After the war, Earth stored away its robot armies or sold them for scrap--because fighting machines were dangerous. But more deadly was-- "Rummy," Vilbis said, reaching through the hand-hole in the inch thick laminated glass wall of his prison and spreading his cards on the table. His lips formed into the cruel haughty smile that had been his trademark to billions of humans for almost half a century. His wide-set black eyes mocked the other two players.…
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