Hoofs pounded outside. A pistol cracked, and one of Hammer’s men, standing guard at the door, fell. Hammer himself jumped to the window, smashed the glass with his rifle butt, and shot at the half-dozen mounted police outside – returning from their beats, he thought, and alarmed at what they saw.

  He had had little opportunity to practice. Shells were too scarce. His first shot went wild, the second hit a horse, the third also missed. But the riders retreated. They weren’t such good shots either, though a couple of slugs whined viciously close, through the window and thudding into the wall beyond.

  ‘Here, Dick!’ His men were returning from the interior of the building, and they bore firearms, bore them as they would something holy and beautiful. ‘Here, shootin’ weapons!’

  Hammer grabbed a submachine gun and cut loose. The troopers scattered, leaving their dead and wounded, and fled down the streets out of sight. Right toward the other outlaw divisions! Hammer laughed for joy.

  ‘We got the whole station,’ reported one of his men breathlessly. ‘Bob got winged, an’ I see they plugged Tony an’ Little Jack. But the place is ours!’

  ‘Yeah. Lock up these cops, take what guns an’ horses you need, an’ ride aroun’ town. Herd ever’body down into the main square in the center o’ town; shoot any that try to get away. Be careful, there’ll be some trouble an’ killin’, but we don’t have to be on the receivin’ end o’ any o’ it. Mart, Rog, One-Ear, hold the station here an’ look after our wounded. Sambo and Putzy, follow me. I’m goin’ t’ the square now to take possession!’

  IV

  There was noise in the street, running and stamping feet, shouts and oaths and screams. Now and then a gun spoke. Roderick Wayne gasped out of sleep, sweating. What a dream! Nightmare recollection of the black years—

  No dream!

  There was a tremendous kicking and beating on the door, and a voice bawling in an uncouth accent: ‘Open up in there! Open up in the name of the law!

  Laughter, like wolves yelping. A cry, suddenly broken off. Wayne jumped from his bed. Even then he was dimly surprised to find he wasn’t shaking or gibbering in blind panic. ‘Get Al, Karen,’ he said harshly. ‘Stay inside, in a back room. I’ve got to look into this.’

  He stopped in the living room to get his own shotgun. It was a souvenir now, no cartridges left, but he had killed men with it once. And must I go through that again? No – please no!

  Wood split and crashed, and a man leaped into the house over the fallen door. Wayne saw the pistol and dropped his own useless weapon. He remembered such ragged figures, the shaggy men whose triggers were always ready. The outlaws had returned.

  ‘Smart,’ nodded the gangman. ’ ‘nother sec ‘n I’d ‘a scragged you. Outside.’

  ‘What … is … this?’ Wayne’s lips were stiff.

  ‘Get out!’

  Wayne went slowly, praying he could draw the bandit from the house. ‘It it’s loot you want,’ he said, fighting to keep his voice level, ‘I’ll show you where the silver is.’

  Another gangman entered. ‘Ever’body out o’ here?’ he asked.

  ‘I just got in,’ said the first. ‘I’ll search it myself. Find y’r own house.’ He turned on Wayne and slammed him in the stomach with a fist. ‘Scram, you – down t’ the main square.’

  Retching, Wayne staggered back, and outside mostly by chance. He leaned against the wall, sick and dizzy.

  ‘Rod!’

  He turned, sobbing his relief. Karen had just come around the side of the house, pale but with a calmness on her. ‘Are you all right, Rod?’ she breathed.

  ‘Yeah … yeah … but you … how—?’

  ‘I heard them talking and slipped out a window. But Rod – Al’s gone.’

  ‘Gone!’ Briefly, Wayne was shaken afresh. Al – whatever the mutant was, Al was his son. Then realization came, and a huge thankfulness. ‘He must have sneaked out too. He’s all right. He knows how to run and hide – all mutant kids learn that.’ His mind added darkly: And in the next generation all human kids will have to learn it.

  ‘But us – Rod, what is this?’

  Wayne started down the street as a bearded man jerked a thumb at him to be gone. ‘Town’s apparently captured,’ he said.

  ‘Outlaws—’ Her fingers were cold on his arm. ‘We have to run, dear! Get away!’

