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 SECOND VARIETY

BY PHILIP K. DICK

ILLUSTRATED BY EBEL

The claws were bad enough in the first
place—nasty, crawling little death-robots.
But when they began to imitate
their creators, it was time for the
human race to make peace—if it could!

 The Russian soldier made his
way nervously up the ragged
side of the hill, holding his gun
ready. He glanced around him,
licking his dry lips, his face set.
From time to time he reached
up a gloved hand and wiped
perspiration from his neck, pushing
down his coat collar.

Eric turned to Corporal Leone.
“Want him? Or can I have him?”
He adjusted the view sight so the
Russian’s features squarely filled
the glass, the lines cutting across
his hard, somber features.

Leone considered. The Russian
was close, moving rapidly, almost
running. “Don’t fire. Wait.”
Leone tensed. “I don’t think
we’re needed.”

The Russian increased his
pace, kicking ash and piles of
debris out of his way. He reached
the top of the hill and stopped,
panting, staring around him. The
sky was overcast, drifting clouds
of gray particles. Bare trunks of
trees jutted up occasionally; the
ground was level and bare,
rubble-strewn, with the ruins of
buildings standing out here and
there like yellowing skulls.

The Russian was uneasy. He
knew something was wrong. He
started down the hill. Now he
was only a few paces from the
bunker. Eric was getting fidgety.
He played with his pistol, glancing
at Leone.

“Don’t worry,” Leone said.
“He won’t get here. They’ll take
care of him.”

“Are you sure? He’s got damn
far.”

“They hang around close to the
bunker. He’s getting into the
bad part. Get set!”

The Russian began to hurry,
sliding down the hill, his boots
sinking into the heaps of gray
ash, trying to keep his gun up.
He stopped for a moment, lifting
his fieldglasses to his face.

“He’s looking right at us,”
Eric said.

The Russian came on. They
could see his eyes, like two blue
stones. His mouth was open a
little. He needed a shave; his
chin was stubbled. On one bony
cheek was a square of tape,
showing blue at the edge. A fungoid
spot. His coat was muddy
and torn. One glove was missing.
As he ran his belt counter
bounced up and down against
him.

Leone touched Eric’s arm.
“Here one comes.”

Across the ground something
small and metallic came, flashing
in the dull sunlight of mid-day. A
metal sphere. It raced up the
hill after the Russian, its treads
flying. It was small, one of the
baby ones. Its claws were out,
two razor projections spinning
in a blur of white steel. The
Russian heard it. He turned instantly,
 firing. The sphere dissolved
into particles. But already
a second had emerged and was
following the first. The Russian
fired again.

A third sphere leaped up the
Russian’s leg, clicking and whirring.
It jumped to the shoulder.
The spinning blades disappeared
into the Russian’s throat.

Eric relaxed. “Well, that’s
that. God, those damn things give
me the creeps. Sometimes I think
we were better off before.”

“If we hadn’t invented them,
they would have.” Leone lit a
cigarette shakily. “I wonder why
a Russian would come all this
way alone. I didn’t see anyone
covering him.”

Lt. Scott came slipping up the
tunnel, into the bunker. “What
happened? Something entered
the screen.”

“An Ivan.”

“Just one?”

Eric brought the view screen
around. Scott peered into it.
Now there were numerous metal
spheres crawling over the prostrate
body, dull metal globes
clicking and whirring, sawing up
the Russian into small parts to
be carried away.

“What a lot of claws,” Scott
murmured.

“They come like flies. Not
much game for them any more.”

Scott pushed the sight away,
disgusted. “Like flies. I wonder
why he was out there. They
know we have claws all around.”

A larger robot had joined the
smaller spheres. It was directing
operations, a long blunt tube
with projecting eyepieces. There
was not much left of the soldier.
What remained was being
brought down the hillside by the
host of claws.

“Sir,” Leone said. “If it’s all
right, I’d like to go out there
and take a look at him.”

“Why?”

“Maybe he came with something.”

Scott considered. He shrugged.
“All right. But be careful.”

“I have my tab.” Leone patted
the metal band at his wrist. “I’ll
be out of bounds.”

He picked up his rifle and stepped
carefully up to the mouth of
the bunker, making his way between
blocks of concrete and steel
prongs, twisted and bent. The air
was cold at the top. He crossed
over the ground toward the remains
of the soldier, striding
across the soft ash. A wind blew
around him, swirling gray particles
up in his face. He squinted
and pushed on.

The claws retreated as he came
close, some of them stiffening
into immobility. He touched his
tab. The Ivan would have given
something for that! Short hard
radiation emitted from the tab
 neutralized the claws, put them
out of commission. Even the big
robot with its two waving eyestalks
retreated respectfully as
he approached.

He bent down over the remains
of the soldier. The gloved hand
was closed tightly. There was
something in it. Leone pried the
fingers apart. A sealed container,
aluminum. Still shiny.

He put it in his pocket and
made his way back to the bunker.
Behind him the claws came back
to life, moving into operation
again. The procession resumed,
metal spheres moving through
the gray ash with their loads.
He could hear their treads scrabbling
against the ground. He
shuddered.

Scott watched intently as he
brought the shiny tube out of his
pocket. “He had that?”

“In his hand.” Leone unscrewed
the top. “Maybe you
should look at it, sir.”

Scott took it. He emptied the
contents out in the palm of his
hand. A small piece of silk paper,
carefully folded. He sat down by
the light and unfolded it.

“What’s it say, sir?” Eric said.
Several officers came up the tunnel.
Major Hendricks appeared.

“Major,” Scott said. “Look at
this.”

Hendricks read the slip. “This
just come?”

“A single runner. Just now.”

“Where is he?” Hendricks
asked sharply.

“The claws got him.”

Major Hendricks grunted.
“Here.” He passed it to his companions.
“I think this is what
we’ve been waiting for. They
certainly took their time about
it.”

“So they want to talk terms,”
Scott said. “Are we going along
with them?”

“That’s not for us to decide.”
Hendricks sat down. “Where’s
the communications officer? I
want the Moon Base.”

Leone pondered as the communications
officer raised the
outside antenna cautiously, scanning
the sky above the bunker
for any sign of a watching Russian ship.

“Sir,” Scott said to Hendricks.
“It’s sure strange they suddenly
came around. We’ve been using
the claws for almost a year. Now
all of a sudden they start to
fold.”

“Maybe claws have been getting
down in their bunkers.”

“One of the big ones, the kind
with stalks, got into an Ivan
bunker last week,” Eric said. “It
got a whole platoon of them before
they got their lid shut.”

“How do you know?”

“A buddy told me. The thing
came back with—with remains.”

“Moon Base, sir,” the communications
officer said.

 On the screen the face of the
lunar monitor appeared. His
crisp uniform contrasted to the
uniforms in the bunker. And he
was clean shaven. “Moon Base.”

“This is forward command
L-Whistle. On Terra. Let me
have General Thompson.”

The monitor faded. Presently
General Thompson’s heavy features
came into focus. “What is
it, Major?”

“Our claws got a single Russian
runner with a message. We
don’t know whether to act on it—there
have been tricks like this
in the past.”

“What’s the message?”

“The Russians want us to send
a single officer on policy level
over to their lines. For a conference.
They don’t state the nature
of the conference. They say that
matters of—” He consulted the
slip. “—Matters of grave urgency
make it advisable that discussion
be opened between a
representative of the UN forces
and themselves.”

He held the message up to the
screen for the general to scan.
Thompson’s eyes moved.

“What should we do?” Hendricks
said.

“Send a man out.”

“You don’t think it’s a trap?”

“It might be. But the location
they give for their forward command
is correct. It’s worth a
try, at any rate.”

“I’ll send an officer out. And
report the results to you as soon
as he returns.”

“All right, Major.” Thompson
broke the connection. The screen
died. Up above, the antenna came
slowly down.

Hendricks rolled up the paper,
deep in thought.

“I’ll go,” Leone said.

“They want somebody at
policy level.” Hendricks rubbed
his jaw. “Policy level. I haven’t
been outside in months. Maybe
I could use a little air.”

“Don’t you think it’s risky?”

Hendricks lifted the view sight
and gazed into it. The remains
of the Russian were gone. Only
a single claw was in sight. It
was folding itself back, disappearing
into the ash, like a crab.
Like some hideous metal crab….

“That’s the only thing that
bothers me.” Hendricks rubbed
his wrist. “I know I’m safe as
long as I have this on me. But
there’s something about them. I
hate the damn things. I wish
we’d never invented them.
There’s something wrong with
them. Relentless little—”

“If we hadn’t invented them,
the Ivans would have.”

Hendricks pushed the sight
back. “Anyhow, it seems to be
winning the war. I guess that’s
good.”

“Sounds like you’re getting
the same jitters as the Ivans.”
 Hendricks examined his wrist
watch. “I guess I had better get
started, if I want to be there
before dark.”

He took a deep breath and
then stepped out onto the gray,
rubbled ground. After a minute
he lit a cigarette and stood gazing
around him. The landscape
was dead. Nothing stirred. He
could see for miles, endless ash
and slag, ruins of buildings. A
few trees without leaves or
branches, only the trunks. Above
him the eternal rolling clouds of
gray, drifting between Terra and
the sun.

Major Hendricks went on. Off
to the right something scuttled,
something round and metallic. A
claw, going lickety-split after
something. Probably after a
small animal, a rat. They got
rats, too. As a sort of sideline.

He came to the top of the little
hill and lifted his fieldglasses.
The Russian lines were a few
miles ahead of him. They had a
forward command post there.
The runner had come from it.

A squat robot with undulating
arms passed by him, its arms
weaving inquiringly. The robot
went on its way, disappearing
under some debris. Hendricks
watched it go. He had never seen
that type before. There were
getting to be more and more
types he had never seen, new
varieties and sizes coming up
from the underground factories.

Hendricks put out his cigarette
and hurried on. It was interesting,
the use of artificial
forms in warfare. How had they
got started? Necessity. The Soviet
Union had gained great
initial success, usual with the
side that got the war going. Most
of North America had been
blasted off the map. Retaliation
was quick in coming, of course.
The sky was full of circling disc-bombers
long before the war began;
they had been up there for
years. The discs began sailing
down all over Russia within
hours after Washington got it.

But that hadn’t helped Washington.

