The C.W.A. of Dr. Z. Smith: Episode #84: Everyone Dies Of Hypothermia

Last Week as you Recall…
“At his moment,” Dr. Smith said “It Looks like we have two options, we could continue, and almost certainly die of hypothermia, or we could turn back, and almost certainly die of Russian.”

-=fig. 575: yup, definitely russia=-

Capt. Brown Shivered in his thick leather trenchcoat.
   “I vote for Death By Russian, at least then we have a chance.”
 Without warning, Jeeves fell backwards, sliding down the snowy slope.
    “Jeeves!” Dr. Smith yelled, chasing after him.
 Jeeves, being mainly made of metal, gradually sunk into the snow before he reached the bottom of the slope.
        “drzzz, Sri? <var.Jeeves>=status.Malfunctioning
                                <Start> file.HardReboot</Start>
                                    Status.file.HardReboot=Failed
                                        if; "Status.file.HardReboot=Failed" =yes; <Start> file.MessageFail:
                                             <VoiceBox>((Sorry, <var.Sir>. I did my best, honest.))</VoiceBox></Start>
                                                <var.Jeeves>=status.ShutDown”
Dr. Smith watched as the robot became silent in the cold snow.
  He removed his hat, as is customary.  
    Capt. Brown did the same, he had climbed more carefully down the slope.

Replacing his hat, Dr. Smith walked towards the hatch that led back to the Russian bunker.

   Capt. Brown looked up and saw Dr. Smith walking away.  “Zachary?  What about Jeeves?”
     Dr. Smith Looked back, “He's a robot, James, he doesn't Die.  Once we steal a suitable vehicle, we'll come back for him. Until then he's 400 pounds of dead weight.”

-=-

They silently climbed down the steel ladder, into the relative warmth of the bunker. 

  A troop of Russians stomped past.

“Remind me again why we can't just kill them all?” Capt. Brown whispered,
  “Because we're the good guys.”  Dr. Smith whispered back.
 They carefully snuck into the hallway, and ran straight into two stragglers.
   Capt. Brown was a faster draw.

-=fig. 567: standoff=-

     “Hi!” he said softly, “We're the escaped psychopaths! Point us to the place you store your vehicles and you might live!”   There's something about a humorless smile and a soft spoken threat that cuts right to a man's fear cortex.
  The two Russians, though, were trained for this sort of thing.
     Dr. Smith Drew his sword and considered it.
       The lead Russian nearly lost his nerve, no one had trained him on how a three-foot sword could fit into an eighteen-inch suitcase.
         Dr. Smith looked up, “I know what you're thinking, ‘is it solid steel?  Or is it a collapsible, trick sword?’ Let's…find out together.”  Dr. Smith smiled, but his eyes just weren't in it.
   That sold it.
      “Отлично! Отлично! Я сдаюсь! Мы сдаваться! Пожалуйста, не надо!  Гараж в том, что путь, сорок метров!” 
    Capt. Brown, being a gentleman, helped The Russians to sleep.
       “It's too bad we're the good guys, because we'd make great psychopaths.”  He quipped.
   “I don't know much Russian, but сорок метров means ‘Forty Meters’, and he was gesturing that way, so let's go that way.”
    “After you, Zachary.”
They hurried down the poorly lit passageway, it would seem that Russians were no more fond of proper lighting than they were colors that aren't in the gray family.   As they went on the passageway turned from gray stone, to a gray metal, and terminated in a gray metal door.
It was locked, but helpfully marked ‘Гараж’ which meant that they had the right door.
  “James,” Dr. Smith said, gesturing at the lock and standing back.
    “Zachary, I can't Shoot it.  It's a metal lock on a metal door in a metal room!  We have a better chance of the bullet bouncing around and then hitting on of us.”
Dr. Smith sighed and snapped open his suitcase.
  It was gradualy becoming more empty longer they stayed in Russia,  His lockpick set was gone, the wrench set was gone, the lyrics to a Gershwin number wouldn't help the situation any, neither would a trumpet or War and Peace, But maybe that would work.
 He pulled out a flat-head screwdriver.  It was small enough, certainly.
   Capt. Brwon kept watch, which wasn't hard because theirs was the only doorway connected to this hallway.
     The door clicked open.
        “Wow,” Dr. smith muttered, “What a cheesy lock. Single barrel tumbler?  Eight pin system? I could have opened that in my sleep.”
    Capt. Brown reached over Dr. Smith crouched form and pushed open the door.
  It opened into a large, really cold room.
     The lack of heat was probably because the wall was open.
Dr. Smith looked up, “Oh,” He hadn't been expecting that.