“That’s ridiculous!” stormed the Brigadier. “Who ever heard of an expedition starting out without an adequate defense?”
Mine Host attempted to reassure him. “There’s no danger along the way. There is no need to fear.”
“How would you know that?” demanded the Brigadier. “When we questioned you on other matters you were singularly bereft of knowledge. Knowing nothing else, how can you be so certain that there is no danger?”
When it came time to pay for the supplies, Lansing got down to painful dickering. The innkeeper seemed determined to make an extra profit to compensate for his failure at extracting a higher price for their lodging. In his efforts Lansing was backed up vehemently by the Parson, who was of the general opinion that everyone was out to gouge him.
Finally the transaction was concluded to no one’s liking and they started out.
The Brigadier led the way, with the Parson close behind him. Mary and Sandra followed, while Jurgens and Lansing brought up the rearguard. Jurgens carried a heavy pack that was jammed with food. He alone of them had needed almost nothing — no food or sleeping bag, for he neither ate nor slept. He had no need, as well, of clothing, but he did choose a hatchet and a knife, both of which were bound by a belt about his waist.
“I am intrigued by your first words to me,” Lansing said to the robot as they walked along together. “You asked me if I was a crackpot. You said you collected crackpots. Yet later on you said that in your world there are few humans left. If that is the case—”
“I made a bad joke, only,” the robot told him. “I am sorry now I did. I don’t actually collect humans. What I do is collect crackpot humans I find in literature.” “You make a list of crackpot characters?” “Oh, I do more than that. I construct miniatures of them. Miniatures of the kind of humans I conceive they would have been in actual life.” “A doll collector, then?”
“More than a doll collection, Mr. Lansing. They move about and talk, they act out little scenes. It is most amusing. I use them by the hour for my entertainment Also, I think I may get some further insight into the human condition from the interplay among them.” “Mechanical dolls?”
“I suppose you could say so. Basically mechanical. Although in some of their aspects they are biological.”
“That is amazing,” said Lansing, somewhat shocked. “You create living beings.”
“Yes. They are alive in many different ways.” Lansing said nothing further, reluctant to expand upon the subject.
The road was little more than a trail. Occasionally the double ruts cut by wheeled vehicles could be seen, but in most places the wheel traces were obliterated by erosion, with grass and creeping vines growing over them. For a time the road climbed through forestland that after a couple of hours of travel began to dwindle, gradually giving way to a rolling, grassy countryside, spotted with small groves of trees. The day, at first comfortably warm, grew hotter as the hour of noon approached.
The Brigadier, still in the lead, halted at a grove, carefully let himself to the ground and leaned against a tree.
As the others came up, he explained the stop. “I thought we had best halt in consideration of the ladies. The sun has proved uncommonly warm.”
He hauled a large, white handkerchief from a tunic pocket and wiped his streaming face. Then he hoisted his canteen around in front of him, unscrewed the cap and gulped at the water.
“We can rest for a while,” said Lansing. “If we want to take the time, we could eat some lunch.”
The Brigadier responded eagerly. “A capital idea,” he said.
Jurgens already had his pack open, was slicing cold meat and cheese. He found a tin of hard biscuits and opened it.
“Should I make some tea?” he asked. “We haven’t the time,” said the Parson. “We should be pushing on.”
“I’ll rustle up some wood,” said Lansing, “so we can have a fire. I saw a dead tree back a ways. Some tea would be good for all of us.”
“There is no need of that,” said the Parson. “We have no need of tea. We could eat cheese and biscuits as we walk along.”
“Sit down,” said the Brigadier. “Sit down and rest yourself. Rushing along as we have been is no way to approach a trek. You break yourself in slowly and take your time to start with.”
“I’m not tired,” snapped the Parson. “I need no breaking in.”
“But the ladies, Parson!”
“The ladies are doing fine,” said the Parson. “It’s you who’s caving in.”
They were still bickering when Lansing went down the road to find the dead tree he had spotted earlier. It was not as far down the trail as he had thought, and he quickly settled down to work, chopping dry branches into easy lengths for carrying. It would be only a short noontime fire and not much fuel would be needed. A small armload should do.
A dry stick cracked behind him and he swung around. Mary stood a few feet from him.
“I hope that you don’t mind,” she said.
“Not at all, glad of company.”
“It was getting uncomfortable up there — the two of them still quarreling. There’ll be trouble between them, Edward, before the trip is done.”
“They are two driven men.”
“And very much alike.”
He laughed. “They’d kill you if you told them so. Each thinks he despises the other.”
“Perhaps they do. Being so much alike, perhaps they do. Do they see themselves in one another? Self-hate, perhaps.”
“I don’t know,” said Lansing. “I know nothing of psychology.”
“What do you know? I mean, what do you teach?”
“English literature. At the college I was the resident authority on Shakespeare.”
“Do you know,” she said, “you even look the part. You have a scholarly look.”
“I think that’s about enough,” he said, kneeling and beginning to stack the wood on his arm.
“Can I help?” she asked.
“No, we only need enough to boil some tea.”
“Edward, what do you think we’ll find? What are we looking for?”
“Mary, I don’t know. I don’t think anyone does. There seems no reason that we should be here; no one, I think, really wants to be here. Yet here we are, the six of us.”
“I’ve thought a lot about it,” she said. “I barely got any sleep last night, wondering about it. Someone wants us here. Someone sent us here. We didn’t ask to come.”
Lansing rose to his feet, clutching the stack of wood piled on his arm. “Let’s not fret too much about it. Not yet. We’ll know more about it, maybe, in a day or two.”
They went back up the road. Jurgens was striding up the hill with four canteens hanging on a shoulder.
“I found a spring,” he said. “You should have left your canteens so I could have filled them, too.”
“Mine is almost full,” said Mary. “I’ve only had one little swallow out of it.”
Lansing busied himself starting a fire while Jurgens poured water into a kettle and planted a forked stick by which to hang it over the blaze.
“Did you know,” demanded the Parson, standing over the kneeling Lansing, “that this robot person brought along a canteen for himself?”
“What’s wrong with that?” asked Lansing.
“He doesn’t drink. Why do you think that he—”
“Maybe he brought it along so that you or the Brigadier could have water when your canteens are dry. Have you considered that?”
The Parson snorted in disgust, a sneering snort.
Lansing felt anger sweep quickly over him. He rose and faced the Parson deliberately. “I’m going to tell you something,” he said, “and I’m saying it only once. You’re a troublemaker. We don’t need a troublemaker here. You keep it up and I’ll wipe up the ground with you. Do you understand?”
“Here! Here!” cried the Brigadier.
