To the Galactic Rim: The John Grimes Saga (65 page)

“Then you can make some more!” snapped the girl.

“I could make some more, Freeman, quite easily. I am capable of synthesizing any and all of your requirements. If it were food you needed, or water, or air, I should act at once. But . . . a poison? No.”

“I told you, Panzen,” Grimes insisted, “that taken in moderation it is not a poison.”

“When did intelligent, organic life ever do anything in moderation, Grimes? If your race had practiced moderation the Galaxy would still be teeming with your kind. But your history is one of excess. Your excesses have led to your ruin. Hear ye the words of Zephalon: ‘Man was greedy, and his greed was his downfall. Should Man rise again, under our tutelage, the new race must be one without greed. We, created by Man, are without greed. Surely we, re-creating Man, shall be able, over only a few generations, to mould him in our image.’”

“I don’t feel in the mood for sermons,” said Una.

“Hear ye the words of Zephalon . . .”

“
Shut up!
”

“You’ve hurt his feelings,” said Grimes, breaking the long silence that followed her outburst.

“He’s hurt ours, hasn’t he? And now, if he’s the plaster saint that he’s trying to kid us that he is he’ll leave us alone. We aren’t greedy for his company. He should restrain his greed for inflicting his company on us.”

“Mphm. A little of him does go a long way.”

They sat in silence for a while. Then, “John, what is to become of us?”

He said, “Obviously we’re in no physical danger.”

“Obviously, especially when we aren’t allowed even a small drink. Damn it all, I still keep thinking of that Neo-Calvinist idea of the private Hell,
my
private Hell. Suppose we’re being taken to a zoo, somewhere . . . Can’t you imagine it, John? A barren planet, metal everywhere, and a cage inside a transparent dome with ourselves confined in it, and all sorts of
things—
things on wheels and things on tracks and things with their built-in ground effect motors—coming from near and far to gawk at us . . . ‘Oh, look at the way they eat! They don’t plug themselves into the nearest wall socket like
we
do!’ ‘Oh, look at the way they get around! Why don’t they have rotor blades like us?’ ‘Is
that
the way they make their replacements? But they’ve finished doing it, and I can’t see any little ones yet.’”

Grimes couldn’t help laughing. He chuckled, “Well, a zoo would be better than a museum. I’ve no desire to be stuffed and mounted . . .”

“Perhaps
you
haven’t,” she muttered.

His ears reddened angrily. He had not intended the double entendre. He reached out for her.

She fended him off. “No.
No.
Not with
him . . .
”

“
Damn
Panzen!”

All his frustrations were boiling to the surface. Somehow he managed to get both her wrists in his right hand, while his left one went up to catch and to tug the fastener of her longjohns. As she struggled the garment fell from her shoulders, liberating her breasts. Her right knee came up, viciously, but he managed to catch it between his thighs before it could do him any hurt. Inevitably they lost their balance and they crashed heavily to the deck, with Una beneath him—but the fall, with an acceleration of only half a gravity, was not a bad one, did not knock the fight out of her.

He had her stripped, from neck to upper thighs, her sweat-slippery, writhing body open to
him
if only she would hold still. Damn it all, she wanted it as much as he did! Why wouldn’t the stupid, prudish bitch cooperate? He yelled aloud as her teeth closed on his left ear, managed to bring an elbow up to clout her under the chin. She gasped and let go.

Now!

She was ready for him, all right. If only she’d stop rearing like a frightened mare. . . .

Again—
Now!

She stopped fighting.

She stopped fighting—but for him the struggle was no longer worthwhile. That deep humming, a vibration as much as a sound, pervaded the boat, inducing sleep. He collapsed limply on top of her already unconscious body.

He thought wryly, while he could still think,
So we aren’t allowed to hurt each other. Just as well that neither of us is a dinkum sadist or masochist. . . .

Chapter 19

Even the longest voyage
must have an end.

This had been, without doubt, the longest voyage of Grimes’ career. He was beginning to doubt that the boat’s chronometer was running properly; in terms of elapsed standard days not too much time had passed since their capture by Panzen, but every day was a long one. The main trouble was that, apart from the enjoyment of sex, he and Una had so very little in common. And sex, in these conditions of captivity, continually spied upon, was out. The girl did not play chess and refused to learn. She had no card sense. As a conversationalist she left much to be desired—and so, Grimes admitted, did he himself. The food was nourishing, but boring. There was nothing alcoholic to drink. There was nothing to smoke.

