Sunday, Jan. 22, 1956,
Philadelphia
Racing up the stairs
to the lab, Science Investigator Gwen Montgomery could have screamed
herself blue in the face—but from the message on her wrist-radio,
her partner was in no shape to listen.
You had to be the
big strong man and keep me “safe” didn’t you, Ray? Reaching
the second floor, she stopped, approached Crane Electronics’ main
lab stealthily, and cracked open the door.
Her partner, Ray Murdock,
lay stiff and unmoving on a toppled oscilloscope, two of the
company’s top engineers lying beside him. The room around them
was a shambles of demolished equipment and broken glass. Gwen
scrutinized it from the doorway, automatic in hand, hoping she
could shoot before the thief turned his paralysis ray on her.
A harsh scrape drew
her attention to the window. A spider, four feet across, crouched
on a worktable, clutching a box of Crane’s new transistors against
its belly with its middle legs.
Gwen fired three shots,
fast and accurate, heard them ricochet off the spider’s carapace.
It smashed glass from the pane before it, then leapt into the
darkness. Gwen raced up to the window, saw the spider appear
under a streetlight, vanish into darkness, then reappear in a
pair of headlights as a car engine revved up. The trunk light
came on and she saw the spider climb inside.
It was too far to
hit, but she emptied the clip anyway. The car sped away, its
license plate hidden by darkness.
“Damn and double damn.” She
took Ray’s pulse; it was there, but like the earlier victims,
he was stiff as a board. Pulling back her sleeves, she called
Arnold on her wrist radio. “Gwen? How’d the plan work?”
“Ray improvised.” Gwen
fumbled a pack of Lucky Strikes from her purse and put one to
her lips. “He’s paralyzed, so are two of Crane’s people. It’s
not a raygun, it’s a kaijin.
“Our thief has trained
himself a pet mutant.”
Wednesday
The highball was the
first booze Steve had tasted in six weeks. Since Matt was buying,
Steve ordered a second. “So, you found Tommy’s trail, Matt? Like
you said in your letter?”
“Have you thought
about my job offer?” Matt Powell puffed his pipe alight; he was
heavier and better dressed than when they’d served in Korea,
but his black shag smelled just as horrible. “I’m telling you,
underground housing is the wave of the future; between the kaijin
and the spacemen, it’s the only way anyone can feel safe. Good
pay, Mary knows lots of girls—”
“Buddy, I haven’t
met a broad worth spending time with—” Well, not more than one
night. “—since I was in Boston during the Invasion. And you know
how that turned out.”
“You can’t expect
to find a good woman the way you live. Drifting town to town,
hunting your brother, brawling—” Steve started to protest. “I
heard about that fracas with the Nazi at the bus station.”
“Someone had to remind
that jerk his side lost. Pushing that old Jew around—” Steve
remembered the old man’s terrified expression and his fists clenched. “You
know I hate bullies. The orphanage, reform school, Sgt. Duffy—”
“You’ve just got a
chip on your shoulder. Most short guys do.”
“The hell I do! Duffy
had it coming, slapping that bar girl around. As for the job—” Steve
shook his head. “Tommy’s all I got, Matt. Our folks are gone,
Aunt Sally died when that dinosaur attacked New York—”
“You said he never
wrote after the orphanage stuck you in reform school, not even
to tell you the Goulds had adopted him. And in the four years
since New America, you haven’t heard from him, haven’t found
a trace—what if everyone’s right and he’s hiding in Moscow?”
“If I hadn’t gotten
myself sent to reform school, if I’d still been at the orphanage
when the Goulds came by—”
“You’d have what,
spotted they were spies? You can’t blame yourself.”
“The hell I can’t.
My kid brother, my responsibility.” And I failed. I couldn’t
stop Dr. Verdugo using Tommy and the other kids for guinea pigs,
I couldn’t stop Commies from adopting him.
Matt sighed, then
glanced around quickly for listeners. Everyone in the bar was
still glued to Zane Grey Theater on the bar television. “1953,
right after I got myself off the blacklist, I met another ex-Communist,
Frank Cable. I made him understand we weren’t giving the government
any names it didn’t already have and he was able to get himself
cleared.
“I ran into him again
a couple of months back. Turned out the FBI were a lot tougher
on him because he knew the Goulds.” Steve froze. “He doesn’t
know where Tommy is, but he remembers him; if you talk, maybe
you’ll spot some sort of clue. It’s not much—”
“It’s the best lead
I’ve ever had. Where do I find Cable?”
