Bill 2 - on the Planet of Robot Slaves (22 page)

“I'm thirsty,” Cy said.

“Water in that stream.” Merlin pointed the way. “Five guards will go with you.”

“When do we eat?” Bill asked.

“Now. Sergeant, pass out the hardtack.”

Each piece had ABC stamped into it, standing for the Avalon Bread Company, and it must have been stamped in before they were baked. Or annealed, or petrified, or whatever. Because the tooth had not been grown in the jaw not yet born that could bite a piece from an Avalonian hardtack. It had to be pounded between two rocks, strong rocks, because weak ones broke before the hardtack did. Any pieces of hardtack that splintered off might become edible if soaked in water. They muttered and pounded and glared at Merlin who was eating cold roast swan and washing it down with malmsey.

For two days they marched in this fashion, until they entered a dark and ominous valley. A giant rift was carved in the rock as though by a giant's ax. The valley dripped with water from hidden springs, the stone walls were covered with foul lichen. “Not too far now,” Merlin said cheerily. “This valley goes by the quaint local name of Descensus Avernus. Which can be translated roughly as You go in but you don't go out.”

“Company — halt!” the commander of their guards ordered. “Where doth this dank valley go, honored wizard?”

“It leadeth to the Temple of Mars.”

“Verily! Then we shall remaineth here and guard your rear. Go with our blessings!”

“Thanks. I'm surprised I got you this far. Wait here then for our return. And, postus scriptus, if I don't come back with this lot, should they return alone, you can use them as targets for your bowmen.”

“Verily, as you say!”

Merlin squinted up at the sky. “A couple of hours yet before it gets dark. Let's get this over with. Here.”

He handed down a heavy bag that had been lashed to the back of the saddle.

“What's this?” Meta asked, hefting its weight.

“The religious safeguards that I showed you.”

“Leave them with these cowardly troops,” Praktis said, superiority dripping from his fingertips. “Might help their morale.”

“If you say so. But first...” Merlin rooted about in the bag and dug out a cross, a six-pointed star, a crescent and a piece of garlic. “I don't hold with superstition myself but it doesn't hurt to hedge your bets. Onward.”

They followed him in gloomy silence until a turn in the canyon took them out of sight of the troops.

“Let's hold it right here,” Praktis said and they ground to a halt.

“I did not order a stop,” Merlin said.

“But I did. If we are going all the way with you — and looking at the steepness of the rock wall I would say we had little choice — just what is your plan of action?”

“To go to the temple.”

“And then?”

“Call upon Mars to appear and partake of our gifts and offerings.”

“What gifts and offerings?”

“All that hardtack you've been shlepping. It's not good for anything else. Then when he takes our gifts we get him on our side. Then he can stop issuing orders for war. Simple.”

“Simple minded,” Bill said. “Why should Mars do that?”

“Why not? Gods are always interceding in mankind's affairs. It just depends who gets the bribe in first.”

“I'm not intrigued by this lecture on comparative theology,” Meta said. “The damp is getting into my chainmail and I'm going to rust solid if we don't move. All this jaw-jaw is accomplishing exactly nothing. Let us find the temple and play it by ear after that. Move.”

They moved. And when they did, from the chasm ahead, they heard the beat of drums and the distant call of bugles.

“Listen!” Bill said. “What's that?”

“The Temple of Mars,” Merlin intoned. “Prepare to meet thy destiny!”

They went on, slower and slower, hands on sword pommels, fingers plucking nervously at daggers and morning-stars. But what good would physical weapons be against the power of the gods?

The martial music sounded louder — and there it was! One last turn of the valley revealed the white marble of the temple. The altar for the offerings stood before it, and behind the altar steps led up to the dark opening of the sanctum sanctorum. They walked in silence, on tiptoe, as though afraid of disturbing the god within the temple, slowly approaching the marble altar. Which was empty of anything other than the splatters of bird droppings and an old apple core.

“The offerings,” Merlin whispered as he climbed creaking from the saddle. “On the altar.”

When the hardtack dropped onto the stained marble the music instantly stopped. They did too, frozen in apprehension as the darkness in the temple entrance changed, writhed with motion — and a great black cloud boiled forth. There was a clatter of hooves as the donkey galloped away. Then the voice! It didn't speak but thundered like a breaking storm, rolling out of the temple.

