armed robot.
Flame burst from the side of the computer center, and a streaking rocket snaked out of the smoke. In a flash the rocket hit the Model Eight.
A thudding whoomp stunned Laura momentarily, and the sky lit up with a bright flash from the missile's explosion. The thunderous report echoed across the open field, and when the smoke cleared… the Model Eight marched on. Its right arm was missing, but in its left it held the burning torch.
The Model Six's arm shot like a cobra toward the Model Eight.
It latched right onto its face with the sound of crunching metal. Halted in its tracks and staggering, the Model Eight raised the torch and began to cut. Sparks flew from the Model Six's slender limb, and molten metal began to drip to the ground. The Model Six twisted and turned the Eight's head with its claw.
With a gush of fluid, the long arm was suddenly severed. The Model Six swung the remaining stub to ward off its attacker, which for its part stumbled back with the vise still clinging to its face. The Eight returned the torch to its holster by feel, then reached with its gripper to seize the Model Six's claw. Seeming to hesitate for a moment, as if gathering itself for the effort, it slowly began to pull.
The sound of the tearing metal was too awful for Laura to bear.
She jammed the heels of her hands hard against her ears. The severely wounded robot tried desperately to remain standing, staggering this way and that as if dizzy or drunk. There was a loud screech, and the Model Eight dropped the claw to the ground. To her horror Laura saw that half its face was still caught in the severed appendage.
Slowly, the stricken robot wandered away from the battle lines toward the rear. His remaining arm groped in front searching for obstacles.
Another flame erupted from the computer center wall.
'No-o-o!' Laura screamed as the rocket streaked out of the smoke.
Flame shot straight through the Model Eight's chest. Its 'brains' were blown onto the ground, the burning cold of the liquid nitrogen boiling off the grass in sizzling vapor.
The Model Eight crumpled onto its knees, falling lifeless to the ground in a contorted heap.
Sobbing, she rose to her feet.
Laura thought nothing now, she just ran. She ran straight through the whirring electric motors. Straight through the flying sparks and rending collisions and acrid fumes of industrial hell. She ran past the noise and the anger and the insanity.
Laura was crying so hard she was taken by surprise when someone pulled her to the ground.
She shut her eyes and screamed.
'It's all right,' she heard Gray say over the noise. 'You're safe now.'
She kept her eyes closed as if trying to fall asleep. Amid the maelstrom Laura felt his hand brush the hair from her forehead.
His fingers slowly traced a gentle line down her cheek. His palm lay flat against her face, lingering at the corner of her mouth. Her lips pressed back against his warm skin.
When she opened her eyes, the terrors of the battlefield were gone. She studied the man who cradled her. He peered down at her from above. His lips seemed to be forming words. 'Don't worry, don't worry.'
41
Everyone listened in rapt attention to the unprecedented speech.
Gray was explaining to his team what was happening. 'Laura's Model Three was controlled by the Other. The Model Seven that it ran into was controlled by the computer. The two halves maintain separate world models on opposite sides of the partition. Neither robot sees what the other one sees, so they both thought the road ahead was clear.'
His department chiefs nodded their heads slowly.
Hoblenz spoke up. 'The computer on our side of the partition has been sendin' out Model Sixes and Sevens to do some reconnoitering. Prob'ly tryin' to fill in some gaps in its sensor coverage. We've spotted 'em roamin' all over the island.' He turned to Laura. 'You must've run into a patrol.'
'What happened after the collision?' Gray asked Laura.
'First I have a question,' she replied. 'How long does it take the robots to recharge?'
Griffith looked at his watch and answered. 'The Sixes take two hours but they have to decharge first for up to half an hour to avoid damaging their battery cells. The Sevens take four and a half hours, including normal decharge.'
'What about the Eights?'
'They don't decharge. It takes them an hour to recharge — tops.'
Hoblenz shook his head. 'That battle out there was fought to a draw, but wars are won by logistics. The army that can redeploy the fastest with the most ease will win, and those charging times are the key.'
'But the Model Eights don't have as many chargers,' Griffith commented, 'and they have to make their way back through the jungle to get to their facility.'
'Oh, please don't throw me in the briar patch,' Hoblenz said sarcastically. 'Those damn Eights eat that jungle up.'
'Why are you all so down on the Model Eights?' Laura asked.
They looked at her as if she were crazy.
'I hate to point out the obvious,' Filatov said, 'but they did just attack the computer center.' He turned to Hoblenz. 'And you thought that spy was our problem!'
'Maybe he was! Maybe he planted some kind of timed-release virus in their metal skulls that makes 'em go all violent!'
'What happened after the wreck?' Gray asked again.
She told them about the Model Seven assisted suicide.
'You pulled the main power breaker?' Griffith asked in alarm. 'That flushes the charge!'
'It was suffering,' Laura said.
'It's a machine!' Griffith shot back.
'A machine that was in pain!' Laura shouted, shaking her head in amazement. 'Don't you know what you've built here? Each of those robots has goals and ambitions. They strive every day to work harder, because that's what you've programmed them to do — work! Performing well is what makes them happy, and when that Model Seven saw its legs strewn all around, it felt pain! Pain that it was so mangled. Pain that it would never, ever again be able to feel the pleasure of working for the Gray Corporation! You should all be so proud.'
'You're being too harsh, Laura,' Gray said.
'Well, why can't they see this?'
'Because they're not ready yet,' Gray replied, flooring her.
'What happened next?' Gray asked in a patient but firm tone.
After taking a moment to compose herself, she told them about the soldiers.
'Sailors,' Hoblenz said. 'They're SEALs.'
'So the Model Eights are hurting humans,' Dorothy said.
'We don't know it was a Model Eight that fought with them,' Laura shot back.
'What next?' Gray asked, demanding facts.
She told them about Hightop rescuing her from the juvenile and described the amputations by the road. She then gave an account of Hightop cabling up to the Model Eight from the china shop.
'They were discussing strategy!' Griffith said, beaming with pride. 'Complex organizational behavior! Common planning! Sharing and communicating and coming to a consensus! Collaborative mission statements, communicated widely.'
