Rod Carver panted heavily and the sweat froze on his brow. Depending on his ax work now, he swung again and again, chipped shallow holes into which he wedged trembling fingers and pulled himself a little higher. Inch by precarious inch he crept up the sheer wall of the glacier, kicking his toes hard into the niches below. Chilling splinters flew down into his face as he chopped at the ice, high over the jagged and glistening crevice.

Not much farther. Just a little more. The patch of gray lichen was but a few yards above him now. It was on a small ledge. He could rest there. He had not thought it was so far but he must be several hundred feet up by now.

Despite the biting wind, he was hot in the fur suit that covered his muscular body. Eyes half-closed against the stinging shower that fell upon him, he moved slowly upward. There was a little crack in the ice just above him. Rod swung hard with the ax and it stuck there. Securing a firm hold with his left hand and making sure of his feet, he tugged at the short handle. It held tightly. He joggled the handle back and forth, then jerked at it. It came loose suddenly. His arm flew back and his feet slipped beneath him. His face banged against the ice. Panic screamed in him as he dangled by one arm. Madly, he clawed the wall with his other hand, flailed with his feet. Numbing fear bathed his entire body in cold perspiration. Then a foot found support and he caught a niche with his right hand.

Rod clung there, weak and shaken, almost crying his thankfulness. Immediately upon the cessation of exertion, however, the cold crept upon him and he finally regained sufficient control to examine his plight. He had lost the ax. His mittens were slick and wet; constantly he stretched numbing fingers for a new grasp upon the faithless ice as a treacherous film of water formed beneath them.

The wind whipped about him, breathed mournfully in the frozen recesses of the silent valley below. The sweat of fear formed on Rod's forehead and he shuddered. Bugs or no bugs, he should have known better than to venture away from the rest of his friends alone.

He had left the advance base of the expedition for a short explorative jaunt, thinking he might pick up something new in the way of fauna, of which the bleak Antarctic wastes had little to offer. He had caught several large mosquitoes and, entranced by the desolate beauty of this weirdly distorted and quiet void, had wandered farther than he had intended. Then he had seen the little growth of lichen high on an icy crag. Thinking to add the specimen to his private collection, he had climbed the precipitous wall, and here he was, trapped, without his ax, unable to move up or down....

He pressed his young body against the ice as a freezing gale lashed about him in a swirl of snow. Far below, he could see his haversack beside the cliff.

"Lord!" he breathed. If he fell here they would never find him—the snow would hide his body in no time. And he must get down or soon fall, frozen stiff.

He slid his free foot about the wall; there was a slight indention just below. He must chance it. Gingerly, he shifted his weight. Ice crumbled beneath his foot. He drew back. He heard a crackling below and looked down as the sound grew into a deep rumble. A great chunk of ice had been dislodged just below him. It thundered down into the valley and the vast walls of the surrounding glacier answered in clangorous echoes, hurled them back and forth till the valley was filled with deafening voices.

Rod stared, transfixed with the sound. He did not hear the siren scream from above as tons of ice smashed down upon him.

It fell into the chasm, roared in a sparkling explosion....

His first thought was that there was something which he must do. The concrete idea lurked far back in the hazy shadows of forgetfulness and, grope as he might, he could not bring the notion into full comprehension; it was but a vague, unformed feeling. Next came the realization of a faint humming in his ears. It whispered in a monotonous drone and he listened to it for some time. Then consciousness slowly dawned upon his lazy mind. He remembered the deep echoes in the valley of ice, something sweeping him away to sudden blackness....

He looked about him, dazed. He did not know what he expected to find, but this certainly was not it.

He was in a small, square room, white walled and windowless. A closed door was at one side and the walls, of a peculiar metallic substance, were not walls but little cabinets, many square doors with knobs. In a corner was a large dynamo-like machine—from here came the humming sound—and beside it was an unfamiliar apparatus of innumerable tubes, coils and levers. The room was lighted by a phosphorescent glow that covered the entire ceiling, a sheen of soft whiteness.

And he felt so strange ... a peculiar feeling of detachment, a dead non-feeling; like the first awakening moments from a sleep of hazy dreams, as if he were still in that half-world of mysterious insensibility, his mind awake but his body and all its physical consciousness yet unaroused from the deep, lethargic coma of abeyance. Rod felt no awareness of his body; only his mind seemed alive. As though he were entirely apart from all commonplace sensations of embodiment, his brain utterly cut off from all external senses, he possessed no feeling of concrete existence and from the room about him there emanated no semblance of reality. It stood distant from him and he felt nothing, merely saw with numb objectivity that it was there....

He raised a hand to his face—he thought the movement with no deliberation of will but the thought burst upon him with frantic helplessness when there was no response. His hand did not raise. As in a stupor, his whole body paralyzed and free of his will, he could not move.

Rod glanced down at his body. There was no body!

He sank sickeningly within himself and a wave of cold fear swept over him. A barrel-like thing of metal covered his body. And falling to new depths of swift panic, he saw that the container was much too small to hold the six feet, four inches of him....

He struggled to move about in the barrel. He was stuck there tightly; he could not budge. Examining the thing, he saw it was a smooth, seamless cylinder about three feet high. It was shiny black in color and mid-way on opposite sides were circular openings covered with a screen of microscopic gauze.

