Vulcan's Hammer (13 page)

Several minutes later he was landing the police cruiser in an open field at the edge of a small Pennsylvania town. Before the jets were off, a truck had come rattling across the dirt and weeds, directly toward them.

This is it, Barris said to himself. It’s too late to back out now.

The truck halted. Four men in overalls jumped down and came cautiously up to the cruiser. One of them waved a pelletrifle. “Who are you?”

“Let me get out,” Marion said to Barris. “Let me talk to them.”

He touched the stud on the instrument panel which released the port; it slid open, and Marion at once scrambled out and hopped down to the dusty ground.

Barris, still in the ship, waited tensely while she conferred with the four men. Far up in the sky, to the north, a flock of hammers rushed inland, intent on business of their own. A few moments later bright fission flashes lit up the horizon. Vulcan 3 had apparently begun equipping his extensions with atomic tactical bombs.

One of the four men came up to the cruiser and cupped his hands to his mouth. “I’m Joe Potter. You’re Barris?”

“That’s right.” Sitting in the ship, Barris kept his hand on his pencil beam. But, he realized, it was nothing more than a ritualistic gesture now; it had no practical importance.

“Say,” Joe Potter said. “I’ll take you to Father. If that’s what you want, and she says it is. Come alone.”

With the four men, Barris and Marion climbed aboard the ancient, dented truck. At once it started up; he was pitched from side to side as it swung around and started back the way it had come.

“By God,” one of the men said, scrutinizing him. “You used to be North American Director. Didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Barris said.

The men mumbled among one another, and at last one of them slid over to Barris and said, “Listen, Mr. Barris.” He shoved an envelope and a pencil at him. “Could I have your autograph?”

For an hour the truck headed along minor country roads, in the general direction of New York City. A few miles outside the demolished business ring, Potter halted the truck at a gasoline station. To the right of the station was a roadside café, a decrepit, weatherbeaten place. A few cars were pulled up in front of it. Some children were playing in the dirt by the steps, and a dog was tied up in the yard in the rear.

“Get out,” Potter said. All four men seemed somewhat cross and taciturn from the long drive.

Barris got out slowly. “Where—”

“Inside.” Potter started up the truck again. Marion hopped out to join Barris. The truck pulled away, made a turn, and disappeared back down the road in the direction from which they had just come.

Her eyes shining, Marion called, “Come on!” She scampered up on the porch of the café and tugged the door open. Barris followed after her, with caution.

In the dingy café, at a table littered with maps and papers, sat a man wearing a blue denim shirt and grease-stained work pants. An ancient audio-telephone was propped up beside him, next to a plate on which were the remains of a hamburger and fried potatoes. The man glanced up irritably, and Barris saw heavy ridged eyebrows, the irregular teeth, the penetrating glance that had so chilled him before, and which chilled him again now.

“I’ll be darned,” Father Fields said, pushing away his papers. “Look who’s here.”

“Daddy!” Marion cried; she leaped forward and threw her arms around him. “I’m so glad to see you—” Her words were cut off, smothered by the man’s shirt as she pressed her face into it. Fields patted her on the back, oblivious to Barris.

Walking over to the counter, Barris seated himself alone. He remained there, meditating, until all at once he realized that Father Fields was addressing him. Glancing up, he saw the man’s hand held out. Grinning, Fields shook hands with him.

“I thought you were in Geneva,” Fields said. “It’s nice seeing you again.” His eyes traveled up and down Barris. “The one decent Director out of eleven. And we don’t get you; we get practically the worst—barring Reynolds. We get that opportunist Taubmann.” He shook his head ironically.

Barris said, “Revolutionary movements always draw opportunists.”

“That’s very charitable of you,” Fields said. Reaching back, he drew up a chair and seated himself, tipping the chair until he was comfortable.

“Mr. Barris is fighting Vulcan 3,” Marion declared, holding on tightly to her father’s arm. “He’s on our side.”

