La Pistola Y El Mecánico Corazón

Miles passed through several security airlocks, and way too many dusty air ducts for his taste while the Maiden kept making references to a motion picture called Die Hard—which he never saw. They finally came to a new concrete corridor, high enough for them to stop crouching. There, near a bend in a spider-webbed passageway, they heard a scream.

“Who was that?” Miles asked. “Fate?”

Having recently taken the lead, the pilot pressed his face against the closest grate. Below, in a rectangular control room with walls covered with aluminum foil and TV screens, his friend was sitting in a chair, her hands handcuffed on a table; as if enduring a Techno-Police interrogation. Glittering blood had dried on her shoulder and right cheek. Due to her strange regeneration skills, she had no apparent injuries.

After freeing his arm from a dust-frozen spider web, Miles began to take down the grate, wide enough for him to pass through. But when the rusty screw squeaked, the Data Maiden immediately stopped him.

“Don’t be in a rush to die,” she whispered. “Look closer instead.”

Miles’ gaze fell on the four immobile steel golems positioned at each corner of the room, like guardian statues in an ancient Buddhist temple.

With her swift fingers, Zéphyr began silently bending a pair of horizontal strips to clear their view as much as possible. “Not only that…” she pursued, coming closer to her hasty sidekick.

Miles chuckled. “I guess you found him after all…”

Leaning against the left wall near a control panel rising to the high ceiling, Mr. Turban from the ominous WarTech corporation was tapping away at the computer embedded in his wrist without ever taking his eyes off his captive. Connected to the adjacent console through a wire, his implant beeped and a CRT above him displayed a string of green commands.

Zéphyr’s orbs changed from white to gray. “He just gave permission for an elevator to bring someone here.”

“Poncho?”

“Safe bet.”

Elevator’s doors opened on the right. Quickly followed the sound of metallic footsteps and boots. Moreno walked in, accompanied by two WarTech staff members in blue uniforms and red helmets. Just as he had supposedly entered the room, the turbanned man’s bodyguards stopped watching Fate’s every move and turned to face the robotic assassin behind her, suspiciously alert.

“Well, well. We could kill two birds with one stone,” Miles grunted, clenching his fist. Poncho immediately looked up at the ventilation grate, and the pilot took a step back. “Shit!”

“Keep your cool…” the Maiden whispered.

“Easy to say. I’m not a professional spy.”

“Weren’t you a rough-rider on Canyon Creek? Keeping your blood pressure low under stress is on your skillset.”

Miles welcomed the cutting remark with a grimace.

“Ah! Here he is, coming for his reward!” the turbaned man then uttered. “He wants it in person. And in gold. No fancy intraweb transfers and off-world intermediaries that might get him beeping on Techno-radars, they told me after you almost compromised our hideout upstairs…”

The two infiltrators moved closer to the gate again to observe the scene and they saw the corpo walk up to the table, before grabbing Fate’s chin. When she raised her eyes filled with tears and hatred, his black lips shivered.

“But what can I say? You sure know how to deliver,” the turbaned man resumed as the two engineers backed away towards the elevator. “You’re always been a hell of a professional, Poncho…”

Moreno didn’t answer. He started observing the MKs one by one, before fixing the corpo with his fiery eyes shining under his sombrero.

Mr. Turban left Fate alone. “Except for one thing.” He paused, facing the hitbot. “You’ve frequently insisted on seeing me in person. That’s rather odd regarding your business, and pretty unusual concerning my status.”

Again, Poncho remained silent and Miles began to wonder what his problem was.

“But. Since today you really did a marvelous job by catching the girl, I chose to grant you your wish. To ensure our good relationship… and get some answers, perhaps.” He sat on the table next to Fate. “But I don’t want to be rude since we’re meeting for the first time, my dear mute friend. Should I offer you something to drink? I don’t know how you guys treat guests in the Universal Matrix or whatever your social structure—or religion—is called.”

