Bill 2 - on the Planet of Robot Slaves (23 page)

“Why? You have to ask why?”

“Yes,” they all chorused. Zog started to rise from the chair but was pressed back. There was no escape. He sighed heavily, and spoke.

“Survival I suppose, and the easy life. And playing god. It is heady stuff to throw thunderbolts and order everyone around. It beats working for a living. The sacrifices include the best wine, roast rack of lamb, honey-dipped mice, everything. I like that. I also like keeping the war going. If I didn't someone would catch wise as to what was happening. There would be peace and prosperity for all. And progress. Oh how I hate that word! Progress was what caused all of mankind's problems. My ancestor, Captain Gibbons was firm on that. I have read his writings and agree with every word. With progress comes politicians, graduated income tax, advertising agencies, fem lib, pollution, all the things that make modern life so hideous. Better the Golden Age of Rome. No decline and fall here!”

“I'm beginning to think that this guy is crackers,” Praktis said.

“Don't knock it — it's a good scam,” Cy said, then pointed to a thick cable that ran along the wall. “This your electricity supply?”

Zog nodded. “And mighty precious it is too, although the voltage drops slowly all of the time. It will take me a month to recharge the batteries after shooting off those two thunderbolts. All your fault, meddling in other peoples' affairs.”

“Before we get too maudlin,” Merlin growled, “let us kindly remember who is the master meddler in other peoples' affairs around here.”

“What interests me more than other peoples' affairs,” Bill said, “are electrical affairs. Where does the electricity come from — and where does that power cable go?”

“You took the words right out of my mouth,” Cy said. Zog struggled to his feet.

“Follow me,” he said, “and all will be revealed.”

He shuffled from the temple and Praktis shuffled right along behind him, with a firm grip on his collar, just to make sure he didn't shuffle off to Buffalo or some such. The cable ran up the wall to thick insulators set in the solid stone. Then it looped out of the temple and up the valley. They followed it until the valley ended abruptly in a cliff. The cable went over the edge and vanished from sight. They all walked forward carefully and peered over. They were at the very edge of the plateau. The stony walls fell away to the desert below, the trackless wastes of sand. But there were tracks now. Just beside them stairs had been carved in the stone and led down to the desert. From the bottom of the stairs a path made a track across the trackless wastes. It lead directly to the open airlock of the spaceship.

“The SS Zog — it's still here!” Bill gasped.

“Of course it's still here,” Praktis growled. “Where else would you expect it to be...”

“Whoever moves gets it between the eyes,” the voice behind them ordered. “Drop the swords and turn about, real slow.”

They put their swords down and turned slowly to see the young man standing in the rocks above them. With a sneer on his lips and a gun in his hand.

“This is an ion pistol,” he said, “that shoots out a deadly beam of ions. And until you have been ionized you don't know what real pain is, screaming and writhing and wishing that you were dead.” He grinned in sadistic anticipation and licked his lips.

“Who the hell are you,” Praktis said.

“I'm the guy with the ion pistol!” he laughed crudely.

“This is my son, Young Zog,” Old Zog said. “The heir to the temple, Mars in the making.” He didn't sound too enthusiastic about it either.

“Heir my arse!” Young Zog shouted. “I'll be dead of waiting by the time you retire. And PS, Daddy-o, you will notice that the pistol is pointed at you as well. Getting yourself captured — you are no longer fit to be Mars! The old Mars is dead — long live the new Mars!” The spittle really flew at this one and Old Zog shook his lowered head.

“You aren't fit for the job, my boy. I can admit it now. That's why I stayed on long past my retirement age. You are too headstrong, reckless...”

“You betcha!” Young Zog cried out and pulled the trigger and ionized a chunk of rock out of the cliff's edge. “This is it, folks! Those of you who are religious can utter a quick prayer to the god or gods of your choice. Then let the ionizing begin!”

“Oh, I feel I shall faint with horror!” Meta said, closing her eyes and fainting with horror, making a loud crash as she hit the ground.

“My boy, don't say things like that! You would not kill these innocent people.”

“Just like that, Pops! And you too as well. So say bye-bye and prepare to meet your ancestors!”

