The torch's fuel was down to 7% when the door's lock popped out and the manchine smashed it off its hinges. Rolling forward to meet the edge of a fallen cabinet, it stopped and took stock of what was before it.
>Target Ident
>processsing
>Barker, Megan T. Operative. Cloak Division
>range 6m
>terminate>Target Ident
>processing
>match
>primary target Getter, James G.
>range 4m
>terminate
>running subroutineElevating the front of its treads, the former mining robot lurched up onto the edge of the cabinet and smashed the compressed wood into splinters. Both targets were behind the desk and it rolled forward, managing to block the doorway completely and stopped just out of reach. Having only basic sentience, it neither expected nor cared that neither had tried to make a run for it.
"I've been looking forward to this Getter," Owen's recorded message said. "This is payback for absolutely everything. Oh and before you ask, yeah it's going to take a while."
With that, the manchine extended its utility arms and powered on its peripherals. The array of buzz saws, meat grinders, and power drills that had replaced the normal mining tools snarled to life and it picked up the signs of fear on the primary target's face. Oddly, the woman had remained calm and unmoving.
"Oh yeah, another thing before you die," the voice laughed. "I'm getting everything on tape, so I'll be sure to send a copy to your family. It'll make a great SLA-mas present! I bet they want you dead too."
The manchine lunged forward, but both the woman and the primary target vanished under the desk. Nonplussed, it began to upend the furniture, but two impacts on the top of its chassis surprised it. Reaching back, it pulled something free and brought it before its optical sensors for review. As it quickly scanned the stenciling, it detected the length of wire extending into the hole in the ceiling and looked up to target the movement above. Its optics registered a white light and shock just as its systems went offline for the last time.
As the smoke and debris cleared, Meg heard the Xeno drop onto the desk and climbed back out to survey the damage. The manchine was in pieces with sections of it sticking out of the desk, the wall, and even one of Getter's legs. Absently, she handed the former manager what was left of one of the bottles and sat on the desk, slapping the manchine's breastplate with the stenciled "Payback!" off into the floor. The pain in her ankle was eclipsed by the realization of how easily old scars could be opened and how badly she had performed.
"Well, this was fun," she said aloud, suddenly uncomfortable when she realized that the Xeno was grinning down at her. "What?"
Reaching into one of his pockets, he pulled out a small slightly squashed box that was wrapped in a sooty ribbon and held it out. It had seen better days, but that was true for everyone.
"Merry SLA-mas!" he exclaimed, shoving it at her. "Open it!"
Meg looked at the present and shook her head before taking it. "What kind of a loon," she wanted to say but kept her mouth shut.
"You know how I feel about this holiday," she said as she opened it. "I don' t see why you-"
She paused when she looked inside and pulled out a tiny gold pin with a fluffy poodle on it. It looked remarkably like an angelic version of Archibald, the poodle she had left back in her apartment on Mort and she felt warmth forming behind her eyes. The DAC was the only thing that mattered to her in the entire World of Progress and the Xeno had found out about him. The bug-eyed monster really did know everything about her personal life and she wished she were cold enough to do something about it.
"I'm really-" she started, trying to find the words. "I'm really touched. This is such a sweet thing to do."
Meg gently hugged him around the neck, aware of how weird it was to show any kindness to a Karma product. She had resisted thinking of him as a friend, but the stupid vat-trash had done everything it could to earn that title anyway. Well, maybe not a "friend" but "partner" might be acceptable.
"Thanks," she added.
"So what did you get me?" he asked, looking a lot like a small child. Megan smiled stiffly, not sure what to say since she hadn't bought a gift in years. This holiday and all its trappings continued to irritate her, especially when they led to embarrassment like now. Thinking quickly, she looked around for something appropriate and gingerly fished a broken plaque out of the debris. Dusting it off, she handed it up to him.
"Best I can do on short notice," she said as she got Getter to his feet.
"Bad Dog," he read aloud, cocking his head. Reaching upward, he pulled the still sleeping woman out of the air duct and tossed her over his shoulder.
"That's the best any Stormer can do, " she explained. "Period."
As they rolled Getter and chair towards the shuttle deck and the elevator, Meg noticed Jester grinning and shrugged.
"What is it this time?" she demanded, wincing as she favored her bad ankle and hopped behind the chair.
"I was just wondering," he said. "Do you have the holiday spirit yet?"
He took her hand signal as a good indication that she didn't and followed along humming the SLA-mas carol that had been in his head for most of the day. It was hard for him not to be in a good mood and the sound of the approaching shuttle made him anxious for Mort's streets again, with their idyllic legions of revelers and tinsel. Quietly, he made a promise to ensure that Operative Megan T. Barker would have the holiday spirit next year.
Even if it killed her.
End
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