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Huh? His hands were tied! He rolled to his back, then levered himself to a
sitting position. Pain immediately flooded his head, and he waited until the
throbbing subsided to a tolerable level. Then he resumed exploring his
environment, if only visually.
He was sitting on a low bed of animal skins. More hides draped the walls,
along with a few weapons with copper-colored blades: a knife, an ax, and a
sword. The glow from coals in a nearby brazier supplemented light from a
copper lamp at the foot of the bed. There was little other furniture save for
some low footstools and an oversized pillow or two.
Memory trickled back. He remembered the vehicle tipping over, then after that
being dragged from the wreckage. The next thing to come out of a cloud of dim
recollection was the sensation of jouncing around on the back of a horse or
some other animal. He had a vague memory of watching the ground go by beneath
him; he must have been slung facedown over the back of the animal. He
remembered hearing voices talking a strange language.
So the Umoi had not completely died out. Whoever had made these weapons and
skinned these animals must be their descendants.
Pain swelled again, and he lay back down. Probably had a nasty concussion, he
decided. Better take it easy for a while.
He wondered why Zond had never mentioned the possibility that some Umoi might
have survived. Was it because the city simply didn t know? Perhaps Zond didn t
care.
Anyway, lucky for him that there was someone about to rescue him, get him to
shelter. He might have died out there in the desert. He tugged at the cords
binding his wrists. Pretty sturdy; looked like leather of some sort. Well, any
of those weapons hanging above looked capable of making short work of his
bonds  if he could summon the strength to get up and use them.
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He struggled to his feet and found himself terribly dizzy. He took a few
wobbling steps, weakened, and collapsed back to the bed.
Maybe he had internal injuries as well. If so, he was a goner, judging from
the state of the local technology. These jokers hadn t discovered iron yet.
Maybe not even bronze. Correction  they had forgotten iron and bronze, along
with all the rest of their fabulous science and technology. Given it all up,
in the interest of environmental purity, granola, and all the rest of that
stuff.
But why didn t Zond know?
One way to find out. He would ask Zond. This was a good test of the
communications gear that the city had manufactured for him. It consisted of
circuitry woven into the fabric of his jumpsuit.
 Zond? Can you hear me?
There was some static; then:  Of course.
 You re breaking up a little.
After a pause Zond replied,  I ve changed frequencies. Better?
 Better.
 Where are you, if I may ask?
 In a cave. I don t know exactly where, but it can t be far from the rover,
because I was brought here on horseback. Or whatever. How come you didn t tell
me about the people?
 People? Zond asked calmly.
 Yeah! They re Umoi. They gotta be!
 The Umoi are extinct.
 You getting a picture?
 Of course.
 What is this, chopped liver?
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ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
 Is that an allusion?
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 Are these artifacts the work of intelligent beings, or what?
 Those artifacts
, if you want to call them such, are the work of artificial life forms.
 Artificial life forms.
 You got it, Zond said.  They re called yalim
, and were created by the Umoi from genetic material found in some of the more
highly developed fauna of this world. They were servants, underpeople, nothing
more. When the last Umoi died, they reverted to a feral state.
 I see. Artificial life forms. Like & androids.
 That term isn t as clear as it could be, but yes, androids.
 Great. The Umoi looked like frogs with leprosy. What sort of blasphemous
horrors are these freaks going to resemble?
 Turn around and look.
 Probably some sort of crawling, gelatinous  huh?
Gene craned his neck around and nearly fell over.
It was a woman, a fully human one, though of rather exotic racial type,
wearing a minimalist haiku of an outfit. It consisted of hemispheres of
burnished copper over the breasts, skimpy black leather briefs, white fur
cape, and black leather boots. Bedecked with necklaces of uncut stones, copper
bracelets jangling at her wrists, she approached. She stopped, planting her
feet wide apart, and stood arms akimbo.
She regarded Gene coldly.
Her face was stunningly beautiful, black almond eyes over a perfect nose and
full plum lips, but the skin was even more miraculous, the color of coffee
with heavy cream, a rich golden brew that glowed with life. Her looks were
neither Oriental nor Caucasian, nor any other earthly physiognomic variation.
Gene unhung his jaw and tried to get up. He couldn t.
Two other women had entered the chamber, and even though they were practically
naked, Gene gave them barely a glance.
 Why the hell didn t you tell me? Gene muttered.
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