Chapter Eleven

 

 

All four of the sixty-foot-high heads of the predark presidents had been nearly obliterated, except for the colossal Abraham Lincoln effigy, and it was hardly intact. The top of Lincoln's head had been blown away, and one of his huge eyes was jigsawed by a network of cracks. The sight disturbed Ryan, as though he were looking at some symbolic image from years gone by, the leader of a nation with no mind, half-blind like himself.

 

Mildred didn't help matters when she said quietly, "It took fifteen years of preparation and over six years of actual work for an artist named Gutzon Borglum to design and begin construction of that memorial. He died before he could see it completed. Fifteen yearsand it was destroyed in probably five seconds."

 

Ryan glanced over his shoulder and was surprised to see tears glimmering in Mildred's dark eyes. She said, "My Uncle Josh brought me here once, as part of a church tour group. I was about eight Over a hundred years ago." A hand flew to Mildred's mouth as she realized what had slipped out.

 

J.B. put an arm around her shoulders, and Hellstrom turned toward them. His lips quirked in distaste at the display of open affection and sympathy, but he didn't comment on it.

 

He asked, "What do you mean, woman? And tell the truth. I'll sense a lie."

 

Mildred hesitated a moment before stating boldly, "I was in cryogenic stasis during the nukecaust. Ryan and the others found me."

 

Hellstrom grinned. "You're a freezie!"

 

Mildred frowned. "So?"

 

"So, it appears that my first assessment of your little band was far more correct than I initially surmised. You can be a great help in my undertaking."

 

"You've mentioned that before," Ryan said suspiciously. "Mebbe it's time for you to explain."

 

Hellstrom waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. "Perhaps I will. After a demonstration."

 

The man at the wheel steered the AMAC toward a series of gentle grass-covered bluffs. He navigated the big wag expertly over the top of one, then followed a winding course between two of them. Hellstrom didn't provide him with directions. Evidently the driver had come this way before.

 

He braked the vehicle at the foot of a slope that was only ten feet high, more of a dirt dune than a hill. He keyed off the engine.

 

From a box attached to the wall, Fleur removed a hollow-bored Very pistol and a flare cartridge. The cartridge was color-coded yellow.

 

Hellstrom gestured to the sec man in the passenger seat and he arose, coming to stand beside Hellstrom.

 

"Take his place, Cawdor," the thin man instructed. "Man the periscope and watch everything that transpires with a close eye. Of course, in your case, you don't have much choice but to watch with an eye." Hellstrom laughed at his own wit.

 

Then, to the surprise of Ryan and his companions, Lars Hellstrom stood in a smooth, lithe motion, not even bracing his hands against the arms of his chair.

 

A pair of X-scarred men joined Fleur and the other sec man as Hellstrom unlatched the side door and pushed it open and out.

 

"What about the Indians?" J.B. asked.

 

"They never come this close," Hellstrom answered. "Some sort of tribal taboo. Or maybe they've got better things to do than get chilled."

 

Ryan waited until Hellstrom and his group had stepped out of the wag, then he pushed his way forward to the empty seat. The man behind the wheel ignored him, and Ryan returned the favor.

 

He examined the periscope, noting that each of the hand grips bore two buttons. On the right hand grip was a button marked with a plus sign, and another button with a minus sign. The left hand grip buttons were inscribed with arrows, indicating directions.

 

Ryan placed the upper portion of his face against the viewfinder and focused on the graven image of Lincoln. It was at least half a mile distant. He thumbed the plus button, and the great stone face swelled and enlarged until only the nose filled the viewer.

 

The right-side nasal passage looked different than its mate. It was a shadowed depression, like a hollowed-out tunnel.

 

Hearing Hellstrom's voice, Ryan removed his eye from the viewfinder and saw that he, accompanied by Fleur and the three sec men, had climbed to the top of the bluff.

