"Get out?" the stocky Drummond repeated incredulously as he ran
thick-set fingers over the black stubble on his cheek. "Ain't we going
to salvage the clunkers? The book says they're ours after fifty years."
"The hold's empty. There's no cargo."
"There was when it landed. Look at the angle of incidence on those
fins."
"Exactly." Frowning, Angus shifted his holster around on his hip and
strode back toward the plain. "Ever hear of a frustrated compulsion?"
* * * * *
Drummond, following hesitantly, shook his head.
"Those clunkers have to satisfy a basic behavior circuit," McIntosh
explained as he hastened his step. "We don't know what the compulsion
of this bunch is. Suppose--well, suppose they have a chiropractic
function. How'd you like to be the first person to show up after
they've been frustrated for a hundred years?"
"Oh," Drummond said comprehendingly, stumbling to keep pace.
Angus McIntosh brushed a mass of tendrils aside and stepped out on the
plain. "We'll report it and let them send in a deactivation crew. That
way, at least, we'll get fifty per cent of salvage and no danger."
"Even that ain't bad--just for following an SOS a hundred light-years.
Taking an uncharted route and picking up that signal sure paid off
like--"
Drummond gagged on his words as he gripped Angus's arm and pointed.
Their ship was a shining oval, bobbing and weaving on a sea of silver
that surged across the plain toward a cliff on the left.
"Clunkers!" Drummond gasped. "Hundreds of 'em--making off with our
boat!"
He unholstered his weapon and fired.
Angus struck his wrist sharply. "Why don't you just run out waving your
arms? We don't have enough firepower to get more than eight or ten of
them."
But the warning was too late. Already the tide had washed away from the
ship and was surging toward the gorge.
There was a noise behind them and Angus spun around. Ten feet away
stood a robot with the designation RA-204 on his breast-plate.
"Welcome, O Jackson," the clunker said reverently.
Then he hinged forward on his hip joints until his head almost touched
the ground. The gesture was a clockwork salaam.
* * * * *
McIntosh's thin legs dangled in front of 204's breast-plate and his
ankles were secure in the grip of metal fingers as he rode the robot's
shoulders.
RA-76 strode alongside, carrying a squirming and swearing Drummond.
Around them, the shining horde marched along noisily.
"He has come!" cried one.
"Jackson has come!" chanted the others of the shining horde.
"He will show us the way!" shouted RA-204.
Drummond kicked, but 76 only held his legs more firmly. Furious,
Drummond reached for his gun.
"That's using your head," Angus said sarcastically. "Agitate them. Then
we'll never get out of here."
Drummond let the weapon slip back into its holster. "What did we get
into--a nest of fanatics? Who's Jackson?"
Angus helplessly shrugged his bony shoulders.
The procession filtered through a narrow woods and broke out on another
plain, headed for the nearby cliff.