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mysterious force field and it will cease being a mystery. I'll blast it.
Everyone comfy back there?" "No!" they chorused, clinging to the handholds,
jarred and vibrated to death. "Poor soft squishy things,"
Fighting Devil tsktsked with smarmy and obviously fake sympathy. "How superior
we metal-based creatures are . . . why are we landing?" "Because the power
on the force field has been turned up and I have no choice." They were
being drawn down towards a ledge of rock, apparently empty of all life.
Fighting Devil blasted it anyway, but the force still pulled at them.166
Even flapping at full flap the ornithopter could make no headway. In the end
it was pulled down to the rocky surface, wings beating furiously and getting
absolutely no place. "Tom ...off the ...engine!" Bill gurgled and cried
aloud and finally the wings slowed and stopped. While Fighting Devil was
unbolting itself the human passengers slid to the ground with groans of pain
and hobbled in circles, twisted and crunched. "Never again!" Meta moaned.
"Even if I have to spend the rest of my life on this mountain I'm not boarding
that vibrating monster." "Likewise," Cy sighed. "Doubled in brass,"
Bill blurted. `You are most welcome to stay." "What said that?"
Fighting Devil shouted, spinning about, all systems go, guns protruding from
every orifice. "None of us." Bill pointed. "It seemed to come from that
tunnel there." Fighting Devil instantly let fly with a barrage of shells
that blew great chunks out of the cliff and sent fragments of stone flying in
all directions. "Knock it off!" Bill shouted, diving for cover. When the
firing had stopped the voice spoke again. "Shame! I offer hospitality and
you respond with gunfire." "Come on out and we can talk," Fighting
Devil said unctuously, guns ready. "No way! I know your type. Before I
appear I must guarantee my own safety." "How?" Bill asked. "Help!" the
ornithopter expostulated. "I am trapped by a gravity field and cannot
move."167 "That's how. Without that frozen-down-flapper you are trapped on
this mountain. And I don't have the switch with me to turn him loose. That is
controlled by others who watch and listen to every word that we speak. Harm me
and you harm yourselves, doom yourselves to eternity in these barren
mountains. Ready to talk?" "Yeah, yeah," Fighting Devil muttered as its
weapons slipped out of sight. With a crunching rumble a large boulder slid
aside and from behind it emerged an incredibly battered machine. One side was
bashed in and rusty, and it walked with a limp because it had a crudely carved
and unbending metal leg in the place of the one that was missing. A black
patch had been welded into lace over a blank eye socket and it leaned on a
crutch made from crooked lengths of pipe. "Welcome, visitors," it grated,
"to Happy Acres. I am your host, Happy, and these are my acres." Meta
popped her eyes at it. "Happy? I don't think I want to see Unhappy Acres!"
"Yes, happy, as I will soon prove to you. We will go below and nourishment
will be provided as soon as you lay down your weapons. Squishy creatures
first, that's it, blasters on the ground." "Moron!" Fighting Devil said
with some feeling. "How can I lay down my weapons when they are all built in?"
"We have faced this problem before and have plenty of corks, plugs and
safety wire. You will be secured. You may emerge now, dear comrades."
With a cacophony of rattles, creaks, clatters and thuds a band of even more
beat-up creatures clanked into sight. It was a robot's nightmare-a
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junkdealer's dream. Some had treads missing from their168 tracks, limbs had
been replaced by rusty prosthetics, bellybuttons by eggcups, eyeballs by
lightbulbs; it was pretty revolting in a mechanical way. "You guys don't
look too good," Cy observed. "What's your problem?" "All will be
explained-but first=" Happy waved his helpers forward and they swarmed over
the unhappy Fighting Devil. He had to be urged to produce his weapons which,
reluctantly, he did, one by one. And as they emerged corks were hammered into
gunbarrels, chambers plugged, lightning bolts grounded, fuses removed. Then
his tentacles and arm extensions were wired together so he could not undo what
had been done. "Bombs too," Happy ordered. The orifice dilated in Fighting
Devil's nether regions and the bombs plopped to the ground. Happy gave a rusty
sigh of relief. "It is always tricky when dealing with Fighting Devils.
Some of them would rather die fighting than be disarmed..." "I would rather
die fighting!" Fighting Devil roared loudly-but it was too late.
Solenoids clicked and buzzed while guns pointed futilely. However the broken
brigade really knew their business and mayhem did not follow. Only a single
small smoke grenade popped out of its kneecap and puffed into life.
"Follow me, dear guests," Happy said happily and led the way into the tunnel.
Rusty, bent doors squeaked aside so they could pass, rumbled reluctantly shut
behind them. The final portal admitted them to a high chamber that was feebly
lit by dim bulbs that were festooned with metal spiders' webs. There was a
long table in the center of the room. Sitting behind it were some more equally
dilapidated machines.169 "Welcome to PLDP," Happy intoned. "The acronym for
our happy brotherhood. PLDP stands for the Planetary League of Deserters and
Pacifists." "If you will make that Interplanetary I'll join!" Bill said
instantly. "That is an interesting idea that might be well worth our
consideration. What a joyful thought! Our movement could spread galaxy-wide,
we could have a special branch for you squishier..." "Traitors! Rebels!"
Fighting Devil frothed and all its weapons popped out, writhed and trembled
with suppressed rage, but all he managed to do was produce another smoke
grenade. "Stop that, will you!" Bill coughed, fanning at the smoke. "It
doesn't help anything." "Release me at once!" Fighting Devil thundered. "I
will not hear these vilenesses spoken. A Fighting Devil does not belong here."
"That is what you say now," an ancient and crushed machine said from behind
the table. "But we number more than one fighting devil in our ranks. You speak
brazenly now, possessed of your strength, virility and phallic weapons-but you
will talk out of the other side of your loudspeaker when your guns are spiked,
your batteries discharged, your wad shot. Think! We were all like you oncenow
look at our state. My companion here, Grumpy, once commanded a legion of flame
throwers. Right now he couldn't summon up enough spark to light a joint. Or
dear Sleepy, the one dozing on the table, a permanent doze I fear for he
hasn't moved for a month. Once he was a tank destroyer. Now he is destroyed
himself and his tank is empty. Sic transit gloria machinery. For many of us it
is too late. We came to PLDP when we were dis160 carded. We were rescued
from the junkyard by bodysnatchers, brought here in secrecy before we could be
recycled. But-I talk too much. You will be hungry after your arduous journey.
Pull up a hydraulic jack and tuck in. Rations will be taken to your flying
companion immobilized outside."
For all of his sneers Fighting Devil was not shy about plunging his snout into
a can of oil. "You don't happen to have anything we can eat -or drink?"
Bill asked. "By good fortune we do," Happy said, pointing to a faucet on
the wall. "Before we occupied these premises they were used as a torture
chamber. That tap leads to-and I shudder to say it-a reservoir of water. Be my
guest. As to food, our scavengers scavenging the desert discovered alien
objects adorned with indecipherable script. Perhaps you can interpret them,"
he said passing an alien object over. Bill read the label and shuddered.
"YumeeGunge rations. The ones we threw away. Thanks a lot; old buddy, but no
thanks. But I will have a slug of your torture juice." "We may eat yet,"
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