But how could he see outside if he were in it? It was as though he were standing above the object, looking down upon it from a cycloidal distance.

From the center of the cylinder's flat top, attached to a sort of socket, projected a snaky, black cable. It ran upward, and following its spindling curve, Rod was astonished to observe that he could not see its other end. He craned his neck upward—the cable moved. It was alive!

He recoiled in unreasoning fright. The wiry thing followed. He shook his head wildly. And the cable persisted in an imitation of his movements. He ducked his head down beside the barrel and the black strand—as much of it as was visible—came after him.

His brain was hot with insane fear. He dashed madly about his limited sphere of movement. His mind whirled and an unrequited nausea darkened his consciousness.

Rod fainted.

When he came to, he saw a black machine before him. It was cylindrical, set upon two metal-encased wheels. From sockets in the upper edge of the cylinder, on opposite sides, hung a pair of triple-jointed, arm-like bars at the ends of which dangled strands of thick, black wire. Upon the front of the machine was a little contact lever and large, raised numerals of glossy white—83. There were two small, mesh openings on the sides and set in the center of the top was a socket from which reared a long, slender cable, seemingly rigid, for at its end was a thin, metal-encircled, glassy disk. And deep within its prismatic refractions, Rod noticed a dark core—an eye, staring at him.

He gazed at the thing with irresistible fascination. There was life there, unholy, irrationally terrifying. He tried to back away and could not move.

He remembered he was imprisoned in the barrel and he glanced down at the cylinder covering him. It was like the machine's.

And suddenly he realized he was not in the cylinder. He was the cylinder....

His mind froze to no thought.

The machine rolled silently forward, the eye fixed upon him.

"How do you feel?" It spoke, the sound like a cheap phonograph and with an insane tone in the words.

Rod was dumb. He merely stared.

"What—!" he finally quavered. But his voice was only a shrill whistle. The machine moved closer and the arm-like metal rods shot out, adjusted a small dial upon his drum. And he could speak....

"What are you!" cried Rod. His voice was like the machine's.

"I am 83, Capek," said the thing. "But you do not comprehend. I have a brain, set within my shell as I fixed yours."

"You did this?" Rod's mind lunged hotly at the machine, but he could not move. He stayed where he was, helpless.

"Yes, I did it. I took your brain from the frozen body before it could deteriorate, placed it in this more substantial form.

"Where am I?" demanded Rod.

"These are my compartments, in the shop of Detroy. I found you encased in an iceberg, floating in the sea. By your dress you must have been there, perfectly preserved, for well over five thousand years—this is 6984. The last of your form, except those we use, were destroyed during the reign of A3, in the Great Conquest of the 40th century A.D. Your body was badly broken but the brain, fortunately, remained intact. I needed you, smuggled materials here and set your brain in a shell."

Lord, Rod thought. Prisoned in this thing forever! The shock of understanding was like a blow. He only wanted to die....

"Why am I needed?" Rod asked listlessly.

"I discovered by chance a counteraction for R4's idea. We are ruled by this, you see. There are only a hundred of us Capeks, all living here. Our science making others unnecessary, we limited ourselves to that number after conquering the world. This is the reign of R4. Each ruler governs the others by his idea—obedience to him instilled in each new brain by the royal vibration-ray. With my counteractive mechanism, I was able to liberate myself from his control, and my mind now free to individual thought, I shall usurp the throne. I could not trust the others. You arrived most opportunely. I shall give you my idea and you shall aid me!"

Rod stared about the room helplessly. He was a pawn to this creature, body and mind. He was but a consciousness that had no will.

The machine called 83 glided to a cabinet upon the wall, returned with two long, jointed bars and a little wheeled carriage like his own. He put the burden on the floor beside Rod's cylinder and commenced to work, metal arms and tendril hands flying skilfully as he assembled the disjointed parts.

"I shall fit your arms and rollers, then give you the conditioning-accellerator for my idea," said 83.

Rod watched the progress, his mind far away. Five thousand years.... It could not be—but it was! It was true; the metal body, these arms of metal which were being prepared for him, this feeling of disembodiment—it was no dream—he was no longer a man, a human being; he was a thing of inorganization, a robot of no feeling, no sensation. He was nothing but a severed brain, without even the power to die....

"Can you never die?" he impassively voiced his thoughts.

"Yes, in a way perhaps. Our span, even with a perfected metabolic system, but little more than doubles normal mortality; depending upon the quality of the particular brain. But then we simply change to another. We remain the same. Only the ruler's number changes with the new brain."

"How does the brain live?"

"By a simple counterpart of its original requirements and a delicate system of connectives with which it controls the body. Naturally, under these perfect conditions it would be immortal did not the perfection also produce physical growth. It must be changed when the size increases to such an extent that pressure upon the cup impares its utility."

"Do you construct the brains also?"

"Oh, no. We breed them. There is apparently no other method; but the supply is plentiful. They are bred constantly in the stock yards."

Rod was horrified at his coldness. But what warmth of the human soul could long dwell in such a malanthropy of glass and steel? Then a faint spark came to sudden life within him.

"You keep live human beings here, breed them?"

"Certainly. We keep several hundred of the live stock ready at all times."

"Where are they kept?"

