XVIII

The second day, the television went off the air with the final curt

announcement that anyone not inside the clinics at noon would be left

outside permanently. Then the set went dead, leaving only the clucking

and beeping of our own radiation indicator. I'd thrown it out twice and

brought it back both times.

Civilization had ended on the third day, though all the conveniences

in the villa went on smoothly, except for the meter reading that told

us nothing could be smooth. It was higher than the predictions I had

heard, though I still hoped that was only a sporadic local phenomenon

that would level out later. In the face of that, it was hard to

believe that even a few men would remain outside the clinics, though I

was counting on it.

We waited another twenty-four hours, forcing ourselves to sit in the

villa, discussing plans, when our nerves were yelling for action. We

had only an estimate to go on. If we got there too soon, there would be

more awake than we could handle. Too late and we'd be radiation cases,

good for nothing but the vaults.

It was a relief to leave at last, taking our weapons in the truck.

We were wearing the radiation suits, hoping they'd protect us, and

Zorchi spent the last two days devising pads and straps to cushion and

strengthen his developing legs.

The world was dead. Cars had been abandoned in the middle of the road,

making driving difficult.

The towns and villas were deserted, boarded up or simply abandoned. We

might have been the last men on Earth, and we felt that we were as we

headed for Anzio. This wasn't just a road, or Naples--or all of Italy.

It was the world.

Then Rena pointed. Ahead, a boy was walking beside a dog, the animal's

left rear leg bound and split as if it had been broken. I started to

slow, then forced myself to drive on. As we passed, I saw that the boy

was about fourteen, and his face was dirty and tear-streaked. He shook

one fist at us, and came trudging on.

"If we win, we'll have the door open when he gets there," Rena said.

"For him and his dog! If not, it won't matter how long it takes him.

You couldn't stop, Tom."

It didn't make me feel any better. But now dusk was falling, and we

slowed, waiting until it was dark to park quietly near the garage. In

front of the entrance, I could see a small ring of fires, and by their

light a few figures moving about. They were madmen, of course--and yet,

probably less mad than others who must be prowling through the towns,

looting for things they could never use.

It seemed incredible that any one could be outside, but the

psychologists had apparently been right. These were determined men,

willing to wait for the forlorn chance that some miracle might give

them a futile, even more forlorn chance to try battering down the great

doors. Maybe somewhere in the world, such a group might succeed. But

not here. As I watched, there was a crackle of automatic gunfire from

the entrance. The guards were awake, all right, and not taking chances

on any poor devil getting too close.

* * * * *

There were no guards in the vault garage. We were prepared in case

someone might be stationed inside the private entrance, as much

prepared as we could be; since Carmody had been listed as still living,

an ordinary guard who recognized him would probably let us in first and

then try to report--giving us time to handle him. But we were lucky.

The door opened to Carmody's top-secret combination.

"We designed such combinations into a few doors in case of internal

revolution locally while no Underwriters were around. We never

considered having an Underwriter lead a revolution from outside," he

whispered to us.

The underground passage was deserted, and this time Carmody led through

another corridor, to a stairs that seemed to wind up forever. Zorchi

groaned, then caught himself.

"It leads to the main reception room," Carmody said.

With the men outside, most of the guards who still remained awake might

be there. But we had to chance it. We stopped when we reached the top,

catching our breath while Zorchi sank to the floor, writhing silently.

Then Rena threw back the door, Zorchi's rifle poked through, and I

was leaping for the main door controls, hoping the memory I had was

accurate. I was nearly to them when the two guards standing beside

them turned.

They yelled, just as my rifle spat. At that range, I couldn't miss. And

behind, I heard Zorchi's gun spit. The second guard slumped sickly to

the floor, holding his stomach. I grabbed for the controls, while other

yells sounded, and feet began pounding toward me.

There was no time to look back. The doors were slowly moving apart and

Carmody was beside me, smashing a maul from the storeroom onto the

electronic controls of the atomic cannon. I twisted between the opening

doors.

"We've seized the vaults," I shouted. "We need help. Any man who joins

us will be saved!"

I couldn't wait to watch, but I heard a hoarse, answering shout, and

the sound of feet.

Carmody's maul had ruined the door controls. But the other guards were

nearly on us. I saw two more sprawled on the floor. Zorchi hadn't

missed. Then Carmody's fingers had found another of the private doors

that looked like simple panels here. Rena and Carmody were through, and

I yanked Zorchi after me, just as a bullet whined over his head. Behind

us, I heard uncontrolled yelling as men from outside began pouring in.

It was our only hope. They had to take care of the guards, who were

still probably shocked at finding us _inside_. We headed for the

private quarters where Defoe would be, praying that there would be only

a few there.

* * * * *

This passage was useless to us, though. It led from office to office

for the doctors who superintended here. We came out into an office,

watching our chance for the hall we had to take. I could see the men

who had been outside in action now. A few had guns of some kind, but

the clubs in the hands of the others were just as deadly in such a

desperation attack; men who had seen themselves already dead weren't

afraid of chances. About a score of the expediter guards were trying to

hold off at least twice their number.

