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  I calmed myself. It was only a length of old mouldy rope hanging suspended from a rusting beam; fukk, now the reb knew I was after her, knew I was still alive. I had betrayed my position like an idiot. That was more dangerous for me, especially if it was true and the rebs had developed exo–s armour–piercing bullets. Oh what I would give for some mandrake to calm the roaring in my empty veins!

  I stood there in the darkness, the smell of mould and damp plaster entering my nostrils, mind whirring like TEK–Q. A creak overhead told me of the reb’s position and I glided carefully for distant stairs. The steps were metal, open–plan: vulnerable. I did not like that and I felt very uneasy as I climbed with slow, careful steps.

  I progressed, my machine gun at the ready and my head appeared above the precipice and my eyes clicked softly in the heavy grey gloom as they focused; this room was smaller, dust lying heavy on the warped, disjointed floor, and I could see a couple of scuffed prints but they did not interest me because it was easier to track by sound. I eased my bulk onto the floor and looked around: nothing.

  So I stood, careful not to let any stray light illuminate my armour, and then took a couple of steps forward and nestled against the wall which made me a less imposing target for any reb sniper; those fukks.

  I did not like this.

  Picking off rebs from my vehicle, splattering brains, crushing bones, that was just work, that was my job. But chases through deserted factories should have been left to the Battle SIMs with their propaganda and pomp and Tchaikovsky MM. They had better armour but less of a sense of humour, haha.

  I could see a shape, nestling in the shadows, and my eyes clicked softly. I moved like a ghost, wary, with great care, my k–legs silent and powerful and deadly as they propelled me forward...

  Suddenly there was a noise to my right and I jerked, my SMKK exploding bullets which tore through plaster and zipped from a heavy iron beam; my itchy finger came off the trigger and through the clearing smoke I saw a cat crouched, muscles tense, eyes glinting.

  ‘Fukk!’

  I switched my SMKK back to single shot, this paranoia having made a mockery of me, a drooling spastic reb idiot of me, and ignoring the stunned animal which had frozen at the burst of noise and fire I turned my attention on the darkest shadows of the room. The reb had failed to fire, and my location had been lit up like Entropy Lights and yet enemy bullets had not come ripping through my armour; that meant only one thing.

  The reb herself was out.

  I strode forward with more confidence and she was there cowering behind a hunk of plastic junk; I reached down and grabbed her hair and yanked her without mercy across the floor and she was suddenly screaming and scrambling and kicking, but I was having none damn fukk of that and I punched her into silence and she was quiet but I could feel her trembling, like a triggered mine–wire. I dragged her, bloody reb, into a patch of light from the broken window so that I could see her better and I studied her face; she was young, no more than sixteen or seventeen and blood stained her lips and teeth, where a couple had been smashed by my fist. I held her head tight by the hair so that she wouldn’t struggle any more, and her words came to my ears, her voice high–pitched and full of breathless panic.

  ‘Don’t kill me,’ she moaned, ‘I didn’t mean it... they said they were training me, they forced me to do it, oh God no, please don’t let this be happening to me...’

  I could almost taste her fear as I lifted my machine gun and placed the barrel before her eyes and this, I thought, would teach her a damn fine lesson for joining the rebs, the naughty girl, and give her a much needed slap for conspiring against the GOV and all Justice SIMs with thoughts of heat and death and violence –

  Something strange came over me then, a sort of deja vu that infiltrated my mind and made me almost physically stagger. I could taste the fear from the Entropy War and the years I had fought out there in the steel jungles, and this reminded me of a day during Entropy, a day like all the rest with killing and guns and whining bullets, but on this particular day I and my WarBruv, a SIM called Mission D, we'd come upon a small cottage, all the walls scoured by bullets and the roof burnt and destroyed and we had heard the whimpering of a female CIV inside and Mission had warned me but I had been stubborn back then and I had more faith in humans and their nature and I had gone in to help and had found a woman who looked like this very woman I held now in the dregs, and she had long brown hair and was young, about sixteen years old and she had been whimpering and nursing a wound and Mission D had shouted for us to leave her, to go, the enemy infantry were advancing with MINI–Gs and we had to clear area FAST – but no, I had wanted to rescue this woman despite her being a mere weak snivelling CIV and I had turned to explain this to Mission D, who I thought at the time was being a proper ice bastard and dark, unreasonable, and he merely drew his SMKK fast with mech eyes clicking, and I thought he was going to shoot me and the bullet screamed from the barrel in smoke and fire and my eyes closed. When my eyes opened and I realised I was still alive I turned and saw the girl I was going to help, to rescue, she had a shotgun and was about to fire on me and her face was full of hatred for my kind and she was going to fire the shotgun into my unprotected back and Mission D had saved my life, and that was the last time I tried to help a CIV during Entropy War...

