Hard Drop (25 page)

“Bullshit!” Chip growled through his teeth, his voice rising from the back of the chamber. “That thing was made to kill.”
 

“No!” Shelley shouted back. “He is a defensive weapon. Everything he has done has been in self-defense!” He stared from Tyco to Ringo to Chip, eyes wild and furious. “DROP YOUR WEAPONS! NOW!”

“Cap!?” Hog whispered quietly, the threat now inevitable and imminent. Tyco did not answer.
 

But Tyco shook his head slowly, letting his rifle fall slowly from his shoulder. “Stand down, Chip.” Tyco said, clipped. “Hold your fire.” The creature continued its approach, its movements more human now with every step.

“What?!”

“Stand down!” MAP-11 was close, almost within striking distance, mere steps away from Chip and Hog. They held their ground insistently, the force of their experience evident in their unbending, unwavering legs.
 

“Give me one reason why I should - !” Chip fired back without dropping his rifle, staring up at MAP-11.
 

“Because killing him won’t bring back Ringo!” The words echoed in the cramped chamber, accompanied by MAP-11’s ferocious, heavy breathing, deep and animal like a bull’s.

“Or Ghost…” Hog muttered to herself, letting her weapon fall slowly.
 

Chip hesitated, taking his eyes off of the creature in front of him and turning to Tyco uncertainly.
 

“I’ve seen what men can do.” Tyco continued, before Chip could reconsider, speaking louder so Hog and Flip could hear him too. “This whole planet is proof of that. We’ve been shot at and wounded and almost run over since we landed. And we’re the lucky ones, because we made it this far.” He took a deep breath, trying to avoid Shelley’s eyes, afraid what he would see there would change his mind again. “Whatever this thing is, it isn’t worse than what we’ve already seen in this place. So stand down.”

Chip nodded slowly, hearing the truth in Tyco’s words. He let his rifle fall slowly, keeping a wary finger on the trigger all the same.
 

MAP-11 paused, two long steps away from the team, breathing hard and staring down across at them in the blue-light dark. The threat was still there, immediate and looming; at this distance they would hardly have a chance to fight back if he attacked.
 

“Cap, I don’t like this thing - !” Chip said, straining against the impulse to raise his rifle and open fire.
 

“You don’t like anyone.” Tyco answered. “Doesn’t mean we have to shoot it.”
 

Shelley emerged at MAP-11’s side, nodding approvingly at Tyco. “I knew you’d handle this better than the others.” He said.
 

“Yeah, well you’ve got some explaining to do.”
 

“I already have.” Shelley shrugged, his contempt for the fallen soldiers evident. “They couldn’t accept the future when I showed it to them.” And he eyed Chip warily. “With your team, I’m surprised you haven’t joined them.”
 

“Watch your mouth.” Chip very pointedly racked his gun.
 

“Chip – !” Tyco warned, but it was already too late.
 

MAP-11 launched himself forwards, rushing at the team with unstoppable force. Tyco and Hog had no chance; he was past them before they had brought their guns level. Chip raised his rifle instinctively, squeezing off a wild shot. It streaked harmlessly into the darkness above, chased by a flurry of shots from Flip’s rifle.

The creature was too quick for all of them. It bounded through the team in one fluid motion, vaulting up and over them, leaping towards the security door. Tyco felt the tug as his rifle was wrenched from his hands in mid-air and whirled to see MAP-11 land hard on the ground behind him with the gun firmly in his hands.
 

Tyco drew his pistol, focused and combat-ready, ruing his decision and determined to make amends. Flip had already opened fire, her bullets striking sparks on the metal walls as they traced MAP-11’s flight. She ran out and reloaded, dropping to one knee with the steady speed of a veteran.
 

The creature was oblivious to the bullets behind him, crouching low, gathering himself and focusing instead on the security door at the far end of the room. He was halfway to it when it slid open abruptly. A platoon of rebels roared through it, screaming insanely, and opened fire.
 

MAP-11 rose to his feet, spreading his arms as wide as he could, letting the bullets ping off his armor and sending them skidding past the team harmlessly. He raised Tyco’s gun to his waist and fired once, twice, then a third time, in quick, precise bursts.
 

