"You figure we've got a siege coming up?"
"Not if I can help it," said Cardan. "But you never know."
The lights had now come on brightly once more, and Cardan again glanced at Maclane huddled with a little group at the sets. Everything seemed under control, so Cardan spent several minutes seeing that everyone was inside, and that the subbasement was sealed off from the rest of the building, then he activated the TV pickups that enabled the men inside to see what was going on outside the building. He set some men to watch the screens, had others practicing with the weapons, and made arrangements for them to change off later on. Miss Bowen told him that most phone lines out of Milford had been knocked out, but a roundabout route was apparently still in operation for emergency use. Cardan nodded, and put her to work with the groceries and canned goods, in a corner fitted with a large, awkwardly-arranged collection of outdated cooking appliances that struck Cardan as the ideal kitchen.
"Hey, Barbara," shouted Smitty, with a grin, "Suppose we're marooned down here—the last woman on Earth, plus umpteen men."
Barbara Bowen grinned and picked up a can. "There won't be too many left after I serve my first meal. How do you open this, anyway?"
Smitty winced, and then Cardan saw Maclane gesturing to him frantically.
"Look at this," said Maclane, and Cardan put on one of the headsets. Around the table were other circuits and other men wearing the headsets, but they vanished as Cardan abruptly saw a view down the highway from the north, the traffic jam of cars in front of him in the background, a large lattice of bright metal bars growing up on the highway directly in front of him, between his point of view and the jammed traffic, and large gray-faced men pacing back and forth holding the ends of cables that looped skyward to where floating pieces of machinery edged long bright rods into the growing lattice.
Maclane said, "It's now or never, Chief. That Lawrence of Arabia stuff sounded good upstairs, but we're up against trouble now. I've got an awful hunch that if they once get that grid completed, we aren't going to stop them, ever."
Cardan looked over the grid. To him, it appeared to be just a big metal framework. That it was being fitted together with great precision seemed clear enough, but what could it do? Then he noted the cables running out to the framework, and paused to consider. The thing looked harmless. But so did a live wire, or a stick of dynamite with the fuse burning short. He studied the tense concentrated expressions of the workers operating the control cables that ran up to the overhead machines that handled the long rods. Some of these creatures had a look that appeared to Cardan like barely-suppressed jubilation.
Maclane's voice said tensely, "I can't even budge one of those rods. I've tried to swing it when it's being lowered into place. But I can't move it at all."
Cardan growled, "You can get a good grip on something light, can't you?"
"Sure, but how will that stop them?"
"You see that cat-faced clod just guiding a beam into place?"
"I see him."
"He's got a good thick head of hair. Take hold of a few strands, fasten your attention on them, and pull."
"Yes," said Maclane thoughtfully. "Yes, now I get it."
Cardan glanced around at the hill sloping up to one side of the highway, the ditch carrying run-off water at the base of the hillside, and on the other side of the road, the flat lowland with the wrecked planes and downed power lines. Not finding just what he wanted, he continued to look around, and his gaze passed across the traffic jam of deserted cars, some overturned and still smoking, and one with its transmission smashed, and gears and roller bearings strewn over the pavement beside it.
Cardan centered his attention on this smashed transmission, and his viewpoint seemed to slide forward as he studied the roller bearings, and then dwelt minutely and exclusively on each one in turn. After a while he had much the feeling of a man who has examined the operation of a complex machine, one element at a time, and now sees the thing as a whole, and has a good idea what he can do with it. Then as Cardan focused his attention on them, one-by-one, the bearings began to roll.
For an instant, he felt the same startled sensation he had had years ago, when he first pressed the accelerator of a car, and it abruptly moved forward with him. Then he was no longer thinking of the uneasy unfamiliar sensation, but was concentrating wholly on what he wanted to do.
The bearings rolled together in a small heap. Then, like wasps rising from an underground nest, they began to lift into the air. Cardan sent them, fast and low, down the highway toward the huge grid.
Beside the grid, one of the cat-faced machine-operators abruptly slapped at the back of his head. Beside Cardan, Maclane made a low noise in his throat. The operator jerked again, and twisted around angrily. Several of the other operators opened their mouths to shout as the rod overhead began to teeter dangerously.
Cardan's bearings were approaching rapidly.
The operator spread one hand over the top of his head, and with the other on the controls steadied the rod-shaped beam. A small fistful of hair visible between his spread fingers straightened out abruptly. This time the alien did not jump, but quickly moved his hand further over to ease the pain. Overhead, the beam paused, then started down again. Several more strands of hair straightened out painfully. The beam overhead stopped again. The operator, obviously fighting to keep himself under control, moved his hand again, then once more carefully began to lower the beam. Apparently to get a better view of it as it lowered, he took a step backward.
