But it started quicker than we'd expected. It started, in fact, as soon as we left the Sunspot. Duralite arms went around my body and a duralite knee dug into the small of my back.
The first time I ever met Dugg Quinby was in a truly major and wondrous street brawl, where the boy was a whirlwind. Quinby was mostly the quiet kind, but when something touched him off—and injustice was the spark that usually did it—he could fight like fourteen Martian mountaineers defending their idols.
But who can fight duralite? Me, I have some sense; I didn't even try. Quinby's temper blinded his clear vision for a moment. The only result was a broken knuckle and some loss of blood and skin.
The next thing was duralite fingers probing for the proper spots at the back of my head. Then a sudden deft pressure, and blackness.
We were in a workshop of some sort. My first guess was one of the secret workshops that honeycomb the Robinc plant, where nobody but Grew's most handpicked man ever penetrate. We were cuffed to the wall. They'd left only one of the androids to guard us.
It was Quinby who spoke to him, and straight to the point. "What happens to us?"
"When I get my next orders," the android said in his completely emotionless voice, "I kill you."
I tried to hold up my morale by looking as indifferent as he did. I didn't make it.
"The last recourse—" Quinby said.