There was a crunching thud-the trailer falling in behind as I wheeled out into the dry wash, rollers jouncing over ruts and boulders. I heard a whoosh. A missile impacted about twenty meters downstream, throwing up a geyser of dust and rubble.
"Only one actual blip, Jake," Bruce informed. "The others were electronically generated decoys. I'm very sorry to report that our defensive systems are not quite up to par."
"They never were," I said. "Can't afford it."
Now what? We were sitting ducks in this hole. I raced downstream, feeling the undercarriage whack against protruding boulders. I winced, hoping the rig would hold together. One hole or tear in a vital component and it would be over.
Farther downstream the channel widened and the height of the banks shrank to half a meter. I looked around, checked the parabolic. Nothing, so I wheeled to the right. Whump, bang, and the cab was up and out of the wash-crash, rep, the trailer following. I cringed. Ohmygod, I thought, I'm going to cry when I look underneath the rig. If I ever get the chance.
We were out and exposed, but no more missiles came our way. Those buggies would have just as much trouble crossing the wash, so now was my chance to pack some distance between us and them.
"Jake," Bruce said, "I'm getting a very unusual blip on the scanners. Airborne, descending and closing with us."
Carl craned his neck, looking up. "See anything?" I asked.
"No… 1-?" He froze. "Carl? What is it?"
He turned around. The color had drained out of his face. "Shit," he said in a scared, half-audible whisper. "Shit!"
"What the hell is it, Carl?" I shouted.
He looked at me. His eyes were panicky, crazed. "Not, again," he said.
"Jesus Christ, Carl, what-" The rig left the ground.
I yelled. The engine quit, and a blood-freezing silence fell. The rig was taking off like a plane, nose high and soaring. I looked out the port. A huge black object, irregularly shaped, hovered above us. The angle was wrong to get a good view.
"Jake, what is it?" Darla screamed.
"I don't know," I said. "A craft. Sucking us up in some sort of gavitic beam."
"Prime," she said flatly.
"I guess."
The object came into the forward ports as our angle of ascent steepened. The thing was rounded, bulbous in spots, and big. Other than that, it was almost featureless.
Carl was tugging futilely at the hatch lever-the master sealing circuit was on.
"I gotta get outta here," he said through gritted teeth.
"Carl, take it easy. It's probably Prime, picking us up."
He tore off his harness and leaped at me, gabbing the front of my jacket with both hands. He shook me. "Open that fucking door, d'you hear? Open that door! I gotta get out! I gotta get outta here!" His face was contorted by blind fear, his eyes sightless, his lips the color of his face, a dead fish's belly.
"Carl, what the hell's wrong with you?" I snapped.
"You don't understand, you don't understand. That thing can't get me again, I won't let it, I gotta get outta here, I-" He let me go, wrenched around and stabbed at the instrument panel.
I unstrapped myself and seized both of his arms. "Carl, take it easy!"
He struggled free, turning around. He sent a haymaker at me, which I ducked. I closed with him and wrapped him up. We Indian wrestled for a moment, then he dragged me to the right. I tripped, falling between the front seats. Carl stepped over me and fled aft. I was in an awkward position and couldn't get up immediately, my left foot wedged underneath the power pedal. I finally freed it and hauled myself up.
Carl was lying facedown on the deck. Darla stood over him. Lori, still strapped in, was in tears.
"Hope I didn't hurt him," Darla said. "Side neck chop."
"You're good at that," I said. I went back and checked him. He wasn't unconscious, just stunned. He writhed, groaning.
"He'll be okay. You have a light touch."
"What's his problem?" I said.
"I think that thing up there is his flying saucer."
12
I climbed forward-the rig was inclined at a sharp angle now. I sat in the driver's seat and looked out. A large structure, part of the strange craft, loomed before us. It looked something like the neck of a bottle with an aperture like an iris. The aperture began dilating as we approached, soon widening enough to admit the truck. Which it did. We shot right in there. The aperture closed behind us, and we were in semidarkness.
The truck settled.
Prime's voice boomed at us from the dark cavity ahead.
"I AM VERY DISPLEASED," he said gravely. "IT SEEMS THAT YOU MAY NOT BE TRUSTED. VERY WELL, THEN. YOU HAVE FORCED ME TO TAKE HARSH MEASURES. PREPARE TO MEET YOUR DOOM!"
"Go to hell!" I shouted.
We heard an impish chuckle.
"JUST KIDDING!" came Arthur's voice.
"What?" I rasped, switching the feed from my mike to the outside speakers. "Arthur! You son of a bitch, where the hell are you?"
"Now don't get testy," Arthur said, his voice at a lower volume. "Just having some fun. You ought to be grateful. I just saved your butt, you know."
I exhaled, relief flooding over me. "You did?"
"You better believe it, dearie. That last missile had your number on it."
"Oh," I said. "There was one coming at us?"
"Right on target. Of course, I knocked it out before it got very far."
"Oh."
"Oh," Arthur said mockingly.
"Thanks."
"You're welcome. Hold on a minute."
We waited. A minute later, Arthur came waddling out of the darkness. "Come on out," he said.
Carl was sitting up. He looked embarrassed, still a little scared, and at least partially rational.
"You okay?" I asked.
"Yeah. I…" He ran a hand over his face, and shook his head to clear it. "I don't know what happened. Something snapped. I dunno." He looked up. "I'm sorry," he added, rubbing his neck.
"Forget it. Is this your flying saucer? The one that nabbed you?"
Carl got to his feet, came forward. "Looks like it. Same damn goofy-looking place."
We got out. The chamber was like the inside of an egg flattened on the bottom. Behind the truck, the entrance had closed up into a puckered sphincter-valve affair. The room was uniformly constructed out of some dark material.
"Still angry?" Arthur asked, smirking.
"A little," I said. "You do a good imitation of Prime."
"Why, thank you, Jake," Arthur said in Prime's voice. "I plan to make a career in show business, you know."
I looked around. "What now?"
Arthur shrugged. "What do you want to do?"
"You're not taking us back to Emerald City?"
Arthur shook his head. "Not if you don't want to go."
I turned to Darla. "What do you think?"
Darla shook her head. "I don't know, Jake. We'd probably be safer in Emerald City, but…"
"I don't want to go," I said. "But I have to find Sam. He's got to be there somewhere."
Arthur said, "Oh, Sam's fine. I kind of like him. He's your father, right? You know, he looks a lot like you."
I must have looked as if I'd been hit with a power hammer. Arthur stared at me blankly for a second; then something dawned on him. "Oh, of course. You left before Sam…" He brought his four-fingered hand up and slapped his face. "Dearie me, I think I've made a boo-boo."
"What are you saying?" I managed to get out.
"Um… I think I'd better take you back to Emerald City. Right now. Follow me."
We followed him. Another sphincter-valve, this one much smaller than the first, was set into the far wall. It opened to admit us, and we went through into a curving tube-shaped corridor that bent to the right and led into a circular room. In the center was a high cylindrical platform on which rested a wedge-shaped box affair looking somewhat like a lectern. Arthur stood in front of it and began to slide his fingers across the box's slanted top face. A control panel, I thought.