it — it's a good scam," Cy said, then pointed to a thick cable that ran along the wall. "This your electricity supply?"
Zog nodded. "And mighty precious it is too, although the voltage drops slowly all of the time. It will take me a month to recharge the batteries after shooting off those two thunderbolts. All your fault, meddling in other peoples' affairs."
"Before we get too maudlin," Merlin growled, "let us kindly remember who is the master meddler in other peoples' affairs around here."
"What interests me more than other peoples' affairs," Bill said, "are electrical affairs. Where does the electricity come from — and where does that power cable go?"
"You took the words right out of my mouth," Cy said. Zog struggled to his feet.
"Follow me," he said, "and all will be revealed."
He shuffled from the temple and Praktis shuffled right along behind him, with a firm grip on his collar, just to make sure he didn't shuffle off to Buffalo or some such. The cable ran up the wall to thick insulators set in the solid stone. Then it looped out of the temple and up the valley. They followed it until the valley ended abruptly in a cliff. The cable went over the edge and vanished from sight. They all walked forward carefully and peered over. They were at the very edge of the plateau. The stony walls fell away to the desert below, the trackless wastes of sand. But there were tracks now. Just beside them stairs had been carved in the stone and led down to the desert. From the bottom of the stairs a path made a track across the trackless wastes. It lead directly to the open airlock of the spaceship.
"The SS Zog — it's still here!" Bill gasped.
"Of course it's still here," Praktis growled. "Where else would you expect it to be..."
"Whoever moves gets it between the eye
s," the voice behind them ordered. "Drop the swords and turn about, real slow."
CHAPTER 24
They put their swords down and turned slowly to see the young man standing in the rocks above them. With a sneer on his lips and a gun in his hand.
"This is an ion pistol," he said, "that shoots out a deadly beam of ions. And until you have been ionized you don't know what real pain is, screaming and writhing and wishing that you were dead." He grinned in sadistic anticipation and licked his lips.
"Who the hell are you," Praktis said.
"I'm the guy with the ion pistol!" he laughed crudely.
"This is my son, Young Zog," Old Zog said. "The heir to the temple, Mars in the making." He didn't sound too enthusiastic about it either.
"Heir my arse!" Young Zog shouted. "I'll be dead of waiting by the time you retire. And PS, Daddy-o, you will notice that the pistol is pointed at you as well. Getting yourself captured — you are no longer fit to be Mars! The old Mars is dead — long live the new Mars!" The spittle really flew at this one and Old Zog shook his lowered head.
"You aren't fit for the job, my boy. I can admit it now. That's why I stayed on long past my retirement age. You are too headstrong, reckless..."
"You betcha!" Young Zog cried out and pulled the trigger and ionized a chunk of rock out of the cliff's edge. "This is it, folks! Those of you who are religious can utter a quick prayer to the god or gods of your choice. Then let the ionizing begin!"
"Oh, I feel I shall faint with horror!" Meta said, closing her eyes and fainting with horror, making a loud crash as she hit the ground.
"My boy, don't say things like that! You would not kill these innocent people."
"Just like that, Pops! And you too as well. So say bye-bye and prepare to meet your ancestors!"
He stepped forward, raised and aimed the gun. But before he could pull the trigger Meta, judo champ three years running of the LAGTAA, showed her judo stuff by latching onto his ankle as he passed. He yiked once as his legs were pulled out from under him, the gun dropped as he was chopped on the arm, he dropped as he was chopped in the jaw.
"Thanks, Meta," Bill said with great sincerity.
"Someone had to do something — you jokers were just standing there while this maniac got on with his ionizing."
"He is a poor, misunderstood boy," Zog said, staggering over and kneeling at his son's side.
"The kid's a loony," Praktis declared. "Tie him up before he comes to and tries to take over again. I'll hold this." He scooped up the ion pistol. "Are there any more screwballs loose around here, Zog? The truth now."
"My only son, my only child, the apple of my eye," Zog wept as he folded up his cloak and tucked it under Young Zog's head as a pillow. "My own fault, spoiled him rotten. It went to his head, all the power that would be his. That is not to be, not to be..."
"Oh yes it is," the voice said. "All of you, get back from him. Up against the rock wall."
The gray-haired woman had climbed the stone steps behind them, when they weren't looking, and now pointed a nasty looking rifle at them.
"Is that an ion rifle, Ma'am?" Bill asked politely.
"You bet your sweet kazoo, sonny. One touch of the trigger and a ravening stream of ions blasts forth destroying all before it."
"That's nice," Bill said, closing the faceplate on his helmet and stepping forward. "Would you mind handing it to me before someone gets hurt?"
"That's going to be you, kiddo, if you take another step!"
Bill took the other step and the ravening ions ravened forth. Meta screamed as his body was outlined with fire as the ions really ravened.
He took another step, clutched the ion rifle, tore it from the woman's grip and threw it over the cliff.
"You're alive!" Meta gasped.
"He should be," Cy said, "because he knows his physics better than you do. Ions are electrically charged particles. Which hit his metal armor and were grounded. Simple."