He stepped forward, raised and aimed the gun. But before he could pull the trigger Meta, judo champ three years running of the LAGTAA, showed her judo stuff by latching onto his ankle as he passed. He yiked once as his legs were pulled out from under him, the gun dropped as he was chopped on the arm, he dropped as he was chopped in the jaw.

“Thanks, Meta,” Bill said with great sincerity.

“Someone had to do something — you jokers were just standing there while this maniac got on with his ionizing.”

“He is a poor, misunderstood boy,” Zog said, staggering over and kneeling at his son's side.

“The kid's a loony,” Praktis declared. “Tie him up before he comes to and tries to take over again. I'll hold this.” He scooped up the ion pistol. “Are there any more screwballs loose around here, Zog? The truth now.”

“My only son, my only child, the apple of my eye,” Zog wept as he folded up his cloak and tucked it under Young Zog's head as a pillow. “My own fault, spoiled him rotten. It went to his head, all the power that would be his. That is not to be, not to be...”

“Oh yes it is,” the voice said. “All of you, get back from him. Up against the rock wall.”

The gray-haired woman had climbed the stone steps behind them, when they weren't looking, and now pointed a nasty looking rifle at them.

“Is that an ion rifle, Ma'am?” Bill asked politely.

“You bet your sweet kazoo, sonny. One touch of the trigger and a ravening stream of ions blasts forth destroying all before it.”

“That's nice,” Bill said, closing the faceplate on his helmet and stepping forward. “Would you mind handing it to me before someone gets hurt?”

“That's going to be you, kiddo, if you take another step!”

Bill took the other step and the ravening ions ravened forth. Meta screamed as his body was outlined with fire as the ions really ravened.

He took another step, clutched the ion rifle, tore it from the woman's grip and threw it over the cliff.

“You're alive!” Meta gasped.

“He should be,” Cy said, “because he knows his physics better than you do. Ions are electrically charged particles. Which hit his metal armor and were grounded. Simple.”

“So simple I didn't see you stepping forward.”

“So I'm chicken,” he shrugged. “Cluck.”

“My wife, Electra,” Zog said.

“Any more?” Praktis asked, peering about on all sides, pistol ready.

“No more,” Zog sobbed. “We had hoped for a larger family, the pitter-patter of little feet around the spaceship. But it was not to be. If the family had been larger this would never have happened. The apple of her eye, her only child, I can see it now, spoiled rotten by his mother...”

“Blame me, you impotent old bastard!” Electra screeched. “Oh how I regret the day I was sacrificed to Mars. If I had tried out for the vestal virgins I know I would have made it. But, no, my mother said. A better fate waits you, for you are of noble birth...”

“Knock it off,” Praktis suggested. “Carry on the family feud when I'm not around. Let us get down to the spaceship because I am hungry and thirsty and tired of all this nonsense. It has been one long day.”

“Made even more tiring by this armor,” Meta said, stripping hers off and throwing it over the cliff.

They all agreed instantly and a great clanging and banging followed. Then, with Zog leading the way, they left Young Zog to the tender mercies of his mother and descended to the desert.

“I regret to say that the only thing I have to drink at the moment,” Zog apologized, “is chilled sacrificial wine. I get a lot.”

“I'll make the sacrifice,” Bill said and smacked his lips with anticipation.

The galley of the spacer was neatly fitted out with curtains on the bulkhead, rocking chairs, fresh metal flowers and plenty of glasses. Cy drained his glass three times and belched happily as he pointed to the heavy cable that had come down the rock face and across the sand, in through the open spacelock and now vanished into the nether regions of the ship.

“Where does that go?” he asked.

“Into the nether regions of the ship,” Zog said. “I know not where or why, or even how it functions. All the equipment was installed by my ancestors. I just run it. There are alarms in the valley to let me know when someone is coming. I climb the stairs, work the levers and switches and bring back the sacrifices. Speaking of that — more wine anyone?”

They all did him a favor and let him stand another round. Except for Cy who was very curious about the cable. While they got boozed he traced it across the room and into the corridor beyond. He was gone for some time, but was not missed as the sacrificial wine flowed. When he returned he gave a quick sneer at his sodden shipmates.

“Really great. First chance you have you get blasted out of your teeny-tinys.”

