Towering and invulnerable, they stood on the
hills, patiently awaiting their master. Meanwhile,
they slew the vermin crawling below....
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Winter 1948.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Jon ran down the long corridor and into the Old Man's room. He wasbreathless as he threw himself on his face beneath the Old Man's chairmade from gypsum. A kind of savage eagerness lighted his face, but theOld Man's face, a frozen pallid ball crinkled into a million lines, wassad and hopelessly resigned.
"I seen 'em," Jon cried. "I seen 'em." His unhealthily pallid body,though big and rawboned, was slender and writhed with a leatherystrength that comes with constant effort and exercise rather than dietand sun.
The Old Man shrugged. His voice was a hoarse whisper in that one cavernamong the hundred and fifty miles of corridors, interlocking levels andrivers that made up the underground hideaway.
"So you seen 'em, Jon. Many have seen the Mechs. The Mechs might haveseen you too. If they ever find us here—well, they'd probe us out,like we were grubs. And they'd burn us with those red-ray eyes. Why'dyou go up on top? You know it's against the rules."
Jon got up. His chest heaved. His eyes were polished beads in a thicknest of reddish beard.
"'Cause I don't like livin' in this cave like a grub. I been up twice,and now I can't stay down here anymore. Nobody else's got guts enoughto go up. So let 'em stay down here and rot! But I'm going back up ontop, Chief. And I'm staying up there."
The Old Man leaned back. He couldn't hide the gleam of gruff respect inhis eyes. "Go ahead, Jon, but don't come back down. Once they get onyour tail, you can't shake 'em and you'd lead 'em right back here, andthen they'd get the rest of us. As far as I know, Jon, we're the onlyhumans left."
Jon's hands clenched. "And so might all of us be dead too. Livin' downhere in this cave where they ain't never no sun, eatin' lizards andsnakes, and dyin' off one by one anyway. We're all gonna be dead inanother year. What's so great about spendin' that year crawlin' andgrubbin' down here? Scared to even take one last look at the sun? It'snot for me, Chief. I'm leavin'."
The Old Man shrugged again. "Go ahead, I said. Just promise not to evercome back and lead them down here. You'll promise that, Jon?"
Something thickened in his throat, but he managed to say yes. Heturned, then twisted back toward the Old Man. "You're smart," he said."You're supposed to know about when they took over. I've asked others.No one seems to know, and they care less. Would you tell me, Chief.What are they—the Mechs?"
The Old Man's voice echoed strangely against the surrounding grotesquebars of limestone stalactites and stalagmites in multicolored hues offusing reds and orange, purple and browns. A pinched face peered atthem from between the ancient bars, then withdrew its tired eyes.
"Maybe there's fifty humans left down here in Mammoth Hole," the OldMan said softly. "Maybe there ain't nobody else left in the world. Justthem with their silent machinery drivin' over the wastes, and theirred death eyes sweeping the dark, grubbin' for us. The big war wenton and on, nobody knows how long. But humans couldn't fight it. Toomuch deadly radiation, so they made machines to fight for 'em. The skyand the land were just masses of machines, throwing out clouds andstreamers and explosions. The land became nothing but pools and seasof deadly dust, and fire. The sky was clouded with it. And people wentunderground. They had to go down deep, and th