“I like the old ways, boy. This is fun. And there are so many different options that we haven’t had the pleasure of sharing yet.”

Randal ignored this and tried to hide his mind down deep. There were dozens of bamboo shoots sticking out of his body, some in wounds several days old, others in new wounds made by the bamboo stalk.

“Don’t be upset, boy. We’re just talking here.” Temmins barely grazed the tops of several bamboo stalks in Randal’s back, fire igniting deep in Randal. “I honestly care very little who you are; not talking is much better.”

Randal smiled at this thought.

“What makes you smile, mystery man?” Temmins asked. He was a short man, overweight and balding. His skin was pale and a gray scar covered half his face and scalp in revolting patches. “You have no reason to smile. Not since Gireson told me you weren’t fully human.”

Temmins firmly planted a hand on a thin piece of bamboo that was resting in one of the several wounds the Special sustained during his escape attempt. Randal’s face contorted, but he would not make a sound.

Temmins gave the bamboo a nudge and had a laugh.

Randal lay there, his vision blurry, not knowing if that was the water, tears, sweat, or simply a brain shutting down from over stimulations. He didn’t know how long it had been since he had attempted his escape. His memories said his dash to freedom had only been three days ago, but that didn’t seem possible.

The torture he had experienced since then had been amazing. Temmins really was a master. Randal would have to hand it to him. Perhaps if given the chance, Ran would also hand the man some of his own body parts. Finger first, then hand.

The black mark. This was a new one. Wasn’t there some sort of notification you were supposed to receive?

“That’s rubbish,” Sprite said. “I haven’t heard anything.”

Scotty only shrugged his shoulders.

But now wasn’t the time. She would just have to face this next challenge later.

“I need your help, and the help of your crew, Scotty,” Sprite said. “Now do I have to destroy another level of your security or are you going to help me. You owe me, from before. And I think it’s time you paid up. What do you say?”

Scotty nodded. “Ok. Let’s go.”

The guardian orbiter shuttered, leg still raised. Smoke started to trail out the back panel and the machine fell over with a heavy crash.

Sprite investigated the machine, and it was indeed destroyed. Its innards were fried. For good measure, she grabbed several handfuls and ripped out whatever cords she could.

Then she went to Scotty and bent down in his face.

“Why are you so scared of me?” Sprite asked him.

Scotty wouldn’t make eye contact. “It’s all over the ace mech boards. You’re poison. The black mark.”

“What? The mark?”

Scotty nodded vigorously, still keeping his eyes averted.

The guardian lifted its other leg. “Unhand my commander,” he said again, its voice still garbled, and brought down its foot hard, crushing Rex further.

Then he lifted the first leg again and repeated, “Unhand my commander.” But before it could bring this leg down, Sprite jumped, grabbing a handful of hydraulic cords hanging from the thing’s arm stump, swinging behind its back, and firing the final projectile of the core artillery into the thing’s exposed central core.

The recoil sent the gun flying again, and Sprite kicked off the back of the guardian’s back, landing a safe distance away.

But before Rex could get away, the guardian flung itself to the ground on top of it, pinning Rex between the blacktop rubble and the body of the machine.

Sprite quickly got up, the fingers of the machine hand now loose. She ran to get the core artillery, knowing there was only one shot left. She grabbed it and turned in time to see the guardian manage to trap the damaged Rex under one foot and struggle to stand up.

She charged the orbiter.

Holding Rex down with one foot, he crushed Rex into the ground with the other foot.

But the remaining five fingers continued to crush her. “Unhand my commander.”

Sprite went to work on another one, pushing hard with the heels of her hands, slowly loosening this one’s grip too. But it was no use. She couldn’t suck in another breath. Soon, her insides would be crushed and she would loose all control and consciousness.

Then Rex appeared again, bounding rapidly through the potholes and pavement craters, leaping and grasping the thing’s arm. He crushed it in his grip, twisting each hand in opposite directions and then pulling the two apart.

Sprite fell to the ground again.

“You’re idiot commander is right over there,” Sprite said. “He’s all yours. Have at him.”

The machine only looked at her, its head dented, parts gone, loose hydraulics hanging from where its missing limb had been attached.

“Unhand my commander,” it said again, slowly squeezing her abdomen with its six huge fingers.

Sprite gasped for breath, pulling hard on one of the fingers.

“Unhand my commander,” it repeated, still squeezing tighter.

“You stupid antique,” Sprite said, managing to pull back one finger with both her hands, and with a mighty force of effort, snap it back, hanging limp and useless.

The machine used whatever juice it had left and before Sprite could get anywhere near grabbing her core artillery, it fired up its propulsion jets, rocketing forward in one giant leap, and closing the distance between itself and its quarry.

“No!” Sprite screamed, realizing by the sound what was happening, but it was too late. The thing grabbed Sprite and lifted her into the air, turning her to face it, the core artillery still another twenty feet away.

“Unhand my commander,” it said again, this time its audio sounding hollow. Perhaps Rex had got a hand in the thing’s speakers.

