Ozymandias opened his mouth for a hearty roar of greeting but I signed him off. He shut his mouth, winced, and felt his tongue. Bit it, no doubt. From then on our conversation was conducted written on banknotes, like a couple of deaf Beethovens. I won’t reproduce our shorthand, and anyway Oz broke my stylus. What it got down to was this: The Group knew I was fetching Hic-Haec-Hoc, and Pepys told them Hic was on Titan. Oz did something v. brilliant, he thought. He sent a reply-paid telex to the Titan authorities requesting the return date and destination of Edward Curzon and wife. But — clever, clever — Oz used an alias. The information was sent, and that’s how the network knew. Oz picked up our trail of smashed electronics — he’s not altogether a nudnik — and followed. He surmised that others might do the same.
He greeted us all the same way; hugged, kissed, and tossed us into the air. Oz is a tosser. You have to be prepared to land on your feet; he misses his catch as often as not. He fell in love with Natoma at first sight; he’s always falling in love at first sight. He was taken aback by Twink but tossed it anyway. No kissing. When I asked his advice about the armadillo he was assured and brief. Roast it in the shell, he wrote. Then he inspected the rucksack, pulled out a broken bottle, and wept, pointing to the label. Vosne-Romanée Conti, the finest and rarest of burgundies. However, he cheered up the next moment, shrugged, laughed, tossed the broken bottle in the air, and threw it away, cutting himself in the process.
We had a transport difficulty with Ozymandias. He couldn’t ride a horse; he’d break its back. Natoma got out of the wagon to ride the horse I’d been on (the other two were hitched to the wagon) and Oz got in. He overturned it, scattering our gear. We put it all together and Oz tried again. This time I made him crawl over the tail and sit. It worked. We were now a lost army of four, on the march.
We proceeded to Obregon where Hillel picked us up. He was in a hover, took one look at our scene, and didn’t stop. Acute and fast. He’d no doubt smashed the instrumentation and I couldn’t understand his exaggerated caution. He went straight on over the horizon as though he’d seen nothing. We heard an explosion and a half hour later Hilly came running back to us. Then I understood. His left arm was gone. I was aghast.
The Jew nodded and smiled.
The Rajah?
Y.
How?
Too complicated for writing. It was brilliant.
But you escaped.
At a price. Poulos was the warning.
Regeneration?
Perhaps. You’re the next candidate. Be careful.
W me?
He’s killing in descending order.
Hilly spoke a greeting to the horror-struck Natoma with his eyes, popped a handful of candy into Hic’s mouth, patted Ozymandias on the cheek, and examined Twink with fascination. Twink had never come across a three-limbed Terran before and had to explore the Hebe. Hilly twitched through the examination as though he were receiving electric shocks. Then he took off and was gone for a few hours while we rested and I tried to stop Natoma from crying. Oz produced a flute d’amour from his rucksack and played sweet, mellow sounds.
Hilly rode back on a vintage bicycle which he’d promoted somehow, and the army continued on to Chihuahua where M’bantu joined the party. Five deaf Beethovens. M’b left us and returned, riding a donkey, his long legs scraping the ground. Twink was bewildered by M’bantu’s color and had to examine, naturally. The Zulu understood and immediately stripped. He twitched and jerked through the inspection and finally went over in a dead faint. We pulled Twink off his head and hovered over the Zulu, doing things, until he recovered consciousness. When he’d regained some strength I wrote, Suffocated?
N. Brain drain. Lost brain energy.
Sucked out by it?
Y.
Electro nerve charge?
Y. Don’t let it come near you naked.
W naked?
Clothes insulate a little.
By now our silent army was foraging a path nearly a half mile wide and destroying any possible tattletale machine. M’bantu was an old hand at living off the land and brought in a delightful change of diet; wild yams, wild onions, wild parsley, lily bulbs, parsnip, and strange roots. Hilly, smart as ever, had the sense to bring in a few pounds of rock salt. I must esplain that although a Moleman can consume anything, we do prefer good food. Ozymandias proved himself to be a master chef and improvisor.
Erik the Red joined us outside Hermosillo, and that will give you some idea of the continuous zigzag course we were pursuing. We had to cross the Rio de la Concepcion to get to Nogales. The river was in flood. We were grateful for the chance to have a wash, but we had to leave all our heavy gear behind. We hoped to live off the land as before. We were dreamers.
The farther north we got the more pop. ex. we encountered plus all the mecho-electronic amenities which civilized people demand and take for granted today. We started to travel by night, holing up in obscure places by day, always in the same deadly silence. No more smashing anything. Too much to destroy. We turned into Artful Dodgers.
Between Chula Vista Del Mar and San Diego Erik left us one rest period and returned an hour later and gestured us to follow him. We follow. He led us to a railroad track and an abandoned hand-flatcar. We got on and began pumping our way north, taking turns. It was exhausting work and I was grateful when we ran out of track south of San Diego.
We camped and M’bantu left us. He returned, yanking a camel, two zebras, and a buffalo after him, persuading them to cooperate in animal language. No doubt stolen from the San Diego Zoo. We were now mounted again. North to San Clemente (now a national shrine) where Oz left us and returned slightly damaged with emphatic gestures to follow him. We obey. He led us to a wharf and an empty lifeboat. We rowed north up the coast. Exhausting work and murder on the hands and ass. Thank heaven the leaky relic foundered off Laguna (another tribute to the Wrecker) and we had to swim ashore, me hauling Hic-Haec-Hoc in a cross-chest carry. He could breathe water but the idiot had never learned to swim.
We stripped to let our clothes dry in the sun and lay down to rest, with the exception of Twink, who took off to explore the sea. The last I saw of Twink before I fell asleep was it soaring up out of the water with a furious dolphin flopping away in its plasm. When I opened my eyes again there was a majestic diva in a scarlet caftan standing over us. Queenie.
“Well,” he said. “Trespassing on my private cruising ground. I didn’t know you were so well hung, G—” At this point he was cut off by Hilly’s hand over his mouth. With a finger Hilly wrote in the sand, N talk.
W? Queenie wrote.
Extro.
?
On way to kill it.
Knows you’re here?
Hopefully, N.
That’s why you can’t talk?
Y. Or go near electronics.
Can help?
Y. Stay here and be conspicuous.