“Oh, is that right?” Fields said, patting her. “Are you sure about that?”

She colored and stammered, “Well, anyhow, he’s against Vulcan 3.”

“Congratulations,” Fields said to Barris. “You’ve made a wise choice. Assuming it’s so.”

Settling back against the counter, propping himself up on one elbow so that he, too, was comfortable, Barris said, “I came here to talk business with you.”

In a leisurely, drawling voice, Fields said, “As you can see, I’m a pretty busy man. Maybe I don’t have time to talk business.”

“Find time,” Barris said.

Fields said, “I’m not much interested in business. I’m more interested in work. You could have joined us back when it mattered, but you turned tail and walked out. Now—” He shrugged. “What the heck does it matter? Having you with us doesn’t make any particular difference one way or another. We’ve pretty well won, now. I imagine that’s why you’ve finally made up your mind which way you want to jump. Now you can see who’s the winning side.” He grinned once more, this time with a knowing, insinuating twinkle. “Isn’t that so? You’d like to be on the winning side.” He waggled his finger slyly at Barris.

“If I did,” Barris said, “I wouldn’t be here.”

For a moment, Fields did not appear to understand. Then, by degrees, his face lost all humor; the bantering familiarity vanished. He became hard-eyed. “The hell you say,” he said slowly. “Unity is gone, man. In a couple of days we swept the old monster system aside. What’s there left? Those tricky businesses flapping around up there.” He jerked his thumb, pointing upward. “Like the one I got, that day in the hotel, the one that came in the window looking for me. Did you ever get that? I patched it up pretty good and sent it on to you and your girl, for a—” He laughed. “A wedding present.”

Barris said, “You’ve got nothing. You’ve destroyed nothing.”

“Everything,” Fields said in a grating whisper. “We’ve got everything there is, mister.”

“You don’t have Vulcan 3,” Barris said. “You’ve got a lot of land; you blew up a lot of office buildings and recruited a lot of clerks and stenographers—that’s all.”

“We’ll get him,” Fields said, evenly.

“Not without your founder,” Barris said. “Not now that he’s dead.”

Staring at Barris, Fields said, “My—” He shook his head slowly; his poise was obviously completely shattered. “What do you mean? I founded the Movement. I’ve headed it from the start.”

Barris said, “I know that’s a lie.”

For a time there was silence.

“What does he mean?” Marion demanded, plucking anxiously at her father’s arm.

“He’s out of his mind,” Fields said, still staring at Barris. The color had not returned to his face.

“You’re an expert electrician,” Barris said. “That was your trade. I saw your work on that hammer, your reconstruction. You’re very good; in fact there probably isn’t an electrician in the world today superior to you. You kept Vulcan 2 going all this time, didn’t you?”

Fields’ mouth opened and then shut. He said nothing.

“Vulcan 2 founded the Healers’ Movement,” Barris said.

“No,” Fields said.

“You were only the fake leader. A puppet. Vulcan 2 created the Movement as an instrument to destroy Vulcan 3. That’s why he gave Jason Dill instructions not to reveal the existence of the Movement to Vulcan 3; he wanted to give it time to grow.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

After a long time, Father Fields said, “Vulcan 2 was only a computing mechanism. It had no motives, no drives. Why would it act to impair Vulcan 3?”

“Because Vulcan 3 menaced it,” Barris said. “Vulcan 2 was as much alive as Vulcan 3—no more and no less. It was created originally to do a certain job, and Vulcan 3 interfered with its doing that job, just as the withholding of data by Jason Dill interfered with Vulcan 3’s doing its job.”

“How did Vulcan 3 interfere with Vulcan 2’s doing its job?” Father Fields said.

“By supplanting it,” Barris said.

Fields said, “But I am the head of the Movement now. Vulcan 2 no longer exists.” Rubbing his chin, he said, “There isn’t a wire or a tube or a relay of Vulcan 2 intact.”

“You did a thorough, professional job,” Barris said.

The man’s head jerked.

