Episode Transcript
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Speaker 1 (00:00):
Section one of Second Variety. This is a LibriVox recording.
All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more
information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox dot org. Recording
by phil schinevert Second Variety by Philip K. Dick. This
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story was first published in Space Science Fiction May nineteen
fifty three. Section one. The Russian soldier made his way
nervelessly up the ragged side of the hill, holding his
gun ready. He glanced around him, licking his dry lips,
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his face set from time to time. He reached up
a gloved hand and wiped perspiration from his neck, pushing
down his coat collar. Eric turned to Corporal leone want
him or can I have him? He adjusted the view
site so the Russian's features squarely filled the glass, the
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lines cutting across his hard, somber features. Leon considered. The
Russian was close, moving rapidly, almost running. Don't fire, wait,
Leon tensed, I don't think we're needed. The Russian increased
his pace, kicking ash and piles of debris out of
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his way. He reached the top of the hill and
stopped panting, staring around him. The sky was overcast, drifting
clouds of gray particles. Bare trunks of trees jutted up occasionally.
The ground was level and bare, rubble strewn, with the
ruins of buildings standing out here and there like yellowing skulls.
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The Russian was uneasy. He knew something was wrong. He
started down the hill. Now he was only a few
paces from the bunker. Eric was getting fidgety. He played
with his pistol, glancing at leone. Don't worry, Leon said,
he won't get here. They'll take care of him. Are
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you sure he's got damn for they hang around close
to the bunker. He's getting into the bad part. Get set.
The Russian began to hurry, sliding down the hill, his
boots sinking into the heaps of gray ash, trying to
keep his gun up. He stopped for a moment, lifting
his field glasses to his face. He's looking right at us,
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Eric said. The Russian came on. They could see his
eyes like two blue stones. His mouth was open a little.
He kneaded a shave. His chin was stumbled on. One
bony cheek was a square of tape showing blue at
the edge a fungoid spot. His coat was muddy and torn.
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One glove was missing as he ran his belt counter
bounced up and down against him. Leon touched Eric's arm.
Here one comes across the ground. Something small and metallic
came flashing in the dull sunlight of midday. A metal sphere.
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It raced up the hill after the Russian, its treads flying.
It was small, one of the baby ones. Its claws
were out two razor projections, spinning in a blur of
white steel. The Russian heard it. He turned instantly, firing.
The sphere dissolved into particles, but already a second had
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emerged and was following the first. The Russian fired again.
A third sphere leaped up the Russian's leg, clicking and whirring.
It jumped to the shoulder. The spinning blades disappeared into
the Russian's throat. Eric relaxed, Well, that's that. God. Those
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damn things give me the creeps. Sometimes I think we
were better off before. If we hadn't invented them, they
would have Leon lit a cigarette shakily. I wonder why
a Russian would come all this way alone. I didn't
see anyone covering him. Lieutenant Scott came slipping up the
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tunnel into the bunker. What happened. Something entered the screen
and ivan just one. Eric brought the view screen around.
Scott peered into it. Now there were numerous metal spheres
crawling over the prostrate body, dull metal globes, clicking and whirring,
sawing up the Russian into small parts to be carried away.
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What a lot of claws, Scott murmured. They come like flies.
Not much game for them anymore. Scott pushed the sight away, disgusted,
like flies. I wonder why he was out there. They
know we have claws all around. A larger robot had
joined the smaller spheres. It was directing operations a long
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blunt tube with projecting eye pieces. There was not much
left of the soldier. What remained was being brought down
the hill side by the host of claws. Sir Leon said,
if it's all right, I'd like to go out there
and take a look at him. Why maybe he came
with something. Scott considered. He shrugged, all right, but be careful,
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I have my tab Leone patted the metal band at
his wrist. I'll be out of bounds. He picked up
his rifle and stepped carefully up to the mouth of
the bunker, making his way between blocks of concrete and steel.
Prongs twisted and bent. The air was cold at the top.
He crossed over the ground toward the remains of the soldier.
