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, however, moved far too slowly on two flat tires. The crawler pivoted with surprising agility, throwing up huge quantities of sod from the groomed field. The Model Six disappeared in a single crunch, flattened under the millions of pounds of the crawler's weight.
The Model Sixes and Sevens began to flee in mindless fear.
Gina's army had been routed. The barbarians were poised to pour through the gate.
The scene disappeared, the workstation's screens fading to black with a crackle.
"Are you okay?" Laura heard. Gray stood right behind her. He still wore his exoskeleton, although he had removed his hood.
But the door to her workstation remained closed, and she hadn't heard him enter. "Are you… here?" Laura asked.
"In what sense?" Gray replied. His form glowed slightly in the darkness.
"You're really still in your own chamber, aren't you?" Laura said.
Gray tilted his head to the side and frowned. "You should know better than to ask complicated philosophical questions so casually."
"Just cut the bullshit and answer," Laura replied.
He smiled. "The walls and skeleton can only focus properly based on the position in the workstation of one user at a time. But right now, as I look at you, I see a Laura whose form is morphed out of the wall of my workstation. I see you, just like you stepped into my 'chamber.' It's the mirror image of what you perceive me to have done. But what 'really' happened? Did your virtual representation step into my workstation? Or did mine step into yours?"
Laura didn't have to ponder the question this time. She knew the answer immediately. "It doesn't matter," she replied. "Whether you're in my workstation or I'm in yours — they're irrelevant concepts. This is cyberspace, here we're both in the same place. Workstations don't exist. Giant crawlers don't exist. The only things that exist are the things we perceive at this moment."
"Don't forget memories," a third voice came. It was Gina. Her form was not visible, but she was there. She was omnipresent in cyberspace.
Gray was nodding. "That's right. We do have memories also. Right now, Laura, your memories consist of experiences in the 'real' world and in the 'virtual' world. What is it that sets those memories apart? What is it that differs — qualitatively — between the memories you have of real life and those you have of cyberspace? Will you think back on tonight and remember being inside a workstation? Or will you remember the feel of the blows from Model Eights? And if your memories are of the fight you had with the robots, can you truly say that it didn't happen? That it wasn't real? That it was all a simulation? Or did it happen because you experienced it?"