Hell's Gate

robots. They gave the thing the look of the demon, a werewolf, a hell-beast come to judge.
        Watching it, Victor was sure something must have broken. A tube or a circuit board; a snarling of wires; a fracturing of condensor, transistor-something. Anything.
        But nothing had.
        It came after him again.
        He repeated his single trick, sent it careening into the side of the porch steps where it bounced off the concrete and thumped onto the ground, shivering as if it could know the meaning of fear as thoroughly as man. When Salsbury got to his feet, the machine was already standing.
        The sun seemed terribly bright, murderous.
        Victor was breathing heavily, sweating like a stoker on a steam locomotive. He wiped the perspiration out of his eyes and clamped his teeth together. This could not keep up forever. Despite his overdeveloped body and reserves of adrenalin, he was flesh and blood. The beast, however, was metal and plastic. It would not tire. Sooner or later- most likely sooner-it would get the better of him, simply because exhaustion would dull his senses and make him more vulnerable.
        When it charged this time, he noticed that its right front leg was slightly bent. It wobbled as it ran, though it still maintained an adequate, killing speed. Spirits brightened a little, Salsbury moved forward more anxiously and clutched (hat leg, twisted for all he was worth and threw his opponent. It landed like a snow plow dropped two miles from a supply plane without benefit of parachute. Victor fancied he felt the earth tremor. When it got up, the right leg was dangling, almost useless.
        Salsbury chuckled. When he heard what the chuckle sounded like, he bit down on his lower lip and cut the sound off. It had the touch of insanity that precedes total madness; the sharp and biting shrillness of a man pushed too near the edge.
        When the mechanical demon came this time, it did not leap. It darted in for his leg, moving as fast as it could only on three limbs. Before Victor realized it had changed battle tactics, it had sunk its teeth into his left calf and was beginning to back-pedal in order to rip his flesh. He swung his right foot, smashed it alongside the head. The thing's jaws opened long enough for him to pull his wounded leg free. Then he kicked hard again, sent the demon tumbling into the shrubs. The only trouble was that in doing this, he lost his own balance, fell backwards, and cracked his head against the concrete steps.
        Blackness swept in like a wave, and he had to keep running to avoid getting wet He was losing the race. He tried to concentrate on getting up before the machine returned to finish him off. He raised to a sitting position, got his hands under himself. By the hedges, the robot was back on its three good legs, calculating its next attack. Salsbury pushed into a stoop, lost his balance when someone dropped a mountain on his head. He fell backwards again, onto the grass.
        Groggily, he looked around for the robot.
        It was taking a few tentative steps in his direction.
        One… Another.
        Closer…
        The unconsciousness swirled through his head, less complete than it had been, a blackness tinted with hints of ruby and emerald now. He would not pass out, but neither would he get up in time to save himself.
        The dog machine crouched, took a tense step.
        Then he remembered that he was up against the porch steps and that the door was immediately behind him, a few feet up. If he could launch himself fast enough, he might reach the portal and roll through, slam it behind before the mechanical killer could reach him. He put his hands under himself to make a try, then realized he was too late.
        The killer was coming at him, fast.

CHAPTER 11
        
        When the killer was halfway across the open space, closing swiftly on Salsbury, it seemed to jolt like a slipping motion picture film. It barked viciously, snarling and yelping enough for a pack of wolves. Victor wondered, briefly, why the thing was bothering to make a pretense of being flesh and blood when its mechanical nature was now so obvious. At first, of course, it had barked and panted and lolled its tongue to make him think it was real, not wire and plastic. But now… A moment later, he discovered the snarling was coming from behind him, from Intrepid-the real Intrepid. The mutt launched himself past Salsbury, slammed