Gateways (64 page)

“We are not on a trail, sir. We are on the Maraguni Plains.”

“Same thing.”

“No, sir,” said Quatermain. “A trail is a—”

“Forget it,” said Donahue.

“I’m sorry, sir, but it is embedded in my language banks. I cannot forget it.”

“Then stop talking about it.”

“Yes, sir.” A brief pause. “Please take your seats at the table. Dinner is ready.”

The two men sat down, and a moment later a long mechanical arm extended from the vehicle and deposited two plates.

Tarica looked at his dish. “That’s an awfully big salad,” he remarked. “I’ll never have room for the main course.”

“Not to worry, sir,” said Quatermain soothingly. “This
is
your main course.”

“I thought we were having a gourmet dinner!”

“You are, sir. On your plate is lettuce from Antares III, tomatoes from Greenveldt, radishes from far Draksa VII, mushrooms from—”

“There’s no meat!” thundered Tarica.

“Your cholesterol reading is 243,” answered Quatermain. “I would be ignoring my responsibilities if I were to prepare a meal that would add to it.”

“Your responsibilities are to take us to animals, damnit!”

“No, sir. My contract stipulates a total experience. Clearly that includes nourishment.”

“What about me?” said Donahue. “There’s nothing wrong with
my
cholesterol.”

“You are friends with Mr. Tarica, are you not?” asked Quatermain.

“So what?”

“Clearly you would not want to cause your friend emotional distress by consuming an eighteen-ounce steak smothered in caramelized onions while he was obligated to eat a salad with fat-free dressing.”

“It wouldn’t bother me a bit,” said Donahue.

“This false bravado cannot fool me, sir,” said Quatermain. “I know you do not want your friend to suffer.”

Donahue saw that it was an unwinnable argument and took a bite of his salad.

“That washer and dryer is looking mighty good to me,” said Tarica. “Hey, Quatermain—are there any animals around?”

“No, sir, not at this moment.”

Tarica got to his feet. “I think I’ll take a walk. Maybe I can work up an appetite for this junk.” He walked to the doorway and fiddled with it for a moment. “How the hell do you open this thing?”

“I’m sorry, sir,” said Quatermain. “But it is not safe for you to go out.”

“I thought you said there weren’t any animals in the vicinity.”

“That is correct, sir. There are no animals in the vicinity.”

“Then why isn’t it safe?”

“There is a six percent chance of rain, sir.”

“So what?”

“The last ninety-four times there was a six percent chance of rain, my clients left the tent and came back totally dry,” explained Quatermain. “That means statistically you are almost certain to be rained on.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“I cannot permit that, sir. If you get rained upon, there is a 1.023 percent chance that a man of your age and with your physical liabilities could come down with pneumonia, and our company could be held legally culpable, since our contract states that we will protect your health and well-being to the best of our ability.”

“So you won’t let me out under any circumstances?” demanded Tarica.

“Certainly I will, sir,” said Quatermain. “If the chance of rain drops to four percent, I will happily open the door to the tent.”

“Happily?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You have emotions?”

“I have been programmed to use that word, sir,” responded Quatermain. “Actually, I don’t believe that I have any emotions, hopes, fears, or perverse sexual desires, though of course I could be mistaken.”

“Can you at least pull back the roof so we can enjoy the sounds and smells of the wild?” asked Donahue. “You can put it back up if it starts raining.”

“I wish I could accommodate you, sir,” said Quatermain.

“But?”

“But flocks of goldenbeaks are constantly flying overhead.”

“So what?”

“You force me to be indelicate, sir,” said the vehicle. “But when you stand beneath an avian. . .”

“Never mind.”

The two men finished their salads in grumpy silence, and went to sleep shortly thereafter. Twice Quatermain woke Donahue and told him to turn over because his snoring was so loud it was likely to wake his friend, and once Tarica got up and trudged to the bathroom, which he used only after demanding that Quatermain avert its eyes or whatever it used to see inside itself.

Morning came, the two men had coffee (black) and low-calorie cheese Danishes (minus the cheese and the frosting), and then climbed back into the vehicle. The tent was disassembled and packed in less than twenty seconds, furniture included, and then they were driving across the plains toward a water hole where Quatermain assured them they were likely to encounter at least a dozen different species of game.