 

At a word from Hellstrom, Fleur pointed the Very pistol skyward and pulled the trigger. The magnesium and thermite flare smoked through the air, ascending higher and higher until it exploded in a flash of bright yellow.

 

The flare hung there in the blue sky, shining with a brilliant glow. As it slowly descended on a miniature parachute, Hellstrom turned toward the wag and shouted, "Watch the nose, Cawdor!"

 

Ryan pressed his face against the viewer again. Nothing happened for what seemed to be a long time. "I don't see anything," he muttered, more or less to himself.

 

"Just keeping watching," the driver said.

 

Suddenly there was a flicker of movement in the hollowed-out nostril. Sunlight briefly gleamed off metal, then a shape appeared, seeming to crawl out of the nasal passage. It paused in the open air, just above the sculpted upper lip, and Ryan stared at it so intently and unblinkingly that his eye began to sting.

 

A mechanical device, barely two feet long, hovered in the concave depression of Lincoln's filtrum. Its body was made of interlocking metal segments, like the carapace of an insect. Extruder hooks and extensors studded its dully shining, silver gray skin. A photoreceptor shone red, like a cyclopean eye.

 

"Mildred," Ryan called, not taking his face away from the viewer, "come here."

 

When she reached him, Ryan pulled her onto his lap. "Take a look. Tell me what you think."

 

Mildred peered into the viewfinder and caught her breath. "Jesus."

 

"Ever seen anything like it?"

 

"No."

 

"Ever heard of anything like it?"

 

"Maybe." Her tone was doubtful. "Some sort of servo-mechanism. By the end of the twentieth century, robotic units were being used for a lot of different functions, including surveillance. You can see what looks like the lens of a closed circuit TV camera on it. But I've never heard of anything as sophisticated or advanced as that thing."

 

"We call 'em beetles," the driver offered.

 

"What's the motive power of thebeetles?" Ryan asked.

 

When the driver didn't respond, Mildred said, "Taking an educated guess, I'd say it probably utilizes local gravitational fields for propulsion. Extremely efficient."

 

"That's for certain," Ryan said. "Who would've built it?"

 

Mildred shrugged. "Hard to say. As you know, there was a lot of 'black technology' being developed by the government and military before the bombs fell Whoops! It's moving."

 

She got up, allowing Ryan to take over the periscope again. He adjusted the magnification and direction so he could focus on the beetle. The little device flew in a straight line for Hellstrom's position. Ryan estimated its speed at around five miles per hour. In a little over a minute the beetle came to an abrupt halt, hovering twenty feet away from the bluff and twelve above.

 

Ryan looked away from the periscope and out the windshield. A light glowed on the gadget's metal shell and an amplified voice crackled from it.

 

"What do you want?"

 

Hellstrom's answer was smooth, relaxed and apologetic. "The harvest is requiring more time than I estimated. It'll be a few more days before we can make the delivery. I regret the deviance from the timetable."

 

"Is that all?"

 

"We spotted a war party of Indians on our way here. Have they molested you?"

 

"Isn't it your responsibility to ensure that they don't? We've supplied you with the means to place yourself in a superior posture to them. And much more besides."

 

Hellstrom bowed his head formally. "For which we are eternally grateful."

 

"Then live up to your end of our trade agreement. Is there anything else?"

 

"No," Hellstrom replied unctuously. "I trust I've not disturbed you."

 

"This communication is ended."

 

Soundlessly the beetle slid backward through the air, as though it were unwilling to turn its photoreceptor away from Hellstrom. After a hundred yards, it rotated quickly, ascended, and sped back toward Mount Rushmore.

 

Hellstrom, Fleur and the sec men returned to the wag. Ryan went back to the passenger compartment. Hellstrom was smiling, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Pretty impressive, huh, kids?"

 

"Very," Doc said.

 

Hellstrom shifted in his chair so he could look at Ryan. "What did you think, Cawdor?"

 

Ryan smiled wryly. "I think I've never seen a finer demonstration of the art of ass-kissing in my life."

