"Someday, somebody will," Mac said. "In the meantime, we can fight like hell. 'Pedes haven't any more intelligence than a bee, but even they get tired of being slaughtered."
"A bee?" Al asked. "I thought 'pedes were smart devils."
"Not individually, according to Graves, the old-time biologist."
"Then how can they plan and act all together?"
"They have some way of coordinating, Graves claimed. How does a beehive act as a unit? We don't know, but it does just the same."
"Can't I talk you fellows into leaving?" begged Limpy.
"No!" Al stated flatly.
Limpy shrugged. Shuffling over to the window, he pointed down at the closed-cabin tractor beside the smelter.
"Then how about letting me use that as a tank?" he asked. "I'm not much good here, anyhow. The 'pedes wouldn't be able to get at me, inside the cabin, and I could crush and burn them down till they quit."
"That was tried once at a mine," said Mac. "The 'pedes dug tank traps. The driver killed himself after being stuck in one for a week. It didn't matter; he'd have died soon enough. But even when he skipped the traps, the 'pedes dodged the treads. They don't just stand around and wait to be crushed."