Vulcan's Hammer (14 page)

“Gophers are halfway along,” the leader of the bore team reported.

Two immense holes yawned, echoing and vibrating as the gopher bores crept into the earth. Technicians disappeared after them. The first squad of armed troops followed them cautiously, swallowed up by the earth.

“We’re on our way,” Barris said to Fields.

Standing off by himself, Father Fields surveyed the trees, the line of hills in the distance. “No visible sign of the fortress,” he murmured. “Nothing to give it away.” He seemed deep in thought, as if barely aware of the battle in progress. “This forest . . . the perfect place. I would never have known.” Turning, he walked toward Barris.

Seeing the look on the man’s face, Barris felt deep uneasiness. “What is it?” he said.

Fields said, “I’ve been here before.”

“Yes,” Barris said.

“Thousands of times. I worked here most of my life.” The man’s face was stark. “This is where Vulcan 2 used to be.” His hands jerked aimlessly. “This was where I came to destroy Vulcan 2.” Nodding his head at a massive moss-covered boulder, he said, “I walked by that. To the service ramp. They didn’t even know the ramp still existed; it was declared obsolete years ago. Abandoned and shut off. But I knew about it.” His voice rose wildly. “I can come and go any time I want; I have constant access to that place.
I know a thousand ways to get down there
.”

Barris said, “But you didn’t know that Vulcan 3 was down there, too. At the deepest level. They didn’t acquaint your crew with—”

“I didn’t know Jason Dill,” Fields said. “I wasn’t in a position to meet him as an equal. As you were.”

“So now you know,” Barris said.

“You gave me nothing,” Fields said. “You had nothing to tell me that I didn’t know already.” Coming slowly toward Barris he said in a low voice, “I could have figured it out, in time. Once we had tried every other place—” In his hand a pencil beam appeared, gripped tightly.

Keeping himself calm, Barris said, “But you still won’t get in, Father. They’ll never let you in. They’ll kill you long before you penetrate all the way to Vulcan 3. You’ll have to depend on me.” Pointing to his sleeve, he indicated his Director’s stripe. “Once I get in there I can walk up and down those corridors; no one will stop me, because they’re part of the same structure I’m part of. And I’m in a position of authority equal to any of them, Reynolds included.”

Fields said, “Any of them—except for Vulcan 3.”

Off to the right, Pegler’s cannon thundered as the fleets of hammers turned their attention on them. The hammers dived and released bombs. An inferno of white pillars checkered across the countryside, moving toward Pegler’s ship.

“Get your umbrella up!” Barris shouted into his helmet speaker.

Pegler’s umbrella flickered. It hesitated—

A small atomic bomb cut across dead center. Pegler’s ship vanished; clouds of particles burst into the air, metal and ash showering over the flaming ground. The heavy cannon ceased abruptly.

“It’s up to us,” Barris said.

Over the fortress the first of Chai’s men had reached the ground. The defense guns spun around, leaving Barris’ ship and focusing on the drifting dots.

“They don’t have a chance,” Fields muttered.

“No.” Barris started toward the first of the two tunnels. “But we have.” Ignoring the pencil beam in the older man’s hand, he continued, his back to Fields.

Abruptly the fortress shuddered. A vast tongue of fire rolled across it. The surface fused in an instant; the wave of molten metal had sealed over the fortress.

“They cut themselves off,” Barris said. “They’ve closed down.” He shook himself into motion and entered the tunnel, squeezing past the power leads to the gopher.

An ugly cloud of black rolled up from the sea of glimmering slag that had been the surface of the fortress. The hammers fluttered above it uncertainly, cut off from the levels beneath.

Barris made his way along the tunnel, pushing past the technicians operating the gopher. The gopher rumbled and vibrated as it cut through the layers of clay and rock toward the fortress. The air was hot and moist. The men worked feverishly, directing the gopher deeper and deeper. Torrents of steaming water poured from the clay around them.

“We must be close,” Fields’ voice came to him, from behind.

“We should emerge near the deepest level,” Barris said. He did not look to see if the pencil beam was still there; he kept on going.

The gopher shrieked. Its whirring noise tore into metal; the bore team urged it forward. The gopher slashed into a wall of steel and reinforced stressed plastic and then slowed to a stop.

“We’re there,” Barris said.

