"I hear we got guns, too."
"I think we got some. Some they stole from the hoppers, and some they made. But the trouble is, there ain't anybody knows how to work 'em. I thought of trying to get in a gun troop, and then decided I'd liefer stick to my old toothpick."
"Say, who's the twerp up front with Weier? Guy with a funny hat."
"Dunno. He's from some place they call Wyoming. Down South, I think."
"Don't see how he could make any speed with that hat. Too much air resistance."
"Hey, wasn't that a shot?"
"Ayuh. Sounds like it."
''They're shooting regular now. Weier better hurry up, or the fun'll be all over before we get there."
The windows of Albany rattled to continuous gunfire when Sir Howard led his troop behind the Education Building across the street from the Office Building. Up and down Elk Street little knots of armed men waited. The knight told his men to wait, dismounted, and trotted around the corner.
Most of the gunfire was coming from the tall Office Building. All the windows on the lower floors of this building had been broken. From the nearer surrounding buildings came a stream of arrows and crossbow bolts. Barricades had been thrown up at the intersections. More crossbowmen, and a few men with rifles and pistols, stood behind these barricades shooting. Eli Cahoon was behind a near one. He was going from man to man, saying: "Now, take your time, son; just squeeze the trigger slow." In front of the shattered glass doors of the Office Building lay a pile of dead hoppers without helmets. Scattered over the broad Capitol Square were a score or so of dead men. A little puffy wind was rising. It picked up yellow and brown leaves from the piles raked together in the gutters and whirled them merrily around the square.
Sir Howard picked out an officer, a man in ordinary hunting clothes with a brassard on his arm. "Hey, Bodansky! I'm on time, I hope."
"Thank God you got here, Weier! You're in command.
"What?"
"Yep; the whole shootin' match. Baugh's dead. He led the charge when they tried to get into the ground floor. Haverhill hasn't shown up; nobody knows what's become of him. And McFee just had his arm all smashed to hell by a bullet. So you're it."
"Whew! What's the situation?"
"So-so. We can't get in, and they can't get out. Olsen turned the fleas loose on schedule; they got most of the hoppers. But there was enough left to put the helmets back on the heads of some. The ones they didn't put the helmets on wandered out the front door like they were silly, and the boys potted 'em. I don't think you can get the boys to make another charge; they saw what happened to the first one."
"How about their cone transformers?"
"They've got a couple, but they can't use 'em because we turned the city power off. We got the power plant right at the start. They've got some convulsion rayers, too, but they're only the little kind, good up to fifty feet. Here's Greene." Another officer ran up.
"The riflemen's ammunition isn't going to last much longer," he gasped. "Half of it's too old to go off, anyway. And they're shooting pretty wild."
"Tell the riflemen to cease firing," Sir Howard snapped. He was feeling both awed by the unexpected responsibility and tremendously important. "We'll need them later."
"The bows and kickers won't reach to the upper floors," said Bodansky.
"We can't do much to the upper floors from here, anyway. We'll have to find some way of getting into the lower floors." He thought for a minute. They were expecting him to produce some bright idea. If he didn't he'd be a failure. He raised his voice: "Hey, Eli! Eli Cahoon!"
The old New Englander came over with his slinking walk. "Yeah?"
"Think it's going to blow?"
"Hm-m-m. Maybe. Shouldn't be surprised." He looked at the sky, at the dancing leaves. "No'thwest, in about an hour."
"All right. Bodansky, have another barricade thrown across the yard back of the Office Building. Use furniture, anything. Tell the boys to keep down close to it, so they won't be potted from the upper floors. Get all the crates and boxes in town. Pile 'em on the west side of the barricade. Get all the dead leaves you can."
"Bonfire? Smudge?"
"Yes. And get every garbage can in Albany! We'll show them something about smells. Hey, St. John! Get out the fire department. We're going to start a smudge, and when the smoke gets thick we'll run the trucks up on the sidewalk alongside the Office Building, and the boys will climb up the ladders into the windows."
