Leo Frankowski

here. Very. Especially when
you’ll be there in three minutes. I’m afraid
you’ll have to go in alone. None of
our brothers are near enough to help in time.
    Claymore here. What
would I need with help? I mean, if there are only six of them…
    Gamma 5723 here. Unfortunately, one of
them has a weapon, a semiautomatic thirty-caliber carbine.
    Claymore here. Oh.
That does complicate things. I thought that we had disposed of all of their
iron and aluminum
artifacts.
    Gamma 5723 here. We
pretty much have. But in this instance the human deduced what was happening. He sealed the weapon in an airtight plastic bag before
it could become contaminated. The
weapon is operational. The human
plans to fire it through the bag and then reseal it. He has fifteen
rounds in the clip.
    Claymore here. Which means I’m up against
an intelligent armed human, despite his irrationalities.
    Gamma 5723 here.
Good luck. Gamma 5723 out.
    By this time,
Claymore was fifty yards from the cliff and accelerating. He was on a partially
wooded plateau, with short
flat sections cut by deep fissures, some of them
over forty feet wide. Most of these he could jump, but he had to circle some of them. On one
occasion he had to climb a hundred
yards down and up again just to travel eighty feet forward. It was maddeningly
slow, and it took him more than six
minutes to travel the two miles to
the cabin. Most of the way he had to wind through forests, and he was hoping
for good cover for his approach to the cabin.
    No such luck. The
cabin was in the center of an abandoned farm, with at least four hundred yards
of open field
in every direction. Claymore thrust his eye tentacles out through the
foliage to survey his objective. It was a small building, perhaps two thousand
square feet, and ancient, with stone walls and wooden window frames. The roof
beams were heavy logs and—yes— pegged together. Aside from the door hinges, this would be one of the few
buildings to remain intact. Certainly something a human would covet.
    A human male was
standing on the roof, his legs wide, turning occasionally to survey the terrain. He was holding the carbine.
    Nothing for it but a
direct frontal attack, into superior firepower. Had Claymore understood swearing,
he would have done so. As it
was, he picked up a half- dozen throwing-size
rocks and launched himself at his opponent.
    He went straight
toward his opponent at first, carefully controlling his body color to match his
background, watching his footfalls to make the least possible noise while moving at the
highest possible speed, close to sixty mph. With luck, he would be close before he
was noticed.
Possibly the human had never seen an LDU before and would hesitate to fire. Also,
heading straight in, he presented
the least possible frontal area to his oppo nent’s
gunfire. On the other hand, if he did take a hit, it would tear through six feet of his flesh. A single
round could conceivably take out
half of his ganglia, lungs, or hearts.
    Claymore was halfway there when the human
saw him and brought up his weapon. The LDU
sidestepped rapidly, then shifted
into a fast form of broken field running.
The human fired at one hundred yards, and the bullet narrowly missed the LDU’s left forward fixed eye. It streaked across his back not quite breaking the
skin, but knocking the wind out of
his left lung. The pain was incredible.
Claymore stumbled and almost fell. But his right lung was still sucking it in
in front and blowing it out behind.
He kept running. The brass cartridge ejected into the plastic bag and the carbine was ready to fire again. The human was a hunter and took careful
aim.
    Claymore. Gamma 5723 here. Immediate
attack is no longer necessary. The human
female just died. You might as
well wait until reinforcements arrive.
    Claymore here. Now you
tell me. I am in the midst of a solo frontal assault. At this point retreating would be more dangerous than pressing forward.
    Gamma 5723 here. I
got involved with a situation in Utah. I’ll apologize if I get you killed.
    Claymore here.
Apologize now.
    Gamma 5723 here.
Okay. I apologize.
    Claymore here. It’s all right. Claymore
out.
    The next round missed
him. He was fifty yards from the cabin now and zigzagging rapidly.
    Claymore was working
his way towards the woodpile, from which he could easily vault to the roof. He threw one of his rocks at
the human just as the rifle was firing again. This time the human did not miss.
The slug tore through Claymore’s right