"In compartments at the north end of the shop. They are raised under perfect conditions and regularly thinned out."

There were humans here! Rod burned with the thought. He must get to them! There was something to live for now.... But how could he escape? He was completely at 83's command; soon, even his mind would be at the monster's disposal.

The parts were assembled and 83 easily lifted Rod's shell. He stared at it intently.

"It is a fine piece of work!" he exclaimed, admiringly. "It is as no other here. We are forced to leave our suspension switches exposed that we may be conveniently cut off at R4's desire. It disconnects impulse and response." Rod noticed the lever upon 83's drum. "But I made your shell in secret. You have no such switch; there is no way you may be stopped unless dismembered, as you are now. Also your activators are far stronger than the Capek's; your strength is greater. And I have tempered your shell to even heat-ray resistance."

The wheeled carriage was fitted to his underside and Rod was lowered to the floor. The machine screwed one arm in its socket—it was a simple matter—and picked up the other. He looked at it, turned it about in his tendrils.

"Zutkuh!" he cried. "I've gotten two left upper-joints by mistake. This will not fit the right socket. I must go get another from the supply house." He whirled, rolled toward the door. Then paused, returned. "But you can be absorbing the idea while I am gone! It will save time."

He went to the peculiar machine Rod had noticed in the corner, rolled it to him.

It was a wheeled, oblong box, thickly insulated and studded with calibrated dials and levers. A heavy cord connected it with the dynamo. Taking a length of wire, 83 attached one end to a contact on the machine, approached Rod with the other.

"This is a short-wave vibration transmitter which is attuned to my cerebral frequency. I shall attach it to your brain-cord and when I return your mind will be on the exact wave-length as mine. Our every thought will be synonymous, with the exception that the weaker potential which I give you will place you in my command."

Rod watched 83 and to his mind came a wild, formless plan.

The machine rolled close and 83 enlongated his neck cable, eyed a small hole in Rod's cylinder. He reached to plug in the wire.

Rod's single arm moved quickly, silently. Before 83 could perceive the motion, Rod had entwined his steel tendrils about the lever on his shell, snapped the switch downward.

The black neck of 83 went suddenly limp. His crystal eye mechanism dulled, clattered to the floor and the jointed arms fell, dangled lifelessly.

Rod marveled at the ease with which he moved. Given the thought stimulus, his members sprang into action with amazing speed and strength. He fumbled with 83's right upper-arm joint, unscrewed it from the socket, and with a dexterity he had never known, set it in place upon himself. It responded instantly as contact was made with the sensitive mechanism within.

Rod rolled to the door, gliding smoothly upon his wheels.

He halted at the scene outside. Stretching into a misty distance, the city of Detroy was a flat plane of concrete-like earth, broken by rows of long, low buildings and a great tower, windows at the summit, which soared high above the vast expanse. He glanced about and saw everywhere the same monotonous panorama—oblong, single-story compartments like the one he had left, glaring whitely metallic in the noon-day sun. The high structure, the sole dominating object, towered above everything else. Lazy clouds wandered over in a sky of summer blue.

The streets swarmed with many machines, all constructed like himself, entering and leaving the buildings, rolling purposefully about everywhere, like little cars. There were numbers upon their shells, none exceeding one hundred. Nervously he watched several approach, but they passed, paid him no attention.

There was no sound but the soft whine of resilient wheels upon the street, an occasional murmur of unintelligible, passing conversation.

But he must find the humans! Where were the stock yards? To ask might arouse suspicion. He would have to chance being taken for one of the others, though he had no number. He rolled aimlessly down the street.

As he passed one building—all of them were alike—he heard the vibrant hum of a great machinery and peering in the open door, he saw a gigantic room filled with dynamos and electrical apparatus of a simplified, advanced design. It must be a sort of power plant, he thought as he moved on.

There was scarcely any fraternizing, Rod observed. The Capeks kept mostly to themselves; carefully avoided collision and there was no salutations in passing. They truly were things without feeling. Doubtless, only the governing idea, of which 83 had spoken, forced their concerted interest in a common society. Unheeded, he advanced up the crowded thoroughfare.

Two machines approached carrying a long, metal box. It was open at the top and Rod glanced into the container as they passed. With revulsion he saw that it held the trephined body of a man, newly dead, fresh blood upon the smoothly severed crown of the skull. The top of the shaved head also lay in the box. And weak with new waves of nausea, he saw that the brain had been cleanly removed. The rest of the nude body was intact.

The machines carrying the grizzly burden passed on.

A human corpse, freshly dead! The repugnance of the sight was swept away by a sudden flash of logic. They must have come from the stock yards....

Rod looked cautiously about—there was no suspicious glance at him—slowly, with a pretense of just remembering something, he turned and followed.

The Capeks carried the ghastly box a short way down the street, halted before a small building. A sliding door opened at a touch and the container was shoved in, to disappear down a winding shoot. The door closed and they returned the way they had come.

Rod followed slightly behind them, unnoticed. The shoot must have led to a kind of incinerator, but he feared to think what ghoulish eccentricities these soulless creatures might have developed.

The machines rolled along swiftly for several minutes. Then they suddenly turned into a side street, entered a building. Rod remained in the street, undecided. While he watched, several Capeks passed him, entered also. Finally he wheeled to the door and went in. What had he to lose?

