into my pistol.
“I’d appreciate it if you’d settle your differences outside my store,” the owner said.
I nodded as he vanished behind blast shields that were lowering themselves over the windows. I turned back toward the entrance as my gun cycled itself automatically. The view screen on the rear of the pistol showed it was fat with forty-eight rounds of destruction, a green diode announcing its readiness to kill.
Before I could exit, the rusty machine gun headed Harvie appeared, his gears grinding as he struggled to bring the long barrel of his weapon onto target.
Reflexively I centered the aiming dot of my weapon on his neck and squeezed off a burst. Three hyper-velocity needles connected an instant before he could fire, stitching his neck with a bloody triangle of holes. He tumbled backward onto the sidewalk, a cacophony of lifeless metal.
Harvies are nothing if not persistent, so I braced myself for the coming onslaught. It would only be a matter of time before others came, rolling over their comrade to take their turn at trying to ace me. And I was cornered in the store, any avenue of escape now blocked by impenetrable blast shields.
A grating of gears and clanking of spare parts echoed down the street. But, as I listened, I realized the noise was moving away from me. I chanced a peek outside; the creatures had left.
A trap?
I couldn’t imagine what would have inspired them to leave, but wasn’t going to wait around while they regrouped for another assault.
I took a deep breath, muttered a prayer of thanksgiving, and “thought” my imbedded cellular on so I could call a taxi.
No dial tone.
Then I remembered Death’s henchmen had stolen my subphone. I turned toward the shop owner who was reappearing as the shop’s blast shields retracted.
“Nice shot. Watched it all on the closed circuit.”
“Can you call a cab for me?”
“Good idea,” he replied. “Anybody that aces the leader of the Demons TTS should be getting out of Dodge as quick as possible.”
It took a moment for what he’d said to sink in. “Aced their leader?” I asked. “You don’t mean that —”
“That one lying there in the street with the three holes in his neck was the leader of the pack.”
“Then why’d they leave?”
“Regrouped to choose a new leader. After that, their first order of business will be to get your scalp.”
I gulped.
“I’d give you about a half hour, tops,” he continued, “I’ll be more than happy to call you a cab and get you out of here. ‘Cause I most certainly don’t want you around my shop when word gets around about what you did. Buddy, you’re in deep —”
“I get the picture,” I interrupted. “Make the call, would you?”
Chapter 4
Louis Berlioz
We’d settled into our work couches, Jet running in our veins. My mind drifted in nothingness, then there was a shuddering shift and I was in my robotic self, orbiting the vast asteroid belt between Mars and Jupiter.
I looked down at the finely jointed mechanical hands that now were mine as I unlatched what we jokingly called our crypts — the official name being the “Mark 4 Unit Maintenance and Containment System” — the usual mouthful only a corporate bureaucracy can create.
It took me a minute to adjust to the change — the old timers didn’t seem phased by the transfer. Most of the crypts were already empty and I would be the last one to the job once again.
Finally I rose and pushed off with my feet from the crypt, grabbing a handhold on the wall as I cleared the storage bin, then kicked the lid of my crypt shut like the old-timers did, though lacking their practiced grace, let Newtonian physics propel the lid shut while propelling me in that equal and opposite direction. After traveling through the air for ten meters, I latched on to the slowly rotating ladder leading from the the inner ring of the crew quarters, where the real flesh-and-blood crew lived on the outer edge of the spinning assembly,
“I’d appreciate it if you’d settle your differences outside my store,” the owner said.
I nodded as he vanished behind blast shields that were lowering themselves over the windows. I turned back toward the entrance as my gun cycled itself automatically. The view screen on the rear of the pistol showed it was fat with forty-eight rounds of destruction, a green diode announcing its readiness to kill.
Before I could exit, the rusty machine gun headed Harvie appeared, his gears grinding as he struggled to bring the long barrel of his weapon onto target.
Reflexively I centered the aiming dot of my weapon on his neck and squeezed off a burst. Three hyper-velocity needles connected an instant before he could fire, stitching his neck with a bloody triangle of holes. He tumbled backward onto the sidewalk, a cacophony of lifeless metal.
Harvies are nothing if not persistent, so I braced myself for the coming onslaught. It would only be a matter of time before others came, rolling over their comrade to take their turn at trying to ace me. And I was cornered in the store, any avenue of escape now blocked by impenetrable blast shields.
A grating of gears and clanking of spare parts echoed down the street. But, as I listened, I realized the noise was moving away from me. I chanced a peek outside; the creatures had left.
A trap?
I couldn’t imagine what would have inspired them to leave, but wasn’t going to wait around while they regrouped for another assault.
I took a deep breath, muttered a prayer of thanksgiving, and “thought” my imbedded cellular on so I could call a taxi.
No dial tone.
Then I remembered Death’s henchmen had stolen my subphone. I turned toward the shop owner who was reappearing as the shop’s blast shields retracted.
“Nice shot. Watched it all on the closed circuit.”
“Can you call a cab for me?”
“Good idea,” he replied. “Anybody that aces the leader of the Demons TTS should be getting out of Dodge as quick as possible.”
It took a moment for what he’d said to sink in. “Aced their leader?” I asked. “You don’t mean that —”
“That one lying there in the street with the three holes in his neck was the leader of the pack.”
“Then why’d they leave?”
“Regrouped to choose a new leader. After that, their first order of business will be to get your scalp.”
I gulped.
“I’d give you about a half hour, tops,” he continued, “I’ll be more than happy to call you a cab and get you out of here. ‘Cause I most certainly don’t want you around my shop when word gets around about what you did. Buddy, you’re in deep —”
“I get the picture,” I interrupted. “Make the call, would you?”
Chapter 4
Louis Berlioz
We’d settled into our work couches, Jet running in our veins. My mind drifted in nothingness, then there was a shuddering shift and I was in my robotic self, orbiting the vast asteroid belt between Mars and Jupiter.
I looked down at the finely jointed mechanical hands that now were mine as I unlatched what we jokingly called our crypts — the official name being the “Mark 4 Unit Maintenance and Containment System” — the usual mouthful only a corporate bureaucracy can create.
It took me a minute to adjust to the change — the old timers didn’t seem phased by the transfer. Most of the crypts were already empty and I would be the last one to the job once again.
Finally I rose and pushed off with my feet from the crypt, grabbing a handhold on the wall as I cleared the storage bin, then kicked the lid of my crypt shut like the old-timers did, though lacking their practiced grace, let Newtonian physics propel the lid shut while propelling me in that equal and opposite direction. After traveling through the air for ten meters, I latched on to the slowly rotating ladder leading from the the inner ring of the crew quarters, where the real flesh-and-blood crew lived on the outer edge of the spinning assembly,
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