The American bloc governments
moved to the Moon Base
the first year. There was not
much else to do. Europe was
gone; a slag heap with dark
weeds growing from the ashes
and bones. Most of North America
was useless; nothing could be
planted, no one could live. A few
million people kept going up in
Canada and down in South
America. But during the second
year Soviet parachutists began
to drop, a few at first, then more
and more. They wore the first
really effective anti-radiation
equipment; what was left of
American production moved to
 the moon along with the governments.

All but the troops. The remaining
troops stayed behind as
best they could, a few thousand
here, a platoon there. No one
knew exactly where they were;
they stayed where they could,
moving around at night, hiding
in ruins, in sewers, cellars, with
the rats and snakes. It looked as
if the Soviet Union had the war
almost won. Except for a handful
of projectiles fired off from
the moon daily, there was almost
no weapon in use against them.
They came and went as they
pleased. The war, for all practical
purposes, was over. Nothing
effective opposed them.

And then the first claws appeared.
And overnight the complexion
of the war changed.

The claws were awkward, at
first. Slow. The Ivans knocked
them off almost as fast as they
crawled out of their underground
tunnels. But then they got better,
faster and more cunning. Factories,
all on Terra, turned them
out. Factories a long way under
ground, behind the Soviet lines,
factories that had once made
atomic projectiles, now almost
forgotten.

The claws got faster, and they
got bigger. New types appeared,
some with feelers, some that flew.
There were a few jumping kinds.

The best technicians on the moon
were working on designs, making
them more and more intricate,
more flexible. They became uncanny;
the Ivans were having a
lot of trouble with them. Some
of the little claws were learning
to hide themselves, burrowing
down into the ash, lying in wait.

And then they started getting
into the Russian bunkers, slipping
down when the lids were raised
for air and a look around. One
claw inside a bunker, a churning
sphere of blades and metal—that
was enough. And when one
got in others followed. With a
weapon like that the war couldn’t
go on much longer.

Maybe it was already over.

Maybe he was going to hear
the news. Maybe the Politburo
had decided to throw in the
sponge. Too bad it had taken so
long. Six years. A long time for
war like that, the way they had
waged it. The automatic retaliation
discs, spinning down all over
Russia, hundreds of thousands of
them. Bacteria crystals. The Soviet
guided missiles, whistling
through the air. The chain
bombs. And now this, the robots,
the claws—

The claws weren’t like other
weapons. They were alive, from
any practical standpoint, whether
the Governments wanted to admit
it or not. They were not
machines. They were living
 things, spinning, creeping, shaking
themselves up suddenly from
the gray ash and darting toward
a man, climbing up him, rushing
for his throat. And that was
what they had been designed to
do. Their job.

They did their job well. Especially
lately, with the new designs
coming up. Now they
repaired themselves. They were
on their own. Radiation tabs protected
the UN troops, but if a
man lost his tab he was fair
game for the claws, no matter
what his uniform. Down below
the surface automatic machinery
stamped them out. Human beings
stayed a long way off. It was too
risky; nobody wanted to be
around them. They were left to
themselves. And they seemed to
be doing all right. The new designs
were faster, more complex.
More efficient.

Apparently they had won the
war.

Major Hendricks lit a second
cigarette. The landscape depressed
him. Nothing but ash and
ruins. He seemed to be alone,
the only living thing in the whole
world. To the right the ruins of
a town rose up, a few walls and
heaps of debris. He tossed the
dead match away, increasing his
pace. Suddenly he stopped, jerking
up his gun, his body tense.
For a minute it looked like—

From behind the shell of a
ruined building a figure came,
walking slowly toward him, walking
hesitantly.

Hendricks blinked. “Stop!”

The boy stopped. Hendricks
lowered his gun. The boy stood
silently, looking at him. He was
small, not very old. Perhaps
eight. But it was hard to tell.
Most of the kids who remained
were stunted. He wore a faded
blue sweater, ragged with dirt,
and short pants. His hair was
long and matted. Brown hair. It
hung over his face and around
his ears. He held something in
his arms.

“What’s that you have?” Hendricks
said sharply.

The boy held it out. It was a
toy, a bear. A teddy bear. The
boy’s eyes were large, but without
expression.

Hendricks relaxed. “I don’t
want it. Keep it.”

The boy hugged the bear
again.

“Where do you live?” Hendricks
said.

“In there.”

“The ruins?”

“Yes.”

“Underground?”

“Yes.”

“How many are there?”

“How—how many?”

“How many of you. How big’s
your settlement?”

The boy did not answer.

 Hendricks frowned. “You’re
not all by yourself, are you?”

The boy nodded.

“How do you stay alive?”

“There’s food.”

“What kind of food?”

“Different.”

Hendricks studied him. “How
old are you?”

“Thirteen.”

It wasn’t possible. Or was it?
The boy was thin, stunted. And
probably sterile. Radiation exposure,
years straight. No
wonder he was so small. His arms
and legs were like pipecleaners,
knobby, and thin. Hendricks
touched the boy’s arm. His skin
was dry and rough; radiation
skin. He bent down, looking into
the boy’s face. There was no
expression. Big eyes, big and
dark.

“Are you blind?” Hendricks
said.

“No. I can see some.”

“How do you get away from
the claws?”

“The claws?”

“The round things. That run
and burrow.”

“I don’t understand.”

Maybe there weren’t any claws
around. A lot of areas were free.
They collected mostly around
bunkers, where there were
people. The claws had been designed
to sense warmth, warmth
of living things.

“You’re lucky.” Hendricks
straightened up. “Well? Which
way are you going? Back—back
there?”

“Can I come with you?”

“With me?” Hendricks folded
his arms. “I’m going a long way.
Miles. I have to hurry.” He
looked at his watch. “I have to
get there by nightfall.”

“I want to come.”

Hendricks fumbled in his pack.
“It isn’t worth it. Here.” He
tossed down the food cans he had
with him. “You take these and
go back. Okay?”

The boy said nothing.

“I’ll be coming back this way.
In a day or so. If you’re around
here when I come back you can
come along with me. All right?”

“I want to go with you now.”

“It’s a long walk.”

“I can walk.”

Hendricks shifted uneasily. It
made too good a target, two
people walking along. And the
boy would slow him down. But
he might not come back this
way. And if the boy were really
all alone—

“Okay. Come along.”

The boy fell in beside him.
Hendricks strode along. The boy
walked silently, clutching his
teddy bear.

“What’s your name?” Hendricks
said, after a time.

“David Edward Derring.”

 “David? What—what happened
to your mother and
father?”

“They died.”

“How?”

“In the blast.”

“How long ago?”

“Six years.”

Hendricks slowed down.
“You’ve been alone six years?”

“No. There were other people
for awhile. They went away.”

“And you’ve been alone
since?”

“Yes.”

Hendricks glanced down. The
boy was strange, saying very
little. Withdrawn. But that was
the way they were, the children
who had survived. Quiet. Stoic.
A strange kind of fatalism gripped
them. Nothing came as a
surprise. They accepted anything
that came along. There was no
longer any normal, any natural
course of things, moral or physical,
for them to expect. Custom,
habit, all the determining forces
of learning were gone; only brute
experience remained.

“Am I walking too fast?”
Hendricks said.

“No.”

“How did you happen to see
me?”

“I was waiting.”

“Waiting?” Hendricks was
puzzled. “What were you waiting
for?”

“To catch things.”

“What kind of things?”

“Things to eat.”

“Oh.” Hendricks set his lips
grimly. A thirteen year old boy,
living on rats and gophers and
half-rotten canned food. Down in
a hole under the ruins of a town.
With radiation pools and claws,
and Russian dive-mines up above,
coasting around in the sky.

“Where are we going?” David
asked.

“To the Russian lines.”

“Russian?”

“The enemy. The people who
started the war. They dropped
the first radiation bombs. They
began all this.”

The boy nodded. His face
showed no expression.

“I’m an American,” Hendricks
said.

There was no comment. On
they went, the two of them,
Hendricks walking a little ahead,
David trailing behind him, hugging
his dirty teddy bear against
his chest.

About four in the afternoon
they stopped to eat. Hendricks
built a fire in a hollow between
some slabs of concrete. He
cleared the weeds away and
heaped up bits of wood. The
Russians’ lines were not very far
ahead. Around him was what had
once been a long valley, acres of
fruit trees and grapes. Nothing
remained now but a few bleak
 stumps and the mountains that
stretched across the horizon at
the far end. And the clouds of
rolling ash that blew and drifted
with the wind, settling over the
weeds and remains of buildings,
walls here and there, once in
awhile what had been a road.

Hendricks made coffee and
heated up some boiled mutton
and bread. “Here.” He handed
bread and mutton to David.
David squatted by the edge of
the fire, his knees knobby and
white. He examined the food and
then passed it back, shaking his
head.

“No.”

“No? Don’t you want any?”

“No.”

Hendricks shrugged. Maybe
the boy was a mutant, used to
special food. It didn’t matter.
When he was hungry he would
find something to eat. The boy
was strange. But there were
many strange changes coming
over the world. Life was not the
same, anymore. It would never
be the same again. The human
race was going to have to realize
that.

“Suit yourself,” Hendricks
said. He ate the bread and mutton
by himself, washing it down
with coffee. He ate slowly, finding
the food hard to digest.
When he was done he got to his
feet and stamped the fire out.

David rose slowly, watching
him with his young-old eyes.

“We’re going,” Hendricks said.

“All right.”

Hendricks walked along, his
gun in his arms. They were
close; he was tense, ready for
anything. The Russians should
be expecting a runner, an answer
to their own runner, but they
were tricky. There was always
the possibility of a slipup. He
scanned the landscape around
him. Nothing but slag and ash,
a few hills, charred trees. Concrete
walls. But someplace ahead
was the first bunker of the Russian
lines, the forward command.
Underground, buried deep, with
only a periscope showing, a few
gun muzzles. Maybe an antenna.

“Will we be there soon?”
David asked.

“Yes. Getting tired?”

“No.”

“Why, then?”

David did not answer. He
plodded carefully along behind,
picking his way over the ash. His
legs and shoes were gray with
dust. His pinched face was
streaked, lines of gray ash in
riverlets down the pale white
of his skin. There was no color to
his face. Typical of the new children,
growing up in cellars and
sewers and underground
shelters.

Hendricks slowed down. He
lifted his fieldglasses and studied
 the ground ahead of him. Were
they there, someplace, waiting
for him? Watching him, the way
his men had watched the Russian
runner? A chill went up his
back. Maybe they were getting
their guns ready, preparing to
fire, the way his men had prepared,
made ready to kill.

