him, cloak flapping.Gray-green. A Russian. Behind him a second soldier appeared, anotherRussian. Both lifted their guns, aiming.
Hendricks froze. He opened his mouth. The soldiers were kneeling,sighting down the side of the slope. A third figure had joined them onthe ridge top, a smaller figure in gray-green. A woman. She stoodbehind the other two.
Hendricks found his voice. "Stop!" He waved up at them frantically."I'm--"
The two Russians fired. Behind Hendricks there was a faint _pop_.Waves of heat lapped against him, throwing him to the ground. Ash toreat his face, grinding into his eyes and nose. Choking, he pulledhimself to his knees. It was all a trap. He was finished. He had cometo be killed, like a steer. The soldiers and the woman were comingdown the side of the ridge toward him, sliding down through the softash. Hendricks was numb. His head throbbed. Awkwardly, he got hisrifle up and took aim. It weighed a thousand tons; he could hardlyhold it. His nose and cheeks stung. The air was full of the blastsmell, a bitter acrid stench.
"Don't fire," the first Russian said, in heavily accented English.
The three of them came up to him, surrounding him. "Put down yourrifle, Yank," the other said.
Hendricks was dazed. Everything had happened so fast. He had beencaught. And they had blasted the boy. He turned his head. David wasgone. What remained of him was strewn across the ground.
The three Russians studied him curiously. Hendricks sat, wiping bloodfrom his nose, picking out bits of ash. He shook his head, trying toclear it. "Why did you do it?" he murmured thickly. "The boy."
"Why?" One of the soldiers helped him roughly to his feet. He turnedHendricks around. "Look."
Hendricks closed his eyes.
"Look!" The two Russians pulled him forward. "See. Hurry up. Thereisn't much time to spare, Yank!"
Hendricks looked. And gasped.
"See now? Now do you understand?"
* * * * *
From the remains of David a metal wheel rolled. Relays, glintingmetal. Parts, wiring. One of the Russians kicked at the heap ofremains. Parts popped out, rolling away, wheels and springs and rods.A plastic section fell in, half charred. Hendricks bent shakily down.The front of the head had come off. He could make out the intricatebrain, wires and relays, tiny tubes and switches, thousands of minutestuds--
"A robot," the soldier holding his arm said. "We watched it taggingyou."
"Tagging me?"
"That's their way. They tag along with you. Into the bunker. That'show they get in."
Hendricks blinked, dazed. "But--"
"Come on." They led him toward the ridge. "We can't stay here. Itisn't safe. There must be hundreds of them all around here."
The three of them pulled him up the side of the ridge, sliding andslipping on the ash. The woman reached the top and stood waiting forthem.
"The forward command," Hendricks muttered. "I came to negotiate withthe Soviet--"
"There is no more forward command. _They_ got in. We'll explain." Theyreached the top of the ridge. "We're all that's left. The three of us.The rest were down in the bunker."
"This way. Down this way." The woman unscrewed a lid, a gray manholecover set in the ground. "Get in."
Hendricks lowered himself. The two soldiers and the woman came behindhim, following him down the ladder. The woman closed the lid afterthem, bolting it tightly into place.
"Good thing we saw you," one of the two soldiers grunted. "It hadtagged you about as far as it was going to."
* * * * *
"Give me one of your cigarettes," the woman said. "I haven't had anAmerican cigarette for weeks."
Hendricks pushed the pack to her. She took a cigarette and passed thepack to the two soldiers. In the corner of the small room the lampgleamed fitfully. The room was low-ceilinged, cramped. The four ofthem sat around a small wood table. A few dirty dishes were stacked toone side. Behind a ragged curtain a second room was partly visible.Hendricks saw the corner of a cot, some blankets, clothes hung on ahook.
"We were here," the soldier beside him said. He took off his helmet,pushing his blond hair back. "I'm Corporal Rudi Maxer. Polish.Impressed in the Soviet Army two years ago." He held out his hand.
Hendricks hesitated and then shook. "Major Joseph Hendricks."
"Klaus Epstein." The other soldier shook with him, a small dark manwith thinning hair. Epstein plucked nervously at his ear. "Austrian.Impressed God knows when. I don't remember. The three of us were here,Rudi and I, with Tasso." He indicated the woman. "That's how weescaped. All the rest were down in the bunker."
"And--and _they_ got in?"
Epstein lit a cigarette. "First just one of them. The kind that taggedyou. Then it let others in."
Hendricks became alert. "The _kind_? Are there more than one kind?"
"The little boy. David. David holding his teddy bear. That's VarietyThree. The most effective."
"What are the other types?"
Epstein reached into his coat. "Here." He tossed a packet ofphotographs 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. TheRussians, I mean. We found out about a week ago. Found out that yourclaws were beginning to make up new designs on their own. New types oftheir own. Better types. Down in your underground factories behind ourlines. You let them stamp themselves, repair themselves. Made themmore and more intricate. It's your fault this happened."
* * * * *
Hendricks examined the photos. They had been snapped hurriedly; theywere blurred and indistinct. The first few showed--David. Davidwalking along a road, by himself. David and another David. ThreeDavids. 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 toweringwounded soldier sitting by the side of a path, his arm in a sling, thestump of one leg extended, a crude crutch on his lap. Then two woundedsoldiers, both the same, standing side by side.
"That's Variety One. The Wounded Soldier." Klaus reached out and tookthe pictures. "You see, the claws were designed to get to humanbeings. To find them. Each kind was better than the last. They gotfarther, closer, past most of our defenses, into our lines. But aslong as they were merely _machines_, metal spheres with claws andhorns, feelers, they could be picked off like any other object. Theycould be detected as lethal robots as soon as they were seen. Once wecaught sight of them--"
"Variety One subverted our whole north wing," Rudi said. "It was along 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 themin. And as soon as they were in they took over. We were watching outfor machines...."
"At that time it was thought there was only the one type," KlausEpstein said. "No one suspected there were other types. The pictureswere flashed to us. When the runner was sent to you, we knew of justone type. Variety One. The big Wounded Soldier. We thought that wasall."
"Your line fell to--"
"To Variety Three. David and his bear. That worked even better." Klaussmiled bitterly. "Soldiers are suckers for children. We brought themin and tried to feed them. We found out the hard way what they wereafter. At least, those who were in the bunker."
"The three of us were lucky," Rudi said. "Klaus and I were--werevisiting Tasso when it happened. This is her place." He waved a bighand around. "This little cellar. We finished and climbed the ladderto start back. From the ridge we saw. There they were, all around thebunker. Fighting was still going on. David and his bear. Hundreds ofthem. 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 hisarm
. "Can they--"
"They're not bothered by your radiation tabs. It makes no differenceto them, Russian, American, Pole, German. It's all the same. They'redoing 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 constructedthem from the very start. Of course, those you designed were kept backby the radiation tabs you wear. Now they've got around that. These newvarieties are lead-lined."
"What's the other variety?" Hendricks