“You destroyed Vulcan 2,” Barris said, “to keep Jason Dill from knowing. Isn’t that so?”

“No,” Fields said finally. “It isn’t so. This is all a wild series of guesses on your part. You have no evidence; this is the typical insane slander generated by Unity. These mad charges, dreamed up and bolstered and embroidered—”

Once again, Barris noticed, the man had lost his regional accent. And his vocabulary, his use of words, had in this period of stress, greatly improved.

Marion Fields piped, “It’s not true! My father founded the Movement.” Her eyes blazed with helpless, baffled fury at Barris. “I wish I hadn’t brought you here.”

“What evidence do you have?” Fields said.

“I saw the skill with which you rebuilt that ruined hammer,” Barris said. “It amounted to mechanical genius on your part. With ability like that you could name your own job with Unity; there’re no repairmen on my staff in New York capable of work like that. The normal use Unity would put you to with such ability would be servicing the Vulcan series. Obviously you know nothing about Vulcan 3—
and Vulcan 3 is self-servicing
. What does that leave but the older computers? And Vulcan 1 hasn’t functioned in decades. And your age is such that, like Jason Dill, you would naturally have been a contemporary of Vulcan 2 rather—”

“Conjecture,” Fields said.

“Yes,” Barris admitted.

“Logic. Deduction. Based on the spurious premise that I had anything to do with any of the Vulcan series. Did it ever occur to you that there might have been alternate computers, designed by someone other than Nat Greenstreet, that competent crews might have been put to work at—”

From behind Barris a voice, a woman’s voice, said sharply, “Tell him the truth, Father. Don’t lie, for once.”

Rachel Pitt came around to stand by Barris. Astonished to see her, Barris started to his feet.

“My two daughters,” Fields said. He put his hand on Marion Fields’ shoulder, and then, after a pause, he put his other hand on the shoulder of Rachel Pitt. “Marion and Rachel,” he said to Barris. “The younger stayed with me, was loyal to me; the older had ambitions to marry a Unity man and live a well-to-do life with all the things that money can buy. She started to come back to me a couple of times. But did you really come back?” He gazed meditatively at Rachel Pitt. “I wonder. It doesn’t sound like it.”

Rachel said, “I’m loyal to you, Father. I just can’t stand any more lies.”

“I am telling the truth,” Father Fields said in a harsh, bitter voice. “Barris accuses me of destroying Vulcan 2 to keep Jason Dill from knowing about the relationship between the old computer and the Movement. Do you think I care about Jason Dill? Did it ever matter what he knew? I destroyed Vulcan 2 because it wasn’t running the Movement effectively; it was holding the Movement back, keeping it weak. It wanted the Movement to be nothing but an extension of itself, like those hammers of Vulcan 3. An instrument without life of its own.”

His voice had gained power; his jaw jutted out and he confronted Barris and Rachel defiantly. The two of them moved involuntarily away from him, and closer to each other. Only Marion Fields remained with him.

“I freed the Movement,” Fields said. “I freed humanity and made the Movement an instrument of human needs, human aspirations. Is that wicked?” He pointed his finger at Barris and shouted, “And before I’m finished I’m going to destroy Vulcan 3 as well, and free mankind from it, too. From both of them, first the older one and next the big one, the new one. Is that wrong? Are you opposed to that? If you are, then god damn it, go join them at the fortress; go join Reynolds.”

Barris said, “It’s a noble ideal, what you’re saying. But you can’t do it. It’s impossible. Unless I help you.”

Hunched forward in his chair, Father Fields said, “All right, Barris. You came here to do business. What’s your deal?” Raising his head he said hoarsely, “What do you have to offer me?”

Barris said, “I know where the fortress is. I’ve been to it. Dill took me there. I can find it again. Without me, you’ll never find it. At least, not in time; not before Vulcan 3 has developed such far-reaching offensive weapons that nothing will remain of life above ground.”

“You don’t think we’ll find it?” Fields said.

