Webdancers by Brian Herbert Page B

unit for an entire factory assembly line. As the claw lifted its load, the pile shifted, and the broken little robot was jostled to one side.
    He’d been there for weeks outside the factory, bumped around and constantly ignored. No one seemed to need his parts for anything. He was small and easily overlooked, but the claw had a zoomeye on it, projecting a beam of orange light that enabled it to see the tiniest part anywhere in the heap, even at the bottom, underneath everything else.
    At the moment, with the heavy CPU no longer on him, Ipsy found himself on the very top of the scrap heap, warming under a bright sun. He didn’t really want to be taken, because then he might lose what little independence he had left, if only what remained of it in his own mind. All he had now was his ability to observe what went on around him, and to remember better days.
    The claw moved its load and released it, then returned and hovered over another part, a couple of meters away from Ipsy.
    Just then, without being touched, the pile shifted, settled. And, for the first time since being thrown on the scrap heap, Ipsy moved one of his mechanical arms, and a leg. His circuits had reconnected, but only partially. He tried to move his other arm and leg, but without success. It would be difficult to escape this place with only two of his four major appendages, but he decided to give it a try anyway.
    Like a cripple, he dragged himself over the top of the heap, away from the claw. His improvised body was even shorter than before, and much thinner. With one of his rear visual sensors, he saw the claw’s orange beam of light move toward him, and almost catch up with him. Abruptly, more key components of his circuitry came to life. He scurried like a rodent down the slope of junk, and entered the factory through a side door.
    Reaching the main aisle and then crawling up on a ledge for a better view, the little robot saw that the factory was not operating at all. Hibbils and workbots busied themselves at assembly-line stations, adjusting the machinery, connecting raw material feeder units to it. On the far end of the aisle, robots stood motionlessly, awaiting the signal to return to their stations.
    Hearing voices behind him, Ipsy dropped down behind a bench.
    He saw the furry lower legs of two Hibbils, standing near him. The diminutive men spoke rapidly, excitedly. From their conversation, he figured out they were military officers for something called the HibAdu Coalition, checking on the production of war materials. Listening attentively, Ipsy heard more.
    “We’re getting close to zero hour,” one of them said. “It’ll be unprecedented. Simultaneous sneak attacks on Human and Mutati planets. Imagine the scope of it, all the destruction and death.”
    “From what I hear, it could already be underway.”
    “I wish I was on the front lines, instead of this assignment,” the other said. “I hate Humans, the way they’ve always lorded over us, treating us like children.”
    “We each must do our part. Most of the instrument systems and parts coming out of this factory are for the HibAdu fleet.” This Hibbil laughed, and added, “If you want to go on the front lines, why don’t you hide inside one of the weapon-control boxes?”
    The two officers walked away, and their conversation faded.
    Ipsy’s artificial brain whirred. He wondered if he might commit an act of sabotage … perhaps even blow up the factory. But this was one of many factories, and they would just resume operations elsewhere. Besides, it sounded like most of the HibAdu attack force was already in place and ready to attack.
    Then Ipsy had an even more intriguing idea. If he could do something during a military engagement, he might be able to wreak much more havoc.
    Considerably smaller than a Hibbil, he crawled inside one of the weapon-control boxes just before it was sealed up, and awaited its delivery to the war.

Chapter Sixteen
    Trust is like quicksand. It can lull