making copies!'
Dopey looked astonished. 'You object to this? But why? We need not keep the extra copies forever; once the machines are gone we can simply delete the unwanted ones.'
'No!' Pat cried.
Dopey stared at her. 'Is this some taboo for your people? Well, perhaps we need not make more copies. It is possible that some of your experimental copies may still be alive.'
And there was another conversation stopper. Dopey paused, surprised by the sudden silence as everyone was staring at him.
It was Patrice who asked the question, once more angry and startled-and very nearly fed up with Dopey's habit of dropping unexpected surprises on them. 'What experimental copies are you talking about?'
Dopey looked uneasy. 'Perhaps I neglected to tell you of them,' he said apologetically. 'There were only a few. Actually, I do not think many will have survived. There was quite heavy fighting in the laboratory area.'
It was Rosaleen's turn to be indignant. 'Laboratory?' 'To investigate your anatomy and biochemistry, of course. How else could the Beloved Leaders know how best to help your people?' And then, when he saw the expressions on their faces, 'I was not personally involved in these studies,' he added hastily. 'Some of the copies may still be quite fit. Please do not argue anymore! Do you want me to take you to look for these other copies or not?'
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Patrice
One thing you could say about Dan Dannerman-Patrice thought as they approached the stark metal structures of the compound-was that he reacted fast. Conquering the wilderness was out; rescuing their other 'copies'-if any-was in.
Dopey would not allow them to enter near their old cell; too far to travel in Horch territory, too dangerous. So they traveled a quarter of the way around the compound perimeter before he paused and pointed to a passage. 'There,' he said. 'This way will be safest-though we must be alert and ready for attack at every moment!'
Everyone stopped, while Dannerman conferred with the little creature. Patrice was glad enough for the chance to sit down. All this activity after all those weeks of confinement was tiring. She glanced up at the sky and shivered. That alien sun was setting; those enemy stars were popping out in all their incredible number, and the breeze had turned cold. She touched the butt of the thirty-shot weapon in its holster under her arm and wondered what it would be like to fire at something that would probably be doing its best to kill her. She was not ready for this kind of adventure-
But, ready or not, it was time to move on. Dannerman finished his conversation with Dopey and turned to give his orders. 'Two of the Docs will go first. Then the rest of us, spread out, all but Rosaleen-'
'I can walk!' she protested.
'Sure. When you have to you will, but for now one of the Docs will carry you at the back. And, everybody, quiet. Dopey says the Horch machines are not particularly sensitive to sound, but we'll take no chances. All clear? Then let's go.'
Patrice shivered again. This time it was excitement, not cold. The last time she had taken part in an invasion of enemy territory she had been ten years old, playing Good Guys and Bad Guys with the Abwyth kids from next door. She was out of practice. She hadn't had a real gun in her hand then, either; probably wouldn't be holding one, ready for action, now, if it weren't for the fact that right in front of her Dan and Jimmy Lin had their guns out. So did Pat, by her side; for them it seemed to be deadly serious.
It didn't seem that way to Patrice. It seemed like just another children's game. Behind the two Docs in single file at the head of the procession and the five humans who were capable-well, more or less capable-of firing their guns were the other Docs. One carried their spare weapons. Then there was another Doc that carried Rosaleen in one of its assorted arms, and the last one carrying Dopey himself. It was a regular circus parade. And why were they in it? Because Dan Dannerman had said so, and what an exasperating man he was. First he warned them all against getting into other people's fights. Then he reversed himself without notice. Now he was-and all the others with him- suddenly a warrior on the side of the Beloved Leaders against the Horch. Patrice gazed darkly at the back of his neck. In a way, she didn't envy Pat for her lover; in some ways Dan was a most unsatisfactory man. Lovers were supposed to communicate. Not Dan Dannerman; you never knew what he was going to be doing next.
But in another way, of course, she envied Pat very much indeed.
She hoped the Doc who was striding ahead of them knew where he was going. Patrice didn't. Nothing looked familiar, except in the way that one patch of desolation looked pretty much like all the others. She had long since stopped wondering about the strange objects they were passing. There was one period, not long after they entered the compound, that she didn't like to think about. First there was a hint of something foul in the air. It became a definite stench-growing, then horribly intense, then gradually fading again-that could be nothing but dead things. She never quite saw the corpses, whatever species they were, but there was no doubt of what she was smelling, and no doubt that there had been a lot of killing somewhere nearby. But after that there was nothing but their slow march, and nothing happening…
Then something did happen.
Between the time Patrice saw the first Doc suddenly turn and begin to run back, squeaking in a shrill soprano, and the time she saw the big silver-colored spidery thing appear from between the orange-colored crystal sphere and the jade pylons and they all began shooting at it, there was only a moment. It was time enough for her to be astonished that the Doc had spoken at all- before that she had never heard one of them make a sound- but then she saw that Dannerman had flung himself to the ground on one side of the corridor, his thirty-shot out and firing, and Jimmy Lin had done the same on the other, and she realized she had to follow their example. It all happened very fast. The Doc was able to run only a few steps before there was this sudden staccato sound, like shrill bees buzzing, bzhit, bzhit, bzhit. Patrice saw nothing that looked like either a projectile or a ray, but she saw the effects, all right, as at once the first Doc's head burst open-spray of orange-red blood and tissue flying out in all directions- and then the Horch machine was skating toward them, fast, on its spidery wheeled legs. The second Doc leaped forward to catch its fellow-too late-and there was more bzhit, bzhit and the whole right side of that one's body exploded, too. But by then everybody was shooting-even Patrice herself, startled at the unexpected recoil from the gun Danner-man had given her and her shots going wild, even Pat, next to her on the ground… even Martin Delasquez, standing wobbly but erect in the middle of the passage, but shooting his heavier gun with two hands. They didn't all miss. Pieces flew off the machine. Two of its legs collapsed and it clattered to the ground; a moment later something inside it flared and crackled and it lay still. And behind her, where he had hidden himself behind the massive trunk of the Doc that had been carrying him, Dopey was crying, 'Stop firing! The machines do not respond quickly to sound, but it will attract them if you keep on shooting!'
In the sudden silence both Jimmy Lin and Dannerman jumped to their feet and ran to inspect the wrecked machine. Dannerman gave it only a glance, then turned back, leaving Jimmy to kick at the thing suspiciously; Dannerman ran straight to Patrice and dropped to his knees beside her. 'Are you all right?' he demanded.
She rolled over to gaze up at him. 'I'm fine,' she said, 'but I'm Patrice. That's your Pat'-who was already getting up and looking toward them-'over there.'
The two Docs that had been given the point were both messily dead, but so was the Horch machine. Dopey was fretting. 'I should not have used two of them to draw fire. I can only spare one now, but we must not delay. Have you all got loaded guns?'
Dannerman might or might not have been listening; his expression was unreadable. He was standing over the destroyed machine, his gun in one hand, the other arm around Pat's waist beside him. Patrice was standing nearby, somberly watching them. She did, after all, wish it was she that Dannerman was holding. It wasn't envy, exactly. She didn't feel any real jealousy of Pat-she definitely wanted Pat to have someone to hold her, too; she wanted nothing but good for Pat. But it would have been better, she thought, if Dopey had produced an extra Dan