“In fifteen months,” Barris said, “you’ve failed to. Do you think you will in the next two weeks?”

Presently Father Fields said, “More like two years. We started looking from the very start.” He shrugged. “Well, Director. What do you want in exchange?”

“Plenty,” Barris said grimly. “I’ll try to outline it as briefly as I can.”

After Barris had finished, Father Fields was silent. “You want a lot,” he said finally.

“That’s right.”

“It’s incredible, you dictating terms to me. How many in your group?”

“Five or six.”

Fields shook his head. “And there are millions of us, all over the world.” From his pocket he produced a much-folded map; spreading it out on the counter he said, “We’ve taken over in America, in Eastern Europe, in all of Asia and Africa. It seemed only a question of time before we had the rest. We’ve been winning so steadily.” He clenched his fist around a coffee mug on the counter and then suddenly grabbed it up and hurled it to the floor. The brown coffee oozed thickly out.

“Even if you did have sufficient time on your side,” Barris said, “I doubt if you could ultimately have defeated Unity. It’s hopeless to imagine that a grass-roots revolutionary movement can overthrow a modern bureaucratic system that’s backed up with modern technology and elaborate industrial organization. A hundred years ago, your Movement might have worked. But times have changed. Government is a science conducted by trained experts.”

Studying him with animosity, Fields said, “To win, you have to be on the inside.”

“You have to know someone on the inside,” Barris said. “And you do; you know me. I can get you in, where you will be able to attack the main trunk, not merely the branches.”

“And the trunk,” Fields said, “is Vulcan 3. Give us credit for knowing that, at least. That thing has always been our target.” He let out his breath raggedly. “All right, Barris; I agree to your terms.”

Barris felt himself relax. But he kept his expression under control. “Fine,” he said.

“You’re surprised, aren’t you?” Fields said.

“No,” he said. “Relieved. I thought possibly you might fail to see how precarious your position is.”

Bringing forth a pocket watch, Fields examined it. “What do you want for the attack on the fortress? Weapons are still in short supply with us. We’re mainly oriented around man power.”

“There are weapons back at Geneva.”

“How about transportation?”

“We have three high-speed military cruisers; they’ll do.” Barris wrote rapidly on a piece of paper. “A small concentrated attack by skillful men—experts hitting at the vital center. A hundred well-chosen men will do. Everything depends on the first ten minutes in the fortress; if we succeed, it’ll be right away. There will be no second chance.”

Fields gazed at him intently. “Barris, do you really think we have a chance? Can we really get to Vulcan 3?” His grease-stained hands twisted. “For years I’ve thought of nothing else. Smashing that satanic mass of parts and tubes—”

“We’ll get to him,” Barris said.

Fields collected the men that Barris needed. They were loaded into the cruiser, and Barris at once headed back toward Geneva, Fields accompanying him.

Halfway across the Atlantic they passed an immense swarm of hammers streaking toward helpless, undefended North America. These were quite large, almost as large as the cruiser. They moved with incredible speed, disappearing almost at once. A few minutes later a new horde appeared, these like slender needles. They ignored the ship and followed the first group over the horizon.

“New types,” Barris said. “He’s wasting no time.”

The Unity Control Building was still in friendly hands. They landed on the roof and hurried down the ramps into the building. On orders from Fields, the Healers had ceased attacking. But now hammers swarmed constantly overhead, diving down and twisting agilely to avoid the roof guns. Half of the main structure was in ruins, but the guns fired on, bringing down the hammers when they came too close.

“It’s a losing battle,” Daily muttered. “We’re short on ammunition. There seem to be an endless number of the damn things.”

Barris worked rapidly. He supplied his attack force with the best weapons available, supplies stored in the vaults below the Control Building. From the five Directors he selected Pegler and Chai, and a hundred of the best-trained troops.

“I’m going along,” Fields said. “If the attack fails I don’t want to stay alive. If it succeeds I want to be part of it.”

