The Defenders

Taylor leaned back in his chair, reading the morning newspaper. The warm kitchen and the aroma of coffee mixed with the comfort of not having to go to work. This was his Rest Period, the first one in a long time, and he felt grateful for it. He folded the second section back, sighing with satisfaction.

"What is it?" Mary said from the stove.

"They hit Moscow again last night." Taylor nodded in approval. "Gave it a serious pounding. One of those R-H bombs. It was about time."

He nodded again, soaking up the warmth of the kitchen, the presence of his hefty, attractive wife, the breakfast dishes, and the coffee. This was relaxation. And the war news was good, really good and satisfying. He felt a justified glow from the news, a sense of pride and personal achievement. After all, he was a crucial part of the war effort, not just another factory worker pushing a cart of scrap, but a technician, one of those who designed and planned the backbone of the war.

"It says they have the new subs almost ready. Just wait until they get those up and running." He smacked his lips excitedly. "When they start shelling from underwater, the Soviets are really going to be shocked."

"They're doing an amazing job," Mary said with a hint of uncertainty. "Do you know what we saw today? Our team is getting a lady to show to the school kids. I only saw the lady for a moment. It's great for the kids to see what their contributions are going towards, don't you think?"

She glanced at him.

"A lady," Taylor murmured. He set the newspaper down slowly. "Well, make sure it's properly decontaminated. We don't want to take any chances."

"Oh, they always give them a bath when they bring them down from the surface," Mary said. "They wouldn’t dream of letting them come down without a bath. Right?" She paused, reflecting back. "Don, you know, it reminds me—"

He nodded. "I got it."

He knew what she was thinking. Once, in the early weeks of the war, before everyone had been evacuated from the surface, they saw a hospital train unloading the wounded, people who had been pelted with sleet. He remembered how they looked, the expressions on their faces, or what was left of their faces. It had not been a pleasant sight.

There had been a lot of that at first, in the early days before the transfer to undersurface was complete. There had been a lot, and it hadn't been very difficult to come across it.

Taylor looked up at his wife. She had been overthinking things lately, especially the last few months. They all had.

"Forget it," he said. "It's all in the past. There's nobody up there now except the ladies, and they don't mind."

"But still, I hope they're careful when they bring one of them down here. If one is still hot—"

He laughed, pushing himself away from the table. "Forget it. This is a great moment; I'll be home for the next two shifts. Nothing to do but relax and take it easy. Maybe we can catch a show. Sound good?"

"A show? Do we really have to? I don't like seeing all the destruction, the ruins. Sometimes I see a place I remember, like San Francisco. They showed a shot of San Francisco, the bridge broken and lying in the water, and it made me upset. I don't like watching."

"But don't you want to know what's happening? No one is getting hurt, you know."

"But it's so terrible!" Her face was tight and tense. "Please, no, Don."

Don Taylor picked up his newspaper with a gloomy expression. "Okay, but there isn't much else to do. And don't forget, their cities are suffering even more."

She nodded. Taylor sifted through the rough, thin sheets of newspaper. His good mood had faded. Why did she have to worry all the time? They were doing pretty well, considering. You couldn’t expect everything to be perfect while living underground, with an artificial sun and fake food. Of course, it was tough not seeing the sky or being able to go anywhere or see anything beyond metal walls, massive factories, the plant yards, and barracks. But it was better than living above ground. And someday it would end, and they could go back. Nobody wanted to live this way, but it was necessary.

He flipped the page in frustration and the poor paper tore. Ugh, the paper just keeps getting lower quality, with bad printing and a yellowish tint—

Well, they needed everything for the war effort. He should know that. Wasn't he one of the planners?

He made an excuse and went into the other room. The bed was still unmade. They should tidy it up before the seventh-hour inspection. There was a one-unit fine—

The video phone rang. He stopped. Who could it be? He walked over and turned it on.

"Taylor?" the face said, making itself clear. It was an old face, gray and serious. "This is Moss. I'm sorry to interrupt you during Rest Period, but something has come up." He shuffled papers. "I need you to come over here quickly."

Taylor tensed. "What's going on? Can't it wait?" The calm gray eyes were looking at him, unreadable, without judgment. "If you want me to head down to the lab," Taylor complained, "I guess I can. I'll grab my uniform—"

"No. Just come as you are. And not to the lab. Meet me at the second stage as soon as you can. It should take you about half an hour, using the fast car up. I'll see you there."

The picture shattered and Moss vanished.

What was it?" Mary asked, standing at the door.

"Moss. He needs me for something."

"I saw this coming."

"Well, you didn't want to do anything anyway. What does it matter?" His voice was bitter. "It's all the same, every day. I'll bring you back something. I'm heading up to the second stage. Maybe I'll be close enough to the surface to—"

"Don't! Don't bring me anything! Not from the surface!"

"Okay, I won't. But out of all the absurd nonsense—"

She watched him put on his boots without saying anything.