Then came the day when, without warning, Panzen’s interstellar drive was shut down. Grimes and Una experienced the usual symptoms—giddiness, temporal disorientation, a distortion of the perspective of their all too familiar surroundings. Harsh sunlight flooded through the control cabin viewports, little shade being afforded by the openwork structure of the huge ship.

“We seem to be arriving,” commented Grimes.

He went forward, but he could see nothing, was blinded by the glare. He retreated to the main cabin. He shouted, “Panzen, where are we? Where are we?”

“He’s not talking,” said Una. “Any more than you’d talk if you were engaged in a piece of tricky pilotage.”

But Panzen was willing to answer Grimes’ question. The mechanical voice vibrated from the structure of the lifeboat. “I, Panzen, have brought you home. Hear, now, the words of Zephalon: ‘Be fruitful, multiply, and replenish the Earth!’”

“The Earth?” cried the girl.

Panzen did not reply.

“The Earth?” she repeated.

Grimes answered her. “No,” he said slowly. “Not the Earth as
we
understand the words . . .”

“Go to your couches,” Panzen ordered.

“I want to watch!” protested Grimes.

He went forward again, strapping himself into the pilot’s seat. He actuated the polarizer to cut out the glare from outside. He could see the sun now, a yellow star the apparent diameter of which seemed to be about that of Sol as seen from Earth. And below, relative to the boat, almost obscured by struts and girders, was a limb of the planet toward which they were falling. It was yet another dead world by the looks of it, drably dun with neither green of vegetation nor blue of ocean, a dustball adrift in Space.

Una took the seat beside his. “Is
that
where he’s taking us?” she demanded.

“Grimes! Freeman! Go to your couches! Secure for deceleration and landing maneuvers!”

“Nobody gives me orders in my own control room,” growled Grimes. His present command was only a lifeboat, but was a command, nonetheless.

“Take this!” whispered Una urgently, nudging him. He looked down at her hand, saw that she had brought a roll of cottonwool from the medicine locker. He grinned his comprehension, tore off a generous portion of the fibrous mass, fashioned two earplugs. She did the same for herself. The idea might just work.

He was prepared for the soporific humming when it commenced. It was audible still, but had lost its effectiveness. He looked at Una, grinning. She grinned back. She said something but he could not hear her. She made a thumbs up gesture.

Then he cried out as he felt something cold touch the back of his neck. He twisted in his seat. Somehow, unheard, four of the little robots had invaded the boat, spiderlike things with a multiplicity of tentacles. They held his arms while thin appendages scrabbled at his ears, withdrawing the makeshift plugs. He heard Una scream angrily. He heard and felt the anesthetic vibration, louder and louder.

The last thing that he remembered seeing was the arid, lifeless surface of the world toward which they were falling.

There was a bright light shining on to his face, beating redly through his closed eyelids. He opened them a crack, shut them again hurriedly. He turned his head away from the source of warmth and illumination. Cautiously he opened his eyes again.

His first impression was of greenness—a bright, fresh, almost emerald green. He could
smell
it as well as see it. He inhaled deeply. This was air, real air, not the canned, too-often-recycled atmosphere of the lifeboat. Something moving caught his attention, just within his field of vision. At first he thought that it was a machine, a gaudily painted ground vehicle. Then things began to fall into perspective. He realized suddenly that the thing was not big and distant but tiny and close, that it was a little, beetle-like creature crawling jerkily over closely cropped grass. He became aware of whistlings and chirpings that could only be bird songs and the stridulations of insects.

His eyes fully opened, he sat up. Not far from him, sprawled supine on the grass, was Una. She was asleep still. She was completely naked—as he, he suddenly realized, was. (But Grimes, provided that the climate was suitable, had nothing against nudism.) She did not seem to be in any way harmed.

