The Last Quarry by Bryce Walton _We’ve always believed that when the last man stands alone and defiant beneath the dwindling radiance of a dying sun he will still find a way to ward off disaster--precisely as Bryce Walton has boldly enabled his predecessors to do with such triumphant logic. Do you remember Mr. Walton’s earlier, astounding story of a twenty-first century Jack the Giant Killer? Well, there are slayers far more insidiously terrifying to combat here, each as deadly as a basilisk._ =The Servitor’s zombielike eyes mirrored man’s deepest yearnings. By what miracle had human science sired creatures so monstrous?= The sky was the color of mercury, and thick snow fell out of it, heavily as though it would never stop. Hall had been sitting at the window for almost two hours looking at the snow, as if fascinated by the way it seemed to dissolve everything into a peaceful and white anonymity. He sat heavily, hunched over in the gray light watching the snow, and watching the figures walking along the street. Almost all of them were walking by twos--hurrying somewhere together. And the ones who were alone were hurrying in a way that said they wouldn’t be alone long. Hall, a big man, sat heavily as though he would be alone forever. So absorbed was he in the white world beyond the windowpane that the phone rang five times before he realized it. He scooped up the receiver, a look of embittered weariness seeming to add years to his age. Yes, indeed he was getting tired of the hunt. “Hall, I’ve got to see you at once!” said a woman’s voice at the other end of the wire. “All right, Donna,” Hall replied. “Are you at home?” The woman’s voice was ragged, and anyway Hall had known he was nearing the end of the hunt. His hands tingled, and some of the old excitement came back.... “Did you get to see Martin?” “Yes, yes. Just a glimpse of him. But God--that was enough.” “And--the servant?” Hall asked quietly. “He wouldn’t let me stay. He’s sharper than any of the others. He knew I wasn’t a public stenographer as soon as he saw me. But I managed to catch a glimpse of Martin through the library door. An accident ... the door came open a little. Then our little public enemy number nine hundred and ninety-nine told me to get out!” “So it could follow you, of course,” said Hall. “I guess Martin looks pretty bad by now.” “Horrible. So fat--like a huge white toad in a wheelchair. It was unbelievable. He was staring at me, but he didn’t seem to see me at all.” “I’ll be right over, Donna,” Hall said. “Be sure it’s me outside your door. Check the identification. We’re the only two who should know about your apartment. If anyone else tries to get in, kill them.” Hall replaced the receiver. He turned slowly toward the door. They hadn’t wasted any time. One of them was in the hallway.