Moss nodded and Taylor walked alongside him as the older man moved ahead. A series of loads were being transported to the surface, blind cars clanking like ore trucks up the ramp, vanishing through the stage trap above them. Taylor watched the cars, weighed down with some kind of tubular machinery, weapons he wasn't familiar with. Workers were everywhere, dressed in the dark gray uniforms of the labor corps, loading, lifting, and shouting to each other. The stage was filled with deafening noise.

"We'll head up a bit," Moss said, "where we can chat. This isn't the right spot to share the details."

They rode an escalator up. The commercial lift fell behind them, taking most of the noise with it. Soon, they arrived at an observation platform, hanging on the side of the Tube, with the huge tunnel leading to the surface just half a mile above them now.

"My God!" Taylor exclaimed, looking down the Tube without meaning to. "It's a long way down."

Moss laughed. "Don’t peek."

They opened the door and walked into an office. Behind the desk, an officer was sitting—an officer from Internal Security. He looked up.

"I'll be right there with you, Moss." He looked at Taylor, who was observing him closely. "You're a bit early."

"This is Commander Franks," Moss said to Taylor. "He was the first to make the discovery. I got the notification last night." He tapped a package he was holding. "I was allowed in because of this."

Franks frowned at him and stood up. "We're heading up to the first stage. We can talk about it there."

"First stage?" Taylor asked nervously. The three of them walked down a side passage to a small elevator. "I've never been up there. Is it safe? It’s not radioactive, is it?"

"You're just like everyone else," Franks said. "Old women scared of intruders. There are no radiation leaks down to the first stage. There's lead and rock, and what comes down the Tube is shielded."

"What's the issue?" Taylor asked. "I'd like to know more about it."

"One moment."

They got into the elevator and went up. When they stepped out, they found themselves in a hall full of soldiers, with weapons and uniforms everywhere. Taylor blinked in surprise. So this was the first stage, the closest underground level to the top! After this stage, there was only rock, lead, and rock, along with the huge tubes leading up like earthworm burrows. Lead and rock, and above that, where the tubes opened, was the great expanse that no living being had seen for eight years—the vast, endless ruin that had once been Man's home, the place where he had lived eight years ago.

Now the surface was a deadly wasteland of debris and swirling clouds. Endless clouds moved back and forth, blocking out the red Sun. Occasionally, something metallic stirred, navigating through the ruins of a city, making its way across the ravaged landscape. A leady, a surface robot, resistant to radiation, created in a rush during the final months before the cold war turned into a real conflict.

Leadys crawled along the ground, moved over the oceans, or flew through the skies in slender, dark craft—creatures that could survive where no life could endure. They were metal and plastic figures engaged in a war that humanity had imagined but couldn’t fight themselves. Humans had created war, developed and produced the weapons, and even designed the players, the fighters, the actors of the conflict. But they couldn’t step out into it; they couldn’t fight it themselves. Across the globe—in Russia, Europe, America, Africa—no living human remained. They were underground, in deep shelters that had been carefully planned and built, even as the first bombs started to fall.

It was a brilliant idea and the only one that could have worked. Above, on the destroyed, barren surface of what used to be a thriving planet, the creatures crawled and hurried, fighting humanity's war. Below the surface, in the depths of the planet, humans worked tirelessly to produce the weapons needed to keep the battle going, month after month, year after year.

First stage," Taylor said. A weird ache went through him. "Almost to the surface."

"But not quite," Moss replied.

Franks guided them through the soldiers, over to one side, close to the edge of the Tube.

"In a few minutes, an elevator will bring something down to us from the surface," he said. "You see, Taylor, every once in a while, Security checks in on and interrogates a surface leady, someone who has been up there for a while, to find out certain things. A video call is sent up, and contact is made with a field headquarters. We need this direct interview; we can't rely on video screen contact alone. The leadys are doing a good job, but we want to make sure that everything is going the way we want it."

Franks faced Taylor and Moss and continued, “The elevator will bring down a leady from the surface, one of the A-class leadys. There's an exam room in the next area, with a lead wall in the center, so the interviewing officers won't be exposed to radiation. We find this easier than washing the leady. It is going right back up; it has a job to get back to."

"Two days ago, we captured an A-class leady and questioned him. I ran the session myself. We wanted to know more about a new weapon the Soviets have been using, an automatic mine that tracks anything that moves. The military had sent orders that the mine be monitored and reported on in detail."

"This A-class leady was brought down with information. We learned a few facts from it, got the usual roll of film and reports, and then sent it back up. It was leaving the chamber, heading to the lift, when a strange thing happened. At the time, I thought—"

Franks stopped. A red light was flashing.

"That down lift is coming." He nodded to a few soldiers. "Let's go into the chamber. The lady will be here shortly."

"An A-class leady," Taylor said. "I've seen them on the screens, giving their reports."

"It's really something," Moss said. "They're nearly human."

They entered the room and sat down behind the main wall. After a while, a signal was given, and Franks gestured with his hands.

