The borders of the cleared lawns below the low-lying jungle marked the edge of civilization. Of human civilization, at least, she thought.
Pitch-black and formless, the jungle swallowed all light that entered, just as it had swallowed the life of the soldier the night before. It was a place not to be penetrated by the forces of Laura's world. It was another world unto itself.
Text caught her eye as it sprinted across the laptop glowing screen.
"Help me out with something. I thought the Model Eights were some big, tip-top secret. Not even some of Mr. Gray's most trusted employees seemed to know about them, officially at least. But now he's got them taking a swim with astronaut trainees just off the boat. What's changed?"
The simplicity of the reply struck Laura. It had the sound of an ominous portent.
"But I thought the Model Eights were just experimental. That they wouldn't be released to roam the island until he declared them operational, if ever."
"Is Hightop one of the graduates?"
"Why do you know so much about the Model Eights all of a sudden? I thought you couldn't see into their facility?"
"So, you wouldn't have seen a Model Eight in the Village last night, for example — before you reprogrammed yourself to notice them?"
"But if you were suspicious of the Model Eights, why weren't you on the lookout for them?"
"So how did you miss seeing the Dutch soldier? Hoblenz said he skirted the edge of the jungle, but couldn't possibly have gone inside."
There was a delay in the computer's answer.
Laura was more concerned at the moment about the robots. "Can you see any of the Model Eights now?"
Laura's eyes shot up. She was on the end of the computer center closest to Launchpad A. She would easily see the robot from there, but there was no movement on the flat plain of the lawn.
"What is that last robot doing out on the beach?"
"Does it make sense to let a Model Eight just walk around the island like that?"
She glanced up, but there was still no sign of the robot.
"And why do you say that?"
"Yes, although I believe that's a 'simile.' And I take it Mr. Gray disagrees with your concern about the Model Eights?"
"Which Model Eight is on the security patrol?"
"Is that Hightop?"
Of course, Laura thought. Gray trusted the Model Eights some more than others.
She wondered how much he trusted Auguste—"The Thinker."
"All personnel, all personnel," a loudspeaker boomed across the open space between the assembly building and the computer center, "three minutes to launch. This is your three-minute warning."
Laura was stunned. "Why would you think a thing like that?"
"Two minutes to launch," the loudspeaker announced. The terse warning echoed off the walls of the assembly building. Laura looked up and saw the black shape of a Model Eight rounding the edge of the jungle. It was headed across the open field straight toward the computer center. Even hundreds of yards away, it looked large. But not nearly as large as the mammoth rocket behind it.
"Sixty seconds, sixty seconds. Closing all shutters and outer doors."
Behind Laura's back, the vibrations of motors joined the sounds of metal clacking together. The sounds were repeated from air shafts all up and down the computer center's rooftop.
"We need to talk about what you just said," Laura quickly typed, "but right now I've got to ask you something." Laura glanced up at the robot — then at the gantry separating from the rocket on the launch pad.
Red beacons flashed all up and down the metal frame. "I'm on the computer center roof, and—"
Laura felt her anxiety skyrocket. "Yes, I am."
"Thirty seconds to launch. Thirty seconds."
"Mr. Gray said to find some place where I could watch the launch, so I thought—"
"But why?" she typed. "I don't understand what—"
"Fifteen seconds," the loudspeaker said.
Laura threw the portable down and bolted toward the opposite side of the roof. All of the air shafts were pointed away from the launch pads — shielded by concrete. Why hadn't she noticed that before?
"Ten seconds, nine, eight" — she'd never make it—"seven, six, five" — she was flying toward the edge—"four, three, two, one."
There was silence, and then the gates of hell opened behind her.
She saw her long shadow in the hot light that burned her exposed arms and neck. The air around her shook as she came up on the edge of the roof with terrifying speed. The night flared with the radiant fire of a furious chemical burn.
"A-a-ah!" she shouted, the high-pitched scream cut off by a crashing roar of the rockets' blasts.
