Jack Yeovil - Demon Download

"You see Rocky VIII, boy? I just love it when ole Sly puts Whoopi Goldberg down on the canvas and sticks it to the bitch? That's my idea of a fair fight."

Stack grit his teeth. Exxon drew his fist back and took a good shot. Stack's jaw popped, and he felt rather than tasted his mouth fill up with blood. He tried to roll with it, but he was held so that only his head could move. His skull rolled on his neck like a punchball. Everythng was shaking. His lips were mashed against his teeth, his cheek was squeezed against the bone. Blood was trickling from his nostrils.

"Ouch, that hurt," Exxon complained, holding up his hand. His knuckles were red and black with blood and soot.

"Well, looky looky looky here comes cookie, what have we got here?"

He wiped his hand on his overalls, then took an oily rag from his pocket and rubbed Stack's face. The soot came off.

"Pardonnez-moi, Trooper Damfool. We've been labourin' under a misapprehension, ain't we boys? You sure ain't a person of the negroid jungle bunny persuasion after all. You're as white as they come."

The 'chuggers laughed. The black 'chugger caressed his claw and gave a slow-burning grin. One of his teeth was inset with black dots like a die. He snapped the air with his robobit. It looked like expensive workmanship. GenTech, maybe, or Sony. He clacked his claw like a lobster.

"Such a shame. We got laws here in Welcome, Trooper. Don't you know it's an offence to impersonate a nigra? We gonna have us a trial."

The 'chuggers whooped and cheered.

"Mr Persecution?" Exxon asked.

"Yes, your honour," replied Mobil.

"Sum up the case for the State of Arizona versus Freakin' Zeroid Ratskag, here?"

Mobil shoved his thumbs under the lapels of his overalls, and strutted up and down. "Well, Your Judgeship, it seems to me that what we have here is a plain case of violation of the law. The accused ain't no nigra, that's clear as can be. But he certainly was attemptin' to deceive the good folks of this township. I calls me a witness. Call Mr Shell…"

The lobsterman stepped forward. "Present."

"Mr Shell," began Exxon, "do you promise to tell the whole truth, the only truth, the truthiest truth and nothing but the Big T truth or else Gawd come down and rip your gazebos off?"

"Ah do," Shell said in a rich bass, holding up his claw.

"Have you anything to say?"

"Yeah, Ah'd like a babycham!"

"Objection!" shouted Mobil.

"Suss-stained," said Exxon. "Witness will keep to the point."

"Sorry, your dealership," said Shell. "But it's as clear as the day is long. Honky moonfaced motherfreakin' pig whiteboy cracker candy-ass citified whelk-lovin' yellowlegs old cowhand from the Rio Grande scumsuckin' geek here is guilty as Judas and twice as dead."

"Yeah," agreed Mobil, "an' he's got a charge sheet as long as my dick."

"First offender, huh?" said the girl. Everyone except Mobil laughed. Mobil sniffed the air, his face reddening, and backhanded Stack across the mouth.

"Mr Persecution, Mr Persecution, I request that you respect the honour o' this court or else I shall be compelled to have you removed from here to a place of animal husbandry and forcibly washed until you are clean."

"I apologize, Mr Judge."

"Apology suss-stained. We will hear from the Council for the Fence. Miss Unleaded?"

The girl stepped forwards, tears starting from her eyes, and waved Stack's pumpgun dramatically in the air.

"The quality of mercy is not strained," Unleaded began. "It droppeth as the gentle rain from Heaven upon the place beneath: it is twice blessed…"

The 'chuggers quieted down. Shell kicked the jukebox, and it shut up too.

"…it blesseth him that gives and him that takes. Tis mightiest in the mightiest. It becomes the throned monarch better than his crown; his sceptre shows the force of temporal power, the attribute to awe and majesty wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings; but mercy is above the sceptred sway, it is enthroned in the hearts of kings, it is an attribute of God himself, and earthly power doth then show likest God's when mercy seasons justice. But, in this case, my client is guilty as a fatcat in a fish tank and it is the recommendation of the Fence that you shoot the freaker's head off tout de suite."

"Thank you for your eloquence, Miss Unleaded. Members of the Jury, have you reached a verdict?"

Everybody roared in the affirmative.

"And is it the verdict of you all?"

Another roar.

"How do you find the accused?"

"GUILTY!"

Exxon took a black handkerchief from his pocket, folded it into a sailboat, and perched it on his head. Then, he pulled a revolver out of his waistband. It was a Wildey, one of those class tools they made a lot bigger than they needed to.

"Looks like we're gonna have to execute you on the spot, Mr Accused. Sorry, chum, but that's the way it's gotta be. We don't have no choice in the matter. It's the laws that made this country great."

He pulled back the hammer and cocked the gun. If he fired it one-handed, he was going to break his wrist. If he fired it now, the ScumStopper—he just knew Exxon would be packing SS balls—would make an inch-wide hole going in below his nose and above his mouth, and take off the entire back of his head. The frags would probably kill Mobil and the 'chugger holding his arms.

But maybe Exxon didn't care. Whatever, it wouldn't make any difference to Stack.

Exxon shut one eye, and exerted pressure on the trigger. He was showing off, and didn't have the strength in one hand to apply the pull. He took a two-handed grip, and shimmied a little to get a good stance. The gunsight scraped Stack's bloody nose.

Mobil and the other 'chugger got out of the way.

"Do you have any last words, convict?"

Stack couldn't think of any, so he spat blood and said "freak you."

"Time will pass, Troopie, and seasons will come and go. Soon, summer with her shimmering heatwaves on the baked horizon. Then, fall with her yellow harvest moon and the irrigated hills growing golden under the sinking sun. Then winter with its biting, whining wind and the land mantled over white with snow…"

This had the feel of a learned-by-rote speech. Golden hills were a long time ago.

"…and finally, spring again with its waving green grass, and heaps of sweet-smelling flowers on every lull…"

The hammer went back. Exxon's fingers began to squeeze.

"…BUT YOU FREAKIN' WONT BE HERE TO SEE NONE OF THEM, PECKERWOOD!"

A gun went off. A skull exploded. A body stood for a moment, strangely relaxed, men fell like a bag of laundry, sprawling on the barroom floor.

Stack, still shaking, looked from Exxon's corpse to the saloon doors, and the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life walked through carrying a smoking gun.

If she had been three foot ten, weighed four hundred and ninety pounds and wore a goatee beard, she would still have been the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life.

The fort had changed. Nothing had exploded in flames. The consoles weren't spitting out showers of sparks. Blood was not running out of the shower-heads. Lauderdale's cadre of armoured android "pacifiers" had not turned on their masters and put every human being in sight to the electrosword. Apart from Younger's jammed elevator, nothing was obviously malfunctioning. But something had changed. Captain Cat Finney was running a complete systems check, and nothing irregular was showing up. The big input had apparently vanished.

Colonel Rintoon was still going around muttering "monitor error," but Finney wasn't swallowing that. If there were false readings, they were getting them now rather than earlier. What would the Mullah I Naseruddin do, she wondered? Probably give up until it went away.