Hendricks stopped, wiping
perspiration from his face.
“Damn.” It made him uneasy.
But he should be expected. The
situation was different.

He strode over the ash, holding
his gun tightly with both
hands. Behind him came David.
Hendricks peered around, tight-lipped.
Any second it might happen.
A burst of white light, a
blast, carefully aimed from inside
a deep concrete bunker.

He raised his arm and waved
it around in a circle.

Nothing moved. To the right a
long ridge ran, topped with dead
tree trunks. A few wild vines had
grown up around the trees, remains
of arbors. And the eternal
dark weeds. Hendricks studied
the ridge. Was anything up
there? Perfect place for a lookout.
He approached the ridge
warily, David coming silently behind.
If it were his command he’d
have a sentry up there, watching
for troops trying to infiltrate
into the command area. Of
course, if it were his command
there would be the claws around
the area for full protection.

He stopped, feet apart, hands
on his hips.

“Are we there?” David said.

“Almost.”

“Why have we stopped?”

“I don’t want to take any
chances.” Hendricks advanced
slowly. Now the ridge lay directly
beside him, along his right.
Overlooking him. His uneasy
feeling increased. If an Ivan
were up there he wouldn’t have
a chance. He waved his arm
again. They should be expecting
someone in the UN uniform, in
response to the note capsule. Unless
the whole thing was a trap.

“Keep up with me.” He turned
toward David. “Don’t drop behind.”

“With you?”

“Up beside me! We’re close.
We can’t take any chances. Come
on.”

“I’ll be all right.” David remained
behind him, in the rear, a
few paces away, still clutching
his teddy bear.

“Have it your way.” Hendricks
raised his glasses again,
suddenly tense. For a moment—had
something moved? He scanned
the ridge carefully. Everything
was silent. Dead. No life up
there, only tree trunks and ash.
Maybe a few rats. The big black
rats that had survived the claws.
Mutants—built their own shelters
out of saliva and ash. Some
 kind of plaster. Adaptation. He
started forward again.

A tall figure came out on the
ridge above him, cloak flapping.
Gray-green. A Russian. Behind
him a second soldier appeared,
another Russian. Both lifted
their guns, aiming.

Hendricks froze. He opened
his mouth. The soldiers were
kneeling, sighting down the side
of the slope. A third figure had
joined them on the ridge top, a
smaller figure in gray-green. A
woman. She stood behind the
other two.

Hendricks found his voice.
“Stop!” He waved up at them
frantically. “I’m—”

The two Russians fired. Behind
Hendricks there was a faint
pop. Waves of heat lapped
against him, throwing him to the
ground. Ash tore at his face,
grinding into his eyes and nose.
Choking, he pulled himself to his
knees. It was all a trap. He was
finished. He had come to be
killed, like a steer. The soldiers
and the woman were coming
down the side of the ridge toward
him, sliding down through
the soft ash. Hendricks was
numb. His head throbbed. Awkwardly,
he got his rifle up and
took aim. It weighed a thousand
tons; he could hardly hold it. His
nose and cheeks stung. The air
was full of the blast smell, a
bitter acrid stench.

“Don’t fire,” the first Russian
said, in heavily accented English.

The three of them came up to
him, surrounding him. “Put
down your rifle, Yank,” the other
said.

Hendricks was dazed. Everything
had happened so fast. He
had been caught. And they had
blasted the boy. He turned his
head. David was gone. What remained
of him was strewn across
the ground.

The three Russians studied
him curiously. Hendricks sat,
wiping blood from his nose,
picking out bits of ash. He shook
his head, trying to clear it. “Why
did you do it?” he murmured
thickly. “The boy.”

“Why?” One of the soldiers
helped him roughly to his feet.
He turned Hendricks around.
“Look.”

Hendricks closed his eyes.

“Look!” The two Russians
pulled him forward. “See. Hurry
up. There isn’t much time to
spare, Yank!”

Hendricks looked. And gasped.

“See now? Now do you understand?”

From the remains of David
a metal wheel rolled. Relays,
glinting metal. Parts, wiring.
One of the Russians kicked at
the heap of remains. Parts popped
out, rolling away, wheels and
 springs and rods. A plastic section
fell in, half charred. Hendricks
bent shakily down. The
front of the head had come off.
He could make out the intricate
brain, wires and relays, tiny
tubes and switches, thousands of
minute studs—

“A robot,” the soldier holding
his arm said. “We watched it
tagging you.”

“Tagging me?”

“That’s their way. They tag
along with you. Into the bunker.
That’s how they get in.”

Hendricks blinked, dazed.
“But—”

“Come on.” They led him toward
the ridge. “We can’t stay
here. It isn’t safe. There must be
hundreds of them all around
here.”

The three of them pulled him
up the side of the ridge, sliding
and slipping on the ash. The
woman reached the top and stood
waiting for them.

“The forward command,” Hendricks
muttered. “I came to negotiate
with the Soviet—”

“There is no more forward
command. They got in. We’ll explain.”
They reached the top of
the ridge. “We’re all that’s left.
The three of us. The rest were
down in the bunker.”

“This way. Down this way.”
The woman unscrewed a lid, a
gray manhole cover set in the
ground. “Get in.”

Hendricks lowered himself.
The two soldiers and the woman
came behind him, following him
down the ladder. The woman
closed the lid after them, bolting
it tightly into place.

“Good thing we saw you,” one
of the two soldiers grunted. “It
had tagged you about as far as
it was going to.”

“Give me one of your cigarettes,”
the woman said. “I
haven’t had an American cigarette
for weeks.”

Hendricks pushed the pack to
her. She took a cigarette and
passed the pack to the two soldiers.
In the corner of the small
room the lamp gleamed fitfully.
The room was low-ceilinged,
cramped. The four of them sat
around a small wood table. A few
dirty dishes were stacked to one
side. Behind a ragged curtain a
second room was partly visible.
Hendricks saw the corner of a
cot, some blankets, clothes hung
on a hook.

“We were here,” the soldier
beside him said. He took off his
helmet, pushing his blond hair
back. “I’m Corporal Rudi Maxer.
Polish. Impressed in the Soviet
Army two years ago.” He held
out his hand.

Hendricks hesitated and then
shook. “Major Joseph Hendricks.”

“Klaus Epstein.” The other
 soldier shook with him, a small
dark man with thinning hair.
Epstein plucked nervously at his
ear. “Austrian. Impressed God
knows when. I don’t remember.
The three of us were here, Rudi
and I, with Tasso.” He indicated
the woman. “That’s how we
escaped. All the rest were down
in the bunker.”

“And—and they got in?”

Epstein lit a cigarette. “First
just one of them. The kind that
tagged you. Then it let others
in.”

Hendricks became alert. “The
kind? Are there more than one
kind?”

“The little boy. David. David
holding his teddy bear. That’s
Variety Three. The most effective.”

“What are the other types?”

Epstein reached into his coat.
“Here.” He tossed a packet of
photographs onto the table, tied
with a string. “Look for yourself.”

Hendricks untied the string.

“You see,” Rudi Maxer said,
“that was why we wanted to talk
terms. The Russians, I mean.
We found out about a week ago.
Found out that your claws were
beginning to make up new designs
on their own. New types
of their own. Better types.
Down in your underground factories
behind our lines. You let
them stamp themselves, repair
themselves. Made them more and
more intricate. It’s your fault
this happened.”

Hendricks examined the
photos. They had been snapped
hurriedly; they were blurred
and indistinct. The first few
showed—David. David walking
along a road, by himself. David
and another David. Three
Davids. All exactly alike. Each
with a ragged teddy bear.

All pathetic.

“Look at the others,” Tasso
said.

The next pictures, taken at a
great distance, showed a towering
wounded soldier sitting by
the side of a path, his arm in a
sling, the stump of one leg extended,
a crude crutch on his
lap. Then two wounded soldiers,
both the same, standing side by
side.

“That’s Variety One. The
Wounded Soldier.” Klaus reached
out and took the pictures.
“You see, the claws were designed
to get to human beings.
To find them. Each kind was better
than the last. They got
farther, closer, past most of our
defenses, into our lines. But as
long as they were merely
machines, metal spheres with
claws and horns, feelers, they
could be picked off like any other
object. They could be detected as
lethal robots as soon as they
 were seen. Once we caught sight
of them—”

“Variety One subverted our
whole north wing,” Rudi said.
“It was a long time before anyone
caught on. Then it was too
late. They came in, wounded soldiers,
knocking and begging to
be let in. So we let them in. And
as soon as they were in they took
over. We were watching out for
machines….”

“At that time it was thought
there was only the one type,”
Klaus Epstein said. “No one
suspected there were other types.
The pictures were flashed to us.
When the runner was sent to
you, we knew of just one type.
Variety One. The big Wounded
Soldier. We thought that was
all.”

“Your line fell to—”

“To Variety Three. David and
his bear. That worked even better.”
Klaus smiled bitterly.
“Soldiers are suckers for children.
We brought them in and
tried to feed them. We found out
the hard way what they were
after. At least, those who were
in the bunker.”

“The three of us were lucky,”
Rudi said. “Klaus and I were—were
visiting Tasso when it happened.
This is her place.” He
waved a big hand around. “This
little cellar. We finished and
climbed the ladder to start back.
From the ridge we saw. There
they were, all around the bunker.
Fighting was still going on.
David and his bear. Hundreds of
them. Klaus took the pictures.”

Klaus tied up the photographs
again.

“And it’s going on all along
your line?” Hendricks said.

“Yes.”

“How about our lines?” Without
thinking, he touched the tab
on his arm. “Can they—”

“They’re not bothered by your
radiation tabs. It makes no difference
to them, Russian, American,
Pole, German. It’s all the
same. They’re doing what they
were designed to do. Carrying
out the original idea. They track
down life, wherever they find it.”

“They go by warmth,” Klaus
said. “That was the way you
constructed them from the very
start. Of course, those you designed
were kept back by the
radiation tabs you wear. Now
they’ve got around that. These
new varieties are lead-lined.”

“What’s the other variety?”
Hendricks asked. “The David
type, the Wounded Soldier—what’s
the other?”

“We don’t know.” Klaus pointed
up at the wall. On the wall
were two metal plates, ragged at
the edges. Hendricks got up and
studied them. They were bent
and dented.

“The one on the left came off
 a Wounded Soldier,” Rudi said.
“We got one of them. It was going
along toward our old bunker.
We got it from the ridge, the
same way we got the David tagging
you.”

