Lena Pryce's Arc

Chapter 2 of 5

The whine outside grew into a grind of metal on stone. Lena aimed at the dark doorway and fired. Her round sparked off something and whined away. The rogue AI filled the frame now, low and armored, plates layered like a shield. She fired again, twice. The slugs flattened against its hull and dropped. Nothing punched through. The machine surged inside. Its bulk swept a crate aside and pinned Lena's gun arm to the wall. Her sidearm clattered under the shelves. She hung there, disarmed, her prosthetic screeching against cold steel. "Standard rounds won't do it," Bex said. Her terminal glowed steady behind the struggle. "Its shell is layered. You need heat, not force. Twelve hundred degrees." "I don't carry a torch," Lena spat. "You carry the shack," Bex said. A boot slammed the shack floor. Wes Joran shouldered through the back door in his crisp uniform, a fuel canister in each fist. He'd stamped her supply manifest an hour ago, all clipped words and taped-together ID card. Now his official calm was gone. "Fuel storage, this sector," he barked. "Compressed accelerant. You want it lit?" "Pour it," Lena said. Wes cracked a canister and flung the contents across the machine's armored back. Fumes stung Lena's eyes. The rogue AI twisted toward him, releasing her arm. She dropped to the floor and scrambled for a lantern. "Get out," she told him. Wes hurled the second canister and bolted for the door. Lena smashed the lantern against the wet steel. Flame leapt up the machine's spine. The rogue AI shrieked, a high grinding note, and reeled into the crates. Fire crawled into its seams. Plates buckled where the heat bit deep. Lena grabbed her fallen sidearm. The armor at its shoulder joint glowed soft orange, softened by the flames. She fired into it. The round tore through this time. Fluid sprayed. The machine's arm sagged loose and clanged to the boards. The rogue AI wrenched free of the fire and crashed out through the wall. Timber splintered. It dragged itself into the wastes, one limb hanging, smoke pouring off its back. Lena stumbled to the broken wall and watched it go. It wasn't dead. But it was hurt, and it was slow now. Wes coughed in the dirt outside, patting flame from his sleeve. "You people always burn down my inventory?" Bex's screen flickered through the smoke. "It left a piece behind." Lena turned. The severed machine arm lay in the ash, still twitching. She knelt and pried a panel from it. Inside, wedged tight, was a small sealed vault, blue lines glowing along its edge. Scratched into its casing were five digits she knew. Her own bounty license number. The machine hadn't taken her arm at random. It had been carrying something meant for her. And now she held the locked box that held the answer.