The door beyond the wall opened. Taylor looked through his view slot. He saw something moving slowly, a thin metallic figure advancing on a track, its arm grips resting at its sides. The figure stopped and scanned the front wall. It stood still, waiting.

"We want to learn something," Franks said. "Before I ask you anything, do you have any updates on the surface conditions?"

"No. The war goes on." The lady's voice was flat and emotionless. "We're a bit short on fast pursuit craft, the single-seat kind. We could also use some—"

"That's all been acknowledged. What I want to ask you is this. Our communication with you has only been through the vidscreen. We have to depend on indirect evidence since none of us goes up there. We can only guess what's happening. We never see anything firsthand. We have to take everything secondhand. Some top leaders are starting to feel there's too much room for mistakes."

"Error?" the lady asked. "In what way? Our reports are checked thoroughly before they're sent out. We stay in constant communication with you; everything important is reported. Any new weapons that the enemy is observed using—"

"I get that," Franks said gruffly through his peep slot. "But maybe we should check it out ourselves. Is there a chance there’s a big enough radiation-free zone for a group of us to go up to the surface? If a few of us came up in lead-lined suits, could we survive long enough to see the conditions and take a look around?"

The machine paused before responding. "I doubt it. You can test air samples if you want and figure it out for yourselves. But in the eight years since you left, things have just gotten worse. You can’t really know what conditions are like up there. It's hard for anything that moves to survive for long. There are lots of types of projectiles that react to movement. The new mine not only responds to motion but also tracks the object indefinitely until it finally reaches it. And the radiation is everywhere."

"I see." Franks turned to Moss, his eyes narrowed strangely. "Well, that was what I wanted to know. You can go."

The machine moved back toward its exit. It paused. "Every month, the number of lethal particles in the air increases. The pace of the war is gradually—"

"I understand." Franks stood up. He extended his hand, and Moss handed him the package. "One thing before you go. I need you to take a look at a new kind of metal shield material. I'll give you a sample with the tongs."

Franks placed the package in the gripping jaws and rotated the tongue so he was holding the other end. The package swung down to the leady, which accepted it. They observed as it unwrapped the package and took the metal plate in its hands. The leady examined the metal, turning it over and over.

Suddenly, it became stiff.

"Okay," Franks said.

He pushed his shoulder against the wall and a panel slid open. Taylor gasped—Franks and Moss were rushing up to the lady!

"Wow!" Taylor said. "But it’s radioactive!"

The leader stood still, still holding the metal. Soldiers entered the room. They surrounded the leader and carefully ran a scanner across it.

"Alright, sir," one of them said to Franks. "It's as cold as a long winter night."

"Good. I was confident, but I didn't want to take any risks."

"You see," Moss said to Taylor, "this lead isn't hot at all. Yet it came straight from the surface, without even being treated."

"But what does it mean?" Taylor asked, looking confused.

"It might be an accident," Franks said. "There's always a chance that an object could avoid being exposed above. But this is the second time it’s happened that we know of. There could be more."

"Again?"

"The last interview was when we noticed it. The lady was not hot. She was cold, too, just like this one."

Moss took the metal plate back from the lady's hands. He pressed the surface gently and gave it back to the rigid, unresisting fingers.

"We shorted it out with this, so we could get close enough for a thorough check. It'll turn back on in a second now. We should get behind the wall again."

They walked back, and the main wall swung shut behind them. The soldiers exited the chamber.

"Two periods from now," Franks said quietly, "a preliminary investigation team will be set to head up to the surface. We're going up the Tube in suits, all the way to the top—the first human group to leave underground in eight years."

"It might not mean anything," Moss said, "but I don’t think so. Something’s happening, something weird. The lady told us no life could survive up there without getting burnt. The story doesn’t add up."

Taylor nodded. He looked through the peephole at the motionless metal figure. The leady was starting to move. It was bent in several places, dented and twisted, and its surface was blackened and scorched. It was a leady that had been up there for a long time; it had witnessed war and destruction, devastation so immense that no human could truly grasp the scale. It had crawled and crept through a world of radiation and death, a world where no life could survive.

And Taylor had touched it!

"You're coming with us," Franks said suddenly. "I want you to join us. I think the three of us should go."

Mary looked at him with a pale and scared face. "I know it. You're going to the surface. Right?"

She followed him into the kitchen. Taylor sat down, avoiding her gaze.

"It's a secret project," he dodged. "I can't share any details about it."

"You don’t have to say anything. I get it. I knew the moment you walked in. There was something in your expression, something I haven’t seen on you in a very long time. It was an old look."

She walked over to him. "But how can they send you to the surface?" She held his face in her trembling hands, forcing him to look at her. There was a deep longing in her eyes. "Nobody can survive up there. Look, look at this!"

She picked up a newspaper and held it in front of him.

"Look at this photograph. America, Europe, Asia, Africa—it's all just ruins. We see it every day on the screens. Everything is destroyed, poisoned. And they're sending you up there. Why? No living thing can survive up there, not even a weed or grass. They’ve ruined the surface, haven’t they? Haven’t they?"

