Machine Man (serial)

Better Future guards encircled the car, pointing weapons at us. “Let me see your hands!” one yelled, and another said, “Now! Do it!” in case there was any confusion. They seemed more nervous now than when Lola and I had been trying to drive a car through them. A young guard pulled open my door and jumped back as if I might bite. When I turned my head to follow him he screamed: “He’s moving!”

“Hold it!” This was the older guy with the mustache. He edged closer. “He’s not wearing the legs!”

“Confirm that!”

“Roger! Subject has no legs!”

Guns disappeared into holsters. I felt humiliated.

“Get them into the van,” said the Mustache. “Double time.”

Hands reached for me. “Go to hell,” I said, and was ignored. Two guys got me under the armpits and pulled me out of the car. “At least bring my legs, you pricks!” I tried to twist around to see if I was being obeyed. I caught a glimpse of guards dragging Lola out of the driver’s seat, and another guy peering through the side window.

“Here… no, wait, they’re not the legs! They’re just crutches!”

“Where are the legs?” said one of the guys carrying me. He spoke with no strain: I was that light.

“I broke them.”

A black town car slid to a halt in front of us. All its doors popped open at the same time. From the rear emerged someone I hadn’t seen for a while: Cassandra Cautery. Her hair was different. I’m not sure how. It had changed from one style I don’t know the name of to another style I don’t know the name of. But she looked different in a way that made clear the unidirectional nature of time. She looked like progress.

Her glance flicked over me and settled on the Mustache. “The legs?”

“We haven’t—”

“Find them.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And put him in the car.” She glanced over her shoulder, at nothing but an empty road, as far as I could tell. “We have time, I think.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I realized the Mustache was nervous. Which would have made sense, if he had initially been nervous because he thought I was an artificially augmented fighting machine, and now because his boss had showed up. Except he had not relaxed in between. Additionally, Cassandra Cautery seemed on edge. What all this implied was that there was some external cause of tension I had not yet identified.

The guards carried me toward the town car. Then there was a noise, a kind of crunch from somewhere far away, and everybody stopped. A siren wailed; either a car or a house alarm, I couldn’t tell which.

“Screw,” said Cassandra Cautery. “He’s coming.”

133.