To Prime the Pump - A. Bertram Chandler [42]
"But I'm not sure that I approve of blood sports."
She was amusedly contemptuous. "John, John, you typical Terran petty bourgeois! You approved of that roast of wild boar at dinner last night. And that animal was killed by me, not in some sterile, allegedly humane abattoir. There is a big difference between killing for sport and mere butchering."
"You could be right."
"Of course I'm right. But come."
She led the way out of Grimes' quarters. He supposed that, given six months or so, he would eventually learn to find his way about this castle, but this morning he certainly needed a guide. At last, several corridors and a couple of escalators later, he followed her into a panelled room at ground level, against the walls of which were stacks of weapons: light and heavy firearms, longbows and, even, spears.
One of these latter she selected, a seven-foot shaft , of some dull-gleaming timber, tipped with a wickedly sharp metal head. She tested the point of it on the ball of her thumb, said, "This will do. Select yours."
"A spear?" demanded Grimes, incredulous.
"Yes, a spear. What did you expect? A laser cannon? A guided missile with a fusion warhead? Wars were fought with these things, John, once upon a time. Fought and won."
"And fought and lost when the other side came up with bows and arrows."
"The boar only has his tusks. And hooves."
"And he knows how to use them." Grimes deliberately handled his spear clumsily, making it obvious that this was one weapon that he did not know how to use.
"Just stay with me," she told him. "You'll be quite safe."
Grimes flushed but said nothing, walked with her out of the castle into the open air.
* * *
It was a fine morning, the sun rising in a cloudless sky, the last of the dew still on the grass, the merest suggestion of a pleasantly cool breeze. Grimes found himself remembering the possibly mythical upper-class Englishman who was supposed to have said, "It's a beautiful day. Let's go out and kill something." So it was a beautiful day for killing wild boars, and last night (that memory suddenly flooded back) had been a beautiful night for killing white goats. He shivered a little. A boar hunt would be clean, wholesome by comparison. And, he had to admit, there was a certain glamor about sport of this kind, cruel though some might consider it.
He looked at the hounds, their pelts boldly patterned in ruddy brown and white, streaming ahead of them in a loose pack. They were silent now, although they had belled lustily when released from their kennels. They were part of the countryside, part of this kind of life. And so was Marlene, striding mannishly (but not too mannishly) beside him. Even the two humanoid robots, tricked out in some sort of forester's livery, each carrying a bundle of spears and one of those bell-mouthed net-throwing pistols, were more part of the picture than he, Grimes, was. Even the inevitable pair of watchbirds, hovering and soaring overhead, looked like real birds, fitted in.
There was no need for a path over the grass, something had kept it cropped short. But as they approached the woods Grimes saw that there was a track through the trees, made either by human agency or by wild animals. But the hounds ignored it, split up, each making its own way into the green dimness. They gave voice again, a cacophonous baying that, thought Grimes uneasily, must surely infuriate rather than frighten any large and dangerous animal. But they seemed to know what they were doing, which was more than he did.
He remarked, "Intelligent animals, aren't they?"
"Within their limitations," she replied. "They have been told to find a wild boar, the wild boar, rather, and drive him toward us. And they have enough brains to keep out of trouble themselves."
"Which is more than I have."
"You can say that again. Hold your spear at the ready, like this. The way you're handling it he could be on you, ripping your guts out, before you got the point anywhere near him."
"If your watchbirds let him."
"They can't operate in a forest, John." She grinned. "But Fritz and Fredrik"