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Striding across the soft ash, A wind blew around him,
swirling gray particles up to his face. He squinted and
pushed on. The claws retreated as he came close, some
of them stiffening into immobility. He touched his tab. The
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ivan would have given something for that. Short hard radiation
emitted from the tab neutralized the claws, put them out
of commission. Even the big robot with its two waving
eye stalks, retreated respectfully as he approached. He bent down
over the remains of the soldier. The gloved hand was
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closed tightly. There was something in it. Leon pried the
fingers apart, a seal container aluminum still shining. He put
it in his pocket and made his way back to
the bunker. Behind him, the claws came back to life,
moving into operation again. The procession resumed metal sphere, moving
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through the gray ash with their loads. He could hear
their treads scrabbling against the ground. He shuddered. Scott watched
intently as he brought the shiny tube out of his pocket.
He had that in his hand. Leon unscrewed the top.
Maybe you should look at it. Sir Scott took it.
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He emptied the contents out in the palm of his
hand a small piece of silk paper carefully folded. He
sat down by the light and unfolded it. What's it say,
Sir Eric said. Several officers came up the tunnel. Major
Hendrix appeared. Major Scott said, look at this. Hendrix read
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the slip. This just come a single runner just now?
Where is he? Hendrix asked, sharply. The claws got him.
Major Hendrix grunted. Here He passed it to his companions.
I think this is what we've been waiting for. They
certainly took their time about it, so they want to
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talk terms. Scott said, Are we going along with them?
That's not for us to decide. Hendrick sat down. Where's
the communications officer? I want the moon base, Leone pondered.
As the communications officer raised the outside antennat, cautiously scanning
the sky above the bunker for any sign of a
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watching Russian ship. Sir Scott said to Hendrix, it's sure strange.
They suddenly came around. We've been using the claus for
almost a year now. All of a sudden they start
the fold may because I've been getting down in their bunkers.
One of the big ones, the kind with stalks, got
into an Ivan bunker last week. Eric said, it got
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a whole platoon of them before they got their lid shut.
How do you know? A buddy told me the thing
came back with with remains moon Base, Sir, the communications
officer said. On the screen, the face of the lunar
monitor appeared. His crisp uniform contrasted to the uniforms in
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the bunker, and he was clean shaven. Moonbase. This is
Forward Command el whistle on Terra. Let me have General Thompson.
The monitor faded presently. General Thompson's heavy features came into focus.
What is it? Major? Our claws got a single Russian
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runner with a message. We don't know whether to act
on it. There have been tricks like this in the past.
What's the message? The Russians want us to send a
single officer on policy level over to their lines for
a conference. They don't state the nature of the conference.
They say that matters of he consulted the slip. Matters
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of grave urgency make it advisable that discussion be opened
between a representative of the UN forces and themselves. He
held the message up to the screen for the general
to scan. Thompson's eyes moved. What should we do? Heindrix said,
send a man out. You don't think it's a trap.
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It might be, but the location they give for therefore
we command is correct. It's worth a try. At any rate,
I'll send an officer out and report the results to
you as soon as he returns. All right, Major Thompson
broke the connection. The screen diyed up above the antennae
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came slowly down. Hendrix rolled up the paper, deep in thought.
I'll go Leone said they want somebody at policy level.
Hendrix rubbed his jaw policy level. I haven't been outside
in months. Maybe I could use a little air. Don't
you think it's risky? Hendrix lifted the view side and
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gazed into it. The remains of the Russian were gone.
Only a single claw was in sight. It was folding
itself back, disappearing into the ash like a crab, like
some hideous metal crab. That's the only thing that bothers me.
Hendrix rubbed his wrist. I know I'm safe as long
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as I have this on me, but there's something about them.
I hate the damn things. I wish we'd never invented them.
There's something wrong with them, relentless little If we hadn't
invented them, the Ivans would have. Hendrix pushed the sight back. Anyhow,
it seems to be winning the war. I guess that's good.
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Sounds like you're getting the same jitters as the Ivans.
Hendrix examined his wristwatch. I guess I had better get
started if I want to be there before dark. He
took a deep breath, and then stepped out onto the
gray rubbed ground. After a minute, us cigarette and stood
gazing around him. The landscape was dead, nothing stirred. He
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could see for miles endless ash and slag, ruins of buildings,
a few trees without leaves or branches, only the trunks
above him, the eternal rolling clouds of gray drifting between
Terra and the sun. Major Hendricks went on off to
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the right. Something scuttled, something round and metallic, A claw
going lickety split after something, probably after a small animal,
a rat. They got rats too, as a sort of sideline.