“We’re in luck, sirs,” announced Quatermain when it was still half a mile away.

“We are?”

“Yes, indeed,” the vehicle assured them. “There are silverstripes, spiralhorns,
six-legged woolies, Galler-Smith’s gazelles, and even a pair of treetoppers, those fellows with the long necks.”

“Can you get us any closer?” asked Tarica without much hope.

“Yes,” answered Quatermain. “They are all on the far side of the water hole. I foresee no danger whatsoever. In fact, with no avians in the area, I feel I can finally accommodate your wishes and put my top down.”

The vehicle drove closer, finally stopping about one hundred feet from the edge of the small water hole. The two men spent the next twenty minutes watching as a seemingly endless parade of exotic animals came down to drink.

Suddenly Quatermain shook slightly.

“Did you backfire or something?” asked Donahue.

“No,” answered the vehicle. “I am in perfect working order.”

“There it is again,” noted Donahue.

“Yeah, I feel it too,” said Tarica. “A kind of
thump-thump-thump
.”

Suddenly there was an ear-shattering roar. Most of the animals raced away from the water hole. A few froze momentarily in terror.

“What is it?” asked Tarica nervously.

“This is your lucky day, sirs!” enthused Quatermain. “You are about to see a
Gigantosaurus Selous
.”

As the vehicle spoke, a huge creature, twenty-five feet at the shoulder, eighty feet in length, with canines as long as a tall man, raced up to the water hole, killing two silverstripes with a swipe of its enormous foreleg, and biting a treetopper in half.

“My God, he’s awesome!” breathed Donahue.

“Maybe we should put the top back up,” said Tarica.

“Unnecessary,” said Quatermain. “He’s made his kill. Now he’ll stop and eat it.”

“What if he wants to eat
us
?” whispered Tarica.

“Calm yourself, sir. He is hardwired to attack his species’ prey animals, into which category safari cars and humans from Earth do not fall.”

The gigantosaur glared across the water hole with hate-filled red eyes, and emitted a frightening roar.

“I’d back up if I were you,” urged Tarica.

“He’s just warning us off his kill,” explained Quatermain.

“He’s not eating,” said Donahue. “He’s just looking at us.”

“Hungrily,” added Tarica.

“I assure you this is all in keeping with his behavior patterns,” said Quatermain.

“Uh . . . he’s just put his front feet in the water.”

“He has no sweat glands,” said the vehicle. “This is how he cools his blood.”

“He’s halfway across the water hole!” said Tarica.

“He has a long neck,” answered Quatermain. “Wading into the water makes it easier for him to drink.”

“He’s not drinking!” said Donahue. “He’s coming straight for us!”

“It’s a bluff,” said Quatermain.

The gigantosaur emitted a roar that was so loud the entire vehicle shook.

“What if it’s not?” screamed Tarica.

“Just a moment while I compute the odds of your survival.”

“We haven’t
got
a moment!” yelled Donahue.

“Checking . . . ,” said Quatermain calmly. “Ah! I see. The shaking of the ground dislodged a small transistor in my data banks. Actually, the odds are 9,438 to 1 that he
is
attacking us. That’s very strange. I’ve never had a transistor dislodged before. The odds of it happening are—”

“Shut up and get us out of here!” hollered Tarica as the gigantosaur reached their side of the water hole, leaned forward, and bared its fighting fangs.

“Shall I back up first or put up the top first?” mused Quatermain. “Ah, decisions, decisions!”

Tarica felt something hit the top of his head. He looked up and found himself staring into the hungry eyes of the gigantosaur, who was drooling on him. It opened its enormous mouth, lowered its head—

—and the top of the vehicle slammed shut. There was a bone-jarring shock as the gigantosaur’s jaws closed on Quatermain. Three teeth were broken off, and the creature roared in rage, releasing its grip. Quatermain backed up quickly, spun around, and raced off in the opposite direction.

“Well, that’s that!” said Tarica, pulling out a handkerchief and wiping the drool from his face and head.

“Not quite,” noted Quatermain. “The gigantosaur is in full pursuit.”

“You’ve already told us you won’t run out of fuel for decades,” said Donahue.

“That is true.”

“Then there’s no problem.”

“Well, there is one little problem,” said Quatermain. “My right rear tire is dangerously low, and of course if it goes flat I will have to stop to change it.”

