They had no opportunity to continue their conversation, because at that moment, in the darkness of the cave, they heard the unmistakable hum of electric motors and the tramp of heavy metal feet. “Here they come,” Percy said; he and Lincoln raised their laser rifles to their shoulders.
Percy fired first, aiming where he knew the entrance to their chamber lay. The robot exploded beautifully; by the flames that leaped up from it they could make out the other robots sneaking forward behind it. There seemed to be no end of them. Again and again the two men fired, but still the metal giants advanced, unceremoniously crushing underfoot the wreckage of their disabled comrades. The air filled with bitter, acrid smoke and the smell of burning and shorted wiring; Percy and Lincoln could hardly breathe: they coughed and coughed helplessly while tears poured from their eyes and traced lines in the dust which coated their cheeks. The heat of the burning machines was rapidly making it unbearably hot in this narrow, enclosing space; however, the two of them, drenched with sweat, continued firing.
It was Percy who first ran out of charge; he pulled the trigger and swore at the top of his voice when nothing happened. Roughly he grabbed Lincoln’s rifle, only to find that it, too, had only two more good blasts left. “Have you got anything else?” Percy demanded.
“Nothing that’ll stop those things,” Lincoln answered.
Helpless now, they watched the metal juggernauts lurch triumphantly toward them.
XV
Late in the afternoon the ionocraft bearing Paul Rivers and Joan Hiashi swept down out of the cloudless sky and settled onto the street in front of Gus Swenesgard’s seedy, run-down hotel. Paul pushed open the door and climbed out, then turned to Joan and said, “Stay out of sight. I don’t want Gus to see you.”
“Okay,” she said dreamily, lying down like a child on the seat. “I don’t care for that musty old place anyhow. I think I’ll stay out here in the sunshine.”
“Fine,” Paul said as he started for the sagging front porch of the hotel with its familiar flight of broken Steps. Judging from the smoke up in the mountains, he reflected, the Neeg-parts are fairly hard-pressed. If Percy is captured alive again they 11 just skin him and be done with it. Nervously he fingered the laser pistol in his pocket. If Percy is brought this far alive, he realized, there’ll be no choice for me. I’ll have, to burn him out of existence.
Sighing, he climbed the rickety steps and crossed the porch. I think, he said to himself, I’ll stick close to Gus; if Percy is captured, sooner or later he’ll turn up here now that Gus, it seems, is the actual functioning top man in this bale.
As he entered the lobby Gus called out to him, “Hey, welcome back, sir. It’s not every day someone comes back to this hotel for a second time.” He chuckled, evidently in an unusually good mood.
“It’s so quiet here,” Paul said carefully. “So restful.”
“Not today it ain’t,” chortled Gus with a coarse wink. “Here.” He handed Paul a cigar, not his usual cheap make but an authentic hand-rolled Cuesta Rey. “Help me celebrate.”
Paul accepted the cigar but did not light it. “Celebrate what?”
“The death of Percy X,” announced the portly, flushed little balding man. “And the s-s-surrender of the Neeg-parts.” In his excitement he stammered over his words, trying to get them all out at once. “What all the Gany occupation forces put together couldn’t do, oF Gus Swenesgard did without hardly raising a sweat.” He noticed the unlit cigar and added, “Say, if you don’t smoke, maybe you’ll have a drink.”
“I’m in,” Paul said. I wonder, he thought, if he really has succeeded in wiping out the Neeg-parts and Percy —and if so, where he has the body. Gus now handed him a glass of straight Scotch, grinning broadly; Paul tasted it, then set it down. I’ll need, he thought grimly, all my wits about me in coping with this wily old crook. “How do you know,” he said aloud, “that Percy X is dead?”
“Well,” admitted Gus candidly, “I ain’t actually seen the corpse, but the autonomic control central radioed me an hour or more ago and told me all effective resistance had ceased up there. Percy ain’t
among the prisoners, so he must be dead.” “Couldn’t he have escaped?”
Gus shook his head so vigorously that his jowls danced. “N-n-not on your l-l-life. They had him trapped in a cave—no way out. And I sent in robots to track him down if alive or sort him out from the other bodies if dead. I expect I’ll get the report any minute now. Meanwhile I think I’ll stroll over and tell that worm, Mekkis, the good news. Want to come along?”
“No thanks,” Paul said; he did not care to get within range of a telepathic Gany.
“Suit yourself,” Gus said, and stumped out.
Aboard the most modern ionocraft taxi in the bale Gus rode over to military headquarters. As the taxi descended, he could not help noticing that the usually busy complex of installations appeared oddly deserted. Nothing stirred. Strange, he thought, as he landed.
At the first opportunity he took a human wik to one side and asked, “Hey, what’s going on here? Where is everybody?”
“Don’t you know?” the wik, a manual laborer, said, amazed at such ignorance. “The Ganys are pulling out.”
“What? Leaving the bale?” Gus was dumbfounded.
“Hell no. Leaving this planet.”
Before Gus could recover enough to ask further questions the workman had departed to resume his work, that of crating up what appeared to be microfilm documents of an official nature. Despite his
shock Gus could not help noticing, with a calculating, practical eye, that the Ganys were apparently leaving a good deal of valuable items behind: not only vehicles and the housing installations but even weapons—of advanced Gany design. I think, he reflected, I’ll ask my old friend Mekkis if I can maybe take all this junk off his hands . so to speak. I know how a feller hates to have a lot of useless odds and ends littered around everywhere when he’s trying to move.
For the first time in weeks Gus found himself admitted to Mekkis’ private chambers. The Administrator, coiled peacefully, appeared to be reading a Terran book but looked up with a cordial smile as Gus entered.
“I understand you’re moving,” Gus blurted out. “Do you? But I’m not. Not at all.” The Administrator’s tone held haughty aloofness; the subject obviously touched some deep, cold wellspring in him. “But the workman told me—”
“The entire Ganymedian occupation force with the exception of me is withdrawing. Since I have not merged with the Great Common for quite some time I have no notion why. Nor do I really care. In any case, let me assure you that I, and my necessary entourage of personal creeches, are staying.”
Gus said, “I don’t understand. Don’t all you Ganys act as a—”
“I have scientific reasons for detaching myself. An experiment begun by the late, great Doctor Rudolph Balkani remains to be completed. Can I swear you to secrecy?”
“What? Oh yeah; sure.” Gus nodded.
With his jaws, Mekkis lifted up a thick typescript manuscript; he deposited it, with effort, before him on his desk. “I obtained this from Balkani’s New York publisher. It arrived today, arranged for by persons working in my behalf. This is the sole copy … of Doctor Balkani's final statement, his Oblivion Therapy—entirely mine, now. I see in your mind that this does not mean anything to you or even interest you; what you care about is power. You want this office, don’t you?”
“Urn,” Gus said sheepishly, gesturing.
“Be my guest, Mr. Swenesgard. I am vacating these buildings shortly, just on the off-chance that some of my so-called ‘fellow’ Ganymedians might come looking for me.” With that faint hint of a sneer he concluded, “This place, Mr. Swenesgard, is all yours.”
“Here he comes,” Paul Rivers said to Joan Hiashi; she ducked down in the front seat of their ionocraft once more as Paul got swiftly out. In the slanting rays of the setting sun Gus came shuffling along, obviously somewhat drunk. Paul walked toward him thinking, I suppose he’s starting to celebrate his victory already.
A few people moved here and there, mostly dutiful Toms who made it a point to mind their own business;
