Prescription for Chaos (54 page)

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 are 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."

"How about up the road?"

"Nothing doing right now, Chief. Some cars tried to get through here about half-an-hour ago, though. There are a couple of cylinders lying in wait here, and they blew the cars to bits."

"Is the road blocked?"

"The northbound side is. One lane of the southbound side, and about two-thirds of the grass strip, are unblocked."

"The cylinders haven't tried to completely block the road?"

"No, I think they may want to keep it partly open for their own purposes."

"How about the flat farmland below the road?"

The pugnacious towhead spoke up. "Chief, that crew from their ship are crossing it right now. What do you say I let the acid out of their batteries?"

Cardan blinked. "Do what?"

"I got a good look into one of these cylinders a little bit ago. The power to run them comes from some place. It looks to me as if the bottom third or fourth of the cylinder, at least in the center, is some kind of storage battery. If I let the fluid out, they'll be stranded."

"How are you going to do that?"

There was a silence, then the towhead said hesitantly, "I know how this sounds, but I can get through the metal."

Cardan removed his cigar.

The towhead said earnestly, "Sure, Chief, all you do is loosen a tiny bit at a time, then another and another, and when you get the rhythm of it, you can eat right through the metal. It's not a
big
hole, to start with, but you can enlarge it the same way."

Maclane muttered, as if the thought had just hit him, "Boy, we really let the genie out of the bottle this trip. Listen, Chief, how are we going to keep all this quiet afterward?"

Cardan shook his head, "One mess at a time." He took a fresh grip on his cigar.

The towhead said urgently, "What do you want me to do? They aren't going to wait while we argue over it."

"Let them through," said Cardan. "But if they try to go back, ruin them."

"Does that hold for just these, or for all of them?"

"If you see something really unusual, let me know. If you have to act fast, do what you think best. Otherwise, let them all go through without too much trouble
toward
the highway. But tie them in knots if they try to get back to their ship."

"Why?"

"So we can cut them off from the ship. The more of them out in the open, the better."

"I get it."

Maclane said, "Chief, that machine is just coming into view. I don't know if I like the looks of it."

From beside Cardan's shoulder, Miss Bowen said apologetically, "General Whitely left a message, Mr. Cardan. Would you like me to read it to you later?"

Cardan looked at the machine being hauled up on a frame carried between two of the cylindrical vehicles. It was still down on the flat land below the highway. Cardan couldn't recognize the machine, but supposed its purpose must be to straighten out the grid. As Cardan watched, the forward cylinder tried to start up the base of the embankment at the shoulder of the highway. After a short run, the cylinders ground to a stop. Both cylinders flung back dirt and rocks, then stopped, rolled backwards, and tried a longer run. This time they got about halfway up the bank, threw out an avalanche of stone and dirt, and then came to a stop, wheels spinning and apparently unable to go forward or back. Spacesuited figures milled around, then began to shove back at the forward cylinder.