He worked around behind buildings to the other side of the square, checking dispositions and talking to harassed officers. There were men in plate, men in overalls, men in store clothes. There were men with billhooks, men with bows, men with butcher knives lashed to the ends of poles. There were a few dead men, and an occasional wounded man being carried off.
The pile of assorted fuels grew, over beyond the Office Building. The fire department hadn't appeared. Why, of course, he thought, most of the firemen are on the firing line. I've been dumb. There has to be somebody to hitch up the fire horses. I'll have to get somebody to round 'em up. He gave orders; men ran, hesitated, and came back to have them repeated.
The bonfire began to crackle and smoke. It smoked beautifully. The breeze was just strong enough to wrap the Office Building in a shroud of pearly fumes, so that you could only see parts of it. Sir Howard heard a man near him cough and say, "Who the hell they trying to smoke out, us or the hoppers?"
There was a snoring buzz, and a flying machine swept over the buildings. More and more men neglected their shooting to stare up at it apprehensively. It circled and came back.
"They going to bomb us?" asked an officer.
"They'd like to," replied Sir Howard. "But they don't know where to bomb. They're afraid of hitting their own people. Tell your boys to pay attention to the Office Building; not to worry about the flier."
The machine appeared again, much higher and flying north. It was almost out of sight behind the buildings when it disappeared in a blinding magnesium-white flash. Sir Howard knew what was coming, and opened his mouth. The concussion made men stagger, and a few fell. It took the knight a second to realize that the musical tinkle was not in his head but was glass falling from thousands of windows.
Everywhere were scared faces, a few with nosebleeds. They'd bolt in a minute. He trotted down the line, explaining: "It's O.K.! We got Watervliet! We turned one of their own X beams on the ship and set off its bombs! Everything's fine!"
"They're coming out!" somebody yelled.
Sir Howard looked around. It would be logical for the hoppers to bolt, now that the arsenal had fallen. He ought to be with his cavalry troop on the other side of the square. The shooting from the Office Building had slackened. It would take him all day to work around outside the zone of fire. He vaulted a barricade, almost fell when he landed under the weight of his plate, and started to run across the square with the queer, tottering run that armored men have.
He was halfway across when the hoppers boiled out of the Office Building by the front doors. He was right in front of them. There was a crash of shots from the guns they carried in their claws. Nothing touched him. He ran on. There were scattering shots from the hoppers, and something hit his right pauldron and ricocheted off with a screech. He spun half around and fell. Thank God, it was just a glancing hit, he thought. Better play possum for a few seconds. He thought he heard a groan from the human army when he fell, but that was pure self-conceit, as most of them had no idea who he was. He looked out of the corner of his eye toward the hoppers. They were bounding across the square toward the buildings. There must have been fifty; thirty-five, anyway. Arrows and bolts streaked toward them, mostly going wild. An arrow bounced off Sir Howard's backplate. God, he thought, is one of those idiots going to kill me by mistake? The hoppers had turned and were going back the way they had come.
Sir Howard scrambled up. In front of him men were dropping over a barricade and running toward him. They were shouting something and pointing. He looked around. Not thirty feet off
was a hopper. It had a sort of gun in its hands, connected by cables to a knapsack thing strapped to its back. It was a lightning gun. It went off with a piercing crack, and a straight pencil of blue flash went past Sir Howard. It cracked again and again. A couple of the men who had run toward him were lying down, and the rest were running back. The gun cracked again, and the flash ended on Sir Howard's breastplate. All his muscles twitched, and his bones were jarred. But he did not fall. The gun cracked again and yet again, with the same result. His suit was grounding the discharges. He got his sword out and took a step toward the hopper. The hopper went soaring away across the square after its fellows, who were bouncing along State Street.
People were dropping out of doors and windows and climbing over barricades. They came out quickly enough now that the hoppers were in retreat. If he didn't get his cavalry under way in a few seconds, the square would be packed and they'd be stuck like flies on flypaper.
