Episode 3

mounted a sturdy plastic cover, with a feeder mechanism built in. “This way you can feed your sandkings without removing the top of

the tank,” Wo explained. “You would not want to take any chances on the mobiles escaping.”

The cover also included climate control devices, to condense just the right amount of moisture from the air. “You want it dry, but not

too dry,” Wo said.

Finally one of the four-armed workers climbed into the tank and dug deep pits in the four corners. One of his companions handed the

dormant maws over to him, removing them one by one from their frosted cryonic traveling cases. They were nothing to look at. Kress

decided they resembled nothing so much as a mottled, half-spoiled chunk of raw meat. With a mouth.

The alien buried them, one in each corner of the tank. Then they sealed it all up and took their leave.

“The heat will bring the maws out of dormancy,” Wo said. “In less than a week, mobiles will begin to hatch and burrow to the surface.

Be certain to give them plenty of food. They will need all their strength until they are well established. I would estimate that you will

have castles rising in about three weeks.”

“And my face? When will they carve my face?”

“Turn on the hologram after about a month,” she advised him. “And be patient. If you have any questions, please call. Wo and Shade

are at your service.” She bowed and left.

Kress wandered back to the tank and lit a joy-stick. The desert was still and empty. He drummed his fingers impatiently against the

plastic, and frowned.

* * * *

On the fourth day, Kress thought he glimpsed motion beneath the sand, subtle subterranean stirrings.

On the fifth day, he saw his first mobile, a lone white.

On the sixth day, he counted a dozen of them, whites and reds and blacks. The oranges were tardy. He cycled through a bowl of half-

decayed table scraps. The mobiles sensed it at once, rushed to it, and began to drag pieces back to their respective corners. Each color

group was very organized. They did not fight. Kress was a bit disappointed, but he decided to give them time.

The oranges made their appearance on the eighth day. By then the other sandkings had begun to carry small stones and erect crude

fortifications. They still did not war. At the moment they were only half the size of those he had seen at Wo and Shade's, but Kress

thought they were growing rapidly.

The castles began to rise midway through the second week. Organized battalions of mobiles dragged heavy chunks of sandstone and

granite back to their corners, where other mobiles were pushing sand into place with mandibles and tendrils. Kress had purchased a

pair of magnifying goggles so he could watch them work, wherever they might go in the tank. He wandered around and around the tall

plastic walls, observing. It was fascinating. The castles were a bit plainer than Kress would have liked, but he had an idea about that.

The next day he cycled through some obsidian and flakes of colored glass along with the food. Within hours, they had been

incorporated into the castle walls.

The black castle was the first completed, followed by the white and red fortresses. The oranges were last, as usual. Kress took his

meals into the living room and ate seated on the couch, so he could watch. He expected the first war to break out any hour now.

He was disappointed. Days passed; the castles grew taller and more grand, and Kress seldom left the tank except to attend to his

sanitary needs and answer critical business calls. But the sandkings did not war. He was getting upset.

Finally, he stopped feeding them.

Two days after the table scraps had ceased to fall from their desert sky, four black mobiles surrounded an orange and dragged it back

to their maw. They maimed it first, ripping off its mandibles and antennae and limbs, and carried it through the shadowed main gate of

their miniature castle. It never emerged. Within an hour, more than forty orange mobiles marched across the sand and attacked the

blacks’ corner. They were outnumbered by the blacks that came rushing up from the depths. When the fighting was over, the attackers

had been slaughtered. The dead and dying were taken down to feed the black maw.

Kress, delighted, congratulated himself on his genius.

When he put food into the tank the following day, a three-cornered battle broke out over its possession. The whites were the big

winners.

After that, war followed war.

* * * *

Almost a month to the day after Jala Wo had delivered the sandkings, Kress turned on the holographic projector, and his face

materialized in the tank. It turned, slowly, around and around, so his gaze fell on all four castles equally. Kress thought it rather a good

likeness—it had his impish grin, wide mouth, full cheeks. His blue eyes sparkled, his gray hair was carefully arrayed in a fashionable

sidesweep, his eyebrows were thin and sophisticated.

Soon enough, the sandkings set to work. Kress fed them lavishly while his image beamed down at them from their sky. Temporarily,

the wars stopped. All activity was directed towards worship.

His face emerged on the castle walls.

At first all four carvings looked alike to him, but as the work continued and Kress studied the reproductions, he began to detect subtle

differences in technique and execution. The reds were the most creative, using tiny flakes of slate to put the gray in his hair. The white

idol seemed young and mischievous to him, while the face shaped by the blacks—although virtually the same, line for line—struck

him as wise and beneficent. The orange sandkings, as ever, were last and least. The wars had not gone well for them, and their castle

was sad compared to the others. The image they carved was crude and cartoonish, and they seemed to intend to leave it that way.

When they stopped work on the face, Kress grew quite piqued with them, but there was really nothing he could do.

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