“Who goes there? What mortals are these who face the wrath of mighty Mars?”

“Merlin, world-famous wizard of Avalon.”

“I know you, Merlin. You dabble in the arcane arts and think to control the powers of darkness.”

“My hobby, great Mars. I also go to church every Sunday. Now I, and my comrades, have come to do you homage and bring you great gifts and beseech your godly aid in our endeavors...”

“Great gifts!” the mighty voice bellowed. “These inedible wafers you dare put before Mars!” A great gust of wind burst from the temple, blowing the hardtack away and knocking them all to the ground.

And this wasn't all! The clouds and darkness billowed and thundered, redshot now with the fires of hell, and within their murky midst a face took shape. Ugly and scowling, wearing a helmet with a spike on the top and skulls all about. When Mars opened his mouth to bellow at them they could see that all of his teeth were the size, and shape, of tombstones.

“I reject your puny and inedible gifts. You risk death for your temerity —”

“How about this then?”

Merlin held up a gold bar he had taken from his wallet and it gleamed in the bursts of lightning.

“That's a bit more like it!” Mars boomed. “On the altar with it. Any more where that came from?”

“Verily. Here is a pearl and silver pin for a gent's cloak, a diamond garter for the woman who has everything, a smart tie pin set with rubies and moonstones.”

“Moonstones, good. Diana will like them.”

“I am glad that mighty Mars is glad. Therefore I request a boon.”

“Speak. What is it that you wish.”

“'Tis simple, a small thing. Stop the war. Order the Legion back to their barracks.”

“What is this, mortal? Ask Mars, God of War, to stop the war? Never!”

A thunderbolt shot out of the mouth of Mars and blasted the ground at their feet, blowing a smoking hole in the ground. They dived aside as Mars boomed his wrath above them.

“I should destroy you as well with my heavenly thunderbolts. The war goes on. Leave — or you die. In return for your offerings I give you your lives. No more. Begone!”

When the lightning hit Bill had dived for cover and plastered himself against the wall of the temple. The entrance was close by and the roiling fog not as thick here. He crept forward and poked his head around the marble column. And looked. Then looked a lot more. Only when he felt himself looked out did he creep back and join the others.

“Great Mars,” Merlin implored. “If not an end to the war — how about a cease-fire for a few months until the crops are in?”

“Never!” Lightning flared and exploded around him. “Begone now or you die! The countdown to destruction is resumed. Nine...eight...seven...”

“We hear you, Mars, no problem!” Bill shouted. “Going back down the valley now. Been nice to meet you. Bye-bye.”

Merlin hesitated but the rest were happy to leave. Until Bill waved them down, put finger to lips for silence, and crept back along the temple walls.

“He's cracked up,” Praktis said.

“Shut up and look!” Meta punctuated her words with a sharp elbow in his ribs. Bill was at the entrance to the temple now — standing and stepping through it! He waved them after him. In silent wriggle they wriggled his way. While Mars boomed and bellowed.

“Four...three...And you are gone! And don't come back, miserable Merlin — nor any of your henchmen. Only death at the hands of mighty Mars awaits you here!”

Bill walked into the temple and the others followed him.

“Look,” he said. “Won't you just look at that!”

The interior of the temple had been carved roughly from the rock, with the marks of the drills and chisels still visible. Spiderwebs filled the corners and dry leaves littered the floor. Elegant it was not. Right beside the entrance a smoke generator was pumping out smoke. This rose into the air in a dense cloud. The image of Mars's face was being projected onto the cloud by a movie projector to the rear. His voice echoed and laughed from matched Wharfdale speakers, complete with woofers and tweeters.

“Ho-ho-ho!” the loudspeakers thundered.

“Just what the bowb is going on here?” Praktis asked, staring in amazement at the display.

“A fake is going on here,” Cy said. “The Great God Mars is just a bag of electronic tricks. But who is pressing the buttons?”

Bill pointed to a curtained alcove to the rear of the temple and they all smiled wickedly, drew their swords, and tiptoed over to it.

“Ready?” Bill whispered and they nodded viciously. “Then — here goes!”