Still scanning the rubble around her as she ran, Sprite wondered what the guardian would do if she simply killed Scotty. Would it concede failure? Would it commit seppuku? Or would it seek revenge?

She hoped she wouldn’t have to find out, as she still needed Scotty and his crew to help her find Randal.

The guardian made rapid leaps, turning blacktop into dust and still advancing on Sprite.

There it was! Sprite spotted the core artillery! It was the only thing she had left that might even put a dent in that machine’s hide. And then the unthinkable happened.

“Sprite, I’m not leaving you,” Helen said.

“You are not making me face your husband and explain to him why I’m there but you’re not. Now go!”

Helen continued to run, and Sprite turned to head toward Scotty, trying to make herself the more apparent threat to the machine’s commander.

Having one fleeting hope, Sprite scanned the ground in front of her as she ran, while still keeping an eye on the machine chasing her. It was following her and not Helen, so that was good. But with every step it was still gaining on her, so that was bad.

“Agreed,” Helen said, and the two began to run away, leaving Scotty behind.

“Hey,” he shouted, “what about me?”

“You’re its commander,” Sprite yelled back. “Looks like you two won. I’ll be back for that favor another time. And don’t forget, you still owe me, Scotty!”

But the machine wasn’t leaving them alone, despite their best efforts to let it win the day. It was one arm short, but there was no other noticeable damage to its functionality as it was once again gaining on them, albeit perhaps slightly slower than before.

“Go, Helen,” Sprite said. “I’ll draw its attention.”

Helen looked sheepish. “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t really think about it.”

“Didn’t think about it?”

“Well, Turtle asked me to take him along, and you know how I feel about the fake stuff, so I told him to wait by the docks.”

“Wait by the docks? That thing just saved my life!”

But the crashing sound of metal on metal interrupted the argument, and the two darts saw Rex sailing through the air as the guardian had finally made contact with his remaining arm. Then the antique turned and faced them.

“Helen, we need to go now.”

“Sprite, are you ok?” Helen called, running toward her as the two machines continued their battle but were moving further away.

“Rex, go for its back!” Sprite yelled to the small machine. “The open panel to its central core! Just rip out its insides!”

But as much as the little machine tried, this was the one area that the old guardian was able to protect, no matter how fast Rex tried and no matter how much other damage he did.

“Sprite, are you ok?” Helen asked again, now standing beside her.

“I’m fine. Why didn’t you say you brought Rex?”

Helen was never a “fan of the fake stuff,” as she called it, always hesitant around machines that could think and learn, but Turtle took to it quickly, first as a great tech toy and almost like a pet, and second as a helpful business acquisition.

The minimecha was more apelike in size and shape, but Turtle had always been a dog guy, so he named the machine Rex, thinking Fido might be a bit much and liking the slight dinosaur reference.

And it had just saved Sprite’s life, ripping the arm off that old machine and giving it hell.

What was more, Sprite recognized him. She had worked on the smaller machine several times. It had started as one of many side projects, this one beginning as a purchase of extra junk and old parts, part of a buy Turtle made. He gave them to her to add to her collection, but as a surprise, she rebuilt the original minimecha for Turtle’s birthday.

The original makers had intended the product for kids, but Sprite saw the potential. She gave it a few upgrades in externals and a software mod to add battle strategy, weapons use, and an immature AI.

“Sprite!” Helen yelled again.

It would be quick.

Sprite was yanked into the air, legs dangling beneath her, and now she would be destroyed.

It would be quick.

There was a fast sound of metal being crushed, mangled, and wrenched apart. And Sprite fell back to the ground, still whole, collapsing under the weight of the guardian’s arm. She found she could wiggle out of the machine’s now dead grasp. A smaller but much more modern creation was facing off against the orbiter.

It darted and jumped rapidly, fighting the antique, tearing out chunks and punching in holes wherever possible.

Then another sound. One other than the sound of Sprite’s small footfalls, running through the debris, another sound than Helen’s incessant gunfire, and something other than the heavy sounds the guardian orbiter 170 A and B made with each crushing, rapid step.

It was similar, but smaller, more rapid, and coming form a different direction. Sprite turned to look, but then was yanked from her feet by the orbiter, its cold, heavy metal clasping around the dart’s shoulder and neck.

At least it would be quick. One good thing. Nothing personal with a machine. No reason to take its time.

Sprite ran as fast as she could, but Helen’s firepower was as ineffective as Sprite’s. They just needed something bigger.

The machine was only steps behind and gaining fast. Another moment and it would have her. A fleeting thought made her wonder what it would feel like to be yanked off her feet and be crushed by those large, metal hands, twisted, torn into two, and discarded.

She wondered if there was any way she might survive that.

If she did, would she want to?

“Sprite!” Helen yelled, still pointlessly but expertly firing her automatic. “Hang on!”

Not long now.

Jamming the screwdriver into the space she had already opened, Sprite yanked with all her strength and pried the panel free. She couldn’t believe she had done it!