  ‘Not much use, I’m afraid,’ he answered hoarsely. ‘This is the work of a well-disciplined group under a smart leader. They must have come up from the south, took us by surprise, overpowered the police – I recognized Ed Haley’s pistol in that man’s hand. Now they’re rounding us up. I wasn’t just shoved out, I was ordered to report to the main square. That suggests they’re guarding all ways out.’ He looked around him. ‘Anyway, we can’t escape now.’

  They had fallen in with a band of citizens moving stunned and blank-eyed under outlaw guard. They must all have been routed from their beds, a few wore pajamas and the rest were naked. It made them look peeled, helpless to do anything but shuffle the way they were told. The invaders were having little trouble. They went from house to house, looking into each room and forcing the dwellers to the street. The work went fast.

  Now and then there was fighting, short and sharp, ending in blow of club or knife or bullet. A couple of families with guns tried to hold off the enemy. Wayne saw fire arrows being shot into the roofs of those houses.

  He shuddered and bent his head close to Karen’s ear. ‘We do have to get out as soon as we can,’ he muttered. ‘If we can. They’re disciplined now, but once the town is completely under control, you know what looting and raping and murdering will start.’

  ‘They can’t stay long,’ she answered desperately. ‘The government … this is on an air route.’

  ‘That’s what I don’t understand. They must know they can’t remain, so why did they come here in the first place? Why not raid closer to home? Well – we’ll have to see, that’s all.’

  The herd of humans entered the square and approached the monument in its center with the queer blind shuffle of cattle in a stockyard chute. There were other outlaw guards posted around the square and on the memorial. The monument was a granite shaft with a stone bench at its base, and seated on it was a man.

  Wayne did not recognize the bearded giant, but Karen caught his arm again, breathing hard. ‘It … Rod, it’s Hammer. Richard Hammer!’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Don’t you remember – the mechanic at the service station. We always used to get our work done there, and once when I smashed a fender on the car he fixed it so you wouldn’t notice.’

  The chief heard them. There weren’t many prisoners in the square yet, and the early sun struck dazzling off Karen’s hair. ‘Why, it’s Miz’ Wayne,’ he said. ‘Howdy, Miz Wayne.’

  ‘H-h-h-hello.’

  ‘Lookin’ purtier’n ever, too. Wayne, you had all the luck.’

  The mathematician shouldered his way forward, suddenly weak with a new fear. ‘Hammer – what is this?’ he got out.

  ‘I’m takin’ over Southvale. Meet the new mayor.’

  ‘You—’ Wayne swallowed. He choked down the rising panic and said in a level, toneless voice: ‘I gather you’ve become chief of this gang and led it here for a raid. But you must know you can’t get away with it. We’re on an airline route. The government will know.’

  Hammer smiled wearily. ‘I’ve got that figgered. I intend t’ stay here. I’m gatherin’ all the folks to tell ‘em t’ be good, because we don’t mind killin’. But if y’re really interested—’ He sketched his further plans.

  ‘You’re crazy!’ cried Wayne. ‘It’s not possible.’

  ‘A lot o’ less possible things have happened. If you all, not too far north, felt safe, what about the gov’ment ‘way out in Oregon? We’ll do it!’

  ‘But even if you can, Hammer, do you realize the government is all that’s holding civilization together? You’d throw us back a thousand years.’

  ‘So what?’ Hammer spat. ‘Wayne, don’t you nor anybody else hand me none o’ that crap ‘bout law an’ order an’ humanity. You’re fifteen years too late. You an’ your kind made us outlaws, drivin’ us away when we came starvin’ to you, houndin’ us south an’ then sittin’ back an’ forgettin’ about us. It’s been hard, Wayne, fightin’ and sickness an’ hunger all them years. We had t’ get hard ourselves, to stay alive.’

  ‘You could have stuck it out in the north as we did,’ said Wayne bitterly. ‘You could have raised your own food free from most bandits.’

  ‘Free only becuz so many people like us went south,’ snapped Hammer. ‘Nor was most o’ us farmers, with land an’ machinery an’ experience. Anyway, you did drive us out when you all was strong. I ain’t blamin’ you. You had t’ live. But it’s our turn now, so shut up.’ His eyes swung to Karen, and he smiled. It was a winter-cold smile, warmth and humor had long ago died in him. ‘You, I’ll be seein’ more of,’ he said. ‘It’s been so long—’

  The square was filling up rapidly now. Some of the captives were still numb. Some wept or prayed or implored or tried to ingratiate themselves, some cursed and threatened, some retreated into silence. But – prisoners all. Captured, impotent, legitimate prey.