She was in the air — flying and falling. She had time to look beneath her at the sloping wall. Her feet touched concrete and she raced down the steep incline, but only for two steps. On her third, her toe dragged and all was lost. Her heart and lungs froze as one inside her chest. And she fell… tumbling, petrified, in an unending series of jarring, scraping, uncontrollable blows.
Laura woke to pain from a dozen places. Her ears were ringing, each tone like the jab of an ice pick against her eardrum. Her head, her left knee, and her right shoulder and arm all ached. The inventory of her injuries grew with each jolt and sway. She was being carried.
Her eyes shot open. She was appalled at how far below her the ground was. She looked up into the face of a Model Eight.
A kind of scream she'd never made before erupted from her lungs and tore with painful force past her larynx. Her kicking brought more pain — pain from her injuries, and pain from the tightening of the robot's grip. Reason prevailed over fear, and with the greatest of efforts Laura managed to lie perfectly still, her fate in the machine's arms.
Without turning her head, she tried to determine where she was. The robot was walking slowly parallel with the wall of the computer center. There was no one anywhere in sight. High in the sky above she could see three smudgy streaks of smoke brightly lit the crisscrossing beams of powerful spotlights. The stench of exhaust filled the air. The rockets were gone, but not long gone.
"Would you…" she croaked from her dry throat, then was wracked by coughs that sent still more pain shooting through her body. "Would you put me down?" she managed, but the robot showed no sign of having heard her.
"Please?" He continued on, totally unfazed.
Laura looked around again. He was not taking her toward the jungle, but toward the computer center entrance.
She remembered seeing the Model Eight on the lawn returning from its patrol of the beach. She looked back up at his face, just two feet away. "Hightop." His pace slowed, and he glanced down at her, then resumed his purposeful stride.
She heard the sound of screeching tires and looked up at the road by the computer center entrance. From the car emerged a lone figure.
It was dark, but she knew who it was and she relaxed in the robot's arms, allowing the pain to again stab at her.
"Laura!" Gray shouted from some distance — sprinting toward her.
"I'm o-kay," she replied, while staring straight up at the sky, wincing at the jabs of pain caused by the effort.
She knew he had arrived when the robot stopped.
"Give her to me please, Hightop," Gray said in a normal tone.
The robot carefully lowered her toward Gray's waiting arms.
"Wait!" Laura said, and Hightop froze.
Laura looked up into the expressionless face directly above her. It had two shiny black lenses for eyes. A slightly raised and vented triangle for a nose. Thin metal pores surrounded by raised fringes where a mouth should be. Ears covered in black foam like over a microphone.
She again got the distinct impression of a man inside a space suit. Only the scale of the machine defied the description.
Laura brought the tips of her fingers to her lips and kissed, then raised them to the robot's cheek. The light gray membrane gave slightly under her fingertips. It was so smooth, so soft… but it was unexpectedly cold to the touch.
Hightop handed her gently to Gray, and Laura tried not to cry out in pain.
Gray stared down at her through eyes sick with worry. He held her high in his arms and tight to his body, his face close to hers. He lowered his forehead onto her shoulder and rested it there for a moment — his head next to hers. He then opened his eyes and started for the road.
He carried her in silence — his eyes straight ahead.
After a short distance, Laura said, "I can probably walk," although she wasn't entirely sure. Gray continued on without responding, every bit as talkative as the robot. "How did you know where I was?" she asked.
"The computer," he replied without looking down.
"Did the launches go all right?"
"What the hell were you doing in the restricted area?" he shot at her, his teeth bared in anger. He shook his head, his eyes still fixed on some far-off point. "On the roof of the goddamn computer center, for Christ's sake?"
"You can put me down right now," she said in a tone as loud and as unfriendly as his had been. Gray didn't bother to look at her.
"Put me down!" she said, kicking her feet.
With his jaw set firmly, Gray stopped. She half expected him to dump her straight onto the grassy lawn, but he lowered her gently to her feet.