Just ahead of the crowd Musik, his second-in-command, and Lyman Haas appeared at a canter. The former was leading Paul Jones. The men were clattering in double file behind them. Sir Howard yelled, "Stout fellas!" and climbed aboard. As he did so, Haas shouted: "The cavalry from Pittsfield is coming up State from the river!"
"They can't get through here; you tell 'em to go around by the south end of town and head west. Try to cut the hoppers off! All right, let's go!" They pounded diagonally across the square; men who had just run out ran back, like startled chickens, to get out of their way.
The barricade across State Street west of the Office Building was low, and had only a few men behind it. These shot wildly until the hoppers were two jumps away, then broke and scattered like flushed quail. The hoppers soared over the barricade and shot the men in the back as they ran. When Sir Howard arrived at the barricade the hoppers were far down State Street, their bodies rising and falling like overhead valves. Sir Howard put Paul Jones over the barricade. A terrific clang made him squirm around in the saddles. Musik and Musik's horse were standing on their heads on the west side of the barricade. Both got up quickly. Musik's horse ran along after the troop, and Musik ran after his horse on foot, yelling. "Come back here, you bastitch!" and falling farther and farther behind. Far away they heard the sirens of the fire engines, arriving at last.
They cut across Washington Park and galloped out New Scotland Avenue, keeping the hoppers in sight, but not gaining much on them. People ran into the street, ran back when the hoppers appeared, ran out again, and ran back again when the cavalry came along.
They got out into the southwestern part of Albany, where New Scotland Avenue becomes Slingerlands Road. A few streets had once been laid down here, but very few houses had been built. It was mostly just a big flat area covered with tall weeds. There were other horsemen on their left, presumably the men from Massachusetts. These were swooping along drawing steel bows. The combination worked beautifully. An arrow would bring down a hopper, and by the time Sir Howard's lobsters had passed over it, each taking a jab at it with a lance, it didn't look like a hopper. It didn't look particularly like anything.
The hoppers were spreading out. The men, without orders, were spreading out to hunt them down. Sir Howard found himself alone and chasing a hopper. He wondered what he'd do if the hopper got to the edge of the plateau on which Albany stands before he caught it. He couldn't gallop Paul Jones down the slope that ended at Normans Kill. But this hopper seemed to be going slowly. As Sir Howard gained on it, he saw that it had an arrow sticking in its thigh.
Sir Howard squeezed his lance and sighted on the hopper. The hopper stopped, turned around, and raised a small gun. The gun went off, and something went off in the knight's side. The saddle seemed to be lifted away from him, and he landed on his back in the weeds. His side pained horribly for a moment, so that he felt deathly sick.
He couldn't see for the weeds, which stuck up like a forest around him. All he could see was the hopper standing there. The hopper raised the gun again. The gun clicked harmlessly. Sir Howard thought, if I can get up I can finish it before it reloads. He tried to sit up, but his plate dragged him down again. The hopper was reloading, and he couldn't get up. He could hear the drumming of hoofs, but they seemed miles away. He thought, Oh, God, why do I have to die now? Why couldn't I have died at the start? The hopper clicked the gun and raised it again. His side hurt terribly, and he was going to die at the last moment.
Then there were hoofs, near, and something snaky hissed out of the air to settle around the hopper. The gun went off, but the hopper was bouncing away in grotesque positions. It gave a final bounce and disappeared behind the weeds.
14
The doctor at the door said: "He'll be all right. It's just a broken rib. A bullet went through his plate and grazed his side. The broken ends cut him up a little when he fell. Sure, you can see him." Then they all came in: Elsmith and Sally Mitten and Haas and Cahoon and Lediacre. The Frenchman was dirty and had a bandage over his left ear. He was very sympathetic.
They all tried to talk at once. Sir Howard asked how things were going. Elsmith answered: "Fine. We got word by radio—we turned the electrostats off—that all the broadcasting stations in New York had been taken. There must have been at least a thousand hoppers in the R.C.A. Building, but they mounted some captured heavy guns in Columbus Circle and blew them out of it. As far as I know, all the hopper strongholds in North America have been taken. There are some hoppers still at large, but they'll be killed on sight.
