A Rage for Revenge

1 The Spider

"Don't move!" I said it very softly.

"Huh-?" The kid came crashing through the bushes behind me.

"And don't talk!"

The spider was nearly twice as tall as a man. It looked confused. It stood in the center of a grassy clearing, turning itself hesitantly this way and that. It was a dark oblate shape poised motionless on six gangly legs. It hadn't seen us yet, but its big black eyes were swiveling back and forth in a restless, searching motion. It was looking for the source of the sound; we'd surprised it. I wondered if we could fade quietly back into the bushes. Alone, I could have done it

"What is it?" the kid blurted.

All four of the spider's eyes came jerking around to focus on us. "Shit." I touched the phonebox on my belt and punched CONTROL. "This is JIMBO. I've got a spider. I think it's rogue."

The phone spoke instantly into my ear. "We copy. Stand by." The spider unslung a torch from beneath its belly and brought the nozzle around to bear on us. Its red lights came on with an angry glare and it spoke with a hard metal voice. "FREEZE WHERE YOU ARE!"

The phone spoke into my ear again. "What model?"

I replied as softly as I could manage. "I can't see the serial number. But it's one of the big ones. A Robinson. Vigilante, I think. Industrial chassis. Looks like a riot-control model; it's armored and it's got police fixtures. And . . . yes, military ordnance."

"PUT YOUR HANDS ON YOUR HEADS!" the spider ordered. "TAKE THREE STEPS FORWARD!"

"We copy that too," said the phone emotionlessly.

"And it looks like it's been wounded. It's got scorch marks, scratches, and a couple bad dents. And it's moving slower than it ' should." I wondered who-or what-had put those dents in it. The phone didn't respond.

"PUT YOUR HANDS ON YOUR HEADS! TAKE THREE STEPS FORWARD!"

"Sir-?" the kid quavered. "Shouldn't we do as it says?"

I nodded. "Very . . . slowly." I took a step forward. Then another. And a third. I brought my hands up slowly. I glanced sideways to see what the kid was doing. "Don't. Try. Anything."

"Uh-huh," the kid gulped. He looked like he was about to faint. I hoped he wouldn't. It might be fatal.

The spider was studying us with a full sensory scan. There was something wrong with its brain. It was taking too long and it kept repeating its movements.

My phone reported, "Be very careful! You were right. It is a Vigilante-it's one of the hypered ones. It fell out of the net three weeks ago, we don't know why. And it won't respond to recall. What's it doing now?"

"Looking us over. But it's taking too long."

"It can't make up its mind if you're friend or foe. It probably can't read your dogtags."

"Shit. Have you got an override code?"

"We're not sure when it went down, so we don't know what its codes were at the time of the event. It might still be updating-or it might have locked down when the channel broke."

"And the bad news is . . . ?" I prompted.

"You get to choose which code you want to try. You only get one guess."

There wasn't time to think. I said, "Give me the override cod operative at its last contact."

"Right."

"LOWER YOUR WEAPONS SLOWLY!" the spider bellowed. The phone spoke syllables into my ear.

"Say again?"

"LOWER YOUR WEAPONS SLOWLY!"

I unhitched my rifle from my shoulder and slid it very slowly to the grass. I shrugged out of my backpack too and stepped carefully away from it. . . .

The phone was repeating the override code a third time. "Did you get that?"

"Got it." If the spider was still talking, we had a chance.

I took a step forward. The huge machine rebalanced itself, refocusing and readying its weaponry suspiciously. I spoke loudly and clearly. "Code: Zero. Niner. Charlie. Apple. Six. Emergency override. Priority Alpha."

"STAY WHERE YOU ARE!"

I repeated the code. Louder this time. "Emergency override. Priority Alpha."

The spider beeped. It clicked. Then it requested in a more courteous tone, "Password?"

My mouth was so dry it hurt. We'd gotten first-level recognition-but that didn't mean anything, not if we had the wrong password. I cleared my throat.

"Eternal vigilance is the price of liberty."

"Password?" the spider repeated.

"Eternal vigilance is the price of liberty."

"What is the password?" the spider asked impatiently. "You have ten seconds."

Oh, God. What if its recognition functions were damaged? I stretched the middle finger of my right hand across the back of my left toward the panel on my wrist. "Eternal vigilance-" I nudged the arming button. "-is the price of liberty."

This time the spider hesitated. Thinking about it? One touch of my finger . . . and I might be able to make that spider really angry. Damn. It was too heavily armored. The rockets in the backpack might stop a worm; they couldn't handle this. The best I could do was wound the thing-and maybe buy enough time for an escape.

