Mick started. "Then what the hell are we doing sitting around a campfire?"
"Keeping off predators," Karin said sharply. "Without the fire they would be a danger, Stigi or no."
"Besides," she added, relaxing slightly, "those of the castle do not hunt by night."
"If you say so," Mick said neutrally.
"Such has been our experience."
Despite the roaring and the snoring, Mick finally got to sleep that night. But he didn’t sleep easily or comfortably and his dreams weren’t nearly as pleasant as they had been the night before.
Thirty: GRAND REVIEW
Craig looked down from the balcony and out over the serried ranks of his handiwork.
The narrow valley was full of rank upon rank of war machines. There were warbots ranging from two-ton Fleas to 200-ton Deathbringers, there were tanks and armored cars and artillery and jeeps and scout cars and missile carriers and on and on. They were there by the companies and battalions and regiments, by the hundreds and the thousands. They packed the valley and spilled back through the enormous portal at the valley’s head into the very bowels of the mountain. And over it all, perched on a reviewing stand carved out of living rock, was their creator.
Looking them over, Craig reflected he had come a long way since those first crude robots.
Now for the test. He had marked off hundreds of square miles of desert south of the castle for a proving ground. There he would pit his creations against each other to test his tactics and designs. When the battles for the control of the new world began he wanted his armies to be perfect.
Flanked by his robot servants, Craig shifted in his elaborately carved chair. The other chair on the platform was empty. Mikey had sent word at the last minute that he would be too busy to watch the show.
As if he’s done anything since we got here, Craig thought. Aside from a few robots he had whipped up for his own use, Mikey had never touched his engineering workstation. Craig seldom saw him anymore and he palmed him off with vague explanations when he tried to ask about his work.
Even if he was busy, he could have taken a couple of hours to see at least part of the parade, Craig thought. He realized that part of it was disappointment. He was sure Mikey would be impressed when he saw the super-weapons he had whipped up. But no, he’s too busy even to come to the damn parade.
Well, it didn’t matter. He’d created all this and now he’d work out the winning tactics on the game board of the desert. When the time came Mikey would be plenty impressed with how his armies performed in battle. That was really all that mattered.
He turned to the robot to his right. "Move out," he commanded.
The valley filled with the ear-splitting noise of ten thousand engines starting up. Clouds of dust roiled over the scene as Craig’s army began to move.
On wheels, on tracks, on legs and on cushions of air, the forces Craig had fashioned out of magic and engineering began to pass by their creator in review. In spite of the noise, the choking dust and the diesel and gasoline fumes, Craig hung over the balcony rail and watched entranced for hours.
Thirty-one: PICNIC ON PARADISE
Karin was as good as her word. They were breaking camp at dawn and by the time the sun was full up they were back in the forest. By mid-day they had found another camp site. The hillside Karin chose was not far from the plain and its plentiful supply of dragon fodder, but the trees were tall and broad enough to provide cover even for a dragon. There was a rock outcropping with an overhang that would shield their fires from prying eyes and could serve as a lookout spot as well. At the foot of the hill a small stream wound through the forest.
By the time they had returned to their old camp site and brought their goods to the new spot, it was late in the afternoon. This time Karin insisted on gathering the firewood and she brought in several armloads of dead branches.
"The wood is neither green nor rotten," she explained as she threw down the third load. "It makes almost no smoke."
Dinner that night was a stew of dried meat, grain and dried fruit, all from Karin’s rations. Tomorrow they could explore and see what kinds of food they could find in the forest. For tonight it was easier to eat what they had.
"So tell me about dragon riding," Gilligan said as they scraped the last of the stew out of their bowls.
"It is much the same everywhere, is it not?"
Gilligan shrugged. "I wouldn’t know. We fly airplanes, not dragons."
Karin looked at him strangely.
"Machines," Gilligan explained. "Non-living flying things."
"I see," Karin said slowly and then seemed to gather herself. "Well, it takes several years to become a flier. You must bond with your dragon, of course. Then you must learn how to maneuver, how to fly in formation and combat tactics."
"You mean you actually fight air-to-air combat on those things?"
"Yes."
Gilligan whistled. "That must be something to see. I imagine your tactics aren’t anything like ours."
"Well," Karin said slowly, "there are many things to consider. In general, the rider who starts with the best position will win. That usually means diving on your enemy from above with the sun at your back. But of course there are many other things you must consider. Relative strength, level of training."
"It’s the same with us," Gilligan told her. "If we get in close we try to have the advantage in height and position. Diving out of the sun is a favorite tactic."
"We do that also," Karin said.
"Do you break off after one pass?"
"We might. It depends on numbers and your dragon’s fighting potential. Some dragons, like Stigi, are very strong and fierce. In a melee I would have a considerable advantage." She paused and frowned. "Still, there are a great many things which can happen in such a situation. Diving on an enemy and past him is surer."
"Have you ever been in a dog fight?"
"Crave pardon?"
"That’s what we call short-range air-to-air combat. Dog fights."
Karin considered. "I see. Yes, the expression is somewhat apt. But no, I have never been in battle of any sort."
She hesitated for a minute. "Mick, may I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"Are you bonded to another?"
Mick looked up from the fire. "I beg your pardon?"
"Bonded? I do not know your customs, but do you have a life companion, a mate?"
"We get married," Gilligan told her. "I was. Not any more."
"Your wife died? I am sorry."
"No, we’re divorced-that means we ended the marriage."
Karin grew solemn. "Among us that is not a thing done easily."