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Chapter 2 · Slaves to the Metal Horde

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  Chapter two of Slaves to the Metal Horde by Stephen Marlowe. This LibriVox recording
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  is in the public domain. Chapter two Diane darted from the stream with a
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  glad little cry, shaking the water from her long, tawny hair, the
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  droplets of water sparkling on her bronzed skin like diamonds, the long lithe lines
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  of her body clothed only in the moisture until she found her buckskin shorts and
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  halter and dressed. Life was comparatively simple and uncomplicated among the shining ones,
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  and she, of all their encampment, remembered no other way. The others
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  might look back with bitter longing, or curse softly and feutally at the silver
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  patches of skin at elbow and knee, which marked them as survivors of the
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  plague, but not Diane. So what if they were shun by others,
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  by the non afflicted people who clung so doggedly to their mean existence in the
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  small villages, She had but to hunt and fish and evade the bands of
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  roving robots lest they could script her in their services. The only other bane
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  in her life was Harry Starbuck, and she could take care of herself or
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  he was concerned. She could something stirred in the undergrowth to her left,
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  and Diane could barely make out the flash of skin which said it was a
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  man and not an animal. She finished fasting her halter as if she had
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  seen or heard nothing, then abruptly picked up her hunting knife and said,
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  I hear you in there. I'll count three and then come in after you.
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  She did not have to count. The bushes parted, and Harry Starbuck
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  emerged, his skin scratched by the brambles, his boyish face ridiculously out of
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  place, a top and over muscled body, his knees and elbows covered by
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  buckskin guards, an affectation common among the Shining Ones, but which Diane had
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  always thought as silly as wearing eye patches. Because you did not like the
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  color of your eyes. You were watching me, Diane said, angrily,
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  I warn you before, Harry. There's no law. He boomed sullenly,
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  his deep voice belonging to the over developed body and not the boy's face.
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  I can go where I want to. Diane slapped the flat of her knife
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  against her palm slowly. Some day, she predicted, this blade is going
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  to feast on Starbuck. I mean that, Starbuck roared his laughter. Then
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  no, be careful, he promised. But meanwhile you realize you can't marry
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  anyone but a shining one, and who of our people suit you more than
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  none of them suit me. You're young, you have no family, no
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  close friends to protect you. I should take you. Diane shrugged, then
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  regretted it as Starbuck's small eyes feasted hungrily on the smooth place of muscle beneath
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  the taut bronze skin. Then go ahead, Harry, but you won't sleep
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  nights because I'll be waiting. And if you do sleep, you can forget
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  all about waking up. I mean that too. Starbuck was still laughing.
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  I've half a mind to turn you over to the robots and let them tame
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  you a little before I claim what I want. Diane, let her voice
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  do the shrugging. You can always try, must we always argue? Starbuck
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  demanded abruptly, petulance, drawing down the corners of his lips. I don't
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  want to fight with you. I want to I know what you want.
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  You can forget it. I'm going to take a walk and maybe do some
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  hunting. If you'll excuse me with a knife. I'm not hunting for wild
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  horses. I think I'll go with you. Diane scowled at him, then
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  girdled her knife. As you wish, but be quiet, grinning. Starbuck
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  shortened his strides and mashed her pace as she cut away from the stream and
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  the undergrowth and headed toward the foothills of the Pocono Mountains in the distance,
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  where plump, juicy rabbits hid behind every blade of grass. They walked in
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  silence, the man steps pondrous, the girl so quick in life, her
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  bare feet hardly seemed to touch the ground. In an hour, they had
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  reached another stream, wider than the first and running deep with swift, cool
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  water. Diane immediately dived in and swam, then continued walking on the other
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  side, while Starbuck carefully searched out a ford and splashed across, with the
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  water up to his waist. By the time he overtook Diane, she was
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  crouching sitting on her bare heels, the line of her back damp under the
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  buckskins, a long, graceful curve. Take a look at this, she
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  said, and pointed. Starbuck looked and saw the remains of a camp fire
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  at her feet, warm, he asked. Diane shook her head, but
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  not completely cold. Several hours old. Probably made this morning. Probably there's
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  someone nearby, so what so if he's alone, he's probably a shining one.