  Hammer turned as an outlaw galloped up, thrusting his horse through the crowd without regard for their safety. ‘What is it? asked the chief, not anxiously. His victory was too tremendous.

  ‘I dunno, boss, some trouble down by the river,’ said the gang-man. ‘About half Joe’s detail ain’t showed up yet.’

  ‘Hmmm? Must’a found some likker.’

  ‘Yeah – hey – what’s that?’

  Hammer turned. He couldn’t see much sitting down. Huge and shaggy and ablaze with his triumph, he sprang onto the bench and looked north along the street. He grinned, then laughed, then shouted with mirth. ‘Lamp that, boys. Some crazy mutie – look at him!’

  Wayne was so placed that he could also see down that street. His heart staggered, and for a moment he refused to believe. Then—

  ‘Alaric!’

  The boy was walking slowly and carrying something, a lunatic tangle of wires and coils and tubes, thrown together in the wildest haste. It was hooked to a reel of cable mounted on a mule’s back, and the cable snaked behind, along the road – it must go clear to the powerhouse!

  How had Al done it? The cable was sacrosanct, reserved for electrifying the airport. That apparatus, the invaluable parts in it – how had he gotten them? And why, why, why?

  ‘Come on, kid,’ shouted Hammer boisterously. ‘What’cha got?’

  Alaric approached closer. His thin features were set in concentration, his strange light eyes flashing like glacial ice, not a human gleam. He lifted his burden and twirled a pair of dials.

  ‘May be a weapon,’ said an outlaw uneasily and lifted his rifle.

  ‘No!’ Wayne yelled and made a clumsy lunge. Hammer swept one long arm in a careless blow and sent him to the ground.

  The gangman squeezed the trigger of his rifle but never completed the motion. He was dead before he could. Wayne, sprawled on his back and looking up through a fog of horror, saw the man’s body explode.

  It went up in a white burst of steam, a crash of rending bone and tissue and a brief glare of incandescence. The rifle flying from him glowed cherry red, blowing up as its cartridges detonated, and he himself became a column of greasy smoke. Before the pieces had fallen, something had swept the outer edges of the square, and where the guards had stood were steam and black fumes and shredded flesh.

  The crowd yelled, a single beast cry half of terror and half of triumph, and swept down on the remaining gangmen. It became a riot, where the outlaw numbers were too few and they were ripped in pieces.

  Hammer roared as the mob raged toward him. A horse reared as its rider was yanked from the saddle. Two slugging blows, and Hammer had cleared a way to the mount. He sprang up on its back, howling, and the townsfolk scattered from his charge.

  Almost, he made it. He was on the edge of the square when a man whose brother had been killed made a long jump and grabbed the horse’s bridle – grabbed it, and hung on till a dozen men held the gang boss secured.

  Not many of the outlaws escaped. The rest, such as were not simply kicked and beaten to death in the riot, were hanged that afternoon. Nobody was in a mood for jury trials. Hammer asked not to be blindfolded, and they granted him that much. To the end, he stood looking out over the sun-glittering river, the rolling wooded hills, and the fair broad land green to harvest.

  Wayne took no part in the executions. He had other things to think about.

  V

  After the celebrations, the parades and parties and speeches, the reorganization and the tightening of defenses, there was a rather grim conference in Roderick Wayne’s home. He and Karen were there, seated before the fire, and Alaric sat opposite them, nervous and bewildered. A government representative was present, a lean man who looked older than he was, Robert Boyd by name and roving Presidential agent by profession. In the corner, half hidden by shadow, lay the hairy troll-shape of the dog, watching with sullen red eyes.

  ‘You’ve heard the official account,’ said Wayne, ‘Alaric, a mutant idiot savant, invented and built a weapon to defeat the outlaws. He’s been made much of, and nobody pays any attention to Pop Hansom – he’s the powerhouse watchman, and was rather rudely treated. Geniuses are expected to be eccentric.’

  ‘Well,’ said Boyd, smiling a little, ‘a lot of them are.’

