2
“Perfect,” said Maggie, looking at Freud’s new “outfit.”
“I feel distinctly uncomfortable,” said Freud. “And copper is decidedly not my color.”
“You look fine.”
It had taken them twenty minutes to remove both Freud’s and Adler’s casings and then attach Adler’s casing to Freud. Without their smooth gleaming shells, the robots were skeletal figures of dull gray metal with cables and bundles of wires snaking to and fro.
“I cannot guarantee that this will work,” said Freud. “Subterfuge is not part of my programming.”
“No, but preventing humans from being harmed is. If human lives depend on it, you can prevaricate, right?”
“I am programmed to do whatever is necessary to ensure the survival of human beings.”
“Good. Now, then, can you duplicate Adler’s tics?”
“I do not know. Let me try.” He jerked his head to the left in a passable imitation of Adler, but as he did so he said, “Click.”
“No no no. He did not say it.”
“I know, but I cannot duplicate the sound in any other way. Adler did it only because his neck joint had been damaged.”
Maggie pondered this for a moment, then said, “Perhaps you could merely make the head motions periodically, and if anyone asks why you do not make the sound anymore, tell them that it simply stopped and you do not know why.”
“I suppose that would work. But you see? You are much better at prevarication than I am. I fear I am the wrong robot for this job.”
“It was your idea, do not forget.”
“I know, I know.” He sighed—Maggie still couldn’t get used to the idea of a robot doing that—and said, “I suppose I should be off.”
“Do not forget this,” she said. She bent down and picked up the dented box of Twinkies. “The Marauders’ leader will be expecting it.”
“Ah, yes. But I have never seen the Marauders’ leader before. How will I identify him?”
Maggie smiled. “I imagine he will be the one shouting at you to give him his Twinkies.”
“And what will you be doing while I am braving these dangers alone?”
“Sneaking around, trying to accomplish the same objectives as you, but in a different way. I think I should—”
Footsteps echoed down the kitchen hallway.
Maggie and Freud stood as still as stones as they waited to find out whether the footsteps would turn off into the kitchen, or continue toward the bend.
Just when Maggie began to fear that the steps had gone on too long and grown too loud and thus must have passed the kitchen already, the swinging doors banged open, and the Annihilator’s tinny voice said, “Where the hell’s Twitchy? The boss sent me down to see what’s takin’ him so long.”
The doors closed, cutting off Asaparagus Sam’s no doubt long and profanity-laden reply.
“When he cannot find Adler, I hope he does not think to look down this corridor,” said Freud.
“If he does—”
Before she could finish, the doors banged open again and the Annihilator stormed out, crying, “And the food’d better be ready stat. The show’s gonna start in fifteen minutes, and it’s gonna take you a while to move everything down to the arena.”
“But the pig ain’t done yet. Shit, it’s still rarer than a fat elf.”
“Rare’s fine. Now get your ass movin’!”
The footsteps paused outside the kitchen as the door thumped shut.
Don’t come this way, Maggie thought. Don’t come this way.
The footsteps approached.
Maggie started to reach for her dagger, but then had a better idea and motioned for Freud to move away from Adler’s inert, uncased form. She hoped that the Annihilator had never seen Adler without his casing before, and also that he didn’t notice the pieces of Freud’s casing stacked in the corner. Then again, she didn’t plan to give him a chance to assess the situation in any depth.
When the Annihilator rounded the corner, Maggie grabbed Adler’s shoulder and shouted at the lifeless robot, “Use your incinerator ray! Now!”
The Annihilator responded automatically. Assuming that the main threat was this strange-looking robot (even though the robot’s back was to him), he whipped his arm up and fired his blaster at it three times.
Two of the shots hit Adler in the upper back. The third hit it in the head. Had its casing been on, the robot might have survived the attack, but without that outer armor, it didn’t have a chance. Its torso blew apart with such force that its left arm went flipping end over end into the west wall, while its head simply dissolved in a spray of wires and circuits and shards of metal.
The moment the Annihilator had raised his blaster, Maggie had whirled and raced south down the corridor, hoping to lure him after her and away from Freud and the evidence of their deception.
It worked. When the Annihilator peered through the smoke from Adler’s burning and popping remains and saw that Maggie was already halfway to the nearest side-corridor, he hissed, “Shit,” then glanced back at Freud. “Get moving. The boss wants those Twinkies now!”
Without waiting for a response, he leaned forward and activated his jetpack. In a burst of flame, he shot down the corridor in pursuit of Maggie.
Freud didn’t start moving right away. Instead he watched Maggie dodge around a corner, followed a few seconds later by the Annihilator.
Then he heard the faint sound of a hoverboard starting up.
“Damn it!” shouted the Annihilator. Three laser blasts rang out in quick succession.
Had he breathed, Freud would have held his breath just then.
And then he would have let it out in relief when the Annihilator roared, “Bitch! You can’t get away from me!”
The sounds of the hoverboard and the jetpack faded.
Freud sighed. “This is all quite stressful.”
He strode past the kitchen and toward the heart of the Marauders’ camp.