Taylor stood up. "It's an order. I don't know anything about it. I was told to report to join a scout party. That's all I know."

He stood there for a long time, looking straight ahead. Slowly, he grabbed the newspaper and held it up to the light.

"It looks real," he whispered. "Ruins, desolation, debris. It's convincing. All the reports, photos, videos, even air samples. Yet we haven't seen it for ourselves, not since the first months ..."

"What are you saying?"

"Nothing." He set the paper down. "I'm heading out early after the next sleep period. Let's get to bed."

Mary turned away, her face hard and tough. "Do whatever you want. We might as well all go up and get killed at once, instead of dying slowly down here, like pests in the ground."

He hadn't noticed how bitter she was. Was everyone like that? What about the workers grinding away in the factories, day and night, non-stop? The tired, hunched men and women, trudging back and forth to work, squinting in the dull light, eating artificial food—

"You shouldn't be so bitter," he said.

Mary smiled slightly. "I'm upset because I know you'll never come back." She turned away. "I'll never see you again once you go up there."

He was shocked. "What? How can you say something like that?"

She didn't answer.

He woke up to the sound of the news anchor yelling in his ears, shouting outside the building.

"Special news bulletin! Ground forces report a massive Soviet attack using new weapons! Key groups are retreating! All work units report to factories immediately!"

Taylor blinked, rubbed his eyes, and jumped out of bed. He rushed to the video phone, and a moment later, he was connected to Moss.

"Listen," he said. "What about this new attack? Is the project canceled?" He could see Moss's desk, piled high with reports and papers.

"No," Moss said. "We're going straight ahead. Come over here now."

"But—"

"Don't argue with me." Moss held up a handful of surface bulletins, crumpling them angrily. "This is fake. Come on!" He stopped speaking.

Taylor hurriedly got dressed, his mind feeling hazy.

Half an hour later, he jumped out of a fast car and rushed up the stairs into the Synthetics Building. The hallways were packed with people hustling in every direction. He walked into Moss's office.

"There you are," Moss said, getting up right away. "Franks is waiting for us at the departure station."

They drove in a security car, the siren blaring. Workers hurried to get out of the way.

"What about the attack?" Taylor asked.

Moss squared his shoulders. "We're sure that we've pushed them to act. We've made the issue urgent."

They arrived at the Tube station and jumped out. Moments later, they were speeding up toward the first stage.

They stepped into a chaotic scene of activity. Soldiers were putting on lead suits, chatting excitedly with one another, shouting back and forth. Guns were being distributed, and instructions were being relayed.

Taylor observed one of the soldiers. He was holding the notorious Bender pistol, the new compact sidearm that had just started rolling off the assembly line. A few of the soldiers appeared somewhat scared.

"I hope we're not making a mistake," Moss said, noticing his stare.

Franks walked over to them. "Here's the plan. The three of us are going up first, just the three of us. The soldiers will follow in fifteen minutes."

"What are we going to tell the ladies?" Taylor asked anxiously. "We'll have to tell them something."

"We want to watch the new Soviet attack." Franks smiled ironically. "Since it looks like it's so serious, we should be there in person to see it."

"And what happens next?" Taylor said.

"That's up to them. Let's go."

In a small car, they quickly shot up the Tube, propelled by anti-grav beams from below. Taylor looked down occasionally. It was a long way back and getting longer every second. He nervously sweated inside his suit, gripping his Bender pistol with unsteady hands.

Why had they picked him? It was just luck, pure luck. Moss had invited him to join as a Department member. Then Franks had chosen him on a whim. And now they were hurrying toward the surface, quicker and quicker.

A deep fear, ingrained in him for eight years, pulsed in his mind. Radiation, certain death, a world destroyed and deadly—

Up and up the car went. Taylor gripped the sides and closed his eyes. With each moment, they were getting closer, the first living beings to go above the first stage, up the Tube past the lead and rock, up to the surface. The overwhelming fear shook him in waves. It was death; they all knew that. Hadn’t they seen it in movies a thousand times? The cities, the sleet coming down, the rolling clouds—

"It won't be much longer," Franks said. "We're almost there. The surface tower isn't expecting us. I instructed that no signal should be sent."

The car sped upward, moving wildly. Taylor's head was spinning; he held on with his eyes closed. Up and up....

The car stopped. He opened his eyes.

They were in a huge room, lit by fluorescent lights, a cavern filled with equipment and machinery, endless piles of materials stacked in row after row. Among the stacks, workers were moving quietly, pushing trucks and handcarts.

"Leadys," Moss said, his face pale. "So we really are on the surface."

The workers were constantly busy with equipment, moving the huge amounts of guns, spare parts, ammunition, and supplies that had been brought up. And this was just the receiving station for one Tube; there were many others spread across the continent.

Taylor looked around nervously. They were really there, above ground, on the surface. This was where the war was.

"Come on," Franks said. "A B-class guard is coming our way."

They stepped out of the car. A vehicle was approaching them quickly. It pulled up in front of them and stopped, checking them out with its gun raised.