“He’s night watchman
at Phelps Electronics’ warehouse. He has the place to himself—says
he won’t meet you in public, he’s still worried the FBI watches
him.” Matt puffed on his meerschaum for a second. “To explain
your interest, I had to tell him you’re really Steve Forrest.”
“Will he tell anyone?
If the G-Men know, they’ll watch me like a hawk to see if I lead
them to Tommy.” And if they convict him of helping the Goulds,
it’s the chair.
“Don’t worry, Frank
doesn’t want anyone connecting him with the Goulds either.”
“Thanks, pal.” Steve
shook Matt’s hand. “You just paid me back for Korea.”
“For dragging me through
three miles of snow with slopies on our trail?” Matt shook his
head as he handed Steve a paperback of One Lonely Night,
with a direction-covered sheet of notepaper sticking out of it. “It’s
off Engineer’s Row, the street near the Eckert-Mauchly computer
company. Give the book back when you come over for Mary’s pot
roast, just don’t let her know I read Spillane.”
“A-OK,.” Steve stuffed
the book in his pocked and picked up his fedora. He loved reading.
Get lost in a Mike Hammer adventure, or Heinlein’s gritty “space
realism” and he could forget about Tommy, about his empty wallet,
about everything, at least for a while.
With a goodbye to
Matt, he headed off to meet Cable.
“No, Tommy never mentioned
you.” Frank Cable flashed his light down the dark concrete aisle
between the high metal shelves to his left, checked the aisle
to the right, moved on. “If I didn’t owe Matt a favor—”
“America’s got bigger
problems than Commies these days, remember? The blacklist’s over,
Ike’s talking a world defense threat with Khruschev and Chou—”
“The Goulds planned
to dump plutonium in water supplies all over the country, mutate
everyone.” Cable’s deepset eyes suddenly flared, putting life
in his sagging face. “Nobody’s going to forgive and forget that.
Used to be I was proud to be a Red, proud—but not after
I learned about New America.”
“Do you—do you think
Tommy helped them, like the prosecution said?”
“Tommy was a genius,
you know that.” Cable didn’t see Steve’s startled expression. “And
he was serious about Communism, but he was 100 percent American.
Loved hot rods, Batman comics, the Grand Canyon, Uncle Miltie—”
“So, he wasn’t in
on it?”
“My guess is no. But
he loved Art and Liesl, I don’t think he’d have tried to stop
them.”
He was a kid. Nobody
could expect him to, could they? “Did he leave the country
after?”
“The family went to
Moscow in ’49; he hated it. My guess is, he took it on the lam
to the southwest, he fell in love with the desert after that
Grand Canyon vacation. I know Party members who’d have hidden
him, and with so many records destroyed in the Invasion, he could
pretend to be—”
Cable shone the flashlight
down the next aisle and a half-dozen points of light glinted
back. Steve stared at the biggest spider he’d ever seen, unable
to believe his eyes as it scuttled toward them, its front legs
glowing a venomous green.
“Jesus!” Cable’s gun
came up, firing at the spider’s head. Steve heard the bullets
ricochet, shook off his horror and tugged Cable back, glancing
around for anything he could swat the bug with. The spider’s
foreleg thrust out, brushed Cable’s chest and engulfed him in
a green glow. Steve’s body went numb and he collapsed, watching
Cable, as rigid as a shop-window dummy, fall to the floor.
The glow died. The
spider crawled into the dark, then came a crash, then more crashes,
as if the spider were sweeping supplies off the shelf. Steve’s
arm twitched, then he felt pins-and-needles run over his entire
body until he almost cried out. He cautiously stretched his arm,
pushed himself up and stood. Cable hadn’t moved; Steve shook
him, but it didn’t help.
The smashing stopped.
Steve tried to pry Cable’s flashlight and gun loose, but failed—then
he heard faint, stealthy, human footsteps, nearly yelled a warning,
then realized the spider might not be alone. Trained monsters?
Crazier things happen these days.
He heard the spider’s
staccato footsteps, followed by something bouncing along the
floor, then a hiss and stink that made Steve stagger away fast,
barely repressing a choking cough. The spider kept moving, then
came a flash that lit up the entire building. As the light died,
the spider stopped moving.
“It worked.” A woman’s
voice, Southern, like Annabelle in the orphanage; a flashlight
beam from the direction of her voice flung light past Cable’s
body. Despite the stink, Steve moved closer, silently.
