"There will be some… some jostling, I'm sure. But you're missing the most important point! The Eights aren't tapped into the computer's world model. They access the Other's. It won't be a virtual representation of you that they see. 'You' will be a Model Eight! You'll be ten feet tall and have arms of boron epoxy! Now go! Go!"
Laura put on her hood, arguing the whole way. "But I don't understand! I don't know what you want me to do!"
She was in the chamber, and Filatov stuck his head in for one last answer. "This machine you're in has two settings — virtual reality and telepresence. Virtual reality is pure imagination. You're just dreamed up inside the computer's head. But telepresence is real. In telepresence you're operating a real robot in real space somewhere far away from your workstation. We trucked in four brand-new Model Eights from the assembly building. They're just off the line and have no real-world training, but they can be slaved off your arms and legs. You can control them from this workstation. You should lie down on your back to assume their start position. That'll cut down on any initial disorientation."
"Wait a minute! Do you mean that I'll be controlling real robots? That when I move my arm, the robot will move its arm?"
"Yes! Teleoperation, like I said. You are the robot!"
He disappeared, and the door closed with a squeak from its tight seal.
Laura was petrified when the lights in the workstation went out completely. She was lying on her back in the middle of the chamber.
"Are you ready, Laura?" she heard. It was Gina's voice.
"I guess."
Suddenly, the floor rose to an inclined position like a hospital bed. Then the starry night sky appeared out of nowhere — emblazoned on the ceiling of the otherwise dark workstation. Then the brightly lit horizons crackled into view on the walls and floor.
Laura was lying outside the computer center on some sort of trailer. Beside her was the sandbagged fortress of Hoblenz's troops.
Laura was on the truck, she realized, that had driven up just before Filatov summoned her. The tarps that had covered its cargo now lay on the ground. Three empty positions dotted the long flatbed beside her.
Something was strange about the world around her. Everything seemed smaller. The sandbags, the jeeps. Hoblenz ran about shouting orders to his men, who seemed to be packing up to leave.
He was noticeably smaller than he should have been at such close range.
"Mr. Hoblenz!" Laura called out.
"He can't hear you, Laura," Gina said. "Model Eights can't produce audible sound waves."
Gina had not spoken with the "all-around" voice of a moment before. Laura turned to look at the sound's source. The muscles of her neck had to work hard against the suddenly stiff and confining hood.
"Don't try to move more quickly than a robot can," Gina said. "The skeleton restrains you to the robots' range and speed of motion."
Gina stood tight beside Laura — her image faint and fuzzy.
Gina was apparently imaginary in the teleoperation mode. Laura looked back at the scrambling soldiers. Their images were sharply depicted.
"The solid-looking objects you can manipulate," Gina said, anticipating Laura's question. There were faint burping and tipping sounds in the distance. "Hear that? That's Mr. Gray attacking a very surprised Model Eight who blasted him with a microwave version of 'What the hell do you think you're doing?'" There were other sounds, each of different duration and tone.
They were robot screams, terse data transmissions that screeched over the chamber's sound system. They were inaudible in the real world but perfectly clear in cyberspace.
"You'd better get up now. Your comrades-in-arms are wondering why you're lying down on the job." Laura struggled to sit up, but the suit made the task very difficult. The motion, however, had been noticed by the soldiers, whose weapons were raised and pointed her way.
"Be careful with them, Laura. You can hurt them, and they can hurt you."
Laura looked down at the open brackets around her hand. When she lifted her arm, the Model Eight arm rose. She moved her fingers. Her thumb and the two fingers closest operated the three fingers of the robot's gripper. She could feel the rubberized supports beneath her back with her new robotic skin. Laura and the robot were one.
Gina talked her down to a standing position on the lawn just beside the trailer.
"There! You're getting the hang of it! Now, come along, come along." Gina headed off toward the sounds of battle, turning back and waving for Laura to follow.
Laura began the slow and difficult process of walking. The suit held her like a full-body straitjacket.
"Come on, come on, come on," a grinning Gina said, skipping in front of Laura and turning backward and forward in a girlish dance.
Laura peered through the fires and smoke ahead. "What's going on up there?"
"The Model Eights have taken heavy losses. They started out with thirty, but they're down to thirteen, plus another five or so walking wounded."
"How about our side?"
"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."