for war like that, the way they had waged it. The automatic
retaliation discs, spinning down all over Russia, hundreds of
thousands of them. Bacteria crystals. The Soviet guided missiles,
whistling through the air. The chain bombs. And now this, the robots,
the claws--

The claws weren't like other weapons. They were _alive_, from any
practical standpoint, whether the Governments wanted to admit it or
not. They were not machines. They were living things, spinning,
creeping, shaking themselves up suddenly from the gray ash and darting
toward a man, climbing up him, rushing for his throat. And that was
what they had been designed to do. Their job.

They did their job well. Especially lately, with the new designs
coming up. Now they repaired themselves. They were on their own.
Radiation tabs protected the UN troops, but if a man lost his tab he
was fair game for the claws, no matter what his uniform. Down below
the surface automatic machinery stamped them out. Human beings stayed
a long way off. It was too risky; nobody wanted to be around them.
They were left to themselves. And they seemed to be doing all right.
The new designs were faster, more complex. More efficient.

Apparently they had won the war.

* * * * *

Major Hendricks lit a second cigarette. The landscape depressed him.
Nothing but ash and ruins. He seemed to be alone, the only living
thing in the whole world. To the right the ruins of a town rose up, a
few walls and heaps of debris. He tossed the dead match away,
increasing his pace. Suddenly he stopped, jerking up his gun, his body
tense. For a minute it looked like--

From behind the shell of a ruined building a figure came, walking
slowly toward him, walking hesitantly.

Hendricks blinked. "Stop!"

The boy stopped. Hendricks lowered his gun. The boy stood silently,
looking at him. He was small, not very old. Perhaps eight. But it was
hard to tell. Most of the kids who remained were stunted. He wore a
faded blue sweater, ragged with dirt, and short pants. His hair was
long and matted. Brown hair. It hung over his face and around his
ears. He held something in his arms.

"What's that you have?" Hendricks said sharply.

The boy held it out. It was a toy, a bear. A teddy bear. The boy's
eyes were large, but without expression.

Hendricks relaxed. "I don't want it. Keep it."

The boy hugged the bear again.

"Where do you live?" Hendricks said.

"In there."