The gopher shuddered. Gradually it inched forward. The leader of the team leaned close to Barris. “The other gopher’s through, into the fortress. But they don’t know exactly where.”

All at once the wall collapsed inward. Liquid steel pelted them, sizzling. The soldiers moved ahead, pushing through the gap. Barris and Fields hurried with them. The jagged metal seared them as they squeezed through. Barris stumbled and fell, rolling in the boiling water and debris.

Putting his pencil beam away, Fields pulled him to his feet. They glanced at each other, neither of them speaking. And then they looked about them, at the great corridor that stretched out, lit by the recessed lighting familiar to both of them.

The lowest level of the fortress!

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

A few astonished Unity guards scampered toward them, tugging a blast cannon inexpertly into position.

Barris fired. From behind him, pencil beams cut past him toward the cannon. The cannon fired once, crazily. The roof of the corridor dissolved; clouds of ash rolled around them. Barris moved forward. Now the blast cannon was in ruins. The Unity guards were pulling back, firing as they retreated.

“Mine crew,” Barris snapped.

The mine crew advanced and released their sucker mines. The mines leaped down the corridor toward the retreating Unity guards. At the sight the guards broke and fled; the mines exploded, hurling streamers of flame against the walls.

“Here we go,” Barris said. Crouching, he hurried along the corridor, clutching the fission bomb tight. Beyond a turn the Unity guards were shutting an emergency lock.

“Get them!” Barris shouted.

Fields ran past him, galloping in long-legged strides, his arms windmilling. His pencil beam traced a ribbon of ash across the surface of the lock; intricate bits of mechanism flew into the air. Behind the lock Unity teams were bringing up more mobile cannons. A few hammers fluttered around their heads, screaming instructions.

Following Fields, Barris reached the lock. Their men swarmed past them, firing into the narrow breach. A hammer sailed out, straight at Barris; he caught a vision of glittering metal eyes, clutching claws—and then the hammer winked out, caught by a pencil beam.

Fields seated himself on the floor by the hinge-rim of the lock. His expert fingers traced across the impulse leads. A sudden flash. The lock trembled and sagged. Barris threw his weight against it. The lock gave. Gradually it slid back, leaving a widened gap.

“Get in,” Barris ordered.

His men poured through, crashing against the barricade hastily erected by the Unity guards. Hammers dived on them frantically, smashing at their heads.

Pushing past, Barris glanced around. A series of corridors twisted off in different directions. He hesitated.

Can I do it?
he asked himself.

Taking a deep, unsteady breath, he sprinted away from Fields and the soldiers, along a side corridor. The sound of fighting died as he raced up a ramp. A door slid open automatically for him; as it shut behind him he slowed, panting.

A moment later he was walking briskly along a passage, in the silence far away from the hectic activity. He came to an elevator, halted, and touched a stud. The elevator at once made itself available to him. Entering, he permitted it to carry him upward.

This is the only way, he told himself. He forced himself to remain calm as the elevator carried him farther and farther away from Vulcan 3 and the scene of the activity.
No direct assault will
work.

At an upper level he stopped the elevator and stepped out.

A group of Unity officials stood about, conferring. Clerks and executives. Gray-clad men and women who glanced at him briefly or not at all. He caught a glimpse of office doors . . . without pausing, he began to walk.

He came presently onto a foyer, from which branched several corridors. Behind a turnstile sat a robot checker, inactive; no one was using its facilities. At the presence of Barris it lit up.

“Credentials, sir,” it said.

“Director,” he said, displaying his stripe.

Ahead of him the turnstile remained fixed. “This portion of the area is classified,” the robot said. “What is your business and by whose authority are you attempting to enter?”

Barris said sharply, “My own authority. Open up; this is urgent.”

It was his tone that the robot caught, rather than the words. The turnstile rattled aside; the habitual pattern of the assembly, its robot controller included, had been activated as it had been many times in the past. “Pardon intrusion into urgent business, Director,” the robot said, and at once shut off; its light died.

Back to sleep, Barris thought grimly.

He continued on until he came to an express descent ramp. At once he stepped onto it; the ramp plunged, and he was on his way back down again. To the bottom level—and Vulcan 3.