He came to the top of the little hill and
lifted his field glasses. The Russian lines were a few
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miles ahead of him. They had a forward command post there.
The runner had come from it. A squat robot with
undulating arms passed by him, its arms weaving inquiringly. The
robot went on its way, disappearing under some debris. Hendrix
watched it go. He had never seen that type before.
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There were getting to be more and more typeses Hee
had never seen new varieties and sizes coming up from
the underground factories. Hendrix put out his cigarette and hurried on.
It was interesting the use of artificial forms at warfare.
How had they got started? Necessity, the Soviet Union had
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gained great initial success, usual with the side they got
the war going. Most of North America had been blasted
off the map. Retaliation was quickly coming. Of course. The
sky was full of circling disc bombers long before the
war began. They had been up there for years. The
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discs began sailing down all over Russia within hours after
Washington got it, but that hadn't helped Washington. The American
block governments moved to the moon base. The first year,
there was not much else to do. Europe was gone,
a slag heap with dark weeds growing from the ashes
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and bones. Most of North America was useless. Nothing could
be planted, no one could live. A few million people
kept going up in Canada and down in South America.
But during the second year Soviet parachutists began to drop
a few at first, then more and more. They wore
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the first really effective anti radiation equipment. What was left
of American production moved to the Moon, along with the governments,
all but the troops. The remaining troops stayed behind as
best they could, a few thousand here a platoon there.
No one knew exactly where they were. They stayed where
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they could, moving around at night, hiding in ruins and
sewers cellars with the rats and snakes. It looked as
if the Soviet Union had the war almost won. Except
for a handful of projectiles fired off from the Moon daily,
there was almost no weapon in use against them. They
came and went as they pleased. The war for all
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practical purposes was over. Nothing effective opposed them, and then
the first claws appeared, and overnight the complexion of the
war changed The claws were awkward at first, slow. The
Ivans knocked them off almost as fast as they crawled
out of their underground tunnels. But then they got better,
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faster and more cunning. Factories all on Terra turned them out,
factories a long way underground behind the Soviet lines, factories
that had once made atomic projectiles, now almost forgotten. Claws
got faster, and they got bigger. New types appeared, some
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with feelers, some that flew. There were a few jumping kinds.
The best technicians on the Moon were working on designs,
making them more and more intricate, more flexible. They became uncanny.
The Ivans were having a lot of trouble with them.
Some of the little claws were learning to hide themselves,
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burrowing down into the ash lying in wait. And then
they started getting into the Russian bunkers, slipping down when
the lids were raised for air, and they look around,
one claw inside a bucker, a churning sphere of blades
and metal. That was enough, And when one got in,
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others followed with the weapon. Like that, the war couldn't
go on much longer. Maybe it was already over. Maybe
he was going to hear the news. Maybe the Politburo
had decided to throw in the sponge. Too bad. It
had taken so long, six years, a long time for
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war like that, the way they had waged it. The
automatic retaliation discs spinning down all over Russia, hundreds of
thousands of them, bacteria crystals, the Soviet guided missiles whistling
through the air, the chain bombs, and now this the robots,
the claws. The claws weren't like other weapons. They were
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alive from any practical standpoint, whether the governments wanted to
admit it or not. They were not machines. They were
living things, spinning, creeping, shaking themselves up suddenly from the
gray ash, and darting toward a man, climbing up him,
rushing for his throat. And that was what they had
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been designed to do. There job. They did their job well,
especially lately with the new designs coming up. Now they
repaired themselves. They were on their own. Radiation tabs protected
the un troops, but if a man lost his tab,
he was fair game for the clause, no matter what
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his uniform. Down below the surface, automatic machinery stamped them out.
Human beings stayed a long way off. It was too risky.
Nobody wanted to be around them. They were left to themselves,
and they seemed to be doing all right. The new
designs were faster, more complex, more efficient. Apparently they had
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won the war. Major Hendrix lit a second cigarette. The
landscape depressed him, nothing but ash and ruins. He seemed
to be alone, the only living thing in the whole world.
