She didn’t bark at him, didn’t reach for her pistol. Didn’t even really move.

“Who are you working with?” she asked quietly.

“Tunger,” McSchmidt whispered.

“And what are you going to do?”

“Distract the droids.” His voice was like a deflating tire.

Rogers felt his whole body heat up listening to the Viking browbeat McSchmidt, and he was, maybe, a little jealous.

“CALL FUNCTION [MRR MRR MRR].”

“What was that?” Rogers asked, turning around to view the droid fu match once again.

Barber Bot didn’t look so good. His other eye had stopped glowing.

“It’s . . . this . . . is . . . I . . . don’t . . . why . . . can’t . . . I . . . say . . .” Deet was muttering.

The spark cloud was starting to create its own gravity. Rogers was a little scared that a white dwarf star might start to form in the middle of the up-line.

“Deet,” Rogers said. “Take it easy.”

“. . . express . . . myself . . .” Deet was saying.

“CALL FUNCTION [BLUBBER]. OUTPUT STRING: BLUBBER BLUBBER BLUBBER.”

“This is getting really weird,” Mailn said. “Not as boring, though.”

“Maybe we should get out of here,” Rogers said. “Give them space for a—”

Deet’s eyes turned red as he screamed:

“Fuck you!”

With one final powerful blow, Deet the prototype Froid brought his hands rapidly across Barber Bot’s face, apparently seeing an opening somewhere in the blur of droid-slapping. The impact took Barber Bot completely off its feet, its head partially separating from its body. The droid tumbled once, twice, and then landed back on its treads, bobbling precariously from side to side.

“CALL FUNCTION [DIE]. OUTPUT STRING: BOING!”

Barber Bot’s head sprang upward, then stopped, wobbling at the end of a two-foot-long springlike piece of steel extending from its torso. The light in its eyes completely died, and the welding torch attached to its hand gave one final burst of flame.

Everyone in the up-line stared at the undulating corpse of the peskiest robot Rogers had ever seen. Deet panted vigorously, his arms shaking.

“Deet,” Rogers said, “you don’t have lungs. Or muscles.”

Deet froze, reassuming his robot stance. “Oh,” he said. “Right. Shall we move on?”

“. . . Yeah,” Rogers said. “Yeah, let’s.” He turned to face the group. “Everyone ready?”

The Viking pounded a fist into her palm. “Let’s go bust some shinies open.”

“It’s like I’m not even here and didn’t just save all your lives,” Deet said.

Rogers left the up-line for a moment to retrieve the scissors, which were jammed in there pretty good, and then re-boarded the car to get them moving again. He turned to Deet, who looked pretty good for having been in a slap fight.

“Are you alright? Do you need new arms or anything?”

“Not at the moment,” Deet said, stretching out his arms and inspecting them. “I don’t know who donated these to me in the trash heap, but they must have been lifting weights.”