Something buzzed and
crackled, then the spider’s footsteps began again. The woman
gave an unladylike curse.
Steve lifted a small
box of one of the shelves and stepped out into the long walkway
between the right and left shelves. He made out the spider’s
bulk in the flashlight, charging at the woman and hurled the
box at its back. Glass shattered as the spider stopped and faced
him. “Quick lady! Recharge the raygun!”
“I’m afraid it’s burned
out!” The spider came on fast; Steve backed away, throwing another
box in its face, which didn’t help. “I have a handmine, just
stay out of its reach a second!”
“What if it’s got
webs?” Steve retreated down the aisle, watching the spider climb
over Cable in pursuit, it’s legs glowing green again.
“No webs, it’s a robot!” The
flashlight beam wriggled side to side, then refocused on the
spider. “Take cover!”
Something flew into
the light and landed on the spider’s back. Steve saw the explosion
a second before the sound and the shockwave hurled him away.
He lay stunned on
the floor as a piece of something big and heavy flew through
the light and struck his skull. Darkness descended.
Thursday
I hear they give
you smokes in prison. Eleven hours after regaining consciousness,
Steve stubbed out his last cigarette on the freshly painted
wall of his jail cell. Guess I should look on the bright
side, huh?
“He didn’t say nothing
about being a science cop.” Steve heard the sergeant in charge
of the cellblock, somewhere up the corridor, but the man’s next
words were drowned out by wolf whistles and cat calls from the
other cells.
“Oh, the error was
perfectly understandable, I am sure. Good morning, Steve.” Accompanying
the sergeant, a dark-haired woman flashed him a dazzling smile
from behind her veil, as if she’d known him for years. “Sgt.
Prohaska, please?”
She was a looker:
Red dress, matching jacket, leather purse, pert black hat with
a pearl pin and stockings, though the sneakers and the holstered
gun on her hip didn’t match the ensemble. And he recognized the
voice from the warehouse.
“He don’t look like
much of a cop.” The balding man pulled the cell-door open with
the hook on his left wrist.
“Funny, you don’t
either.” Steve said. The flatfoot scowled as Steve adjusted his
tie, strode past him and down the corridor with the woman. “So,
what’s this about, lady? Who the hell are you? What was that
robot? And did you see my hat back in that warehouse, the explosion
must have knocked it off me…”
“My name is Gwendolyn
Montgomery, TSC Science Investigator, and I owe you an apology.” She
seemed completely unperturbed by the lewd suggestions following
them down the hall. “I assumed you were Phelps’ employee, so
I never imagined you’d be arrested as a suspect. I don’t know
about your hat, but since I owe you my life, what would you say
to lunch and coffee?”
Steve’s stomach rumbled. “Throw
in a pack of cigarettes and its a deal.”
Thirty minutes later,
Steve was digging into a thick steak at a small cafe near the
college. The clean-cut students had stared at Steve, making him
acutely aware he hadn’t shaved or showered and had a big goose
egg on his forehead, but it was more than worth it for the big
meal, the fresh pack of cigarettes, and hopefully some answers. “So?
The robot?”
“A one-spider crimewave.
Engineers Row has lost transistors, new-model vacuum tubes and
last week a half-pound of platinum.” Gwen tasted her own steak,
nodded approvingly; Steve had already finished his. “It’s paralyzed
a dozen people, possibly permanently, including four cops outside
the warehouse last night; we thought someone with a raygun, then
a kaijin, but the victims have no bites and no venom in their
blood. I brought an insecticide bomb and a handmine last night—”
“Magnetic grenade,
right?” Steve finally remembered the name. “They used ‘em on
those Venusian robots in Chicago last year.”
“Correct. Howard—Howard
Phelps, Jr., that is—insisted the company’s experimental rifle
would do a better job, but as you saw—”
“So, you just knew
which building it would show up at?”
“Heavens no, we stationed
police and agents in every target we had manpower to cover. We
being the Technology and Science Commission’s Science Investigations
branch.”
“You’re kidding.” Steve
remembered reading about the commission in the occasional newspaper. “I
thought the TSC just sat around stamping research permits.”
“We’re also authorized
to investigate scientists who decide to work without a government
license—and the technology thefts are a warning flag. Quite possibly
the robot’s maker is building a bigger model, or some other unlicensed-—” Her
wrist beeped. She pulled back her sleeve and Steve saw a bracelet
with a half-dozen buttons and a small speaker. “Montgomery here.”
