Squinting cautiously, he found that what had seemed to be his hospital room was, in fact, a mere tent of some flexible cloth around what must have been moveable plasterboard walls to give the appearance of solidity.

The tent was standing in the typical, tropical jungle-like vegetation that grew naturally at that latitude in Mechanica, a bit separate from a huddle of other, similar tents that had been set up in a loose jumble between the tall, palmtree-like growths protruding up into the bright sky on every side. The walls of the tents were covered with various camouflage-colored patterns so that even from a few dozen feet away Atwood found it difficult to distinguish them from the background vegetation, though from what he could see there must have been a great many of the small tents huddled together in that small area.

At first Atwood could see no signs of life other than the brightly colored flying lizards that made up the avian life of Mechanica, flitting and screaming through the trees, but then he saw a handful of small bodies bustling along some distance away as several monkeys dressed in white robes made their way out of one tent and toward another.

He hurriedly leaned back into his room and pushed the door almost closed, but after a few moments had passed he peered out cautiously to find that the tent-settlement was apparently once more devoid of life.

Atwood leaned against the door frame for a few minutes thinking over the situation. It made sense that the monkeys, who were, after all, being constantly pursued and destroyed by the Mechanicals whenever they could be found, would be living in camouflaged tents that could be packed up and moved at a moment's notice. He wasn't quite certain why there would be no sign of guards or other security forces, but then it was likely that they were out there somewhere. There was no way the monkeys would leave such a large camp totally unprotected. The problem was, if he couldn't see them, how could he manage to avoid them?

He realized that he was going to have to make the attempt, one way or another. The very fact that there was no guard outside his tent was a good indication that the nurse had spoken the truth when she had said that they hadn't expected him to recover from his injuries quite so quickly, but now that they knew that he was awake, or would know it as soon as the little nurse told them, they would be bound to send someone to keep an eye on him. It was likely that he had only moments in which to attempt to escape.

He took a deep breath and slid as silently and inconspicuously as possible out into the jungle, staying close to the tent until he could make his way around the side. Peering around the corner of the tent, he saw with some relief that there were far fewer tents in that direction, but before he could make a move toward freedom he caught a glimpse of a crude platform high up in the thick branches of one of the trees not far away and he froze instantly, squinting to make out more clearly what might be concealed there. It took only a moment for him to spot a large number of monkey-bodies in what looked like sand-colored army fatigues, stirring around on the high platform like maggots in a rotting wound. If he were to attempt to cross the jungle floor beneath them they would be bound to spot him in an instant.

Atwood chewed his lower lip thoughtfully as he stared up at the platform of monkey guards. He hadn't really expected it to be easy for him to escape, but if he remained weaponless as he was it was doubtful if he would have any chance at all. Not that he'd have much chance weapon or not, he thought wryly, but he definitely had to do something to even up the odds a bit.

He turned away, brushing his arm that was strapped across his chest against the side of the tent and sending an unexpected flash of agony coursing up from wrist to elbow, and then he crouched down against the sandy earth and scuttled barefoot across the small patch of clearing between his tent and the next one, directly toward the center of the small monkey colony. He heard a chattering laughter from somewhere behind and he slipped quickly behind a cluster of thick, spiky bushes until a handful of monkeys dressed in flamboyant shirts of bright, garish patterns and shiny white shorts had passed, then he hustled over to the next tent and leaned tightly against it, trying to listen for whatever might be taking place inside.

Whether it was because that tent had the same kind of artificial, interior walls as his hospital room or simply because the background noises of the jungle were too loud, Atwood could make out only the vaguest of human- or in this case, more probably monkey- voices within, but that was enough to let him know that the tent was occupied, so he turned away and made his way past a bunch of brightly-flowering, sweet-scented, cactus-like plants as high as his head to another nearby tent, which was slightly larger and longer than the others.

This time he could hear no sound coming from within, so he circled the larger tent until he found its entrance, a crude, rough-hewn wooden door set in the supple fabric of the tent wall. It had a heavy bolt latch holding the door to the cloth jamb, but as Atwood tried to pull it free he found that it was remarkably resistant, so that the simple device seemed to be as effective as any expensive, sophisticated lock.

