(praise be to boots with grip-rubber soles), but running was not an option.
As I neared the far shore, I felt shudders underfoot. Tremors from elsewhere on the ice. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw the android had made it to the creek.
Alarms still screamed. Snowstriders darted about in feeding frenzy on the bank.
The android tried its old sprint on the ice: slam, slam, slip. Three strides and it lost its balance, soaring up, flailing in the air, then down bang, crashing hip-first and steel-heavy onto the frozen surface.
I imagined the prickle-prickle cracking of ice. I couldn't hear it because of the alarms, but in my mind, the sound was precious-perfect clear.
The android, not programmed for winter gymnastics, tried to scramble to its feet. It slipped once more, its right hand sliding across the creek surface like butter on a hot pan. This time the robot didn't fall, but threw out its other hand to catch itself.
The hand went through the ice, up to the elbow. By then, I'd reached the far shore. This bank had been built up with fist-sized hunks of concrete laid in uneven rows for a flagstone effect. After the chilling and swelling of winter, lots of those hunks had broken loose from their mortar. I grabbed the nearest and chucked it at the android's head, praying to hit something vulnerable while its hand was trapped.
The robot saw the chunk coming and twisted away, taking the blow on its back. Nothing happened; the concrete just bounced off a metal shoulder. Now though, I could eyeball the damage inflicted before, when the peacock tube splashed the robots with their own acid. This android's whole spinal area was pitted with corrosion: hankie-sized patches of epidermis eaten clean away. You could see circuits and fiber-optic cables exposed to open air... not enough to stop the robot in its tracks, but the acid had taken a fierce vicious toll.
Good, I thought, and threw another hunk of cement. This throw missed the android, but bit into the nearby ice with its jagged concrete edge. Hairline cracks radiated out from the point of impact. Did the android care? No. It dragged its hand from the water, shirtsleeve dripping, and picked up for one more climb to its feet. Heavy steel robot feet.
The ice gave way with a snap I could hear even over the alarms. For a wavering moment, the android managed to catch its arms on the sides of the hole—propping itself with upper body still visible, though ice water came up to its nipples. Steam poured from cavities in the robot's back, where chilly Coal Smear Creek met burning acid and the hot circuitry of the machine's guts. I yelled, "Short out, you bastard! Blow your sodding battery!"
Obliging things, these robots. The android's arms suddenly jerked rigid. Then the ice under its hands broke into shockle, and the killer machine plunged out of sight into the creek.
For another moment I stayed on the bank, watching the hole—dark water now, bobbing with ice floes. But a woman my age has watched enough fic-chips to know how witless it is to relax prematurely. Any second, I expected the android's hand to smash out of the ice at my feet, grab me by the ankle, pull me down. I clambered up the bank to solid ground, and was just shifting Chappalar's weight for another stint of running when the creek exploded.
All the ice in a ten-meter radius simply lifted up, then slammed down hard on the water beneath. The great banging force fractured the frozen surface into hundreds of separate slabs; but more dramatic was the geyser of muddy water that shot from the hole where the android had sunk. The upburst gushed three stories into the sky, carrying with it scraps of circuit board, metal cables, and tattered gray overalls. Then the fountain lost strength and collapsed, spilling robot ragout all over the creek surface.
"Self-destruct," I whispered to myself. "A deadman's switch... in case the bugger got in over its head. So to speak. Something to destroy the evidence."
What did that say about
As I neared the far shore, I felt shudders underfoot. Tremors from elsewhere on the ice. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw the android had made it to the creek.
Alarms still screamed. Snowstriders darted about in feeding frenzy on the bank.
The android tried its old sprint on the ice: slam, slam, slip. Three strides and it lost its balance, soaring up, flailing in the air, then down bang, crashing hip-first and steel-heavy onto the frozen surface.
I imagined the prickle-prickle cracking of ice. I couldn't hear it because of the alarms, but in my mind, the sound was precious-perfect clear.
The android, not programmed for winter gymnastics, tried to scramble to its feet. It slipped once more, its right hand sliding across the creek surface like butter on a hot pan. This time the robot didn't fall, but threw out its other hand to catch itself.
The hand went through the ice, up to the elbow. By then, I'd reached the far shore. This bank had been built up with fist-sized hunks of concrete laid in uneven rows for a flagstone effect. After the chilling and swelling of winter, lots of those hunks had broken loose from their mortar. I grabbed the nearest and chucked it at the android's head, praying to hit something vulnerable while its hand was trapped.
The robot saw the chunk coming and twisted away, taking the blow on its back. Nothing happened; the concrete just bounced off a metal shoulder. Now though, I could eyeball the damage inflicted before, when the peacock tube splashed the robots with their own acid. This android's whole spinal area was pitted with corrosion: hankie-sized patches of epidermis eaten clean away. You could see circuits and fiber-optic cables exposed to open air... not enough to stop the robot in its tracks, but the acid had taken a fierce vicious toll.
Good, I thought, and threw another hunk of cement. This throw missed the android, but bit into the nearby ice with its jagged concrete edge. Hairline cracks radiated out from the point of impact. Did the android care? No. It dragged its hand from the water, shirtsleeve dripping, and picked up for one more climb to its feet. Heavy steel robot feet.
The ice gave way with a snap I could hear even over the alarms. For a wavering moment, the android managed to catch its arms on the sides of the hole—propping itself with upper body still visible, though ice water came up to its nipples. Steam poured from cavities in the robot's back, where chilly Coal Smear Creek met burning acid and the hot circuitry of the machine's guts. I yelled, "Short out, you bastard! Blow your sodding battery!"
Obliging things, these robots. The android's arms suddenly jerked rigid. Then the ice under its hands broke into shockle, and the killer machine plunged out of sight into the creek.
For another moment I stayed on the bank, watching the hole—dark water now, bobbing with ice floes. But a woman my age has watched enough fic-chips to know how witless it is to relax prematurely. Any second, I expected the android's hand to smash out of the ice at my feet, grab me by the ankle, pull me down. I clambered up the bank to solid ground, and was just shifting Chappalar's weight for another stint of running when the creek exploded.
All the ice in a ten-meter radius simply lifted up, then slammed down hard on the water beneath. The great banging force fractured the frozen surface into hundreds of separate slabs; but more dramatic was the geyser of muddy water that shot from the hole where the android had sunk. The upburst gushed three stories into the sky, carrying with it scraps of circuit board, metal cables, and tattered gray overalls. Then the fountain lost strength and collapsed, spilling robot ragout all over the creek surface.
"Self-destruct," I whispered to myself. "A deadman's switch... in case the bugger got in over its head. So to speak. Something to destroy the evidence."
What did that say about
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