"No."

Frost looked at the great trees. He looked at the shadows. Helistened to the wind and to the sound of a bird.

In the distance, he heard a steady clanking noise.

"What is that?" asked Mordel.

"I am not certain. It is not one of my workers. Perhaps..."

There came a shrill whine from Mordel.

"No, it is not one of Divcom's either."

They waited as the sound grew louder.

Then Frost said, "It is too late. We must wait and hear it out."

"What is it?"

"It is the Ancient Ore-Crusher."

"I have heard of it, but..."

"I am the Crusher of Ores," it broadcast to them. "Hear my story..."

It lumbered toward them, creaking upon gigantic wheels, its huge hammerheld useless, high, at a twisted angle. Bones protruded from itscrush-compartment.

"I did not mean to do it," it broadcast, "I did not mean to do it...Idid not mean to...."

Mordel rolled back toward Frost.

"Do not depart. Stay and hear my story...."

Mordel stopped, swiveled his turret back toward the machine. It wasnow quite near.

"It is true," said Mordel, "it _can_ command."

"Yes," said Frost. "I have monitored its tale thousands of times, asit came upon my workers and they stopped their labors for its broadcast.You must do whatever it sayd."

It came to a halt before them.

"I did not mean to do it, but I checked my hammer too late," said theOre-Crusher.

They could not speak to it. They were frozen by the imperative whichoverrode all other directives: "Hear my story."

"Once was I mighty among ore-crushers," it told them, "built by Solcomto carry out the reconstruction of the Earth, to pulverize that fromwhich the metaals would be drawn iwith flame, to be poured and shapedinto the rebuilding; once I was mighty. THen one day as I dug andcrushed, dug and crushed, because of the slowness between the motion