Fowler straightened up slowly. "I'll take you." He led Tolby down the packed, surging hall, to the hospital wing of the building.
Silvia sat up apprehensively as the two men entered the room. "What's going on?" She recognized her father. "Dad! Thank God! It was you who got out."
Tolby slammed the door against the chaos of sound hammering up and down the corridor. "How are you? How's your leg?"
"Mending. What happened?"
"I got him. The robot. He's dead."
For a moment the three of them were silent. Outside, in the halls, men ran frantically back and forth. Word had already leaked out. Troops gathered in huddled knots outside the building. Lost men, wandering away from their posts. Uncertain. Aimless.
"It's over," Fowler said.
Tolby nodded. "I know."
"They'll get tired of crouching in their foxholes," Fowler said. "They'll come filtering back. As soon as the news reaches them, they'll desert and throw away their equipment."
"Good," Tolby grunted. "The sooner the better." He touched Fowler's rifle. "You, too, I hope."
Silvia hesitated. "Do you think—"
"Think what?"
"Did we make a mistake?"
Tolby grinned wearily. "Hell of a time to think about that."
"He was doing what he thought was right. They built up their homes and factories. This whole area . . . They turn out a lot of goods. I've been watching through the window. It's made me think. They've done so much. Made so much."
"Made a lot of guns," Tolby said.
"We have guns, too. We kill and destroy. We have all the disadvantages and none of the advantages."
"We don't have war," Tolby answered quietly. "To defend this neat little organization there are ten thousand men up there in those hills. All waiting to fight. Waiting to drop their bombs and bacteria pellets, to keep this place running. But they won't. Pretty soon they'll give up and start to trickle back."
"This whole system will decay rapidly," Fowler said. "He was already losing his control. He couldn't keep the clock back much longer."
"Anyhow, it's done," Silvia murmured. "We did our job." She smiled a little. "Bors did his job and we did ours. But the times were against him and with us."
"That's right," Tolby agreed. "We did our job. And we'll never be sorry."
Fowler said nothing. He stood with his hands in his pockets, gazing silently out the window. His fingers were touching something. Three undamaged synapsis-coils. Intact memory elements from the dead robot, snatched from the scattered remains.
Just in case, he said to himself. Just in case the times change. * * *
