Unless I could come up with a plausible lie, I’d have to tell him about the spaceship buried out back.Bugger. I rapid-fired three 9-millimeter hollow points at a Puffer. Shifted the AG Grabber to the downed Puffer and fried it. Sighted another Puffer and repeated the process, treating them to the AntiGrav energies as fast as I killed them.
Mateo said into my earbud, “Bot-A identified. It has SS armor-piercing warheads and it’s targeting the office.”
I found the screen, ID’d the aisle number, and saw it was a straight shot to the office. SS armor-piercing warheads were designed to take out spaceship armor. The shrapnel alone could be sufficient to damage even the office. I had to risk powering up the office’s defensive shields. They’d be visible from satellites and I’d be totally screwed if the Gov. found me, but screwed might be better than dead. The fact that it was still daylight and energies might be hard to detect from space convinced me. I ripped off my glove and slammed my left index finger down on the screen, activating the WIMP-particle-based shields. A faint orange glow filled the air, sparkling off the dust and weapon-fire smoke hanging there. Mateo fired. The blasts shook the raw stone under the office and up through the office floor. Jagger cursed in surprise.
“Bot-A down. Fry it,” Mateo said.
I flipped off the shields, found the disabled bot on the screens, and swung the Grabber toward it. “It doesn’t reach. And I’m blowing through my stored power like prewar Vegas. I can’t keep this up.”
“Recommendations?” Mateo asked, only a hint of snark in his voice.
“Can you pick up an engine block and use that to shove it six meters closer down Aisle Alpha One?”
“I might miss some pieces.”
Which meant Puffers and nanos all over the junkyard. I blinked away frustrated tears, thinking about hunting Puffers for months.
“We got no other options. Except to say we need a portable AG Grabber.”
“Hindsight,” he agreed, more gently. “You might be the brains to my brawn, but you aren’t perfect.”
No, I wasn’t perfect. I knew that. But with Mateo’s brain permanently scrambled, the decisions were up to me and I hadn’t thought through potential threats. Pops woulda been pissed. I should have bought a portable grabber off the black market long ago.
With one hand, Mateo picked up an old V-8, nearly two-hundred seventy kilos of rusted heavy. He carried it to the disabled Bot-A and placed it to one side. Bending over the engine, he braced his three legs and adjusted his gyro-balance to push. With the V-8 between him and the bot’s nanos—and any Puffers that were still active—he began shoving.
“You’re loaded,” Jagger said.
“Wand your hands,” I instructed him.
“Why?”
“Just do it,” I answered. Because I couldn’t exactly say that he had touched my stuff and now was likely to die.
“Holy shit. You got a warbot,” Jagger said, peering over my shoulder.
That I ignored.
Bot-B trundled into Aisle Alpha One behind Mateo.
“Behind you!” I shouted.
Mateo shifted. Lifted a lower limb. Fired. SS armor-piercing warheads took out the bot. Mateo’s cybot limb flexed with the recoil, nearly knocking him over the engine. He corrected his balance and kept pushing Bot-A, not touching it himself. Hoping the extra distance would keep him free of nano contamination. He wasn’t even breathing hard when he said, “In position. Leaving the Bot and the V-8 for AntiGrav decontamination. Going after Bot-B.”
I positioned the AG Grabber over the Crawler and the engine and waited. Our two minutes were nearly up. The Bots’ nanos would activate in seconds.
Using an electric engine this time, Mateo shoved the second Crawler over, stacked the electric engine on top, and went back with a steel-bristle broom and a heavy-duty dustpan sufficient for picking up hemp-plaz and synth-metal parts.
“Ten seconds,” I warned. He emptied the scoop under the Grabber and stepped away. “Frying it,” I said.
The Grabber lifted the thousand kilograms, give or take, as easily as it had lifted the Puffers. I set it to cook for an hour—which would leave us with a lot of time we couldn’t fry other stuff, but I couldn’t see another option. The energy usage was draining my reserves. Timing was going to be dicey, but the sun was still up and the solar panels all showed green. They hadn’t been hit by the weapons fire, so I was still collecting energy. “What about you?” I asked—meaning what do we do about any nanos that might have infested Mateo’s warbot body. Again.
“Running diagnostics,” he said. “I’ll set the suit to scan me every hour. If I see something, I’ll cut it off and you can fry it. Then I’ll reassemble it.”
Mateo sounded calm and matter-of-fact. Clearly, he had been thinking about protocol should he ever be infested again. He hadn’t freaked when I mentioned Puffers. He was doing good. Real good. That said a lot about his improving mental capabilities and health. I’d spent a lot of money on Berger-chip plug-ins to help restore his brain and give him back his memories. Money well spent.
“Copy that,” I said. “Keep me informed.”
“Got another batch of cats on a Puffer,” he said. “Screen forty-seven.”
