Helen gave him the keys and the two of us walked across the street. Dobby got into the car and drove off,
The officers were hustling the other cars away.
A dozen police cars arrived. Men piled out of them. They started pushing back the crowd. Others fanned out to start forming a circle around the house.
Broken furniture, bedding, clothing, draperies from time to time came flying out the kitchen door. The pile of debris grew bigger by the moment.
We stood across the street and watched our house be wrecked.
“They must be almost through by now,” I said, with a strange detachment. “I wonder what comes next.”
“Randall,” said Helen tearfully, clinging to my arm, “what do we do now? They’re wrecking all my things. How about it–is it covered by insurance?”
“Why, I don’t know,” I said. “I never thought of it.”
And that was the truth of it–it hadn’t crossed my mind. And me an insurance man!
I had written that policy myself and now I tried desperately to remember what the fine print might have said and I had a sinking feeling. How, I asked myself, could anything like this be covered? It certainly was no hazard that could have been anticipated.
“Anyhow,” I said, “we still have the boulder. We can sell the boulder.”
“I still think we should have taken the five thousand,” Helen told me. “What if the Government should move in and just grab the boulder off?”
And she was right, I told myself. This would be just the sort of thing in which the Government could become intensely interested.
I began to think myself that maybe we should have taken that five thousand.
Three policemen walked across the yard and went into the house. Almost at once they came tearing out again. Pouring out behind them came a swarm of glittering dots that hummed and buzzed and swooped so fast they seemed to leave streaks of their golden glitter in the air behind them. The policemen ran in weaving fashion, ducking and dodging. They waved their hands in the air above their heads.
The crowd surged back and began to run. The police cordon broke and retreated with what dignity it could.
I found myself behind the house across the street, my hand still gripping Helen’s arm. She was madder than a hornet.
“You needn’t have pulled me along so fast,” she told me. “I could have made it by myself. You made me lose my shoes.”
“Forget your shoes,” I told her sharply. “This thing is getting serious. You go and round up Billy and the two of you get out of here. Go up to Amy’s place.”
“Do you know where Billy is?”
“He’s around somewhere. He is with his pals. Just look for a bunch of boys.”
“And you?”
“I’ll be along,” I said.
“You’ll be careful, Randall?”
I patted her shoulder and stooped down to kiss her. “I’ll be careful. I’m not very brave, you know. Now go and get the boy.”
She started away and then turned back. “Will we ever go back home?” she asked.
“I think we will,” I said, “and soon. Someone will find a way to get them out of there.”
I watched her walk away and felt the chilly coldness of the kindness of my lie.
Would we, in solemn truth, ever go back home again? Would the entire world, all of humanity, ever be at home again? Would the golden bugs take away the smug comfort and the warm security that Man had known for ages in his sole possession of a planet of his own?
I went up the backyard slope and found Helen’s shoes. I put them in my pocket. I came to the back of the house and peeked around the corner.
The bugs had given up the chase, but now a squadron of them flew in a lazy, shining circle around and just above the house. It was plain to see that they were on patrol.
I ducked back around the house and sat down in the grass, with my back against the house. It was a warm amid blue-sky summer day; the kind of day a man should mow his lawn.
A slobbering horror, I thought, no matter how obscene or fearful, might be understood, might be fought against. But the cold assuredness with which the golden bugs were directed to their purpose, the self-centered, vicious efficiency with which they operated, was something else again.
And their impersonal detachment, their very disregard of us, was like a chilly blast upon human dignity.
I heard footsteps and looked up, startled.
It was Arthur Belsen and he was upset.
But that was not unusual. Belsen could get upset at something that was downright trivial.
“I was looking for you everywhere,” he chattered. “I met Dobby just a while ago and he tells me these bugs of yours…”
“They’re no bugs of mine,” I told him sharply. I was getting tired of everyone talking as if I owned the bugs, as if I might be somehow responsible for their having come to Earth.
“Well, anyway, he was telling me they are after metal.” I nodded. “That’s what they’re after. Maybe it’s precious stuff to them. Maybe they haven’t got too much of it wherever they are from.”
And I thought about the agate boulder. If they had had metal, certainly they’d not have used the agate boulder.
“I had an awful time getting home,” said Belsen. “I thought there was a fire. There are cars parked in the street for blocks and an awful crowd. I was lucky to get through.”
“Come on and sit down,” I told him. “Stop your fidgeting.”
But he paid no attention to me.
“I have an awful lot of metal,” he said. “All those machines of mine down in the basement. I’ve put a lot of time and work and money into those machines and I can’t let anything happen to them. You don’t think the bugs will start branching out, do you?”
“Branching out?”
“Well, yes, you know–after they get through with everything in your house, they might start getting into other houses.”
“I hadn’t thought of it,” I said. “I suppose that it could happen.”
I sat there and thought about it and I had visions of them advancing house by house, cleaning out and salvaging all the metal, putting it into one big pile until it covered the entire block and eventually the city.
“Dobby says that they are crystal. Isn’t that a funny thing for bugs to be?”
I said nothing. After all, he was talking to himself.
“But crystal can’t be alive,” protested Belsen. “Crystal is stuff that things are made of. Vacuum tubes and such. There is no life in it.”
“Don’t try to fight with me,” I told him. “I can’t help it if they are crystal.”
There seemed to be a lot of ruckus going on out in the street and I got on my feet to peer around the corner of the house.
For a moment there was nothing to see. Everything looked peaceful. One or two policemen were running around excitedly, but I couldn’t see that anything was happening. It looked just as it had before.
Then a door slowly, almost majestically, detached itself from one of the police cars parked along the curb and started floating toward the open kitchen door. It reached the door and made a neat left turn and disappeared inside.
A rear vision mirror sailed flashing through the air. It was followed by a siren. Both disappeared within the house.
Good Lord, I told myself, the bugs are going after the cars!
Now I saw that a couple of the cars were already minus hoods and fenders and that some other doors were missing.
The bugs, I thought, had finally really hit the jackpot. They wouldn’t stop until they’d stripped the cars clean down to the tires.
And I was thinking, too, with a strange perverse reaction, that there wasn’t nearly room enough inside the house to pack all those dismantled cars, What, I wondered, would the bugs do when the house was full?
A half dozen policemen dashed across the street and started for the house. They reached the lawn before the bug patrol above the house became aware of them and swooped down in a screaming, golden arc.
The policemen ran back pell-mell. The bug patrol, it’s duty done, returned to circling the house. Fenders, doors, taillights, headlights, radio antennae, and other parts of cars continued to pour into the house.
A dog came trotting out of nowhere and went across the lawn, tail wagging in friendly curiosity.
A flight of bugs left the patrol and headed down toward him.
The dog, startled by the whistle of the diving bugs, wheeled about to run.
He was too late.
There was a sickening thud of missiles hitting flesh. The dog leaped high into the air and fell over on his back.