Cardan slid the bearings in under the raised foot as it came down.
The foot slipped, and shot back.
The alien took a lightning hop backwards with his other foot.
Cardan shot the roller bearings forward.
The other foot slipped.
The powerful figure of the alien landed on its knees, braced on one hand, with the other hand still gripping the controls at the end of the long cable that looped down from the machine.
Cardan looked up. Overhead, the machine had tilted and twisted sidewise, in such a way that the rod it held should have whipped forward and struck the grid. But another handling machine, controlled by one of the other operators, had taken hold of the end of the rod, and held it back. The rod was bent, but the grid itself wasn't damaged.
Maclane's voice said, "They've apparently got that thing finished except for one last beam."
Cardan was studying the controls that worked the handling machine. The operator had five fingers and a thumb, and each one of them disappeared into a hole in a thing like a partially flattened bowling ball on the end of the cable that dangled from the machine. Cardan brought up several of his bearings and rapped them sharply against the knuckle of the alien's index finger.
The handling machine jerked sharply upward.
The machine operator, in a display of vigor and resiliency, sprang back to his feet, glanced at his hand, and began to shout a warning to the others.
Cardan changed direction on the roller bearings, and shot about half of them into the open mouth.
A succession of spasms passed across the catlike face. The creature clapped a hand over its mouth, and suddenly dropped to the ground.
The control cable dangled free.
Cardan slammed a bearing in the index-finger hole of the control box.
The handling machine shot skyward.
Using his remaining roller-bearings like so many fingers, Cardan experimented with the control box. The various studs at the bottoms of the finger holes respectively raised the machine, moved it forward, moved it to the right, rotated the whole machine counterclockwise, or tilted it forward. The harder the pressure, the more rapid the motion. The thumbhole had two separate studs, one of which, Cardan found, reversed the action of the finger-controls. That was all he wanted to know.
Maclane gave a low exclamation. "They've finished it!"
Cardan, swinging the handling machine back and down, had the impression of a dull flash from below. When he had the machine well back
and at about the height of the grid, he glanced forward.
Rolling out from under the raised grid, was a thing like a heavy tank blown up to several times its natural size, and fitted with an assortment of unconventional antennae atop its massive turret. Around the grid, them machine operators were grinning widely.
Cardan pressed one of the studs of the control box. The handling machine began to move forward. Cardan pressed harder.
Beneath the grid, a kind of fog sprang into existence as the monstrous tank rolled clear. A vague shape began to loom through the fog.
Cardan lifted the machine slightly as it gathered speed.
Below, someone was running, and waving his arms. Somewhere, someone raised a weapon. One of the antennae atop the tank began to swing around.
Cardan pressed harder on the control stud.
The machine slammed headlong into the grid. There was a sense of rending vibration, then a blinding flash.
For several seconds, Cardan couldn't see. Then he could make out the warped structure of the grid, tilted and bent. Around it, a number of figures were lying motionless. Several handling machines drifted nearby, their control cables untended. The foglike appearance that had been under the grid was gone now, and so was whatever had been looming through it. But the monster tank was swinging its turret around and slowly elevating what looked like an enormous gun. The turret stopped moving. At the mouth of the gun, there was a blur.
Miss Bowen's voice reached Cardan. "Sir, General Whitely is on the line and wants to talk to you right away."
"Take a message if he wants to leave one. I can't talk to him now."
Somewhere there was a thud, and a heavy, dull boom. Cardan felt the concrete floor beneath him move perceptibly.
The turret of the huge tank began to move again.
Cardan looked around, saw where the first machine operator had been violently ill, and recovered several of his roller bearings.
There was another blur at the gun mounted on the turret of the tank.
Maclane said, "Look. On the mall."
Behind the tank, creeping up the grassy strip between the double lanes of stalled traffic, came Cardan's steam-powered car, with Donovan crouched at the wheel. As Cardan stared, the steam car glided closer, steadily closing the distance between itself and the monster tank.
There was a heavy boom, and the earth jumped beneath Cardan.
The turret of the tank began to move again.
Cardan had the controls of one of the handling machines, and gently easing it to the side, and up.
One of the antennae atop the tank turret moved around. There was a faint shimmer in the air around it. The handling machine glowed near the spot where the control cable entered it, and suddenly blew apart.
Cardan immediately got control of another machine, and jerked it fast to the side.
The antennae turned slightly, and the machine blew up.
Cardan got another, and dropped it fast, to put it directly in line with a group of aliens running toward the grid. Keeping right in line with them, so the tank could not fire at him without having them in the line of fire, too, he sent it hurtling with increasing speed straight at the antennae.
The handling machine blew apart, as did a gun carried by one of the running figures. The remaining figures dove for cover.
