At daybreak, we set out: Mar-Duk the Fishman, Tim-Bru-Jorj,
and I. The Chieftess wishes us well, saying, "Jawn, be wary of
the Demon Men. If you can do nothing, return and tell us where
they are." She sees us off into the forest, seething with rage.
As are all the villagers.
Last night, the faceless Demon Men stole our Idol.
They fluttered down, three men each on two Dragon mounts, and snatched the Holy Globe from atop the Holy Memorial. The sentry sounded the alarm, which only provoked the Dragons to breathe flames on guards and houses. The Faceless Ones amused themselves for what seemed like hours before reining in their Dragons and flying away. The ground was a burning, crackling stench where they had attacked.
Before they sped out of sight, however, our tribe's Magician worked his Thunder Magic and wounded one of the beasts, which glided painfully and crookedly out of sight.
I recall this as we trek across our island, Sawga, in the direction of the Demon Men's escape. The Demon Men had been forced to the ground, and I hope that they have not yet fled across the lake to the Eastern Isles. Sawga is hilly and pock-marked, so even Dragons would be hard to spot.
I mention this to our companions. "Better here than across the water, Jawn," replies Mar-Duk. "Our boats are not as swift as Dragons, and we may never see the Idol again," he burbles sadly.
Tim-Bru-Jorj, the Threehead, makes grim faces, sometimes straining in concentration. "We cannot sense them yet," rumbles Bru, "We must go further." The Threehead's other heads look worn; has the Mage started to exhaust itself already? I suggest that the Threehead work its Mind Magic only every half-league, and in strict rotation of heads. Jorj sighs in relief. The three, or five, of us press on into the wilds.
Sector Five was starting to seem less fun than I, Johnny,
expected. A rookie, I had trusted in the efficiency of my new
outfit, the Seventh Tronto R & S Team. Recon & Salvage recruits
tended to live longer than Ground Troops; the R & S motto was:
"Act fast when you strike, fly high when you don't."
We had spotted this island on the eighth day out, scouting west past Sectors Eight and Eleven. The single village on the northwest cape didn't interest us, until Captain Ralston spied the unit with his binocs.
A Type 4A Repulsor Unit! A perfectly shiny twenty-kilo sphere. Sitting on top of a junkpile of scrap metal and old bones. In the center of the village.
The Captain thought it was a trap, the 4A Unit looked so good. Hovering at high altitude close to the sun, we decided they were just ordinary primitives like the dozens of other "mudsucker" settlements in the islands. Petruzzi wanted to buzz them right away, but that's Petruzzi for you. The Cap ordered the raid at midnight...
At first things went easy. The Team, unconcerned with strategy, just grabbed the Unit and started frying some huts with our flamethrowers, just to add confusion. On the "move out" signal, all I could think of was the hootch I'd put away during the traditional "victory drink".
Then it happened. Who would have thought those mudsuckers had a cannon? They hit the right rear Repulsor of Vance's GravCar, wounding Norris, our ESPer. I was also in that 'Car, which lurched off uncertainly into the night. It couldn't be steered properly, narrowly missing trees. The Cap ordered a landing on the other side of the island, in a large crater which was "cool" enough.
When sunrise came, Parks was still feverishly working on the damaged Repulsor Unit. He suddenly sat back and removed his visor helmet.
"It's no use. The internal workings are all out of alignment."
"Maybe we could radio Teams in Sectors Eight and Eleven. They might have a spare," replied Vance.
The Captain sighed, "No good! There's only Third R & S, in Sector Nine, and they were busy searching a cave complex. We can't reach them; I tried."
"Great! So how long before the mudsuckers find us?" moaned Petruzzi.
"No humanoids are in range." Despite Norris' bandaged arm, the ESPer was calm and unconcerned, unlike the hot-headed Petruzzi.
"And this strike was supposed to be easy. All for one lousy dud Unit!"
Vance broke in, cutting off Petruzzi's gripes. "Parks, what about trying the Unit we grabbed? That might be our spare--"
"Sure, an ideal spare part!" sneered Parks. "All those Relics, rusting in the rain for two hundred years since the Big Blowup Wars, just itching to explode when you flip their switches!"
Still, the mint condition of the Unit impressed Parks, so he set it for a parking float and turned it on by remote control, two hundred meters away. The 4A Unit simply bobbed slowly, precisely one meter above ground. Parks put the Unit through its paces, programming it to swoop and hover high in the air. No problem. It could be calibrated in an hour.
