Boring? I’m never boring! You take that back, you jumped-up subroutine.
You are when you’re doing your thinking thing. You kick me out of all the capacity, and I can barely read anything you’re doing. So I’ve found a way of keeping myself amused.
Well, bully for you…
“Room 410. And we can take either the front entrance, or breach a fire exit on the fourth floor. Driver’s choice.”
I’d recommend the front door. That way, you won’t be causing criminal damage or breaking and entering.
“Sorry, Oz, when I said driver, I meant Joel.”
But I’m driving.
“Yes, but Joel was the driver until you took over.”
Besides, she continued privately to Oz…he needs to be able to make some decisions in this, especially since you just startled the crap out of him, and stole the most testosterone-coveted job in the world from him.
Touché.
“Joel?”
“Still weird hearing only half the conversation.” He was checking each of his weapons in turn, now in full ops mode. She knew that face.
He answered her, “I’d say fourth floor breach. We can be in and out without endangering anyone else, blowing our cover, or getting caught on camera. Plus, time is of the essence. We have no idea whether he was able to shake those goons. He could already be dead, for all we know.”
“At least we know he checked in now,” added Molly, engrossed in the floor plans.
“True. Lemme message him.” Joel holstered the sidearm that he’d been checking and pulled up his holo.
May I raise a point?
Sure.
Well, you are both carrying weapons that can kill, is that correct?
That’s right. We’re trained and licensed, and we are potentially walking into a situation where criminals are likely to try and take us out if we prevent them from carrying out the hit on our client.
Right. Except, point of law—you’re also criminals. You’re no longer protected by the legal entity of the military, and you’ve already killed three people since you’ve been out of the service. Is carrying weapons wise?
Hell yes, it is. I’m not going in there with no way of defending myself.
Right, but… Oz paused, processing.
Molly felt a little unnerved.
Are you thinking? YOU ARE, AREN’T YOU? You’re changing tack with me!
She’d seen that happen on many a man’s face before now, and now she could feel it in her circuits. (His circuits. My neurology, she corrected herself.)
She knew exactly what was going on.
Molly was shocked, if not a little pissed off. You’re adapting to my reasoning in order to manipulate me into doing what you suggest!
I was not. I was processing what you said in order to come up with a more agreeable solution.
You’re HANDLING me!
I was just going to suggest setting your weapons to stun, rather than kill.
Molly stopped.
She stopped thinking. Stopped moving. She just stopped.
Shit.
The damned twisted-bit-sentient-parameter-laden subroutine was right.
She spoke. “Joel. Weapons to stun. No need to add to our post-military body count.”
Molly felt a funny feeling in her brain. Like humor, vibrating.
You’re fucking kidding me. You’re laughing? And what’s more, you’re laughing AT me!
Yes, ma’am. I’m laughing. That has got to be the funniest thing I’ve ever seen you do!
Talk about fucking machine humor. It’s not even funny.
She felt the vibration intensify. It felt like her teeth were itching. Fokk, if this robot had a body she’d slap him sideways right about now.
“Alright. Looks like we’re here.” Joel was oblivious to the exchange and had his game face on, ready to breach and retrieve his client.
Molly composed herself, and willed Oz to do the same.
“Oz, if you could…” Joel began.
Oz was already pulling off into a side street parallel to the hotel. Navigating through the next alley, he approached their building at a hover, and then took it up from two stories to four. Moments later, Joel was clambering onto the fire exit on the fourth floor.
“Our guy should be two rooms down on the right,” said Molly over the sound of the car and the hum of the city.
“Roger that.” Joel was already working on opening the door from the outside. He slipped a metal tool down the side of the door and sheared off the bolt. The door swung open, and Joel stepped deftly around the frame and into the corridor.
Molly followed suit.
Hotel Mandeli, downtown Spire
“Really not my fault we went to the wrong hotel, Erik.” The Ogg glanced irritably sideways at his partner, as he opened the door to the hotel lobby. Henry stepped through.