Cardan was left with two handling machines, neither one of which, he was sure, could get anywhere near the tank. Nevertheless, he took control of one, and without moving it, looked around.
From somewhere around him, there was another dull boom, and the floor moved slightly underfoot.
The turret of the tank was swinging slowly around again.
At the rear of the tank, a figure dragged itself up.
Cardan blinked. Moving out on the slanting plate over the huge tread, Donovan hauled up on a rope a five-gallon can of gasoline.
Far down the grassy strip in the center of the highway, one of the big cylindrical vehicles came rolling around the bend.
"Mac," said Cardan, "see if you can do anything to that cylinder down at the bend."
Donovan, oblivious to the cylinder, pulled out a big wrench, and studied the tank. Nearby, a short pipe was thrust up, with a U-shaped piece at the top. Donovan methodically unscrewed the U-shaped piece, then started to empty the can of gasoline down the pipe.
The various antennae atop the tank swiveled around.
Cardan experimented briefly with the controls, then sent the handling machine straight back toward the grid, seized one of the rods, and wrenched and twisted at it like a dog tearing at a stick.
The motion of the tank's antennae wavered, and Cardan could guess the frame of mind of those inside. They had to protect the grid, but if they blew the machine up while it was at the grid, that would damage the grid. And while this new problem confronted them, Donovan was still pouring in gas.
Down the grassy strip, the cylindrical vehicle came to a sudden stop, then jockeyed around to bring its forward gun to bear on Donovan.
From a snowbank near the cylinder, a small chunk of dirty white flew out, and went in through the cylinder's view slit.
Atop the tank, Donovan threw a lighted match down the pipe after the gas, and jumped over the side.
A streamer of flame shot up out of the pipe, puffed out in a flash around the base of the turret, and was followed by black smoke.
Cardan jerked one of the rods loose from the grid, gripped the end like a flail, and went for a cluster of armed figures running up the highway. Spinning the machine, he whipped the long rod in a circle, and scattered powerfully-built, heavily-armed figures in all directions. After a few minutes of this, he had the highway completely to himself.
He glanced down at the far curve, where the front of the cylindrical vehicle suddenly dropped open, and a massive, feline-faced figure sprang out, and jumped down the bank at the end of the road.
"What happened to him?" said Cardan.
Maclane said, "He's tired of getting gritty snow ground in his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth."
"Good work. Where's Don?"
"He's disappeared amongst those cars, somewhere."
Cardan looked around. In front of him sat the large tank, with smoke rolling out of it. Nearby, the grid was bent badly out of shape, but still standing. Beside it hung one handling machine, its control-cable dangling. Cardan still had control of another one of the machines. Neither on the hill above the road, nor on the flat land below it, was there any sign of opposition. The sun was just setting, and long shadows were reaching across the road. Far to the south, a plume of black smoke was just coming into view on the horizon.
Maclane said wonderingly, "Just a little bit ago, they had us almost licked—and now they're finished?"
"Don't count on it," said Cardan. "This is like one of those fights where one side wins the first few rounds, and the other side wins the next few, and the whole thing is still in doubt." Cardan got out a fresh cigar, and stripped off the wrapper. He stuck the cigar in his mouth unlit, and growled, "There's something funny here. Where are the others?"
From down the table, one of the men spoke up. "Chief, these sets are focused on different places. Mac figured it was better to leave them that way than go nuts trying to focus them all over again. There's a lot of action going on here. You want us to fill you in?"
Cardan said, "Good idea. What places can you see?"
"Their ship, the road about two miles north of the traffic jam, the hill above the road, and a stretch of flat farmland below the road."
"What's going on at their ship?"
"A bunch of them have just come out wearing spacesuits, apparently to keep us from getting at them. They've got some crates and a long low machine—it looks like a metal-working machine of some kind—on a frame mounted between two of these cylinders they travel around in. The side bars of the frame attach to fittings on the sides of the cylinder, and at the front there's a movable plate that allows for a limited turn in either direction."
"Which way a
re they headed?"
"Toward the road."
"Are they armed?"
"Yes. And the spacesuits will make it harder to hit them with small stuff."
"How about on the hill, above the road?"
A different voice said, "They're busy here, Chief. It looks to me like they're getting set in case there's a counterattack. They've laid out two parallel cables, about six feet apart along the forward slope of the hill, for as far as I can get a view of it. Above the cables, and well spread out, they've got the cylinders partly dug in, covered with brush and moss, and so located that they can sweep the face of the hill with crossfire if anyone starts up. I don't know what the function of the cables is, but you can't get at the cylinders without crossing them. And if there's a pause at those cables—well, the cylinders have a nice clear field of fire."
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