The dark curtain was on tracks just like a shower curtain. In fact it was a shower curtain Bill realized as he whisked it aside. They stared — and their swords slowly dropped to their sides.

Because inside the curtain was an instrument console with dials, a TV screen, and projecting brass levers. “Ho-ho-ho!” the little bald-headed man said into the microphone and behind them “Ho-ho-ho!” boomed the amplified voice of Mars.

“We have a little of the old Ho-ho-ho for you as well,” Bill said.

“Be with you in a moment,” the man muttered, feverishly working the levers. “Damned smoke generator won't extinguish...Arrrrgh!”

He arrrrghed! in shocked horror as he suddenly realized he was no longer alone. He spun about, fell back against the console, bulged his eyes, gasped with shock and clutched his chest.

“Who...” he gurgled, “are you?”

“That's funny, Pops,” Praktis said. “We were just going to ask you the same question.”

“You brutes,” Meta said, brushing past them and taking the old man by the arm. “Can't you see how awful he looks? Do you want to give him a heart attack? There, there, take it easy.” She pulled over the wooden chair that stood beside the console and eased him into it. “Sit down. No one's going to hurt you.”

“That's arguable,” Merlin said, striding forward, sword raised. “If he's the voice of Mars he's the sod who has been causing all the trouble for Avalon!”

Bill reached out and pinched Merlin's funny-bone. He squawked loudly and the sword dropped from his numbed fingers. “Let's get some answers to some questions first, before the swords start swishing,” he said, then turned to the man in the chair. “Explain. Who are you — and what are you doing here?”

“It had to come some day, that was certain,” the man muttered. “In a way — I'm glad it's over with at last. Climbing those steps was killing me.” He raised moist eyes to Meta. “On top of the console, my dear, if you don't mind. Brandy. Just a bit in the glass.”

As he sipped the color returned to his face. Then he had a moment's reprieve before he faced his captors again because the captors were passing the bottle from hand to hand and gurgling it down. By the time it got to Merlin there was about a single shot left; he scowled and drained it, hurled the bottle aside.

“Explain, varlet!”

“The name is not Varlet. I am the wizard of Zog.”

“Aye, bach, and I'm the wizard of Avalon. Get on with it.”

“It's a long, long story.”

“We've got all the time in the world. Speak!”

He spoke:

THE WIZARD OF ZOG'S TALE

It all goes back a long, long time. Centuries at least. I found the log book, but the entries were all very old. And what with no calendar here, no change of seasons worth mentioning, it's hard to keep track of time. But I managed to piece the story together, from what my father told me and what I read in the log book of the spaceship. An immigrant ship I gather, the SS Zog, carrying settlers to a distant world. There was trouble aboard, the details are not clear, some tragedy. Perhaps there was a mutiny, or the beer ran out, or the toilets exploded, perhaps all of them. There are dark hints of strange events. In any case, the Zog was diverted and landed on this planet. Was destined never to leave. And, as you see, the settlers remain here to this day.

There was trouble from the very first. The ship's captain was named Gibbons and I am descended from him for I am named Gibbons as well. The captain wanted to organize the settlers in his own way, but the first mate, an evil chap named Mallory, wouldn't go along with it. He had his own ideas how a civilized society should be organized. He took his followers and left, marched to the far side of the plateau and founded Avalon.

My grandfather was glad to see them go, for that is written in the log. Medieval rubbish he called their culture, very inferior to the Glories that were Rome. His followers settled on this end of the plateau and thrived in the salubrious climate. There is also something written in the log, scarcely legible now, about a third group that were traveling steerage. They would have nothing to do with either group and marched off to the Barthroomian plateau and have not been heard of since.

And that's the way it has been down through the centuries. Captain Gibbons knew that the trappings of science and technology were not needed for a simple agrarian society so he withdrew here to oversee his charges. The Temple of Mars was built, all of the equipment secretly installed, and so has it been down through the ages. The Roman Legions do their thing, Arthur and his Avalonians do theirs — and a watchful Mars watches and keeps order.

There was silence after Zog Gibbons had finished speaking, as they digested his words — and the brandy. It was Merlin who spoke first.

“I appreciate the history lesson. But don't appreciate in the slightest your keeping the war going. Why?”