Seeing him staring at the bug as it zipped away from them, Larson said, "Another one. There's been one hanging around me all day. It was clinging to my work smock for a while." He added, "Vulcan 3 uses them for relaying messages. I've seen a number of them around.
From the tiny hammer an ear-splitting squeal dinned out at the two men. "Stop him! Stop him at once!"
Larson blinked in bewilderment.
Holding onto the bomb, Barris strode toward the face of Vulcan 3. He did not run; he walked swiftly and silently.
"Stop him, Larson!" the hammer shrilled. "He's here to destroy me! Make him get away from me!"
Gripping the bomb tightly, Barris began to run.
A pencil beam fired past him; he crouched and ran on, zigzagging back and forth.
"If you let him destroy me you'll destroy the world! A second tiny hammer appeared, dancing in the air before Barris. "Madman!"
He heard, from other parts of the chamber, the abuse piping at him from other mobile extensions. "Monster!"
Again a heat beam slashed past him; he half-fell, and, drawing out his own pencil, turned and fired directly back. He saw a brief scene: Larson with the two guards, firing at him in confusion, trying not -to hit the wall of Vulcan 3. His own beam touched one of the guards; he ceased firing at once and fell writhing.
"Listen to me!" a full-sized hammer blared, skipping into the chamber and directly at Barris. In desperate fury the hammer crashed at him, missing him and bursting apart against the concrete floor, its pieces spewing over him.
"While there's still time! another took up. "Get him away, feed-team leader! He's killing me!"
With his pencil beam, Barris shot down a hammer as it emerged above him; he had not seen it come into the chamber. The hammer, only damaged, fluttered down. Struggling toward him, across the floor, it screeched, "We can agree! We can come to an arrangement!"
On and on he ran.
This can be negotiated! There is no basic disagreement!"
Raising his arm, he hurled the bomb.
"Barris! Barris! Please do not -"
From the intricate power supply of the bomb came a faint pop. Barris threw himself down, his arms over his face. An ocean of white light lapped up at him, picking him up and sweeping him away.
I got it, he thought. I was successful.
A monstrous hot wind licked at him as he drifted; he skidded on, along with the wind. Debris and flaming rubbish burst over and around him. A surface far away hurtled at him. He doubled up, his head averted, and then he flew through the surface; it split and gave way, and he went on, tumbling into darkness, swept on by the tides of wind and heat.
His last thought was, It was worth it. Vulcan 3 is dead!
Father Fields, sat watching a hammer. The hammer wobbled. It hesitated in its frantic, aimless flight. And then it spiraled to the floor.
One by one, dropping silently, the hammers crashed down and lay still. Inert heaps of metal and plastic, nothing more. Without motion. Their screeching voices had ceased.
What a relief, he said to himself.
Getting to his feet he walked shakily over to the four medical corpsmen. "How is he?" he said.
Without looking up, the corpsman said, "We're making progress. His chest was extensively damaged. We've plugged in an exterior heart-lung system, and it's giving rapid assistance." The semiautomatic surgical tools crept across the body of William Barris, exploring, repairing. They seemed to have virtually finished with the chest; now they had turned their attention to his broken shoulder.
"We'll need boneforms," one of the corpsmen said. Glancing around he said, "We don't have any here with us. He'll have to be flown back to Geneva."
"Fine," Fields said. "Get him started."
The litter slid expertly under Barris and began lifting him.
"That traitor," a voice beside Fields said.
He turned his head and saw Director Reynolds standing there, gazing at Barris. The man's clothing was torn, and over his left eye was a deep gash. Fields said, "You're out of a job now."
With absolute bitterness, Reynolds said, "And so are you. What becomes of the great crusade, now that Vulcan 3 is gone? Do you have any other constructive programs to offer?"
"Time will tell," Fields said. He walked along beside the litter as it carried Barris up the ramp to the waiting ship.
"You did very well," Fields said. He lit a cigarette and placed it between Barris' parted lips. "Better not start talking. Those surgical robots are still fussing over you."
He indicated the several units at work on the man's ruined shoulder.
"Do any of the computing components of Vulcan 3 ..." Barris murmured weakly.
"Some survived," Fields said. "Enough for your purposes. You can add and subtract, anyhow, using what's left." Seeing the worry on the injured man's face he said, "I'm joking. A great deal survived. Don't worry. They can patch up the parts you want. As a matter of fact, I can probably lend a. hand. I still have some skill."
"The structure of Unity will be different," Barris said.
"Yes," Fields said.
"We'll broaden our base. We have to."
Fields gazed out of the ship's window, ignoring the injured man. At last Barris gave up trying to talk. His eyes shut; Fields took the cigarette as it rolled from the man's lips onto his shirt.
"We'll talk later," Fields said, finishing the cigarette himself.
The ship droned on, in the direction of Geneva.
Looking out at the empty sky, Fields thought, Nice not to see those things flying around. When one died they all died. Strange, to realize that we've seen our last one... the last hammer to go buzzing, screeching about, attacking and bombing, laying waste wherever it goes.
Kill the trunk, as Barris had said.
The man was right about a lot of things, Fields said to himself. He was the only one who could have gotten all the way in; they did manage to stop the rest of us. The attack bogged down, until those things stopped flying. And then it didn't matter.
I wonder if he's right about the rest?
In the hospital room at Geneva, Barris sat propped up in bed, facing Fields. "What information can you give me on the analysis of the remains?" he said. "I have a hazy memory of the trip here; you said that most of the memory elements survived."
"You're so anxious to rebuild it," Fields said.
"As an instrument," Barris said. "Not a master. That was the agreement between us. You have to permit a continuation of rational use of machines. None of this emotional 'scrap the machines' business. None of your Movement slogans."
Fields nodded. "If you really think you can keep control in the right hands. In our hands. I have nothing against machines as such; I was very fond of Vulcan 2. Up to a point."
"At that point," Barris said, "you demolished it."
The two men regarded each other.
"I'll keep hands off," Fields said. "It's a fair deal. You delivered; you got in there and blew the thing up. I admit that."
Barris grunted, but said nothing.
"You'll put an end to the cult of the technocrat?" Fields said. "For experts only-run by and for those oriented around verbal knowledge; I'm so damn sick of that. Mind stuff-as if manual skills like bricklaying and pipe-fitting weren't worth talking about. As if all the people who work with their hands, the skill of their fingers-" He broke off. "I'm tired of having those people looked down on."