It’s a wrist-radio,
like Dick Tracy! Steve couldn’t stop gawking at it.
“Get back to base,” a
man’s voice barked. “Dunning’s taking over for Ray, you’ll—”
“I have an alternative
solution, Palmer.” Her expression told Steve Gwen didn’t fancy
working with Dunning.
“You can’t work without
a man. Somebody has to handle the rough stuff, you shouldn’t
have gone off last—”
“The man who saved
my life last night is a Korean War veteran, and he’s willing
and able to help me with the ‘rough stuff’ as you put it.” Steve
concentrated on his coffee. “Unless you want Dunning to
drop the blue bullet matter?”
“Of course not, but—alright,
fine, take this guy on board.” A bit more talk, then Gwen turned
off the bracelet and tidied her sleeve, smiling.
“Where’d you get that?” Steve
asked. “And how’d you know I was in Korea?”
“You told the police,
I read your file. The wrist-radios are government issue for us,
the FBI, a couple of other agencies.” Gwen picked up her cigarette
from the ashtray. “As you just heard, I have to have a male partner—”
“You handle yourself
pretty good.”
“It’s TSC policy for
the few Science Investigation branches that allow women agents
at all. Dunning is not the sort of man a woman wants to be alone
with, if you follow me—so to get Palmer off my back on this subject,
I’d happily pay you a hundred a day to—”
“A c-note?” Steve
choked on his coffee. I wouldn’t have to hop a freight west.
I could buy a ticket, get a sleeping car berth… “What do
I have to do?”
“Accompany me back
to the warehouse while I look for clues to what the spider was
after. Confronting it directly has proven too dangerous; I intend
to find the man behind it instead. If we’re lucky, he knows how
to cure the spider’s victims; if not, examining it may tell us—”
“Count me in,” Steve
said. “I owe Cable—the guard last night—a big favor. Do I have
time to get a shave first?”
“We’ll start work
as soon as you finish eating, I’m afraid. And understand one
thing—” She tossed a ten on the table to cover both meals and
a generous tip. “Our association is strictly business. Don’t
get any ideas.”
“Don’t worry, you’re
way too classy for me.” Steve wiped his mouth with a napkin and
lit another cigarette as he stood. “Last classy lady I met, I
thought we really had something. Turns out me and class are like
oil and water.”
He thought about telling
Gwen that the lady had been the same doctor who’d won a medal
for fighting the Devilfish, but she’d probably think he was bragging.
“Since my father died—excuse
me, shorty—” Howard Phelps Junior reached a brawny, flannel-suited
arm past Steve, pulled out a box and glanced inside, then scribbled
notes on the clipboard in his other hand. “—profits have been
skyrocketing. Phelps is now the front-runner for working with
Eckert-Mauchly on their new OMNIVAC computer.”
Stepping over some
shattered glass and a broken shelf—Gwen had told Phelps not to
clean up until they’d looked around—Steve decided Gwen was right
about boring. But, she’s right; that’s better than fighting
the spider again.
“There.” Phelps handed
the notes to Gwen with a smile and a quick glance at her chest. “A
list of everything damaged last night, though thanks to you tossing
grenades, it’s hard to say what the spider might have gone after.
He’s got a point. The
handmine blast had toppled the nearest shelves, and those had
toppled a couple more, leaving smashed crates and vacuum tubes
littering the floor.
Gwen glanced through
the papers, nodding as if they meant something. “So, Howard,
have you any idea who could be capable of building that spider?
I realize you’re not the expert your father was—”
“My father was overrated.” Phelps
stopped smiling and smacked his large fist into his right palm. “A
genius, sure, but people don’t realize he squandered millions
on pie in the sky gadgets that never panned out.”
“Hell of a thing to
say about your pop,” Steve muttered, not so softly Phelps couldn’t
hear.
“Don’t get me wrong,
he was a great guy,” Phelps replied quickly. “It’s tragic he
was in New York during the dinosaur rampage, but—the company’s
just better off in my hands, that’s all.”
“Except for Cable.” Steve
glared up at the man. “If you’re making so much goddamn money, junior,
maybe you should have more men on guard when there’s a robot
stealing crap? And maybe you should build rayguns that actually
work?”
“Like I said, shorty,
my pop’s inventions didn’t all work.” Phelps moved closer, towering
over Steve, but pretty much everyone did, so it didn’t bother
Steve much. “I thought I’d fixed it, but—hell, why am I arguing
with you? Miss Montgomery, where do I report your partner for
impertinence?”
