Jack Yeovil - Demon Download

The girl shrugged and looked at Chantal. There were centuries of something in her eyes. "You and me," the girl said. "We're the same, aren't we?"

"I hope not," said Chantal, ignoring the little fishhook tearing at her heart. "I certainly hope not." The others picked up their dead and wounded. "Now, go home."

The Gaschuggers left the saloon. The girl was the last. She turned and waved to everybody. "G'night, all!"

Then the gang were gone, swallowed up by the darkness outside, saloon doors swinging behind them. Chantal holstered her pistol, and walked over to the bar. "Lady," said the Trooper, "can I buy you a drink?"

"Water."

"Even that. Nothing but the best. Pedro, you chickendirt, get us a couple of waters. Make them pure or I'll promote you from innocent bystanding coward to accomplice in my report."

The bartender shuffled along behind the bar, and produced two glasses and a bottle.

"The Gaschoggers are regular customers, Senor. I can't do notheeng that'd bee bad for beesneess."

"Yeah? Do you have many 'trials' in this place?"

Pedro grunted noncomittally.

Chantal sipped the water. It was pure-spring, uncut.

"Trooper Nathan Stack, at your service ma'am," said the Cav man. The name had been in the initial report.

"You were with Tyree?"

A look of pain came into his bruised nice. "Yes. How d'you know about Leona?"

"I'm from Fort Apache."

"You weren't there when I left. I'd have remembered."

"I got in just yesterday. My name is Chantal Juillerat."

"I beg your pardon."

She spelled it out for him. "Juillerat. It's Swiss. I'm working closely with your government and with Major General Younger. Here is my authorization."

She handed him the papers countersigned by the State Governor, General Haycox and the President's representative. He whistled through his teeth, then winced with pain. He must have taken quite a battering.

"What happened to you?"

Stack gulped his water, but didn't say anything.

"As you can see, I am authorized to take your report. What happened to you? Where's Tyree? Where's your vehicle?"

Stack took another drink, and signalled the bartender for the bottle. The man handed it over, and Stack poured.

"Leona Tyree is dead, Ms Julie-Rat. The cruiser is up at the church, stapling a dead priest to his altar…"

Chantal's eyes must have given her away. Stack dropped his precious glass of water and grabbed her shoulders. He started shaking her.

"This means something to you, doesn't it? What's happening? Why did the cruiser go psycho? Why is Leona dead?"

She took his wrists and forced his hands away from her.

"You're not cleared for that information," she said. "Besides, I don't really know myself. In the morning, well go to St Werburgh's and examine the site. Then maybe we can isolate the problem."

Stack obviously wasn't happy.

"Tomorrow, I'm getting out of here. I have to call in to Apache. I'm days overdue."

"No problem. I have a radio in Federico."

"Federico?"

"My car. I've been in contact with Fort Apache all day."

"Well hell, lady, why didn't you say? Can I call in now?"

"Certainly."

"First, I have to settle up. Pedro?"

The bartender cringed, and failed to look Stack in the face.

"How Much Do I Owe You, Pedro?" Stack asked deliberately, staring at the man.

Pedro was sweating, looking at the floor. There was blood over the bar. Stack's, and the Gaschugger's.

"N-n-nothing, Senor…. eet ees all on thee house."

"Thank You Kindly."

Pedro slunk back, passing a damp cloth over the spilled blood.

"We'll Come Back Soon."

"Good night Senor, Senorita."

Stack left the bar, paused as his pains hit him, and limped towards the doors. Chantal reached out and stopped him.

"You must be tired, Trooper."

He looked puzzled. Then, it hit him. "Yeah, I…I wasn't thinking. Sorry. Thanks."

Chantal walked carefully to the door, unfolding her IR shades. She slipped them on, and the darkness outside went away.

"The one with the claw…"

"Shell."

"Is that his name? Like the oil company? He is crouched down by the row of cykes. The girl…"

"Miss Unleaded."

"Very amusing. She is up on the roof of the abandoned feed store with some sort of rifle. Nothing too high-tech. The others are there too, somewhere."

"Five to two. Those are lousy odds."

"You are right," she said, taking the pumpgun from him, "they hardly have a chance. I shall try not to cause further loss of life."

Stack's jaw dropped.

From her position just by the doors, Chantal had a clear shot at Shell. He was uncomfortable crouched behind the cykes, and kept shifting his weight. The claw must be a recent implant. He wasn't used to carrying it yet. She wondered if he got an unscratchable phantom itch where his fingers used to be. That was supposed to be the insoluble problem with bio-implants.

"Throw something heavy through the doors, please."

"Whatever you say, Ms Julie-rat." Stack picked up a barstool and slung it at the doors. Miss Unleaded's rifle cracked, hitting the stool in mid-air, and Shell stood up, a six-gun in his good hand. When the doors had swung back, Chantal fired low.

The gastank of the first cyke exploded in a brilliant blossom of flame. The whole row went down like dominoes, each tank exploding in turn. Shell was splashed with the burning liquid and ran off, screaming, waving his robobit like a firebrand.

"No wheels, Miss Unleaded," Stack shouted, "how'd you like that?"

A shot ploughed into the hardwood floor of the saloon by the doors.

The small 'chugger Stack had butt-thumped earlier came hurtling through the doors, screaming and firing wildly.

Stack drew his side-arm and plugged him under the right eye. He staggered backwards, his face on fire, already dead as the flames caught his gas-soaked hair and clothes.

"Darn," he said, "I guess I just lost me some life."

Outside, on the porch, the Gaschugger exploded.

"People who drink gasoline shouldn't smoke cigars," Stack said.

No one spoke for a minute. There were shouts outside, and people running away.

"It's clear," Chantal said.

Pedro rushed out from behind the bar with a bucket of sand and doused the burning corpse on his wooden porch, kicking the fire out and the 'chugger into the street. The cykes were still burning, and he had to call for someone called Pauncho to help him put that blaze out before it spread to the saloon.

Stack and Chantal left the saloon. Pedro swore at them in Spanish. Chantal was amused by the range of his imagery.

Federico was parked just across the street. When she had arrived in town, the Silver Byte was the only place lit up and she had gone there for directions to the church.

"Is this your car?" Stack asked.

She nodded. Stack whistled again.

Chantal tapped in the entry code, and Federico's driver's side door raised with a slight hiss.

"Federico."

"Yes," it said, switching to English for Stack's sake.

"Contact Fort Apache."

The automatic signal was sent out. There was a pause. Across the street, Pedro and Pauncho had the fire under control but were still swearing.

"Fort Apache does not respond."

"That's not possible," said Stack.

"Repeat: Fort Apache does not respond."

Chantal's hand went to her throat. She fiddled with the chain of her crucifix.

"Attempt to override. Try the personal channels for Brevet Major General Marshall Younger, Colonel Vladek Rintoon, and so on down the chain of command."

Federico worked in silence, a few lights on the dash going on and off.

"No response registered."

"Is Fort Apache down?" Stack asked.

"Fort Apache reads normal. It does not respond."