The plate was stamped: I-V.
Hendricks touched the other
plate. “And this came from the
David type?”

“Yes.” The plate was stamped:
III-V.

Klaus took a look at them,
leaning over Hendricks’ broad
shoulder. “You can see what
we’re up against. There’s another
type. Maybe it was abandoned.
Maybe it didn’t work. But
there must be a Second Variety.
There’s One and Three.”

“You were lucky,” Rudi said.
“The David tagged you all the
way here and never touched you.
Probably thought you’d get it
into a bunker, somewhere.”

“One gets in and it’s all over,”
Klaus said. “They move fast. One
lets all the rest inside. They’re
inflexible. Machines with one
purpose. They were built for only
one thing.” He rubbed sweat
from his lip. “We saw.”

They were silent.

“Let me have another cigarette,
Yank,” Tasso said. “They
are good. I almost forgot how
they were.”

It was night. The sky was
black. No stars were visible
through the rolling clouds of
ash. Klaus lifted the lid cautiously
so that Hendricks could
look out.

Rudi pointed into the darkness.
“Over that way are the
bunkers. Where we used to be.
Not over half a mile from us. It
was just chance Klaus and I
were not there when it happened.
Weakness. Saved by our
lusts.”

“All the rest must be dead,”
Klaus said in a low voice. “It
came quickly. This morning the
Politburo reached their decision.
They notified us—forward command.
Our runner was sent out
at once. We saw him start toward
the direction of your lines.
We covered him until he was out
of sight.”

“Alex Radrivsky. We both
knew him. He disappeared about
six o’clock. The sun had just
come up. About noon Klaus and
I had an hour relief. We crept
off, away from the bunkers. No
one was watching. We came
here. There used to be a town
here, a few houses, a street. This
cellar was part of a big farmhouse.
We knew Tasso would be
here, hiding down in her little
place. We had come here before.
Others from the bunkers came
here. Today happened to be our
turn.”

“So we were saved,” Klaus
said. “Chance. It might have
 been others. We—we finished,
and then we came up to the surface
and started back along the
ridge. That was when we saw
them, the Davids. We understood
right away. We had seen
the photos of the First Variety,
the Wounded Soldier. Our Commissar
distributed them to us
with an explanation. If we had
gone another step they would
have seen us. As it was we had
to blast two Davids before we
got back. There were hundreds
of them, all around. Like ants.
We took pictures and slipped
back here, bolting the lid tight.”

“They’re not so much when
you catch them alone. We moved
faster than they did. But they’re
inexorable. Not like living
things. They came right at us.
And we blasted them.”

Major Hendricks rested
against the edge of the lid, adjusting
his eyes to the darkness.
“Is it safe to have the lid up at
all?”

“If we’re careful. How else
can you operate your transmitter?”

Hendricks lifted the small belt
transmitter slowly. He pressed it
against his ear. The metal was
cold and damp. He blew against
the mike, raising up the short
antenna. A faint hum sounded
in his ear. “That’s true, I suppose.”

But he still hesitated.

“We’ll pull you under if anything
happens,” Klaus said.

“Thanks.” Hendricks waited a
moment, resting the transmitter
against his shoulder. “Interesting,
isn’t it?”

“What?”

“This, the new types. The new
varieties of claws. We’re completely
at their mercy, aren’t
we? By now they’ve probably
gotten into the UN lines, too.
It makes me wonder if we’re not
seeing the beginning of a new
species. The new species. Evolution.
The race to come after
man.”

Rudi grunted. “There is no
race after man.”

“No? Why not? Maybe we’re
seeing it now, the end of human
beings, the beginning of the new
society.”

“They’re not a race. They’re
mechanical killers. You made
them to destroy. That’s all they
can do. They’re machines with a
job.”

“So it seems now. But how
about later on? After the war is
over. Maybe, when there aren’t
any humans to destroy, their
real potentialities will begin to
show.”

“You talk as if they were
alive!”

“Aren’t they?”

There was silence. “They’re
machines,” Rudi said. “They
 look like people, but they’re machines.”

“Use your transmitter, Major,”
Klaus said. “We can’t stay
up here forever.”

Holding the transmitter tightly
Hendricks called the code of
the command bunker. He waited,
listening. No response. Only
silence. He checked the leads
carefully. Everything was in
place.

“Scott!” he said into the mike.
“Can you hear me?”

Silence. He raised the gain up
full and tried again. Only static.

“I don’t get anything. They
may hear me but they may not
want to answer.”

“Tell them it’s an emergency.”

“They’ll think I’m being
forced to call. Under your direction.”
He tried again, outlining
briefly what he had learned. But
still the phone was silent, except
for the faint static.

“Radiation pools kill most
transmission,” Klaus said, after
awhile. “Maybe that’s it.”

Hendricks shut the transmitter
up. “No use. No answer.
Radiation pools? Maybe. Or they
hear me, but won’t answer.
Frankly, that’s what I would do,
if a runner tried to call from the
Soviet lines. They have no reason
to believe such a story. They may
hear everything I say—”

“Or maybe it’s too late.”

Hendricks nodded.

“We better get the lid down,”
Rudi said nervously. “We don’t
want to take unnecessary
chances.”

They climbed slowly back
down the tunnel. Klaus bolted
the lid carefully into place. They
descended into the kitchen. The
air was heavy and close around
them.

“Could they work that fast?”
Hendricks said. “I left the bunker
this noon. Ten hours ago.
How could they move so quickly?”

“It doesn’t take them long.
Not after the first one gets in.
It goes wild. You know what the
little claws can do. Even one of
these is beyond belief. Razors,
each finger. Maniacal.”

“All right.” Hendricks moved
away impatiently. He stood with
his back to them.

“What’s the matter?” Rudi
said.

“The Moon Base. God, if
they’ve gotten there—”

“The Moon Base?”

Hendricks turned around.
“They couldn’t have got to the
Moon Base. How would they get
there? It isn’t possible. I can’t
believe it.”

“What is this Moon Base?
We’ve heard rumors, but nothing
definite. What is the actual situation?
You seem concerned.”

“We’re supplied from the
 moon. The governments are
there, under the lunar surface.
All our people and industries.
That’s what keeps us going. If
they should find some way of getting
off Terra, onto the moon—”

“It only takes one of them.
Once the first one gets in it admits
the others. Hundreds of
them, all alike. You should have
seen them. Identical. Like ants.”

“Perfect socialism,” Tasso
said. “The ideal of the communist
state. All citizens interchangeable.”

Klaus grunted angrily. “That’s
enough. Well? What next?”

Hendricks paced back and
forth, around the small room.
The air was full of smells of
food and perspiration. The
others watched him. Presently
Tasso pushed through the curtain,
into the other room. “I’m
going to take a nap.”

The curtain closed behind her.
Rudi and Klaus sat down at the
table, still watching Hendricks.

“It’s up to you,” Klaus said. “We
don’t know your situation.”

Hendricks nodded.

“It’s a problem.” Rudi drank
some coffee, filling his cup from
a rusty pot. “We’re safe here for
awhile, but we can’t stay here
forever. Not enough food or supplies.”

“But if we go outside—”

“If we go outside they’ll get
us. Or probably they’ll get us.
We couldn’t go very far. How
far is your command bunker, Major?”

“Three or four miles.”

“We might make it. The four
of us. Four of us could watch all
sides. They couldn’t slip up behind
us and start tagging us. We
have three rifles, three blast
rifles. Tasso can have my pistol.”
Rudi tapped his belt. “In the Soviet
army we didn’t have shoes
always, but we had guns. With
all four of us armed one of us
might get to your command
bunker. Preferably you, Major.”

“What if they’re already
there?” Klaus said.

Rudi shrugged. “Well, then we
come back here.”

Hendricks stopped pacing.
“What do you think the chances
are they’re already in the American
lines?”

“Hard to say. Fairly good.
They’re organized. They know
exactly what they’re doing. Once
they start they go like a horde
of locusts. They have to keep
moving, and fast. It’s secrecy
and speed they depend on. Surprise.
They push their way in
before anyone has any idea.”

“I see,” Hendricks murmured.

From the other room Tasso
stirred. “Major?”

Hendricks pushed the curtain
back. “What?”

Tasso looked up at him lazily

 from the cot. “Have you any
more American cigarettes left?”

Hendricks went into the room
and sat down across from her,
on a wood stool. He felt in his
pockets. “No. All gone.”

“Too bad.”

“What nationality are you?”
Hendricks asked after awhile.

“Russian.”

“How did you get here?”

“Here?”

“This used to be France. This
was part of Normandy. Did you
come with the Soviet army?”

“Why?”

“Just curious.” He studied her.
She had taken off her coat, tossing
it over the end of the cot.
She was young, about twenty.
Slim. Her long hair stretched
out over the pillow. She was
staring at him silently, her eyes
dark and large.

“What’s on your mind?” Tasso
said.

“Nothing. How old are you?”

“Eighteen.” She continued to
watch him, unblinking, her arms
behind her head. She had on
Russian army pants and shirt.
Gray-green. Thick leather belt
with counter and cartridges.
Medicine kit.

“You’re in the Soviet army?”

“No.”

“Where did you get the uniform?”

She shrugged. “It was given
to me,” she told him.

“How—how old were you
when you came here?”

“Sixteen.”

“That young?”

Her eyes narrowed. “What do
you mean?”

Hendricks rubbed his jaw.
“Your life would have been a lot
different if there had been no
war. Sixteen. You came here at
sixteen. To live this way.”

“I had to survive.”

“I’m not moralizing.”

“Your life would have been
different, too,” Tasso murmured.
She reached down and unfastened
one of her boots. She
kicked the boot off, onto the floor.
“Major, do you want to go in the
other room? I’m sleepy.”

“It’s going to be a problem, the
four of us here. It’s going to be
hard to live in these quarters.
Are there just the two rooms?”

“Yes.”

“How big was the cellar originally?
Was it larger than this?
Are there other rooms filled up
with debris? We might be able
to open one of them.”

“Perhaps. I really don’t know.”
Tasso loosened her belt. She
made herself comfortable on the
cot, unbuttoning her shirt.
“You’re sure you have no more
cigarettes?”

“I had only the one pack.”

“Too bad. Maybe if we get
back to your bunker we can find
 some.” The other boot fell. Tasso
reached up for the light cord.
“Good night.”

“You’re going to sleep?”

“That’s right.”