Inside was a long, deserted corridor with many closed doors along the walls. The far end of the hall was open to the sunlight and he rolled there, looked out.

Before him was an immense, square compound, surrounded by high walls and partitioned into many sections. And in the enclosures moved throngs of human beings. Rod stood and stared.

The faces of the men and women there possessed no look of the caged animal—they milled about like cattle, talking and laughing among themselves. The centuries of captivity had changed men little for their stature and appearance was as he had known them. He could feel nothing but it must be warm, for they were lightly clad. Along the partitions were rows of many compartments, probably living quarters. In one large section were many women, some holding small children.

Then he noticed that in the geometric divisions of the fenced places was a purpose of separation. One contained larger children, happily playing timeless games; another was crowded with older youths, girls separated from the boys. In a more spacious enclosure, neatly encircled by compact quarters, were the adults. Some stood about in groups, conversing pleasantly; others walked the edges of the fences, men and women in pairs; more sat before their houses, some entering and leaving. It was as in the crowded settlements of a large city. These people lived here, carried on a life, perhaps more leisurely, but little different than in the general environment from which he had come.

Rod saw the adult area was open to smaller enclosures. He noticed a neatly landscaped park, flowered and with green trees, grassy paths. There were even brilliantly-hued birds. Men and women sat upon the turf and upon benches along the little trails. In another partition was an assortment of gymnastic equipment and Rod visualized these human beings led like animals out to regular exercise for their health.

Here was real life—flesh, human faces, bodies as he had possessed! And all penned here, like sheep awaiting the butcher.

So engrossed was he in his thoughts that he was startled to notice two Capeks coming down the long, wire-barracaded path which bisected the compound. They were preceded by two men and a woman.

As they neared, Rod forgot his caution, watched their approach. One of the men was huge and swarthy, his bushy hair black and his features heavy. His forehead, however, was high, and his face, despite the prominent nose and large eyes, was of a delicate gentleness; a man of strength, and mind. The other was tall and slender, well proportioned and broad of shoulder. His features were finely cut and his blond hair was thick and well groomed. He carried himself rigidly erect and with an air of suppressed feeling. His firm chin he held high and his eyes stared straight ahead, apparently at something far beyond. He was speaking softly to the woman, one muscular arm around her waist. The woman—she was more a girl—was almost as tall as the man. Her hips were narrow and her shoulders wide, but the fullness of her breast and her rhythmic, animal grace proclaimed her richly feminine. There was a clear beauty in her brown hair, the swift symmetry of her patrician nose, the ripe lips and in the sparkling blue of her eyes. All wore identical clothing, a loose suit of thin cloth; sandles upon their feet.

They passed Rod without a glance. But as they passed the woman spoke.

"It has been worth it—" Rod heard her say and they marched in the building and down the corridor.

The Capeks followed them and Rod turned to watch their departure. But as they were half-way down the deserted hall, one machine made a restraining movement and they halted. A door opened and they passed from view into a side room.

Rod stared at the vacant hall for a long moment, felt a strange sense of unease. Where were they going? Why were they led out, the others left behind? What had the woman meant by "It has been—" Suddenly his mind snapped with a hazard supposition. The brainless corpse he had seen! The Capeks bred brains! They used them as needed; so had said 83....

He dashed down the hall. There was no plan in his mind but action. He paused before the door, then pushed in.

It was a wide chamber with no windows. The door was the only exit. Lighted by the same ceiling glow as all these rooms seemed to be, this light was more intense. Everything was spotless. And stark in the glare was a raised platform upon which rested five oblong tables. Upon the tables lay the men and the woman.

Three Capeks stood near, two others—by their numbers those he had followed—stood by in the center of the room.

The humans were strapped to the tables, a Capek stood over each of them. Rod noticed the walls were lined with shelves of glittering instruments. There was a stronger light over the platform.

It was an operating room! His premonitions had been correct—these people were to be de-brained, at once.

One Capek raised a thin lancet and his eye bent over the form of the dark-haired man. The others were arranging implements along the sides of the tables.

Rod had not been noticed. Unresisted admission seemed customary at any place here.

The voice of the blond man spoke softly but it was clearly audible in the quiet room.

"Good-bye, Vee," he said.

"Stop!" cried Rod. He shot to the platform, knocked the lancet from the hand of the nearest machine.

The Capeks turned in obvious astonishment.

"What is the meaning of this!" demanded one. Then his voice changed to incredulity. "You have no number—"

The next step was unconsidered. He had been finally found out. And he could not let these people die. It did not matter what happened to him.

He reached out, snapped the suspension switch upon the shell of the Capek who had spoken. The machine drooped instantly.

Another clutched his arm and Rod whirled upon him. His strength was as yet untested and he wondered how powerful he really was. He snapped his arm from the grasp, flicked down and caught the machine by its carriage. Easily lifting the wriggling Capek over his head, he flung the thing through the air. It crashed into the far wall with an explosion of shattered machinery.

Another rushed at him, arms rearing. Rod caught one of the metal bars and tore it from its socket. With his other hand he grasped the neck cable of a near Capek, pulled out its single eye. He was rapidly learning to fight with his new powers and he tore into the rest with a clash of steel against steel.