"There are quite a few holding out in Africa, but there's an Arab army on its way to deal with them, completely outfitted with hopper guns. They even found some people willing to take a chance on running the captured flying machines. Mongolia never got any fleas at all, but there were only a few hoppers there, anyway. It's pretty much the same elsewhere. Some of them got away in their flying machines and used their bombs and rays. They blew Louisville off the map, for instance. But they had to come down eventually, and there wasn't any friendly place to land. In places where the most fleas were released, and all the hoppers took off their hats to scratch, the way they did at Watervliet, it was simply a slaughter of helpless animals. I'm trying to save a few of them."
"Why?"
"Without the helmets they're quite harmless creatures, and rather interesting. It would be a shame to exterminate them completely. After all, they didn't exterminate us when they had the chance."
"Lyman! You certainly saved my hash."
"Wasn't nothing, really. That was a good cast I made, though. I'd used up all my arrows. Broke the hopper's neck with one yank. Guess that there helmet made it concentrate too hard on shooting you, or he'd 'a' seen me. Longest cast I ever made with a rope. The only trouble is they won't believe me when I get back home. I'll have to take the rope along to show them."
"How did you happen to get there just then?"
"Oh, I caught up with you. Those truck horses you fellas ride ain't no faster'n turtles. It's a wonder to me you don't get some big turtles to ride. The shells would stop arrows and things, and you wouldn't need to worry about being blown off backward by the wind."
There will probably always be a Ten Eyck Hotel in Albany. They were standing in the lobby of the fifth building of that name.
"Are you going now, Howard?" asked Sally Mitten.
"Yep." This was a final good-by, he knew. He managed to sound brightly conversational. "I'll have to see how things are down in Poughkeepsie. You and Elsmith are going, too, aren't you?"
"Yes; we're taking a boat for New York tonight. We sail at nine, wind permitting. I've never made the Hudson River trip."
"What are you going to do?"
"Some people are talking about making Uncle Homer an earl, or king, or something. But he won't have it. He's going to organize a university. It's what he's always wanted to do. And I'm still his secretary. What are your plans? Go back and be a country gentleman again?"
"Didn't I tell you? We've both been so busy. I've got a career! You know all those books I read up at cam
p? Well, they set me to thinking. For three hundred years we've been standing still under the form of social and political organization the hoppers imposed on us—I'm getting pretty good at the dictionary words myself, huh?—and they didn't pick that form because they had our welfare at heart, or because they wanted us to get places. They picked it because it was the most stagnant form they could find in our history. What I mean is that our . . . uh . . . synthetic feudalism is about as progressive as a snail with arthritis. So I thought it might be a good idea to try out some of this government-by-the-people business. No classes; all comrades together, the way we and Lyman were."
"I'm so glad. I was afraid you'd want to get back in the old groove."
"I thought you'd approve. You know what it'll be like; a wild scramble for power, with every little baron and marquis trying to get everybody else by the short hair. You know what their cry will be: York State for the York Staters, Saratoga for the Saratogans, and Kaaterskill Junction for the whatever-you-call-'ems. But I'd like to see the whole continent under one government-by-the-people. Most of it was once. Or even the whole world, if we could manage it some day. Of course, a lot of our little lords won't like the idea. So I've got my work cut out for me. I don't anticipate a very quiet life."
"How are you going about it?"
"It's already started. I got together with some of the boys who think the way I do—mostly people who were in the Organization—the other night, and we formed something called the Committee of Political Organization for York State. Copoys for short. They made me chairman."
"Isn't that splendid!"
"Well, maybe the fact that I got the meeting together had something to do with it. I even made a speech."
"I didn't know you could make speeches."
"Neither did I. I stood there and said 'Uh . . . uh' at first. Then I thought, hell they won't enjoy hearing me say 'Uh . . . uh.' So I told them what they'd been through, which they knew as well as I, and what a swell fellow the late Maxwell Baugh was. Then I repeated some of the things I'd read in those books, and said we might as well have left the hoppers in control if we weren't going to change anything. They tried to carry me around on their shoulders afterward."
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