“No es la primera vez que nos vemos,” Poncho snapped, talking for the first time ever in front of Miles—and apparently the turbaned man.

“So you do speak after all. And Spanish. Sadly, Spanish is frowned upon on Mars. The French and their pride…”

“He said you met before…” Fate muttered.

The WarTech agent glared at her, and the two MKs behind him moved closer. “Did we? I don’t think so, even though those old machines all look the same—neat sombrero, by the way.” The corporate thug took a step back after untying Fate by snapping his fingers over her cuffs. The woman wanted to jump at his throat, but she was immediately interrupted by the two guards grabbing her arms and jaw.

“No es la primera vez…” Poncho repeated.

“Alright. Then, I crave to hear why you insisted on seeing me…” Mr. Turban went on before his smile slowly froze, making his last words sound like a threat.

The answer came faster than expected from the laconic robot, who lifted his poncho to reveal his tri-cannon shotgun. He pointed it straight at the backtracking corpo while the two other MKs from each side of the elevator doors raised their machine guns. Poncho’s weapon beeped as his smart aim locked its targets.

“What the hell are they doing?” Miles asked, turning to Zéphyr. “Are they going to shoot each other?”

The Maiden shrugged without taking her eyes off the crazy gunslinger. In the end, she didn’t always know everything. “We’ll step in when the last shell falls to the ground,” she said. “Not before.”

“What about Fate?”

“She better pray to whatever God she believes in.”

“You’re a fool, you piece of junk! There are five of us against you,” threatened the turbaned man as he pulled Fate against him as a meat shield, his cyber-hand on the back of her neck. “I still don’t know what’s motivating your kamikaze thoughts all of a sudden, but you’ll never get out of here. And even if you do, the merciless Moon will fall on you before you get out of the Rings. Lower your weapon!”

The robot cocked his gun.

“It’s suicide!”

“Yes…” Poncho concluded in English.

The rogue hitbot fired at metal golems surrounding his main target. Decapitated by this first discharge, the right MK collapsed on the table, taking it down with him. The second MK on the left immediately retaliated but his weapon jammed.

Targeted by the two other mechanical guards behind him, Poncho leaped to the ceiling like a wildcat. With his left hand, he grabbed a pipe before swiveling to shoot at the two backstabbers. Misfires riddled with holes the MK still standing near the table. Poncho’s weapon locked a new target, and one of the elevator MKs went down as quickly as the first one.

The fight had turned to three versus one.

“What the hell?” Miles reacted.

Fate disappeared behind the knocked-down table with the corpo who took cover there. Worried, Miles slammed the gate with his shoulder before the Data Maiden could intervene.

“Wait!” she screamed.

Too late. Carried away by his momentum, the pilot awkwardly toppled into the void. The single eye of the remaining MKs turned to him, allowing Poncho to jump on his closest prey by the exit. A violent hand-to-hand ensued.

Miles swore before getting up. The black powder smell tickled his nose. He sneezed on the MK with the punctured chest.

“You gotta be kidding me…” Miles whined, before being grabbed by the collar by the injured giant.

Ready to get smashed into a pulp, Miles closed his eyes. But Zéphyr finally came to the rescue, leaping onto the shoulders of the steel killer. The legs around the severed neck, she contorted herself to reach a panel located near the machine’s lumbar. After struggling for a few seconds, the android stopped. Miles slipped out of his embrace.

“Thank you…” Miles coughed, massaging his throat before she kicked the golem down. Behind her, the Mexican hitbot was almost done dealing with the other.

She rushed towards the table. “He’s gone…” she said.

“What?”

Miles dashed to the turbaned man’s cover, and shoved it out of his way. On the floor, a secret corridor was open and a staircase led wetly into the depths of the complex. “This guy…”

“My mistake. I should have seen that on the blueprints… unless it’s new.” Zéphyr said, overlooking the steep stairway. “Time’s running out. We gotta motor!”

But from behind, a beeping sound from Poncho’s weapon decided otherwise.

Both raised their arms.