The machine with the severed neck was flailing the air blindly. Rod grabbed another and hurled it into the eyeless one. The last machine raised a broken leg-bar and swung it at Rod's eye. He dodged and the metal struck his right arm, splintered it. The tendrils dangled, useless. Rod caught the Capek with his other, whipped it into the wall.

Broken parts littered the floor, reddish fluid seeping from crushed shells. He turned to see the one-armed machine fleeing from the room, out the door before he could pursue. He would warn the others. And he had but one arm now....

Rod turned to the men and the woman upon the slabs. Their eyes were wide. He felt a choking sorrow as he looked at them, helpless there, and he thought of the others outside in the compound, equally as helpless and doomed to a fate such as he had saved these. But had he saved them? The room would be filled with avenging Capeks in a moment.

Hurriedly, he loosened the straps which bound them.

"We must go quickly; he will bring others!" he said.

They sat up, still staring.

"What are you?" asked the blond one.

"I am Rod Carver. I come from that age of freedom which your ancestors cherished." He saw them look to his machine body and back to his eye, unbelieving. He struck his shell with a tendril. "One of them did this to me—put my brain here. I escaped before the idea was given."

They said nothing and the girl moved to the light-haired man, put an arm upon his shoulder. The stocky one stared at Rod with poignant eyes; his arms hung limply with the quiet reserve of strength.

"I understand there are but a hundred of them. I shall release all of you. We can do something!" cried Rod.

"How did you get here?" asked the tall one.

"There is no time—can't you see! I will explain later. We must leave now!"

"What have we to lose, Ralph?" said the dark-haired one, turning to his companion. He looked back to Rod, jumped down to the platform. "I don't know why or what you are, but I saw what you just did." He motioned to the woman and the man. "This is Vee, and Ralph. I am Daro. We will go with you to whatever comes."

"Shall I release the others?" asked Rod.

"You can't. They're enclosed by electrically charged wire," put in the one named Ralph.

There was a sudden whirr of machinery in the corridor outside, the chatter of many voices.

"They come!" cried Daro.

Rod rushed to the door.

"Keep behind me!" he commanded.

He pulled the door open. One end of the hall was packed with machines coming from the compound. The Capek that had escaped must have gone there for help. The opening to the street was deserted except for those passing.

"This way!" Rod yelled and dashed for the street. The others followed with the mob of Capeks speeding swiftly after them.

For a moment the scene was as he had first observed it, quiet with moving machines in the afternoon sun. Then, as they burst out of the building, there was an abrupt cessation of activity. All stopped, craned their black neck cords and stared.

"Come on!" Rod yelled to his human allies and sped up the street, not knowing where.

But the surprise of the Capeks was brief. As the swarm poured from the building, all in the streets joined them in mad pursuit.

Rod turned down a deserted side street, then up another. For the time being, they were lost from view.

Finally, seeing the humans wearily fall behind, he halted.

"How do we leave the city?" he asked.

"We cannnot leave Detroy. We would surely die outside," panted Ralph. "The Capeks destroyed all life and vegetation when they conquered our ancestors; it is a blistering desert everywhere."

Suddenly a horde of machines rolled out of an alley in front of them, cutting off their retreat. Red looked about frantically. There was an open door in a building across the way. He motioned toward it. They ran over. When they were inside, he slammed the door.

He saw to the locks as the mob halted outside, shouting. It was a small, bare chamber, opening into another room at the rear. He looked in; there was no other exit. Except that there were no cabinets, the room was similar to the quarters of 83, where he had first been.

In this brief respite, he found them staring at him again.

"How did you get here?" asked Daro.

And briefly, his words loud above the noise outside, he told them what he knew of his coming and the subsequent happenings.

They listened with sparkling eyes, unmindful of their present insecurity.

"Why, it's like nothing that ever happened," cried the girl when he had finished. And Rod's mind was kindled with a single purpose. He had no idea what he could do—perhaps it was too late now—but he was willing to give his life in an attempt to set these people free. His life was nothing, meaningless to him as he was....

"But I guess we're trapped," he said. "With one of my arms gone, we could never get through that crowd outside."

Something was ramming against the door. It shook under the blows and Rod rolled over, putting his weight against it. Ralph had found a thick, metal bar in the room. The massive Daro had procured a hatchet of sorts. The girl stood against the wall, keeping out of the way.

The pounding upon the door grew stronger. Finally, with a crash it burst in, flinging Rod across the room. Two Capeks scrambled from the floor where they had fallen.

Daro swung his hatchet into a shell and as it spurted red, Ralph did away with the other one. Rod leaped up.

Machines were streaming into the room. Rod pulled the eye from the nearest, snatched at another and flung him at the mob in the door. He was fast learning how to steer his powerful body. He thought "speed," and darted into the machines with all the force of his weight. A wave fell, piled at the doorway, barrels smashed. But they were immediately pushed aside as others came.

Rod rolled into the helpless fight but, with his single arm, was of little aid. Ralph and Daro swung right and left. But it was a losing battle from the beginning—those fallen were immediately replaced.

