Until the monkeys started shooting at him, Atwood had been acting on pure reflex alone, but finally he came to his senses and dashed quickly behind the closest tent, crouching for a moment to catch his breath as he listened to the monkeys calling orders back and forth around him.

For just an instant he considered making another break for the jungle, surrendering whomever he had heard screaming to whatever fate was in store for her, but then the air was rent by another series of sharp shrieks and he took a deep breath before dashing across a clear space to the next tent in the direction of the center of the vast monkey campsite.

He heard cries of surprise and anger and another hail of bullets struck the earth at his heels, but then he was in the shelter of the tent and relative safety. He caught just a glimpse of a startled monkey face peering out of a half-open door in its side, then the door slammed shut as he bolted forward to hide behind a cluster of the spiky, sweet-scented cactus-like flowering plants.

If he had had to cover any great distance under such difficult circumstances doubtless he would never have made it, but fortunately for him the source of the screams was right at hand, and after he had made one more dash across the exposed jungle floor to another nearby tent he found that he had already reached his destination.

He scrambled around the side of the tent, expecting to find it closed on all sides as the others had been, but to his surprise the fabric on the side of the tent closest to the center of the monkey camp was open, pulled up and tied loosely to straps along the tent's sloped ceiling, exposing the interior to the air.

He came to a quick halt, almost losing his balance, as he found himself confronted with a dozen or more small monkeys in full combat gear, with fatigue outfits, shiny black jungle boots, and steel helmets painted dull green, holding nasty-looking snub-nosed rifles at crisp attention before their chests. They were standing in neat rows before a low platform that had been set up inside the open tent. Atwood saw that a gilded, throne-like chair with a high back, painted in a pattern vaguely like the half-open tail of a peacock, had been set up on the platform, and a remarkably withered, old-looking monkey dressed in a neat tuxedo sat on the throne, leaning forward with an intense expression on his monkey face as he glared at a woman standing on the platform before him.

Under the circumstances Atwood was in no position to examine the woman too closely, but even at a hasty glance he could tell that she was young, perhaps his own age or a bit less, dressed in the nondescript simple grey blouse and flaring skirt that were very nearly a universal outfit among the female half of the human population who worked for the Mechanicals. Her hair was long and black, and as she threw back her head and came out with another of her powerful shrieks her loose-hanging locks coiled down almost to the center of her back.

As Atwood erupted into the scene everyone froze for just the briefest of moments and even the woman managed, somehow, to halt in mid-scream to turn and stare at him, but then one of the monkeys in apparent authority barked a sharp command and the squad of soldiers turned quickly in Atwood's direction, swinging their weapons to aim at his unarmed chest.

Not totally unarmed, however. Atwood hastily jerked the sack of grenades from his hip with his good hand and held them up over his head. "Okay," he shouted, then he swallowed to clear his shaky voice and began again. "Everybody just take it easy," he commanded as firmly as he could. "One false move and I'll blow us all up! Really!"

The commanding monkey waved some of the simian soldiers to move forward, but as Atwood spun on his heel to face them, holding his grenades as threateningly as he could, a firm, deep voice obviously used to obedience called out, "Halt!" Atwood glanced out of the corner of his eye at the old monkey on the platform, who had risen to his feet and was now standing on somewhat bowed, stubby legs at the edge of the low stage. The other monkeys froze in position and for a moment no one spoke or moved.

"There is no danger, sire," the commander monkey said finally, though Atwood thought he heard a certain degree of uncertainty in the simians's voice. "He can't possibly know how to activate the explosives he's trying to threaten us with!"

"Is this so, young man?" the old monkey demanded in a surprisingly calm voice.

"I was fully trained in the use of your weapons before I was taken on as a guard," Atwood told him, not mentioning that no one had told him anything about any activating mechanisms on the throwing grenades. "Besides, do you really want to take the chance? I'd think this many explosives would make a pretty good blast, don't you?" He turned slightly to face the older monkey, who we could see was clearly a personage of some importance, and shook the sack of grenades over his head threateningly.

"I should exercise a bit more care in the handling of those things, if I were you," the old monkey said casually. "If you want to continue to threaten us you have to remain in one piece, after all, don't you? Our grenades are notoriously unstable, I'm afraid. Because of our lack of opposable thumbs." He held up his right hand and wiggled his fingers.

