"She healed me," he told Click-toe. "Maybe I can walk now."
She came to stand beside him, lifting her pincers for him to use as support. He tried to stand, and discovered to his half surprise that he could. The bone was solid, and though the flesh tweaked a little, it was all right. He took a step, and it worked. He could walk.
He practiced, and found no problems. "I am well enough," he said. "But we must still be alert for machines. We're lucky another didn't come while I was sleeping." Because now it was clear that the siege wasn't yet over, and they were still resisting.
She moved to the entrance, and he followed. Outside he discovered that all the nearby brush had been clipped, so that nothing could hide in it. Click-toe had been busy while he was out of it, standing guard and doing whatever she could to be sure they would not be taken by surprise. It had not been chance that no machine had come; she had been alert, and should would have awakened him if she had had to. But she had let him sleep as long as she could.
He was really coming to like Click-toe. She was a worthy companion.
Then he remembered: "Flame says we can take out a machine with hot water. We'd better heat some."
She looked at him with her one eye stalk and clicked, not understanding.
He had to pantomime. He talked as he did it, so she would know he was telling something. "Say a machine comes." He went to the path, hunched down, and tried to emulate a scuttle, on knees and elbows, holding his two hands up shaped into little pincers.
Click-toe made a rapid clicking sound unlike her normal dialogue. He realized she was laughing. Good enough; she understood his analogy.
"A wire will do it." He lifted the wire and jammed it where he had just been. "But so will hot water." He put his hands together as if holding water, then formed a little pyramid of twigs and touched them as if lighting them.
He was making a fire. Then he held his cupped hands over his imaginary fire. He was heating water. Did she understand?
She clicked in query fashion.
He returned to his emulation of the machine, then stood and took his joined hands to it and dumped the hot water on its head. Then he emulated the machine again, and did an emulation of collapsing. Hot water had also shorted it out.
Click-toe turned and went back into the house. Fifth followed. She fetched a large pan, filled it with water, and put it over a grill. Then she lit a fire under it.
"Yes!" he exclaimed. He caught her lesser pincers and kissed it. She did understand. At least to this extent.
In due course the water was boiling. They were ready, assuming they could get it to the machine. But maybe smaller containers would do. He found one, and pantomimed dipping hot water and dumping it on a machine. Click-toe clicked, and found more containers.
Time passed. Maybe there would be no third machine. They resumed alternating watches, with one alert and keeping wood for the fire. They both knew they would be best off if no third machine came.
But one did. It happened on Click-toe's watch. He heard her frantic clicks, and peeked out the skylight. The machine was scuttling toward the house. But then it paused, looking around.
Click-toe could have avoided it, but she scooted out in front of it, crossing its line of sight and going into the light brush on the other side of the trail. What was she doing?
Fifth knew. She was distracting the machine so that he could get his water ready. But that had to be inside.
The machine oriented on her and fired, once. Click-toe leaped and flipped over, landing on her back, inert. Had the bullet killed her, or merely knocked her out? Fifth couldn't investigate; he had to be ready with the water.
He continued to watch, peeking as long as the machine was not looking toward the house. He saw it move cautiously up to the lobster. It poked at the tail. There was no reaction. It lifted a pincers and cut off part of the tail. No reaction.
Satisfied that the enemy was dead, the machine turned about and moved toward the house. Fifth immediately ducked down and dipped a bowlful of boiling water. He stood beside the entrance, ready.
The machine entered, slowly. It wanted to be sure that no living lobsters remained, perhaps knowing that they normally were in pairs. Once both were gone, this site would be secured and it could move on.
The pincers appeared within the entrance. Fifth stood still, bowl aloft, waiting. He had to be sure of a good target.
If he struck too soon, the water would miss the brain unit and the machine would remain functional, and deadly. He might not get any second chance.
The machine nudged forward. Its eyestalks swung around, surveying the interior. Then they looked up.
Fifth dumped the water. There was a hiss as it struck the metallic carapace, drenching it. Vapor rose up.
But the machine remained active. It lunged ahead, fully entering the room.
Fifth acted simultaneously, grabbing a second bowl. But before he could fill it, the machine oriented on him.
He had only seconds.
He grabbed the edge of the main pot and pushed it over, onto the machine. The water slopped, burning his hands, but more of it washed over the body of the machine.
There was a crackle and puff of steam. Then the machine collapsed. It had been shorted out.
Fifth ducked down and scrambled out the entrance. He ran to the lobster. "Click-toe! Are you alive?" he cried, fearing the worst.
She clicked. She lived! She had played possum to fool the machine, so that it would move on. It could not afford to dally long, lest there be another lobster in the vicinity. She had even allowed it to cut off part of her tail, and not given any sign of pain or life.
But she had been severely injured. The bullet had entered her torso and done what damage he could not know.
Her tail was leaking ichor. She was in severe pain, perhaps dying.
"Oh, Click-toe!" he said. "You took your wounds to give me time to set up. I got the machine, but at what price?"
She touched one of his hands with the outside of a pincers. He looked—and saw the blistered skin. The boiling water had slopped across his hands, burning them horribly.
Now the pain struck him. He sank to the ground, moaning. There was nothing in his universe but the agony.
Flame appeared. He wasn't sure when she had come, but now she was lifting up his hands, concentrating her healing power on them. The pain was fading.
"Don't heal me!" he cried. "Heal her! I fear she's dying!"
Flame turned to Click-toe, examining her. Then she put her hands on tail and carapace. She was doing it.
It took time, but Flame stayed with it, and managed to restore them both to some semblance of health. She produced another translator, and spoke. "We have repelled the invasion. The machines have all been taken out. Yours was the last one. We did not know where it was, until it struck. You both did well."
"Click-toe did most of it," Fifth said. "She held down the second machine for me, then distracted the third so I could set up an ambush. She risked her life. She took bad injuries."
"Fifth did it. He took them all out," Click-toe clicked. "He took bad injuries, but persevered."
"You were a team," Flame said. "You had the worst assignment, and completed it. Because of you—both of you—no machine escaped to signal the danger. Now come with me." She put out her hands, touching each of them.
They were back in the main hall. Old Tail and the others were there. They clicked applause.
Fifth exchanged a look with Click-toe's eye stalk. What was this?
"I telepathed the scene and situation to Old Tail," Flame explained. "He relayed it to the rest. They all know."
Old Tail clicked. "You are heroes, both. You saved our planet. We honor you."