The room plunged into darkness.
Hendricks got up and
made his way past the curtain,
into the kitchen.

And stopped, rigid.

Rudi stood against the wall,
his face white and gleaming. His
mouth opened and closed but no
sounds came. Klaus stood in
front of him, the muzzle of his
pistol in Rudi’s stomach. Neither
of them moved. Klaus, his hand
tight around his gun, his features
set. Rudi, pale and silent,
spread-eagled against the wall.

“What—” Hendricks muttered,
but Klaus cut him off.

“Be quiet, Major. Come over
here. Your gun. Get out your
gun.”

Hendricks drew his pistol.
“What is it?”

“Cover him.” Klaus motioned
him forward. “Beside me.
Hurry!”

Rudi moved a little, lowering
his arms. He turned to Hendricks,
licking his lips. The
whites of his eyes shone wildly.
Sweat dripped from his forehead,
down his cheeks. He fixed
his gaze on Hendricks. “Major,
he’s gone insane. Stop him.”
Rudi’s voice was thin and hoarse,
almost inaudible.

“What’s going on?” Hendricks
demanded.

Without lowering his pistol
Klaus answered. “Major, remember
our discussion? The Three
Varieties? We knew about One
and Three. But we didn’t know
about Two. At least, we didn’t
know before.” Klaus’ fingers
tightened around the gun butt.
“We didn’t know before, but we
know now.”

He pressed the trigger. A
burst of white heat rolled out of
the gun, licking around Rudi.

“Major, this is the Second
Variety.”

Tasso swept the curtain aside.
“Klaus! What did you do?”

Klaus turned from the charred
form, gradually sinking down the
wall onto the floor. “The Second
Variety, Tasso. Now we know.
We have all three types identified.
The danger is less. I—”

Tasso stared past him at the
remains of Rudi, at the blackened,
smouldering fragments
and bits of cloth. “You killed
him.”

“Him? It, you mean. I was
watching. I had a feeling, but I
wasn’t sure. At least, I wasn’t
sure before. But this evening I
was certain.” Klaus rubbed his
pistol butt nervously. “We’re
lucky. Don’t you understand?
Another hour and it might—”

“You were certain?” Tasso
 pushed past him and bent down,
over the steaming remains on
the floor. Her face became hard.
“Major, see for yourself. Bones.
Flesh.”

Hendricks bent down beside
her. The remains were human remains.
Seared flesh, charred
bone fragments, part of a skull.
Ligaments, viscera, blood. Blood
forming a pool against the wall.

“No wheels,” Tasso said calmly.
She straightened up. “No
wheels, no parts, no relays. Not
a claw. Not the Second Variety.”
She folded her arms. “You’re going
to have to be able to explain
this.”

Klaus sat down at the table,
all the color drained suddenly
from his face. He put his head
in his hands and rocked back and
forth.

“Snap out of it.” Tasso’s fingers
closed over his shoulder.
“Why did you do it? Why did
you kill him?”

“He was frightened,” Hendricks
said. “All this, the whole
thing, building up around us.”

“Maybe.”

“What, then? What do you
think?”

“I think he may have had a
reason for killing Rudi. A good
reason.”

“What reason?”

“Maybe Rudi learned something.”

Hendricks studied her bleak
face. “About what?” he asked.

“About him. About Klaus.”

Klaus looked up quickly. “You
can see what she’s trying to say.
She thinks I’m the Second Variety.
Don’t you see, Major? Now
she wants you to believe I killed
him on purpose. That I’m—”

“Why did you kill him, then?”
Tasso said.

“I told you.” Klaus shook his
head wearily. “I thought he was
a claw. I thought I knew.”

“Why?”

“I had been watching him. I
was suspicious.”

“Why?”

“I thought I had seen something.
Heard something. I
thought I—” He stopped.

“Go on.”

“We were sitting at the table.
Playing cards. You two were in
the other room. It was silent. I
thought I heard him—whirr.”

There was silence.

“Do you believe that?” Tasso
said to Hendricks.

“Yes. I believe what he says.”

“I don’t. I think he killed Rudi
for a good purpose.” Tasso
touched the rifle, resting in the
corner of the room. “Major—”

“No.” Hendricks shook his
head. “Let’s stop it right now.
One is enough. We’re afraid, the
way he was. If we kill him we’ll
be doing what he did to Rudi.”

Klaus looked gratefully up at
 him. “Thanks. I was afraid. You
understand, don’t you? Now
she’s afraid, the way I was. She
wants to kill me.”

“No more killing.” Hendricks
moved toward the end of the ladder.
“I’m going above and try
the transmitter once more. If I
can’t get them we’re moving back
toward my lines tomorrow morning.”

Klaus rose quickly. “I’ll come
up with you and give you a
hand.”

The night air was cold. The
earth was cooling off. Klaus
took a deep breath, filling his
lungs. He and Hendricks stepped
onto the ground, out of the tunnel.
Klaus planted his feet wide
apart, the rifle up, watching and
listening. Hendricks crouched by
the tunnel mouth, tuning the
small transmitter.

“Any luck?” Klaus asked
presently.

“Not yet.”

“Keep trying. Tell them what
happened.”

Hendricks kept trying. Without
success. Finally he lowered
the antenna. “It’s useless. They
can’t hear me. Or they hear me
and won’t answer. Or—”

“Or they don’t exist.”

“I’ll try once more.” Hendricks
raised the antenna. “Scott, can
you hear me? Come in!”

He listened. There was only
static. Then, still very faintly—

“This is Scott.”

His fingers tightened. “Scott!
Is it you?”

“This is Scott.”

Klaus squatted down. “Is it
your command?”

“Scott, listen. Do you understand?
About them, the claws.
Did you get my message? Did
you hear me?”

“Yes.” Faintly. Almost inaudible.
He could hardly make
out the word.

“You got my message? Is
everything all right at the bunker?
None of them have got in?”

“Everything is all right.”

“Have they tried to get in?”

The voice was weaker.

“No.”

Hendricks turned to Klaus.
“They’re all right.”

“Have they been attacked?”

“No.” Hendricks pressed the
phone tighter to his ear. “Scott,
I can hardly hear you. Have you
notified the Moon Base? Do they
know? Are they alerted?”

No answer.

“Scott! Can you hear me?”

Silence.

Hendricks relaxed, sagging.
“Faded out. Must be radiation
pools.”

Hendricks and Klaus looked at
each other. Neither of them said
anything. After a time Klaus
said, “Did it sound like any of
 your men? Could you identify
the voice?”

“It was too faint.”

“You couldn’t be certain?”

“No.”

“Then it could have been—”

“I don’t know. Now I’m not
sure. Let’s go back down and get
the lid closed.”

They climbed back down the
ladder slowly, into the warm cellar.
Klaus bolted the lid behind
them. Tasso waited for them, her
face expressionless.

“Any luck?” she asked.

Neither of them answered.
“Well?” Klaus said at last.
“What do you think, Major? Was
it your officer, or was it one of
them?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then we’re just where we
were before.”

Hendricks stared down at the
floor, his jaw set. “We’ll have to
go. To be sure.”

“Anyhow, we have food here
for only a few weeks. We’d have
to go up after that, in any case.”

“Apparently so.”

“What’s wrong?” Tasso demanded.
“Did you get across to
your bunker? What’s the matter?”

“It may have been one of my
men,” Hendricks said slowly. “Or
it may have been one of them.
But we’ll never know standing
here.” He examined his watch.
“Let’s turn in and get some
sleep. We want to be up early
tomorrow.”

“Early?”

“Our best chance to get
through the claws should be
early in the morning,” Hendricks
said.

The morning was crisp and
clear. Major Hendricks studied
the countryside through his fieldglasses.

“See anything?” Klaus said.

“No.”

“Can you make out our bunkers?”

“Which way?”

“Here.” Klaus took the glasses
and adjusted them. “I know
where to look.” He looked a long
time, silently.

Tasso came to the top of the
tunnel and stepped up onto the
ground. “Anything?”

“No.” Klaus passed the glasses
back to Hendricks. “They’re out
of sight. Come on. Let’s not stay
here.”

The three of them made their
way down the side of the ridge,
sliding in the soft ash. Across a
flat rock a lizard scuttled. They
stopped instantly, rigid.

“What was it?” Klaus muttered.

“A lizard.”

The lizard ran on, hurrying
through the ash. It was exactly
the same color as the ash.

“Perfect adaptation,” Klaus
 said. “Proves we were right.
Lysenko, I mean.”

They reached the bottom of
the ridge and stopped, standing
close together, looking around
them.

“Let’s go.” Hendricks started
off. “It’s a good long trip, on
foot.”

Klaus fell in beside him. Tasso
walked behind, her pistol held
alertly. “Major, I’ve been meaning
to ask you something,” Klaus
said. “How did you run across
the David? The one that was
tagging you.”

“I met it along the way. In
some ruins.”

“What did it say?”

“Not much. It said it was
alone. By itself.”

“You couldn’t tell it was a
machine? It talked like a living
person? You never suspected?”

“It didn’t say much. I noticed
nothing unusual.

“It’s strange, machines so
much like people that you can be
fooled. Almost alive. I wonder
where it’ll end.”

“They’re doing what you
Yanks designed them to do,”
Tasso said. “You designed them
to hunt out life and destroy. Human
life. Wherever they find it.”

Hendricks was watching Klaus
intently. “Why did you ask me?
What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing,” Klaus answered.

“Klaus thinks you’re the Second
Variety,” Tasso said calmly,
from behind them. “Now he’s
got his eye on you.”

Klaus flushed. “Why not? We
sent a runner to the Yank lines
and he comes back. Maybe he
thought he’d find some good
game here.”

Hendricks laughed harshly. “I
came from the UN bunkers.
There were human beings all
around me.”

“Maybe you saw an opportunity
to get into the Soviet
lines. Maybe you saw your
chance. Maybe you—”

“The Soviet lines had already
been taken over. Your lines had
been invaded before I left my
command bunker. Don’t forget
that.”

Tasso came up beside him.
“That proves nothing at all,
Major.”

“Why not?”

“There appears to be little
communication between the varieties.
Each is made in a different
factory. They don’t seem to
work together. You might have
started for the Soviet lines without
knowing anything about the
work of the other varieties. Or
even what the other varieties
were like.”

“How do you know so much
about the claws?” Hendricks
said.

“I’ve seen them. I’ve observed
 them. I observed them take over
the Soviet bunkers.”

