“Ain’t one ta complain, Cap’m” said Louba, sliding down the metal slope and landing hard at the end. “But if we got an easy way, me elbows got teeth.”
“Why not, Greenguts?” demanded Bassada, reaching for a handhold on the next metal mound. “Got yer brains in yer behind.”
The silent, shaded room had narrowed to this partially blocked passage, with a pair of tall lumps between them and the door. Bott found himself glancing over his shoulder as he maneuvered around the smaller lumps on each large one. He had no choice but to trust the Drover’s guidance, but even the easy way out didn’t guarantee they’d escape before someone came to fix what had gone wrong with the maze. The vast curved blades in the walls were not encouraging: they’d be dodging those if the game started up again. Hard to believe they wouldn’t swing down any second now.
The crew was in good spirits, though, working their way through an argument which had begun days, or possibly months, earlier. “An’ how ‘bout ‘at business yez all handled at Akitipah? Where yez took hostages but forgot ta take any loot?”
“Cute hostages, anyhuse,” Louba replied, sliding down the next mound on her stomach.
“Not like what ‘ey said about yez, when we stole ‘em outa yer tinpot dungeon,” the Blue replied.
“I wouldn’t talk,” sniffed Chlorda. “We intercepted a copy of your ransom note. One case of ammunition and three of beer. What kind of ransom was that?”
“A intellectual rebel kind,” Bassada said, reaching up to pinch the aristocrat high under her robe.
Bott knew he could do as little about the argument as he could about the blades. “There’s the door,” he said, sliding down the metal hill. “Be ready.”
“Been ready since I saw yer face,” said Bassada, coming down behind him to rub her chin on the top of his head. “I…flallop!”
Everyone turned to her; she was looking up. Setting her hands on each side of her head, she adjusted her mask to point the lights straight up at what rose above them. “Foots!” whispered Louba.
They had, in fact, been climbing across the paws of an immense bipedal creature built of metal. A tiny spark shifted left and right in each eye far above them. Something was alive in there, but it was unable to move its body without the maze’s power.
Bott’s shoulders rose as he faced the door again. There was no guarantee that what waited behind it had artificial bodies. This was the same malevolent maze, after all. Only now nobody was controlling it.
“Which of you can be quietest?” he whispered.
“I can’t believe they have the capacity for silence,” suggested Chlorda, with another sniff on ‘they’.”
“I kin be quiter’n five gold noisemakers,” said Bassada, reaching under the Gold’s robe again. Chlorda swung an elbow back to block her.
“Hear how quiet I kin be, Cap’m?” demanded Louba. “Coon’n’t be quieter less’n I was dead.”
“Don’t be dead,” Bassada told her. “Us cheerin’ wouldn’t quiet up ‘is place any.”
“Let’s start the quiet contest right now,” Bott commanded.
They eased quietly toward the door. Bott’s mind raced to all the trouble that could be waiting. At the very least, if they did reach the Dragonshelf, at least one of the Klamathans would try to rig it so the other two were left behind. He had been running through all his experience to find some way to forge a link that would keep this crew together at least until they were out of range. Maybe Nubry had read something in a book that would help.
“Seen ‘is in pitcha pos’cards,” said Bassada.
“You didn’t see a ship in any of them, did you?” Chlorda inquired.
Stepping through the door had brought them into a snow=covered landscape. Apparent miles of white-clad hills rolled before them, dotted with the vast round evergreen shrubs that grew on Aumbur. Whole armies could camp inside the largest ones.
“Door’s probably in one of the hills,” said Bott, checking the firmness of the terrain before stepping out on it. “If this is the shortest way out, maybe it’ll be in the first one.”
“We still bein’ quiet?” Louba inquired.
“Quiet as ya ever gits,” Bassada replied.
“Probably doesn’t matter,” said Bott, as four pairs of feet crunched across the snow.
There was no wind, and the air was not as cold as it could have been. In fact, Bott spotted puddles forming here and there. Shutting off the power might have shut down the climate control here, in which case, he supposed, they’d better find the exit soon or they’d all be swimming again.
He slid out his communications card, but then he heard sounds caused by other feet.
