The Doomsday Brunette

by John Zakour

  “What the DOS?”

  The suit of armor swung again. This time a huge backhand with the mace that missed me only because I was still stumbling backward. The mace hit another display case and more weapons tumbled to the floor.

  “Alert Ona’s computer,” I said as I regained my balance. “Let it know that Dr. Thompson’s old research project is trying to kill me.”

  “Already done. Although I don’t think I was able to properly capture the sarcasm of your inflection,” HARV replied. “Perhaps this is another of Opie’s jokes?”

  I flicked my wrist and popped my gun into hand.

  “If this is a joke,” I said, as I aimed and fired, “I’m going to personally stick the punchline up his ass.”

  The energy blast from my gun hit the armor square in the breastplate. It staggered the attacker but didn’t blow it to shreds as I’d expected. Instead, the blast bounced off the breastplate and ricocheted off the ceiling and floor like a rubber ball shot from a cannon.

  “Look out,” HARV shouted.

  The two of us dropped to the floor (HARV’s hologram doing so more out of sympathy to me rather than necessity) as the blast passed over us and continued bouncing down the hallway, dissipating as it went.

  “It appears that the armor is equipped with a blaster repellent surface,” HARV remarked. “Someone or something has clearly tampered with that armor.”

  “Yes, I got that feeling myself, Mr. Detective. So my gun is useless against this thing?”

  “Correct. Unless you can pierce the outer surface.”

  The armor hefted its giant mace again and moved menacingly toward me. I scrambled to my feet and grabbed a sword that had fallen from one of the broken display kits.

  “Okay, access that combat sub-routine again. I’m going to need some Bruce Lee moves. On three. One…two…

  “But…”

  The armor lunged, swinging its mace wildly. For the briefest of nanos, it left itself off balance and vulnerable. This was my chance, so I made the most of it.

  “Three!”

  I leaped into the air, sword in hand, let loose a cathartic war cry and aimed a simultaneous flying kick and roundhouse sword-strike at the armor’s breastplate and head.

  Unfortunately, this time I didn’t move like Bruce Lee (it was more like Peggy Lee, actually). The kick wasn’t quite as high as I’d hoped so my foot bounced harmlessly off the metal of the armor’s knee-plate. And I totally whiffed with the sword swing, nearly cutting off my own foot with the follow-through. I’m pretty sure that I would have fallen on my own but, just to be certain, the armor helped me along with a metal-glove body blow to the ribs. My war cry choked in my throat and I hit the floor hard, bouncing once off the wall on the way down.

  “Just for the record,” I said. “That part where I yelled ‘three’ was your cue to activate the sub routine.”

  “Have you used that joke before?”

  “Yes, but it’s hard to come up with new material when you’re being beaten to death.”

  The armor kicked me in the ribs and I rolled across the hallway, half from the force of the blow and half to put some distance between the two of us. I came up in a crouch and grabbed a shield from the shattered display case.

  “I tried to warn you,” HARV said. “The sub-routine is stored in temporary memory. It works only once per download. I’ll need to reload it into your subconscious when you’re sleeping.”

  “You couldn’t have given me more than one sub-routine?”

  “There was no room. Apparently, your brain has limited available memory.”

  “Great. You know what, putting sub-routines in my head is no longer morally ambiguous. It’s now officially a stupid idea and is forbidden in perpetuity.”

  “I’m glad to see that you take such care in making philosophical decisions,” HARV said. “But we can discuss the matter later. Provided of course, you survive this attack.

  The armor came at me again. I lifted the shield and the heavy clang of the mace against the metal made my arm go numb for a nano. Whatever was inside the armor, it certainly was strong.

  “Scan the armor. Is there anything organic inside?”

  “No organic matter or independent thought,” HARV said. “It’s a droid skeleton using a preprogrammed combat routine.”

  “Good,” I said, as the armor continued to pound my shield. “At least I don’t have to worry about civilian casualties, other than my own.”

