As he came toward it, the door of the ship opened.
Peters stepped out, framed against the light. In his arms was a heavy Boris gun. Olham stopped, rigid. Peters stared around him, into the darkness. "I know you're there, some place," he said. "Come on up here, Olham. There are security men all around you."
Olham did not move.
"Listen to me. We will catch you very shortly. Apparently you still do not believe you're the robot. Your call to the woman indicates that you are still under the illusion created by your artificial memories.
"But you are the robot. You are the robot, and inside you is the bomb. Any moment the trigger phrase may be spoken, by you, by someone else, by anyone. When that happens the bomb will destroy everything for miles around. The Project, the woman, all of us will be killed. Do you understand?"
Olham said nothing. He was listening. Men were moving toward him, slipping through the woods.
"If you don't come out, we'll catch you. It will only be a matter of time. We no longer plan to remove you to the Moon base. You will be destroyed on sight, and we will have to take the chance that the bomb will detonate. I have ordered every available security officer into the area. The whole county is being searched, inch by inch. There is no place you can go. Around this wood is a cordon of armed men. You have about six hours left before the last inch is covered."
the bomb will detonate. I have ordered every available security officer into the area. The whole county is being searched, inch by inch. There is no place you can go. Around this wood is a cordon of armed men. You have about six hours left before the last inch is covered."
Only a matter of time.
Olham walked quietly through the wood. Mile by mile, each part of the county was being measured off, laid bare, searched, studied, examined. The cordon was coming all the time, squeezing him into a smaller and smaller space.
What was there left? He had lost the ship, the one hope of escape. They were at his home; his wife was with them, believing, no doubt, that the real Olham had been killed. He clenched his fists. Some place there was a wrecked Outspace needle-ship, and in it the remains of the robot. Somewhere nearby the ship had crashed and broken up.
And the robot lay inside, destroyed.
A faint hope stirred him. What if he could find the remains? If he could show them the wreckage, the remains of the ship, the robot -
But where? Where would he find it?
He walked on, lost in thought. Some place, not too far off, probably. The ship would have landed close to the Project; the robot would have expected to go the rest of the way on foot. He went up the side of the hill and looked around. Crashed and burned. Was there some clue, some hint? Had he read anything, heard anything? Some place close by, within walking distance. Some wild place, a remote spot where there would be no people.
Suddenly Olham smiled. Crashed and burned -
Sutton Wood.
He increased his pace.
It was morning. Sunlight filtered down through the broken trees, onto the man crouching at the edge of the clearing. Olham glanced up from time to time, listening. They were not far off, only a few minutes away. He smiled.
Down below him, strewn across the clearing and into the charred stumps that had been Sutton Wood, lay a tangled mass of wreckage. In the sunlight it glittered a little, gleaming darkly. He had not had too much trouble finding it. Sutton Wood was a place he knew well; he had climbed around it many times in his life, when he was younger. He had known where he would find the remains. There was one peak that jutted up suddenly, without a warning.
A descending ship, unfamiliar with the Wood, had little chance of missing it. And now he squatted, looking down at the ship, or what remained of it.
Olham stood up. He could hear them, only a little distance away, coming together, talking in low tones. He tensed himself. Everything depended on who first saw him. If it was Nelson, he had no chance. Nelson would fire at once. He would be dead before they saw the ship. But if he had time to call out, hold them off for a moment -- that was all he needed. Once they saw the ship he would be safe.
But if they fired first -
A charred branch cracked. A figure appeared, coming forward uncertainly. Olham took a deep breath. Only a few seconds remained, perhaps the last seconds of his life. He raised his arms, peering intently.
It was Peters.
"Peters!" Olham waved his arms. Peters lifted his gun, aiming. "Don't fire!" His voice shook. "Wait a minute. Look past me, across the clearing."
"I've found him," Peters shouted. Security men came pouring out of the burned woods around him.
"Don't shoot. Look past me. The ship, the needle-ship. The Outspace ship. Look!"
Peters hesitated. The gun wavered.
Peters hesitated. The gun wavered.
"There is something down there," one of the men said nervously.
"Shoot him!" a voice said. It was Nelson.
"Wait." Peters turned sharply. "I'm in charge. Don't anyone fire. Maybe he's telling the truth."
"Shoot him," Nelson said. "He killed Olham. Any minute he may kill us all. If the bomb goes off --"
"Shut up." Peters advanced toward the slope. He stared down. "Look at that." He waved two men up to him. "Go down there and see what that is."
The men raced down the slope, across the clearing. They bent down, poking in the ruins of the ship.
"Well?" Peters called.
Olham held his breath. He smiled a little. It must be there; he had not had time to look, himself, but it had to be there. Suddenly doubt assailed him. Suppose the robot had lived long enough to wander away? Suppose his body had been completely destroyed, burned to ashes by the fire?
He licked his lips. Perspiration came out on his forehead. Nelson was staring at him, his face still livid. His chest rose and fell.
"Kill him," Nelson said. "Before he kills us."
The two men stood up.
"What have you found?" Peters said. He held the gun steady. "Is there anything there?"
"Looks like something. It's a needle-ship, all right. There's something beside it."
"I'll look." Peters strode past Olham. Olham watched him go down the hill and up to the men. The others were following after him, peering to see.
"It's a body of some sort," Peters said. "Look at it!"
Olham came along with them. They stood around in a circle, staring down.
On the ground, bent and twisted in a strange shape, was a grotesque form. It looked human, perhaps; except that it was bent so strangely, the arms and legs flung off in all directions. The mouth was open; the eyes stared glassily.
"Like a machine that's run down," Peters murmured.
Olham smiled feebly. "Well?" he said.
Peters looked at him. "I can't believe it. You were telling the truth all the time."
"The robot never reached me," Olham said. He took out a cigarette and lit it. "It was destroyed when the ship crashed. You were all too busy with the war to wonder why an out-of-the-way wood would suddenly catch fire and burn. Now you know."
He stood smoking, watching the men. They were dragging the grotesque remains from the ship. The body was stiff, the arms and legs rigid.
"You'll find the bomb now," Olham said. The men laid the body on the ground. Peters bent down.
"I think I see the corner of it." He reached out, touching the body.
The chest of the corpse had been laid open. Within the gaping tear something glinted, something metal. The men stared at the metal without speaking.
"That would have destroyed us all, if it had lived," Peters said. "That metal box there."
There was silence.
"I think we owe you something," Peters said to Olham. "This must have been a nightmare to you. If you hadn't escaped, we would have --" He broke off.