“Why did I work Super Bowl Sunday?” moaned Tarica. “I sold five units during the game. Why didn’t I stay home and watch like any normal man?”

“I didn’t have to sell at nights,” added Donahue. “I could have sneaked off to the waterbed motel with that sexy little blonde from the billing department who was always giving me the eye. She was worth at least four sales.”

“Relax, sirs,” said Quatermain. “The gigantosaur has stopped to kill and devour a purplebeest. We are totally safe.” There was an explosion as the tire burst. “Well, 13.27 percent safe, anyway.”

“I’m starting to hate mathematics,” said Tarica.

“I don’t suppose one of you gentlemen would like to help?” suggested Quatermain.

“I thought you could change it yourself,” said Tarica.

“I can. But when unassisted, it takes me four hours and seventeen minutes. The gigantosaur, should he choose to take up the pursuit again, can reach us in three minutes and twenty-two seconds.”

“Why would he?” asked Donahue. “I mean, he just made a kill, didn’t he?”

“He made some kills as the water hole,” said Tarica. “Maybe he’s not hungry at all. Maybe he just likes killing things.”

“Open the door and tell me where the jack, wrench, and spare are.”

“Those are obsolete,” said Quatermain. “Get outside and I will instruct you. My tool case is in the trunk.”

Donahue and Tarica were outside, standing before the remains of the back tire, tool kit in hand, half a minute later.

“All ready?” asked Quatermain. “Good. Now, which of you is better versed in quantum mechanics?”

The two men exchanged looks.

“Neither of us.”

“Oh, dear,” said Quatermain. “You’re quite sure?”

“Quite,” said Tarica.

“How about non-Euclidian mathematics?”

“No.”

“Are you certain? I don’t mean to distress you, but the gigantosaur has finished his meal—I believe it took three bites, though there is a 14.2 percent chance that it took four, given his missing teeth—and he will be upon you in approximately fifty-three seconds.”

“Oh, shit!” said Donahue. “Let us back in. At least you’re armored.”

“Please replace the tool kit first,” said Quatermain. “We can’t leave it here for some unsuspecting animal to injure itself on it.”

Tarica raced to the back of the vehicle.

“Open the goddamned trunk!” he bellowed.

“Sorry,” said Quatermain. The trunk opened, Tarica hurled the tool kit into it, and it slammed shut.

“You shouldn’t have yelled so loud,” said Quatermain, as the ground began to shake. “The sound of the human voice seems to enrage the gigantosaur. He will be here in nineteen seconds.”

“Let us in, damn it!” yelled Donahue, tugging at the door.

“I am afraid I can’t, sir,” said Quatermain. “I am obligated to protect the company’s property, which is to say: myself. And the odds are 28.45 to one that you both can’t enter me and close the door before he reaches us.”

Tarica looked behind him. It seemed that the entire world consisted of one gaping gigantosaur mouth.

“I hate safaris!” he yelled, diving under the vehicle.

“I hate safari cars!” screamed Donahue, joining him as the gigantosaur’s jaws snapped shut on empty air, sounding like a clap of thunder.

“What are we going to do?” whispered Tarica.

“I’ll tell you what we’re
not
going to do,” replied Donahue. “We’re not going to crawl out from under this thing.”

They lay there, tense and silent, for half a minute. Then, suddenly, they became aware of a change in their surroundings.

“Do you notice it getting lighter?” asked Tarica.

“Yeah,” said Donahue, frowning. “What’s going on?”

“Do not worry about me, sirs,” said a voice high above them. “I am virtually indestructible when my doors and trunk are locked. Well, 93.872 percent indestructable, anyway. Besides, it is a far better thing I do today than I have ever done.”

They looked up and saw Quatermain sticking out of both sides of the monster’s jaws. The gigantosaur tensed and tried to bring his jaws together with full force. Six more teeth broke, he dropped the vehicle (which missed Tarica and Donahue by less than two feet), and raced off, yelping like a puppy that had just encountered a porcupine.

“If you gentlemen will lift me off my side,” said Quatermain, “I will change my tire and we will continue the safari as if nothing happened.”

The men put their shoulders into the task, and a few moments later Quatermain was upright again.

“Thank you,” said the vehicle. “Please reenter me now, while I go to work on the tire.”

They climbed into the car, and the door closed and locked behind them.