  “Well, if you have a plan of action, I suggest you implement it soon.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re about to get more unwelcome company.”

  As if on cue, three more suits of armor stepped off their pedestals on the far wall and brandished their weapons.

  “Oh, good,” I said. “I was getting a little bored.”

  Still shielding myself from the first attacking suit of armor, I reached down and picked up a mace from the floor. It was solid iron and felt like it weighed ten kilos. I had trouble hefting it without breaking my wrist.

  “I don’t suppose you have any hints on medieval hand-to-hand combat.”

  “The strategy of the time was to hit hard and run away,” HARV replied. “Admittedly, however, it wasn’t very effective when one was out-numbered four to one and surrounded.”

  “Thanks.”

  The first suit of armor hammered my shield again with its mace as the three other suits approached me, weapons drawn. I cast a glance at the far end of the hall and back the other way toward Opie’s area. Both places were too far away. The droid infrastructure of the suits of armor made them surprisingly quick, despite their clanky appearance and I knew that they’d easily chase me down if I ran. My only hope was to stay and fight so I adjusted my grip on the heavy mace and held my shield a little tighter. Then I caught a glimpse of the one still-unbroken display case, a few meters away and I got an idea.

  “Thank you, HARV.”

  “Pardon me?”

  I crouched down and tossed the mace at the legs of my attacker. It clanged off its shins and fell to the floor between its big metal boots then I took my shield in both hands and rammed it into the armor’s chest. The armor staggered backward, tripped over the mace and fell to the ground like a pile of girders. I hopped over the stunned armor/android, as its three compatriots quickened their approach and ran to the display case. I slammed the butt of my gun into the decorative glass and shattered it to get to the weapons inside.

  “Aren’t there enough weapons for you on the floor already?” HARV asked.

  “Those are ordinary weapons,” I said. “I’m looking for something of an ‘ultimate’ nature.”

  And I triumphantly pulled an English longbow and arrows from the case.

  “So you were paying attention after all,” HARV smirked.

  “You never know when a super computer is going to say something useful.”

  I tried to string the bow quickly as the first suit of armor rose to its feet. The bow was stiff and the string felt a little brittle. For a few desperate nanos, I thought it would snap.

  “Wedge the bottom of the bow against your foot,” HARV said. “It will give you more leverage to bend.”

  I did as HARV suggested and just managed to put the loop of the bowstring over the top of the bow. Then I notched an arrow and aimed at the, now charging, suit of armor.

  “I don’t suppose you’ve loaded any Errol Flynn sub-routines in my head have you?”

  “Errol who?”

  “Forget it.”

  I let loose the arrow and it skewered the charging armor through the thigh-plate. From such a close distance, the bow and arrow had more power than a twen-cen magnum .44. The arrow went right through the armor like it was tissue paper and imbedded itself in the wall. Meanwhile sparks flew from the blown circuits in the hole it had made in. The armor spun around once from the force of the blow then staggered sideways like a duck on an icy hill.

  “Good shot.”

  “Not really. I was aiming for t
he chest. But I think I’m getting the hang of this.”

  I notched three more arrows and let them fly one after the other at the three other attacking armor suits. I hit two in the chest, and actually pinned one to the wall with an arrow through the helmet. The armor droids wavered a bit but (with the exception of the one pinned to the wall) they continued to approach me.

  I smiled at their dogged (albeit brainless) determination then dropped the bow.

  “Now that they have a few chinks in their armor…”

  “So to speak,” HARV said.

  “Let’s put them down for good.” I popped my gun back into hand and activated the special features with a voice command. “Big Boom. Tight, tight. HARV, you’ll need to steer.”

  “Gotcha, boss.”

  The OLED on the gun handle flashed in response. I aimed and fired at the nearest suit of armor.