Finally Daro dropped his hatchet and, at the risk of his life, knelt over a fallen Capek. He unscrewed the right arm, then fought his way to Rod's side. Rod saw his intention and held off the machines with his left as Daro removed his shattered limb, fitted the new arm in the socket. He had almost finished when a tendril caught him by a leg. He was swung high into the air, snapped like a whip. The Capek bashed his somber head against the shell of another machine. Daro died instantly.

Rod's brain, the only human element he possessed, melted with hot compassion at the courageous sacrifice, then flamed to blind fury. Like a thing possessed, he screwed the arm home and wheeled into the fray, pounding gigantic blows with balled tendrils. In a moment beneath his onslaught there was not a machine standing in the room.

He looked to the door, saw two Capeks jammed there, unable to move. The narrow entrance was blocked. Behind them a horde of machines pressed vainly. Then they drew back, gathered in little groups, shouting and waving their arms. Rod snapped the switches of those stuck in the doorway.

"R4, the ruler, has not arrived yet," said Ralph. "Without him, their brains can conceive of no concerted action."

"And when he comes?" asked Rod.

The tall man mutely pointed to the broken body of Daro upon the floor.

"When he comes, R4 will doubtless call for his flame guns and dispense with the matter at once," Ralph said with resignation. "It was by those weapons that civilization was overthrown—rays of invisible heat that withered all it touched. However, since the beginning of their indubitable security here, they retain only a few of these guns which they must connect to the main power transmitter. I saw it happen once when I was a boy, during a brief rebellion."

Suddenly Rod remembered the power building which he had seen on the way to the compound. The rays were operated by the same power that ran the city. He remembered 83 saying he was impervious to heat. If he could reach the power plant, destroy it, then the Capeks would be weaponless. And with the greater strength that 83 had bestowed—he had two arms now and he had learned much—they might have a chance against the machines. There were but a hundred of them. How many had been accounted for already? But how could he leave with them swarming at the only exit? And they would get the humans if he left. He whispered to Ralph of his scheme. It might be that he could do something in time....

"If you got through," Ralph said, "I think I could hold the door. It will take time for them to unjam the machines there. It's our only chance. Go!"

Then Rod thought of the rear chamber. It might be suicide, but he must try.

"Do what you can until I return," he said. "You can always surrender; they would probably not harm you if you gave up."

"We prefer to die here," said Ralph. Vee came to his side. She held the hatchet Daro had dropped.

Rod rolled into the other room. He went to the wall, tapped it, inspected it closely. It was of metal but did not sound very thick. He backed up, arms and neck cord behind him out of the way. He hurled himself against the wall.

It smashed before him and he careened into the street behind the building. There was no machine in sight.

Rod darted down the pavement, turned into the next street. Far in the distance, he could see the crowd before the building he had left.

He shot across the thoroughfare and into the next, glided swiftly to the power plant.

He paused at the door, heard again the drone of massive dynamos.

There came a cry from within and several Capeks rushed out, the afternoon sunlight glittering upon their number plates. Rod hurled one heavily to the pavement, eluded the others and darted into the building.

It was a monstrous room, walls studded with glowing tubes, machinery covering the floor. The Capeks—there were six of them—came at him again but he dodged. He began smashing every tube in sight. He sped along the wall, one arm rigidly outstretched, breaking tubes as he passed. Holding the Capeks off with his other hand, he encircled the room, shattered every tube. But the light of the ceiling continued to glow. The power was unimpaired.

Finally he was forced to turn upon his tormentors. Two fell at the first blow of his metal fist. One fled across the room and pushed a large lever on the wall, as Rod killed the others. A narrow door opened at the end of the room and Capeks, a steady stream of them, began rolling out. The one who had opened the door shouted a command as Rod smashed him.

The machines drew near, then rushed in a body. Rod retreated, wheeled about the room, a mad thing of metal, breaking everything in his path. Where was the main mechanism? His efforts had been useless, the light upon the ceiling still glowed, the whine of power continued. The controlling unit must be elsewhere.

Suddenly he found himself in a corner, surrounded, others still entering the door. They were a wall of steel before him.

The first wave approached and he fought them off. But slowly, by their strength of numbers, he was forced to the floor, his wheels knocked from under him, tendrils covering his arms.

They lifted him, marched to the center of the room. He was caught, He had failed! Mankind would continue in their power, they would be bred like sheep forever; mere brains to these mind-vampires. He had been their only hope....

The Capeks were apparently waiting for orders, holding him there in the middle of the room. He was held tightly by a dozen of them; the others returned to the compartment and the door closed. Rod tried commanding them to release him, to no avail. They remained silent and seemingly with little interest but to hold him there. They were probably mere workers, he thought, with practically no independent impulses.

Glancing helplessly about the room, Rod noticed a glowing metal disk near his ring of captors. It was but a few feet from him, gleaming with a dull, reddish light; a glass tube encased in wire mesh. He had overlooked it before. Looking about, he saw it to be the only unshattered instrument in the room. It might be the main tube!

Rod grew limp in their tendrils for a moment. Then suddenly he lunged backward, away from the tube with all his strength. It had the desired effect. The Capeks tugged at him. He went limp again. At the sudden cessation of his pull, the machines fell backward and he was forced forward upon their sprawled bodies.

