Now, on a human body, a Taser was enough to overwhelm the nerve impulses from the brain and cause temporary paralysis and muscle spasms. But on an android carapace that hadn’t been properly combat shielded against the threat, the shorts created by that much electrical discharge running through its servos and circuits was absolutely devastating.
Apparently, Paris hadn’t ticked off that particular manufacturer’s option when ordering her new sex kitten body. She fell unceremoniously to the ground in a mangled lump without so much as a scream.
Tyson scrambled unsteadily to his feet and pulled up his pants. Elsa ran over to help brace him.
“We have to go.”
“But she’s dead.”
Tyson shook his head. “No, her body is. She is rebooting in the tower’s computer system. Let’s go.” They passed by Paris’s crumpled body. Elsa gave her a contemptuous little kick to the head.
“Why did she attack you? Not that I don’t understand the impulse, mind you.”
Tyson ignored the jab as they entered the lift. “We have our answer from whoever is employing Beckham. They hacked her, I don’t know how long ago.” A horrible thought went through Tyson’s mind as the doors closed. “Wait. Is that outfit from the tailor I sent to you?”
“No, it didn’t come in time.”
“Oh fuck.” Tyson threw her to the floor without warning, then dropped on top of her.
“What the hell are you doing!?” she shouted, but Tyson was too busy pulling up his collar and throwing a concealed hood over his head. He positioned his arms and legs to cover Elsa’s own just as pop-out doors flipped open and gunfire erupted from the ceiling. The bullets slammed into Tyson’s back and shoulders with ferocious impact, one after the other, dozens a second like hundreds of tiny sledgehammers.
“I thought you said the security was disabled!” Elsa shouted, clearly on the verge of panic.
“It was,” he yelled back. “Paris is an AI, remember? You really think I can keep her out of a computer network for long?”
“Why aren’t you dead?”
“Because my suit is bullet-resistant.”
“Then why are you wincing?”
“Because it still bloody fucking hurts!”
After a few seconds of the maelstrom, the shooting ceased as the automatic guns ran dry of ammo.
“I really wanted to do this the easy way, Tyson.” The once-familiar voice had taken on a malicious, detached tone. “It would have been so much cleaner if you’d just let me do my job in the penthouse.”
“Paris, sweetie, you’ve been hacked. Someone reprogrammed you. Run a deep diagnostic scan,” Tyson pleaded.
The voice ignored him entirely. “But now there will be regrettable collateral damage, and I’ll have to come up with a very creative explanation for the mess.”
“Why doesn’t she just stop the elevator?” Elsa whispered.
“Because she’s taking us exactly where she wants us to go.”
“Where?”
“The lobby.”
“But that’s where we want to go.”
“Not anymore it isn’t. Right now, she’s infiltrating the operating system of the marine sentry mecha hidden in the lobby.”
“You have one of those walking tanks in your building?”
“It’s for vehicle-based terrorist attacks. Almost every corporate HQ has one.”
“And now it’s going to turn us into jelly. You people are paranoid lunatics.”
“We can’t stay in here or we’ll be liquified with the first shot. Our only chance is to run the millisecond these doors open. You go left, I’ll go right. It’ll have trouble tracking both of us at once.”
“Hope you don’t mind if I’m praying a little bit it goes for you first.”
“A scientist, praying?”
Elsa removed her heels. “Figure of speech.”
The elevator chimed as they reached the lobby, which it didn’t usually do. Doubtlessly Paris trying to unnerve him further. The doors rolled open, and right on cue, the two of them sprang out of the lift like jackrabbits and ran in opposite directions. On the far side of the lobby, the three-meter-tall, faceted silhouette of the mecha had indeed emerged from its cubbyhole and turned to face them, much faster than Tyson had expected for such a large machine. Nor did it seem to have any trouble tracking two targets independently. He hadn’t made it three steps before the shoulder-mounted rocket pod snapped around to face him, while the anti-material cannon on its right arm tracked Elsa. There was a tremendous Whoosh and a flash of light.
The explosion wasn’t like in the holos. There was no billowing orange fireball or black, sooty mushroom cloud. It didn’t blow them theatrically off their feet, carrying them through the lobby and depositing them ten meters away. It was too fast for any of that. Instead, it was like a lightning strike and a thunderclap, over in a split second. And instead of being thrown, the concussion was like being punched in the stomach, chest, and face simultaneously.
Tyson fell to the ground, his hearing ringing violently as if he’d been boxed in the ears. The taste of copper leaked onto his tongue. He came up to one knee to try and reorient himself, shocked and confused as to why he was still alive.
The repurposed military mecha that had threatened to turn them into a fine puree only a moment ago lay on its side with a significant, smoking hole missing from its torso as if someone had bored through it with a drill bit as thick as his calf. Elsa lay crumpled in a pile behind him and to the left, swearing gently to herself. Tyson sympathized.
A hand reached in front of his face and offered to help him up. Tyson looked up to see—
“Reggie?”
“Are you okay, sir?” his longtime doorman asked.
“I’m a little rattled. What the hell just happened?” That was when Tyson noticed the hollow, telescoping cylinder still clutched in Reggie’s left hand. It took a moment for his brain to accept what he was seeing.
“Reggie, why are you holding a disposable antiarmor rocket tube?”
“To break the scary death machine.” He pointed at the smoldering