“You know quite a lot,” Klaus
said. “Actually, you saw very
little. Strange that you should
have been such an acute observer.”

Tasso laughed. “Do you suspect
me, now?”

“Forget it,” Hendricks said.
They walked on in silence.

“Are we going the whole way
on foot?” Tasso said, after
awhile. “I’m not used to walking.”
She gazed around at the
plain of ash, stretching out on
all sides of them, as far as they
could see. “How dreary.”

“It’s like this all the way,”
Klaus said.

“In a way I wish you had been
in your bunker when the attack
came.”

“Somebody else would have
been with you, if not me,” Klaus
muttered.

Tasso laughed, putting her
hands in her pockets. “I suppose
so.”

They walked on, keeping their
eyes on the vast plain of silent
ash around them.

The sun was setting. Hendricks
made his way forward
slowly, waving Tasso and Klaus
back. Klaus squatted down, resting
his gun butt against the
ground.

Tasso found a concrete slab
and sat down with a sigh. “It’s
good to rest.”

“Be quiet,” Klaus said sharply.

Hendricks pushed up to the
top of the rise ahead of them.
The same rise the Russian runner
had come up, the day before.
Hendricks dropped down,
stretching himself out, peering
through his glasses at what lay
beyond.

Nothing was visible. Only ash
and occasional trees. But there,
not more than fifty yards ahead,
was the entrance of the forward
command bunker. The bunker
from which he had come. Hendricks
watched silently. No motion.
No sign of life. Nothing
stirred.

Klaus slithered up beside him.
“Where is it?”

“Down there.” Hendricks passed
him the glasses. Clouds of ash
rolled across the evening sky.
The world was darkening. They
had a couple of hours of light
left, at the most. Probably not
that much.

“I don’t see anything,” Klaus
said.

“That tree there. The stump.
By the pile of bricks. The entrance
is to the right of the
bricks.”

“I’ll have to take your word
for it.”

“You and Tasso cover me from
here. You’ll be able to sight all
the way to the bunker entrance.”

 “You’re going down alone?”

“With my wrist tab I’ll be
safe. The ground around the
bunker is a living field of claws.
They collect down in the ash.
Like crabs. Without tabs you
wouldn’t have a chance.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

“I’ll walk slowly all the way.
As soon as I know for certain—”

“If they’re down inside the
bunker you won’t be able to get
back up here. They go fast. You
don’t realize.”

“What do you suggest?”

Klaus considered. “I don’t
know. Get them to come up to the
surface. So you can see.”

Hendricks brought his transmitter
from his belt, raising the
antenna. “Let’s get started.”

Klaus signalled to Tasso. She
crawled expertly up the side of
the rise to where they were
sitting.

“He’s going down alone,”
Klaus said. “We’ll cover him
from here. As soon as you see
him start back, fire past him at
once. They come quick.”

“You’re not very optimistic,”
Tasso said.

“No, I’m not.”

Hendricks opened the breech
of his gun, checking it carefully.
“Maybe things are all right.”

“You didn’t see them. Hundreds
of them. All the same.
Pouring out like ants.”

“I should be able to find out
without going down all the way.”
Hendricks locked his gun, gripping
it in one hand, the transmitter
in the other. “Well, wish
me luck.”

Klaus put out his hand. “Don’t
go down until you’re sure. Talk
to them from up here. Make them
show themselves.”

Hendricks stood up. He stepped
down the side of the rise.

A moment later he was walking
slowly toward the pile of
bricks and debris beside the dead
tree stump. Toward the entrance
of the forward command bunker.

Nothing stirred. He raised the
transmitter, clicking it on.
“Scott? Can you hear me?”

Silence.

“Scott! This is Hendricks. Can
you hear me? I’m standing outside
the bunker. You should be
able to see me in the view sight.”

He listened, the transmitter
gripped tightly. No sound. Only
static. He walked forward. A
claw burrowed out of the ash
and raced toward him. It halted
a few feet away and then slunk
off. A second claw appeared, one
of the big ones with feelers. It
moved toward him, studied him
intently, and then fell in behind
him, dogging respectfully after
him, a few paces away. A moment
later a second big claw
joined it. Silently, the claws
 trailed him, as he walked slowly
toward the bunker.

Hendricks stopped, and behind
him, the claws came to a halt. He
was close, now. Almost to the
bunker steps.

“Scott! Can you hear me?
I’m standing right above you.
Outside. On the surface. Are
you picking me up?”

He waited, holding his gun
against his side, the transmitter
tightly to his ear. Time passed.
He strained to hear, but there
was only silence. Silence, and
faint static.

Then, distantly, metallically—

“This is Scott.”

The voice was neutral. Cold.
He could not identify it. But the
earphone was minute.

“Scott! Listen. I’m standing
right above you. I’m on the surface,
looking down into the bunker
entrance.”

“Yes.”

“Can you see me?”

“Yes.”

“Through the view sight? You
have the sight trained on me?”

“Yes.”

Hendricks pondered. A circle
of claws waited quietly around
him, gray-metal bodies on all
sides of him. “Is everything all
right in the bunker? Nothing
unusual has happened?”

“Everything is all right.”

“Will you come up to the surface?
I want to see you for a
moment.” Hendricks took a deep
breath. “Come up here with me.
I want to talk to you.”

“Come down.”

“I’m giving you an order.”

Silence.

“Are you coming?” Hendricks
listened. There was no response.
“I order you to come to the surface.”

“Come down.”

Hendricks set his jaw. “Let me
talk to Leone.”

There was a long pause. He
listened to the static. Then a
voice came, hard, thin, metallic.
The same as the other. “This is
Leone.”

“Hendricks. I’m on the surface.
At the bunker entrance. I
want one of you to come up
here.”

“Come down.”

“Why come down? I’m giving
you an order!”

Silence. Hendricks lowered the
transmitter. He looked carefully
around him. The entrance was
just ahead. Almost at his feet.
He lowered the antenna and fastened
the transmitter to his belt.
Carefully, he gripped his gun
with both hands. He moved forward,
a step at a time. If they
could see him they knew he was
starting toward the entrance. He
closed his eyes a moment.

Then he put his foot on the
first step that led downward.

 Two Davids came up at him,
their faces identical and expressionless.
He blasted them into
particles. More came rushing
silently up, a whole pack of
them. All exactly the same.

Hendricks turned and raced
back, away from the bunker,
back toward the rise.

At the top of the rise Tasso
and Klaus were firing down. The
small claws were already streaking
up toward them, shining
metal spheres going fast, racing
frantically through the ash. But
he had no time to think about
that. He knelt down, aiming at
the bunker entrance, gun against
his cheek. The Davids were
coming out in groups, clutching
their teddy bears, their thin
knobby legs pumping as they ran
up the steps to the surface. Hendricks
fired into the main body
of them. They burst apart,
wheels and springs flying in all
directions. He fired again
through the mist of particles.

A giant lumbering figure rose
up in the bunker entrance, tall
and swaying. Hendricks paused,
amazed. A man, a soldier. With
one leg, supporting himself with
a crutch.

“Major!” Tasso’s voice came.
More firing. The huge figure
moved forward, Davids swarming
around it. Hendricks broke
out of his freeze. The First
Variety. The Wounded Soldier.

He aimed and fired. The soldier
burst into bits, parts and relays
flying. Now many Davids were
out on the flat ground, away from
the bunker. He fired again and
again, moving slowly back, half-crouching
and aiming.

From the rise, Klaus fired
down. The side of the rise was
alive with claws making their
way up. Hendricks retreated toward
the rise, running and
crouching. Tasso had left Klaus
and was circling slowly to the
right, moving away from the
rise.

A David slipped up toward
him, its small white face expressionless,
brown hair hanging
down in its eyes. It bent over
suddenly, opening its arms. Its
teddy bear hurtled down and
leaped across the ground, bounding
toward him. Hendricks fired.
The bear and the David both
dissolved. He grinned, blinking.
It was like a dream.

“Up here!” Tasso’s voice.
Hendricks made his way toward
her. She was over by some columns
of concrete, walls of a
ruined building. She was firing
past him, with the hand pistol
Klaus had given her.

“Thanks.” He joined her,
grasping for breath. She pulled
him back, behind the concrete,
fumbling at her belt.

“Close your eyes!” She unfastened
a globe from her waist.
 Rapidly, she unscrewed the cap,
locking it into place. “Close your
eyes and get down.”

She threw the bomb. It sailed
in an arc, an expert, rolling
and bouncing to the entrance of
the bunker. Two Wounded Soldiers
stood uncertainly by the
brick pile. More Davids poured
from behind them, out onto
the plain. One of the Wounded
Soldiers moved toward the bomb,
stooping awkwardly down to pick
it up.

The bomb went off. The concussion
whirled Hendricks
around, throwing him on his
face. A hot wind rolled over him.
Dimly he saw Tasso standing
behind the columns, firing slowly
and methodically at the Davids
coming out of the raging clouds
of white fire.

Back along the rise Klaus
struggled with a ring of claws
circling around him. He retreated,
blasting at them and
moving back, trying to break
through the ring.

Hendricks struggled to his
feet. His head ached. He could
hardly see. Everything was licking
at him, raging and whirling.
His right arm would not move.

Tasso pulled back toward him.
“Come on. Let’s go.”

“Klaus—He’s still up there.”

“Come on!” Tasso dragged
Hendricks back, away from the
columns. Hendricks shook his
head, trying to clear it. Tasso
led him rapidly away, her eyes
intense and bright, watching for
claws that had escaped the blast.

One David came out of the
rolling clouds of flame. Tasso
blasted it. No more appeared.

“But Klaus. What about him?”
Hendricks stopped, standing unsteadily.
“He—”

“Come on!”

They retreated, moving
farther and farther away from
the bunker. A few small claws
followed them for a little while
and then gave up, turning back
and going off.

At last Tasso stopped. “We can
stop here and get our breaths.”

Hendricks sat down on some
heaps of debris. He wiped his
neck, gasping. “We left Klaus
back there.”

Tasso said nothing. She opened
her gun, sliding a fresh round of
blast cartridges into place.

Hendricks stared at her, dazed.
“You left him back there on
purpose.”

Tasso snapped the gun together.
She studied the heaps of
rubble around them, her face expressionless.
As if she were
watching for something.

