"The little boy. David. David holding his teddy bear. That's Variety
Three. The most effective."
"What are the other types?"
Epstein reached into his coat. "Here." He tossed a packet of
photographs onto the table, tied with a string. "Look for yourself."
Hendricks untied the string.
"You see," Rudi Maxer said, "that was why we wanted to talk terms. The
Russians, I mean. We found out about a week ago. Found out that your
claws were beginning to make up new designs on their own. New types of
their own. Better types. Down in your underground factories behind our
lines. You let them stamp themselves, repair themselves. Made them
more and more intricate. It's your fault this happened."
* * * * *
Hendricks examined the photos. They had been snapped hurriedly; they
were blurred and indistinct. The first few showed--David. David
walking along a road, by himself. David and another David. Three
Davids. All exactly alike. Each with a ragged teddy bear.
All pathetic.
"Look at the others," Tasso said.
The next pictures, taken at a great distance, showed a towering
wounded soldier sitting by the side of a path, his arm in a sling, the
stump of one leg extended, a crude crutch on his lap. Then two wounded
soldiers, both the same, standing side by side.
"That's Variety One. The Wounded Soldier." Klaus reached out and took
the pictures. "You see, the claws were designed to get to human
beings. To find them. Each kind was better than the last. They got
farther, closer, past most of our defenses, into our lines. But as
long as they were merely _machines_, metal spheres with claws and
horns, feelers, they could be picked off like any other object. They
could be detected as lethal robots as soon as they were seen. Once we
caught sight of them--"
"Variety One subverted our whole north wing," Rudi said. "It was a
long time before anyone caught on. Then it was too late. They came in,
wounded soldiers, knocking and begging to be let in. So we let them
in. And as soon as they were in they took over. We were watching out
for machines...."
"At that time it was thought there was only the one type," Klaus
Epstein said. "No one suspected there were other types. The pictures
were flashed to us. When the runner was sent to you, we knew of just
one type. Variety One. The big Wounded Soldier. We thought that was
all."
"Your line fell to--"
"To Variety Three. David and his bear. That worked even better." Klaus
smiled bitterly. "Soldiers are suckers for children. We brought them
in and tried to feed them. We found out the hard way what they were
after. At least, those who were in the bunker."
"The three of us were lucky," Rudi said. "Klaus and I were--were
visiting Tasso when it happened. This is her place." He waved a big
hand around. "This little cellar. We finished and climbed the ladder
to start back. From the ridge we saw. There they were, all around the
bunker. Fighting was still going on. David and his bear. Hundreds of
them. Klaus took the pictures."
Klaus tied up the photographs again.
* * * * *
"And it's going on all along your line?" Hendricks said.
"Yes."
"How about _our_ lines?" Without thinking, he touched the tab on his
arm. "Can they--"
"They're not bothered by your radiation tabs. It makes no difference
to them, Russian, American, Pole, German. It's all the same. They're
doing what they were designed to do. Carrying out the original idea.
They track down life, wherever they find it."
"They go by warmth," Klaus said. "That was the way you constructed
them from the very start. Of course, those you designed were kept back
by the radiation tabs you wear. Now they've got around that. These new
varieties are lead-lined."
"What's the other variety?" Hendricks asked. "The David type, the
Wounded Soldier--what's the other?"
"We don't know." Klaus pointed up at the wall. On the wall were two
metal plates, ragged at the edges. Hendricks got up and studied them.
They were bent and dented.
"The one on the left came off a Wounded Soldier," Rudi said. "We got
one of them. It was going along toward our old bunker. We got it from
the ridge, the same way we got the David tagging you."
The plate was stamped: I-V. Hendricks touched the other plate. "And
this came from the David type?"
"Yes." The plate was stamped: III-V.
Klaus took a look at them, leaning over Hendricks' broad shoulder.
"You can see what we're up against. There's another type. Maybe it was
abandoned. Maybe it didn't work. But there must be a Second Variety.
There's One and Three."
"You were lucky," Rudi said. "The David tagged you all the way here
and never touched you. Probably thought you'd get it into a bunker,
somewhere."
"One gets in and it's all over," Klaus said. "They move fast. One lets
all the rest inside. They're inflexible. Machines with one purpose.
They were built for only one thing." He rubbed sweat from his lip. "We
saw."
They were silent.
"Let me have another cigarette, Yank," Tasso said. "They are good. I
almost forgot how they were."
* * * * *
It was night. The sky was black. No stars were visible through the
rolling clouds of ash. Klaus lifted the lid cautiously so that
Hendricks could look out.
Rudi pointed into the darkness. "Over that way are the bunkers. Where
we used to be. Not over half a mile from us. It was just chance Klaus
and I were not there when it happened. Weakness. Saved by our lusts."
"All the rest must be dead," Klaus said in a low voice. "It came
quickly. This morning the Politburo reached their decision. They
notified us--forward command. Our runner was sent out at once. We saw
him start toward the direction of your lines. We covered him until he
was out of sight."
"Alex Radrivsky. We both knew him. He disappeared about six o'clock.
The sun had just come up. About noon Klaus and I had an hour relief.
We crept off, away from the bunkers. No one was watching. We came
here. There used to be a town here, a few houses, a street. This
cellar was part of a big farmhouse. We knew Tasso would be here,
hiding down in her little place. We had come here before. Others from
the bunkers came here. Today happened to be our turn."
"So we were saved," Klaus said. "Chance. It might have been others.
We--we finished, and then we came up to the surface and started back
along the ridge. That was when we saw them, the Davids. We understood
right away. We had seen the photos of the First Variety, the Wounded
Soldier. Our Commissar distributed them to us with an explanation. If
we had gone another step they would have seen us. As it was we had to
blast two Davids before we got back. There were hundreds of them, all
around. Like ants. We took pictures and slipped back here, bolting the
lid tight."
"They're not so much when you catch them alone. We moved faster than
they did. But they're inexorable. Not like living things. They came
right at us. And we blasted them."
Major Hendricks rested against the edge of the lid, adjusting his eyes
to the darkness. "Is it safe to have the lid up at all?"
"If we're careful. How else can you operate your transmitter?"
Hendricks lifted the small belt transmitter slowly. He pressed it
against his ear. The metal was cold and damp. He blew against the
mike, raising up the short antenna. A faint hum sounded in his ear.
"That's true, I suppose."
But he still hesitated.
"We'll pull you under if anything happens," Klaus said.
"Thanks." Hendricks waited a moment, resting the transmitter against
his shoulder. "Interesting, isn't it?"
"What?"
"This, the new types. The new varieties of claws. We're completely at
their mercy, aren't we? By now they've probably gotten into the UN
lines, too. It makes me wonder if we're not seeing the beginning of a
new species. _The_ new species. Evolution. The race to come after
man."
* * * * *