  The blast from my gun this time was small, bullet-sized, really, and tightly concentrated. And it was aimed at the arrow hole that I’d made in the armor. HARV remotely controlled the blast and it hit the hole dead on. The bulk of the energy slipped past the shielded surface and into the droid innards like an angry sea through a breached hull and the armor shook wildly as the blast bounced around inside, melting everything in its path. When the shell could stand no more, it simply blew apart in an alliterative shower of medieval metal, seared circuits and droid drek.

  I fired three more times and three more droid-filled suits of armor bit the proverbial dust. I popped my gun back into my sleeve and then slumped to the floor amid the still smoking ruins of the medieval weaponry display.

  “Make a note, HARV,” I said. “In the future let’s stay away from any ominously decorated hallways.”

  “Where’s the fun in that, boss?”

  22

  We contacted Ona’s computer, who contacted Ona, who apologized for the rude way I’d been treated by the furnishings. A squad of maintenance bots set to work repairing the damage to the hallway and a medical droid patched up my countless contusions and assorted abrasions (none were serious). I asked Ona to put the remnants of the robotic suits of armor somewhere safe for further examination but I grabbed one of the gloves to take with me before I left. Ona gave me a strange look but I’d pretty much gotten used to that by now.

  Unfortunately no one had any ideas as to who was responsible for souping up the suits of armor and, more importantly, for sending them after me. I, of course, had my suspicions, but those had to wait for the time being because my day was fast filling up.

  HARV was still chattering by the time we got to the car to make the trek back to the city but I tried not to listen because I needed to make some calls.

  Call #1: Tony at his office.

  “How goes the investigation, Zach?”

  Not bad,” I said. “So far I’ve been attacked by an ape and some thirteenth century armor.”

  “Nice to know you’re not losing your touch. You okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” I said. “That kind of craziness comes with the territory, I guess.”

  “Do you want to file a report on, I don’t know, the ape or the…armor, did you say?”

  “No, it’s okay,” I said. “I’ll look into it and let you know if it leads anywhere. Anything new at your end?”

  “I had some uniforms deliver samples of the wine to Randy’s lab as we agreed. He should be running tests now. Not that I think he’ll find anything.”

  “Trust me,” I said. “If there’s anything to be found, Randy will find it. Of course, then he’ll probably drop it and break it but that’s beside the point.”

  “You’re doing wonders for my mood, Zach. One other thing, the nymph we found at the crime scene?”

  “What about her?”

  “She’s fading.”

  “She’s what?”

  “She’s fading fast. I think we’re losing her.”

  “Isn’t she already dead?”

  “I don’t mean dying-fading. I mean fading as in fading away. She’s dissolving. She’s becoming less tangible. She is ceasing to be.”

  “Any idea why?”

  Tony shrugged his big shoulders. “Maybe that’s what happens to nymphs when they die.”

  “Please don’t go all sword and sorcery on me now, Tony.”

  “What do you want, Zach? We’re documenting her every way possible so that we have an evidentiary record if she just, you know disappears. But no one knows how to re-confirm a decaying nymph. I’m sorry, it’s a lost art.”

  “Tony, are you actually developing a sense of humor?” I asked.

  “Not really,” he replied. “I’m just growing accustomed to living with the absurd.”

  “Ooh, good one.”

  “Feel free to use it,” he said. “I know you will anyway.”

  Call #2: Randy Pool at AMP Labs.

  “Randy, hi. How’s it going?”

  “Outstanding, Zach!”

  I’d caught Randy in the middle of an experiment, which isn’t very hard to do, considering that he spends roughly twenty-one hours out of every day working in his lab (the other three hours are divided equally between “speed-sleeping” – an experimental relaxation technique that Randy is testing on himself where he crams six hours of worth of R.E.M. sleep benefits into ninety minutes of actual downtime – and large-bore caffeine IV’s).

  Randy is tall, thin and pale with a shock of red hair on his head that seems to have a life of its own. His arms are gangly and his fingers are so long that they frighten small children. Those fingers have amazing dexterity though which, coupled with his utterly brilliant mind, makes him a whiz at all things involving micro and nano circuitry.