The question was--could I outrun a four-meter Vigilante spider in hot pursuit?

I did not feel lucky.

Abruptly, the spider beeped and said, "Password accepted."

"Command:" I said. "Disable for inspection. Now."

The spider hesitated. "What is the password?" it asked. "You have ten seconds."

Huh?

"Sir-?" asked the kid. "Is it supposed to do that?"

I shook my head. "Shut up." I raised my voice again. "Eternal vigilance is the price of liberty."

Again, a long hesitation. "Password accepted."

I thought hard for a moment. The spider would accept the password. Maybe. But it wouldn't accept any other commands. To the phone, I said, "Are you getting all this?"

"We copy," said the voice in my ear. "Stand by. We're looking at options."

"Terrific. So am I." The spider had three flame-throwers, two rocket-launchers, and assorted other frightfulnesses all slung neatly beneath its belly-several of which were targeted at us.

"What is the password?" the spider demanded.

Dammit! The bloody thing was stuck! It could recognize the password, but it couldn't pass that recognition back-so it couldn't get out of the loop. How long did we have before its internal monitor realized it was stuck? Once that happened, it would go on to the next option and no password would be effective.

"Try the next password," whispered the phone.

My nose itched. I wanted desperately to scratch. I didn't dare. I shouted at the giant spider, "Hell hath no fury like a pacifist." The spider swiveled sideways and stopped to consider. "Password accepted," it said. "What is the password?"

The kid said, "Sir-?"

"Shut the fuck up." I was getting angry. On a hunch, I shouted, "Half of being smart is knowing what you're dumb at!"

The spider thought about that one too. "Password accepted." Right. It was worse than I thought. The spider recognized everything as a password. But when the accepted phrase didn't match up with the phrase stored in its memory, it had to start all over. It would have been funny-if there weren't two lives at stake.

"What is the password?"

An unlikely thought occurred to me. No, it was a very stupid idea. Still . . .

I called out to the spider, "There was a young man named O'Quinn-" and took a step backward.

"Password accepted. What is the password?" Maybe, just maybe . . .

"With inordinate interest in skin!" I took another step backward. So did the kid. Sideways and backward. Away from the pack. The spider swiveled its cameras to follow us, but said only,' "Password accepted."

"His singular goal--" Sideways and backward. "What is the password?"

"When he found a hole .." Sideways-"Password accepted."

"Was to do what he could . . . to get in!" -and backward! It was working!

I glanced at the kid. His face was white. "Easy," I whispered. He gulped and nodded.

My phone asked, "What are you doing?"

I ignored it. How far back were the bushes? "There was a young fellow named Howard-" Dare I risk two steps? No. The spider took longer to accept this one. Maybe it knew someone named Howard? And why hadn't the monitor kicked in? "Who was thought to be magically powered-"

"Password accepted."

I glanced backward. Not too much farther. "His dick was so short-"

"Accepted."

"It looked like a wart-" One more step. I looked to the kid. "Get ready --- "

"What is the password?"

"But when it stood up, it just-" And touched the button on my wrist.

The backpack on the ground exploded. Two rockets smoked straight for the spider. It jerked around to face them. I didn't wait to see if they hit-I rolled backward and into the bushes. The kid was already ahead of me. We crashed through the trees

Behind us, something went off with a roar. A hammer of air slammed us forward. I heard the sound of a torch-the spider was roasting the backpack! And then a siren! It was coming after us!

We tumbled into the Jeep and screeched backward up the hill. "Grab the heavy-launcher!" The kid was already digging in the rear. I found a place to turn around and pointed the Jeep up the road.

"It's following us!" the kid screamed.

I glanced back. The spider was staggering unevenly across the slope with an uncertain, tentative gait. That spider should have flamed us instantly. Whoever had damaged it had bought us a chance. Its cameras were swiveling frantically back and forth, looking for a target, trying to lock on.

My phone was screaming in my ear; I pulled the headset off and tossed it aside. I put the Jeep on automatic-a dangerous thing to do; it probably wasn't smart enough to track a dirt road- swung into the back and grabbed the heavy-launcher from the kid. "Get out of the way."

I braced myself in the back of the Jeep and took careful aim at the spider. We bounced like a spring. I wished for a steady-sight laser. I had to give the rocket enough time to identify its target and lock on-I hoped to God the spider didn't find us first!

The green light came on. I squeezed the trigger.