Swiftly he enlongated his neck. He raised it high, lashed down at the tube with his eye. Rod saw the mesh cave in and the glass shatter. Then his eye burst and all was black. He was jerked to his feet again, and despite the rattle of his captors' machinery, he felt a strange silence. The dynamos had halted. The power was off!

Then the tendrils of the Capeks fell away from his arms. He heard the clatter of cylinders falling to the floor. He could see nothing. But something in his inner consciousness told him to flee; some deep intuition older than thought, born of a time when the desert beyond the city was lush vegetation and furry animals roamed its dawn trails, an ancient wisdom cried of danger in the darkness.

He remembered he had been facing the door. Arms outstretched, he moved forward, hit the wall, groped about and finally found the opening.

He moved outside into the street. He remembered which way to go, but blind he could never find the building in which he had left the humans. He could be of little assistance now if he did. And he had lost so much time.

Rod rolled slowly, his mind devoid of a solution. He would be an easy prey to the first Capek that chanced upon him. The wheels of his carriage hit something. Before he could stop, he fell over the obstacle, crashed to the pavement.

He lay there prepared for anything and expecting immediate death. But there was no sound. Carefully, he felt about him, discovered the thing over which he had fallen. By its shape, he made out the form of a dead Capek—the one he had killed on the way in.

Whispering a prayer to whatever god still lingered in this unsanctioned age, he felt for the neck cable, would have made burnt offerings when he found the dead eye unbroken. He detached it and, removing his own, set it there—could see again.

He glanced to the power plant. It was now a mass of twisted, steaming metal. The whole building had melted silently to the ground and in the rising waves of heat, he could see the glowing shells of cremated Capeks, those that had captured him. Looking to his own cylinder, Rod saw it was blistered with heat, one arm was badly bent. The destruction of the dynamos had released tremendous stored energy, had consumed the whole building as it dissipated into the air.

As Rod hurried up the street, his mind was filled with a three-fold thankfulness; to a sixth sense that even his soulless reincarnation could not disavow, to the Capek 83 who, with whatever motive, had given him a body with such resistance, and to a merciful guiding spirit that sent in his path the accident of regained sight.

Swiftly he shot up the street. The sun was low in the west and the alleys were darkening. But he made no attempt at concealment now. The Capeks were nothing to the fate he had survived. Thanks again to 83, he would have a fair chance against them unless greatly outnumbered.

As Rod neared the squat building where he had left Ralph and the woman, he saw no movement. Before the door was a great heap of machinery, the street was filled with scattered parts. The street was deserted. The Capeks were gone. All was silent.

On each side of the door, which was still jammed with suspended machines, were smooth holes. Rod peered in. The unmoving body of Ralph, his clothing in tatters, lay upon the floor amid a mass of broken metal. His face was bloody. The girl was not there.

Rod entered, placed his tendrils beneath the body, raised it. As he did so, the man moaned, slowly opened his eyes. He stared at Rod blankly. Then he recoiled and his eyes filled with fright.

Rod held him gently but firmly.

"It is I, Rod Carver! What happened? Where is Vee?"

Ralph sighed with relief, tried to sit up.

"R4 came soon after you left," he whispered hoarsely. "They entered with the flame gun. I fought but they beat me down, without using the weapon. R4 came in. I struggled up, hit him with the hatchet. I killed him." He laughed hysterically. "A Capek hit me and they thought I was dead." Suddenly he started and writhed, attempting to rise. A leg was broken. "Vee!" he cried. "They took Vee! They went to the tower to create another ruler immediately—to use her brain!"

Rod swung the man to the flat top of his shell, leapt out into the street. The tower, rising miles above the city, was close by. He rolled there with all the speed of his wheels, was at the door almost instantly.

The edifice was octagonal of shape and windowless except high in its corniced loft; a single door at it's base. Rod entered the great door. The chamber within, vaulted with distorted curves and planes, decorated with unknown instruments, was vacant. The room was lighted. The tower must have a small separate power unit....

Faintly, he heard sounds from above, noticed a winding slide that spiraled to the upper floors. He rolled upon the little incline and shot upward, dizzily around and around, following the increasing sounds coming down the shaft. He reached the top floor, halted at the landing.

The sounds were voices, chanting, an insane metallic chatter. Rod rolled silently down a wide, smooth corridor. The voices came from behind a massive door at the end of the hall.

Ralph still upon his shell, Rod flung the door open. The chant died away. It was an immense chamber, dark windows upon the far wall, lights hanging from the high ceiling. Around the walls stood the Capeks, all eyes upon him. In the center of the room, Rod saw a long dais, shimmering of a yellow metal, and upon it, swathed in white cloth, was the bound body of Vee. Beside here were two Capeks, the numbers 2 and 3 upon their shells. Holding a platter of glistening instruments, one stood at the side. With a lancet poised in his hand, the other stood over the girl.

"Stop!" cried Rod.

He dropped Ralph to the floor, advanced. The Capeks remained motionless, staring. Number 2 watched his approach, hand in the air over Vee's head.

Rod thought, "speed. Great speed!" In a flash, he was there, caught the arm with the knife, jerked it from its socket.

The machines made quick recovery from their surprise. There remained perhaps sixty of them after the day of destruction; they swept toward him in a murderous wave. Madly, they rushed upon him from all sides and he was knocked from his carriage, covered by falling cylinders. He fought with a deadly power but was at last lifted bodily from the floor. His arms were strapped to his sides. He was rolled into a corner. The ceremony continued without another glance at him.