“Oh, I don’t think
that will be necessary, Howard.” Without batting an eye, Gwen
smoothly drew her gun. “Mr. Phelps, you are under arrest.”
“For what?” Phelps
let out a nervous bray of a laugh and folded his arms. “Arguing
with the shrimp?”
“Steve, please use
the handcuffs.” Gwen popped open her purse and indicated for
him to reach into it. “The list of damages you gave me is a lie.
I checked with your suppliers this morning and everything they
shipped here this past week was antiquated by Engineers Row standards.”
“He was ripping off
the insurers?” Steve yanked out the cuffs. “Can we arrest people
for that?”
“I’m pretty sure you
can’t!” Phelps said, loudly. “You want to get sued for false
arrest, Flanagan, you go right ahead.”
Steve glanced at Gwen;
she shook her head. “It isn’t false, Mr. Flanagan. This is the
first company that hasn’t suffered catastrophic damage from the
spider thefts; that’s the real reason he’s the front runner for
supplying OMNIVAC.”
“You paralyzed your
own man?” Steve raised the cuffs. “Get your arms out, Junior
or I’ll—”
Then Steve heard
the rapid-fire beat of metal footsteps behind him, turned and
saw the spider approaching, its legs flashing green.
He yelled out a warning
to Gwen, stepping between her and the spider and snatching up
a broken shelf to block the attack as the spider’s legs thrust
forward. It caught the shelf, sent it flying from Steve’s hands
with a twist and jabbed for him. Steve sprang back, hearing a
shot behind him but unable to turn and look. He grabbed up a
longer piece of bench and thrust it into the spider’s face, hoping
to keep it too far away to touch him.
“Hold it if you can!” Gwen
called from up the aisle. “I’ll try to catch up with Howard.”
“Oh, sure, I’ll just—” The
spider yanked the shelf away again with steely strength. Steve
backed up, hurling whatever he could pull off the shelves at
the robot’s face without slowing it that he could see.
“Don’t give up!” Phelps
called with a laugh from somewhere amidst the shelving. “She
runs down after thirty minutes, that’s why my pop never marketed
her. All you have to do is outlast her!”
“Screw you, Junior!” Steve
turned the corner into the next aisle, stumbled over an empty
crate and hit the concrete hard. Before he could get up again,
the spider was rushing away. “Look out, Gwen, it got past me.”
As he got to his feet
he heard Gwen shoot, heard Junior laugh, tried to guess the quickest
route to him. He must have palmed the controls when he folded
his arms, or maybe it was automatic somehow. Kept us talking…
“This cannot work,
Howard, you must see that.” Gwen’s voice, but there was a solid
block of fallen shelving in the aisle Steve thought would lead
to her. “The spider pulls its first-ever daylight robbery somewhere
there’s nothing left to steal? Safer to cooperate, help cure
the vic—” Steve heard a gunshot, a sudden scream, then it faded
into silence.
The spider rose up
over the top of the fallen shelving, descending toward him fast.
Steve turned, started to run, almost stumbled into a big empty
crate and an idea hit. He dragged the crate with him as the spider
reached the concrete floor and charged, legs glowing brightly
as they lashed out at Steve.
Steve’s arms screamed
as he lifted the heavy crate, blocked the legs, then tipped the
crate upside down and over the robot, legs and all. He steeled
himself for it to try and break free. It didn’t.
“Another flaw in the
design.” Phelp’s voice; Steve turned, saw the man standing behind
him. “No obvious target, it goes to sleep.” Phelp’s pressed something
in his hand and the crate began jerking beneath Steve. “Unless
I wake it up.”
“So what?” Steve ran
at Phelps, fists raised. “By the time it gets out, you’re going
to be down for the count.”
“You short guys, always
with a chip on your—” Junior broke off with a gasp as Steve landed
a jab in his gut, followed it with a roundhouse to the jaw. To
Steve’s surprise, Junior ducked the punch and slammed a blow
into Steve’s ribs that knocked Steve back against the shelves.
“Boxing champ of my
college, shorty.” Steve barely ducked the next, lightning-fast
blow, felt the follow-up blow graze his right arm so hard it
went numb. “And a good big man, always beats a mediocre—.”