“My feets is ice!”
“My feets is icier!”
“I’ll set one o’ ‘ese bushes afire and heat yer feets so’s yez never use ‘em again. Now push on!”
The refugees looked to each other. Bott slid his card away and reached into his grenade satchel. Still only two left.
“Let’s hide,” Chlorda whispered.
“I say we takes ‘em,” Bassada countered.
“My toes is as cold as my feets.”
“Yer toes is on yer feets, stupid.”
“They was when I put me boots on. Dunno about now.”
Bott waved his crew in close. “Let me do the talking. Keep the lights turned way up on your masks so they won’t see who you are.” His hand went into another satchel.
Two lights could be seen ahead of them now. One was steady, from a big bush on the right. The other flickered, and was advancing. “Let’s ,eet them. Everybody win the quiet contest, please.”
Bott took up a position between the bush with the bright light, and another to its left. He could see the group approaching now. As he’d suspected, they were Schums, and big ones, too. They wore only loincloths. Someone behind him smacked her lips.
“Ah, they drool rivers,” growled Chlorda.
There were five. Horns rose from domed blue heads; long blue snouts stuck out over long fangs. One carried a long black box in one hand and raised a torch in the other, while the rest held odd clubs. They could not be frightened, and they were smarter than grobbles. Quicker not to fight them at all.
So Bott swung his weapon to his mouth and belted out the first chorus of the harmonica classic “Coughing Traveler.” The Schums, who had been studying the ground before them, looked up.
“Hey, it’s a cousin!” shouted the one with the torch. “Heighdy, Cuz! You in this room too?”
“We are now,” Bott called back. “What’s up? We thought WE weren’t dressed for this place, but you’re worse yet!”
A Schum with gold tips on his horns stepped ahead of the others. “Lookin’ fer prisners what was in the maze,” he said. “We weas promised their skins as coats. We was sposed ta stay in our room an’ wait, since their homing beacon said they was getting’ nearly, but then the lights went out.”
He swung up his club a bit. Bott nodded to it, not having to pretend to be interested. “They didn’t give US those,” he said. “Wotta they do?”
“Makes snowballs.” The leader, using what Bott could now see was a scoop at the end, hauled up a clump of snow as big as Bott’s head. “Only once ya trow ‘em, they catches fire.”
He suited the action to the description, and launched the missile skyward. Three feet from the club, this missile ignited, shining bright enough to burn a stripe across the vision of anyone foolish enough to keep watching. It flew off into the side of a hill, where it sizzled and went out. It would not, Bott knew, have gone out so quickly had it landed on any of the fugitives.
“Pretty good,” said Bott. “I wonder…..”
“Scuse me,” said the Schu with the black box, stepping forward. “Head Dog, it says here the homin’ beacon’s mighty close.”
“Yeah,” said Bott, sliding his harmonica away. “They got wise and ditched it. We picked it up and followed their tracks, but either they’re flyin’ now or hunkering down.” He waved behind him, showing the Schums no tracks waited behind the friendly visitors but their own. “We were gonna split up an’ search the bushes, just in cases, but if you’re here, you can check that one whilst we looks into this.”
The Head Dog frowned, which sent wrinkles rippling right up between his horns and down the back of his skull. “Can we do that? Our orders….”
Bott leaned in, one hand out flat. “Don’t’cha get it?” he whispered. “Orders don’t matter now. Something big’s gone wrong. The prisoners probably did it. Anybody fins ‘em has ta be in fer a big, fat prize.”
The leader continued to frown, but his shoulders were moving up and down, a sign that a Schum was finding a proposition appealing. “And anyplace we go’s absolutle gotta be warmer than this here,” Bott went on.
Head Dog raised a fist toward the bush with the light in it. “Go zoom, guys! Go zoom!” Nodding to Bott, he led his company at a charge into the indicated shrub. The light in it went out, and screams were followed by a mighty splash.
”Nice piece o’ work, Cap’m,” said Louba. “But I kinda likes ‘em when ‘ey drools.”
:You likes ‘em when ‘ey breathe,” snarled Bassada. Bott pointed at the other bush.
Blogsy Babbles 