  Now, a pain seemed to pass from my mind like an exorcism, and I looked down at the woman I held in the industrial sector of the dregs and I listened to her begging and whining and pleading and I wondered if she was given the opportunity, would she fire a gun into my unprotected back? Of course I knew the answer which was yes because she had already tried to kill me on several occasions with whining bullets and optimum violence and now she wanted me to let her go, giving in to her pleading and whining, and my face must have gone grim in the gloomy dark chamber because I saw her face change and her pleading became more urgent: ‘No! Please I beg you, have mercy, don’t kill, don’t kill, don’t kill...’

  She continued to whisper ‘don’t kill’ over and over, as if by repeating these meaningless words she could somehow exorcise her fear and retreat inwardly from the blow of pain she must have known was going to follow.

  Like night follows day.

  Like bullets follow trigger–time.

  I pressed the gun barrel against her lips.

  She whimpered.

  I pressed the gun barrel against her teeth.

  She whimpered some more, and with a heave I forced the gun into her mouth and felt her trembling increase and she was sweating heavily and it stained her gilly suit; there was a dripping sound and I realised she had pissed herself and then I realised I’d had enough of this game for terror was not something I relished or enjoyed and so it was time for it to be over and the game done.

  CHAPTER TWO

  JUSTICE

  I PULLED THE trigger.

  The bullet smashed through her skull, exiting high and embedding in plaster; blood spattered the floor and I let the woman reb’s corpse fall with a dull thud, then cleaned the barrel of my SMKK with a soft cloth for it had become smeared with saliva and snot and scum.

  A noise alerted me and I spun around in a tight crouch, gun extended, to see the cat’s eyes watching me without fear, without any apparent emotion and this I suddenly liked. She had green eyes, I could tell by their grey shade. The cat was objective, unruffled by this display of justice, of LAW. Of Nature, you could say.

  I finished cleaning my gun and moved towards the cat, holding out my hand in proffered friendship.

  The cat stepped daintily forward and brushed her head against my glove; this touched me somehow, this initial show of affection touched my heart like nothing I’d felt in past years and I lifted the animal in one hand and held her tight against my chest. She struggled for a moment, then settled down and I could feel her tail thrashing against my side but this I didn’t mind.

  Leaving the dead reb behind (the only good reb’s a dead reb – old SIM joke) I strode down the stairs and left this example of early
architecture and I strode warily through the streets until I found my vehicle, the fires of which still burned bright and left glowing after–images on the backs of my electronic retinas; but the fires were not very high and I peered inside at the black mess and charred upholstery and wondered how much the repair bill would be. Pulling out my comm I clicked on the link and said, ‘Reb attack at 251, 334 sector; threat neutralised, twelve rebs dead, one vehicle destroyed. Request back–up and transportation. Justice D out.’

  I waited.

  The cat (a female, I checked) was watching the fire which reflected from her green eyes brightly and I looked at her eyes and felt quite envious and I wondered if she could see the colours denied me. She began to purr and I holstered my SMKK and rested back against a building to wait for my transport and almost unconsciously I rubbed my hand against the cat’s head and said, ‘What will I do with you, little cat?’

  The feline miaowed softly, and I placed her on the ground, aware that she couldn’t come with me because I had no requirements for a cat and could see her serving no reasonable or beneficial purpose and besides GOV usually wanted them dead. They were, technically, illegal. It was never announced or made public. It was just the way it was.

