"I told you, this is the toddler class." Gray turned to nod at the robot behind them, who was staring down the barrel of a soldier's gun. "That one's called Goose."
"How do you know its name?" Laura asked. "I thought they all looked alike."
"They do, but watch this." Gray stepped up to the Model Eight. "Goose," he said in a loud voice, "show me your music box. Go show me your music box," he said, and held out his hand.
"Jeez," Hoblenz muttered.
The robot led Gray straight to a small pile of belongings placed neatly in the corner of the room. There was a ragged beach towel, all bright green and burnt orange. A small collection of what looked to be doorknobs, their internal mechanisms protruding, jagged and twisted.
But the robot ignored all the rest and picked up a large, multicolored plastic ball.
"Mary, Mary, quite contrary, how does your garden grow?" came a distorted and scratchy voice from the toy. The robot pressed another panel. "Humpty-Dumpty sat on a wall. Humpty-Dumpty had a great fall."
Gray returned to Laura and Hoblenz, the robot remaining in the corner with its things.
"That's real sweet, sir," Hoblenz said with barely concealed irritation. "Mother Goose nursery rhymes—'Goose.' But those things did just kill my men."
"But was it Goose?" Laura said. "They're each different. You can't judge them all just by what some do."
"They're all ten fuckin' feet tall and can rip the head off of ya if you get 'em riled."
Both Hoblenz and Laura fell quiet when they saw the look of concern on Gray's face. They turned to look down through the window at the tactile room. All five robots were now standing and staring silently up at the window.
44
"There he is," Laura said on seeing Gray at the door of the tactile room. Hoblenz returned to the window carrying a black canvas bag. From the bag he pulled a block of plastic explosives about the size of a large brick and began to mash his thumbs into the gray mass.
"What are you doing?" Laura asked as Gray inched closer to the gathering of robots. The robots' attention was focused on him.
"Just a precaution," Hoblenz said, using all his strength to pinch off a piece of the gummy substance. He began pressing the explosives in a thin string along the seals at the edge of the window.
Laura sensed movement behind her. Turning her eyes but not her head, she saw that Goose stood right behind them. Hoblenz concentrated so hard on his work that he hadn't noticed.
"I think you ought to look around," Laura said to Hoblenz in as calm a voice as she could muster.
Hoblenz froze, turning his head slowly to look at the robot's legs. Then he looked over at his rifle, which he'd leaned against the wall.
His men had gone to take care of the bodies and to look for signs of drilling. They were all alone with the Model Eight.
"Go-o-od robot," Hoblenz said. "Nice robot. That-a-boy, Goose."
The Model Eight reached out and grabbed the block of explosives from Hoblenz. Slowly, its grip tightened, and the gray substance oozed out between its three fingers. Goose returned to the corner and sat down amid his other toys, continuing to knead the explosives with his one good hand.
"You have fun with that!" Hoblenz yelled. He then muttered, "You son of a bitch," as he returned to work at the window. He inserted what Laura assumed was a tiny detonator into the thin string of explosives, then stepped back to admire his handiwork.
"Is that enough?" Laura whispered, worried by how skinny the strings were.
"Plenty," he said tersely. He then walked backward across the room, spooling out a hair-thin filament in the direction of the elevator.
In the room below, Gray stood inside the circle of seated Model Eights, his hand on the shoulders of two robots. It was like the hand you placed on the rump of a horse when within range of its dangerous hooves, Laura thought. An I'm-right-here-don't-get-startled touch. He was talking constantly, but Laura didn't know to whom.
The robots all began to rise as if on cue. The Model Eight that had guided the students' petting pulled them away one by one.
Gray then led the soldier out without incident.
Hoblenz began shouting for his men to "Pack it up." In the corner, Goose held his hand in front of his one undamaged lens. It was covered in the gummy explosives.
When Laura looked back at the tactile room, most of the Model Eights were milling about. But one of the robots sat in front of the room's only door, barring the exit. The robot brought his hand up to his chin and rested his elbow on his knee. It was Auguste, "The Thinker" — the reprogrammed "bad seed." He already had blood on his hands, Laura thought, and seemed determined not to add any more.
Gray anxiously checked his watch. Two soldiers stood with Hoblenz at a terminal, showing him something on the screen schematic.
The third man had ridden up the elevator with the two bodies and the former hostage, who was thoroughly shaken but not badly hurt.
"I've got to be getting back, Mr. Hoblenz," Gray said. "It's three hours to deceleration."
Hoblenz reclined in his chair, frowning as he stared at the screen. "There's still no sign of any drilling."
Laura stood at the window and watched the listless Model Eights below.
All now sat on the floor as if exhausted. Or maybe depressed by the events of the day, Laura thought. But the [garbled] maybe their batteries are just low.
One of the Model Eights turned and pressed its palm flat against the white concrete where its back had rested.
"What's that Goose is playing with?" Laura heard Gray ask.
"C4," Hoblenz said with a chuckle. "I'd pay cash money to stick around till he plugs in for recharging."
"Clean it off him," Gray directed.
"Do what?" Hoblenz shot back — incredulous.
"There are some paper towels in the cafeteria. Clean his grippers off."
Hoblenz shook his head in disbelief, but shouted the orders to his men.
Laura suddenly felt a distinct vibration through the floor. The sensation radiated up through the soles of her feet. Everyone felt it.
In the room below, the robots struggled to their feet and stood facing the far wall. They lined up as if awaiting the arrival of a firing squad.
The white concrete on the wall where the toddler had pressed its palm began to crack. It fell to the floor in large chunks. Although held together by reinforcing rods, the wall was no match for the massive bore. Turning slowly, it pushed into the room and dropped a huge quantity of black rock onto the floor.
"I think we've got a jailbreak here, Sheriff," Hoblenz said, taking in the scene from beside Laura.
"They're not breaking out," Gray replied. "They're breaking in."
Laura watched transfixed as the first of the Model Eights squeezed through the gaping black hole. After several robots made it through, they dragged behind them the first of the wounded.
One of the new arrivals walked up to Auguste, who opened a plate on his chest. Auguste plugged the ribbon-like communications cable into the data port of the newly arrived Model Eight.
"Now why are those two doin' that?" Hoblenz asked. "I thought they used microwaves like ESP and just beamed their thoughts out."
"Not their private thoughts," Laura said.
The cable was returned to its compartment, and the two panels on their chests were closed.
"Uh, sir," Hoblenz said, fidgeting and looking around at the exits, "this is fascinatin' and all but I count almost a dozen of 'em through that hole already. Some of 'em have battle damage. These mothers have seen some action, so I vote we skedaddle while the skedaddlin' is good."
A pair of Model Eights from among the recent arrivals walked up to a toddler standing against the wall. After a momentary pause, the toddler marched toward the door — its two escorts walking behind. The scene was repeated, and off went another toddler. "I agree," Gray said, looking at his watch.