“Says you!” Steve
thrust again for Junior’s gut, but the man stepped past the punch,
threw his arms around Steve in a crushing bear hug and began
to push him back down the aisle. Steve twisted his head and saw
the spider waiting with its glowing legs raised.
Steve raised his heel,
then brought it down hard on Phelps’ instep. The man gave a pained
yell and his grip loosened, enough for Steve to sink another
punch in his stomach. Behind them, glass crunched under metal.
Without taking time to look, Steve broke free of Junior’s grip,
swung him around and delivered another punch, one that sent him
staggering into the spider. Green light covered Phelps, and he
fell on top of the spider, his mouth frozen as if he’d just begun
to scream.
The spider started
to lift him off. Steve picked up a piece of crate and whacked
it down on Phelps’ hand, smashing the control gadget. The spider
stopped moving. Steve started to smile. Sonofabitch, I got
him! Mike Hammer couldn’t have done it better!
“I’m glad to see you’re
still able to move.” Gwen moved stiffly into the aisle, smiling,
her red dress smeared with dirt. “I managed to shield myself
from the worst effects with some packing material, but it still
took me a few seconds to recover.”
She pulled a lighter
and cigarettes from her purse as she studied the unmoving man
and machine. Steve pulled out one of his own and accepted a light. “Tell
me something, lady—how’d you know to look up what Junior had
in the warehouse.”
“If you know the people,
you can usually find the answers.” She knelt down, studying the
robot thoughtfully. “Despite his boasting, I knew the company
has been on a downhill slide since his father died. And in hindsight,
his insistence on me using the rifle was suggestive.”
“You didn’t tell me
any of that.”
“You were at the scene
of the crime last night, and you offered no explanation—”
“You thought I was
in on this?”
“Possibly. I figured
keeping you around might tell me.” She pulled the smashed controls
from Phelps’ hand. “The past quarter-hour made it obvious you
and Palmer weren’t working together, so I took action. I didn’t
anticipate the spider attacking—though in hindsight, miniaturized
controls like these are typical of his father’s inventions.”
“What about the paralysis?
With Junior frozen—”
“I rather doubt he
knew how to cure it. But with the robot to study, the TSC lab
may be able to find a treatment.”
“Swell.” The thought
of Cable and the other victims back on their feet made Steve
smile again. “Well, guess I’ll take my hundred. Gonna make for
an easy ride out to California.”
“Job waiting for you?” Gwen
pulled out her wallet and started counting twenties.
“Family. My brother’s…kind
of a DP. We lost touch.”
“Easy enough to do
these days. So—no job?”
“I got a hundred,
don’t I?” Steve tucked the money into his pocket. “When it’s
gone, I’ll still get by.”
“Well, if you’d like
to do more than get by, I have a friend, Nate Strawn, and he
just became head of Science Investigations in California’s TSC
office. If things don’t improve around here, I may transfer to
his team myself; Nate will make damn sure none of his agents
take liberties with their partners.” Steve listened without much
interest. “In any case, given that SI is as strapped for manpower
as the rest of the country, I think I could convince Nate to
hire you.”
“Me, a cop?” It was
the best laugh Steve had had in a while. “You gotta be kidding.”
“Oh, you’d need plenty
of training, but you didn’t lose your head when you faced the
spider; that’s a great advantage given what science investigators
deal with. Furthermore, you can handle working with a woman,
and you care enough about strangers to stick up for an old Jewish—”
“How’d you know that?” Then
Steve slapped himself on the forehead. “Right, the police report.”
“Know the people,
I told you.” She obviously enjoyed that she’d impressed him. “I’ve
seen what some scientists do to their guinea-pigs—I think you’d
get a lot of satisfaction stopping men like that.”
Steve thought again
about Verdugo’s experiments all those years ago and nodded, slowly. Having
a badge could help with finding Tommy, maybe. And if they’ve
got files, maybe I could figure out what Verdugo was doing. But
still—a cop?
“Don’t say no.” Gwen
started tapping out a code on her wrist radio. “The new TSC base
will open outside Wind Song, California, starting in April. Stop
by and see what it’s like.”
“I see what it’s like.” Steve
kicked the spider’s side, then winced. “Ducking robots, dealing
with losers like Junior. Maybe you’re enough of a screwball to
do that every day, but me?”
Even if it was
kind of fun showing a jerk like Junior where he gets off.
Even if I
would get one of those wrist radios.
Still, Matt’s
right, I’m gonna have to find a job someday ... It couldn’t
hurt to stop by, at least to look around, right?