Barris carefully uncrated a manually operated fission bomb. “This is for him.” He weighed the bomb in the palm of his hand; it was no larger than an onion. “My assumption is that they’ll admit me and possibly Chai and Pegler. We can probably persuade them that we’re coming over to rejoin Unity. At least we’ll be able to get part of the distance in.”

“Anyhow you hope so,” Fields said curtly.

At sunset, Barris loaded the three cruisers with the men and equipment. The roof guns sent up a heavy barrage to cover their take-off. Hammers in action nearby at once began following the ships as they rose into the sky.

“We’ll have to shake them,” Barris said. He gave quick orders. The three cruisers shot off in different directions, dividing up rapidly. A few hammers tagged them awhile and then gave up.

“I’m clear,” Chai in the second cruiser reported.

“Clear,” Pegler in the third said.

Barris glanced at the older man beside him. Behind them the ship was crowded with tense, silent soldiers, loaded down with weapons, squatting nervously in a mass as the ship raced through the darkness. “Here we go,” Barris said. He swung the ship in a wide arc. Into the communications speaker he ordered, “We’ll re-form for the attack. I’ll lead. You two come behind.”

“Are we close?” Fields asked, a queer expression on his face.

“Very.” Barris studied the ship’s controls. “We should be over it in a moment. Get set.”

Barris dived. Pegler’s ship whipped through the darkness behind him, lashing toward the ground below; Chai’s ship shot off to the right and headed directly over the fortress.

Hammers rose in vast swarms and moved toward Chai’s ship, separating and engulfing it.

“Hang on,” Barris gasped.

The ground rose; landing brakes screamed. The ship hit, spinning and crashing among the trees and boulders.

“Out!” Barris ordered, pulling himself to his feet and throwing the hatch release. The hatches slid back and the men poured out, dragging their equipment into the cold night darkness.

Above them in the sky, Chai’s ship fought with the hammers; it twisted and rolled, firing rapidly. More hammers rose from the fortress, great black clouds that swiftly gained altitude. Pegler’s ship was landing. It roared over them and crashed against the side of a hill a few hundred yards from the other defense wall of the fortress.

The heavy guns of the fortress were beginning to open up. A vast fountain of white burst loose, showering rocks and debris on Barris and Fields as they climbed out of their ship.

“Hurry,” Barris said. “Get the bores going.”

The men were assembling two gopher bores. The first had already whined into action. More tactical atomic shells from the fortress struck near them; the night was lit up with explosions.

Barris crouched down. “How are you making out?” he shouted above the racket, his lips close to his helmet speaker.

“All right,” Pegler’s voice said weakly in his earphones. “We’re down and getting out the big stuff.”

“That’ll hold off the hammers,” Barris said to Fields. He peered up at the sky. “I hope Chai—”

Chai’s ship rolled and spun, trying to evade the ring of hammers closing around it. Its jets smoked briefly. A direct hit. The ship wobbled and hesitated.

“Drop your men,” Barris ordered into his phones. “You’re right over the fortress.”

From Chai’s ship showered a cloud of white dots. Men in jump suits, drifting slowly toward the ground below. Hammers screeched around them; the men fired back with pencil beams. The hammers retreated warily.

“Chai’s men will take care of the direct attack,” Barris explained. “Meanwhile, the bores are moving.”

“Umbrella almost ready,” a technician reported.

“Good. They’re beginning to dive on us; their screenprobes must have spotted us.”

The fleets of screaming hammers were descending, hurtling toward the ground. Their beams stabbed into the trees and ignited columns of flaming wood and branches. One of Pegler’s cannons boomed. A group of hammers disappeared, but more took their places. An endless torrent of hammers, rising up from the fortress like black bats.

The umbrella flickered purple. Reluctantly, it came on and settled in place. Vaguely, beyond it, Barris could make out the hammers circling in confusion. A group of them entered the umbrella and were silently puffed out.

Barris relaxed. “Good. Now we don’t have to worry about them.”