Philip Dick - Second Variety

The Russian soldier made his way nervously up the ragged side of the hill, holding his gun ready. He glanced around him, licking his dry lips, his face set. From time to time he reached up a gloved hand and wiped perspiration from his neck, pushing down his coat collar.

Eric turned to Corporal Leone. Want him? Or can I have him? He adjusted the view sight so the Russians features squarely filled the glass, the lines cutting across his hard, somber features.

Leone considered. The Russian was close, moving rapidly, almost running. Dont fire. Wait. Leone tensed. I dont think were needed.

The Russian increased his pace, kicking ash and piles of debris out of his way. He reached the top of the hill and stopped, panting, staring around him. The sky was overcast, drifting clouds of gray particles. Bare trunks of trees jutted up occasionally; the ground was level and bare, rubble-strewn, with the ruins of buildings standing out here and there like yellowing skulls.

The Russian was uneasy. He knew something was wrong. He started down the hill. Now he was only a few paces from the bunker. Eric was getting fidgety. He played with his pistol, glancing at Leone.

Dont worry, Leone said. He wont get here. Theyll take care of him.

Are you sure? Hes got damn far.

They hang around close to the bunker. Hes getting into the bad part. Get set!

The Russian began to hurry, sliding down the hill, his boots sinking into the heaps of gray ash, trying to keep his gun up. He stopped for a moment, lifting his fieldglasses to his face.

Hes looking right at us, Eric said.

The Russian came on. They could see his eyes, like two blue stones. His mouth was open a little. He needed a shave; his chin was stubbled. On one bony cheek was a square of tape, showing blue at the edge. A fungoid spot. His coat was muddy and torn. One glove was missing. As he ran his belt counter bounced up and down against him.

Leone touched Erics arm. Here one comes.

Across the ground something small and metallic came, flashing in the dull sunlight of mid-day. A metal sphere. It raced up the hill after the Russian, its treads flying. It was small, one of the baby ones. Its claws were out, two razor projections spinning in a blur of white steel. The Russian heard it. He turned instantly, firing. The sphere dissolved into particles. But already a second had emerged and was following the first. The Russian fired again.

A third sphere leaped up the Russians leg, clicking and whirring. It jumped to the shoulder. The spinning blades disappeared into the Russians throat.

Eric relaxed. Well, thats that. God, those damn things give me the creeps. Sometimes I think we were better off before.

If we hadnt invented them, they would have. Leone lit a cigarette shakily. I wonder why a Russian would come all this way alone. I didnt see anyone covering him.

Lt. Scott came slipping up the tunnel, into the bunker. What happened? Something entered the screen.

An Ivan.

Just one?

Eric brought the view screen around. Scott peered into it. Now there were numerous metal spheres crawling over the prostrate body, dull metal globes clicking and whirring, sawing up the Russian into small parts to be carried away.

What a lot of claws, Scott murmured.

They come like flies. Not much game for them any more.

Scott pushed the sight away, disgusted. Like flies. I wonder why he was out there. They know we have claws all around.

A larger robot had joined the smaller spheres. It was directing operations, a long blunt tube with projecting eyepieces. There was not much left of the soldier. What remained was being brought down the hillside by the host of claws.

Sir, Leone said. If its all right, Id like to go out there and take a look at him.

Why?

Maybe he came with something.

Scott considered. He shrugged. All right. But be careful.

I have my tab. Leone patted the metal band at his wrist. Ill be out of bounds.

He picked up his rifle and stepped carefully up to the mouth of the bunker, making his way between blocks of concrete and steel prongs, twisted and bent. The air was cold at the top. He crossed over the ground toward the remains of the soldier, striding across the soft ash. A wind blew around him, swirling gray particles up in his face. He squinted and pushed on.

The claws retreated as he came close, some of them stiffening into immobility. He touched his tab. The Ivan would have given something for that! Short hard radiation emitted from the tab neutralized the claws, put them out of commission. Even the big robot with its two waving eyestalks retreated respectfully as he approached.

He bent down over the remains of the soldier. The gloved hand was closed tightly. There was something in it. Leone pried the fingers apart. A sealed container, aluminum. Still shiny.

He put it in his pocket and made his way back to the bunker. Behind him the claws came back to life, moving into operation again. The procession resumed, metal spheres moving through the gray ash with their loads. He could hear their treads scrabbling against the ground. He shuddered.

Scott watched intently as he brought the shiny tube out of his pocket. He had that?

In his hand. Leone unscrewed the top. Maybe you should look at it, sir.

Scott took it. He emptied the contents out in the palm of his hand. A small piece of silk paper, carefully folded. He sat down by the light and unfolded it.

Whats it say, sir? Eric said. Several officers came up the tunnel. Major Hendricks appeared.

Major, Scott said. Look at this.

Hendricks read the slip. This just come?

A single runner. Just now.

Where is he? Hendricks asked sharply.

The claws got him.

Major Hendricks grunted. Here. He passed it to his companions. I think this is what weve been waiting for. They certainly took their time about it.

So they want to talk terms, Scott said. Are we going along with them?

Thats not for us to decide. Hendricks sat down. Wheres the communications officer? I want the Moon Base.

Leone pondered as the communications officer raised the outside antenna cautiously, scanning the sky above the bunker for any sign of a watching Russian ship.

Sir, Scott said to Hendricks. Its sure strange they suddenly came around. Weve been using the claws for almost a year. Now all of a sudden they start to fold.

Maybe claws have been getting down in their bunkers.

One of the big ones, the kind with stalks, got into an Ivan bunker last week, Eric said. It got a whole platoon of them before they got their lid shut.

How do you know?

A buddy told me. The thing came back withwith remains.

Moon Base, sir, the communications officer said.

On the screen the face of the lunar monitor appeared. His crisp uniform contrasted to the uniforms in the bunker. And he was clean shaven. Moon Base.

This is forward command L-Whistle. On Terra. Let me have General Thompson.

The monitor faded. Presently General Thompsons heavy features came into focus. What is it, Major?

Our claws got a single Russian runner with a message. We dont know whether to act on itthere have been tricks like this in the past.

Whats the message?

The Russians want us to send a single officer on policy level over to their lines. For a conference. They dont state the nature of the conference. They say that matters of He consulted the slip. Matters of grave urgency make it advisable that discussion be opened between a representative of the UN forces and themselves.