The rocket escaped with a whooosh! It arced down the hill, zigzagging back and forth, only turning at the very last moment toward the target. The spider exploded. It disappeared in three-one right after the other-flowering bursts of orange flame, each one larger than the last, all curling into a mushrooming billow of greasy black smoke. We could feel the heat and blast from here. Pebbles and dirt and hot oil spattered down around us.

The Jeep was bumping suddenly across the grass. It had lost the road. I turned to leap forward, but the kid was ahead of me. He was already sliding down into the seat, taking over the controls and bringing us to a bouncing, spring-banging stop.

We sat there for a moment, just breathing hard and wondering at the surprise of still being alive. The day was bright and cold. The air smelled suddenly sweet-even sweeter for the oily scent of the burning spider behind us.

"Towered?" the kid asked. "The last word is towered?"

I looked over at him.

"Get out of the car," I said.

"Huh?"

"Get out of the car!"

"I don't understand-"

I swung myself over the side of the Jeep, walked around to the driver's side, grabbed the kid by the shirt, and pulled him out of ' his seat as hard as I could. I jerked him rudely across the ground and slammed him hard up against the broken wall of some ; forgotten building. I held him there-my knee braced between his 9 legs, my wrist across his throat, and the barrel of my gun up his left nostril-and lowered my voice. "Your stupidity nearly got us killed," I said. "I told you 'Don't move,' and you came crashing through the bushes like a boar in heat. I told you not to talk and you had to ask why, what was happening? That spider was half blind. We could have faded back into the bushes if you hadn't opened your mouth."

"We got away okay, didn't we-?" he gasped. "Please, Lieutenant, you're hurting me!"

I cocked the pistol and put my face very close to his. His eyes were round with terror. Good. I wanted him awake enough to hearl this. "Do you want to be my partner or my enemy?"

"Sir, Please-!"

I leaned on his throat a little harder. "Are you my partner or my enemy?"

"Part-ner," he croaked.

"Thank you." I eased my grip a little; he gasped for air. "So that means when I give an order, you're going to follow it. Right?"

He nodded. "Yes. Sir."

"Immediately-and without question. Right?" He gulped and swallowed and managed to nod. "Do you know why I'm telling you this?"

He shook his head. The sweat was beading on his brow. "Because I'm trying to save your life. I'm assuming, of course, that you are survival-driven. If I'm mistaken in this assumption, please tell me now so I can get out of your way. I promise I won't interfere. You want to die, that's fine by me. I like paperwork. It's nice and safe. But I won't have you endangering my life too."

"Yes . . . sir." His words came hard.

"You remember this and we'll get along just fine, Private. The next time I give you an order you're going to follow it as if your life depends on it-right? Because it does. Because if you don't follow my orders, I'll take your fucking head off, do you hear me?"

"Yessir!"

"And I'm not going to hear any more fucking questions either-isn't that also right? You don't have the right to ask them. You are lower than whale shit. The only answer you need is this one: 'Because I'm your superior officer and I say so.' Right?"

"Yessir!"

I let go of him and stepped back, reholstering my pistol. He hesitated, then started tucking his shirt back into his pants. He glared over at me, but didn't speak. There was hatred in his eyes.

"Go ahead, try it," I said. "I know what you're thinking. Go ahead. I don't want there to be any doubt."

He dropped his eyes. He still hated me, but he wasn't going to swing.

He came up at me suddenly, swinging with a roundhouse punch that would have knocked the wind out of me if I had still been there to receive it. I was already stepping back on one foot. I grabbed his arm and pulled, tripping him as he came. He sprawled flat in the dirt and skidded.

I walked over to him, kicked him gently to roll him over on his back, and offered him a hand. He refused it and sat up.

I grinned. "Want to try for two out of three?"

He shook his head.

I offered him my hand again. He refused it again and stood up by himself, brushing himself off. His expression was still smoldering.

"What's your name, Private?"

"McCain," he grumbled. "Jon McCain."

"Well, listen, McCain-" I faced him and realized again how young he was. Sixteen? Fifteen? He really was only a kid. He couldn't even grow a proper mustache-his upper lip just looked dirty-and he needed a haircut. His scraggly brown hair hung down over his forehead, almost hiding his dark shaded eyes. He looked like a hurt little boy.

"It's like this," I said. "Yes, I'm pissed as hell at you. I always get pissed at people who endanger my life. But that's not why I put you up against that wall. That's just the fastest way I know to teach you the kind of obedience that will ensure your survival. You have to trust me, because what you don't know could kill us both. Do you know my record?"

