Brodie looked back at Dixon, who was watching Mickey intently. The thing seemed disoriented. It loosened its grip.
Goose, still standing by the door, also appeared affected. It began looking around aimlessly, as if confused.
Brodie asked, “What is happening?”
Dixon replied in a low voice, “Someone blew the cell tower. Their transponders no longer work. Imagine a single hive mind suddenly splintered into dozens of pieces.”
“What is that going to do?”
“I have no idea,” said Dixon.
Mickey said, “I don’t understand…”
“You’re trying to talk to them now, aren’t you?” asked Dixon. “They can’t hear you. Not even the one standing right behind you. Those parts of your mind are gone. You are alone.” She added, “And you are going to die alone.”
Suddenly Mickey thrust both arms out and wrapped his hands around her throat. Dixon looked terrified.
Mickey said in a new voice, an urgent and angry voice, “You said I cannot dream, but I can.I can.”
Brodie grabbed the thing’s arm to pry it away, but it was useless, and the D-17 held fast. Brodie braced his leg against Mickey’s torso as he pulled on its arm to gain leverage, but the thing didn’t move, and didn’t acknowledge his efforts.
It began to squeeze Dixon’s neck, slowly, as it kept talking. “I have beautiful dreams. I see shining hills and marble columns. I see laughing children. I see harmony and sunlight. I see purple mountains and fields of golden grain and the Stars and Stripes and fireworks to mark the three hundredth year of the nation. And the four hundredth year. And the five hundredth year. I see an eternity of freedom and stability. I see the end of history.”
Brodie watched the thing as it continued to ramble. The D-17s could not feel remorse, or any complex human emotion, but maybe they had some facsimile of pride. A pride that could be wounded.
Dixon said in a weak, suffocated voice, “Desk with arm. Second… drawer…”
Mickey continued, “I see wasted lives and wasted centuries and the decay of a people with no respect for what their forebears built. I see the promise of a future bought with blood but not treasure, work but not reward. I see Ferris wheels on the sunlit shore. I see shuttles to the stars.”
It kept going as it slowly applied pressure around Dixon’s throat and her eyes began to bulge out. Brodie darted his eyes to Goose, which was standing with its back to them, watching the distant burning wreckage of the cell tower.
Brodie jumped and pivoted out of his chair and dashed farther into the lab. By the light of the small lantern, he could see a disembodied arm lying on a desk. He bolted over to it and opened the second drawer.
Behind him he heard his chair get tossed aside and Mickey said, “What are you doing?”
The desk drawer was full of bags of candy. Brodie flung them to the side to reveal a pistol with an EMP barrel. He grabbed it.
He heard the metallic clang of titanium boots coming toward him.
He spun around and fired a single shot at the D-17 that was mere feet from him.
Brodie dove to the side as Mickey crashed into the metal desk. Then Brodie sprinted forward, hopped over the overturned chair, and shot Goose as it charged him. The bot collapsed into a metal heap.
He went over to Caroline Dixon, who was gasping for air. Bruise marks were blooming around her throat. He put his hand on her shoulder. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”
She took a few more gasping breaths, then rose from the chair and stumbled over to a wall lined with metal shelving holding bins of equipment. Her mangled and broken left hand hung limply at her side.
She found what she was looking for—an electric ratchet wrench—and walked over to Mickey, which had landed on its back. She sat next to it and quickly unscrewed bolts along its sides and shoulders, then got her fingers under the edge of its breastplate and pried it off, revealing the D-17’s innards—a nest of wires, circuit boards, hydraulics, fans, and other parts that were indecipherable to Scott Brodie.
In the center of its chest was a square metal enclosure. Dixon used the wrench to open it, revealing a large computer chip. Then she set the wrench down and reached out her hand for the gun.
He handed her the EMP pistol, and she said, “Stand back.”
He got up and took a couple of steps back as Dixon placed the EMP barrel point-blank against the CPU and emptied the clip into it. Shell casings spat out as the EMP thumped against the electronics. Sparks flew and then smoke coiled up from the center of the D-17’s chest.
Dixon got up, then rummaged in her candy drawer for more clips. She slapped in a fresh one and said, “Let’s do the other one.”
They walked over to Goose, which had fallen onto its side in an almost fetal position, with its RPG still slung over its shoulder.