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  And we have enough people in our camp. Now you always think competitively,
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  harry one more man won't hurt your position in our tribe. Well,
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  if he's young, and if he well, if you, I'm not promised
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  to you or anyone, And don't forget that. Besides, it doesn't have
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  a thing to do with this. Diane peered expertly at the ground and soon
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  picked up the stranger's spore, where he had come out of the stream himself,
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  probably after bathing, and started out on his day's journey. Come on,
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  she said, and Starbuck could either forego her company or follow her.
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  He followed. The spoor became erratic. It wandered in circles, double back
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  on itself, seemed either headed for no goal or incapable of reaching one.
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  He must have been hurt somehow, Diane mused. He can't be very far.
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  What are you so curious about? Curious? I don't know, I'm
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  just interested. I hello up there. Diane sprinted up a short rise,
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  leaving a surprised Starbuck pounding along several paces behind her. She found the man
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  lying face down near a large oak tree. Although it was comparatively cool,
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  his body was drenched with perspiration. Diane shook her head sadly at the swollen
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  joints and purple discolorations. They say it's a terrible thing, she told Starbuck
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  as he panted up. I don't remember. I was a baby. Starbuck
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  shuddered, I remember, watch out, don't go near him. What's the
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  matter with you? We're immune? Starbuck nodded morosely. Yes, immune.
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  But he'll die anyway, So why don't we Why don't we take him back
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  with us? That's what? Don't kid me, Harry Starbuck. You're acting
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  sympathetic only because you think I'll like that. Well. I happen to feel
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  sorry for this man. I think we'll feel better if we help him.
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  Help him. He's as good as dead. Are you dead? You had
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  the plague? Am I? No? But maybe one out of a hundred
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  live. That isn't much of a chance for him. It's a chance,
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  though, here carry him? What who me? Now? Listen, Diane?
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  Maybe a moon struck Starbuck had his advantages suit yourself, but don't expect
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  me to speak to you again ever. Starbuck considered this, then mumbled something
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  under his breath which Diane could not hear. All Right, he said,
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  finally, But I'm telling you it's a waste of time. I'll be the
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  judge of that. Still grumbling, Starbuck picked the man up by one arm
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  and one leg, staggered until he bounced his burden across one shoulder, then
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  started back down toward the stream. That's right, said Diane. We could
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  reach camp in a few hours if we hurry, he'll never live through the
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  day, said Starbuck. I only had the plague a few years ago.
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  I lived in the villages, so I know he'll never live through the day.
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  Just keep walking. If he dies, we can bury him. By
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  the time they reached the stream again, Starbuck was covered with sweat. He
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  forded the water carefully, Diane behind him to keep the stricken man's head above
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  water despite its flush. She liked the man's face. He was young,
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  not much older than Diane herself, with dark hair and regular features, neither
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  too boyish like Starbucks nor too craggy like most of the older men she knew.
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  Occasionally the man would mutter something unintelligible, and when they got to the
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  other side of the stream, he opened his eyes, stared at Diane without
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  seeing her, and said in a croaking whisper. Water they stopped. Starbuck
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  dropped his burden, thankfully. I can't carry him all the way back,
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  he said. Then don't go ahead, I'll stay here. Diane cupped some
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  water in her hand trickled it between the dry lips. She was not even
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  aware of Starbuck when he left. She made a bed of leaves for the
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  man's head and studied him. The denim trousers suggested village life, but she
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  never suspected otherwise. The face still appealed to her, strong in appearance despite
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  the fever, yet not overbearing. She hoped the youth would recover. This
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  is fantastic, Diane said aloud. It may take days before he recovers or
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  dies. She thought of calling to Starbuck before he retreated beyond earshot, but
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  her pride forbade that. Shrugging and making herself as comfortable as she could,
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  she bathed the man's flushed face with water day and night. The touch of
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  the ground, the cool water which bathed him, the patient hands which kept
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  the blood flowing through his swollen joints. All became as unreal to Johnny Hope
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  as the shadowy remembrance of some half forgotten nightmare. His lucid moments were few.
