Planet Of No Return

This canyon was wider now, but the bends were sharper and prevented him from seeing very far ahead. He slowed down for each corner, going around it cautiously — until he realized that he was wasting too much time this way. What would happen would happen, he could not avoid it. He had to press on and be more fatalistic about the future.

The floor of the valley had changed to hard rock, scratched and gouged by the steel treads, but still far smoother than the ploughed-up soil below. As he adjusted to the rhythm of the constant motion he found his progress steady, his breathing strong and regular. Almost relaxed. He pounded steadily around a sharp bend and saw the armoured vehicle just a few yards ahead.

It had a machine’s reflexes. The four-gunned turret had been pointed towards the sky. Now, with frightening speed it slewed about and pointed directly at him. Even as he dived back for the shelter of the rock he saw those four dark mouths gaping. The shells would strike him in the back, they could not miss ….

He landed and rolled and pushed himself against the unyielding stone, surprised that he was still alive. Nothing had happened. The guns had not fired.

Brion lay there, his breath rasping hard, waiting for the clank of treads as the machine started forward. He knew that he could not outrun it. Could he climb out of this trap? No, the valley walls were smooth and precipitous. There was no escape.

The sound of its motor was loud and harsh. Metal screeched and echoed and the motor raced unevenly.

Then the sound died away leaving an aching silence. The thing wasn’t coming for him — but it was still blocking his way. Why had it stopped?

Brion took a deep and shuddering breath, then climbed slowly to his feet. He had been spared — but for how long. What was he to do? It would be dark soon. Perhaps he could get by the tank in the dark. No, the darkness would mean nothing to the machine; it senses would be just as alert then. Go back? He could — but it would mean the end. Giving up. He had come too far to do that now. And why hadn’t the thing fired at him? Curiosity got the better of caution.

Ever so slowly, a fraction of an inch at a time, he crawled forward over the rocks. Raising his head over the top…

Falling back as he found himself looking directly into the muzzles of the guns.

Yet still they hadn’t fired. The thing knew that he was here — so why was it hesitating? Some sort of cat and mouse game? No, it wouldn’t be programmed for anything except destruction. Then what should he do?

He picked up a fair-sized rock, drew it far back — then hurled it up and out with a straight-armed grenade throw. It hit the ground with a resounding crash and he raised his head again as it did.

Gears ground as the gun turret pointed at the rock, then whined again as it spun back to sight on him. This time he did not move. The machine already had had two chances to kill him — and nothing had happened. This was the third. If it fired now at least he would never know it.

One second, two, then three slipped by. The guns were still silent. Emboldened he stepped out from behind cover and started forward. The guns turned slowly, never leaving him as he advanced.

Brion stopped as the engine rumbled again and the tank vibrated, clanking forward a few inches, then stopped. That was when he noticed for the first time that it had shed one of its tracks and could not move.

If he could get past the thing it would not be able to follow him! He ran, straight up the valley, painfully aware of the guns tracking him every inch of the way. Only when he was even with the machine, passing it, did the guns suddenly stop moving. Then the turret ground slowly around and the guns drifted back to the vertical. Brion stopped as well and looked at the thing.

It was ignoring him now. He must have passed out of range of the forward-facing sensors and his presence had been wiped from its memory banks. Should he take the time to go closer, to examine it?

There was no way he could justify the action other than curiosity. The release from tension, and the fear of certain death that had so recently overwhelmed him, had made him almost light-headed and fearless for the moment. He had to get closer to the thing, to look at it. It might reveal something, or nothing, it didn’t really matter.

He approached it, step by cautious step, but the machine paid him no need. He was close enough now to see the weld marks on its metal hide, to put one foot on the shining metal of a bogey wheel and clamber up its side. There was a hatch on top, just behind the gun turret, with a single locking handle. He hesitated a second — then reached out and pulled down on it, hard.

Soundlessly and effortlessly the hatch swung open.