Beyond her, glittering in the early morning sunlight, was an odd, metallic tangle. Machinery of some kind? Grimes got to his feet, went to investigate. He paused briefly by the golden-brown body of the sleeping girl, then carried on. She would keep. To judge by the faint smile that curved her full lips her dreams were pleasant ones.

He looked down in wonderment at the two mechanisms on the ground. He stooped, grasped one of them by the handlebars, lifted it so that it stood on its two wire-spoked wheels. So this planet, wherever and whatever it was, must be inhabited, and by people human rather than merely humanoid . . . The machine was so obviously designed for use by a human being, might even have been custom made for Grimes himself. The grips fitted snugly into his hands. His right thumb found the bell lever, worked it back and forth, producing a cheerful tinkling.

He was suddenly aware of the soft pressure of Una’s body on his bare back. Her long hair tickled his right ear as she spoke over his shoulder. “A bicycle! It’s what I was dreaming of, John! I was pedaling down Florenza Avenue, and somebody behind me was ringing his bell, and I woke up . . .”

“Yes, a bicycle,” he agreed. “Two bicycles . . .”

“Then there must be people. Human people . . .”

“Mphm?” Grimes managed to ignore the contact of her body, although it required all his willpower to do so. He examined the mechanism that he was holding with care and interest. The frame was unpainted and bore neither maker’s name nor trademark anywhere upon it. Neither did the solid but resilient tires, the well-sprung saddle nor the electric headlamp. . . .

He said, “You’re the expert, Una. What make would you say that these machines are?”

“Stutz-Archers, of course.”

“Just as you described to Panzen.”

“Yes. But. . . .”

Grimes laughed humorlessly. “I suppose that this is his idea of a joke. Although I’m surprised to learn that a robot, especially one who’s also a religious fanatic, has a sense of humor.”

She pulled away from him, bent gracefully to lift her own machine from the grass. Her left foot found the broad pedal and her long, smoothly curved right leg flashed behind her as she mounted. She rode off, wobbling a little at first, then returned, circling him. He stood and watched. She was not the first naked woman he had seen—but she was the first one that he had seen riding a bicycle. The contrast between rigid yet graceful metal and far from rigid but delightfully graceful human flesh was surrealerotically stimulating.

“Come on!” she cried. “Come on! This is great, after all those weeks in that bloody sardine can!”

Clumsily he mounted. He had to stand on the pedals, keeping his balance with difficulty, until he got himself adjusted and could subside to the saddle without doing himself injury. She laughed back at him, then set off rapidly over the level ground toward a clump of dark trees on the near horizon.

He followed her, pumping away, gaining on her slowly.

He drew level with her.

She turned to grin at him, played a gay, jingling little melody on her bell.

He grinned back.

Adam and Eve on bicycles,
he thought. It was so utterly absurd, beautifully absurd, absurdly beautiful.

Together they rode into the copse, into a clearing that gave at least the illusion of blessed privacy, dismounted. She came to him eagerly, willingly, and they fell to the soft grass together, beside their machines. Hastily at first and then savoring every moment they rid themselves of the frustrations that had made their lives in the boat a long misery.

Chapter 20

Grimes’
professional conscience and his belly both began to nag him.

As an officer of the Survey Service, as a spaceman, he had had drummed into him often enough the procedure to be followed by castaways on a strange planet. He could almost hear the voice of the Petty Officer Instructor at the Space Academy. “Point One: You make sure that the air’s breathable. If it ain’t, there ain’t much you can do about it, anyhow. Point Two: Water. You have to drink something, and it ain’t likely that there’ll be any pubs around. Point Three: Tucker. Fruit, nuts, roots, or any animal you can kill with the means at your disposal. Bird’s eggs. Lizard’s eggs. The Test Kit in your lifeboat’ll tell you what’s edible an’ what’s not. If
nothing’s
edible—there’s always long pig. Whoever’s luckiest at drawing lots might still be alive when the rescue ship drops in. Point Four: Shelter. When it rains or snows or whatever you have ter have some place to huddle outa the cold. Point Five: Clothing. Animal skins, grass skirts, whatever’s handy. Just something ter cover yer hairy-arsed nakedness. You’ll not be wanting to wear your spacesuits all the time, an’ your longjohns won’t stand up to any wear an’ tear.”