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SECOND VARIETY
by Philip K. Dick

THE RUSSIAN SOLDIER made his way nervously up the ragged
side of the bill, holding his gun ready. He glanced around
him, licking his dry lips, his face set. From time to time he
reached up a gloved band 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,
sombre 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 grey 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 grey ash, trying to keep his
gun up. He stopped for a moment, lifting his field-glasses 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 pro-
jections spinning in a blur of white steel. The Russian heard
it. He turned instantly, firing. The sphere dissolved into par-
ticles. 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 dis-
appeared 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 be-
fore."
"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."
Lieutenant Scott came slipping up the tunnel, into the bunk-
er.  "What happened? Something entered the screen."
"An Ivan."
"Just one?"
Eric brought the screen view around. Scott peered into it.
Now there were numerous metal spheres crawling over the
prostrate body, dull metal globes clicking and whirring, saw-
ing 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 direct-
ing 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 con-
crete and steel prongs, twisted and bent. The air was cold at
the top. He crossed over the ground towards the remains of the
soldier, striding across the soft ash. A wind blew around him,
swirling grey particles up in his face. He squinted and pushed
on.
The claws retreated as he came close, some of them stiffen-
ing 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 commis-
sion. Even the big robot with its two waving eyestalks re-
treated 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, aluminium. 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 grey 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 com-
panions. "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 sud-
denly 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 withwith re-
mains."
"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 itthere 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 ad-
visable 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 asked.
"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. May-
be I could use a little air."
"Don't you think it's risky?"
Hendricks lifted the view sight and gazed into it. The re-
mains 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 on to the grey,
rubbed 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 build-
ings. A few trees without leaves or branches, only the trunks.
Above him the eternal rolling clouds of grey, 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 field-
glasses. 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 com-
ing up from the underground factories.
Hendricks put out his cigarette and hurried on. It was in-
teresting, 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 go-
ing. Most of North America had been blasted off the map. Re-
taliation 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
aginst 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 com-
plexion 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 under-
ground tunnels. But then they got better, faster, and more cun-
ning. Factories, all on Terra, turned them out. Factories a
long way underground, behind the Soviet lines, factories that
had once made atomic projectiles, now almost forgotten.
The claws got faster, and they got bigger. New types ap-
peared, 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, bun-owing 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 metalthat 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 Polit-
buro 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 grey ash and darting towards a man, climb-
ing 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 ma-
chinery 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 de-
pressed 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. Sudden-
ly he stopped, jerking up his gun, his body tense. For a min-
ute it looked like
From behind the shell of a ruined bilding a figure came,
walking slowly towards him, walking hesitantly.
Hendricks biinked. "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, rag-
ged 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?" Hendrisks 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 bugged the bear again.
"Where do you live?" Hendricks said.
"In there."
"The ruins?"
"Yes."
"Udderground?"
"Yes."
"How many are there?"
"Howhow 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 pipe-
cleaners, 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? Backback 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 come along 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? Whatwhat 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 a while. 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 chil-
dren who had survived. Quiet. Stoic. A strange kind of fatal-
ism 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,
bugging 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 Rus-
sians' 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 moun-
tains 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 a while 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 any more. It would never be the same again. The hu-
man race was going to have to realize that.
"Suit yourself," Hendricks said. He ate the bread and mut-
ton 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 slip-
up. He scanned the landscape around him. Nothing but slag
and ash, a few hills, charred trees. Concrete walls. But some-
where 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 grey
with dust. His pinched face was streaked, lines of grey ash in
rivulets down the pale white of his skin. There was no col-
our to his face. Typical of the new children, growing up in
cellars and sewers and underground shelters.
Hendricks slowed down. He lifted his field-glasses and stud-
ied 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 Davis. 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  arbours.  And  the  eternal  dark  weeds.
Hendricks studied the ridge. Was anything up there? Per-
fect place for a lockout. 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 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 towards 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 momenthad 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. Adaption. He started forward again.
A  tall  figure  came  out  on  the  ridge  above  him,  cloak
flapping. Grey-green. A Russian. Behind him a second soldier
appeared, 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 grey-
green. A woman. She stood behind the other two.
Hendricks found his voice. "Stop!" He waved at them fran-
tically. "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 towards 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 Eng-
lish.
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 mur-
mured 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. Hen-
dricks 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 bunk-
er. That's how they get in."
Hendricks biinked, dazed. "But"
"Come on." They led him towards 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 grey manhole cover set in the ground. "Get in."
Hendricks lowered himself. The two soldiers and the wom-
an came behind him, following him down the ladder. The
womafi 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 Hen-
dricks"
"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 remem-
ber. 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."
"Andand 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 on to 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 ~nd 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
showedDavid. David walking along a road, by himself. Da-
vid and another David. Three Davids. All exactly alike. Each
with a ragged teddy bear.
All pathetic.
"Look at the others," Tasso said.
The next picture, taken at a great distance, showed a tower-
ing 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 defences, 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 de-
tected 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 beg-
ging to be let in. So we let them in. And as soon as they
were in they took over. We were watching out for ma-
chines ..."
"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 Wound-
ed 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 chil-
dren. 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
werewere 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 Ms 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. Car-
rying 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 Soldierwhat'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 towards 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 anoth-
er 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 cau-
tiously so that Hendricks could look out.
Rudi pointed into the darkness. "Over that way are the
bunkers. Where we used to be. Not over a 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 deci-
sion. They notified usforward comamnd. Our runner was
sent out at once. We saw him start towards 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. Wewe 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 trans-
mitter?"
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 trans-
mitter 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 prob-
ably 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 wHI begin to show."
