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On and on they struggled, rolling in the wet soil. Without sound of any kind. Performing the wrathful, ultimate task for which each had been designed.
“I can’t imagine,” Mary Fields murmured, shaking her head. “I just don’t know.”
“Do you suppose some animal did it?” Tom conjectured. “Are there any big dogs in the neighborhood?”
“No. There was a big red Irish setter, but they moved away, to the country. That was Mr. Petty’s dog.”
The two of them watched, troubled and disturbed. Na
“I just don’t understand,” Mary repeated. “I’ll call the repair place and see what they say. Tom, it must have happened sometime during the night. While we were asleep. The noises I heard—”
“Shhh,” Tom muttered warningly. Na
“Wonder what?”
“I wonder if this will happen again.” She glanced up suddenly at her husband, eyes full of worry. “You know how the children love her … and they need her so. They just wouldn’t be safe without her. Would they?”
“Maybe it won’t happen again,” Tom said soothingly. “Maybe it was an accident.” But he didn’t believe it; he knew better. What had happened was no accident.
From the garage he backed his surface cruiser, maneuvered it until its loading entrance was locked against the rear door of the house. It took only a moment to load the sagging, dented Na
The serviceman, in grease-stained white overalls, met him at the entrance. “Troubles?” he asked wearily; behind him, in the depths of the block-long building, stood rows of battered Na
Tom said nothing. He ordered the Na
Shaking his head, the serviceman crawled to his feet and wiped grease from his hands. “That’s going to run into money,” he said. “The whole neural transmission’s out.”
His throat dry, Tom demanded: “Ever seen anything like this before? It didn’t break; you know that. It was demolished.”
“Sure,” the serviceman agreed tonelessly. “It pretty much got taken down a peg. On the basis of those missing chunks—” He indicated the dented anterior hull-sections. “I’d guess it was one of Mecho’s new jaw-models.”
Tom Fields’s blood stopped moving in his veins. “Then this isn’t new to you,” he said softly, his chest constricting. “This goes on all the time.”
“Well, Mecho just put out that jaw-model. It’s not half bad … costs about twice what this model ran. Of course,” the serviceman added thoughtfully, “we have an equivalent. We can match their best, and for less money.”
Keeping his voice as calm as possible, Tom said: “I want this one fixed. I’m not getting another.”
“I’ll do what I can. But it won’t be the same as it was. The damage goes pretty deep. I’d advise you to trade it in-you can get damn near what you paid. With the new models coming out in a month or so, the salesmen are eager as hell to—”
“Let me get this straight.” Shakily, Tom Fields lit up a cigarette. “You people really don’t want to fix these, do you? You want to sell brand-new ones, when these break down.” He eyed the repairman intently. “Break down, or are knocked down.”
The repairman shrugged. “It seems like a waste of time to fix it up. It’s going to get finished off, anyhow, soon.” He kicked the misshapen green hull with his boot. “This model is around three years old. Mister, it’s obsolete.”
“Fix it up,” Tom grated. He was begi
“Sure,” the serviceman said, resigned. He began making out a work-order sheet. “We’ll do our best. But don’t expect miracles.”
While Tom Fields was jerkily signing his name to the sheet, two more damaged Na
“When can I get it back?” he demanded.
“It’ll take a couple of days,” the mechanic said, nodding toward the rows of semi-repaired Na
“I’ll wait,” Tom said tautly. “Even if it takes a month.”
“Let’s go to the park!” Jean cried.
So they went to the park.
It was a lovely day, with the sun shining down hotly and the grass and flowers blowing in the wind. The two children strolled along the gravel path, breathing the warm-scented air, taking deep breaths and holding the presence of roses and hydrangeas and orange blossoms inside them as long as possible. They passed through a swaying grove of dark, rich cedars. The ground was soft with mold underfoot, the velvet, moist fur of a living world beneath their feet. Beyond the cedars, where the sun returned and the blue sky flashed back into being, a great green lawn stretched out.
Behind them Na
“What’s the matter, Na
“Something’s wrong with her,” Jean complained. “She’s been all fu
“She was in the repair shop,” Bobby a
A little sadly they continued on, with Na
“There’s the lake!” Jean shouted, her spirits returning.
The great field of grass sloped gradually down, lower and lower. At the far end, the lowest end, lay a path, a gravel trail, and beyond that, a blue lake. The two children scampered excitedly, filled with ancitipation. They hurried faster and faster down the carefully-graded slope, Na
“The lake!”
“Last one there’s a dead Martian stinko-bug!”
Breathlessly, they rushed across the path, onto the tiny strip of green bank against which the water lapped. Bobby threw himself down on his hands and knees, laughing and panting and peering down into the water. Jean settled down beside him, smoothing her dress tidily into place. Deep in the cloudy-blue water some tadpoles and mi
At one end of the lake some children were floating boats with flapping white sails. At a bench a fat man sat laboriously reading a book, a pipe jammed in his mouth. A young man and woman strolled along the edge of the lake together, arm in arm, intent on each other, oblivious of the world around them.
“I wish we had a boat,” Bobby said wistfully.
Grinding and clashing, Na