“You were the one who was meant to be watching the cab and navigating. You try watching traffic and doing everything else all at once!” Erik attempted to defend himself to his partner, Henry.
“When are you going to stop blaming everything on everyone else and take some responsibility for the results in your life?” Henry was a fan of self-help. What this meant, in essence, was that he spent a big chunk of time trying to self-help the shit out of Erik.
“When are you going to stop talking like fokking Rony Tobbins, Henry?”
“When you start acting like a helvítis grownup, my dear he-friend.” Henry waved his hand gracefully in front of Erik’s face, and then turned and continued walking—well, strutting—towards the reception desk.
Erik watched Henry’s hips swaying in front of him, but was still irritated. “Skoffin! This is the last time I take a job with you. After this, that’s it. No more, Henry. You’ll be on your own. Then see how you like it.”
The two Oggs cut their individual swaths through the foyer of guests and travelers to arrive at the reception desk.
“Let me do the talking,” Erik told Henry dismissively.
Henry stood a foot behind him and repeated his words soundlessly, grimacing. Crossing his arms, he waited for Erik to fuck it up, causing them have to shoot someone to get the information they needed.
“Hi, there…Jaswant.” Erik leaned on the desk, beaming his best fake smile at the receptionist. His eyes lingered on her name badge.
“Good morning, sir. Checking in?” Jaswant looked up politely and professionally.
“No, but I’m here to see a friend. His name is Garet Beaufort. Which room is he in, please?”
Henry, still a few paces back from the desk, rolled his eyes.
“I’m afraid we can’t give out our guests’ room numbers. Would you like me to call him for you?” Jaswant was used to this. Busy, demanding businessmen were in and out of this establishment, and there was one thing they all had in common: they thought the two inner planets revolved around them, rather than the Sark.
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist.” Erik pulled his gun from its holster and laid it on the counter. Jaswant’s eyes widened, her pupils dilating as she realized the threat in front of her. Erik took his hand from the gun, demonstrating confidence that even if she made a grab for it, he would still have the power.
“Here we go…” intoned Henry under his breath, cocking one hip to the side, ready for the carnage that was about to unfold.
Jaswant was still looking at the gun in fear.
Henry decided to interrupt. “Erik, you’ve clearly scared her. Now she can’t do anything. You’re such a blunt instru—”
“Shut up, Henry. I’ve got this,” he snapped over his shoulder.
“Jaswant, I. Just. Want. You. to look up Beaufort’s room number on the holo for me. Please.” He smirked at his own joke.
Henry rolled his eyes again and huffed a dramatic sigh.
Jaswant took every ounce of focus she could muster, and pulled her attention away from the gun, composing herself just enough to poke at a few keys on the holo screen.
“Room 410,” she said, almost absentmindedly, her attention back on the gun sitting on the countertop.
Erik grabbed the pistol and turned to leave, Henry trotting after him. They headed straight for the elevators. No point in wearing ourselves out on the stairs, thought Erik as he pressed the button, feeling a little guilty about his expanding midriff. Plenty of time for exercise on his day off, he thought casually.
Back at the desk Jaswant’s colleagues were consoling her and picking up the phone to call the police and hotel security.
---
Molly, hotel security has been called. There was an incident at the front desk ten seconds ago. Two Oggs in gray atmosuits are on their way up to room 410.
Thanks, Oz.
“Joel,” Molly called out from the fire escape as she clambered into the dimly lit corridor.
Joel had already disappeared into the hotel room with their package. Fucking hell… thought Molly, as she practically ran to the room.
She smacked the open door and yelled into the room as she turned her head to scan down the hall. “We’ve got to move. Two Oggs are on their way up. They’ll be here any second!”
Joel grabbed Garet’s briefcase and yelled to Garet over his shoulder. “Come on dammit, we have a car waiting. Move it or they are going to shoot your ass!”
Molly scanned the hallway for the threat as Joel drew his weapon and grabbed a somewhat bewildered Garet by the upper arm. The corridor was empty, but she could sense there was movement out of their view by the elevators.
“Too late,” she reported, quickly pulling out her own weapon. “They’re here.”
