But with a casual swat, the machine sent the dog flying back through the air and continued to advance. The dog landed a good distance away with a high pitched whimper. He didn’t move, only laying there, too broken to do more for the moment.

“You stay away from me,” Helen shouted, still throwing rapid fire at the guardian. “Do something, Scotty!” she said and kicked him.

“Do what? I don’t have any more control over than thing than you do.”

“You’re its commander! Give it a command!”

“It’s an antique. It’s not voice controlled.”

“I don’t care. Do something!”

Then the machine turned from Sprite and faced Helen. The dart continued to fire shot after shot, she too aiming at specific places in the armor, hoping to weaken joints and eventually have an impact.

The guardian advanced, repeating in his monotone, “Unhand my commander.” She ignored the command and only continued firing, staying as close to Scotty as possible. For his part, Scotty was more terrified than he had been all day, sweaty, shaking, eyes wide, now well beyond panic stricken horror.

Then from out of nowhere, Helen’s Dober pit leaped at the orbiter, going for its non-existent throat.

There was no time. Sprite could not miss. She fired the core artillery again and made a running leap as the guardian let loose with both fireballs.

She did not miss. The massive projectile found its mark, striking one of the fireball blasters, tearing it open the length of the machine’s forearm. It fired both barrels, but one was rendered ineffective. With the barrel wide open, the fire was not directed and only burst out in a dramatic flash.

The remaining fireball hit home, however, nailing the ground where Sprite had been, managing to throw her further with the blast.

The machine stopped to assess the situation, a large dent on the side of its head. Sprite did not hesitate. She dug her back foot into the crumbling pavement, aimed, and squeezed the trigger again.

Another direct hit, sending the machine reeling.

It righted itself.

Sprite fired again. The guardian tried to crouch to avoid the shot, but was too slow, the blast ricocheting off the top of its head. But it still had enough time before Sprite could fire another.

Still crouched, arms at its sides, fists pointing toward Sprite, the machine prepared to fire a double barrel fireball.

This piece fired slower and had fewer shots, but what it lacked in flash and bang was more than made up for in boom. Sprite readied herself, one foot forward, another firmly planted behind, one hand on the handle, the other cupping it for support, elbows and knees slightly bent, finger on the trigger.

The machine lifted itself to its feet.

Sprite pulled the trigger and felt the massive recoil up through her shoulders and in her hips as she absorbed it.

The projectile found its mark, hitting the machine’s sensor laden head, snapping it back and spinning its body.

The orbiter reached out its long arms, its many fingers crushing into the pavement, digging down for better support.

Sprite quickly rose to her feet, eying the machine as it began to right itself. Helen reloaded and continued to fire. She really was a solid soldier. But Sprite didn’t see any easy ending. Maybe if she could continue to disrupt its sensors, she might have a better chance at reaching the machine’s core.

She holstered both her hip shooters still full of oversized ammunition and reached behind her to pull out her core artillery which was full of stopping power.

Sprite pulled a tosser from a pocket and threw it at the machine. It hit its shoulder, igniting upon contact and exploding, knocking the orbiter over. Sprite quickly ran away, further circling the downed machine and continuing to fire.

But she wasn’t naïve enough to hope that this would be its end. She threw another tosser, but this one the machine swatted away with tremendous force while still on its back. The tosser still lit up after contact, but was further away when it exploded because of the force applied to it. The blast knocking Sprite over with its shockwave.

Sprite and Helen ignored the machine’s command and continued their assault fire. The orbiter’s head swiveled from Sprite to Helen to the barking and snarling dog who was several feet from it, afraid to come closer. The machine seemed confused by the over stimulation. Perhaps this would be easier than Sprite had realized.

But the machine soon shifted its attention on the dog and Sprite. It took a passing kick at the dog then quickly advanced on Sprite, choosing to eliminate one threat without restraint and later save its commander with more caution.

Just as Sprite had thought it would.