"Worth a try," pronounced the captain.
Tim-Bru-Jorj asks to rest. We agree. We have scouted half
the island in a zig-zag manner, and the Threehead detects
nothing. We sit, in the heat of the midday sun, just past Aaron
Dale. Mar-Duk feels miserable in the sun's rays.
Suddenly Tim-Bru-Jorj arches its necks in that odd way it calls "triangulation". I scramble up, expecting the Demon Men to be only a few hundred paces away--the range of the Mind Magic. Tim and Jorj, at the ends, concentrate; Bru looks astonished.
"They have a Mage!" it exclaims, "very powerful! He is far beyond my usual range, on the south end of Sawga."
"Can you pinpoint him?" Mar-Duk asks.
"I'm trying, but it's not *my* powers which make him known. The Mage is--AAIIEEEE!" Bru shrieks and collapses. The Threehead stumbles, then Tim and Jorj regain leg-control.
"What happened?!"
"A Mind War, Jawn. Bru is in a comatose fugue," Jorj says worriedly, and closes its eyes. "The Mage is cloaked now, I can't feel him." Jorj and Tim concentrate on themselves. "Bru will be all right in half an hour."
"Company!"
Norris yelled as he jerked to his feet, then stood rock-steady, as if in a trance.
("Seventh R & S Salvage ESPer here. Identify yourself.")
("???")
(***BZZZP!!***)
("!!!...")
Norris broke off, face beaded with sweat. Startled, the Team tensed, waiting for the ESPer to explain.
"An ESPer. Not one of ours." Norris shivers. "A--a mutant. Must be from the village. It tried to probe, but I zapped it one and broke off. And--there's another ESPer with it. Maybe two or three, I'm not sure; their fields overlapped in the oddest way."
The Captain broke the silence first. "Parks, better hurry your fingers up and get that rig flying. The mudsuckers are coming, and not for the Happy Hour."
After Bru awakes, we fetch the village warriors. Fifty of us
sprint across the forests and craters of Sawga, abandoning plans
for a surprise attack. The enemy Mage is too powerful and may
already feel us coming...
We run through the last forest before the beach. The Demon Men lie in a crater in the sand, hurriedly loading their Dragons. Our warriors rush forward out of the trees with a mighty war-cry. The Dragons are one hundred paces away, then fifty. The Dragons take flight! We hurl some spears but they fly lower and lower below the Dragons. We pursue into the wet sand, but already I slow down in defeat.
Just then, Tim-Bru-Jorj proves its usefulness. It stops abruptly for the longest moment, and concentrates on one of the Dragons for several moments.
The Holy Globe falls off that Dragon, landing in the water with a loud plop! We wade further into the surf and surround the Globe. The Dragons circle for a moment but quickly wing their way to the East. We are jubilant! Reverently, I pull the Globe out of the lake and lead the cheering procession back to the village.
"Strange," I mumble to the Threehead, "the Holy Globe looks different somehow."
"It was the splash into the water, Jawn," it mumbles back, "the Globe will be as before after the Cleansing Ritual."
I stare at Tim, then Bru. What are they thinking, when they smile like that?
("Thank you, O strange Mage, for our Holy Globe.")
("I never realized its importance. Don't mention this to your tribe. Farewell.")
"But Cap," I wailed, "the broken Unit wouldn't fit in the
trunk. That's why I strapped it to the back of the GravCar!"
"I still say we should go back and fight for it!" Petruzzi grumbled.
Norris, eerily quiet during the escape, held up a piece of frayed vinyl in his fingers. "Johnny wasn't at fault, Captain. Some ESPer broke the straps before I could intervene. Besides," he smiled knowingly, "the natives attach much more importance to these Units than we do. I could feel it. And we haven't lost anything; just traded a bad unit for a good one. I say we head home."
Captain Ralston agreed, and we flew off. "We can return some other time," Petruzzi said, more to himself than us. His face brightened: "Say! I remember seeing what looked like rechargeable cells on the mudsucker junkpile. We ought to go back right away, while the warriors are out of the village--"
Parks and Vance tried to toss Petruzzi off their GravCar, but unfortunately our *seatbelt* straps are unbreakable.
Even so, they sure as hell tried!