'Not so good, I'm afraid. Most of the Sixes are gone. We've got twenty-nine Model Sevens still functional, plus you, Mr. Gray, and Doctors Bickham and Holliday — my four guardian angels!' She beamed a broad smile at Laura, and it was then Laura noticed that Gina wore blue jeans and a T-shirt. It looked very much, in fact, like what Laura usually wore. Her long dark hair was pulled back away from her face by two combs.
'Okay now,' Gina said as they rounded a smoldering Model Six. 'Get ready!' Laura halted in her tracks. 'Don't stop! Sic! Go get 'em!'
'What do I do?' Laura asked.
'You go over there and bash their heads in.' Gina balled a fist up and comically peppered the air. 'Or better yet, their chests — that's where their nets are.'
'But they're made of steel.'
'So are you, dummy! Go-go-go!' Laura headed off, having to concentrate on the simple act of walking. 'Thank you,' a quiet voice came from behind. Laura stopped and turned. 'Thank you,' Gina said again, 'for this.'
Laura nodded and then ambled into the maze of burning hulks.
Several of the fallen Model Sixes and Sevens still twitched and writhed. Up ahead she saw the first Model Eight. It was bent over at the waist with its hands on its knees. Its back was turned, and Laura decided it was an easy first target. She crept up and brought her clenched fist down hard onto the unsuspecting robot's broad back.
'O-o-ow!' Laura heard as pain shot through her fist. Laura grabbed and rubbed her hand, and the robot turned around rubbing its back. 'What the hell did you do that for?' the robot shouted.
'Margaret?' Laura asked.
'Yes! Jeez!'
'I'm sorry,' Laura said, raising her hand to her chest in embarrassment. 'I couldn't tell it was you.'
'The real Model Eights are over there,' Margaret said, pointing with one thick finger through the smoke. She then arched the robot's back and flexed its shoulders under the black elastic material.
'Did that hurt?' Laura asked.
'You're damn right it hurt! Plus, I'm exhausted! This is ridiculous!'
'Where are Mr. Gray and Dorothy?'
'They're over there somewhere.' Again she pointed. Her gestures were entirely natural even though she had only three fingers.
'Why are we doing this?' Laura asked. 'Why not just have the computer operate these Model Eights?'
'The computer doesn't have the motor skills to operate a biped.'
Just then they both heard Gray shout, 'Get over here! Now!' A Model Eight stepped around a crumpled Model Seven, waving for them to join him.
Margaret and Laura started walking toward him.
'How did he know who we were.' Laura asked.
'We're the only two robots standing around bullshitting. If you look closely enough, you can tell which of the Model Eights are really the humans. They don't act the same.'
The flames from a wreck lapped at Laura's left shoulder. She shied away even though the furious fire seemed only mildly warm.
When they rounded another heap of metal, they both paused to survey the scene.
A lone Model Eight did battle with a Model Seven remaining just out of reach of its raised leg. In that position the Model Seven couldn't move. It could only stand unsteadily on its three remaining legs. As the Model Eight slowly circled its prey, the Seven had to plant its raised leg before lifting the next one in defense. It was during one such changeover that the Eight attacked.
Before the leg closest to the Model Eight could be raised, its two-legged attacker was already upon it. The Seven then clutched the Model Eight into its grasp, and the two robots crashed to the ground in a heap. The spider had no mouth for biting, and the multi-legged clench was entirely defensive. The Eight twisted and turned its body to get free, and it finally pulled one arm from the tangle.
On seeing the brilliant light and searing flame of a torch, the Model Seven began to kick frantically to repel the Model Eight. But its legs began to fall one at a time, and from the gruesome vivisection came a continuous scream of microwaved agony. When the crippled robot lay convulsing on four short stubs, the Model Eight calmly sunk the torch deep into the spider's torso. Liquid nitrogen spewed from the wound and sizzled in the air, signaling the end of the Model Seven's horrible suffering.
The smell of burning metal from dead and dying robots filled the air.
Laura felt sickened and ready to turn back. 'There!' Margaret said, pointing at a large and confusing cluster of brawling Model Eights. She took off, and Laura followed. A dark form lay curled into a ball on the ground. It was being stomped by the heavy feet of Model Eights. A lone robot flailed at the backs of the surrounding pack.
Laura heard the whimpers and yelps of pain and fear in Dorothy's voice. The young girl in the Model Eight's body lay under the robots' blows.
Margaret reached out and pulled a Model Eight to the ground from behind, stomping on its face with her heel.
Another robot from the pack lunged at Margaret. Laura stuck out her foot, and the robot fell flat on its face. Pain shot through Laura's ankle from the hard contact.
'Help me-e-e!' came Dorothy's cry.
With her teeth clenched tight Laura lowered her shoulder and charged. She crashed into the rear ranks of the robots, and they all tumbled to the ground in a heap. Laura lay on top of the pile with her arms wrapped around the squirming forms. The bodies bucked and rolled beneath her, but she hung on as tight as she could.
Gray had succeeded in crouching over Dorothy. He absorbed blows meant for her on his back. Over the angry burping sounds of microwave transmissions Laura could hear Gray talking soothingly to the sobbing girl.
A flash of white light stunned Laura for an instant — a sharp blow shooting pain through her jaw. She ducked to avoid the second punch, which struck hard against the back of her head. It hurt far less than Laura had expected — the armor plating on her robot skull absorbing the force like a helmet.
She struggled to her feet despite repeated blows. Some brought pain, but most were inconsequential. One of the robots she had knocked down was trying to stand. Laura kicked it in the face with her thick boot.
She cried out at the unexpected pain from her toes. She was learning slowly which robot parts to use as weapons, and her toes were definitely unsuited to the purpose.
When Margaret made her own charge into the fray, Gray was finally able to drag Dorothy out. Margaret got struck hard in her chest by a metal pole, and she staggered away from the fight cursing loudly. That left Laura alone to face a dozen robots, and she turned to make her own quick escape.
She ran headlong into a waiting Model Eight. There was a smattering of burping transmissions and then silence. The others got to their feet all around her, but made no move to resume fighting. The lone robot, facing Laura, walked right up to her and stopped. A microwaved 'growl' from the Model Eight hurt Laura's ears. All the others stood still, watching the encounter with great interest.
'Me?' Laura asked, raising her hand to her chest in question. 'Are you talking to me?' There was another short burp of data from the robot.
'I… I don't know what to say? Can you understand me?'
The Model Eight slowly reached for a holster on its right hip. Equipment ringed its waist, and the robot's wrist plugged neatly into three shiny prongs that rose from the bolt. When it pulled the new attachment from its holster, a searing blaze burned the air with blistering fury.
Icy panic seized Laura in its grip. She couldn't look at the blinding light from the torch. All she could see was the dark profile of its owner slowly approaching.
'No!' Laura shouted. 'Computer! Get me out of here!'
'Just a minute, Laura,' Filatov said calmly as if over a loudspeaker. 'I'll get to you after I get Dorothy out.'
The burning tip of the torch was pointed straight at Laura's chest. A heavy rumbling suddenly shook the ground beneath Laura's feet, and the Model Eights all turned in unison toward the road. A giant crawler was rounding the tiny human fortress at the computer center entrance, and its metal treads chewed up the turf as they rolled onto the lawn.
The few remaining Model Sixes scattered from the path of the lumbering crawler. One wounded robot,