The orbiter’s legs were stout. Its ankle joints were fully actuated, allowing better stability and maneuverability. Likewise, it had wide, triped feet for similar purposes.

Along each arm were the blasters for the fireballs and along each leg ran the propulsion jets. The good news was that these things didn’t carry enough juice to get them back into orbit. The jets carried just enough to slow descent for more accurate fire and for powerful leaps and bounds now that it was landed. But any sort of sustained flight would quickly eat through any remaining fuel.

“I said, ‘Unhand my commander’!”

The machine fired a reverse pulse, loose debris flying outward from this massive force. Sprite shielded her face and continued to fire. With an enormous, crunching thud, the guardian orbiter landed, blacktop crushed beneath its enormous feet.

“Unhand my commander,” a mechanized voice boomed from some unseen speaker.

The orbiter was twelve feet tall and wide. It was humanoid in shape, a massive head with the majority of its sensors. This swiveled, but didn’t exactly have a neck; probably considered a possible weakness. Wide shoulder, extra long arms, and oversized hands, six digits on each, each with an additional joint.

The dumpster lit up in an incredible fashion. Fire rose high, ignited debris scattered. Sprite tumbled to safety, shielding her face to first look at the immediate danger of the explosion, then quickly shifting her attention to the machine.

This was it.

Sprite fired rapidly as she circled further away from Helen, trying to position herself for optimal firing. They needed the machine between them but not directly, or any stray bullet may hit the other. She aimed each shot to compound her efforts, hoping it eventually led to visible damage.

And suddenly the machine was on top of them.

Helen might not have more skill than her husband Turtle, but maybe she had just a little more determination.

The orbiter turned focus to Helen. This could not happen. Fully reloaded, Sprite unleashed another torrent of firepower, and the machine shifted focus back to her.

It was practically on top of them now, throwing its reverse thrusters once more for one last fire blast. Sprite put several more rounds into specific pressure points, hoping to do enough damage that eventually there would be something to show for her efforts.

The orbiter fired then fell toward them again. Sprite dove out.

Its sensors, its joints, all reinforced. And nothing vital wasn’t protected. Some places even more so than others. All she found was the access panel to the machine’s central core. But they would have to deactivate the machine momentarily before she even stood a chance at reaching the panel, let alone the central core.

It hadn’t been quality build that was the reason for the discontinue, that’s for sure.

Sprite reloaded quickly, eying Helen. She continued firing next to the injured and terrified Scotty. Sprite was glad to be there with Helen. The woman was one hell of a fighter.

Several more shots found their mark. It wasn’t until now that Sprite realized that Helen was also firing, her own gunfire also making an impact. But Sprite had to be certain to keep the orbiter’s attention. She wasn’t confident she could destroy it, but she knew she stood a better chance than Helen did at facing this thing down.

Sprite flipped into hyper-focus. Their bullets were putting dinks and scratches into the machine, but nothing substantial. She needed to find a weakness, something they could exploit. She racked her memory, searching for anything. It was armor plated and reinforced everywhere.

Sprite knew her oversized slugs wouldn’t do a lot of damage at this distance, but any little bit would help. She eyed the machine, now easily visible. It didn’t show any signs of damage, but then again, it was a giant robot falling from the sky. Who knew what damage would look like on something like that?

Sprite ran for cover behind a dumpster, quickly finding a workable barrier and then began firing regularly again. This time she didn’t wait for the orbiter to slow. It was close enough to estimate its trajectory along with the trajectory of each bullet.

Helen’s dober pit growled at the sky. Perhaps he was seeing the orbiter too. Sprite hoped he wouldn’t be stupid enough to get himself crushed once the guardian landed.

The orbiter readied its aim. Sprite tracked him, shooters ready. It fired its reverse thrusters, slowing himself again to make a more accurate shot. Sprite pulled her triggers, letting loose a hailstorm of firepower. The machine launched another fireball. Sprite was quick to dive out of the way, tumbling for cover, fireball exploding, forming a huge crater where Sprite had been standing.

