0027.
The girl-thing was in the command centre. Susie Terhune scrabbled under her seat for the handgun stashed there.
Riegert was gone, out the hatch, screaming. He had made a dash when the quarry had dropped through.
Terhune got a shot off, but the quarry leaned to one side and the slug missed. It ricocheted off a bulkhead, impossibly loud in the confined space, and buried itself in the fleshy part of Terhune's thigh.
Blood filled her lap. She was strapped into her seat.
She tried to raise her hands, tried to surrender, but she couldn't move, words wouldn't shake loose of her mouth.
The quarry came for her. Jessamyn Bonney looked so young.
The screen flashed up a weapons menu, requesting operator input.
The quarry took her by the scruff of her neck, and shoved her face into the screen.
The glass cracked, and Terhune felt something go inside her skull. Sparks showered out of the ruptured system.
The quarry rammed her into the screen again. Terhune's face pushed through the window into the workings of the command module. Currents crackled around her, and she smelled her hair burning.
She continued to twitch like a headless chicken long after she was dead.
0019.
Manolo pulled another tab, and sucked the beertube. He sensed the pyramid vibrating.
The Argie came flying out of the tank, running from the British heroine. Jitters took careful aim, and got him with a headshot. The foreigner stumbled on a few steps, his brains leaking out around his earphones, and collapsed in a heap.
Bloody buggering serve him right!
He tried to sing "God Save the Queen," but blood came up from his chest. He realized he was due for shipping home to Blighty. With these scratches, he was out of the rest of the war. Bloody shame. He hoped the rest of the lads would do him proud.
There'd be free drinks for him for years in the Wise Serpent in Micklethwaite Road, Fulham.
The burning building behind him settled, and a triangular slice of wall slid out of place. Bricks rained around him, crushing him into the street.
"God Save…"
0018.
Manolo flicked a switch and brought up the other figure. 0012. There had been 75 Holderness-Manolo personnel at the outset of this engagement. Now there were 12.
He thought about that. He had expected losses, but this was above even his guestimate.
Terhune wasn't answering. "Rodriguez, do you copy?"
"Yes, sir."
"Your position?"
"The jailhouse. It's pretty hairy down here."
"Have you terminated the quarry?"
"I cannot confirm or deny that."
0017-0012.
"There are seventeen hostiles left alive. Do you have reason to suspect that Jessamyn Bonney is among their number?"
There was a pause. "No reason, sir. But she is. I know she is. She'll be the last."
0017-0011.
H-M had just lost another man. The reparations on this were going to be cosmic. General Disaster would be upping the Agency's premiums next year for sure. The accountants would bum out on that one.
"Don't pull out until you've taken her down, Rodriguez."
"I don't intend to."
"Good man."
0016-0011.
Manolo decided to ride the vibes for the moment.
Jessamyn left the dead woman with her face in her terminal, and climbed onto the top of the command module. There was less gunfire now, but the whole town was on fire. The streets were littered with the dead. It was like Spanish Fork all over again. Like too many towns. A crazy man, someone she had never seen before, took a shot at her from a rooftop. The slug rang against the armourplate of the ve-hickle. She took aim at the sniper, but his roof collapsed under him, dropping him into the fire.
The only thing still standing in town was the gallows. There wouldn't be much use for that in the morning.
0011-0010.
They nearly had parity.
0010-0010.
That was a comfort. One H-M combat Op in full kit should equal four or five sandrats.
0010-0008.
Maybe desperation brought out survival instincts in the gangscum.
Rodriguez was still in place.
Nevertheless, it was time to take a little precautionary measure. Manolo pulled the security systems keyboard out of the dash, and entered the lock-down programs.
Durium shields slid down the windows, blanking out the moonlight. The interior lights flickered, and came on.
The wheels retracted, and the shutters closed their apertures. The DeLorean settled on the sand like a beached powerboat. Multiple locks slid into place, sealing the ve-hickle tighter than the Bank of Tokyo.
Explosive bolts sealed shut the cardkeyholes in the doorhandles. The only way in now was through the computer palm-recognition slab, and that was programmed only to reverse the lock-down upon the authority of executive-level Holderness-Manolo personnel.
0007-0004.
It was quiet in the DeLorean now. The LED figures blinked in silence. Manolo heard his own breathing.
0006-0003.
Simon Threadneedle walked down the main street. He knew he must look barely human, a robotic skeleton with a few charred scarecrow tatters hanging from the steel.
"Jessamyn," he called.
She looked round. She did not register any shock.
"Doc?"
"Yes. I'm in here somewhere."
"Doc…"
"I know."
They stood, looking at each other. She was bearing up well, a few bruises but nothing serious. Her clothes were torn, and her hair was a mess, but there was no damage. He could feel proud of himself.
"Is this over?" he asked.
"Nearly. No one's shot at me for a minute."
"So, we won?"
She made a gesture, indicating the scatter of bodies. "If you call this winning."
"You're here. That's what's important."
"It doesn't feel important."
0002-0002.
Manolo had the cast of characters worked out. H-M still had Rodriguez, and himself. The others would be Jessamyn Bonney and the doctor, Threadneedle. That would be the last of it. They were the improved humans.
0002-0002.
The Doc was in bad shape. Only now did Jessamyn realize just how completely he had transformed himself. His face was a melted-tar smear, with durium highlights. She saw the wires threaded through his limbs.
"Jessamyn, there are things you have to know about the treatment."
His voice was still the same, although she could see the silver ball in his throat where it was generated.
"Zarathustra closed down the project for good reasons, by his lights. There are…side-effects. Psychological, I think."
A cold hand caressed Jessamyn's metal-sheathed spine.
"You'll have to work at it, work at remaining human inside…I'm not sure that I've managed it all that well, myself. Sometimes, I just sit and stare, forgetting…for weeks, Jessamyn, for weeks. I can do almost anything with this improved body, but my mind has got blasé about it. When you're superhuman, so little seems worth the bother. You must resist that. You must…"
"Doc?" She was almost pleading with him. Don't die, don't die!
The servos in his cheeks made a smile, although there was no flesh to pull. His teeth grinned perpetually.
"You're crying. That's good."
Jessamyn put a hand to her face. There was moisture around her optic.
"Biofluid."
"No, I gave you back some tearducts when I inserted the new model. I had some to spare."
The town hall collapsed, sending a cloud of ash and sparks across the square.
0002-0002.
Rodriguez watched from the jailhouse. Jessamyn was talking to the tall thing. He hadn't been able to raise Manolo for minutes. It was down to him. The house-to-house had been called off. He didn't think he had any soldiers left, but himself.
He pulled on his gauntlets, and picked up his helmet. It locked into place.
He picked up his M-29, and silently slipped a new clip into the magazine.
0002-0002.
His left arm hadn't moved since he walked out of the Silver Shuriken. He detached it, and dropped it in the street.