“Sho what?” Shomeone shaid. “Why not. We've had a tough time on this planet and a little relaxation is very much in order.”

“Tell me about it! No don't!” he shouted as they all started bitching at once. “That was a metaphorical statement to denote strong agreement. Can any of you lushes hear me? And understand what I am saying? Nod your heads, good, good. I wanted to tell you that I tracked the cable to the ships' atomic pile. It is still functioning after, lo, these many centuries. But it is half way to its half life, I think. A real antique. Hand operated fuel rods, crank them in and out with a wheel. And the carbon block moderators also have to be shoveled in by hand. I shoveled and cranked a bit and got the electricity flowing real nice.”

“You are a technical geniushh,” Praktis said thickly and they all nodded thick agreement, all except Zog that is who, because of his age and his sorrows, had drunk himself unconscious and now lay on the floor.

“Yes, thank you, I thought you would approve. Now wait for it, more to come. I found the control room for this antique, it even has a steering wheel and oil lamps, and I switched on the power there. The bulbs lit up and it all looked very nice. The radio room had the door welded shut but I broke it down. There is a FTL transmitter in there in perfect working condition.”

He waited patiently as the sound waves of his voice impacted their sluggish ear drums, which then kicked the bones of the hammer, anvil and stirrup of the inner ear to life, sent neural messages slowly across alcohol laden synapses, plowed down through their ossified tissues and finally sunk home in what tiny bit of intelligence still remained in their brains...

“You what?” they shouted in unison, surging to their feet, glasses shattering around them, sober in a microsecond.

“Boy, if I could bottle that I would have an instant soberer-upper. And yes, you heard me right. There is an FTL signaler and it does work.”

“It makes sense,” Praktis said, dropping back into his rocker, red-eyed and vibrating. “The nutcase captain who started all this Roman nonsense must have sealed it up so none of his societal victims could radio for aid. But he didn't put it out of commission just in case he personally needed some help. And it had been there ever since.”

“Shall we make a call?” Bill suggested and they all nodded their heads like fools and rushed out of the room on Cy's heels.

Electra Zog, leading her errant son by the ear, came in and sniffed loudly.

“Just what I should have expected. Turn my back for a second and he gets drunk on the sacrificial wine. And look at the mess!”

Once the FTL message had been sent they hurried back to the sacrificial wine to celebrate. But even as the first glasses were being lifted in a toast to success they heard the sound.

“A spacer!” Wurber gasped.

“They are here!”

Glasses crashed to the deck as they dashed from the cabin. There was the rumble of a mighty spaceship passing overhead and they all ran to the airlock and poured out onto the desert sand. The spaceship came down low over them and Meta shouted.

“A Chinger ship! They are going to bomb us!”

They all tried to pour back into the ship as the bomb bay opened in the ship above and something dropped free.

“Too late,” Meta sighed, pushing her way out of the scrum. “You don't run from an atom bomb. It has been nice knowing you, Bill, though I can't say the same for some of your friends.”

“Likewise, Meta, but all is not over yet. If I am not mistaken that is not a bomb but is a message tube hanging from a tiny parachute.”

He ran and reached the chute just as it hit the ground. The lid popped off and the sheet of paper dropped out into his hand.

“It's a letter,” he said. “From my old friend Eager Beager who turned out to be a Chinger spy named Bgr.”

“I have made his acquaintance,” Meta said. “What's the spy got to say that we don't want to hear?”

“It's very interesting. Listen. Dear Bill, and companions. We are splitting this planet and it is all yours. We caught your FTL transmission asking for help and giving the planetary coordinates. So he who fights and runs away, etc. Our scouts report that a sizable fleet is already on the way, so you will be rescued soon. Signed, yours truly, Bgr. And there's a PS. He goes on — Bill, don't you and your mates forget what I said about peace. We are out for eternal peace and you should be too. End this eternal war, go for peace and prosperity. You can do it! Help us, we beg. Peace, prosperity and freedom for all!”

“Pacifist crap,” Praktis said, pulling the letter from Bill's hand and tearing it into lots of little pieces. “So you have been talking sedition with the enemy, have you?”

“We were captured by them! There was no escape, until we escaped, but before that we had to listen.”