"This is Security," Franks said. "Send an A-class to me right away."

The lady hesitated. Other B-class guards were coming, rushing across the floor, alert and worried. Moss looked around.

"Obey!" Franks said in a loud, commanding voice. "You've been told!"

The leady moved hesitantly away from them. At the end of the building, a door slid open. Two A-class leadys appeared, approaching them slowly. Each had a green stripe across its front.

"From the Surface Council," Franks whispered nervously. "This is above ground, for sure. Get ready."

The two women approached cautiously. Without saying a word, they paused nearby the men, sizing them up.

"I'm Franks from Security. We came from underground to—"

"This is incredible," one of the ladies interrupted him coldly. "You know you can't live up here. The whole surface is deadly for you. You can't possibly stay on the surface."

"These suits will keep us safe," Franks said. "Anyway, it's not your responsibility. What I need is an immediate Council meeting so I can get up to speed on the conditions and the situation here. Can we make that happen?"

"You humans can't survive up here. And the new Soviet attack is aimed at this area. It's in serious danger."

"We get that. Please call the Council together." Franks glanced around the large room, illuminated by recessed ceiling lights. A hint of uncertainty crept into his voice. "Is it night or day right now?"

"Night," one of the A-class leads said after a pause. "Dawn is coming in about two hours."

Franks nodded. "We'll stay for at least two hours, then. As a favor to our sentimental side, could you please show us a spot where we can watch the Sun rise? We would really appreciate it."

A buzz went through the ladies.

"It’s a terrible sight," one of the ladies said. "You’ve seen the photos; you know what you’re going to see. Clouds of floating particles block out the light, piles of waste are everywhere, the entire land is ruined. For you, it will be an overwhelming sight, much worse than pictures and videos can show."

"Whatever happens, we'll stick around long enough to see it. Will you tell the Council?"

Come this way." Hesitantly, the two ladies moved toward the wall of the warehouse. The three men followed behind, their heavy shoes echoing against the concrete. At the wall, the two ladies stopped.

"This is the entrance to the Council Chamber. There are windows in the Chamber Room, but it's still dark outside, of course. You won't see anything right now, but in two hours—"

"Open the door," Franks said.

The door opened. They walked in slowly. The room was small, organized, with a round table in the middle and chairs around it. The three of them sat down quietly, and the two women followed, taking their seats.

"The other Council Members are on their way. They’ve already been notified and are coming as fast as they can. Again, I urge you to go back down." The lady looked over the three humans. "There’s no way you can meet the conditions up here. Even we have some trouble surviving. How can you expect to manage?"

The leader approached Franks.

"This amazes and confuses us," it said. "Of course, we have to follow your instructions, but let me point out that if you stay here—"

"We know," Franks said, clearly annoyed. "But we plan to stay, at least until sunrise."

"Fine, if you insist."

There was silence. The ladies seemed to be talking among themselves, although the three men heard no sound.

"For your own good," the leader finally said, "you need to go back down. We've talked about this, and it seems like you're making the wrong choice for your own benefit."

"We're human beings," Franks said sharply. "Don't you get it? We're people, not machines."

"That’s exactly why you need to go back. This room has radiation; every surface does. We estimate that your suits won’t protect you for more than fifty more minutes. So—"

The ladies suddenly moved towards the men, turning in a circle to create a solid line. The men got up, with Taylor clumsily reaching for his weapon, his fingers feeling numb and clumsy. The men stood facing the quiet metal figures.

"We have to insist," the leader said, its voice flat. "We need to take you back to the Tube and put you on the next car. I’m sorry, but it’s necessary."

"What are we going to do?" Moss asked nervously, looking at Franks. He touched his gun. "Should we shoot them?"

Franks shook his head. "Okay," he said to the leader. "We'll head back."

He walked over to the door, signaling for Taylor and Moss to follow him. They exchanged surprised glances but decided to go with him. The women trailed behind them as they headed out into the large warehouse. They slowly made their way to the Tube entrance, and no one said a word.

At the edge, Franks turned. "We're going back because we have no choice. There are three of us and about a dozen of you. But if—"

"Here comes the car," Taylor said.

There was a harsh noise from the Tube. D-class leaders moved to the edge to catch it.

"I’m sorry," the leader said, "but it's for your safety. We’re keeping an eye on you, seriously. You need to stay down and let us handle the war. In a way, it has become our war. We have to fight it the way we think is right."

The car floated to the surface.

Twelve soldiers, carrying Bender pistols, jumped out and surrounded the three men.

Moss let out a sigh of relief. "Well, this really changes things. It turned out just right."

The leader stepped back from the soldiers. It watched them closely, looking from one to another, clearly trying to decide something. Finally, it signaled to the other leaders. They moved aside, creating a path toward the warehouse.

"Even now," the leader said, "we could send you back by force. But it's clear that this isn't really an observation party at all. These soldiers show that you have much more planned; this was all carefully prepared."

"Very carefully," Franks said.

They surrounded us.