  She rubbed against my legs, then paused, her head twitching to one side; I saw her ears move, her eyes fix on something in the black black darkness and I pumped k legs and dived sideways as an explosion of bullets ripped into the wood behind me and the cat fled and my gun was out, hammered on spray and I returned fire and heard a body hit the ground hard with a grunt.

  Shit. That was close. Too close! I crawled up to my vehicle and shielded by fire got to my feet and surveyed the area with care; I could see another reb down, blood pumping from his holed torso, and with slow scans of the area I managed to pick out another figure hiding in the shadows with a short rifle at the ready, obviously waiting for me to show myself once more but he would have no such luck and I circled carefully picking my way around and behind his shield–building and in the distance I heard the sirens of my back–up and the roar of engines but this kill was mine and I could have almost been back in the Streets during the Entropy War and my singular purpose became an intense point, a tunnel exit to which I headed without care or emotion or empathy and I heard the reb curse and I could smell the sweat of his body and I crept up close as he began to turn to no–doubt flee without killing me the bastard coward! and I placed my SMKK barrel against his throat and pulled the trigger and was pleased to see his shocked expression which was a testament to my silent approach and his throat exploded outwards and backwards and for a split second he was breathing through a temporary tracheotomy before the law of organics caught up with him and he collapsed like the pile of offal shit he was. I kicked his body, which opened its bowels with a heavy stench and wrinkling my nose I moved out to my sparking transport and surveyed the two back–up vehicles.

  One was a carrier, and I could hear the metallic whine of the mech dogs inside; three Justice Cs and a Battle E approached me and I made an official report and whilst I was talking and explaining the ambush the cat with the green shade eyes returned and rubbed against my legs and for some reason I couldn’t quite understand this pleased me immensely, pleased me even more than my silent stalking of the reb. I reached down, picked up the cat, patted her on the head.

  ‘Got a new friend?’ smiled the Battle E.

  I nodded, and holstered my SMKK in oiled leather. It did not appear there would be any more trouble that night. Many local rebs were dead.

  ‘Report back to base,’ he said, ‘one of the Cs will continue your tour for tonight. Your vehicle is well and truly destroyed.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ll drive you back.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  A Justice C put out the fire and my vehicle was left where it had fallen, a dead machine of the modern world; it would be cleared in the morning by the day tour. The Battle E led the way and I followed, carrying the cat.

  ‘You taking her with you?’ he asked, and I could see the glint of his I–BU upgrades.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘She’ll make a fine pet, but you should be careful; GOV are not fond of pets.’ It was the understatement of the decade but I was my own boss and had my own mind and would do what I did. For that was the way I was.

  I got into his vehicle and was quite proud because the cat didn’t flinch or show any sign of distress other than a slight unruffling when confronted with the barking, howling, yakking mech dogs. She could probably smell that the mech dogs were not real, or not ‘real’ in an organic sense but machines created by peps on instructions from the GOV. She was well–behaved and I watched her eyes glint in the grey shade light and I was envious but not jealous.

  *

  The drive back to base was of little interest, except that I watched the cat all the way, admired her lithe, athletic form, noted her lack of compassion, examined her claws and teeth which were perfect in every way for the purpose she had to serve. In terms of organic creatures she had the best upgrades and only lack of armour or exo–s was any real let–down – and her acute and vicious sense and instinct made up for that.

  We left the darkened dregs behind and where once, when I had first been appointed a Justice D and I was a green boy, a n00b, I would have felt a sense of relief, now I felt nothing. A night’s work over and done with and out of the way and I would get to sleep for a while and enjoy my freedom and a bit of pleasant narco.

  Passing through the wastelands two drunkards started to shout down our vehicle, until they suddenly realised what we were; they soon fled into the gloom and my Battle E companion made a special effort to drive off–road until he had the two tramps, drunks or skegs or pabs or whatever they were in his headlights and we hit them at quite some speed and they smashed against the front of the vehicle and one went under, wrapping around the driveshaft so that my Battle E brother cursed and had to pull over. I kept watch sniffing the cooked meat with my SMKK weapon out whilst he investigated and with a long knife cut away lumps of muscle and tangled bone and tendon from the mechanical shaft until we could drive away again. The wastelands were a dangerous place to be out during the night, for all the outlaws and loons and pobs from both the cities and the dregs went there to eke out a fukking existence in the dust and avoid us wherever possible.

