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Jean studied her. Finally she patted the bent green side sympathetically. “Poor Na
“Let’s push Na
Jean said no, because she was too heavy. She would sink to the bottom and they would never see her again.
“Then we won’t push her in,” Bobby agreed.
For a time there was silence. Overhead a few birds fluttered past, plump specks streaking swiftly across the sky. A small boy on a bicycle came riding hesitantly along the gravel path, his front wheel wobbling.
“I wish I had a bicycle,” Bobby murmured.
The boy careened on past. Across the lake the fat man stood up and knocked his pipe against the bench. He closed his book and sauntered off along the path, wiping his perspiring forehead with a vast red handkerchief.
“What happens to Na
“They go to heaven.” Jean lovingly thumped the green dented hull with her hand. “Just like everybody else.”
“Are Na
“Of course there were always Na
Bobby couldn’t answer that. He meditated for a time, but presently he became sleepy … he was really too young to solve such problems. His eyelids became heavy and he yawned. Both he and Jean lay on the warm grass by the edge of the lake, watching the sky and the clouds, listening to the wind moving through the grove of cedar trees. Beside them the battered green Na
A little girl came slowly across the field of grass, a pretty child in a blue dress with a bright ribbon in her long dark hair. She was coming toward the lake.
“Look,” Jean said. “There’s Phyllis Casworthy. She has an orange Na
They watched, interested. “Who ever heard of an orange Na
“Her Na
“That’s true,” Bobby admitted. He thumped the green side loyally. “But ours is nicer. Isn’t she?”
Their Na
“What’s the matter?” Bobby asked uncomfortably.
“Na
The green Na
“Na
“Let’s go.” Jean said, frightened. “Let’s go home.”
“Come on, Na
The green Na
“Na
Jean and Bobby rushed up the sloping lawn, away from the lake. “She’ll come!” Bobby said. “Na
But the Na
The orange Na
This Na
The green Na
“Na
“Na
The two metal bodies rolled furiously in the grass, fighting and struggling desperately. Again and again the metal mace came, bashing wildly into the green side. The warm sun shone benignly down on them. The surface of the lake eddied gently in the wind.
“Na
But there was no response from the frenzied, twisting mass of crashing orange and green.
“What are you going to do?” Mary Fields asked, tight-lipped and pale.
“You stay here.” Tom grabbed up his coat and threw it on; he yanked his hat down from the closet shelf and strode toward the front door.
“Where are you going?”
“Is the cruiser out front?” Tom pulled open the front door and made his way out onto the porch. The two children, miserable and trembling, watched him fearfully.
“Yes,” Mary murmured, “it’s out front. But where—”
Tom turned abruptly to the children. “You’re sure she’s—dead?”
Bobby nodded. His face was streaked with grimy tears. “Pieces… all over the lawn.”
Tom nodded grimly. “I’ll be right back. And don’t worry at all. You three stay here.”
He strode down the front steps, down the walk, to the parked cruiser. A moment later they heard him drive furiously away.
He had to go to several agencies before he found what he wanted. Service Industries had nothing he could use; he was through with them. It was at Allied Domestic that he saw exactly what he was looking for, displayed in their luxurious, well-lighted window. They were just closing, but the clerk let him inside when he saw the expression on his face.
“I’ll take it,” Tom said, reaching into his coat for his checkbook.
“Which one, sir?” the clerk faltered.
“The big one. The big black one in the window. With the four arms and the ram in front.”
The clerk beamed, his face aglow with pleasure. “Yes sir!” he cried, whipping out his order pad. “The Imperator Delux, with power-beam focus. Did you want the optional high-velocity grapple-lock and the remote-control feedback? At moderate cost, we can equip her with a visual report screen; you can follow the situation from the comfort of your own living room.”
“The situation?” Tom said thickly.
“As she goes into action.” The clerk began writing rapidly. “And I mean action—this model warms up and closes in on its adversary within fifteen seconds of the time its activated. You can’t find faster reaction in any single-unit models, ours or anybody else’s. Six months ago, they said fifteen second closing was a pipe dream. The clerk laughed excitedly. “But science strides on.”
A strange cold numbness settled over Tom Fields. “Listen,” he said hoarsely. Grabbing the clerk by the lapel he yanked him closer. The order pad fluttered away; the clerk gulped with surprise and fright. “Listen to me,” Tom grated, “you’re building these things bigger all the time—aren’t you? Every year, new models, new weapons. You and all the other companies-building them with improved equipment to destroy each other.”
“Oh,” the clerk squeaked indignantly, “Allied Domestic’s models are never destroyed. Banged up a little now and then, perhaps, but you show me one of our models that’s been put out of commission.” With dignity, he retrieved his order pad and smoothed down his coat. “No, sir,” he said emphatically, “our models survive. Why, I saw a seven-year-old Allied ru