wrist-watch; it was eight thirty. In the old days, the factory would be starting its daily routine. Processions of trucks and varied mobile units would be coming to the surface, loaded with supplies, to begin their expeditions to the human settlement.
Off to the right, something stirred. He quickly turned his attention to it.
A single battered ore-gathering cart was creeping clumsily toward the factory. One last damaged mobile unit trying to complete its task. The cart was virtually empty; a few meager scraps of metal lay strewn in its hold. A scavenger… the metal was sections ripped from destroyed equipment encountered on the way. Feebly, like a blind metallic insect, the cart approached the factory. Its progress was incredibly jerky. Every now and then, it halted, bucked and quivered, and wandered aimlessly off the path.
'Control is bad,' Judith said, with a touch of horror in her voice. 'The factory's having trouble guiding it back.'
Yes, he had seen that. Around New York, the factory had lost its high-frequency transmitter completely. Its mobile units had floundered in crazy gyrations, racing in random circles, crashing against rocks and trees, sliding into gullies, overturning, finally unwinding and becoming reluctantly inanimate.
The ore cart reached the edge of the ruined plain and halted briefly. Above it, the dot of black still circled the sky. For a time, the cart remained frozen.
'The factory's trying to decide,' Ferine said. 'It needs the material, but it's afraid of that hawk up there.'
The factory debated and nothing stirred. Then the ore cart again resumed its unsteady crawl. It left the tangle of vines and started out across the blasted open plain. Painfully, with infinite caution, it headed toward the slab of dark concrete and metal at the base of the mountains.
The hawk stopped circling.
'Get down!' O'Neill said sharply. 'They've got those rigged with the new bombs.'
His wife and Perine crouched down beside him and the three of them peered warily at the plain and the metal insect crawling laboriously across it. In the sky, the hawk swept in a straight line until it hung directly over the cart. Then, without a sound or warning, it came down in a straight dive. Hands to her face, Judith shrieked, 'I can't watch! It's awful! Like wild animals!'
'It's not after the cart,' O'Neill grated.
As the airborne projectile dropped, the cart put on a burst of desperate speed. It raced noisily toward the factory, clanking and rattling, trying in a last futile attempt to reach safely. Forgetting the menace above, the frantically eager factory opened up and guided its mobile unit directly inside. And the hawk had what it wanted.
Before the barrier could close, the hawk swooped down in a long glide parallel with the ground. As the cart disappeared into the depths of the factory, the hawk shot after it, a swift shimmer of metal that hurtled past the clanking cart. Suddenly aware, the factory snapped the barrier shut. Grotesquely, the cart struggled; it was caught fast in the half-closed entrance.
But whether it freed itself didn't matter. There was a dull rumbling stir. The ground moved, billowed, then settled back. A deep shock wave passed beneath the three watching human beings. From the factory rose a single column of black smoke. The surface of concrete split like a dried pod; it shriveled and broke, and dribbled shattered bits of itself in a shower of ruin. The smoke hung for a while, drifting aimlessly away with the morning wind.
The factory was a fused, gutted wreck. It had been penetrated and destroyed.
O'Neill got stiffly to his feet. 'That's all. All over with. We've got what we set out after — we've destroyed the autofac network.' He glanced at Perine. 'Or was that what we were after?'
They looked toward the settlement that lay behind them. Little remained of the orderly rows of houses and streets of the previous years. Without the network, the settlement had rapidly decayed. The original prosperous neatness had dissipated; the settlement was shabby, ill-kept.
'Of course,' Perine said haltingly. 'Once we get into the factories and start setting up our own assembly lines…'
'Is there anything left?' Judith inquired.
'There must be something left. My God, there were levels going down miles!'
'Some of those bombs they developed toward the end were awfully big,' Judith pointed out. 'Better than anything we had in our war.'
'Remember that camp we saw? The ruins-squatters?'
'I wasn't along,' Perine said.
'They were like wild animals. Eating roots and larvae. Sharpening rocks, tanning hides. Savagery, bestiality.'
'But that's what people like that want,' Perine answered defensively
'Do they? Do we want this?' O'Neill indicated the straggling settlement. 'Is this what we set out looking for, that day we collected the tungsten? Or that day we told the factory truck its milk was—' He couldn't remember the word.
'Pizzled,' Judith supplied.
'Come on,' O'Neill said. 'Let's get started. Let's see what's left of that factory — left for us.'
They approached the ruined factory late in the afternoon. Four trucks rumbled shakily up to the rim of the gutted pit and halted, motors steaming, tailpipes dripping. Wary and alert, workmen scrambled down and stepped gingerly across the hot ash.
'Maybe it's too soon,' one of them objected.
O'Neill had no intention of waiting. 'Come on,' he ordered. Grabbing up a flashlight, he stepped down into the crater.
The sheltered hull of the Kansas City factory lay directly ahead. In its gutted mouth, the ore cart still hung caught, but it was no longer struggling. Beyond the cart was an ominous pool of gloom. O'Neill flashed his light through the entrance; the tangled, jagged remains of upright supports were visible.
'We want to get down deep,' he said to Morrison, who prowled cautiously beside him. 'If there's anything left, it's at the bottom.'
Morrison grunted. 'Those boring moles from Atlanta got most of the deep layers.'
'Until the others got their mines sunk.' O'Neill stepped carefully through the sagging entrance, climbed a heap of debris that had been tossed against the slit from inside, and found himself within the factory — an expanse of confused wreckage, without pattern or meaning.
'Entropy,' Morrison breathed, oppressed. 'The thing it always hated. The thing it was built to fight. Random particles everywhere. No purpose to it.'
'Down underneath,' O'Neill said stubbornly, 'we may find some sealed enclaves. I know they got so they were dividing up into autonomous sections, trying to preserve repair units intact, to re-form the composite factory.'
'The moles got most of them, too,' Morrison observed, but he lumbered after O'Neill.
Behind them, the workmen came slowly. A section of wreckage shifted ominously and a shower of hot fragments cascaded down.
'You men get back to the trucks,' O'Neill said. 'No sense endangering any more of us than we have to. If Morrison and I don't come back, forget us — don't risk sending a rescue party.' As they left, he pointed out to Morrison a descending ramp still partially intact. 'Let's get below.'
Silently, the two men passed one dead level after another. Endless miles of dark ruin stretched out, without sound or activity. The vague shapes of darkened machinery, unmoving belts and conveyer equipment were partially visible, and the partially completed husks of war projectiles, bent and twisted by the final blast.
'We can salvage some of that,' O'Neill said, but he didn't actually believe it. The machinery was fused, shapeless. Everything in the factory had run together, molten slag without form or use. 'Once we get it to the surface…'
'We can't,' Morrison contradicted bitterly. 'We don't have hoists or winches.' He kicked at a heap of charred supplies that had stopped along its broken belt and spilled halfway across the ramp.
'It seemed like a good idea at the time,' O'Neill said as the two of them continued past vacant levels of machines. 'But now that I look back, I'm not so sure.'
They had penetrated a long way into the factory. The final level lap spread out ahead of them. O'Neill flashed