"You talk as if they were alivel"
"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 mast 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 direc-
tion." 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, aft-
er 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 kitch-
en. 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. Ma-
niacal."
"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."
"Wh~t is this Moon Base? We've heard rumours, 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, on to 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 Com-
munist 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 cur-
tain, 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 a while, 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?"
"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 a
while.
"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 his head. She had on Russian army pants and
shirt. Grey-green. Thick leather belt with counter and car-
tridges. 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.
"Howhow 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 mur-
mured. She reached down and unfastened one of her boots.
She kicked the boot off, on to 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
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 feet \yhite and gloaming.
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 Hen-
dricks, 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, re-
member 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 on to the floor. "The Second Variety, Tasso.
Now we know. We have all three types identified. The dan-
ger is less. I"
Tasso stared past him at the remains of Rudi, at the black-
ened, 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 eve-
ning 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 your 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 colour drained sud-
denly 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 try-
ing 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 something. Heard something. I thought
I heard himwhirr."
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 comer of the room. "Ma-
jor"
"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 towards 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 towards 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 on to the ground, out of the tunnel. Klaus planted
his feet wide apart, the rifle up, watching and listening.
Hendricks crouched by the tunnel mouth, turning 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 faint-
ly
"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 bunk-
er? 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 field-glasses.
"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 on
to 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 scut-
tled. They stopped instantly, rigid.
"What was it?" Klaus muttered.
"A lizard."
The lizard ran on, hurrying through the ash. It was ex-
actly the same colour as the ash.
"Perfect adaptation," Klaus said. "Proves we were right.
Lysenko, I mean."
They reached the bottom of the ridge and stopped, stand-
ing 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 some-
thing," 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 liv-
ing 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 de-
stroy. 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 calm-
ly, from behind them. "Now he's got bis 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
a while. "I'm not used to walking." She gazed around at the
plain of ash, stretching OU\f 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 sup-
pose 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. Prob-
ably 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 cer-
tain"
"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 towards the pile of
bricks and debris beside the dead tree stump. Towards the
entrance of the forward command bunker.
Nothing stilred. 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 towards 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 towards 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 trans-
mitter tightly to his ear. Time passed. He strained to hear,
but there was only 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 on all
sides of him. "Is everything all right in the bunker? Noth-
ing 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 re-
sponse. "I order you to come to the surface."
"Come down."
Hendricks set bis jaw. "Let me talk to Leone."
There was a long pauslr 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 trans-
mitter 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 towards 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 towards 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 ted-
dy 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 di-
rections. 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 sol-
dier.  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 to-
wards 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 towards him, its small white face ex-
pressionless, 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 towards him. Hen-
dricks 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 to-
wards 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, gasping 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, roll-
ing and bouncing to the entrance  of the bunker. Two
Wounded Soldiers stood uncertainly by the brick pile. More
Davids poured from behind them, out on to the plain. One of
the Wounded Soldiers moved towards 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 rag-
ing 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 whirl-
ing. His right arm would not move.
Tasso pulled back toward him. "Come on. Let's go."
"KlausHe'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, stand-
ing 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 look-
ing for? Is something coming?" He shook his head, trying
to understand. What was she doing? What was she wait-
ing 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 care-
fully. 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 towards 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. Un-
moving 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 a
while."
She came back and sat down beside him. Presently she
opened her pistol and began to disassemble the firing mech-
anism, 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 under-esti-
mate 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 under-
stand, 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
yow. 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 a while. 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 gim, ninning her fingers 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 a while 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 hu-
man 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 hirn
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."                  i
Hendricks considered. "It's curious," he said at last.
"Curious?"
"That you should think I can get us out of here. I won-
der 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 wav-
ered.  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 wiH 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, lean hardlyhardly con-
centrate. The bomb."
"Is the ship near here?" Tasso slid over beside him, set-
tling 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 under-
ground? 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 sym-
bol."
"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?"
"I1 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 grey. Morning was com-
ing.
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 greyness rose in the sky,
higher and higher. The landscape became visible, fields of
ash stretching out in all directions. Ash and ruins of build-
ings, 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? Al-
ready?"
"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
grey 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. Pro-
vincial village. This was all grape country, once. Where we
are now."
They came on to 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 centre 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 radia-
tion  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. Hen-
dricks 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 per-
spiration from his face. "This was arranged so the senior
command officer could get away. If anythiag 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 a
while.
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 informa-
tion 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 to his
face. "I have to hurry. There isn't much time left. The
ship is ready, 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 sketch-
ing a crude lunar map.
"This is the Appenine Range. Here is the Crater of Archi-
medes. 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 tem-
perature 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 pres-
sure seat. The arm locks folded automatically around her.
She fingered the controls. "Too bad you're not going, Ma-
jor. 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 crea-
tions, 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 and rolled 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 cameif it came at all.
He searched his pockets until he found a package of ciga-
rettes. 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 de-
bris. 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 remain of Klaus. The Sec-
ond 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 aluminium 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.
IVV.
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.
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 towards him.
Hendricks crouched quickly, raising his gun. Sweat dripped
"down into his eyes. He fought down rising panic, as the fig-
ures 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. Clutch-
ing 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 towards him across the grey ash. A Wound-
ed Soldier, towering over the David. And"
And behind the Wounded Soldier came two Tassos, walk-
ing 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 trig-
ger. The bear was gone, dissolved into mist. The two Tasso
Types moved on, expressionless, walking side by side, through
the grey ash.
When they were almost to him, Hendricks raised the pis-
tol 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 towards him.
And he had given her the ship and the signal code. Be-
cause 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 him-
self, 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.