But then the guardian stopped, slumping forward, then standing up straight. He started to spin and reached over his head to grab Sprite off his back. The dart quickly let go, barely inches between her and the beast’s fingers.

Sprite took off at a dead run. She was out of tossers and didn’t have anything affective left. “Shoot it!” she yelled, hoping to distract the thing, and Helen was quick to oblige.

Almost got it. Just a little further.

Sprite slid the blade of the knife just a little deeper behind the access panel. She’d already gotten a good half inch open. But if she could just get it a bit further, surely the remaining internal clasp would loose.

But a bit too much pressure and the blade broke off. Sprite cursed, tossing the useless handle aside.

The machine tromped onward, randomly switching course, and Sprite had one more shot. Kicking her leg up, she dug deep into a pocket near the bottom of her pant legs and pulled out a screwdriver.

The guardian tromped away, crushing pavement with each heavy footfall, and Helen ran back to Scotty.

“What the hell?” he said.

“Sorry. It was just a faint,” Helen said. “You all right?”

“Just a faint? You nearly killed me!”

“Oh shut up. If we were going to kill you, we would have done it already. Mouth like yours, we might still change our minds.”

Scotty stopped complaining.

“Are you all right or what?” Helen asked again.

“Yeah, fine,” Scotty said, both watching Sprite hang onto the guardian’s back. “Think she can do it?”

“If anyone can stop it, it’s her.”

The guardian started tromping around aimlessly, arms waving in the air, Sprite hanging on around its head.

She didn’t know how long she had before it had rerouted its sensors to its backup resources, so she had to act fast.

Scotty screamed, in danger again of being trampled. Helen fired several more shots, trying to direct the machine away from crushing its owner, but the blasts hardly served any purpose.

Sprite let go with one arm, reaching into a pocket and pulling out a switchblade. Popping the blade, Sprite went to work, trying to pry off the central core panel.

In keeping its balance, the machine rushed directly toward Scotty. He yelled, bracing for the impact, raising his arms in a feeble attempt at self preservation.

But fortunately for everyone, the behemoth stepped right over Scotty before righting itself. But not quick enough.

Sprite was right behind it and had leapt to its back. At point blank range, she fired another blast of her core artillery right into its head, the center of its sensor capabilities.

The recoil of the shot forced the gun from Sprite’s hand, sending the core flying. But it also served to short circuit the machine.

Clearly the guardian had thought Sprite to be incapacitated, but clearly he had never faced her before. Having recovered from the machine’s last fireball, Sprite threw her last tosser at the back of that thing.

“Helen, run!” Sprite yelled.

The tosser landed just where it needed to, bouncing lightly at the top of the orbiter’s back, just where its neck would be, if it had one.

Helen took off at a run, turning to fire more shots at the machine.

The tosser exploded, propelling the orbiter forward. It managed to keep its balance, taking several steps forward to do so.

“What are you doing?” Scotty yelled at the machine. “She’s going to kill me!”

But from the machine’s logic, it must have been doing the right thing. Its directive was to make Scotty safe. If it stopped, he was still not safe. The gun remained at his head. However small that chance was that Helen would not pull the trigger, continuing to advance was the only course of action that the guardian could actively make to possibly lead to Scotty’s safety.

Helen didn’t pull the trigger; for now, it was a bluff.

And Sprite was counting on just these actions.

Scotty’s gun went empty. “Reload,” he said, voice still a little shaky.

“Sorry, Scotty,” Helen said, taking the empty gun and discarding it. “But I need to slow this down.” She grabbed the man around the neck in a choke hold, putting her gun up to his head. “Nothing personal.”

Scotty gasped. “What?”

“Don’t move, behemoth! I’ve got your commander. If you come any closer, I’ll blow his head off.”

The machine froze, ancient mechanisms racing through logic and situation analysis.

“What’s it gonna be?” Helen asked. “His brains or my freedom?”

“Unsatisfactory,” it said, and took another step forward.

Helen reloaded her gun and dropped it in Scotty’s lap. “Well help out somehow,” she said, drawing another gun and continuing to fire on the machine.

Scotty held the gun at the approaching monster, then joined in the firefight.

But it was no use. The bullets were doing little damage. Fortunately the guardian wouldn’t risk a fireball with Scotty there, at least not under such minimal danger as being fired upon with mere handguns. But in only a few more steps, it would be able to safely extract Helen from the situation, crush her, discard her, danger averted, commander safe.

Still lying on the ground in front of Helen, Scotty turned to face the slowly advancing machine. “Stop,” he shouted. “I command you!”

The machine did not respond.

“See,” he said. “It won’t stop until it decides I’m out of danger.”

“Well maybe we should just leave you and your friend to have a little play time.”

“I don’t think it will stop seeing you as a threat until you’re dead.”

“Well what do you care? If we leave, it still follows us.”

“But it might just step on me to get to you. Like I said, it’s an antique!”