"Tagging me?"
"That"s their way. They tag along with you. Into the bunker. That"s how they get in."
Hendricks blinked, dazed. "But--"
"Come on." They led him toward the ridge. "We can"t stay here. It isn"t safe. There must be hundreds of them all around here."
The three of them pulled him up the side of the ridge, sliding and slipping on the ash. The woman reached the top and stood waiting for them.
"The forward command," Hendricks muttered. "I came to negotiate with the Soviet--"
"There is no more forward command. _They_ got in. We"ll explain." They reached 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 manhole cover set in the ground. "Get in."
Hendricks lowered himself. The two soldiers and the woman came behind him, following him down the ladder. The woman closed the lid after them, bolting it tightly into place.
"Good thing we saw you," one of the two soldiers grunted. "It had tagged you about as far as it was going to."
"Give me one of your cigarettes," the woman said. "I haven"t had an American cigarette for weeks."
Hendricks pushed the pack to her. She took a cigarette and pa.s.sed the pack to the two soldiers. In the corner of the small room the lamp gleamed fitfully. The room was low-ceilinged, cramped. The four of them sat around a small wood table. A few dirty dishes were stacked to one side. Behind a ragged curtain a second room was partly visible.
Hendricks saw the corner of a cot, some blankets, clothes hung on a hook.
"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 man with thinning hair. Epstein plucked nervously at his ear. "Austrian.
Impressed G.o.d knows when. I don"t remember. The three of us were here, Rudi and I, with Ta.s.so." He indicated the woman. "That"s how we escaped. 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 tagged you. 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 Variety Three. The most effective."
"What are the other types?"
Epstein reached into his coat. "Here." He tossed a packet of photographs 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. The Russians, I mean. We found out about a week ago. Found out that your claws were beginning to make up new designs on their own. New types of their own. Better types. Down in your underground factories behind our lines. You let them stamp themselves, repair themselves. Made them more and more intricate. It"s your fault this happened."
Hendricks examined the photos. They had been snapped hurriedly; they were blurred and indistinct. The first few showed--David. David walking along a road, by himself. David and another David. Three Davids. All exactly alike. Each with a ragged teddy bear.
All pathetic.
"Look at the others," Ta.s.so said.
The next pictures, taken at a great distance, showed a towering wounded soldier sitting by the side of a path, his arm in a sling, the stump of one leg extended, a crude crutch on his lap. Then two wounded soldiers, both the same, standing side by side.
"That"s Variety One. The Wounded Soldier." Klaus reached out and took the pictures. "You see, the claws were designed to get to human beings. To find them. Each kind was better than the last. They got farther, closer, past most of our defenses, into our lines. But as long as they were merely _machines_, metal spheres with claws and horns, feelers, they could be picked off like any other object. They could be detected as lethal robots as soon as they were seen. Once we caught sight of them--"
"Variety One subverted our whole north wing," Rudi said. "It was a long 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 them in. And as soon as they were in they took over. We were watching out for machines...."
"At that time it was thought there was only the one type," Klaus Epstein said. "No one suspected there were other types. The pictures were flashed to us. When the runner was sent to you, we knew of just one type. Variety One. The big Wounded Soldier. We thought that was all."
"Your line fell to--"
"To Variety Three. David and his bear. That worked even better." Klaus smiled bitterly. "Soldiers are suckers for children. We brought them in and tried to feed them. We found out the hard way what they were after. At least, those who were in the bunker."
"The three of us were lucky," Rudi said. "Klaus and I were--were visiting Ta.s.so when it happened. This is her place." He waved a big hand around. "This little cellar. We finished and climbed the ladder to start back. From the ridge we saw. There they were, all around the bunker. Fighting was still going on. David and his bear. Hundreds of them. 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 his arm. "Can they--"
"They"re not bothered by your radiation tabs. It makes no difference to them, Russian, American, Pole, German. It"s all the same. They"re doing 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 constructed them from the very start. Of course, those you designed were kept back by the radiation tabs you wear. Now they"ve got around that. These new varieties are lead-lined."
"What"s the other variety?" Hendricks asked. "The David type, the Wounded Soldier--what"s the other?"
"We don"t know." Klaus pointed up at the wall. On the wall were two metal plates, ragged at the edges. Hendricks got up and studied them.
They were bent and dented.
"The one on the left came off a Wounded Soldier," Rudi said. "We got one of them. It was going along toward our old bunker. We got it from the ridge, the same way we got the David tagging you."
The plate was stamped: I-V. Hendricks touched the other plate. "And this came from the David type?"
"Yes." The plate was stamped: III-V.