“What is it?” Hendricks demanded.
“What are you looking
for? Is something coming?” He
 shook his head, trying to understand.
What was she doing?
What was she waiting for? He
could see nothing. Ash lay all
around them, ash and ruins.
Occasional stark tree trunks,
without leaves or branches.
“What—”

Tasso cut him off. “Be still.”
Her eyes narrowed. Suddenly her
gun came up. Hendricks turned,
following her gaze.

Back the way they had come
a figure appeared. The figure
walked unsteadily toward them.
Its clothes were torn. It limped
as it made its way along, going
very slowly and carefully. Stopping
now and then, resting and
getting its strength. Once it almost
fell. It stood for a moment,
trying to steady itself. Then it
came on.

Klaus.

Hendricks stood up. “Klaus!”
He started toward him. “How
the hell did you—”

Tasso fired. Hendricks swung
back. She fired again, the blast
passing him, a searing line of
heat. The beam caught Klaus in
the chest. He exploded, gears and
wheels flying. For a moment he
continued to walk. Then he swayed
back and forth. He crashed
to the ground, his arms flung out.
A few more wheels rolled away.

Silence.

Tasso turned to Hendricks.
“Now you understand why he
killed Rudi.”

Hendricks sat down again
slowly. He shook his head. He
was numb. He could not think.

“Do you see?” Tasso said. “Do
you understand?”

Hendricks said nothing.
Everything was slipping away
from him, faster and faster.
Darkness, rolling and plucking at
him.

He closed his eyes.

Hendricks opened his eyes
slowly. His body ached all over.
He tried to sit up but needles of
pain shot through his arm and
shoulder. He gasped.

“Don’t try to get up,” Tasso
said. She bent down, putting
her cold hand against his forehead.

It was night. A few stars
glinted above, shining through
the drifting clouds of ash. Hendricks
lay back, his teeth locked.
Tasso watched him impassively.
She had built a fire with some
wood and weeds. The fire licked
feebly, hissing at a metal cup
suspended over it. Everything
was silent. Unmoving darkness,
beyond the fire.

“So he was the Second Variety,”
Hendricks murmured.

“I had always thought so.”

“Why didn’t you destroy him
 sooner?” he wanted to know.

“You held me back.” Tasso
crossed to the fire to look into
the metal cup. “Coffee. It’ll be
ready to drink in awhile.”

She came back and sat down
beside him. Presently she opened
her pistol and began to disassemble
the firing mechanism, studying
it intently.

“This is a beautiful gun,”
Tasso said, half-aloud. “The construction
is superb.”

“What about them? The
claws.”

“The concussion from the
bomb put most of them out of
action. They’re delicate. Highly
organized, I suppose.”

“The Davids, too?”

“Yes.”

“How did you happen to have a
bomb like that?”

Tasso shrugged. “We designed
it. You shouldn’t underestimate
our technology, Major. Without
such a bomb you and I would no
longer exist.”

“Very useful.”

Tasso stretched out her legs,
warming her feet in the heat of
the fire. “It surprised me that
you did not seem to understand,
after he killed Rudi. Why did
you think he—”

“I told you. I thought he was
afraid.”

“Really? You know, Major, for
a little while I suspected you.
Because you wouldn’t let me kill
him. I thought you might be protecting
him.” She laughed.

“Are we safe here?” Hendricks
asked presently.

“For awhile. Until they get
reinforcements from some other
area.” Tasso began to clean the
interior of the gun with a bit of
rag. She finished and pushed the
mechanism back into place. She
closed the gun, running her
finger along the barrel.

“We were lucky,” Hendricks
murmured.

“Yes. Very lucky.”

“Thanks for pulling me away.”

Tasso did not answer. She
glanced up at him, her eyes
bright in the fire light. Hendricks
examined his arm. He
could not move his fingers. His
whole side seemed numb. Down
inside him was a dull steady
ache.

“How do you feel?” Tasso
asked.

“My arm is damaged.”

“Anything else?”

“Internal injuries.”

“You didn’t get down when the
bomb went off.”

Hendricks said nothing. He
watched Tasso pour the coffee
from the cup into a flat metal
pan. She brought it over to him.

“Thanks.” He struggled up
enough to drink. It was hard to
swallow. His insides turned over
and he pushed the pan away.
 “That’s all I can drink now.”

Tasso drank the rest. Time
passed. The clouds of ash moved
across the dark sky above them.
Hendricks rested, his mind
blank. After awhile he became
aware that Tasso was standing
over him, gazing down at him.

“What is it?” he murmured.

“Do you feel any better?”

“Some.”

“You know, Major, if I hadn’t
dragged you away they would
have got you. You would be
dead. Like Rudi.”

“I know.”

“Do you want to know why I
brought you out? I could have
left you. I could have left you
there.”

“Why did you bring me out?”

“Because we have to get away
from here.” Tasso stirred the
fire with a stick, peering calmly
down into it. “No human being
can live here. When their reinforcements
come we won’t have
a chance. I’ve pondered about it
while you were unconscious. We
have perhaps three hours before
they come.”

“And you expect me to get us
away?”

“That’s right. I expect you to
get us out of here.”

“Why me?”

“Because I don’t know any
way.” Her eyes shone at him in
the half-light, bright and steady.
“If you can’t get us out of here
they’ll kill us within three hours.
I see nothing else ahead. Well,
Major? What are you going to
do? I’ve been waiting all night.
While you were unconscious I sat
here, waiting and listening. It’s
almost dawn. The night is almost
over.”

Hendricks considered. “It’s
curious,” he said at last.

“Curious?”

“That you should think I can
get us out of here. I wonder
what you think I can do.”

“Can you get us to the Moon
Base?”

“The Moon Base? How?”

“There must be some way.”

Hendricks shook his head.
“No. There’s no way that I know
of.”

Tasso said nothing. For a moment
her steady gaze wavered.
She ducked her head, turning
abruptly away. She scrambled to
her feet. “More coffee?”

“No.”

“Suit yourself.” Tasso drank
silently. He could not see her
face. He lay back against the
ground, deep in thought, trying
to concentrate. It was hard to
think. His head still hurt. And
the numbing daze still hung over
him.

“There might be one way,” he
said suddenly.

“Oh?”

“How soon is dawn?”

 “Two hours. The sun will be
coming up shortly.”

“There’s supposed to be a ship
near here. I’ve never seen it. But
I know it exists.”

“What kind of a ship?” Her
voice was sharp.

“A rocket cruiser.”

“Will it take us off? To the
Moon Base?”

“It’s supposed to. In case of
emergency.” He rubbed his forehead.

“What’s wrong?”

“My head. It’s hard to think.
I can hardly—hardly concentrate.
The bomb.”

“Is the ship near here?” Tasso
slid over beside him, settling
down on her haunches. “How far
is it? Where is it?”

“I’m trying to think.”

Her fingers dug into his arm.
“Nearby?” Her voice was like
iron. “Where would it be?
Would they store it underground?
Hidden underground?”

“Yes. In a storage locker.”

“How do we find it? Is it
marked? Is there a code marker
to identify it?”

Hendricks concentrated. “No.
No markings. No code symbol.”

“What, then?”

“A sign.”

“What sort of sign?”

Hendricks did not answer. In
the flickering light his eyes were
glazed, two sightless orbs.
Tasso’s fingers dug into his arm.

“What sort of sign? What is
it?”

“I—I can’t think. Let me
rest.”

“All right.” She let go and
stood up. Hendricks lay back
against the ground, his eyes
closed. Tasso walked away from
him, her hands in her pockets.
She kicked a rock out of her way
and stood staring up at the sky.
The night blackness was already
beginning to fade into gray.
Morning was coming.

Tasso gripped her pistol and
walked around the fire in a circle,
back and forth. On the ground
Major Hendricks lay, his eyes
closed, unmoving. The grayness
rose in the sky, higher and
higher. The landscape became
visible, fields of ash stretching
out in all directions. Ash and
ruins of buildings, a wall here
and there, heaps of concrete, the
naked trunk of a tree.

The air was cold and sharp.
Somewhere a long way off a bird
made a few bleak sounds.

Hendricks stirred. He opened
his eyes. “Is it dawn? Already?”

“Yes.”

Hendricks sat up a little. “You
wanted to know something. You
were asking me.”

“Do you remember now?”

“Yes.”

“What is it?” She tensed.
“What?” she repeated sharply.

 “A well. A ruined well. It’s in
a storage locker under a well.”

“A well.” Tasso relaxed.
“Then we’ll find a well.” She
looked at her watch. “We have
about an hour, Major. Do you
think we can find it in an hour?”

“Give me a hand up,” Hendricks
said.

Tasso put her pistol away and
helped him to his feet. “This is
going to be difficult.”

“Yes it is.” Hendricks set his
lips tightly. “I don’t think we’re
going to go very far.”

They began to walk. The early
sun cast a little warmth down on
them. The land was flat and barren,
stretching out gray and lifeless
as far as they could see. A
few birds sailed silently, far
above them, circling slowly.

“See anything?” Hendricks
said. “Any claws?”

“No. Not yet.”

They passed through some
ruins, upright concrete and
bricks. A cement foundation.
Rats scuttled away. Tasso
jumped back warily.

“This used to be a town,” Hendricks
said. “A village. Provincial
village. This was all grape
country, once. Where we are
now.”

They came onto a ruined
street, weeds and cracks criss-crossing
it. Over to the right a
stone chimney stuck up.

“Be careful,” he warned her.

A pit yawned, an open basement.
Ragged ends of pipes jutted
up, twisted and bent. They
passed part of a house, a bathtub
turned on its side. A broken
chair. A few spoons and bits of
china dishes. In the center of the
street the ground had sunk away.
The depression was filled with
weeds and debris and bones.

“Over here,” Hendricks murmured.

“This way?”

“To the right.”

They passed the remains of a
heavy duty tank. Hendricks’ belt
counter clicked ominously. The
tank had been radiation blasted.
A few feet from the tank a mummified
body lay sprawled out,
mouth open. Beyond the road
was a flat field. Stones and
weeds, and bits of broken glass.

“There,” Hendricks said.

A stone well jutted up, sagging
and broken. A few boards lay
across it. Most of the well had
sunk into rubble. Hendricks
walked unsteadily toward it,
Tasso beside him.

“Are you certain about this?”
Tasso said. “This doesn’t look
like anything.”

“I’m sure.” Hendricks sat
down at the edge of the well, his
teeth locked. His breath came
quickly. He wiped perspiration
from his face. “This was
 arranged so the senior command
officer could get away. If anything
happened. If the bunker
fell.”

“That was you?”