Then the hall seemed clear and we leaped into it. Suddenly gongs began

ringing everywhere. Some guard had finally reached or remembered the

alarm system. Carmody cursed, and tried to move faster.

The small private vault for the executives lay through the

administration quarters and down several levels, before it was entered

through a short passageway. Carmody had mapped it for me often enough.

But he knew it by physical memory, which was better than my training.

He'd also taught me the combination, but I left the door to his

practiced fingers when we came to it.

The elevator wasn't up. We couldn't wait. We raced down the stairs that

circled it. Here Carmody's age told against him, and he fell behind.

Rena and I were going down neck and neck with Zorchi throwing himself

along with us. He had dropped his rifle and picked up a sub-machine gun

from one of the fallen guards, and he clung to it now, using only one

hand on the rail.

It was a reflection on a gun-barrel that saved us. The picked

expediters were hidden in the dark mouth of the passageway, waiting

for us to turn the stairs. But I caught a gleam of metal, and threw up

my gun. Instantly, Zorchi was beside me, the sub-machine spitting as

quickly as I could fire the first shot. "Aim for the wall. Ricochet!"

The ambushers had counted too much on surprise. They weren't ready to

have the tables turned, nor for the trick Zorchi had suggested. Here we

couldn't fire directly, but the bouncing shots worked almost as well.

There were screams of men being hit, and the crazed pandemonium of

others suddenly afraid.

Shots came toward us, but the wall that protected them--or was supposed

to--ruined their shooting.

Zorchi abruptly dropped, landing with a thud on his side. I grunted

sickly, thinking he was hit.

Then I saw the sub-machine gun point squarely into the passageway.

It began spitting out death. By the time we could reach him, the

expediters were dead or dying. There had been seven of them.

Zorchi staggered into the passage, through the bodies, crying

something. I jumped after him, blinking my eyes to make out what he had

seen. Then I caught sight of a door at the back being silently closed.

It was a thick, massive slab, like the door to a bank vault.

Zorchi made a final leap that brought a sob of anguish as he landed on

his weak legs, but his gun barrel slapped into the slit of opening. The

door ground against it, strained and stopped. Zorchi pulled the trigger

briefly.

* * * * *

For a second, then, there was silence. A second later, Defoe's voice

came out through the thin slit. "You win. Dr. Lawton and I are alone

and unarmed. We're coming out."

The door began opening again, somewhat jerkily this time. I watched it,

expecting a trick, but there was none.

Inside the vault, the first room was obviously for guards and for the

control of the equipment needed to wash all contamination out of the

air and to provide the place with security for a century, even if all

the rest of the Earth turned into a radioactive hell.

Lawton was slumped beside the controls, his head cradled in his arms.

But at the sight of us, he stood up groggily, his mouth open, and shock

on his face.

Defoe's eyes widened a trifle, but he stood quietly, and the bleak

smile never faltered. "Congratulations, Thomas," he said. "My one fault

again--I underrated the opposition. I wasn't expecting miracles. Hello,

Millen. Fancy meeting you here."

"Search the place," I ordered.

Carmody went past the two without looking at them, with Rena close

behind. A minute later, I heard a triumphant shout. They came back with

a cringing man who seemed totally unlike the genial Sam Gogarty who had

first introduced me to fine food and to Rena. His eyes were on Carmody,

and his skin was gray white. He started to babble incoherently.

Carmody grinned at him. "You've got things twisted, Gogarty. Tom

Wills is in charge of this affair." He turned toward one of the

smaller offices. "As I remember it, there should be a transmitting

setup in here. I want to make sure it works. If it does, some of the

Underwriters are going to get a surprise, unless they're suspended."

Gogarty watched him go, and then sank slowly to a chair, shaking his

head as he looked up at me. His lips twisted into bitter resignation.

"You wouldn't understand, Tom. All my life, worked for things. Class-C,

digging in a mine, eating Class-D, getting no fun, so I could buy

Class-B employment. Then Class-A. Not many can do it, but I sweated it

out. Thirty years living like a dog and killing myself with work and

study. Not even a real woman until I met Susan, and she went to Defoe.

But I wanted it easier for the young men. I wanted everybody to have

a good life. No harm to anyone. Pull together, and forget the tough

times. Then you had to come and blow the roof off...."

* * * * *

I felt sick. It was probably all true, and few men could make it. But

if that's what it took to advance under the Company rules, it was

justification enough for our fight. "You'll be all right, Sam," I told

him. "You'll go to sleep with the others. And when you wake up, you may

have to work like hell again, but it'll be to rebuild the Earth, not to

ruin it. Maybe there'll even be a chance with Susan again."

Defoe laughed sardonically. "Very nice, Thomas. And I suppose you mean

it. What's in the future for me?"

"Suspension until the new government gets organized and can decide your

case. I'd like to vote now for permanent suspension."

His face lost some of his amusement. Then he shrugged. "All right, I

suppose I knew that. But now will you satisfy my curiosity? Just how

_did_ you work the business with Bay 100?"

"What happened to Slovetski?" I asked. I couldn't be sure about some of

my suspicions over Benedetto's death, but I couldn't take chances that

the man might still be loose somewhere, or else hiding out here until

we were off guard.