  We reached the city, cleared at the gate, and passed onto concrete roads; the hefty tyres hummed and my Battle E companion slowed his speed for we were in LAW jurisdiction now and subject to the GOV's strict rules. And as any SIM knew, you always obeyed the LAW. You did what GOV told you and were fukking happy for it.

  The base was a large building, traditionally built from ancient concrete near the outskirts of town so that the more upper class peps didn’t have to suffer the displeasure of watching us come and go. Battle E pulled into the park and we got out, me still holding this cat which was quite content to nestle against my armour and purr and flick her tail but this was OK and fine with me.

  I strode behind Battle E for he was an E class and thus had higher status than I; he was similar in organic structure, with standardised high tech I–BU (Integrated Bio Unit) and k legs, but his weaponry was more sophisticated and, like me, he had top–of–the–range armour, but with several refinements over the D class. This particular Battle E was in charge of the mech dogs, which he had apparently ‘brought along for the ride’ despite their lack of emotions, what with them being mere machines and breathing ozone and pumping oil through metal veins.

  I passed ID and into the waiting lounge; Sullivan was busy with a damaged B class Menial and I was in for quite a wait. Battle E left with a nod and I sat down on the comfortable settee and settled the cat down on my armoured knees. She seemed quite happy and content and I watched as she cleaned her fur and I listened to the calming groovy groovy MM which was Bach, Suite for Flute and Strings in B minor – serious, grave music always played by the Company to instil feelings of loyalty and honour and code amongst the SIMs under its
control. The groovy groovy MM entered my veins and reacted with the chemicals and I let out a sigh and resigned myself to a wait because Sullivan was a perfectionist who would be giving the Menial B a good going over.

  A medi scan was a standard procedure after a hit, and sometimes it bored me but was something which had to be done, for if armour or other upgrades had hairline fractures and failed then a SIM could be in deep shit out in the dregs and over the wire in the wasteland missions fighting the peps.

  I examined my armour for cracks but could find nothing; but then I was not a pro SIM mechanic and decided to leave the judgements to the professionals. I understood the principal of how the armour worked, and was merely in awe of its complexities and refinements; leg, arm, chest and neck armour was CPU controlled from a small Niobium pack worn at the base of the spine; this controlled the electron flow throughout the armour suit which was like supple soft leather, with extra reinforcement plates, and black, for camouflage out in the dregs. The pack also contained power Us and had to be recharged on a weekly basis so that my armour would work on full.

  I waited patiently, with the cat on my knee. The cat purred and washed herself and seemed quite content. I was in no hurry.

  Several SIMs passed by as I sat there with this strange feline animal on my knee, washing her fur and cleaning her tail; a couple of SIMs gave Spartan greetings which I returned but not one commented on the cat on my knee. I suppose I felt somewhat foolish, but I was the only SIM with such thoughts and I watched a couple of Justice Cs pass, a Menial E and several Battle As – I outranked them all and they were submissive as they should be, their greetings merely formal recognition of rank and grade and fear.

  SIMs were organic creatures, almost identical to humans except with greater resilience to disease and other such problems; unofficially, humans used SIMs as second–grade peps in order to perform such acts they did not wish to undertake themselves: warfare and policing the justice zones out in the dregs. SIMs had first been implanted in wombs after the first year of the Entropy War when the human casualties had been horrific and genetics had taken over in creating new battalions and armies. SIMs were implanted in human females at early foetal stage and grown like normal children and fed from umbilicus and birthed like normal pep children but because of progressive genetic coding SIMs could grow at three times the speed of human children and thus create an army of metal–combo for the GOV with much more speed and need. I no–longer had views on humans, for they left me alone and I did my job and was paid and everything was just fine but I knew some SIMs, especially Battle Ds and Es who had complex mental strains and had come back from Entropy War with serious depressions, which they linked to peps; and thus several acts of pep grievance had occurred. But despite this anomaly SIMs and peps got along just fine mostly and we all tended to work different zones and that was also just fine with me.