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can-size body equipped with arms in the act of bracing themselves to haul the
contrivance over. It was one of the telebot prototypes that
Michelle had seen in Garsten s office. The guard fired at it, splintering wood
from the sill, and the bullet ricocheted out of the room evoking more outraged
yells forward.
Hold it, you idiot! Payne shouted.
The telebot seemed to reassess the situation, ducked back out again, and
disappeared off to one side just as a heavy ornamental brass from one of the
walls crashed into the spot that it had occupied. A man that Michelle didn t
recognize
appeared framed in the doorway briefly, flailing with a fire ax to the
crunches of tearing woodwork.
It s going for the stairs, Finnion s voice yelled from somewhere behind him.
What in hell is it? somebody else demanded from somewhere.
There was a mêlée of bodies trying to get past each other and go in different
directions at the far end of the room. Then
Garsten materialized from among them and strode on in, looking from side to
side and around the floor. That was the same as the one in my office, he
muttered. Which one of you had my bag? Where is it? . . . Ah, there! He
stooped as he saw the briefcase, and grabbed it up.
Jesus!
He showed it to Vanessa and Payne, pointing at the rent cut vertically down
one side.
He cleared the end of the table and tipped out the briefcase to produce a heap
of cords and cables; bits of string, wood, and plastic; a carpenter s
measuring tape; and an assortment of metal items in various forms and shapes.
They re gone!
he exclaimed, gesturing. All the bugs and walking junk they had in my office
was in here. Look, they must have got out through here. Christ, they must be
all over the ship!
Ellipulos came in, looking around demandingly from face to face. What is that
thing? What s going on aboard my ship?
Payne showed him the burned mec. Little machines. There s more like this
around. Get your men looking. Look everywhere.
Vanessa looked back at Garsten. How many were there? she asked, paling.
He spread his hands. Hell, I don t remember. It wasn t exactly a time to be
stock taking. I just
Vanessa seized the neck of Michelle s sweater and dragged her to her feet. Her
mouth compressed into a tight gash on a face bloodless with rage.
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Who s controlling them? Where from?
You re the scientist. You find out.
Vanessa took a glass from the table, smashed the rim against the edge, and
held the jagged edges close to Michelle s face.
I m warning you. . . . Michelle was paralyzed, unable to react in any way.
Garsten raised a hand, looking alarmed. Hey . . . he cautioned. Payne took a
step forward and caught Vanessa s arm.
And then something dropped from among the figurines and trophies along the top
of the wall cabinet, onto Vanessa s head. She screeched, dropped the glass,
and began tearing wildly at her hair. . . .
Corfe felt as if he were in one of those nightclub acts where the performer
gets lots of china plates spinning on top of flexible canes that have to be
tweaked periodically to speed the plate up again before it falls off. By the
end, the act reduces to a nonstop panic of running frantically back and forth
across the stage, rescuing one platter after another seemingly just on the
verge of crashing.
Having eleven mecs scattered through the boat was all very well, but there was
only one of him in the van to operate them. Besides cutting equipment cables
up on the bridge, shorting out the engine starter, sabotaging the galley, and
deploying his other troops, he had kept his audio system tuned to the mec up
on top of the cabinet in the salon in order to listen in on what was happening
with Michelle. But there was a limit to how much he could keep up. It had been
bad enough when he could switch from one to another and move them into place
surreptitiously, before anyone on the boat
other than Michelle knew what was going on. Now that things were happening, he
was losing track of which mec was where and their different situations; and as
often as not, there simply wasn t time to coordinate his moves, even when he
did know.
So far he had lost two and was about to lose another. The one he had left in
behind the main breaker panel on the bridge had stopped responding; one, he
had sacrificed to short the starter in the engine room; and the one he had
just thrown off the cabinet in the salon had been almost out of charge anyway.
He had to get back to the telebot that he d managed to get outside and left
hidden temporarily behind a rope locker by the entrance foyer in order to
intervene with Michelle, even though it was being chased, shot at, and
obviously in a tight spot. He rolled and clutched to entangle himself in
Vanessa s hair, pinched at her fingertips when they came clawing at him, and
then switched back to the telebot s channel. . . .
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