Three rebels fell in mid-step, dropping dead where they stood. The others froze, staring up at monstrous creation in front of them, giant and heaving and lethal. Gone were any hopes of a successful ambush; the terror they felt at the sight of MAP-11 showed clearly in their faces.

Tyco seized the brief instant of silence, seamlessly shifting his aim from MAP-11 to the rebels. The team opened fire as one, pounding the rebels mercilessly, relieved to finally have a clear-cut opponent.
 

The soldiers dropped one by one under the withering, concentrated gunfire roaring out from inside the chamber. MAP-11 continued his advance, shooting with steady, constant precision, until the line of rebels finally turned and ran, dropping their weapons in their haste to escape.
 

MAP-11’s didn’t let up for a second. His bullets swept through the fleeing soldiers in tight bursts, catching them and sending them flying. Their bodies careened wildly, skidding across the wreckage in the next room before coming to a hard stop. Blood trickled onto the laboratory floor, running in rivulets between the smashed android skeletons. The soldiers did not rise again.
 

Only one man limped on, sheltered from the gunfire by corpse of a fallen comrade. He pulled himself through the next room, groaning pitiably from the effort, and escaped out onto the landing.
 

MAP-11 prepared to give chase and put him out of his misery, taking a hard step into the next room. But Shelley, lurking behind the team, plunged his hand into his pocket urgently, pulling out a small control device. His fingers found a small, red control button, and he pounded it urgently, staring up at his creation anxiously to check its reaction.
 

The creature turned abruptly and faced the wide-eyed team behind him. He stared past them into the dark, towards Shelley, his limbs slack at his sides, shoulders squared as if at attention. The room was strangely silent, but for the steady, diminishing echo of the gunfire from their skirmish. No one moved as the realization slowly sunk in: they should all be dead.
 

Flip stared at Shelley, the only one to notice the microchip in his hand. She looked back curiously at MAP-11, still frozen eerily in place, making a mental note of the connection.
 

Tyco stared at the creature before him. Heaving, wounded, and bleeding, it was far from the machine Shelley said it was. It had been effective, it had been lethal, and yes, it had not failed, but there was something more to it than that, something that made it more than a machine, or a weapon. What exactly it was, Tyco couldn’t put his finger on, but one thing was evident: if it could be controlled, it could
fight
. Tyco turned to Shelley, cautiously impressed.

“Didn’t I tell you.” Shelley said, with smug satisfaction.
 

“He came after me.” Tyco answering him with a simple question, his hand moving to his shoulder instinctively, feeling the twinge from his earlier impact.

“That was nothing.” Shelley responded dismissively. “Tell me you’re not impressed – “

“Nothing.” Tyco repeated the word heavily, unwilling to let it go that simply.

 
“Yes.” He said. “That was - a miscalculation.”

“It made a mistake?” Tyco stopped him, still watching MAP-11 warily.

“No.” Shelley said, point-black. “He does not make mistakes. He would not do anything so…human.”

“But it’s not human.” Tyco said, both a question and a statement. He had heard Shelley’s slip clearly and with interest, but he wasn’t about to correct him. Not yet, anyway.
 

“Correct.” Shelley nodded, in response. “It may be superhuman, certainly, but it is a blameless and perfect machine.”

MAP-11 came back to life, walking directly over to Tyco. He turned his rifle over in his hand and extended it back to him, butt-first, snapping to attention with an elegant salute. His shields were calm now, locked in a solid, unmoving mass.

“Ask next time, alright?” Tyco said, accepting the gun. He slung it around his shoulder, then returned the salute with a cautious smile on his face. “At ease, soldier.”

“So these were – rebels?” Hog asked Shelley behind him, nodding at the dead soldiers still draped over the center console.
 

“Of course,” Shelley said, witheringly, as if it were obvious. “They didn’t start branding themselves until later.”
 

“Of course.” Hog nodded to herself.

“How – uh – housebroken is he?” Chip wanted to know. He had watched the creature handle Tyco’s rifle, surprised by its efficient fluidity.
 

“I think he’s proven you can trust him with a firearm, if that’s what you mean.” Shelley looked away as he answered.