Atwood couldn't think of anything to say to that so he was silent and for a time everyone just stared at one another. Then the commanding monkey who was standing with his troops made a noise of frustration. "Sire, we can't just stand here for the remainder of our lives letting this oilsucker threaten us with our own weapons!" he exclaimed in a voice very close to a wail. "Say the word and we will take him with no danger to yourself, I guarantee it!"

"Come and try, shorty!" Atwood snarled, half-spinning to face the little officer, but the old monkey on the platform waved his long arm for silence.

"There will be no needless heroics," he said firmly.

"But human, our good commander here does have a point. We cannot stand here staring at one another forever, now, can we? Obviously something is going to have to be done to resolve the situation in which we find ourselves."

Atwood shrugged and then, hearing shuffling, muttering noises from somewhere behind him, he glanced over his shoulder to see, with a sinking heart, that he was now completely surrounded by little monkeys, some of then in uniforms and all of them armed, stretching as far as he could see between the tents and the jungle growth.

"Okay, what do you suggest?" he asked the old monkey, trying to put up the bravest front he could muster under the increasingly difficult circumstances.

The old monkey made a face that was more threatening than friendly, though it was probably intended to be a smile. "I would suggest that you put down your grenades and surrender," he said frankly. "That would be my first choice. Though of course I admit, I am prejudiced."

"Yeah." Atwood thought for a moment, then he looked to the young woman, who had been standing to one side of the platform looking uncertain and confused. "Okay, I have some ideas too," he said. "First, the lady comes down by me."

The older monkey paused for a moment and glanced at the human girl at his side. "On general principles I should object, but to be quite honest about the matter, I would almost prefer that you take her off my hands," he admitted. "I never much cared for shrieking females of any species. Males are always so much easier to interrogate!"

The young woman gave him a look of outrage, but then she stepped hesitantly from the low platform and pushed her way carefully through the frozen phalanx of monkey soldiers to Atwood's side, careful not to touch any of the small simians on the way.

"Hi," the young man said awkward, not quite certain just what the proper etiquette might be for meeting someone under those circumstances. The woman flashed him a quick, attractive smile but said nothing. "Would you stand behind me and watch my back?" Atwood asked her softly. "Just to make sure nobody tries to shoot at me from a tree or jump me or anything like that?"

"I don't think I could stop anyone from shooting you," the young woman pointed out in a small voice. "I don't- why haven't they already done that? I mean, all they have to do is .. I don't see how . ."

Atwood shrugged, keeping his eyes carefully on the band of soldiers in front of him. "I'd guess the old guy was right, these things I'm holding are so unstable that if I just as much as fall down with them they'll do off," he told her. "And if they shoot me I'm sure going to drop them, right?"

The girl paled and her eyelids fluttered so that for a moment Atwood thought she was going to faint, but then she merely nodded and stepped behind him, pressing close to his back. "Anyway, if anybody tries to shoot you now, they'll hit me instead," she said. "Then you can set off the grenades and take them all with us."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," Atwood said softly. He lifted his chin and peered over at the old monkey still standing on the platform, who had simply watched in silence as the young woman had come to Atwood's side. "Okay," the young man called out. "Now I don't want to get hurt and I don't think anybody else does either, isn't that right?"

"I for one certainly agree with that sentiment," the old monkey agreed. "I suppose you want some sort of guarantee of free passage out of our camp? I shall give you any assurances you want, I promise you."

"No offense, but I don't really think I can just trust your word," Atwood told him. He chewed his lower lip for a moment, thinking. "How do you feel about hostages?"

The older monkey shrugged. "Not much. Though if our positions were reversed I should give an entirely different answer to that question, human," he said. "But I suppose under the circumstances we must do what we must. If you require a hostage, might I suggest Commander Extender, here? His rank is sufficient to encourage our good behavior, and-"

"No. You," Atwood barked, his confidence greatly strengthened by the older monkey's apparent cooperation.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said I'll take you," Atwood told the old monkey. "I don't know about this commander guy, but it's pretty obvious you're more important than he is, and I don't want anybody shooting us in the back because they're willing to make a martyr."