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  There was this person, face unseen but comforting. There was a little
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  food and all the water he wanted. And there was the fever, which
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  came and departed, leaving an icy chill behind. Once Johnny mumbled, go
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  away, you'll catch it yourself, and there was laughter, soft murmuring feminine.
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  He thought, was the woman insane to expose herself. So the fever
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  retreated, stubbornly, in no great hurry to depart. The lucid moments became
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  more frequent and of longer duration. The girl was beautiful. There came a
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  time when Johnny sat up weakly, his back propped against the bowl of a
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  tree. The face smiled at him. He willed the toes of his left
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  foot to move and watch them wiggle. He could just barely feel them with
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  long, easy strokes. The girl massaged his legs acutely. Conscious of her.
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  Now Johnny was embarrassed. I'm all right, he said. He struggled
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  to sit up, but as yet had no real control over his limbs.
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  The girl placed the flat of her palm against his chest and pushed gently,
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  easing him back against the tree. You stay still, she told him.
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  You'll be up and around in a day or so, but don't hurry things.
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  I ought to thank you. You're crazy. Why did you expose yourself
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  like this? Why? He watched her as she sat before him and drew
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  her legs up, knees thrust up. She saw the slim, bronzed line
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  of her calves and the metallic silver of knees. A shining one, he
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  cried, recoiling involuntarily. The Shining Ones had survived the plague, but remained
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  carriers of it for all their days. The girl smiled at him, as
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  are you. You are a very lucky young man to live through this.
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  The silver coated his own knees, Johnny saw, and his elbows. It
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  would take some adjustment. All his life he had been told to walk in
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  fear of the Shining Ones, who often swept down on the villages, forcing
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  the townsfolk to flee or face the plague, and taking what they wanted of
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  the stores of food and supplies. I see you're a little afraid of yourself.
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  It's common enough. I was lucky to have the plague as an infant.
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  I remember no other life. You see, when you're well and strong
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  enough to walk, I'll take you back to our encampment. I don't know,
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  Johnny said, doubtfully. Just be patient with yourself. Adjustment will come.
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  All my life. They said the Shining Ones were monsters. When I
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  was a little boy, I had to be good because my mother said otherwise
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  the Shining Ones would come and get me, carrying me off to kill me
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  with the plague. You've had the plague yourself. You've got to remember that.
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  Besides, the girl laughed easily. You're a big boy now to believe
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  in bogey men, well, Johnny continued stubbornly. There are other things.
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  The Shining Ones are scavengers. They don't work themselves or grow their own crops.
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  Instead, they invade the peaceful villages. Then the natives, my people
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  have to flee or become contaminated. The Shining Ones take all the lute they
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  want, some of us. I have been a Shining One all my life,
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  but have never taken part in such a raid. We do not grow
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  crops because we are not an agricultural people. We are nomadic and hunters.
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  Why the robots, the girl told him. Some of our people joined them
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  voluntarily. Many others are forced into bondage. If we don't keep on the
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  move, they'll find us. Agriculture is an impossible art when your encampment is
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  always on the move. It gave Johnny food for thought, and something of
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  the girl's own frankness made him do his thinking aloud. If I remain al
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  i'll be a hermit. I've seen the hermit shining ones, wandering through the
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  hills alone and friendless wild men. If I go with you, I become
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  almost an enemy of my own people. They are no longer your people.
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  You must realize that. And if I go with you, I can learn
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  about the robots and perhaps one day bring the truth back to my people.
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  Tell me, do the robots cure the plague or spread it? They spread
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  it? Johnny smiled grimly. I'll go with you. Two days and half
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  a dozen good meals later, the girl helped him to his feet and nursed
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  him along for his first few on certain steps, but strength flowed back into
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  his legs rapidly. He was walking without support. By the time they reached
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  the wide stream and saw the girl's nod of silent approval as he swam across
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  at with her match, swift stroke for stroke. An hour went by,
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  and Johnny became amazed at the speed of his recovery. He almost wanted to
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  return to Hamilton village and shout, see, I survived, I'm back.