"So simple I didn't see you stepping forward."
"So I'm chicken," he shrugged. "Cluck."
"My wife, Electra," Zog said.
"Any more?" Praktis asked, peering about on all sides, pistol ready.
"No more," Zog sobbed. "We had hoped for a larger family, the pitter-patter of little feet around the spaceship. But it was not to be. If the family had been larger this would never have happened. The apple of her eye, her only child, I can see it now, spoiled rotten by his mother..."
"Blame me, you impotent old bastard!" Electra screeched. "Oh how I regret the day I was sacrificed to Mars. If I had tried out for the vestal virgins I know I would have made it. But, no, my mother said. A better fate waits you, for you are of noble birth..."
"Knock it off," Praktis suggested. "Carry on the family feud when I'm not around. Let us get down to the spaceship because I am hungry and thirsty and tired of all this nonsense. It has been one long day."
"Made even more tiring by this armor," Meta said, stripping hers off and throwing it over the cliff.
They all agreed instantly and a great clanging and banging followed. Then, with Zog leading the way, they left Young Zog to the tender mercies of his mother and descended to the desert.
"I regret to say that the only thing I have to drink at the moment," Zog apologized, "is chilled sacrificial wine. I get a lot."
"I'll make the sacrifice," Bill said and smacked his lips with anticipation.
The galley of the spacer was neatly fitted out with curtains on the bulkhead, rocking chairs, fresh metal flowers and plenty of glasses. Cy drained his glass three times and belched happily as he pointed to the heavy cable that had come down the rock face and across the sand, in through the open spacelock and now vanished into the nether regions of the ship.
"Where does that go?" he asked.
"Into the nether regions of the ship," Zog said. "I know not where or why, or even how it functions. All the equipment was installed by my ancestors. I just run it. There are alarms in the valley to let me know when someone is coming. I climb the stairs, work the levers and switches and bring back the sacrifices. Speaking of that — more wine anyone?"
They all did him a favor and let him stand another round. Except for Cy who was very curious about the cable. While they got boozed he traced it across the room and into the corridor beyond. He was gone for some time, but was not missed as the sacrificial wine flowed. When he returned he gave a quick sneer at his sodden shipmates.
"Really great. First chance you have you get blasted out of your teeny-tinys."
"Sho what?" Shomeone shaid. "Why not. We've had a tough time on this planet and a little relaxation is very much in order."
"Tell me about it! No don't!" he shouted as they all started bitching at once. "That was a metaphorical statement to denote strong agreement. Can any of you lushes hear me? And understand what I am saying? Nod your heads, good, good. I wanted to tell you that I tracked the cable to the ships' atomic pile. It is still functioning after, lo, these many centuries. But it is half way to its half life, I think. A real antique. Hand operated fuel rods, crank them in and out with a wheel. And the carbon block moderators also have to be shoveled in by hand. I shoveled and cranked a bit and got the electricity flowing real nice."
"You are a technical geniushh," Praktis said thickly and they all nodded thick agreement, all except Zog that is who, because of his age and his sorrows, had drunk himself unconscious and now lay on the floor.
"Yes, thank you, I thought you would approve. Now wait for it, more to come. I found the control room for this antique, it even has a steering wheel and oil lamps, and I switched on the power there. The bulbs lit up and it all looked very nice. The radio room had the door welded shut but I broke it down. There is a FTL transmitter in there in perfect working condition."
He waited patiently as the sound waves of his voice impacted their sluggish ear drums, which then kicked the bones of the hammer, anvil and stirrup of the inner ear to life, sent neural messages slowly across alcohol laden synapses,
plowed down through their ossified tissues and finally sunk home in what tiny bit of intelligence still remained in their brains...
"You what?" they shouted in unison, surging to their feet, glasses shattering around them, sober in a microsecond.
"Boy, if I could bottle that I would have an instant soberer-upper. And yes, you heard me right. There is an FTL signaler and it does work."
"It makes sense," Praktis said, dropping back into his rocker, red-eyed and vibrating. "The nutcase captain who started all this Roman nonsense must have sealed it up so none of his societal victims could radio for aid. But he didn't put it out of commission just in case he personally needed some help. And it had been there ever since."
"Shall we make a call?" Bill suggested and they all nodded their heads like fools and rushed out of the room on Cy's heels.
Electra Zog, leading her errant son by the ear, came in and sniffed loudly.
"Just what I should have expected. Turn my back for a second and he gets drunk on the sacrificial wine. And look at the mess!"
CHAPTER 25
Once the FTL message had been sent they hurried back to the sacrificial wine to celebrate. But even as the first glasses were being lifted in a toast to success they heard the sound.
"A spacer!" Wurber gasped.
"They are here!"
Glasses crashed to the deck as they dashed from the cabin. There was the rumble of a mighty spaceship passing overhead and they all ran to the airlock and poured out onto the desert sand. The spaceship came down low over them and Meta shouted.
On the Planet of Robot Slaves Page 18