Several guards stood about in the corridor as Barris stepped from the ramp. They glanced at him and started to come to attention. Then one of them gave a convulsive grimace; his hand fumbled stupidly at his belt.

Bringing out his pencil beam, Barris fired. The guard, headless, sank to one side and then collapsed; the other guards stared in disbelief, paralyzed.

“Traitor,” Barris said. “Right here, in our midst.”

The guards gaped at him.

“Where’s Director Reynolds?” Barris said.

Gulping, one of the guards said, “In office six, sir. Down that way.” Half pointing, he bent over the remains of his companion; the others gathered around.

“Can you get him out here for me?” Barris demanded. “Or am I supposed to go search him up?”

One of the guards murmured, “If you want to wait here, sir . . .”

“Wait here, hell,” Barris said. “Are we all supposed to stand around while they break in and slaughter us? You know they’re through in two places—they have those gopher bores going.”

While the guards stammered out some sort of answer, he turned and strode off in the direction that the guard had indicated.

No Unity minion, he said to himself, will ever argue with a Director; it might cost him his job.

Or, in this case, his life.

As soon as the guards were out of sight behind him he turned off the corridor. A moment later he came out into a well-lighted major artery. The floor beneath his feet hummed and vibrated, and as he walked along he felt the intensity of action increase.

He was getting close, now. The center of Vulcan 3 was not far off.

The passage made an abrupt turn to the right. He followed, and found himself facing a young T-class official and two guards. All three men were armed. They seemed to be in the process of pushing a metal cart loaded with punchcards; he identified the cards as a medium by which data were presented, under certain circumstances, to the Vulcan computers. This official, then, was part of the feed-teams.

“Who are you?” Barris said, before the young official could speak. “What’s your authority for being in this area? Let’s see written permission.”

The young official said, “My name is Larson, Director. I was directly responsible to Jason Dill before his death.” Eyeing Barris, he smiled respectfully and said, “I saw you several times with Mr. Dill, sir. When you were here involving the reconstruction of Vulcan 2.”

“I believe I noticed you,” Barris said.

Pushing his cart along, Larson said, “I have to feed these at once to Vulcan 3; with your permission I’ll go along. How’s the fighting going on above? Someone says they’ve broken in somewhere. I heard a lot of noise.” Clearly agitated, but concerned only with his clearly laid-out task, Larson continued, “Amazing how active Vulcan 3 is, after being inactive for so many months. He’s come up with quite a number of effective weapons to deal with the situation.”

Glancing at Barris shrewdly, he said, “Isn’t it probable that Reynolds will be the new Managing Director? His able prosecution of Dill, the way he exposed the various—” He broke off in order to manipulate the combination of a huge set of barrier-doors. The doors swung open—

And there, ahead of Barris, was a vast chamber. At the far end he saw a wall of metal, perfectly blank. The side of a cube, one part of something that receded into the structure of the building; he caught only a glimpse of it, an impression.

“There it is,” Larson said to him. “Peaceful here, in comparison to what’s going on above ground. You wouldn’t think he— I mean, it—had anything to do with the action against the Healers. And yet it’s all being directed from here.” He and his two guards pushed the cart of data-cards forward. “Care to come closer?” Larson asked Barris; showing him that he knew everything of importance. “You can watch the way the data are fed. It’s quite interesting.”

Passing by Barris, Larson began directing the removal of the cards; he had the guards load up with them. Standing behind the three men, Barris reached into his coat. His fingers closed over the onion-shaped object.

As he drew the fission bomb out, he saw, on Larson’s sleeve, a shiny metal bug; it clung there, riding along, its antennae quivering. For a moment Barris thought, It’s an insect. Some natural life form that brushed against him when he was above ground, in the forest.

The shiny metal bug flew up into the air. He heard the highfrequency whine as it passed him, and knew it then. A tiny hammer, a version of the basic type. For observation. It had been aware of him from the moment Larson encountered him.

Seeing him staring at the bug as it zipped away from them, Larson said, “Another one. There’s been one hanging around me all day. It was clinging to my work smock for a while.” He added, “Vulcan 3 uses them for relaying messages. I’ve seen a number of them around.”

From the tiny hammer an ear-splitting squeal dinned out at the two men.
“Stop him! Stop him at once!”

Larson blinked in bewilderment.

