“Amazing,” said the Brigadier. “Truly amazing. But does anyone have the foggiest notion what it is?”
“It must have a function,” said Mary. “The size, the mass of it would argue that. If it were merely symbolic, it would not have to be this large. And were it only symbolic, it would be placed where it could be seen from a distance, atop the highest elevation rather than being tucked away down here.”
“It has not been visited recently,” said Lansing. “There are no tracks in the circle of sand around it.”
“If there were tracks,” said the Brigadier, “they would soon be covered by the drifting sand. Even recent tracks.”
“Why are we standing here, simply looking at it?” asked Jurgens. “As if we might be afraid of it.”
“I think, perhaps, we are standing here because we are afraid of it,” said the Brigadier. “It seems quite evident that it was placed here by sophisticated builders. This is no fumbling job such as might have been done by benighted heathens intent on raising a memorial to their deity. Such a great accomplishment, logic says, must be protected in some manner. Otherwise there would be graffiti scribbled all across the walls.”
“There is no graffiti,” Mary said. “Not a single mark upon the walls.”
“Perhaps the walls are of a substance that will not take a mark,” said Sandra. “Any marking device would slide right over them.”
“I still think,” said the robot, “that we should examine it more closely. If we moved close up to it, we might find an answer to some of the questions we are asking.”
Having said that, he began to stride across the circle of sand. Lansing shouted a warning, but Jurgens made no sign that he had heard. Lansing sprang forward, sprinting to catch him. For that circle of sand, he now realized, held a subtle threat, something that all of them, with the exception of Jurgens, must have recognized as well. Jurgens was still striding ahead. Lansing closed on him, reached out a hand to grasp his shoulder. But in the instant before his fingers could close upon the shoulder, some obstruction buried in the sand caught his toe and threw him on his face.
As he struggled to his hands and knees, shaking his head to dislodge the sand that stuck to it, he heard the others shouting back of him. The Brigadier’s voice boomed above all the others: “You damn fool, come back! That place could be booby trapped!”
Jurgens was almost at the wall; he had not slacked his sturdy trudging. As if, Lansing thought, the fool planned to walk head on, full tilt into it. Then, in that instant that he conceived the thought, the robot was tossed into the air, twisting backward and falling in the sand. Lansing put up his hand as if to scrub his eyes, as if to clear his vision, for in that spilt second when Jurgens had been tossed, he had thought he’d seen something (like a snake, perhaps, although it could not have been a snake) emerge momentarily from the sand, striking from the sand and then being there no longer, too quick for the eye to catch, no more than a flicker in the air.
Jurgens, lying on his back, now was turning over, clawing with both hands and thrusting with one leg to skid himself back from the wall. The other leg dragged limply.
Lansing leaped to his feet and ran forward. He grasped the robot by one clawing arm and started dragging him back toward the road.
“Let me,” said someone, and looking up, Lansing saw the Parson standing over him. The Parson stooped, seized Jurgens about his waist and heaved him to his shoulder like a bag of grain, staggering slightly under the robot’s weight.
On the road the Parson let Jurgens down. Lansing knelt beside him.
“Tell me where you hurt,” he said.
“I do not hurt,” said Jurgens. “I am not equipped to hurt.”
“One leg was dragging,” said Sandra. “The right leg. He can’t use it.”
“Here,” said the Brigadier, “let me stand you up. Put you on your feet, see if you can bear your weight.”
He hauled mightily, pulling the robot to his feet, supporting him. Jurgens tottered on his left leg, seeking to put his weight on the right. The right leg folded under him. The Brigadier eased him to a sitting position.
Mary said, “It’s a mechanical problem. We can have a look at it. Or is it entirely mechanical? How about it, Jurgens?”
“I think it is mostly mechanical,” said Jurgens. “There might be some biologies involved. Some biological nerve function. I can’t be sure.”
“If we only had some tools,” said Mary. “Dammit, why didn’t we think to buy some tools?”
“I have a kit of tools,” said Jurgens. “A small kit. Perhaps sufficient of them.”
“Well, that’s better,” said Mary. “Maybe we can do something for you.”
“Did anyone see what happened out there?” Sandra asked.
The others shook their heads. Lansing said nothing; he could not be certain what he’d seen, if anything at all.
“Something hit me,” said Jurgens.
“Did you see what it was?” Sandra asked.
“I saw nothing. I just felt the hit.”
“We don’t want to stay out here in the road,” said the Brigadier. “It may take a while to make repairs on him. Let’s find a place to camp. It’s drawing on toward evening.”
They found a place to camp at the edge of a grove about half a mile distant. A nearby brook supplied water. Downed trees provided wood. Lansing helped Jurgens hobble to the site, sat him down beside a tree he could lean against.
The Brigadier took over. He said to Mary, “The rest of us will get the fire going and do the cooking and whatever else needs doing. Why don’t you get to work on Jurgens? Lansing can help you if you wish.”
He started to walk away and then came back. He said to Lansing, “The Parson and I talked it over. Not too amiably, but we talked. That little incident back on the traiclass="underline" We agreed that we’d both been out of line. I thought you’d like to know.”
“Thanks for telling me,” said Lansing.
9
Dammit,“ said Mary, ”there’s that broken ratchet, or I’d guess it’s a ratchet. If only we had a replacement, he’d be as good as new.”
“I sorrow to tell you,” Jurgens said, “I do not carry such a part. A few ordinary parts, of course, but nothing like that. I cannot carry every part I possibly could need. I thank you, lady, for the job you’ve done on me. I would have been hard pressed to do it for myself.”
“The leg is stiff,” said Lansing. “He cannot bend the knee, and even with the repair the hip does not work too smoothly.”
“I can move,” said Jurgens, “but with no sprightliness. I’ll be slow at best. I will hold up the march.”
“I’ll fix you a crutch,” said Lansing. “It may take you a while to learn to use it, but once you get the hang of it, it will be of help.”
“To continue this journey with you,“ Jurgens said, ”I’d crawl on hands and knees.”
“Here are your tools,” said Mary. “I put them back into the case. You’d better lock them up again.”
“Thank you,” said Jurgens. He took the small case of tools, opened the door into his chest cavity, stored the case there and shut the door. He slapped his chest to make sure the door was closed.
“I think the coffee’s ready,” said Mary. “Maybe not the food, but I can smell the coffee and I want a cup. Edward, do you want to join me?”
“In a moment,” Lansing said.
Squatting beside Jurgens, he watched her walk toward the fire.
“Go and get your coffee,” Jurgens said. “No need to stay with me.”
“Coffee can wait a while,” said Lansing. “There was something that you said. That you would crawl on your hands and knees to go along with us. Jurgens, what’s going on? Do you know something that we don’t?”