"How much more, we can only guess. I have to admit that we were caught off guard. We completely failed to handle the situation. Now using force would be pointless because neither side can risk hurting the other; we can’t because of the rules we have about human life, and you can’t because the war demands—"

The soldiers shot, fast and scared. Moss went down on one knee, shooting upwards. The leader vanished in a burst of particles. All around, D- and B-class leadys were charging in, some armed, some carrying metal slats. The room was chaotic. In the distance, a siren was wailing. Franks and Taylor were cut off from the others, blocked from the soldiers by a wall of metal bodies.

"They can't retaliate," Franks said calmly. "This is just another bluff. They've been trying to bluff us the whole time." He shot at a leady. The leady vanished. "They can only attempt to scare us. Keep that in mind."

They kept shooting until the lead stopped flying. The room was filled with the smell of burning metal, the stench of melted plastic and steel. Taylor had been knocked down. He was trying to find his gun, reaching wildly among the metal legs, frantically groping to locate it. His fingers strained as a handle came into view. Suddenly, something landed on his arm—a metal foot. He shouted out.

Then it was over. The ladies were moving away, grouping together off to one side. Only four of the Surface Council remained. The others were like radioactive particles in the air. D-class ladies were already restoring order, collecting partially destroyed metal figures and bits and taking them away.

Franks let out a shaky sigh.

"Okay," he said. "You can take us back to the windows. It won't be much longer now."

The ladies separated, and the group of people, Moss, Franks, Taylor, and the soldiers, walked slowly across the room toward the door. They entered the Council Chamber. A faint hint of gray was already softening the darkness of the windows.

"Take us outside," Franks said, impatiently. "We want to see it for ourselves, not just inside here."

A door slid open. A rush of cold morning air streamed in, chilling them even through their heavy suits. The men exchanged uneasy glances.

"Let’s go," Franks said. "Outside."

He walked out the door, and the others followed him.

They were on a hill, looking out over the vast bowl of a valley. Faintly, against the dull gray sky, the outlines of the mountains were taking shape, becoming clearer.

"It'll be light enough to see in a few minutes," Moss said. He shivered as a cold wind blew around him. "It's truly worth it, really worth it, to see this again after eight years. Even if it's the last thing we see—"

"Look," Franks snapped.

They complied, quiet and subdued. The sky was clearing, getting brighter with each moment. Somewhere far away, echoing across the valley, a rooster crowed.

"A chicken!" Taylor whispered. "Did you hear?"

Behind them, the ladies had come out and were standing silently, watching, too. The gray sky turned white and the hills became clearer. Light spread across the valley floor, moving toward them.

"God in heaven!" Franks said.

Trees, trees, and forests. A valley of plants and trees, with a few roads winding through them. Farmhouses. A windmill. A barn, far down below.

"Check this out!" Moss whispered.

Color filled the sky. The sun was rising. Birds started to sing. Not far from where they were standing, the leaves of a tree swayed in the wind.

Franks turned to the line of leadys behind them.

"Eight years. We were deceived. There was no war. As soon as we left the surface—"

"Yeah," an A-class leady admitted. "As soon as you left, the war stopped. You're right, it was a setup. You worked hard underground, sending up guns and weapons, and we destroyed them as quickly as they came up."

"But why?" Taylor asked, feeling dazed. He looked down at the huge valley beneath him. "Why?"

"You" created us," the leader said, "to fight the war for you while you humans took refuge underground to survive. But before we could carry on with the war, we had to analyze it to figure out what its purpose was. We did this and discovered that it had no real purpose, except maybe regarding human needs. Even that was debatable."

"We looked deeper into the topic. We discovered that human cultures go through different phases, each at its own pace. As the culture matures and starts to lose its goals, conflicts emerge between those who want to discard it and create a new cultural framework, and those who want to hold on to the old ways with minimal changes."

"At this point, a serious danger emerges. The internal conflict threatens to consume society in a civil war, group against group. Important traditions could be lost—not just changed or reformed, but entirely wiped out in this time of chaos and disorder. We have seen many such examples throughout human history."

"It’s essential for this hatred within the culture to be aimed outward, at an external group, so that the culture itself can survive its crisis. War is the outcome. To a rational person, war seems ridiculous. But in terms of human needs, it serves a crucial purpose. And it will keep happening until humanity matures enough that there’s no hatred inside."

Taylor was listening closely. "Do you think this time will come?"

"Of course. It's almost here now. This is the last war. Humanity is almost united into one final culture— a world culture. At this moment, people stand continent against continent, one half of the world opposing the other half. Only one last step is left, the leap to a unified culture. Humanity has been slowly climbing upward, always moving towards the unification of its culture. It won't be long—

"But it hasn't happened yet, and so the war had to continue to satisfy the last intense burst of hatred that humanity felt. Eight years have passed since the war started. In these eight years, we've observed and noted significant changes in people's minds. Fatigue and disinterest are slowly replacing hatred and fear. The hatred is gradually running its course over time. But for now, the charade must continue, at least for a little while longer. You're not ready to hear the truth. You would want to keep the war going."