The orbiter took several direct shots before plummeting again.

A girl can dream.

“Helen,” Sprite said, face still to the sky, guns still at the ready, knife wound in the side still not worsening. “Remember, stay close to Scotty, but more importantly, avoid this thing’s legs. In close quarters, they’ll do the most damage toward you, because he’ll be giving all he’s got to me. Start firing when I start and don’t stop until this thing is scrap.”

“You got it,” Helen said, still looking skyward.

The orbiter was plummeting toward them. It readied another fireball. It would fire its reverse jets just before. Sprite had waited long enough.

Now was the time to keep your head in the game. Now was the time to avoid explosions hurled from above. Now was the time to figure out a way to blow the hell out of an antique that was trying to kill them, an antique that only minutes ago had been happily orbiting the world, oblivious to the problems below it, until a terrified, skinny turbo hack mech ace hit the panic button on his oversized digital watch!

Sprite wanted very much to fire one oversized slug through Scotty’s frontal lobe. Maybe another through the temple for good measure.

“Heads up,” Sprite said. “More incoming.”

Sprite hustled to her left. Helen kept close to Scotty. A large fireball hit the ground again between the two darts, huge chunks of debris scattering everywhere. But Sprite’s strategy seemed to be working. This explosion was much closer to Sprite than it was to Helen or Scotty.

It still bothered Sprite why Scotty had run like he had. She had only wanted to learn where Randal was. She was even willing to pay for Scotty’s services (though he did still owe her from before). But now was hardly the time to discuss it.

“The concept appeared over fifty years ago,” Sprite continued, eyes toward the sky, guns still ready, waiting. “A half dozen different models were quickly distributed, but it wasn’t more than a year before they had all been deemed completely worthless. They’re nothing more than ornaments now, lawn statues, knick knacks. They aren’t meant to be made operational!”

Sprite did not turn from the sky, but Scotty flinched anyway.

Helen also kept watch above. “So how the hell do we defeat it?”

“First we wait for it to get close; then we try to blow it up.”

Helen nodded. “Pretty standard.”

“And Scotty seemingly purchased a 170 A and B rebuild. Who knows what bonus mayhem it may have in store for us. Stick close to Scotty, but don’t be too surprised if he doesn’t become collateral damage along the way, so keep your wits about you, Helen.”

Helen shook her head at the sure absurdity of it all. “So why have I never heard of this thing? This is my business. Shouldn’t I be in the know?”

“I doubt even your husband knows what a guardian orbiter is. Incoming!” Sprite yelled again, taking several more steps, circling farther around Scotty.

“So what does an orbiter do that’s different?” Helen asked.

“The machine orbits the globe high above and when needed, comes crashing in to the rescue.”

“But that seems so inefficient. It’s been several minutes since this guy hit the panic button on his watch.” Helen tapped Scotty in the side with her foot, and he pulled away with a moan.

“Exactly. It wasn’t long for the industry to see the error of its ways. Guardians quickly faded into obscurity because of their uselessness. Not to mention their unfortunate habit of causing more harm than help upon making an appearance.”

The small framed dart took several steps farther away from Scotty and Helen. She would rather draw the 170’s fire for now. The fireball exploded between the two darts, and Sprite continued to watch the 170’s fall.

“What’s a 170, Sprite?” Helen asked, watching the sky herself, and perhaps finally spotting the machine flying toward them.

“The idea is when someone may need a bodyguard a machine may do just as well. But having a tanq or blaster or something follow your every move might become more than a little inconvenient. Instead, the owner may choose to use an orbiter.”

“It’s a 170,” Sprite said.

“What’s a 170?” Helen said, eyes to the sky, foot touching Scotty’s side, in case he moved.

“What the hell we’re up against,” Sprite said. “Incoming!”

Helen didn’t see it yet, but she crouched closer to Scotty.