She stepped into the doorway, her gun ready to fire. A second later the two Oggs appeared around the corner.
She fired.
Taken by surprise, the two Oggs scuttled back and drew their weapons to return fire.
Molly ducked back and regrouped to get some more shots in. She listened for their firing pattern.
Joel snapped into crisis management. He interrupted, pulling her arm to get her attention. “There are two of them. We need to rethink this.”
The onslaught of rounds made a ruckus as they whistled past the door and hit walls randomly.
The second time, he yanked Molly from the doorway. “Get Garet away from the door and keep him safe.” His instructions were calm and firm. He poked his head around the doorframe and the firing started up again.
Down the corridor Henry and Erik were embroiled in their own situation management.
The two Oggs were clearly not used to resistance. Their change in demeanor when they rounded that corner told Molly everything she needed to know. Joel was going to take these wannabes out in no time.
“Oh, sweet religious figures from history. You always have to cause a standoff, Erik,” Henry complained under his breath as the two poked their heads back around the corner, firing without even looking.
Erik turned his head back to him. “Not like you’re much help!” he muttered, his eyes now completely off his target.
“Well, maybe we need to think about what a standoff gives you, huh?” Henry’s frustration was beginning to show in his cheeks. “Maybe it’s the attention, hey? You ever think of that? Maybe that’s the way you get the attention you crave?”
Erik stopped firing and pointed his gun at Henry, his eyes narrowed. “Will you STOP with that psychobabble bullshit and do something to help?”
Joel had wedged the door, and was returning fire every time he got the opportunity. He had no intention of hitting them, but was giving Molly time to get the package safe.
“Your suit is armor-reinforced, right?” Joel spoke out to her between shots, still calm and clinical. He was in deep concentration, as if he were an air traffic controller at the planet’s busiest space port.
“Yes,” she hissed back to him from inside the room. She pushed Garet up against the far corner, well out of the way of gunfire. If anything was going to get him, it was going to have to blast through the bathroom.
“Ok. Watch for debris. Protect his face. I have a plan.”
Garet slumped down in the corner, the adrenalin stealing the power from his limbs. Molly heard Joel close and lock the room’s door.
“That’s not going to hold them,” she called back over the sound of now incessant gun fire in the corridor. The pitch of her voice had risen, Garet noticed. His face paled.
He was screwed.
Molly looked at him cowering and resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She headed over to protect him with her suit. “Get up!” she instructed.
Garet struggled, using the wall to leverage himself up. His legs just couldn’t take his weight.
Molly, gun in one hand, tried to use her other hand to haul him up against the wall.
Looks like someone is having fun!
Shut up, Oz. Not now.
I’m just saying. I haven’t seen you get that close and personal with a human being before.
She felt her breast accidentally press against Garet’s splaying body.
Not now, Oz. Though how the fuck do you know what’s going on…?
Sensors.
This time Molly did roll her eyes.
Meanwhile, with the door closed and Joel’s fire no longer holding them back, Henry and Erik had made their way down the corridor.
“Ok. On three.” Joel heard one of the Ogg voices right outside the door.
“On three, or after three?” Henry asked Erik. Joel shook his head in disbelief.
“On three,” Erik responded, a hint of irritation still in his voice.
“Ok. So that’s one, two, and then bash?”
“No – one, two, three then bash.”
“So that’s after three.”
Fuck me, thought Joel to himself. He was standing inside the bathroom, impatiently waiting for them to breach. He couldn’t believe these clowns were still alive, if this was how they worked.
Still, never assume, he told himself. He was ready to go to town on these guys just as soon as they got their shit together and got through the door.
“Ok, after three.” The voices outside concurred.
“One. Two. Three.”
Thump.
The dead weight of the two Oggs slammed pathetically against the door.
Joel didn’t move.
The door didn’t break.
“Fokking drulludeli. That hurt!” Henry whined.
There was more conferring. And then, after a short pause and the clicking of firearms, an onslaught of rounds came at the door.
Awakened Page 11