 

Fleur spun toward him, lips pulling away from her clenched teeth. "Watch it, Cawdor."

 

Hellstrom scowled, then forced the smile to return to his face. "You're right, Cawdor. But if you knew the power behind that beetle, you'd want to weld your mouth to its ass, too."

 

"Then why don't you tell us about it instead of making vague references?" Krysty asked impatiently.

 

"In a little while." Hellstrom barked an order at the driver, who started up the AMAC and steered it back in the direction from which it had come.

 

Ryan consulted his wrist chron. "We'll never make it back to Helskel before nightfall."

 

"I know," Hellstrom replied. "There is salubrious ground for a campsite a few miles away. Once there, we can relax and talk."

 

"What wrong with here?" Jak demanded.

 

"I want to put some distance between us and the nose. I'm not sure of the range of the beetles, and I don't want them getting a premature peek at the six of you."

 

"Why not?" J.B. wanted to know.

 

"Patience, Dix. All things come to those who wait."

 

The wag rumbled back through the arroyo, and when they reached the small grove of cottonwood trees near the creek, Hellstrom ordered the driver to halt. Everyone disembarked and pitched camp.

 

Small tents, made of a lightweight fabric, were set up easily and quickly. There wasn't much deadwood for a fire, but there was no need for it. One of the men carried a metal cylinder from the wag, which was three feet long by three wide. At the touch of a lever on the side of the cylinder, chrome legs slid out from beneath it, and metal rings at the end of foot-high stalks projected from the top. Hellstrom explained that the cylinder burned a gas that furnished a smokeless fire for cooking and heating.

 

The sec men established a defense perimeter, assembling four tripod-mounted spotlights and alarm wires around the campsite. One of the M-249 machine guns was mounted at the rear end of the AMAC. Guards were stationed every twenty feet outside of the perimeter. By the time the sun began its slow descent, the area was bathed in a bright white light.

 

Neither Ryan nor his friends felt particularly safe. As Jak pointed out, Hellstrom seemed to be extending an invitation for the Sioux to come in and lift their hair.

 

Doc agreed. "All he needs now is a ballyhoo balloon to advertise our presence. This is not salubrious ground. A deaf, dumb and blind multiple amputee could find us."

 

"Everything seems secure so far," Krysty said. "If the Sioux are around, they're not planning anything violent."

 

"Yet," J.B. added. "The night is young."

 

"I thought Plains Indians didn't attack at night," Mildred said.

 

Doc chuckled. "And I thought you minored in American Indian history."

 

"Sociological groupings," Mildred responded with some irritation. "Genotypes, cultural linkages in linguistics and the like, not whether they preferred waging war when the sun was up or down."

 

"It's true that Indians didn't attack at night a few hundred years ago," Ryan replied, "because dew would take the tension out of their hide-and-sinew bowstrings, or dampen the powder in the pans of muzzle-loaders. The warriors we saw carried automatic rifles, and they don't have to worry about keeping their strings or powder dry."

 

"Thanks," Jak said. "Feel better now that cleared up."

 

At least dinner was sumptuous, which helped to offset some of their anxiety. First, potatoes fried in fat, then remarkably tender and juicy beefsteaks followed by baked ears of corn. Dessert consisted of thick slices of apple pie, swimming in cream. Afterward, sated, they drank the delicious genuine coffee. The repast relaxed them, the strong coffee notwithstanding.

 

Hellstrom sat in his chair and ate with a gluttonous gusto that surprised Ryan. If the volume of food he consumed that night was a normal meal, it was astonishing how he remained so thin. Fleur made several trips to the cookstove simply for him.

 

As they nursed their coffee, Hellstrom waved them over to him. "Gather 'round, boys and girls. Time to come clean and to speak of many things."

 

" 'Of ships and shoes and sealing wax, and of cabbages and kings'?" Doc inquired with a rueful smile.

 

Hellstrom's lips twisted in a strange, mirthless rictus. "Sir, you are more correct than you could know."