To Sprite it was obvious. She had seen the 170 flying toward them, readying his aim. It fired reverse thrusters, steadying itself, and let loose the thermal blast. Then it killed the reverse and continued its plummet toward them. The fireball was a white streak followed by yellow and orange. A moment later, Sprite saw a blue core.

“Thermal blast,” Sprite said, still watching the sky.

“Yeah, I got that much,” Helen said, getting up and closing the distance between herself and Scotty who was still lying on the blacktop. She kept her face to the sky as much as she could. “But what the hell are we up against?”

The speck was nearing. It wouldn’t be long now. But it would keep firing fireballs in the meantime. Sprite didn’t exactly think things would improve once it got here, but it would be a different type of danger, more along the lines of being crushed, rather than burned.

“Helen, are you injured?” Sprite asked, still watching the sky. Helen sat up and checked herself.

“I’m hurting, but I’m not hurt.”

Sprite nodded. “Stay close to Scotty. It won’t risk hurting him.”

“What the hell was that?” Helen asked, staring to the sky herself, watching for the next fireball.

“But don’t drop your wits,” Sprite continued. “If it has the chance for a precision shot, it’ll take it, no matter how close you keep Scotty.”

“Sprite!” Helen yelled. Sprite didn’t look at her, but she didn’t keep talking either. It would have to do. “What the hell was that?”

Helen spun, looking at Sprite, then Helen turned toward the sky where the petite female still stared. An enormous fireball was flying at them. Helen jumped to one side, tumbling and rolling across the blacktop.

Sprite leaned back and to the side, eyes still on the speck growing closer, guns still in her hands at her side. The fireball soared past Sprite, a wave of afterglow heat uncomfortably warming Sprite’s face. The fireball exploded into the pavement ten feet away, leaving a five foot crater. Sprite blinked several times, ignoring the heat, not wanting to lose site of the 170.

“Sprite honey, please. You lost a lot of blood back there and you even fainted. Do you remember that?”

Sprite didn’t answer. She only continued to stare at the sky, guns at the ready.

Helen continued. “You were pretty out of it when I got here, hon, but it’s all right now. We got your man, and he’s not going anywhere. He’ll help us however he can. But right now, you need to take care of you.”

Helen’s Dober-pit began to growl. She looked immediately to Scotty, but he hadn’t moved, save to look up.

“Helen,” Sprite said calmly. “Duck.”

“Helen, did you get ready, like I asked?” Sprite said, still staring upward.

“Sprite, I don’t know what it is that you see, but we need to get you a medic, take a look at your side.” Again Helen looked at the wound; it was if it had chosen to stop bleeding.

“I told you I’m fine,” Sprite said again. “Helen, get your arms and get your dog, because we’re about to be in one hell of a fight.”

Helen looked to the sky and still saw nothing. She laid a hand gently on Sprite’s shoulder and took her arm.

“What model is it, Scotty?”

Scotty lay on the ground, a mess of injury and pain. He had given up trying to escape. “What?” he said, lifting his head weakly.

“The model, Scotty,” Sprite said, still looking to the sky, watching the speck’s course. “Is it a 170-A or 170-B?”

Scotty looked at her as if not understanding the question. Helen looked back and forth between the two of them and then eyeing the sky again, but seeing only blue.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Both, I think. It was a rebuild. A real deal.”

Sprite didn’t acknowledge his response.

Helen expected a fresh volley of blood to soak Sprite’s side. None came.

“I said, ‘I’m fine,’” Sprite repeated, still looking to the sky. “Helen, you need to get ready now, cause trouble’s coming. And there’s not much we can do about it but wait for it to get here.”

Helen looked to the sky and didn’t see anything. She turned back to Sprite. “What are you talking about, honey?”

She glanced at Sprite’s side, but still no more blood than the small circle of red that surrounded the slit in her shirt.

Sprite kept watch, the speck growing larger.