A robot
must
obey.
“PLEASE…,” the Storm begged.
“I’M SORRY,” the big bot replied. “I’M SO SORRY.”
Cricket made a fist, cables spitting, a blinding flash of white. The crowd roared as he tore the Thunderstorm’s heart free in a cascade of sparks. The EmCee was shouting into the PA, the mob was on their feet, the neon gleaming in the coolant and oil pooling like blood at his feet. Cricket looked at the spent shell casings glittering on the charred floor, the broken hulk before him. He looked at the humans around him, the bloodlust in their eyes, listening to the stomping rhythm of their feet.
“Believers!” came the cry.
The crowd hushed, all eyes turning to the box at the ring’s edge. Sister Dee was standing with a microphone at her lips, surrounded by her cassocked thugs. Abraham stood beside her, giving Cricket the thumbs-up. Behind him stood Murph and Mikey, squabbling once more as they began to realize that selling him for a mere two thousand liters might have been a touch conservative.
But it was too late. The bargain was struck.
Cricket belonged to the Brotherhood now.
“The Lord has truly blessed us this day!” the Sister cried. “Not only have the terrorists who plagued our convoys been brought low, but it seems New Bethlehem WarDome has a new champion!”
Sister Dee pointed to Cricket, teeth flashing as she smiled. “I give you…”
Abraham leaned in to whisper in his mother’s ear, and the woman smiled.
“…our Paladin!” she cried.
All he’d ever wanted was to be taken seriously.
To be treated with respect.
To be big.
Cricket looked up at the roaring crowd, hung his head.
“BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR,” he murmured.
“No.”
“They’re just kids, Hunter.”
“We must bring Lemonfresh to CityHive. She does not understand her importance. Lemonfresh is—”
“Yeah, yeah. Needed. Special. I got it.”
They were standing in the shadows of a closed street-eatery, scoping the Brotherhood’s awful little stage. Red banners fluttered in a cool night breeze. The dozen Brethren leaning against Brother Dubya’s monster truck didn’t exactly look on high alert, but that was no kind of surprise. This was the heart of a Brotherhood settlement, after all. Everyone in this armpit of a town was either on their side or terrified of them. Probably both.
Lemon could hear roars from the distant WarDome, the crash of metal and bursts of heavy weapons fire. It sounded like total chaos in there, and she was grateful for the diversion. A churn and bubble was coming from the desalination plant, black smoke rumbling into the sky. With all that noise, Lemon knew they’d have the element of surprise—even if it was only her and Hunter against twelve B-boys. But Hunter herself was far from convinced.
“Came here for chemicals,” the operative growled. “Have them. Road awaits.”
Lemon scowled. “Listen, can we agree that, as far as unwilling yet gorgeous captives go, I’ve been an absolute effing delight up to this point? Haven’t tried to escape, or shiv you in the back, or warned these lawmen that ‘oh, hey, by the way, this crazy lady is a genetically engineered murder machine with a swarm of killer bees inside her bra’?”
“We thought we had reached understanding,” Hunter said, a little sadly.
“Look, you wanna tell me I’m special, fine,” Lemon snapped. “I find it literally impossible to disagree with you. But those kids are some kind of special, too, or these Brotherhood bastards wouldn’t have nailed them up in the first place. Maybe they just got two belly buttons, I dunno. But nobody deserves to go out like that. Nobody.”
Hunter peered across the way to the Brotherhood scaffold. Trepidation shining in those strange golden eyes.
“And then we leave for CityHive,” she finally whispered.
“Look at these freckles. Would I lie to you?”
The BioMaas agent folded her arms and scowled.
“What does she propose?”
“Almost everyone in this dump is at WarDome. You set your deathbees on the thugs, I get the kids down, we snaffle one of those autos and fang it. Once we’re out of New Bethlehem, you call Mai’a, we give the kids the wheels, then ride into the sunset. Conscience clear.”
“Bees die when they sting, Lemonfresh. We are not infinite. She asks much.”
“Yeah, well, you’re asking me to be the wind that changes the world or whatever, so I figure this makes us even. It’ll be easy as, trust me.”
“Easy as what?”
Lemon shrugged. “Easy as a very easy thing.”
The operative was silent for long moments, clearly torn.
“I could always just start screaming for help?” Lemon offered. “I am still technically the victim of a kidnapping here.”
“She would threaten me?”
“Technically, what I’m doing is more like extortion.”
Hunter narrowed her eyes, a low angry buzzing filling her chest.
“Very well,” she nodded.
Lemon’s stomach was still achy, but she managed a grin anyway. The pair waited until the closest Disciple patrol had wandered past. And when the coast was nice and clear, Lemon moseyed over to the stage, hands in her stuffed pockets.
The Brotherhood boys fell silent as they noticed the short, scruffy redhead wandering toward them. She guessed these dozen were among the crew that had snaffled those poor kids to begin with. They were packing heavy pistols, automatic rifles. The tallest one had an oversized copy of the Goodbook hanging from a thick iron chain at his belt. Bound in cracked leather, it was big enough to beat a burglar to death with, and embossed with faded gold lettering:
The Lord helps those who help themselves.
The Brethren looked her over, eyebrows raised.
“Evenin’, little sister,” a beardy one said.
Lemon shook her head and smiled. “Oh, I’m not your sister, spunky.”
“All the Lord’s children are our brothers and sisters,” a tall one replied.
“Amen, Brother Ray,” the beardy one murmured.
Beardy McBeardo was tossing a claw hammer between one hand and the other. Lemon realized it was the same one Sister Dee had used on the kids earlier.
“Tell me, Brother Ray,” she said to the tall one. “Do you have to brush your teeth extra hard on account of all the crap that comes out of your mouth?”