To the right place, the ruins of a town rose up,
a few walls and heaps of debris. He tossed the
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dead match away, increasing his pace. Suddenly he stopped, jerking
up his gun. His body tints for a minute. It
looked like from behind the shell of a ruined building,
a figure came walking slowly toward him, walking hesitantly. Hendrix blinked. Stop.
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The boy stopped. Hendrix slowered the gun. The boy stood
silently looking at him. He was small, not very old,
perhaps eight, but it was hard to tell. Most of
the kids who remained were stunted. He wore a faded
blue sweater, ragged with dirt, and short pants. His hair
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was long and matted, brown hair. It hung over his
face and around his ears. He held something in his arms.
What's that you have? Hendrix said, sharp The boy held
it out. It was a toy, a bear, a teddy bear.
The boy's eyes were large, but without expression. Hendrix relaxed,
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I don't want to keep it. The boy hugged the
bear again. Where do you live, Hendrix said, in there
the ruins, yes, underground? Yes? How many are there? How many?
How many of you? How big is your settlement? The
boy did not answer. Hendrix frowned. You're not all by yourself,
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are you? The boy nodded. How do you stay alive?
There's food? What kind of food? Different? Hendrix studied him.
How old are you thirteen? It wasn't possible, or was it?
The boy was thin, stunted, and probably sterile radiation exposure
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years straight. No wonder he was so small. His arms
and legs were like pipe cleaners, notppy and thin. Hendrix
touched the boy's arm. His skin was dry and rough,
radiation skin. He bent down, looking into the boy's face.
There was no expression, big eyes, big and dark. Are
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you blind? Hendrix said, no, I can see some. How
did you get away from the claws, the claws, the
round things that run and burrow? I don't understand. Maybe
there weren't any claws around a lot of areas were free.
They collected mostly around bunkers where there were people. The
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claws had been designed to sense warmth, warmth of living things.
You're lucky, Hendrix straightened up. Well, which way are you
going back? Back? There? Can I come with you with me?
Hendrix folded his arms. I'm going a long way miles.
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I have to hurry. He looked at his watch. I
have to get there by nightfall. I want to come.
Hendrix fumbled in his pack. It isn't worth it here.
He tossed down the food cans he had with him.
You'd take these and go back, okay, the boy said nothing.
I'll be coming back this way in a day or so.
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If you're around here when I come back, you can
come along with me. All right? I want to go
with you. Now. It's a long walk. I can walk.
Hendrix shifted uneasily. It made too good a target. Two
people walking along and the boy would slow him down.
But he might not come back this way, and if
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the boy were really all alone, okay, come along. The
boy fell in beside him. Hendrix strode along. The boy
walked silently, clutching his teddy bear. What's your name? Hendrix said,
after a time, David Edward daring David, what what happened
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to your mother and father? They died? How in the blast?
How long ago? Six years? Hendrix slowed down. You've been
alone six years? No, there were other people for a while,
they went away, and you've been alone since. Yes, Hendrix
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glanced down. The boy was strange, saying very little withdrawn.
But that was the way they were. The children who
had survived, quiet, stoic, A strange kind of fatalism gripped them.
Nothing came as a surprise. They accepted anything that came along.
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There was no law longer, any normal, any natural course
of things, moral or physical for them to expect, custom, habit.
All the determining forces of learning were gone. Only brute
experience remained. Am I walking too fast? Hendrix said? No?
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How did you happen to see me? I was waiting, waiting.
Hendrix was puzzled. What were you waiting for? To catch things?
What kind of things? Things to eat? Oh? Hendrix set
his lips grimly. A thirteen year old boy living on
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rats and gophers and half rotten canned food down in
a hole under the ruins of a town with radiation
pools and claws and Russian dive mines up above, coasting
around in the sky. Where are we going, David asked,
to the Russian lines. Russian the enemy, the people who
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started the war. They dropped the first radiation bombs, they
began all this. The boy nodded, his face showed no expression.
I'm an American, Hendrix said. There was no comment. On
they went, the two of them, Hendrix walking a little ahead,
David trailing behind him, hugging his dirty teddy bear against
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his chest. About four the afternoon they stopped to eat.
