Vulcan's Hammer

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."

Fields gazed out of the ship's window, ignoring the in­jured man. At last Barris gave up trying to talk. His eyes shut; Fields took the cigarette as it rolled from the man's lips onto his shirt.

"We'll talk later," Fields said, finishing the cigarette himself.

The ship droned on, in the direction of Geneva.

Looking out at the empty sky, Fields thought, Nice not to see those things flying around. When one died they all died. Strange, to realize that we've seen our last one... the last hammer to go buzzing, screeching about, attacking and bombing, laying waste wherever it goes.

Kill the trunk, as Barris had said.

The man was right about a lot of things, Fields said to himself. He was the only one who could have gotten all the way in; they did manage to stop the rest of us. The attack bogged down, until those things stopped flying. And then it didn't matter.

I wonder if he's right about the rest?

In the hospital room at Geneva, Barris sat propped up in bed, facing Fields. "What information can you give me on the analysis of the remains?" he said. "I have a hazy memory of the trip here; you said that most of the memory elements survived."

"You're so anxious to rebuild it," Fields said.

"As an instrument," Barris said. "Not a master. That was the agreement between us. You have to permit a con­tinuation of rational use of machines. None of this emo­tional 'scrap the machines' business. None of your Move­ment slogans."

Fields nodded. "If you really think you can keep control in the right hands. In our hands. I have nothing against machines as such; I was very fond of Vulcan 2. Up to a point."

"At that point," Barris said, "you demolished it."

The two men regarded each other.

"I'll keep hands off," Fields said. "It's a fair deal. You delivered; you got in there and blew the thing up. I admit that."

Barris grunted, but said nothing.

"You'll put an end to the cult of the technocrat?" Fields said. "For experts only-run by and for those oriented around verbal knowledge; I'm so damn sick of that. Mind stuff-as if manual skills like bricklaying and pipe-fitting weren't worth talking about. As if all the people who work with their hands, the skill of their fingers-" He broke off. "I'm tired of having those people looked down on."

Barris said, "I don't blame you."

"We'll co-operate," Fields said. "With you priests in gray-as we've been calling you in our pamphlets. But take care. If the aristocracy of slide rules and pastel ties and polished black shoes starts to get out of hand again ..." He pointed at the street far below the window. 'You'll hear us out there again."

"Don't threaten me," Barris said quietly.

Fields flushed. "I'm not threatening you. I'm pointing out the facts to you. If we're excluded from the ruling elite, why should we co-operate?"

There was silence then.

"What do you want done about Atlanta?" Barris said finally.

"We can agree on that," Fields said. He flipped his cigarette away; bending, he retrieved it and crushed it out. "I want to see that place taken apart piece by piece. Until it's a place to keep cows. A pasture land. With plenty of trees."

"Good," Barris said.

"Can my daughter come in for a while?" Fields said. "Rachel. She'd like to talk to you."

"Maybe later," Barris said. "I still have a lot of things to work out in my mind."

"She wants you to start action going against Taubma

Fields said, "I think there ought to be an amnesty. To end that stuff once and for all. Keep Taubma

"Even a correct suspicion," Barris said, "is still a suspi­cion."

Showing his relief, Fields said, "We all have plenty to do. Plenty of rebuilding. "We'll have enough on our hands."

"Too bad Jason Dill isn't here to admonish us," Barris said.

"He'd enjoy writing out the directives and public presen­tations of the reconstruction work." Suddenly he said, "You were working for Vulcan 2 and Dill was working for Vulcan 2. You were both carrying out its policies toward Vulcan 3. Do you think Vulcan 2 was jealous of Vulcan 3? They may have been mechanical constructs, but as far as we were concerned they had all the tendencies of two contending entities-each out to get the other."

Fields murmured, "And each lining up supporters. Following your analysis..." He paused, his face dark with introspection.