She hurt all over, but she could put weight on her feet and she tried as best as she could to straighten up.
"You didn't answer my question!" he snapped.
"You told me to get a good view of your little fireworks show!" she shot back. He glared at her. "I broke one of your little rules, so sue me!"
"Why do you think we call this the restricted area? Because I'm some kind of security freak? We're less than half a mile from pad A!" he shouted, throwing his arm up in the direction of the nearby launch facility. "The radiant heat alone could've given you first-, maybe second-degree burns. And God forbid we had to abort at low altitude or something went wrong on a pad!"
His outburst changed Laura's mood entirely. Rather than feeling her anger feed off his, she felt it wash away. "I'm okay," she said softly as she reached up to put a hand on his arm.
Gray opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Slowly he filled his lungs with air, which he then expelled noisily. He calmed, seemingly exhausted by the effort.
With a sudden jerk of his head he looked up to the sky. A heartbeat later Laura heard the sound of jet engines through the thick cotton in her ears. Sharp whines rose to a sudden roar, which caused both of them to flinch. The noise was followed by the sight of two jets passing low over the island. The glowing hot tailpipes split apart as the two aircraft banked steeply to either side of the mountain. When they reappeared, they were flying wingtip to wingtip heading back out to the sea in the far distance. "What was that?" Laura asked.
"There's a U.S. Navy aircraft carrier out there paying us a visit."
"What do they want?" Gray looked tired again — at the end of his rope.
"Control. They want to control me."
"Well… what're you gonna do? I mean, Joseph… an aircraft carrier? Jets?"
"They won't try to stop me before I decelerate the asteroid. They can't risk it. But after…" He worked his teeth together. "I'll level this island before I let them have it."
She measured him by the expression he wore, and she had no doubt he was telling the truth. "But would you kill to keep it?" she asked, and he looked away. "Would you kill those sailors and pilots?"
Still he said nothing. "Joseph, that's one thing I have to know. It's nonnegotiable."
After a long pause, he said simply, "No." The admission sounded like a defeat. He scanned his creations with his gaze, but this survey seemed to evoke little pleasure. "What I'm doing
here, Laura, is important. It may just be the most important thing ever undertaken in human history. But I couldn't take the lives of those men. That's asking too much."
"Joseph, listen to me. Nobody's asking anything of you."
He reflected upon her statement in silence, and then finally he said, "I'm asking it of myself. Now, let's get you seen about."
Gray headed for the stairs to the computer center entrance, and Laura took a few painful steps to follow. "Joseph?" she called out, and he returned to her immediately. He slipped his arm around the small of her waist, and she lowered her head onto his shoulder for the short walk down the computer center steps.
Laura limped into the conference room, and everyone looked up.
Hoblenz was the first to speak. "You all right there, Doc?"
"Just a few scrapes and bruises. It's nothing, really." Her chair next to Gray was empty, and Gray stood to pull it back from the table.
"I hope Hightop treated you well," Dr. Griffith said with a broad smile on his face as she sat.
"He was quite a gentleman," Laura replied, feeling much better after a couple of codeine tablets.
Griffith laughed loudly at her remark. Now that the Model Eights were out of the closet, he glowed with pride for his pets.
No one else at the table was smiling. "I'm sorry I interrupted," Laura said. "I feel like I've crashed a wake."
Gray undertook to fill her in. "Dorothy was just saying that something inside the computer has started a stampede. The viruses are fleeing some threat. They're trying to copy themselves all over the place, replicating massively as if they were being stalked and threatened with extinction."
No one said anything. Georgi stared at his hands, his fingers woven together and his thumbs jousting. Margaret looked off into space — her whole body twisted away from the table. Hoblenz stared at Laura.
"So what are we going to do?" Dorothy asked softly, tossing her prized palmtop onto a yellow notepad.
"We're going to do our jobs," Gray said.
A sigh of frustration burst from Filatov. "But the computer's down to fifty-five percent capacity! We should've crashed hours… days ago."
Society of the Mind Page 41