Holding onto the bomb, Barris strode toward the face of Vulcan 3. He did not run; he walked swiftly and silently.

“Stop him, Larson!”
the hammer shrilled.
“He’s here to destroy
me! Make him get away from me!”

Gripping the bomb tightly, Barris began to run.

A pencil beam fired past him; he crouched and ran on, zigzagging back and forth.

“If you let him destroy me you’ll destroy the world!”
A second tiny hammer appeared, dancing in the air before Barris.
“Madman!”

He heard, from other parts of the chamber, the abuse piping at him from other mobile extensions.
“Monster!”

Again a heat beam slashed past him; he half-fell, and, drawing out his own pencil, turned and fired directly back. He saw a brief scene: Larson with the two guards, firing at him in confusion, trying not to hit the wall of Vulcan 3. His own beam touched one of the guards; he ceased firing at once and fell writhing.

“Listen to me!”
a full-sized hammer blared, skipping into the chamber and directly at Barris. In desperate fury the hammer crashed at him, missing him and bursting apart against the concrete floor, its pieces spewing over him.

“While there’s still time!”
another took up.
“Get him away,
feed-team leader! He’s killing me!”

With his pencil beam, Barris shot down a hammer as it emerged above him; he had not seen it come into the chamber. The hammer, only damaged, fluttered down. Struggling toward him, across the floor, it screeched,
“We can agree! We can come to
an arrangement!”

On and on he ran.

“This can be negotiated! There is no basic disagreement!”

Raising his arm, he hurled the bomb.

“Barris! Barris! Please do not—”

From the intricate power supply of the bomb came a faint
pop
. Barris threw himself down, his arms over his face. An ocean of white light lapped up at him, picking him up and sweeping him away.

I got it, he thought. I was successful.

A monstrous hot wind licked at him as he drifted; he skidded on, along with the wind. Debris and flaming rubbish burst over and around him. A surface far away hurtled at him. He doubled up, his head averted, and then he flew through the surface; it split and gave way, and he went on, tumbling into darkness, swept on by the tides of wind and heat.

His last thought was,
It was worth it. Vulcan 3 is dead!

Father Fields sat watching a hammer. The hammer wobbled. It hesitated in its frantic, aimless flight. And then it spiraled to the floor.

One by one, dropping silently, the hammers crashed down and lay still. Inert heaps of metal and plastic, nothing more. Without motion. Their screeching voices had ceased.

What a relief, he said to himself.

Getting to his feet he walked shakily over to the four medical corpsmen. “How is he?” he said.

Without looking up, the corpsman said, “We’re making progress. His chest was extensively damaged. We’ve plugged in an exterior heart-lung system, and it’s giving rapid assistance.” The semiautomatic surgical tools crept across the body of William Barris, exploring, repairing. They seemed to have virtually finished with the chest; now they had turned their attention to his broken shoulder.

“We’ll need boneforms,” one of the corpsmen said. Glancing around he said, “We don’t have any here with us. He’ll have to be flown back to Geneva.”

“Fine,” Fields said. “Get him started.”

The litter slid expertly under Barris and began lifting him.

“That traitor,” a voice beside Fields said.

He turned his head and saw Director Reynolds standing there, gazing at Barris. The man’s clothing was torn, and over his left eye was a deep gash. Fields said, “You’re out of a job now.”

With absolute bitterness, Reynolds said, “And so are you. What becomes of the great crusade, now that Vulcan 3 is gone? Do you have any other constructive programs to offer?”

“Time will tell,” Fields said. He walked along beside the litter as it carried Barris up the ramp to the waiting ship.

“You did very well,” Fields said. He lit a cigarette and placed it between Barris’ parted lips. “Better not start talking. Those surgical robots are still fussing over you.” He indicated the several units at work on the man’s ruined shoulder.

“Do any of the computing components of Vulcan 3 . . .” Barris murmured weakly.

“Some survived,” Fields said. “Enough for your purposes. You can add and subtract, anyhow, using what’s left.” Seeing the worry on the injured man’s face he said, “I’m joking. A great deal survived. Don’t worry. They can patch up the parts you want. As a matter of fact, I can probably lend a hand. I still have some skill.”

“The structure of Unity will be different,” Barris said.

“Yes,” Fields said.

“We’ll broaden our base. We have to.”