  Unfortunately, every bit of dexterity and coordination that fate gave Randy ended up in those long fingers. The rest of him is one big, rolling chaos-storm of clumsiness. So I’ve learned not to startle him when I call or visit.

  “Glad to hear it, Randy,” I said. “Any reason in particular?”

  “Well you see,” he said, “I was putting the finishing touches on a bid to build a prototype anti-grav thruster for ExShell this afternoon, a billion-credit project. I won’t bore you with the details…”

  “Thanks.”

  “But I figure I’m six, maybe seven hours away from completion, which would give me roughly two hours of cushion before the bid was due. No problem, right?”

  “Um, right?”

  “So imagine my surprise when the New Frisco Police show up at my door.” Randy waved his hand about for effect as he grew more agitated, which is never a good sign.

  “It seems that I’ve been conscripted for some freelance forensic work on a murder investigation.”

  His bony elbow bumped an apparatus on his work-station. The apparatus shook precariously for a few nanos but miraculously didn’t fall.

  “Yeah, I was going to tell you about that.”

  “And because it’s a murder investigation, it’s top priority so they’re forcing me to drop everything and turn this around right away.”

  His elbow bumped the apparatus once more It shook a little harder this time but again, by some freak of physics, remained upright and I couldn’t help but give a little inward sigh of relief.

  “Um, yeah, I kind of promised them that you’d do that.”

  “And best of all,” he said. “They tell me that this work is all pro bono,” He flung his arms wide open and slammed the apparatus this time, knocking it to the floor. I heard it smash and saw sparks fly. “My services have been graciously donated to the department by my dear, dear friend Zachary Nixon Johnson!”

  “Well, it’s kind of important,” I said.

  I saw smoke and bits of flame rise from just off screen as the smashed apparatus burst into flames. Randy didn’t seem to care.

  “You owe me one billion credits, Zach.”

  “Randy…”

  “I’m serious. You can pay me in monthly installments if you like but I’ll have to charge you interest.”

  “Randy,
your lab’s on fire.”

  A pair of fire bots rolled into the background of the picture, smothered the fire with foam and began cleaning up the debris.

  “Don’t change the subject, Zach. I’m working out a payment plan as we speak. HARV will deduct the first payment from your account at the end of the month.”

  “Sounds fair to me,” HARV said.

  “Randy, I’m going to mute the interface for a while and watch the baseball game on the split screen. Wave your arms over your head or something for me when you’ve finished your rant.”

  “I had a brilliant design, Zach,” Randy said, calming down somewhat.

  “Then I’m sure ExShell will be happy to take a look at it tomorrow,” I said. “I’ll put in a call and pull some strings. I know some people there.”

  “Right, people who tried to kill you.”

  “Water under the bridge. Now are you going to help me or not?”

  Randy shook his head and sighed. “What do you need?”

  I pulled the metal glove that I took from the robotic suit of armor from the seat beside me and held it to the screen.

  “Can you analyze the circuitry in this glove for me? Maybe give me an idea where it came from?”

  Randy stared at the glove through the screen interface and squinted.

  “What’s that twelfth century armor?”

  “Thirteenth actually. Someone stuck a droid skeleton inside it and sicced it on me.”

  “Drop it by the lab and I’ll due a post mortem.”

  Great, now about that forensic material that the police gave you.”

  Randy shook his head again and shuffled a few dozen things around on his work station to clear some space. He called up some data on the nearest wall screen and gave it a quick look.

  “Yes, I ran diagnostic analyses on the samples,” he said. “They were all wine.”

  “Brilliant, Randy.”

  “Red wine,” he continued “Romani-Conte, I’d suspect, early this century maybe? Very expensive.”

  “Randy! Did you find any poison?”

  “Poison? Is that what I was looking for? No, there was no poison present.”

  “None?”

  “None. All the samples tested negative for all known poisons.”