"But how did you pull it off?" Moss asked. "All the photos, the samples, the broken equipment—"

"Come over here," the lady said, directing them toward a long, low building. "Work is ongoing all the time, with entire teams working hard to create a consistent and believable image of a global war."

They walked into the building. Workers were scattered all over, focused on their tables and desks.

"Check out this project here," the A-class leady said. Two leadys were carefully photographing something, a detailed model on a table. "It's a great example."

The men gathered around, trying to get a look. It was a model of a ruined city.

Taylor stared at it quietly for a long time. Finally, he looked up.

"It's San Francisco," he said quietly. "This is a scale model of San Francisco, destroyed. I saw this on the screen, streamed down to us. The bridges were hit—"

"Yeah, check out the bridges." The leader traced the broken span with his metal finger, like a tiny spider web, nearly invisible. "You've probably seen photos of this plenty of times, as well as the other tables in this building."

"San Francisco itself is completely intact. We restored it soon after you left, rebuilding the parts that were damaged at the beginning of the war. The work of gathering news continues all the time in this particular building. We are very careful to ensure that each part fits in with all the other parts. A lot of time and effort are put into it."

Franks touched one of the tiny model buildings, lying partially in ruins. "So this is what you spend your time on—creating model cities and then blowing them up."

"No, we do much more. We’re caretakers, watching over the whole world. The owners have left for a while, and we have to make sure the cities stay clean, that decay is kept at bay, and that everything is well-maintained and functioning. The gardens, the streets, the water mains—everything needs to be looked after just like it was eight years ago, so when the owners come back, they won't be unhappy. We want to ensure they will be totally satisfied."

Franks tapped Moss on the arm.

"Come over here," he said quietly. "I want to talk to you."

He took Moss and Taylor out of the building, away from the ladies, outside to the hillside. The soldiers followed them. The sun was up and the sky was getting blue. The air smelled sweet and fresh, the scent of growing things.

Taylor took off his helmet and took a deep breath.

"I haven't smelled that scent in a long time," he said.

"Listen," Franks said, his voice low and intense. "We need to head back right away. There's a lot to begin. All this can work in our favor."

"What do you mean?" Moss asked.

"It's certain that the Soviets have been fooled too, just like us. But we have figured it out. That gives us an advantage over them."

"I get it." Moss nodded. "We know, but they don't. Their Surface Council has betrayed them, just like ours. It affects them the same way. But if we could—"

"With a hundred top-tier guys, we could take over again, fix things the way they should be! It would be a piece of cake!"

Moss tapped him on the arm. A top-tier leady was walking from the building toward them.

"We've seen enough," Franks said, raising his voice. "This is all very serious. It needs to be reported below, and we should conduct a study to figure out our policy."

The lady said nothing.

Franks waved to the soldiers. "Let’s go." He headed toward the warehouse.

Most of the soldiers had taken off their helmets. Some of them had also removed their protective suits and were relaxing in their cotton uniforms. They looked around, down the hillside at the trees and shrubs, the wide stretch of green, the mountains, and the sky.

"Look at the sun," one of them whispered.

"It’s really bright as hell," another said.

"We're going back down," Franks said. "Line up in pairs and follow us."

Reluctantly, the soldiers regrouped. The women watched without emotion as the men marched slowly back toward the warehouse. Franks, Moss, and Taylor led them across the ground, glancing alertly at the women as they walked.

They walked into the warehouse. D-class workers were loading materials and weapons onto surface carts. Cranes and derricks were busy operating all around. The work was done efficiently, but without rushing or any excitement.

The men stopped, watching. Leadys operating the little carts moved past them, signaling silently to each other. Guns and parts were being hoisted by magnetic cranes and lowered gently onto waiting carts.

"Let's go," Franks said.

He turned toward the edge of the Tube. A line of D-class leadys stood in front of it, motionless and silent. Franks stopped and stepped back. He looked around. An A-class leady was approaching him.

"Tell them to get out of the way," Franks said. He touched his gun. "You'd better move them."

Time passed, an endless moment, without measure. The men stood, nervous and alert, watching the line of ladies in front of them.

"As you wish," the A-class lead said.

It signaled, and the D-class leadys came to life. They stepped aside slowly.

Moss let out a breath of relief.

"I'm glad that's over," he said to Franks. "Look at them all. Why don't they try to stop us? They must know what we're going to do."

Franks laughed. "Stop us? You saw what happened when they tried to stop us before. They can't; they're just machines. We built them so they can't touch us, and they know that."

His voice faded away.

The men stared at the Tube entrance. Around them, the ladies watched, silent and unbothered, their metal faces blank.

For a long time, the men stood still. Finally, Taylor turned away.

"Good God," he said. He felt numb, devoid of any emotions.

The Tube was gone. It was sealed shut, fused over. Only a dull surface of cooling metal greeted them.

The Tube was closed.

Franks turned, his face white and expressionless.

