“Can you explain,” Marshal Koli demanded, nodding in the direction of the deactivated robot Percy X and what remained of the robot Joan Hiashi that lay side by side in the corner of the room, “how those two quaint contraptions got here?”
“No,” Major Ringdahl answered. “Unless Dr. Balkani—”
“And what about the doctor’s book, Major? What happened to it?”
‘‘There’s a mail robot that goes around in the morning and picks up all outgoing mail. If Balkani put the manuscript of his book in his outgoing mail basket the robot would have received it and automatically sent it off.”
“Where was the manuscript sent?”
Ringdahl said huskily, “We have no way of determining that, sir.”
“You know where I think he sent it?” Koli arched himself into an S-curve of fury. “I think he sent it to his co-members of a vast and previously unsuspected underground movement. I don’t believe, Major Ringdahl, that you appreciate the gravity of this matter. It isn’t just a question of closing down the Ulvoya operation. We can no longer rely on any of the wiks conditioned here—and that includes the better part of the human portion of the governmental structure. Without this human buffer between the rulers and the ruled our plans for this planet will be effectively stalled. If we have to do all the ruling and policing of this planet ourselves, with no human assistance, it will simply be more trouble and expense than it’s worth.”
“What can you do about it?” Major Ringdahl asked.
“We can withdraw from this planet,” Koli said crisply. He signaled his carriers, and, with a sardonic nod to the major, left; his creeches trailed behind him in a straggling, scuttling procession.
Night was falling as they emerged from the building. As they made their way with difficulty to an awaiting ionocraft the Techman creech scampered up close to his master and asked, fearfully, “Are we
actually pulling out? Giving up?”
“Of course not,” Koli said. “We will only be evacuating the planet to permit Operation Sterilization to begin. After all our Ganymedian forces are safely out in space, I will personally supervise the systematic extinction of all life on the Earth. It will be a careful, thorough job, I assure you, and after this planet has been wiped clean, we will return to repopulate the globe with reasonable Ganymedian life forms.”
“Your wisdom is profound,” the Techman creech said, pleased.
“Predict something,” Mekkis ordered.
“There is no future.” The Oracle gave a long weary sigh.
‘ ‘ If you do not function, ’ ’ Mekkis said, “ I can have you replaced.”
“Killed, you mean. But it doesn’t matter, a few hours more or less. We are already dead, did we but know it.”
“Guard!” Mekkis called into the intercom. A moment later a human military individual entered the room. Pointing at the Oracle with quivering tongue Mekkis said, “Shoot him.”
“Your own death—” the Oracle began, but did not finish its prophecy.
“Drag the carcass out and dump it somewhere,” Mekkis instructed the guard. He felt gloomy. As soon as the guard had left he called for his electronics technician. “Him on the amplifier,” he instructed. “I wish to contact Percy X.”
The electronics technician set the thought amplifier for Percy’s general location and encephalic
wave form, while Mekkis, aided by his dressers, slipped on the transmitting helmet.
“Percy,” he thought, concentrating deeply, his cold eyes shut.
Presently an answering thought. “I am Percy. I am here.”
“According to all my studies,” Mekkis projected, “the hell-weapon is our only hope of victory. I believe you ought to use it.” Carefully, he masked and scrambled any doubts he might have, projecting only his feeling of urgency.
“I’d be glad to,” Percy answered, “if I live long enough.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m under attack by your friend Gus. He’s surrounded me and he’s closing in with first-line Gany hardware, fully autonomic. I think this time he’s finally got me.”
Mekkis concentrated and in a moment found himself looking out through Percy X’s eyes. Everywhere he looked he saw robot tanks, troops and ionocrafts of all sizes and shapes. Moving in for the kill.
An army of robots and autonomic engines of war faced, on the field of battle, an army of nightmares. As the two armies tangled, Percy and Lincoln crouched in the mouth of a cave, operating an illusion projector. Scattered over the area and concealed in the cave behind him bobbed and ducked all that remained of Percy’s Neeg-parts. So many had defected and now, peering down into the valley below, Percy saw that others had their hands up, had begun to go over to the enemy.
“You, too?” Percy demanded grabbing Lincoln by
the arm. “You turning against me, too?”
“Keerist, I’m sitting here working this damn nightmare box and you ask me if I’ve turned against you!”
“If you do,” Percy said in a low, threatening voice, “I’ll kill you.”
“You’ll never kill me, man,” Lincoln said. “I’m the only one around who has the guts to tell you the truth about yourself.”
“I don’t know what got into me.” Percy shook his head, trying to clear his mind. My head doesn’t seem quite right, he realized. They must be using some new kind of nerve gas on us. He saw, then, that Lincoln was looking at him with real concern. “lean see it in your mind,” Percy said. “You think I’m getting paranoid.”
Lincoln glanced away, saying nothing.
“Look out there,” Percy grated, gesturing at the valley where now the muffled thunder of high- velocity explosives could be heard. “Is it a delusion that everyone’s against me? Am I just imagining all those tanks and ionocrafts? Am I just imagining all those Neeg-parts going over to the other side? It’s me against the universe! One man! And it’s no delusion.”
“Okay, Percy,” Lincoln said, with a mixture in his voice of admiration and revulsion. “You win. I guess that as you say—”
“Wait!” Percy cut in; his battle-trained eye had turned once again to the valley below. “Look—those idiots down there aren’t using the illusion projectors; they don’t have a chance without them!”
Even as the two men watched, the leading column of autonomic tanks burst through Percy’s lines and came rumbling toward them. “Look out,” Lincoln shouted. “They’re drawing a bead on us!”
Not one second too soon the two Neeg-parts leaped back into the cave, while, behind them, the cave entrance exploded in an inferno of heat and dust and flying fragments.
“We’ve had it!” shouted someone in the swirling clouds of dust.
Another voice followed it. “Surrender!”
Other voices joined in. “Surrender! Surrender! We haven’t got a chance!”
Then Percy X’s voice cut through the confusion. “Fight, you yellow-bellies! Fight to the last man!” But from the sound of scrambling feet it was clear that few—if any—intended to follow his commands. “Come on,” he said to Lincoln. “We’ll go farther back into the cave and wait for them there; they can’t bring their damn tanks and ionocrafts in here—it’s narrow and it’s complicated and I know every inch of it.”
“You’re the boss,” Lincoln said grimly. They set off into the depths of the mountain, making repeated spot-checks with their portable arc light. Finally Percy said, “Okay, let’s dig in here.”
They crouched together behind a smooth stalagmite and held laser rifles in readiness. Percy muttered under his breath, “I sure wish I had that hell- weapon here.”
“I’m glad you don’t,” Lincoln said. “It’s encouraging to know that even if we’re going to die somebody will be left.”
“Even if it’s just worms and wiks and traitors?” Percy asked.