Chip nodded slowly and offered MAP-11 his pistol. “Nice suit, by the way.” He said quietly.
 

But MAP-11 shook his head dismissively, almost belittlingly. He didn’t even extend his hand to take the weapon.
 

“Well aren’t you picky.” Chip said dryly, but not without respect.
 

“Hog, let’s see that SMG.” Tyco called.
 

She handed it over grudgingly. MAP-11 took it, scrutinizing every inch of its construction as if he were looking through it. He held it in front of his visor for what seemed like an eternity, running his gaze slowly down barrel, then juggled the weapon, twirling it in his hand to feel its weight, and cocked it expertly. He turned to Tyco at last and nodded.
 

“Glad you like it.” Tyco said gruffly. “Let’s wrap this up.” He eyed the soldiers on the ground around them, and turned to his team. “Better check them before we go. No use running out of ammo before zero hour.”

Chip nodded and sank to a knee, expertly rifling through the pockets of the corpse nearest him. He found only machine gun ammunition, and flipped it disdainfully along the floor.

“Anyone see something in my size?” he growled.
 

“Negative.” Flip said definitively, trapping the skittering ammunition clip neatly under her foot. She picked it up and slammed it easily into her weapon.
 

“Huh.” Chip grunted, standing, and lit a cigarette. Tyco and Hog busily filled their pockets with every extra scrap of ammunition.
 

“Can I have the pistol?” Shelley asked, shouting to be heard over the clanking metal.
 

Tyco stared at him dumbly, surprised by the request.
 

“What?” Shelley asked, disconcerted by his silence. “You could use another gun.”
 

Tyco shook his head slowly, staring at the doctor’s head as if trying to guess its contents. “Alright.” He said at last, nodding towards the pistol still in Chip’s hand. “Let him have it.”

Chip looked at Tyco, disbelieving his order. But the Commander was insistent, and with a heavy sigh, Chip handed the pistol to the doctor, double-checking to make sure the safety was on first.
 

Shelley took it with satisfaction, letting his hand curl around the trigger. It was heavier than he expected, but not too much. He wrapped his hand around the grip, extending his arm to let it grow accustomed to the weight.
 

“You do know how to use that, right?” Chip asked skeptically, watching his preparations with concern.

“I can hold my own.” Shelley said. “Although I wouldn’t mind a holster – “

He was interrupted by the rumble of a massive impact from above. The facility shook around them, shuddering the metal frame all the way down into the earth. Tyco glanced at his rifle display, then shook his head and sighed. There were still ten minutes left on his countdown.
 

“They’ve started early.” Hog said, knowingly, and Tyco nodded.
 

“Always.” Chip chimed in. “Fucking air support.”
 

More impacts came from above, a ripple of explosions that rained dust down on the troopers from the ceiling. Shelley looked from one trooper to the next, confused and worried.

“What is that?” He asked.
 

“Navy’s back-up if we failed.” Tyco answered. “Tactical nuclear measures before they carpet bomb the hell out of this city.” He turned and glanced at Hog knowingly. “Won’t be a stone left by the time they’re done.”
 

“Call it off!” Shelley said, the first hint of panic rising to his eyes. “You can do that, right?”

Tyco shook his head grimly. “Not until we’re safely off-planet.” He said, and nodded towards MAP-11. “Can’t risk him falling into their hands.”

Shelley’s face slipped for a second, the mask of smug confidence giving way to naked, unchecked fear. His mouth moved slowly, without speaking, and he stared up towards the ceiling anxiously, as if expecting the next impact would bring it down.
 

Tyco seized the initiative before full-blown panic could set in. “We need to move.” He said, quickly, slamming home a magazine and rising to his feet. And then, with a quick look at MAP-11, he led the way through the security doors and out towards the landing, stepping carefully around the freshly-fallen rebels and over the splintered glass.

Flip hung back as the others reached the outer doors, darting back to the console as they left the chamber. Unseen by the team, she pulled an access card from her pocket and inserted it into the central console. The screen blinked green, her clearance granted, and the machine came to life. With a few quick keystrokes, the emergency systems limitations fell away, and a progress bar popped up.