Read Online Special Deliverance by Clifford D. Simak - Free Book Online
Authors: Clifford D. Simak
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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
“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
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