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  But he was a shining one, a carrier forever, an exile from the
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  people and the life he knew, and his own parents were dead, mute
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  testimony of the havoc. He might wreek among his people if he returned to
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  them. They walked from the stream and shook the water from themselves and looked
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  at each other, wet like that, and smiled. I don't even know
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  your name, said Johnny. It's Diane. I'm Johnny Hope. I want
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  to Johnny, get down. He stood there, surprised, staring foolishly.
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  They were on a small rise of ground above the stream. The girl,
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  who had fallen flat even as she hissed the command at him, was tugging
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  at his legs. He dropped prone beside her, although he still failed to
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  see the reason for her sudden alarm. She parted the undergrowth in front of
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  them with her hands, and said the one word. Look. Johnny had
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  never seen the robots this close before. For all their ungainly bulk, they
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  trod the ground softly, walking as he had always seen them at greater distances,
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  in a long, single file column. They were huge, antenna topped
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  creatures, their great cylindrical head sections bigger than a man and gleaming a polished
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  silver blue. Their eyes, four of them, evenly spaced around the cylinder
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  a foot or so below the antenna, white and bulging, with neither pupil
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  nor lid. Their limbs, many jointed and metallic, various tu lens fastened
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  securely instead of hands. The legs were attached to the small body, but
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  one fifth the size of the head. The arms came from the head itself,
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  just below the un blinking eyes. They must be twelve feet tall,
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  Johnny whispered, sh softly. We're close to our encampment, and I don't
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  want them to find us. They averaged twelve feet Johnny. Johnny would never
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  forget the sight. Many times he had watched the robots parading in thin line
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  silence down the long, silent roads which men no longer used. But now
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  he could have almost reached out and touched them. The absolute quiet was unnerving.
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  The robots must have weighed close to a ton each, but walked with
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  the stillness of stalking jungle cats. Where are they going, Diane? I
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  don't know who understands the ways of robots? Who can say abruptly? Diane
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  was still. Her eyes went big and wide, but she wasn't watching the
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  robots directly in front of her face and staring at her from unblinking eyes.
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  Its body, half coiled and dappled with the sunlight which filtered down through the
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  foliage, was a copper head. The tongue darted out in a quick,
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  blurring red streak. The head cleared the loose coils and swayed slightly from side
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  to side. Don't move, Johnny barely formed the words with his lips and
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  hoped Diane would retain her presence of mind and obey him. A sudden motion
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  would set the snake to striking. The file of robots paraded by, just
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  in front of them, an occasional joint creaking metal skins polished to keen reflection.
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  The copperhead was fully coiled. Now head cocked flat and ugly and perfectly
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  still, Johnny placed his hand on Diane's thigh and let it crawl upwards,
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  as if of its own volition, with an agonizing lack of speed. Now
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  his fingers had reached the edge of the buckskin shorts, and now they climbed
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  on the smooth pelt. He could feel Diane trembling faintly, the motion unseen
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  but felt. And now his fingers climbed to the girdling belt, grasped the
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  haft of the hunting knife slowly withdrew it tiny fraction of an inch at a
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  time. At last he had drawn the knife clear, easing it slowly toward
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  his own body. He balanced it upon his palm, trying to judge the
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  weight. He would have only one chance, for the quick motion of his
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  arm would make the copperhead strike. If he missed, Sweat rolled on his
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  forehead and into his eyes, half blinding him. He cursed soundlessly, held
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  his hand out flat, squinted, whipped it forward. A sigh escaped Diane's
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  lips. There was an angry thrashing as the copper head uncoiled, but the
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  blade had pinned it to the ground, piercing the body just below the flat
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  head. Ignoring the column of robots. Now Johnny crawled forward, swiftly grasped
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  the knife, and drew it cleanly toward him. The head was severed from
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  the body. The body thrashed furiously, then lay still in death. The
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  robots marched on, oblivious of the drama which had unfolded at their metal clawed
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  feet. The last robot glided by the long line, retreated into the woodland
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  vanished. Diane stood up, still trembling. It took me three days to
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  save your life, she said, You saved mine in seconds. Johnny added
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  her the knife. Let's find your people, he said. End of chapter two.