the Box-Guard raised one leg and calculated the exact amount of hydraulic pressure to crush a human body. It loomed over Jensen, clipping its frame on a dangling light strip.
He fired, unloading every bullet remaining in the CA-4’s magazine, marching each flashing hit toward a gap in the plating beneath the Box-Guard’s head, where its flexible neck connected. Jolts of sparks vomited out from behind its single eye-lens, and the leg descended with a juddering clank, stopping just short of grinding Jensen into the dust. He rolled away as the machine repeated the action over and over, never quite completing it, stuck in some kind of loop.
“Jensen!” Pritchard’s nasal shout echoed across the garage. “Quick, get over here before it resets! The door’s clear!”
He sprinted over, mantling the hoods of parked cars. Pritchard held on to an inert mine template draped with dozens of connector wires, while Stacks shouldered open the door, revealing the stairwell beyond. “Gotta go, gotta go!”
“Don’t wait for me.” An idea flashed through Jensen’s mind and he snatched the explosive device out of Pritchard’s hands, reactivating it as he raced back the way he had come. He ignored their calls to follow, pausing long enough to toss the frag mine under the shuddering Box-Guard before doubling back once again.
Jensen was at the door, wrenching it closed behind him when the robot finally snapped itself out of its temporary malaise – and stamped down, right on top of the mine template. The explosive detonated with a flat, loud crack and the Box-Guard toppled.
“So much for the quiet approach,” snapped Pritchard.
Jensen shot him a cold look, and started up the stairs toward the upper level. “Next time, have a better plan.”
* * *
They emerged through a service door and into the main atrium of the SI building. What hit Jensen first was the smell of stale smoke, an acrid stink that lay heavy in the air all around them. Across the reception area, where once there had been illuminated video-pillars showcasing the achievements of Sarif Industries, there was only a mess of half-dismantled machinery and piles of broken office furniture. Along the walls near the sealed main door there was a wide black stain that reached up to the second level of the atrium. The slick of old soot and melted plastic was like a great burn wound.
“Firebombs,” Pritchard said quietly, by way of explanation. “Courtesy of the good people of Detroit. Never mind that the company had nothing to do with the incident.” He shook his head. “Idiots. Like trying to burn down a hospital just because someone gets sick.”
“P-people get afraid, they need someone to blame…” muttered Stacks. “Ain’t no-one’s fuh-fault.”
Jensen saw splashes of paint over the doors and angry scrawls over the glass – slogans like AUGS OUT and DIE HANZERS ! left behind in the aftermath.
He looked away as movement caught his eye. Set out across the atrium, there were stubby, drum-shaped sensor pods endlessly scanning the area with laser rangers. Each had a multi-barreled gun atop them, and they were actively tracking back and forth. The Box-Guard in the parking garage would have sent a warning to all the units on the security network, upping their alert status to full. Above, on the second and third levels, Jensen saw small, wheeled robots wandering in pre-programmed patrol loops, the same kind of armed sentry that had threatened him outside the Chiron Building apartments.
“Typical Tai Yong…” Pritchard crouched in the lee of what used to be the reception desk. “Too cheap to bring in any real security.”
“You forgetting that mech downstairs?” said Jensen.
Pritchard ignored him. “They’re using SI’s own robots, they just reprogrammed them for deterrent duty.” He tugged on a zip at his cuff that opened the sleeve of his coat along the length of his forearm, revealing a flexible keyboard and monitor screen clipped to the inside
He fired, unloading every bullet remaining in the CA-4’s magazine, marching each flashing hit toward a gap in the plating beneath the Box-Guard’s head, where its flexible neck connected. Jolts of sparks vomited out from behind its single eye-lens, and the leg descended with a juddering clank, stopping just short of grinding Jensen into the dust. He rolled away as the machine repeated the action over and over, never quite completing it, stuck in some kind of loop.
“Jensen!” Pritchard’s nasal shout echoed across the garage. “Quick, get over here before it resets! The door’s clear!”
He sprinted over, mantling the hoods of parked cars. Pritchard held on to an inert mine template draped with dozens of connector wires, while Stacks shouldered open the door, revealing the stairwell beyond. “Gotta go, gotta go!”
“Don’t wait for me.” An idea flashed through Jensen’s mind and he snatched the explosive device out of Pritchard’s hands, reactivating it as he raced back the way he had come. He ignored their calls to follow, pausing long enough to toss the frag mine under the shuddering Box-Guard before doubling back once again.
Jensen was at the door, wrenching it closed behind him when the robot finally snapped itself out of its temporary malaise – and stamped down, right on top of the mine template. The explosive detonated with a flat, loud crack and the Box-Guard toppled.
“So much for the quiet approach,” snapped Pritchard.
Jensen shot him a cold look, and started up the stairs toward the upper level. “Next time, have a better plan.”
* * *
They emerged through a service door and into the main atrium of the SI building. What hit Jensen first was the smell of stale smoke, an acrid stink that lay heavy in the air all around them. Across the reception area, where once there had been illuminated video-pillars showcasing the achievements of Sarif Industries, there was only a mess of half-dismantled machinery and piles of broken office furniture. Along the walls near the sealed main door there was a wide black stain that reached up to the second level of the atrium. The slick of old soot and melted plastic was like a great burn wound.
“Firebombs,” Pritchard said quietly, by way of explanation. “Courtesy of the good people of Detroit. Never mind that the company had nothing to do with the incident.” He shook his head. “Idiots. Like trying to burn down a hospital just because someone gets sick.”
“P-people get afraid, they need someone to blame…” muttered Stacks. “Ain’t no-one’s fuh-fault.”
Jensen saw splashes of paint over the doors and angry scrawls over the glass – slogans like AUGS OUT and DIE HANZERS ! left behind in the aftermath.
He looked away as movement caught his eye. Set out across the atrium, there were stubby, drum-shaped sensor pods endlessly scanning the area with laser rangers. Each had a multi-barreled gun atop them, and they were actively tracking back and forth. The Box-Guard in the parking garage would have sent a warning to all the units on the security network, upping their alert status to full. Above, on the second and third levels, Jensen saw small, wheeled robots wandering in pre-programmed patrol loops, the same kind of armed sentry that had threatened him outside the Chiron Building apartments.
“Typical Tai Yong…” Pritchard crouched in the lee of what used to be the reception desk. “Too cheap to bring in any real security.”
“You forgetting that mech downstairs?” said Jensen.
Pritchard ignored him. “They’re using SI’s own robots, they just reprogrammed them for deterrent duty.” He tugged on a zip at his cuff that opened the sleeve of his coat along the length of his forearm, revealing a flexible keyboard and monitor screen clipped to the inside
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