“Now what the hell are you up to?” A man came out of the house angry, then started up in disbelief. In one hand he carried a long shiny knife. Titanium. This group had apparently foraged rationally.
Claymore was still holding the empty rifle, and saw no reason to miss a chance at an opponent. He threw the rifle down hard, striking the man in the forehead with the butt, caving in his skull.
Another human ran from the house, ignored his fallen comrade, and picked up the carbine. He tore a clip of ammunition from a plastic bag. This was a possibility that Claymore hadn’t considered, but there was nothing to do now but rush him, broken arm or no. He leaped from the roof as the man was turning to look up, landing with both front feet on the man’s head. Claymore weighed three hundred pounds, and the man’s neck snapped easily. Three down. Maybe four. He picked up the carbine as the last three humans boiled out of the house, swinging clubs.
Claymore turned to meet them with his good arm holding the carbine by the barrel. Fighting with his dagger-claw would have been more efficient, but he was reluctant to let go of the weapon again. It was loaded and with only one hand, he couldn’t remove the clip. He decided to use it as a club.
The men fought well as a team, trying to encircle him, and Claymore had to retreat. The man with the bleeding leg stumbled a bit and the LDU was on him, ducking a downward blow, and following with a roundhouse swing that connected with the man’s neck. Four.
He ran over the downed man and swung around wide to catch the next human in line alone. Ducking under a lateral swing, he rammed the carbine butt into the man’s solar plexus, and followed with a down stroke to the head. Five.
Claymore discarded the carbine now that there was no one behind him to pick it up. He attacked the last man. Seeing his five comrades die within a minute was too much for the fellow. He dropped his club and fled. The LDU was on him in three paces and, with a single hack, severed the man’s neck bones and spinal cord. All.
Claymore walked back to the house, his right arm throbbing and bleeding slowly. As he passed each man, he slit each throat to be sure of a clean kill.
He found what was left of the human female in the bedroom.
Claymore. Gamma 5723 here. How did it go?
Claymore here. Mission accomplished. All six males are deleted. The female took a long time dying. I wish you had called me sooner.
Gamma 5723 here. I wish I could be everywhere, or that there were more of me. When I contacted this group two hours ago, it didn’t look too serious. I didn’t check up on them again until ten minutes ago. I wish I could tell her I was sorry.
Claymore here. And why did they use such an inefficient method of killing her?
Gamma 5723 here. Someday, Claymore, we’ll sit around the barracks and have a long talk. Right now I have work to do. Gamma 5723 out.
The dirt was too shallow for burial, so Claymore re—stacked the woodpile into a rectangle seven feet by fourteen by five feet high and dragged the seven bodies to the top of it. He found a glass jug of kerosene and some matches in the house, said the ritual prayers that humans were fond of, and lit it afire.
Whoever is on duty at the Central Coordination Unit. Claymore here.
Dirk here for the CCU. Shoot.
Claymore here. Don’t say that. I did and I was. I’ve been in action that resulted in a bullet breaking my right arm. Request permission to return to Life Valley for R and R.
There was a three-second delay.
Dirk here. Permission granted. The luck you’ve had. You’re out of action for a month losing your bird, and now, thirty minutes after getting to your duty station, you’re coming back again.
Claymore here. Those are the breaks.
Dirk here. Well, if you’re still punning, you can’t be too bad off. I’ll tell Ishtar you’re coming. Dirk out.
Others were not as bad off. The farmers lost their machinery and most of their houses, but they were traditionally self-reliant. In the northern hemisphere, the crops were ready for harvest. For the first time in many years, there was a surplus of eager, if unskilled, labor.
In general, the less technically advanced were the least affected. The few remaining Eskimos were annoyed when their outboard motors, snowmobiles, and rifles were eaten, but the old ones knew how to do without such things. They taught the younger men, and gained considerable prestige and security.
Except for Hawaii and other islands with military bases, the Pacific was not plagued with the metal-eating larvae. On the Marshall out-islands, the people listened to their radios with detached interest. The troubles of the outside world provided a useful source of gossip, nothing more. Little had ever been done to them, and less for them. Bare-breasted native girls danced, laughing, at the usual ceremonies.
Throughout the underdeveloped world, crowded masses trudged on in despair, as they had done for a hundred years. Yet, in many, there was a glow of hope. They had been promised enough food for all. If that was true, it was indeed a blessing, because no one could remember a time when there had been enough for everyone.
In the American west, many American Indians were happy. Organized, intelligent, and poor, but with plenty of land, they had wholeheartedly accepted the tree houses as soon as the seeds had become available. Over half the American Indian population already lived in tree houses, so the larvae did not cause them extreme inconveniences.
The old chiefs, the wise men, the men of power were smugly contented. As they had so often predicted, the insanities of the white man had finally caught up with him. They had even heard one of them admit as much on the radio, and in their own language. Before the radios went silent, the old ways would return, and perhaps even the buffalo.
The young men were not content, but eager. They remembered the old stories, and told them to each other. The time of defeat and drudgery and shame was over. There would again be a time when skill and courage and honor counted.
Russia went the way of Europe and North America, with a breakdown of communications and central authority. From her crumbling cities came the long lines of refugees. Her countryside, too, was in a difficult position, as the workers on the large collective farms did not have the tradition of self-reliance that kept farmers in other parts of the world relatively unaffected.
China was in relatively good shape. The large population was dispersed, and not far from food supplies. In sixty years the farms had only been lightly mechanized; that work was wasted, but survival was not a serious problem.
Japan’s problems were most serious. Tree houses had never really caught on there, and most of its food had been brought to her ports on ships that were no more. The Japanese could only hope that the voice on the radio had told the truth.
From Life Valley, one million LDUs, their language lessons completed, trotted toward their assigned areas. Each was to watch over the safety of ten thousand humans, and they had doubts as to the possibility of doing the job well.
Each platoon of one hundred had with it two Betas with their observation birds and one mind-reading Gamma unit. The birds were important to locate tree houses. All of the recent models had an external spigot that gave out the food that the LDUs ate. They would need to find many of these on the trek ahead.
Chapter Ten
JULY 22, 2003