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 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.
When they were almost to him, Hendricks raised the pistol waist high and fired.
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.
Jon's World
Kastner walked around the ship without speaking. He climbed the ramp and entered, disappearing cautiously inside. For a time his outline could be seen, stirring around. He appeared again, his broad face dimly alight.
"Well?" Caleb Ryan said. "What do you think?"
Kastner came down the ramp. "Is it ready to go? Nothing left to work out?"
"It's almost ready. Workmen are finishing up the remaining sections. Relay connections and feed lines. But no major problems exist. None we can predict, at least."
The two men stood together, looking up at the squat metal box with its ports and screens and observation grills. The ship was not lovely. There were no trim lines, no chrome and rexeroid struts to ease the hull into a gradually tapering teardrop. The ship was square and knobby, with turrets and projections rising up everywhere.
"What will they think when we emerge from that?" Kastner murmured.
"We had no time to beautify it. Of course, if you want to wait another two months --"
"Couldn't you take off a few of the knobs? What are they for? What do they do?"
"Valves. You can examine the plans. They drain off the power load when it peaks too far up. Time travel is going to be dangerous. A vast load is collected as the ship moves back. It has to be leaked off gradually -- or we'll be an immense bomb charged with millions of volts."
"I'll take your word on it." Kastner picked up his briefcase. He moved toward one of the exits. League Guards stepped out of his way. "I'll tell the Directors it's almost ready. By the way, I have something to reveal."
"What is it?"
"We've decided who's going along with you."
"Who?"
"I'm going. I've always wanted to know what things were like before the war. You see the history spools, but it isn't the same. I want to be there. Walk around. You know, they say there was no ash before the war. The surface was fertile. You could walk for miles without seeing ruins. This I would like to see."
"I didn't know you were interested in the past."
"Oh, yes. My family preserved some illustrated books showing how it was. No wonder USIC wants to get hold of Schonerman's papers. If reconstruction could begin --"
wants to get hold of Schonerman's papers. If reconstruction could begin --"
"And maybe we'll get it. I'll see you later."
Ryan watched the plump little businessman depart, his briefcase clutched tightly. The row of League Guards stepped aside for him to pass, filling in behind him as he disappeared through the doorway.
Ryan returned his attention to the ship. So Kastner was to be his companion. USIC -- United Synthetic Industries Combine -- had held out for equal representation on the trip. One man from the League, one from USIC. USIC had been the source of supply, both commercial and financial, for Project Clock. Without its help the Project would never have got out of the paper stage. Ryan sat down at the bench and sent the blueprints racing through the scanner. They had worked a long time. There was not much left to be done. Only a few finishing touches here and there.
The vidscreen clicked. Ryan halted the scanner and swung to catch the call.
"Ryan."
The League monitor appeared on the screen. The call was coming through League cables. "Emergency call."
Ryan froze. "Put it through."
The monitor faded. After a moment an old face appeared, florid and lined. "Ryan --"
"What's happened?"
"You had better come home. As soon as you can."
"What is it?"
"Jon."
Ryan forced himself to be calm. "Another attack?" His voice was thick.
"Yes."
"Like the others?"
"Exactly like the others."
Ryan's hand jerked to the cut-off switch. "All right. I'll be home at once. Don't let anyone in. Try to keep him quiet. Don't let him out of his room. Double the guard, if necessary."
Ryan broke the circuit. A moment later he was on his way to the roof, toward his inter-city ship parked above him, at the roof field of the building.
His inter-city ship rushed above the unending gray ash, automatic grapples guiding it toward City Four. Ryan stared blankly out the port, only half-seeing the sight below.
He was between cities. The surface was wasted, endless heaps of slag and ash as far as the eye could see. Cities rose up like occasional toadstools, separated by miles of gray. Toadstools here and there, towers and buildings, men and women working. Gradually the surface was being reclaimed. Supplies and equipment were being brought down from the Lunar Base.
During the war human beings had left Terra and gone to the Moon. Terra was devastated. Nothing but a globe of ruin and ash. Men had come back gradually, when the war was over.
Actually there had been two wars. The first was man against man. The second was man against the claws -- complex robots that had been created as a war weapon. The claws had turned on their makers, designing their own new types and equipment.
Ryan's ship began to descend. He was over City Four. Presently the ship came to rest on the roof of his massive private residence at the center of the city. Ryan leaped quickly out and crossed the roof to the lift.
A moment later he entered his quarters and made his way toward Jon's room.
He found the old man watching Jon through the glass side of the room, his face grave. Jon's room was partly in darkness. Jon was sitting on the edge of his bed, his hands clasped tightly together. His eyes were shut. His mouth was open a little, and from time to time his tongue came out, stiff and rigid.
"How long has he been like that?" Ryan said to the old man beside him.
"About an hour."
"The other attacks followed the same pattern?"
"The other attacks followed the same pattern?"
"No one has seen him but you?"
"Just the two of us. I called you when I was certain. It's almost over. He's coming out of it."
On the other side of the glass Jon stood up and walked away from his bed, his arms folded. His blond hair hung down raggedly in his face. His eyes were still shut. His face was pale and set. His lips twitched.