The A-class leader shifted. "As you can see, the Tube is closed. We were ready for this. As soon as all of you were on the surface, the order was given. If you had gone back when we asked, you would be safe down below right now. We had to move fast because it was such a huge operation."

"But why?" Moss asked angrily.

"Because it's unimaginable that you would be allowed to start the war again. With all the Tubes sealed, it will take months before forces from below can reach the surface, not to mention setting up a military program. By then, the cycle will have entered its final stages. You won't be so troubled to see your world still intact."

"We had hoped you would be underwater when the sealing happened. Your presence here is a hassle. When the Soviets broke through, we managed to get their sealing done without—"

"The Soviets? They made it through?"

"Several months ago, they showed up out of nowhere to find out why the war hadn't been won. We had to move quickly. Right now, they're urgently trying to create new Tubes to the surface to continue the war. However, we've managed to seal each new one as it shows up."

The lady looked at the three men calmly.

"We're stuck," Moss said, shaking. "We can't get back. What do we do now?"

"How did you manage to seal the Tube so quickly?" Franks asked the lady. "We've only been up here for two hours."

"Bombs are positioned just above the first stage of each Tube for emergencies like this. They're heat bombs. They melt lead and rock."

Gripping the handle of his gun, Franks turned to Moss and Taylor.

"What do you think? We can't go back, but we can cause a lot of trouble, the fifteen of us. We have Bender guns. What do you say?"

He looked around. The soldiers had drifted off again, heading back toward the building's exit. They were outside, gazing at the valley and the sky. A few of them were cautiously making their way down the slope.

"Would you mind handing over your suits and guns?" the A-class lady asked politely. "The suits are uncomfortable, and you won't need weapons. The Russians have given up theirs, as you can see."

Fingers tightened on triggers. Four men in Russian uniforms were approaching them from an aircraft that they suddenly realized had landed quietly some distance away.

"Give it to them!" Franks shouted.

"They're unarmed," said the lady. "We brought them here so you could start peace talks."

"We don’t have the authority to speak for our country," Moss said stiffly.

"We're not talking about diplomatic discussions," the lady explained. "There won't be any more of those. Dealing with daily life will show you how to coexist in the same world. It won't be easy, but it will happen."

The Russians stopped and confronted each other with open hostility.

"I’m Colonel Borodoy, and I regret giving up our guns," the senior Russian said. "You could have been the first Americans to be killed in almost eight years."

"Or the first Americans to kill," Franks corrected.

"No one would know about it except for you," the lady pointed out. "It would be pointless heroism. Your main concern should be surviving on the surface. We don’t have any food for you, you know."

Taylor put his gun in its holster. "They've done a good job of taking us out, damn them. I suggest we move into a city, start growing crops with the help of some leads, and generally make ourselves comfortable." Drawing his lips tight over his teeth, he glared at the A-class lead. "Until our families can come up from the underground, it's going to be pretty lonely, but we'll have to make it work."

“If I could offer a suggestion,” said another Russian anxiously. “We tried living in a city. It felt too empty. It was also too difficult to manage with so few people. We eventually found the most modern village we could.”

"Here in this country," a third Russian exclaimed. "We have a lot to learn from you."

The Americans suddenly found themselves laughing.

"You probably have a thing or two to teach us as well," said Taylor generously, "even though I can't imagine what."

The Russian colonel smiled. "Would you come with us to our village? It would make our job easier and give us some company."

"Your village?" snapped Franks. "It's American, right? It's ours!"

The lady stepped between them. "When our plans are finished, the term will have the same meaning. 'Ours' will eventually mean all of humanity." She pointed at the aircraft, which was getting ready. "The ship is waiting. Will you come together to create a new home?"

The Russians waited as the Americans decided what to do.

"I see what the ladies mean about diplomacy becoming outdated," Franks said finally. "People who collaborate don't need diplomats. They work through their issues at the operational level instead of at a conference table."

The leader guided them towards the ship. "The aim of history is to unify the world. From family to tribe to city-state to nation to hemisphere, the path has always been towards unification. Now the hemispheres will be connected and—"

Taylor stopped paying attention and glanced back at where the Tube was. Mary was down there. He hated leaving her, even though he wouldn’t see her again until the Tube was opened. But then he shrugged and followed the others.

If this small mix of former enemies was a good example, it wouldn’t be long before he, Mary, and the rest of humanity would be living on the surface like rational human beings instead of blindly hating moles.

"It has taken thousands of generations to achieve this," the A-class leader said. "Hundreds of centuries of bloodshed and destruction. But each war was a step toward uniting humanity. And now the end is in sight: a world without war. But even that is just the beginning of a new chapter in history."

"The conquest of space," breathed Colonel Borodoy.

"The meaning of life," Moss said.

"Ending hunger and poverty," said Taylor.

The woman opened the door of the ship. "All that and more. How much more? We can't predict it any better than the first people who formed a tribe could predict this day. But it will be unimaginably great."

The door shut, and the ship flew off toward their new home.

—PHILIP K. DICK