"Sire!" the monkey who had been identified as Commander Extender protested sharply. "Surely you cannot allow this human to-"

"Just a moment, just a moment, commander," the old monkey told him. He turned to Atwood and gave him a sharp, button-eyed look. "You understand, I have no personal objections to what you're suggesting, young man," he said mildly. "But I'm afraid some of my subjects might find it unacceptable."

"Subjects!" Atwood repeated blankly.

"Yes, subjects." The old monkey laughed. "You seem surprised. Did you suppose that we fellow anthropoids are so uncivilized that we are incapable of governing ourselves? I happen to be the king of our little country, here." He rested his hands on the lapels of his tuxedo and smiled smugly.

Despite the seriousness of the situation Atwood found himself laughing. "Maybe so, but that just shows how primitive you really are," he said. "We humans haven't had any monarchies for centuries, now!"

"That is your misfortune, then, not ours," the monkey king remarked. "But as I was about to explain, if you were to take me hostage, and then if anything unfortunate were to happen to me, you would find the wrath of all monkeydom coming down on yourself and on your descendants for a thousand generations. Do you really want to take that risk?"

"It seems to me I don't have much choice," Atwood told him grimly. "Now get over here." He shook the sack full of grenades slightly over his head.

"I shall consider it, if you will tell me your terms," the old monkey king said calmly.

Atwood paused for just a moment, then he nodded. "Okay," he agreed. "How's this: you just accompany me to the edge of your village, out beyond the range of any of your guards up in the trees, and guarantee that nobody will follow us, and then once we're safely on our way, we'll let you go."

"And why should I trust you?" the monkey king asked reasonably.

Atwood shrugged. "Like you said, I don't want every monkey in the world chasing me for the rest of forever," he told him. "I just want to get out of here without getting killed." He paused. "Oh, and I want a rifle, too. This sack of grenades is kind of hard to aim."

The monkey king gave a sharp bark of laughter. "On that we agree, at least," he said. He turned to Commander Extender. "Give him a rifle, and then arrange for clear passage out of camp," he ordered. "His terms are entirely logical, under the circumstances. I see no reason why we cannot accommodate him."

"Sire!" the monkey officer exclaimed in outrage. "Such a thing cannot be allowed!"

"Do as you're told, commander," the king said in a soft voice that carried an irresistible authority. "But remember: if anything unfortunate happens to me so that I am not safely back in camp in a reasonable time, you are to do everything in your power to make certain that this young man pays the price for his betrayal." Then he vaulted easily off the edge of the platform and stepped lightly to Atwood's side as the commander, tight-faced and stiff with anger, snapped an order that the nearest soldier was to pass his rifle to the young man.

They made an awkward parade, Atwood and the young woman and the old monkey king walking together through the tent village while the various monkeys fell back away from them with soft whispers of awe and disapproval. Atwood kept a careful eye in every direction, and especially overhead, until they were well away from the camp and he could spot no more guard platforms stationed high in the trees above them. The woman said nothing, and the old king waddled placidly along as if he were merely taking a peaceful walk in a park, but by the time they were finally, and obviously, beyond the outskirts of the village Atwood's shoulder and arm muscles were so tight from tension and anxiety that he could hardly move. He had been forced to carry the rifle awkwardly under the cast on his left arm while balancing the sack of grenades overhead in his right hand as he walked, and the result was that he had almost dropped one or the other of his burdens innumerable times before they had finally reached their destination.

He had just about decided that they were far enough along that he could release the old king and send him back to his subjects when there was a sudden, high-pitched tearing sound from somewhere in the sky overhead and a deep, thundering boom shook the jungle on every side of them.

Atwood nearly dropped the sack of grenades in surprise and spun around helplessly, searching for the source of the noise, but before he could react further the old monkey king scrambled up his leg as if it were a ladder and snatched the grenades from his paralyzed grasp. Then he hit the ground running and had nearly disappeared into the jungle in the direction of the monkey camp when there was another tearing noise overhead, followed immediately by a long series of deep, earth-shaking explosions that knocked Atwood, the young woman, and the old monkey to the ground. It seemed that the entire jungle blew up into a raging inferno of fire, thunder, and bits of earth and vegetation flying through the air as if they had been shot from a cannon. Atwood threw his one good arm up over his head reflexively and then something struck him violently on the back of his head and he knew no more.

Read the next exciting chapter of Mechanica

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