Dannerman or two along with the Pat Adcocks. She turned to look at the others. Rosaleen and Martin were fussing over each other, while Jimmy Lin checked the magazine of his gun, and the three remaining Docs were standing quietly, waiting for orders. That was reassuring, a little bit. They had all got through at least this first firefight-well, all but the two dead Docs.
Dannerman kicked at the dead machine, triangular body now blazing quietly, the long legs crumpled. He turned challengingly to Dopey. 'If they're that easy to kill, why couldn't your people handle them?'
Dopey looked defensive. 'Because there were so many of them! They kept coming. Every time we thought we had them cleaned up the Horch managed to capture another channel and they sent more of them in and it was all to do over again-and, finally, we had no fighters left to oppose them. Please, let us move on; we are very exposed here.'
Dannerman shook his head. 'Tell me first, how many more of those things are there?'
'How do I know? A few. Not very many, I think-but, please-
Dannerman disregarded the urging. He had another question: 'Are you sure you know where we're going?'
'Out of my own knowledge? No, of course not. How could I? There is so much destruction, I cannot recognize anything. But the bearers do, so please hurry.'
Dannerman didn't answer right away. He stood there, with his arm around Pat's waist; he was thinking about something, but Patrice could not guess what. Whatever it was, he did not choose to share it.
Jimmy Lin was losing patience. 'Are we going or not?' he demanded.
'Yes, sure,' Dannerman said at last, then kissed Pat and took up his place in the procession as Dopey ordained it. With two Docs fewer to deploy, Dopey ordered the one with the weapons to take the point. Then came Dannerman and Jimmy, then Pat and Patrice and Martin; then the other Docs with their passengers, Rosaleen and Dopey himself.
Patrice's heart was still pounding from the excitement of the fight. She had seen shoot-outs on the television news, of course-just before they left there had been the one between the police and the subway terrorists, when the Lenni-Lenape Ghost Dance Revengers tried to blow up Grand Central Terminal, and there had been at least a dozen other battles over the years-but she had never expected to take part in a gunfight herself. She had never imagined someone (well, something) actually trying to kill her! And herself shooting back!
The funny thing was that she wasn't frightened. It had something to do with having a chance to do some shooting herself; it was certainly far better to be taking action, any kind of action, than just having things happen to her. She rehearsed every moment of the fight critically, looking for things she might have done wrong. She resolved to be ready for the weapon's recoil next time-if there was a next time. She wouldn't miss, she vowed…
And almost fired her gun in reflex when the lead Doc suddenly stopped, glanced around, then down at the ground.
Then it moved on a few more meters to an intersection and simply stood there, waiting.
Dannerman and Jimmy Lin were the first ones on the spot, and they both recoiled. 'Oh, Christ,' Jimmy moaned. 'Makes me want to puke!' It did Patrice, too, as soon as she saw what they were looking at. It was a corpse-not human, not a Dopey or a Doc-or, more accurately, it was about half of a corpse.
'It's a Bashful,' Patrice said, recognizing it: one of the ones she and Patsy had seen before being brought to the cell.
'It looks like that other Dopey did, after we killed him,' Lin said in disgust. Apparently the built-in waste- disposal system in the flooring had been in the process of disposing of this bit of waste when the power went off.
'Yes,' said Dopey, climbing down from his bearer and puffing toward them, 'it is one of our fighters, mercilessly murdered by die abominable Horch machines. And, see, he has his weapon with him.'
'This thing?' Dannerman asked, picking up the shiny object that lay next to the corpse. He handled it cautiously, Jimmy Lin and Martin fidgeting as close to him as they could stand, both obviously yearning to get their own hands on the thing. Patrice had no such desire. She didn't want to touch it at all; it looked deadly. Clearly it was not designed for a human being. It didn't have a stock; it had a belly plate of some dark red substance that looked rubbery; it didn't have a trigger, but a pair of metal loops, like the finger holes on a pair of scissors. And it didn't have sights.
When Jimmy Lin pointed that out Dopey said impatiently, 'Sights? Why would it have sights? Such things are not necessary. When it is aimed there is a beam of green radiation, like a pocket torch-'
'You mean a flashlight?'
'Yes, are they not the same thing? That green ray is not the particle flux itself, only a beam of light to help you guide it, but what you touch with the beam of light will be destroyed by the particle flux. To fire it? Nothing is easier. You put your fingers in those loops and draw them together; the closer they are drawn, the more energy the particle beam carries.'
'Like this?' Jimmy Lin asked, experimenting.
Dopey closed his eyes in silent despair. 'Yes, exactly like that,' he said, obviously restraining himself, 'and if there had been any power for the weapon you would have killed Dr. Artzybachova. Please, all of you! I know you are not experienced with this weapon, but you must take care!'
To Patsy's surprise, Dannerman had another of those off-the-main-point questions. 'So why are you bothering with us amateurs? Why don't you make more of your trained fighters?'
Dopey looked evasive. 'Yes, that would be better in some ways, perhaps,' he agreed. 'But-'
'But you can't do it, right?'
Dopey hesitated for a moment. 'That is true,' he said at last. 'At this moment. Once we have restored the power-once we have access to the damaged terminals-then it is quite possible that we could do so. But please, let us not waste time-'
Dannerman held his ground. 'That's the other thing. So we get the power on, and we kill the rest of the Horch machines for you-'
'For all of us, Agent Dannerman! Your lives are also at risk!'
'Whatever you say. Then what?'
'Why, then we attempt to restore the damaged terminals. If we cannot, we simply wait for the Beloved Leaders to restore communication. Is that not obvious? Now I must insist-'
'Which will be when?'
'Oh, Agent Dannerman, why do you choose this time to ask foolish questions? It will happen when it happens. First the Beloved Leaders must send another physical spacecraft with a new tachyon terminal dedicated to the proper channel. How long will that take to get here? I do not know how long. Since such a spacecraft cannot exceed the speed of light, perhaps very long. But, you see,' he added reasonably, 'the length of time does not matter. If we grow too old to be serviceable we will simply generate new copies of ourselves to replace us. That will be no problem.'
'No problem?' Dannerman repeated, mildly enough.
'Not at all. And we can repeat it as often as necessary. In that way we can continue to carry on our duties here for centuries if that is necessary. Now no more questions! We must go!'
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Patrice
Until, without warning, the lead Doc stopped short and stood motionless, waiting for the rest to catch up, Patrice hardly noticed where they were going. She could not get what Dopey had said out of her mind. For centuries, if that is necessary. But centuries of what? Of carrying out Dopey's plan? Growing old, in this miserable place? Never going home again? Manufacturing a new Pat Adcock and a new Dopey and a new everybody else when the present ones were too old or too enfeebled to carry on? And then what? Then quietly allowing themselves to die, with the next generation in place… and the next… and the next…
Whatever joy that prospect might have for Dopey, it had none for Patrice. On the other hand-