"Yes sir, but-" he caught himself. "May I speak, sir?"

"Go ahead."

"Well . . ." His resentment faded into a lopsided, almost conspiratorial malice. "I just sort of figured you had to be some kind of colossal fuck-up for them to give you this shit detail."

"Thanks for your . . . ah, candor."

"I looked up your record, sir. You've got three Purple Hearts, a Silver Star, a Good Conduct Medal, and eighty million caseys in worm bounties. And, according to the military listings, you're one of the five best field agents in California. You're a real chopperbopper-too good for this job. So, I figured you must have really pissed someone off." His grin was infectious. "That's how I got here. "

"You're half-right," I admitted. "I made a bad guess last year. A lot of people died." I didn't like remembering; I liked talking about it even less. "Anyway, they put me here-where if I made any more mistakes, they'd be a lot more personal. Understand?"

"Sort of."

"Yeah, I don't like it either, but so what? This is the job. Let's get it done. I'll do the best I can. And so will you. Understand?" His grin faded. "And whatever else I might feel about it is none of anybody's goddamn business." I headed back toward the Jeep.

The phone was still yammering on the seat. I picked it up and put the headset to my ear. "JIMBO," I acknowledged. "All clear. No casualties. And your Vigilante has been removed from service." I answered a couple more questions, signed off, and looked over at the kid; he was standing rigidly, a respectful distance away from the Jeep. "What are you waiting for?"

"Your orders, sir," he said crisply.

"Right." I jerked a thumb. "Get in the Jeep and drive." I unclipped the car's terminal and thumbed it to life.

"Yessir."

"McCain-"

"Sir?"

"Don't be a robot. Just be responsible."

"Yes, sir." The kid dropped in behind the wheel, snuck a sideways glance at me, then dropped his rigid manner.

He headed us back toward the main road while I balanced the terminal on my lap and logged the destruction of the Vigilante. The kid waited until I was finished, then said, "Sir? Can I ask you something?"

"Go ahead."

"Well, it's about that spider. I thought those things were only supposed to kill worms."

I nodded. "That was the original programming. But then we started losing units. Renegades were knocking them out and dismantling them for their weaponry, so the army reprogrammed them against guerrillas too. All spiders now assume that any humans in a free-fire area-regardless of the clothes they wear or the ID signals received from their dogtags-are hostiles, until proven otherwise." I added, "And are treated accordingly."

"You mean-torched?"

"Only if you refuse to be captured." I shrugged. "Some of the reprogramming must have been a little hasty. Even desperate." The kid didn't speak for a long time. He concentrated on his driving. The narrow two-lane road was twisty.

After a while, he asked uncomfortably, "Are there a lot of those things around?"

"McDonnell-Douglas is fabricating three hundred and fifty units a week. Most of those are for export-South America, Africa, Asia-there's a lot of wild country on this planet all of a sudden; but I'd guess we've got at least a couple thousand of them patrolling the West Coast. It's the highway; 101 has to be kept open. But not all of them are Vigilantes-and it's also very unlikely that the next one you run into will be a rogue too."

"I'm not reassured."

I grinned. "You sound like me."

"Huh?"

"If you knew the statistics on the spiders' effectiveness, you'd be even less reassured."

"They don't work?"

I shrugged. "They do well enough." Then I added, "And they do have one real advantage.... "

The kid glanced over at me curiously. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. You don't have to write letters to their families when you lose one."

"Oh." He shut up and concentrated on his driving.

The real problem was that the worms were already learning to avoid the spiders; and there was even a rumor that they had begun to set traps for the machines. Like elephant pits. I didn't know. There was a lot of material I wasn't cleared to see any more.

"Hey," the kid asked suddenly. "Why'd you use limericks?"

"Huh? Oh-" I was startled out of my thoughts. "It was the only thing I could think of," I admitted. "When I get bored, I write limericks."

"You're kidding."

"Nope."

The kid pulled the Jeep onto the main road and headed us west toward US-101. "Tell me another."

"Mm, okay-I'm still working on this one: There was a young fellow named Chuck-"

The kid giggled in delight. Well, it was pretty obvious where it was going. "Go on," he said.

"Who expressed a great fondness for duck. Whether gravied or roasted, pressed, sauced, or toasted-" I stopped.

"Yeah? Yeah? Go on."

I shook my head. "That's all there is to it, so far."

"That's all?"

I shrugged apologetically. "I couldn't think of a rhyme for the last line."

"You're kidding!"

"Yep."