Hendrix built a fire in a hollow between some slabs
of concrete. He cleared the weeds away and heaped up
bits of wood. The Russians lines were not very far ahead.
Around him was what had once been a long valley,
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acres of fruit, trees and grapes. Nothing remained now but
a few bleak stumps, and the mountains that stretched across
the horizon at the far end, and the clouds of
rolling ash that blew and drifted with the wind, settling
over the weeds and remains of buildings walls here and there,
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once in a while what had been a road. Hendrix
made coffee and heated up some boiled mutton and bread.
Here he handed bread and mutton to David. David squatted
by the edge of the fire, his knees knobby and white.
He examined the food and then passed it back, shaking
his head. No, no, don't you want any No, Hendrix shrugged.
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Maybe the boy was a mutant used to special food.
It didn't matter. When he was hungry, he would find
something to eat. The boy was strange, but there were
many strange changes coming over the world. Life was not
the same anymore. It would never be the same again.
The human race was going to have to realize that,
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Suja said, Hendrix said. He ate the bread and mutton
by himself, washing it down with coffee. He ate slowly,
finding the food hard to digest. When he was done,
he got to his feet and stamped the fire out.
David rose slowly, watching him with his young old eyes.
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We're going, Hendrix said, all right. Hendrix walked along, his
gun in his arms. They were close. He was tense,
ready for anything. The Russians should be expecting a runner
and answer to their own runner, but they were tricky.
There was always the possibility of a slip up. He
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scanned the landscape around him, nothing but slag and ash,
a few hills, charred trees, concrete walls. But some place
ahead was the first bunker of the Russian lines, the
forward command underground, buried deep, with only a pair ofroscope
showing a few gun muscles, maybe an antenna. Will we
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be there soon? David asked, yes, getting tired. No why then?
David did not answer. He plodded carefully along behind, picking
his way over the ash. His legs and shoes were
gray with dust. His pinched face was streaked lines of
gray ash and rivulets down the pale white of his skin.
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There was no color to his face, typical of the
new children growing up in cellars and sewers and underground shelters.
Hendrick slowed down. He lifted his field glasses and studied
the ground ahead of him. Were they there someplace waiting
for him, watching him the way his men had watched
the Russian runner. A chill went up his back. Maybe
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they were getting their guns ready, preparing to fire, the
way his men had prepared, made ready to kill. Stopped
wiping perspiration from his face. Damn it made him uneasy,
but he should be expected. The situation was stifferent. He
strode over the ash, holding his gun tightly with both
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hands behind him. Came David. Hendrix peered around, tight lipped.
Any second it might happen a burst of white light,
a blast carefully aimed from inside a deep concrete bunker.
He raised his arm and waved it around in a circle.
Nothing moved. To the right, a long ridge ran topped
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with dead tree trunks. A few wild vines had grown
up around the trees, remains of arbors, and the eternal
dark weeds. Hendrix studied the ridge. Was anything up there?
Perfect place for a lookout. He approached the ridge warily,
David coming silently behind. If it were his command, he'd
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have a sentry up there, watching for troops tru trying
to infiltrate into the command area. Of course, if it
were his command, there would be the claws around the
area for full protection. He stopped, feet apart, hands on
his hips. Are we there, David said almost. Why have
we stopped? I don't want to take any chances. Hendrix
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advanced slowly. Now the ridge lay directly beside him along
his right, overlooking him. His uneasy feeling increased. If an
ivan were up there, he wouldn't have a chance. He
waved his arm again. They should be expecting someone in
the un uniform in response to the note capsule, unless
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the whole thing was a trap. Keep up with me,
he turned toward David. Don't drop behind with you up
beside me. We're close. We can't take any chances. Come on,
I'll be all right. David remained behind him in the rear,
a few paces away, still clutching his Teddy bear. Hal
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a your away. Hendrix raised his glasses again, suddenly tense
for a moment, had something moved. He scanned the ridge carefully.
Everything was silent, dead, No life up there, only tree
trunks and ash, maybe a few rats. The big black
rats that had survived the claws mutants built their own
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shelters out of saliva and ash, some kind of plaster adaptation.
He started forward again. End of Section one.