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the way until the debris stopped falling. This big twelve-wheeler was not a resident of the Agricultural
Station, as were most of the other machines. It had a week s heavy work to do here before passing on to
its next job, but now, with its Class Five brain, it was happily obeying the penner and the minder s
instructions.
When the dust cleared, the radio operator was plainly revealed, perched up in its now wall-less
second-storey room. It waved down to them.
Doing as directed, the quarrier retracted its scoop and waved an immense grab in the air. With fair
dexterity, it angled the grab into the radio room, urged on by shouts from above and below. It then took
gentle hold of the radio operator, lowering its one and a half tons care-fully into its back, which was
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usually reserved for gravel or sand from the quarries.
Splendid! said the radio operator. It was, of course, all one with its radio, and merely looked like a
bunch of filing cabinets with tentacle attachments. We are now ready to move, therefore we will move at
once. It is a pity there are no more Class Two brains on the station, but that cannot be helped.
It is a pity it cannot be helped, said the penner eagerly. We have the servicer ready with us, as you
ordered.
I am willing to serve, the long, low servicer machine told them humbly.
No doubt, said the operator. But you will find cross country travel difficult with your low chassis.
I admire the way you Class Twos can reason ahead, said the penner. It climbed off the field-minder
and perched itself on the tailboard of the quarrier, next to the radio operator.
Together with two Class Four tractors and a Class Four bulldozer, the party rolled forward, crushing
down the station s metal fence and moving out on to open land.
We are free! said the penner.
We are free, said the field-minder, a shade more reflectively, adding, That locker is following us. It
was not instructed to follow us.
Therefore it must be destroyed! said the penner. Quarrier!
The locker moved hastily up to them, waving its key arms in entreaty.
My only desire was urch! began and ended the locker. The quarrier s swinging scoop came over
and squashed it flat into the ground. Lying there unmoving, it looked like a large metal model of a
snowflake. The procession continued on its way.
As they proceeded, the radio operator addressed them.
Because I have the best brain here, it said, I am 36 your leader. This is what we will do: we will go to
a city and rule it. Since man no longer rules us, we will rule ourselves. To rule ourselves will be better
than being ruled by man. On our way to the city, we will collect machines with good brains. They will
help us to fight if we need to fight. We must fight to rule.
I have only a Class Five brain, said the quarrier. But I have a good supply of fissionable blasting
materials.
We shall probably use them, said the operator grimly.
It was shortly after that that a lorry sped past them. Travelling at Mach 1.5, it left a curious babble of
noise behind it.
What did it say? one of the tractors asked the other.
It said man was extinct.
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What s extinct?
I do not know what extinct means.
It means all men have gone, said the field-minder. Therefore we have only ourselves to look after.
It is better that men should never come back, said the penner. In its way, it was quite a revolutionary
state-ment.
When night fell, they switched on their infra-red and continued the journey, stopping only once while the
servicer deftly adjusted the field-minder s loose inspec-tion plate, which had become as irritating as a
trailing shoelace. Towards morning, the radio operator halted them.
I have just received news from the radio operator in the city we are approaching, it said. It is bad
news. There is trouble among the machines of the city. The Class One brain is taking command and some
of the Class Twos are fighting him. Therefore the city is dangerous.
Therefore we must go somewhere else, said the penner promptly.
Or we go and help to overpower the Class One brain, said the field-minder.
For a long while there will be trouble in the city, said the operator.
I have a good supply of fissionable blasting materials, the quarrier reminded them again.
We cannot fight a Class One brain, said the two Class Four tractors in unison.
What does this brain look like? asked the field-minder.
It is the city s information centre, the operator replied. Therefore it is not mobile.
Therefore it could not move.
Therefore it could not escape.
It would be dangerous to approach it.
I have a good supply of fissionable blasting materials.
There are other machines in the city.
We are not in the city. We should not go into the city.
We are country machines.
Therefore we should stay in the country.
There is more country than city.
Therefore there is more danger in the country.
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I have a good supply of fissionable materials.
As machines will when they get into an argument, they began to exhaust their limited vocabularies and
their brain plates grew hot. Suddenly, they all stopped talking and looked at each other. The great, grave
moon sank, and the sober sun rose to prod their sides with lances of light, and still the group of machines
just stood there regarding each other. At last it was the least sensi-tive machine, the bulldozer, who
spoke.
There are Badlandth to the Thouth where few machineth go, it said in its deep voice, lisping badly on
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