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them on early to the eschaton."
"So they told you about the eschaton?" Pat asked.
"That Tipler business, sure. They were asking a lot of questions about it just
before they terminated the guys- Is something the matter?"
Pat and Patrice were exchanging glances. "You remembered the name!" Pat cried.
"Of course I remembered the name. Frank Tipler. Tulane University. He wrote a
book. I also remembered that old what's-his-face told us it was a lot of crap,
since the Hubble Constant showed that the universe wasn't ever going to
collapse again anyway.
"I've been wondering about that myself," Patrice said, and Pat put in:
"Dan says it doesn't matter if it's true. What matters is that the Horch and
the Beloved Leaders act as if they believe it's true, and-"
She stopped there, blinking; they were all blinking, as suddenly the lights
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were on. And from across the space Dopey chortled: "We have the power! Now we
can serve the Beloved Leaders again!"
CHAPTER FORTY
Patrice
The return of the lighting made things clearer but didn't make them better;
the place was still a ruin. An eye-hurting flicker told Patrice that, in spite
of damage, just beside her one of those magic mirror walls was trying to
reconstitute itself near the "examining room": bright mirror surface leaping
from floor to ceiling, then crackling and turning dark again, over and over.
"Stand back, Patrice!" Rosaleen warned urgently, but there was no danger
there; Patrice was already hastily backing away. At the tachyon terminal Dopey
was babbling in excitement as a Doc was doing something to its controls.
Patrice couldn't see what, exactly, but she couldn't even see the controls,
for that matter. Whatever they were, they were invisible to her. But Dopey was
in ecstasy-delight, certainly; fear, too. "This is our most dangerous time,"
he called, then, joyously: "See, here are some weapons! Take them! Be ready!
The machines will surely detect this energy, and they-oh, hurry!" But he was
talking to the Doc again, not to the humans, who were quick to seize the
trombone like things as the Doc lifted them out of the cavernous interior of
the terminal, then closed the door for the next batch.
"What about our food?" Jimmy Lin demanded, hefting the weapon.
Dopey looked at him distractedly. "Please be careful with that, now there is
power! Food? Of course we'll get food from your Starlab, as soon as we are
prepared to deal with the Horch machines. First the weapons, then a few more
fighters. I believe we should make more copies of you, Agent Dannerman, since
it is probable that there will be some losses. Also General Delasquez and
Commander Lin; I think it is best to copy the males first, don't you? Since,
as I understand it, all of you males have had some weapons training, while the
females have not. Or not very much.
But of course," he added hastily, turning away to urge the Doc to greater
speed, "if you wish we will copy more females as well, as soon as we have
finished destroying the Horch machines-"
"Shut up," Dannerman said, pointing one of the weapons at Dopey. Who goggled
at him uncomprehendingly.
"But I have asked you, Agent Dannerman, to be very careful with that weapon!
It could easily accidentally go off-"
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"Not accidentally," Dannerman said.
Patrice had never seen the alien look so bewildered. He stared, his plume
agitatedly flickering, then turned to the nearest armed human, which happened
to be Martin Delasquez. "I order you to shoot him," he said.
Martin glanced quizzically at Dannerman, then shifted his weapon as well to
cover Dopey. "No," he said. "Do what Dannerman says."
Dopey was wringing his little hands again. "But what- But the Horch machines-"
Dannerman said, "It's simple. If you can get things from Starlab, you can send
things to Starlab.
Like us."
"That is true, yes," Dopey said, uncomprehending but reasonable. "However-"
"So do it. Tell that thing to transmit us, right away."
"No, no!" Dopey cried in panic. "We must fight them here! The Beloved Leaders
would wish that!"
Rosaleen had been listening intently; now she took a hand. "Dopey," she said
soothingly, "you just haven't thought it through. If we fight the machines
here we might lose, don't you see? What Dan means, if we go to Starlab we'll
be safe. There's only one terminal there; we can guard it day and night, until
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your Beloved Leaders get around to reestablishing the communication channel
there.
That's what you had in mind, isn't it, Dan? Wouldn't that work?"
Dannerman didn't bother to answer. Dopey looked bewildered. Then, pettishly,
he said, "Yes, I
suppose so, perhaps. But I absolutely forbid it. I-"
Dannerman put his fingers in the loops of the weapon. "Don't forbid," he said,
the gun squarely pointing at Dopey. "You'll do it our way or you'll have
failed your assignment because you're dead
. . . and then what will you tell your bosses when your eschaton comes
around?"
It wasn't that easy. Dopey hadn't stopped arguing. In fact, he never did stop
his frantic arguing-
or pleading-even after he had given in and allowed the Doc to start the
transmissions. Dannerman had to singe a corner of the alien's plume with the
weapon before he would go that far.
But it was happening.
They were going home! Patrice stared in wonder and unbelief as the first batch
entered the chamber-
Rosaleen and the two other Pats-and the door closed behind them. To take them
home! Which meant that in a moment Patrice herself could go home! She could
hardly believe it, could not take in the sudden change in her outlook-first a
dreary and interminable existence in the ruins, then, in the blink of an eye,
the sudden prospect of return to Starlab-to Earth-to her life! And it was all
happening] The terminal door opened again and it was empty. "Now you!"
Dannerman ordered, pointing to Jimmy Lin. "And take Dopey with you, but keep
an eye on-"
He stopped, listening. Dopey squealed in terror, and then Patrice heard it,
too: a heavy, rapid thudding, and the distant buzzing sound like a hive of
bees. The Doc that had started the generator was running ponderously toward
them-
And behind it, rapidly catching up, one of the spider-legged machines.
This time Patrice was ready. She had her gun in both hands, aiming it
carefully. Whether she hit the thing or not she couldn't tell-both Martin and
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