Philip Dick - Vulcan's Hammer

Or, in this case, his life.

As soon as the guards were out of sight behind him he turned off the corridor. A moment later he came out into a well-lighted major artery. The floor beneath his feet hummed and vibrated, and as he walked along he felt the intensity of action increase.

He was getting close, now. The center of Vulcan 3 was not far off.

The passage made an abrupt turn to the right. He fol­lowed, and found himself facing a young T-class official and two guards. All three men were armed. They seemed to be in the process of pushing a metal cart loaded with punchcards; he identified the cards as a medium by which data were presented, under certain circumstances, to the Vulcan computers. This official, then, was part of the feed-teams.

"Who are you?" Barris said, before the young official could speak. "What's your authority for being in this area? Let's see written permission."

The young official said, "My name is Larson, Director. I was directly responsible to Jason Dill before his death." Eying Barris, he smiled respectfully and said, "I saw you several times with Mr. Dill, sir. When you were here in­volving the reconstruction of Vulcan 2."

"I believe I noticed you," Barris said.

Pushing his cart along, Larson said, "I have to feed these at once to Vulcan 3; with your permission I'll go along. How's the fighting going on above? Someone says they've broken in somewhere. I heard a lot of noise." Clearly agitated, but concerned only with his clearly laid-out task, Larson continued, "Amazing how active Vulcan 3 is, after being inactive for so many months. He's come up with quite a number of effective weapons to deal with the situation."

Glancing at Barris shrewdly, he said, "Isn't it probable that Reynolds will be the new Managing Director? His able prosecution of Dill, the way he exposed the various -" He broke off in order to manipulate the combination of a huge set of barrier-doors. The doors swung open-

And there, ahead of Barris, was a vast chamber. At the far end he saw a wall of metal, perfectly blank. The side of a cube, one part of something that receded into the structure of the building; he caught only a glimpse of it, an impression.

"There it is," Larson said to him. "Peaceful here, in comparison to what's going on above ground. You wouldn't think he-I mean, it-had anything to do with the action against the Healers. And yet it's all being directed from here." He and his two guards pushed the cart of data-cards forward. "Care to come closer?" Larson asked Barris; showing him that he knew everything of im­portance. "You can watch the way the data are fed. It's quite interesting."

Passing by Barris, Larson began directing the removal of the cards; he had the guards load up with them. Stand­ing behind the three men, Barris reached into his coat. His fingers closed over the onion-shaped object.

As he drew the fission bomb out, he saw, on Larson's sleeve, a shiny metal bug; it clung there, riding along, its antennae quivering. For a moment Barris thought, It's an insect. Some natural life form that brushed against him when he was above ground, in the forest.

The shiny metal bug flew up into the air. He heard the high-frequency whine as it passed him, and knew it then. A tiny hammer, a version of the basic type. For observa­tion. It had been aware of him from the moment Larson encountered him.

Seeing him staring at the bug as it zipped away from them, Larson said, "Another one. There's been one hang­ing around me all day. It was clinging to my work smock for a while." He added, "Vulcan 3 uses them for relaying messages. I've seen a number of them around.

From the tiny hammer an ear-splitting squeal dinned out at the two men. "Stop him! Stop him at once!"

Larson blinked in bewilderment.

Holding onto the bomb, Barris strode toward the face of Vulcan 3. He did not run; he walked swiftly and silently.

"Stop him, Larson!" the hammer shrilled. "He's here to destroy me! Make him get away from me!"

Gripping the bomb tightly, Barris began to run.

A pencil beam fired past him; he crouched and ran on, zigzagging back and forth.

" If you let him destroy me you'll destroy the world! A second tiny hammer appeared, dancing in the air before Barris. "Madman!"

He heard, from other parts of the chamber, the abuse piping at him from other mobile extensions. "Monster!"

Again a heat beam slashed past him; he half-fell, and, drawing out his own pencil, turned and fired directly back. He saw a brief scene: Larson with the two guards, firing at him in confusion, trying not -to hit the wall of Vulcan 3. His own beam touched one of the guards; he ceased firing at once and fell writhing.

"Listen to me!" a full-sized hammer blared, skipping into the chamber and directly at Barris. In desperate fury the hammer crashed at him, missing him and bursting apart against the concrete floor, its pieces spewing over him.

"While there's still time! another took up. "Get him away, feed-team leader! He's killing me!"

With his pencil beam, Barris shot down a hammer as it emerged above him; he had not seen it come into the chamber. The hammer, only damaged, fluttered down. Struggling toward him, across the floor, it screeched, "We can agree! We can come to an arrangement!"

On and on he ran.

This can be negotiated! There is no basic disagreement!"

Raising his arm, he hurled the bomb.

"Barris! Barris! Please do not -"

From the intricate power supply of the bomb came a faint pop. Barris threw himself down, his arms over his face. An ocean of white light lapped up at him, picking him up and sweeping him away.

I got it, he thought. I was successful.

A monstrous hot wind licked at him as he drifted; he skidded on, along with the wind. Debris and flaming rub­bish burst over and around him. A surface far away hurtled at him. He doubled up, his head averted, and then he flew through the surface; it split and gave way, and he went on, tumbling into darkness, swept on by the tides of wind and heat.

His last thought was, It was worth it. Vulcan 3 is dead!

Father Fields, sat watching a hammer. The hammer wobbled. It hesitated in its frantic, aimless flight. And then it spiraled to the floor.

One by one, dropping silently, the hammers crashed down and lay still. Inert heaps of metal and plastic, noth­ing more. Without motion. Their screeching voices had ceased.

What a relief, he said to himself.

Getting to his feet he walked shakily over to the four medical corpsmen. "How is he?" he said.

Without looking up, the corpsman said, "We're making progress. His chest was extensively damaged. We've plug­ged in an exterior heart-lung system, and it's giving rapid assistance." The semiautomatic surgical tools crept across the body of William Barris, exploring, repairing. They seemed to have virtually finished with the chest; now they had turned their attention to his broken shoulder.

"We'll need boneforms," one of the corpsmen said. Glancing around he said, "We don't have any here with us. He'll have to be flown back to Geneva."

"Fine," Fields said. "Get him started."

The litter slid expertly under Barris and began lifting him.

"That traitor," a voice beside Fields said.

He turned his head and saw Director Reynolds standing there, gazing at Barris. The man's clothing was torn, and over his left eye was a deep gash. Fields said, "You're out of a job now."

With absolute bitterness, Reynolds said, "And so are you. What becomes of the great crusade, now that Vulcan 3 is gone? Do you have any other constructive programs to offer?"

"Time will tell," Fields said. He walked along beside the litter as it carried Barris up the ramp to the waiting ship.