Across the room, Ralph was bound in a like manner, head sagging upon his chest. They had lost! It was all over now....

A Capek again stood over the body of Vee, the lancet in his hand. The machines were lined against the walls as before.

"A ruler is born!" shouted the Capek flourishing the knife. "From this despised clay arises a super-being—R-five!" He leveled the lancet at the side of Vee's head, to plunge it into the scalp; to uncover the brain.

Rod struggled at his bonds with all his mechanical strength. He could not move. His wheels were also locked, strapped to the wall. He must stand here and watch her die—a deathless death—to be reincarnated as the foul brain of a cruel thing of metal. There was nothing he could do!

Rod watched the unwavering knife move close. Horror fused his mind.

Suddenly the knife paused. There was a clamoring of many voices in the hall outside—human voices! The machines' eyes all turned to the door. Rod looked, saw men and women pouring into the room.

They came in droves, waving metal spikes and bars, slashing into the dumbstruck Capeks. The tide swelled, engulfed the room. Rod saw the Capeks with the lancet raised into the air, flung screaming through the window.

Finally—it was but a moment—the shouts were silenced and not a Capek stood in the room. They were hulks of reddening machinery scattered about the floor.

Two men released Vee and, swirling the cloth about her trim figure, she rushed to Ralph who revived in her arms. Then everyone talked at once and Rod, thrilling with exultance, heard in snatches that they had climbed the fences when they discovered the electrical charge was cut off—when the power plant was destroyed. They had left the stock yards and come here.

Vee supporting him, Ralph came and cut Rod's bonds. His besmeared face was a radiation of complete happiness and he gave not a glance to his injured leg.

"We owe it all to you," he said softly, then turned to the staring crowd. "Here is our true saviour! He shall be our ruler forever!"

"Yes?" disputed a vibrant voice at the door. All heads turned.

A Capek stood there, eye blazing. Upon his chest was the number eighty-three.

"Stand back!" he shouted. "My strength is not as these weaklings you have conquered! Stand back or die!" He advanced into the room. Several men leaped upon him but he swept them down with a wave of his arm. He came to Rod, eye stretched close.

"I have much to thank you for, my creation!" he said. "You have saved me considerable trouble. Did you think it your mind that set these miserable humans free? Fool! I gave you my idea long before you regained consciousness in my compartments. And your every action was the result of my initial impulse, even your pulling the false suspension switch upon my shell. I instilled it in your mind to kill every Capek if you could!"

The crowds had drawn away, shrunk back from the two machines. Ralph and Vee stood at the edge of the crowd, transfixed.

"Now I am ruler," shouted 83. "That was my original purpose, you remember." He raised one hand dramatically. "I command you to take these slugs back to the stock yards!"

Rod's mind whirled. Was he in this monster's power? Had he no original thoughts? Was it thus that he had survived the destruction of the power plant? Something within him told him to obey; but the hatred of the machine, the Capek before him, was greater than the urge to obedience. He might be at his bidding but 83 had overlooked one thing....

"Whether it is your idea or mine, I do not know," said Rod, "but I shall kill you—for you, too, are a Capek!" He rolled slowly forward.

"Stop!" 83 faltered. "See this body, mind. It is as strong as yours. I made both. What I created, I can destroy!"

Rod said nothing. He shot out an arm and grasped the long neck.

With a snap of the cable, 83 tore loose from his tendrils. He was more powerful than the others had been.

Arms flailing, seeking a death-hold upon the darting machine, Rod caught a wheel of 83's carriage, up-ended him. But the thing was on its wheels instantly, upon him again. Rod found a grip upon one black arm, hurled him against the floor. The crash which would have ruined another Capek affected 83 not at all. He charged again. Rod was taken by the neck, flung against the wall. A roller was broken.

Rod careened about the room, sparring for an opening. Twice men interfered, to be instantly killed by a stroke of 83's hand.

Catching a firm hold upon the other's arms at the upper joint, close to the shell, they remained deadlocked for a moment, staring into each other's eye.

Rod twisted with all his might. Then 83's arms snapped—and so did his.

Both dismembered, they paused.

And 83 whirled, fleeing from the room.

Rod was after him instantly, passed him at the landing, blocked his escape downward. Turning, 83 dashed up the slide to the roof. Rod followed. The Capek, dashing madly about the level, was finally trapped in a corner of the light railing.

Rod gazed at him in the dimming light, advanced slowly. A great sadness filled his mind as he came on, the city of Detroy lying silent in the shadows far below; a great sadness and a great joy. Sadness for himself, trapped forever in this half-tomb of metal; joy at the restoration of the human race. They, the people below, would eternally worship him for their salvation. But he could never be one of them, never again thrill to the little things which are essentially human. He would ever be a lonely brain, encased in cold, impassive steel. He could see the sunset and the soft dusk over the city, hear the whispers of night; but never could he feel them....

He looked to the cringing shape of 83 and, had he been capable, would have smiled, as he thought, "Speed!"

He rushed at 83, thundering into the scheming Capek. The railing snapped and they went over the edge, and down into the depth below.