“Yes.”

“Where is the ship? Is it
here?”

“We’re standing on it.” Hendricks
ran his hands over the
surface of the well stones. “The
eye-lock responds to me, not to
anybody else. It’s my ship. Or it
was supposed to be.”

There was a sharp click. Presently
they heard a low grating
sound from below them.

“Step back,” Hendricks said.
He and Tasso moved away from
the well.

A section of the ground slid
back. A metal frame pushed
slowly up through the ash, shoving
bricks and weeds out of the
way. The action ceased, as the
ship nosed into view.

“There it is,” Hendricks said.

The ship was small. It rested
quietly, suspended in its mesh
frame, like a blunt needle. A rain
of ash sifted down into the dark
cavity from which the ship had
been raised. Hendricks made his
way over to it. He mounted the
mesh and unscrewed the hatch,
pulling it back. Inside the ship
the control banks and the pressure
seat were visible.

Tasso came and stood beside
him, gazing into the ship. “I’m
not accustomed to rocket piloting,”
she said, after awhile.

Hendricks glanced at her. “I’ll
do the piloting.”

“Will you? There’s only one
seat, Major. I can see it’s built
to carry only a single person.”

Hendricks’ breathing changed.
He studied the interior of the
ship intently. Tasso was right.
There was only one seat. The
ship was built to carry only one
person. “I see,” he said slowly.
“And the one person is you.”

She nodded.

“Of course.”

“Why?”

“You can’t go. You might not
live through the trip. You’re injured.
You probably wouldn’t get
there.”

“An interesting point. But you
see, I know where the Moon Base
is. And you don’t. You might fly
around for months and not find
it. It’s well hidden. Without
knowing what to look for—”

“I’ll have to take my chances.
Maybe I won’t find it. Not by
myself. But I think you’ll give
me all the information I need.
Your life depends on it.”

“How?”

“If I find the Moon Base in
time, perhaps I can get them to
send a ship back to pick you up.
If I find the Base in time. If not,
then you haven’t a chance. I
imagine there are supplies on the
 ship. They will last me long
enough—”

Hendricks moved quickly. But
his injured arm betrayed him.
Tasso ducked, sliding lithely
aside. Her hand came up, lightning
fast. Hendricks saw the gun
butt coming. He tried to ward
off the blow, but she was too fast.
The metal butt struck against
the side of his head, just above
his ear. Numbing pain rushed
through him. Pain and rolling
clouds of blackness. He sank
down, sliding to the ground.

Dimly, he was aware that
Tasso was standing over him,
kicking him with her toe.

“Major! Wake up.”

He opened his eyes, groaning.

“Listen to me.” She bent down,
the gun pointed at his face. “I
have to hurry. There isn’t much
time left. The ship is ready to
go, but you must tell me the information
I need before I leave.”

Hendricks shook his head, trying
to clear it.

“Hurry up! Where is the
Moon Base? How do I find it?
What do I look for?”

Hendricks said nothing.

“Answer me!”

“Sorry.”

“Major, the ship is loaded
with provisions. I can coast for
weeks. I’ll find the Base eventually.
And in a half hour you’ll
be dead. Your only chance of
survival—” She broke off.

Along the slope, by some
crumbling ruins, something
moved. Something in the ash.
Tasso turned quickly, aiming.
She fired. A puff of flame leaped.
Something scuttled away, rolling
across the ash. She fired again.
The claw burst apart, wheels flying.

“See?” Tasso said. “A scout.
It won’t be long.”

“You’ll bring them back here
to get me?”

“Yes. As soon as possible.”

Hendricks looked up at her.
He studied her intently. “You’re
telling the truth?” A strange
expression had come over his
face, an avid hunger. “You will
come back for me? You’ll get me
to the Moon Base?”

“I’ll get you to the Moon Base.
But tell me where it is! There’s
only a little time left.”

“All right.” Hendricks picked
up a piece of rock, pulling himself
to a sitting position.
“Watch.”

Hendricks began to scratch in
the ash. Tasso stood by him,
watching the motion of the rock.
Hendricks was sketching a crude
lunar map.

“This is the Appenine range.
Here is the Crater of Archimedes.
The Moon Base is beyond
the end of the Appenine, about
two hundred miles. I don’t know
 exactly where. No one on Terra
knows. But when you’re over the
Appenine, signal with one red
flare and a green flare, followed
by two red flares in quick succession.
The Base monitor will record
your signal. The Base is
under the surface, of course.
They’ll guide you down with
magnetic grapples.”

“And the controls? Can I
operate them?”

“The controls are virtually
automatic. All you have to do is
give the right signal at the right
time.”

“I will.”

“The seat absorbs most of the
take-off shock. Air and temperature
are automatically controlled.
The ship will leave Terra and
pass out into free space. It’ll line
itself up with the moon, falling
into an orbit around it, about a
hundred miles above the surface.
The orbit will carry you over the
Base. When you’re in the region
of the Appenine, release the signal
rockets.”

Tasso slid into the ship and
lowered herself into the pressure
seat. The arm locks folded automatically
around her. She fingered
the controls. “Too bad
you’re not going, Major. All this
put here for you, and you can’t
make the trip.”

“Leave me the pistol.”

Tasso pulled the pistol from
her belt. She held it in her hand,
weighing it thoughtfully. “Don’t
go too far from this location.
It’ll be hard to find you, as it is.”

“No. I’ll stay here by the well.”

Tasso gripped the take-off
switch, running her fingers over
the smooth metal. “A beautiful
ship, Major. Well built. I admire
your workmanship. You people
have always done good work. You
build fine things. Your work,
your creations, are your greatest
achievement.”

“Give me the pistol,” Hendricks
said impatiently, holding
out his hand. He struggled to his
feet.

“Good-bye, Major.” Tasso
tossed the pistol past Hendricks.
The pistol clattered against the
ground, bouncing and rolling
away. Hendricks hurried after it.
He bent down, snatching it up.

The hatch of the ship clanged
shut. The bolts fell into place.
Hendricks made his way back.
The inner door was being sealed.
He raised the pistol unsteadily.

There was a shattering roar.
The ship burst up from its metal
cage, fusing the mesh behind it.
Hendricks cringed, pulling back.
The ship shot up into the rolling
clouds of ash, disappearing into
the sky.

Hendricks stood watching a
long time, until even the
streamer had dissipated. Nothing
stirred. The morning air was
 chill and silent. He began to walk
aimlessly back the way they had
come. Better to keep moving
around. It would be a long time
before help came—if it came at
all.

He searched his pockets until
he found a package of cigarettes.
He lit one grimly. They had all
wanted cigarettes from him. But
cigarettes were scarce.

A lizard slithered by him,
through the ash. He halted,
rigid. The lizard disappeared.
Above, the sun rose higher in the
sky. Some flies landed on a flat
rock to one side of him. Hendricks
kicked at them with his
foot.

It was getting hot. Sweat
trickled down his face, into his
collar. His mouth was dry.

Presently he stopped walking
and sat down on some debris. He
unfastened his medicine kit and
swallowed a few narcotic capsules.
He looked around him.
Where was he?

Something lay ahead. Stretched
out on the ground. Silent and
unmoving.

Hendricks drew his gun quickly.
It looked like a man. Then he
remembered. It was the remains
of Klaus. The Second Variety.
Where Tasso had blasted him.
He could see wheels and relays
and metal parts, strewn around
on the ash. Glittering and
sparkling in the sunlight.

Hendricks got to his feet and
walked over. He nudged the inert
form with his foot, turning
it over a little. He could see the
metal hull, the aluminum ribs
and struts. More wiring fell out.
Like viscera. Heaps of wiring,
switches and relays. Endless
motors and rods.

He bent down. The brain cage
had been smashed by the fall.
The artificial brain was visible.
He gazed at it. A maze of circuits.
Miniature tubes. Wires as
fine as hair. He touched the
brain cage. It swung aside. The
type plate was visible. Hendricks
studied the plate.

And blanched.

IV—IV.

For a long time he stared at
the plate. Fourth Variety. Not
the Second. They had been
wrong. There were more types.
Not just three. Many more, perhaps.
At least four. And Klaus
wasn’t the Second Variety.

But if Klaus wasn’t the Second
Variety—

Suddenly he tensed. Something
was coming, walking through
the ash beyond the hill. What
was it? He strained to see. Figures.
Figures coming slowly
along, making their way through
the ash.

Coming toward him.

Hendricks crouched quickly,
raising his gun. Sweat dripped
down into his eyes. He fought
 down rising panic, as the figures
neared.

The first was a David. The
David saw him and increased its
pace. The others hurried behind
it. A second David. A third.
Three Davids, all alike, coming
toward him silently, without expression,
their thin legs rising
and falling. Clutching their teddy
bears.

He aimed and fired. The first
two Davids dissolved into particles.
The third came on. And the
figure behind it. Climbing silently
toward him across the gray
ash. A Wounded Soldier, towering
over the David. And—

And behind the Wounded Soldier
came two Tassos, walking
side by side. Heavy belt, Russian
army pants, shirt, long hair. The
familiar figure, as he had seen
her only a little while before.
Sitting in the pressure seat of
the ship. Two slim, silent figures,
both identical.

They were very near. The
David bent down suddenly, dropping
its teddy bear. The bear
raced across the ground. Automatically,
Hendricks’ fingers
tightened around the trigger.
The bear was gone, dissolved
into mist. The two Tasso Types
moved on, expressionless, walking
side by side, through the
gray ash.

When they were almost to him,
Hendricks raised the pistol waist
high and fired.

The two Tassos dissolved. But
already a new group was starting
up the rise, five or six
Tassos, all identical, a line of
them coming rapidly toward him.

And he had given her the ship
and the signal code. Because of
him she was on her way to the
moon, to the Moon Base. He had
made it possible.

He had been right about the
bomb, after all. It had been designed
with knowledge of the
other types, the David Type and
the Wounded Soldier Type. And
the Klaus Type. Not designed by
human beings. It had been designed
by one of the underground
factories, apart from all
human contact.

The line of Tassos came up to
him. Hendricks braced himself,
watching them calmly. The familiar
face, the belt, the heavy
shirt, the bomb carefully in
place.

The bomb—

As the Tassos reached for him,
a last ironic thought drifted
through Hendricks’ mind. He
felt a little better, thinking about
it. The bomb. Made by the Second
Variety to destroy the other
varieties. Made for that end
alone.

They were already beginning
to design weapons to use against
each other.