2615 stared down at the thing entrapped in its metal fingers, then turned to the viewscreen to watch the battle. It was almost over. Only a few hundred of the robot fleet remained.
The alien fleet, now down to less than fifty ships, was trying to escape. But in it were proto-plasmic shapes that could endure far less acceleration than could the robots of metal and plastic. Even as 2615 looked, the last of the alien ships winked out of existence under the disintegrative rays of weapons they themselves had created.
The remaining ships of the robot fleet turned back toward Earth. They took their positions above it where they could at an instant's notice wreak mass destruction.
The Earth itself had not escaped entirely. Square miles of ocean had disintegrated, leaving gigantic holes into which the waters rushed, to set up huge tidal waves that would sweep over land.
2615 lifted the naked Pwowp up and inspected him closely, then seized one of the fragile tentacles between two metal fingers and rubbed it until it was a pulp that oozed gray blood. The yellow eye and unhealthy orifice worked spasmodically.
2615 stepped to the ship-to-Earth transmitter. "The situation has not altered, humans," it said. "My fleet remains in control. Its weapons were created by an alien race that has been destroyed except for—this!" 2615 shoved the quivering Pwowp into full view of the camera. "Your surrender has been accepted by—the free robots."