With one hand he was severely hampered at any work requiring manual dexterity, but he finally managed to untie the latch and twisted it away from the metal rings holding it to the side of the tent, then he carefully pulled the door open a slight crack and peered inside.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, but then he found himself looking at a long, low row of thin, narrow wooden boxes filling the entire tent, with only a narrow aisle barely leaving room to walk between them.

Deciding that he had discovered some sort of storehouse, Atwood opened the door just wide enough and slipped inside, pulling it closed behind him. Then he padded across the sandy floor in his bare feet and stopped before the nearest of the crates. It took only a moment for him to wrench the lid free, though with a faint groaning of nails that set his teeth on edge in the silence of the large tent, and he peered into its interior, hoping that he might find something that he could use as a weapon.

At first he didn't realize what he was seeing, then with a faint whistle he reached inside with his good, free hand and drew forth a flexible metal bar with a handle on one end and a cup-like indentation on the other. The box contained at least a half-dozen other of the peculiar devices, along with a woven-net bundle at one end that contained a number of objects shaped vaguely like Twentieth Century hand grenades.

Atwood was no expert on such things, but he had been given several orientation lectures on monkey weapons when he had been hired on as a security guard, and this made it possible for him to recognize that he had stumbled across one of the uglier and more dangerous devices the little simians were in the habit of using in their acts of terrorism. The roundish objects were, in fact, a sort of grenade that would explode on contact, but since the little monkeys weren't especially strong, they had devised for themselves the longer sticks to improve their range. The grenades would be placed in the cup-like intentations and then the monkey soldiers would use the metal bars to flip them toward their enemies, often at considerable distance and, with practice, with amazing accuracy. They were very effective terrorist devices, since the monkeys could use them to throw explosives against almost any target without having to expose themselves to their enemies.

Atwood leaned against the pile of crates for a moment, thinking this over, and then he tucked the throwing bar under his injured elbow and pulled a pack of the small grenades out of the box. At first he didn't know what to do with it, then he saw that the fishnet bag holding the explosives had a simple belt attached to it and, with some effort, he managed to attach it around his waist. Since it was intended for a much smaller, monkey-shaped body, it was almost uncomfortably tight, but finally he managed to get it hooked, with the net sack of grenades resting comfortably on one hip.

He wondered for a moment what to do with the metal throwing-bar, but then he saw that the belt had a convenient loop on the side opposite the grenades that was clearly made to hold the bar, so he slid it into place and then he turned to the next crate, hoping that he would find something a bit more useful as a weapon in hand-to-hand combat rather than general mayhem.

He didn't want to spend too much time there in the tent, assuming that it would be only a short time before the monkeys found that he was no longer in his hospital room and came looking for him, but it didn't take long for him to find that the rest of the crates, or at least those he was able to open without shifting them, held nothing but more of the same kinds of weapons. Deciding he would have to make do with what he had, he gave up and made his way back to the door, then carefully out into the bright sunlight.

Even in the brief time he had spent searching for weapons the monkey settlement had become much busier, for some reason, with little soldiers, nurses, and civilians rushing about in every direction, chattering and laughing together in their habitually noisy, cheerful manner, but from what Atwood could tell from where he was hiding they seemed unaware that they had an escaped enemy in their midst, and in fact they appeared to be remarkably casual in their approach to security as he made his way from one clump of bushes to another, and from the shelter of one tent to another, until he had carefully made his way in a broad semi-circle halfway around the perimeter of the monkey camp.

He had spotted two other of the guard platforms half-hidden in the trees overhead, before finally he came to a stretch where the jungle seemed much thicker and there were no guards to be seen. It occurred to him that this was probably the side of the camp that faced away from all human and Mechanical habitation, but before he could make his way back to civilization he had to get away from the monkeys, and if that meant struggling his way through an inhospitable jungle he'd just have to deal with it. At least there was some chance he could get past the guards in that direction without bringing half the monkeys in the camp down on his head, so taking a deep breath, he started out away from the cluster of tents, but then suddenly he heard a loud, piercing scream from not far behind him and he froze on the spot. He was no expert on monkeys, but he had had some experience with screaming, in his time, and he had no doubts that whoever was in trouble behind him was a human, and a female human at that.

Atwood had never considered himself to be a hero, but without even thinking he turned and dashed back into the camp, following the shrill screams as they led him directly into the midst of the cluster of tents, with monkeys shrieking in terror, scattering wildly before him as he ran.

Read the next exciting chapter of Mechanica

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        by Gary Raab

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