  ‘Not that eccentric. If so many people hadn’t died, I’d say this was a good thing. It taught us not to be complacent and careless. More important, it indicated that mutants can serve society as talented members.’ Wayne’s eyes were bleak. ‘Only you see, Al didn’t behave like a genius. He behaved like a low-grade imbecile.’

  ‘Inventing that—’

  ‘Yes, going all around Robin Hood’s barn, committing violence and theft, working like a slave, risking his neck, all to build that weapon and use it. But he told me his dog warned him hours ahead of time. Certainly he was at the powerhouse well before the raid. Don’t you see, we could have been ready for the outlaws, we could have stood them off, driven their ill-armed force away with no loss to us if Alaric had merely gone to the police with that warning.’

  Thunderstruck, Boyd swung his eyes to meet the blue vacancy of Alaric’s. ‘Why … didn’t you?’ he asked, very softly.

  The boy stared, slowly focusing his mind and vision. His face twisted with effort. He … his father had told him the day before … what was it now? Yes— ‘I … didn’t … think of it,’ he fumbled.

  ‘You didn’t think of it. It just never occurred to you.’ Boyd turned dazedly to Wayne. ‘As long as you’ve said it yourself, I agree – idiot savant.’

  ‘No,’ said Karen gently. ‘No, not in any ordinary sense. Such a person is feeble-minded in all but one respect, where he is a genius. I used to teach school, and know a little psychology. Yesterday I gave Al some tests I’d worked out. Science, mechanical skill, reading speed, comprehension – in too many respects, he’s a genius.’

  ‘I give up,’ said Boyd. ‘What is he, then?’

  ‘A mutant,’ said Karen.

  ‘And … this weapon?’

  ‘Alaric tried to tell me, but we couldn’t understand each other,’ said Wayne. ‘And the thing itself burned out very quickly in use. It’s just fused junk now. From what I could gather, though, and by deduction on that basis, I think it projected an intense beam of highly complex wave form to which one or more important organic compounds in the body resonate. They disintegrated, releasing their binding forces. Or perhaps it was body colloids that were destroyed, releasing terrific surface energies. I’m just as glad I don’t know. There are too many weapons in the world.’

  ‘Mmmm – officially I can’t agree with you, but privately I do. Anyway, the inventor is still here – the genius.’

  ‘It takes more than genius,’ said Wayne. ‘It just isn’t possible for any human being to sit down and figure such a thing out in detail. All the facts are available, in handbooks and texts and papers – quantum mechanics, circuit characteristics, physical constants. But even if he knew exactly what he was after, the greatest genius in the world would have to spend months or years in analytical thought, then more time in putting all those facts together into the pattern he was after. And even then he wouldn’t know it all. There’d be a near infinitude of small factors interacting on each other, that he couldn’t allow for. He’d have to build a model and experiment, the engineering process known as getting the bugs out.’

  Wayne cleared his throat and resumed after a pause: ‘In his incoherent way, Alaric told me his only difficulty was to figure out what to do to meet the danger. All he could think of was to make some kind of weapon. But he spent only a few minutes working out the design of that devil’s engine, and his first model was as nearly perfect as his inadequate tools and materials permitted. He knew how to make it.’

  With an effort, Boyd relaxed. He couldn’t look at that small, big-headed figure in the armchair. The ancient human dread of the unknown was too strong in him. He asked slowly: ‘What’s the answer, then?’

  ‘Karen and I think we’ve figured it out, and what little Al can tell us seems to confirm our idea. But I’ll have to explain it in a roundabout way. Tell me, how does a person think?’

  ‘Think? Why … well … by logic. He follows a logical track.’

  ‘Exactly!’ said Wayne. ‘A track. He thinks in chains of logic, if under that we include everything from mathematics to emotional experience. Premise to conclusion. One thing leads to another, one step at a time.

  ‘Physics and math have been able to make their great strides because they deal, actually, with the simplest concepts, which are artificially simplified still further. Newton’s three laws of motion, for instance, assume that no force beyond the one set being considered is acting on a given body; and the members of this set can be considered one at a time, as if they acted independently. We never really observe such a case. There is always friction, gravitation, radiation, or some other disturbing influence. What saves physics is that these externals are usually negligibly small.’