“Isn’t that what you expected, Rod?”
Fess’s robot brain, a globe the size of a basketball, hung in a niche in the curving wall. Rod had temporarily taken it out of the steel horse body and plugged it in to act as the ship’s automatic control section. Not that he was going anywhere; he just needed Fess to operate the ship’s auxiliary equipment, such as the graphic survey file. And, of course, the autobar.
“Well, yes, now that you mention it.” Rod scowled at the aerial picture of the Gramarye coastline, the mainland coastline opposite, and the open sea in between. Fess had taken the pictures during their orbital approach to the planet two years earlier. Now they were stored as rearrangements within the electrical charges of giant molecules within the crystal lattice of the on-board computer memory. “I hadn’t expected to find anything except plants and animals—but I hadn’t said so. Better watch out, Metal Mind—you’re getting close to intuitive hunches.”
“Merely integrating large numbers of nonverbal signs, Rod,” the robot assured him.
“I should be so good at integrating.” Rod stabbed a finger at a bump on the mainland coastline. “Expand that one for me, will you?”
The glowing plate in the tabletop stayed the same size, of course, but the picture within its borders grew, expanding out of sight at the edges, so that the bump became larger and larger, filling the whole screen.
Rod drew an imaginary line with his finger. “Quite a demarcation here—this arc that goes across the bump. Divides the vegetation rather neatly, don’t you think?”
“I do not think, Rod; I simply process data.”
“One of these days, you’ll have to explain the difference to me. What’s this stuff in the upper left? Looks like the tops of a lot of ferns.”
“It may well be so, Rod. The majority of the planet is in its Carboniferous Era, and giant ferns are the dominant plant form.”
“There’s a strip of beach alongside them. What’s that lying on it?”
“A primitive amphibian, Rod.”
“Kind of fits in with the whole ambiance,” Rod said, nodding. “Wonder what’s under the Carboniferous flora?”
“Carboniferous fauna, I would presume.”
“You certainly would. No bogeymen?”
“Human habitation usually occurs in cleared spaces, Rod.”
“You never know; they might have something to hide. But if you’re going to talk about a cleared space, here’s the rest of the bump.” Rod frowned, peering closely. “Looks like there might be some small trees there.”
Fess was silent for a few seconds, then said slowly, “I agree, Rod. Those do appear to be trees. Stunted, but trees nonetheless.”
“Odd-looking for a fern, isn’t it? Where did trees come from, Fess?”
“There can only be one source, Rod—the Terra-formed island of Gramarye.”
“Well, let’s be fair—maybe some of the seed got scattered during the Terra-forming.”
“Quite possible, Rod—but it is the mechanism of scattering that is of importance. There must be some sort of communication between this mainland area and Gramarye.”
“Such as the ocean current I’m looking for? Well, well!” Rod peered closer, delighted. “Let’s see—besides the trees, it’s just a featureless light green. Can you check what makes that color, Fess?”
The picture stayed the same size on the screen, but the robot analyzed the pattern of electrical charges that was the recorded image. “It is grass, Rod.”
Rod nodded. “Again, that couldn’t come from a Carboniferous fern-patch. But it’s such a clean break between the ferns and the grassland! What could make such a clear demarcation, Fess?”
“Exactly what you are no doubt thinking of, Rod—a line of cliffs, the cliffs Toby mentioned.”
“I was kind of thinking along that line, now that you mention it.” Rod looked down at the picture. “So we could be looking at the beastmen’s lair. It does match Toby’s description—except for one little thing.”
“I see no anomaly, Rod.”
“Right. It’s not what is there—it’s what isn’t. No village.”
Fess was silent for a moment. Then he said, “I see your point. There is no sign of human—or subhuman—habitation.”
“No dragon ships drawn up on the beach, anyway.”
“There is only one logical conclusion, Rod.”
“Yeah.” Rod leaned back and took a sip of Scotch. “I know what I think it is—but let’s hear what you’ve got in mind first.”
“Surely, Rod. We recorded these pictures two years ago during our first approach to this planet. Apparently the beastmen were not here then. Therefore, they arrived within the last two years.”
“That’s kinda what I was thinking, too… Say!” Rod leaned forward again. “That reminds me. I’ve been meaning to tell you about something I noticed during the battle.”
“Some historical inaccuracies in the beastmen’s Viking equipage, Rod?”
“Well, an anachronism, anyway. Fess, those beastmen are Neanderthals.”
The little ship was very quiet for a few seconds.
Then Fess said, “That is impossible, Rod.”
Rod answered with a wicked grin. “Why? Just because the last Neanderthal died off at least fifty thousand years before the Norse began to go a-viking?”
“That was rather the general trend of my thoughts, yes.”
“But why should that bother you?” Rod spread his hands. “We found a time machine hidden away in the back hallways of Castle Loguire, didn’t we?”
“Yes, but we disabled it shortly after we defeated Anselm Loguire.”
“Sure—but how did it get there in the first place?”
“Why… a time-traveler must have been sent back to build it.”
“Quick figuring, Reasoning Robot.” Rod pointed a finger at the nearest vision pickup. “And if they could do it once, they could do it again.”
“Why… that is certainly logical…”
“Sure is. ‘Sensible’ is another matter. But that time machine didn’t exactly look as though it had been improvised, you know?”
“Surely you are not implying that they are mass-produced.”
“Well, not mass-produced, really—but I did have in mind a small factory somewhen. Two or three a year, maybe.”
A faint shudder vibrated the little ship. “Rod—do you have any idea how illogical such an event could make human existence?”
Rod looked up in alarm. “Hey, now! Don’t go having any seizures on me!”
“I am not that completely disoriented by the concept, Rod. I may have the robotic equivalent of epilepsy, but it requires an extremely illogical occurrence to trigger a seizure. A time-machine factory may be illogical in its effects, but not in its sheer existence.”
That wasn’t quite the way Fess had reacted to his first discovery of a time machine, but Rod let it pass. “Well, I did have some notion of just how ridiculous widespread time machines could make things, yes. Something like having neanderthals dressed up in Viking gear, showing up on a planet that’s decided to freeze its culture in the Middle Ages. That what you had in mind, Fess?‘’
“That was a beginning, yes,” the robot said weakly. “But are you certain they were Neanderthals, Rod?”
“Well, as sure as I can be.” Rod frowned. “I mean, conditions were a little rushed, you know? I didn’t get a chance to ask one of them if he’d be good enough to take off his helmet so I could measure his skull, if that’s what you mean.”
“No, but several beastmen did meet with fatal accidents during the battle. Perhaps we should send a scribe with a tape measure.”
“Brother Chillde will do; might as well put him to some use. But he’ll just confirm what I’m telling you, Fess: heavy jaw, no chin, brow ridges, sloping forehead—and I mean really sloping; obviously no prefrontal lobes.”
“An occipital lump, Rod?‘’
Rod scowled. “Well now, that I can’t really say. I mean, after all, that’s down at the base of the skull where the helmet would hide it. Check that on one of the, ah, specimens, would you?”