Anger Management

by Lawrence M Schoen

  “That was cool.”

  «I give it a six, tops.»

  “Nobody asked you.”

  The cops were clearly overwhelmed. Some tried to push their way into the terminal. Others were trying to get more people out of the terminal. But some of the panicked civilians punched and pushed the cops trying to help them. A few officers resorted to tossing grenades of sleeping agent into some of the more unruly packs.

  “Well, that’s one way to keep them from trampling each other to death.”

  «Whatever is happening with Tycho is happening farther in. Get a move on.»

  Dyrk was right. Coop began dodging and weaving, using his enhanced agility and reduced waistline to wend his way through the crowds. One officer in a gas mask turned around and instinctively tried to push Coop back. Coop punched him in the face just as instinctively.

  The cop fell like a sack of potatoes and a grenade of some sort fell from his grasp.

  «That guy looked familiar.»

  “Did he? I’ve punched so many cops in the last week they’re all starting to look the same.”

  «You mean limp and unconscious?»

  “Well, yeah.”

  The grenade rolled to a stop at his feet and Coop saw the pin had remained firmly in place.

  “Waste not, want not.”

  He bent down and procured the grenade, stuffing it into a pocket. Then he took a running start at the phalanx of police officers ahead of him. They were focused on whatever was happening on the other side and had their backs to him. It was a simple matter to use one of those backs as a springboard, dive up and over their shoulders and past them. He landed, rolled, and rode the momentum to his feet. He stood in a small clearing. The cops he'd just jumped over like so many pieces in a game of checkers had been holding a line, letting panicked civilians through until it was just cops, more cops, Box extensions, and somewhere past everything else, Tycho.

  “We've got to be getting near the range of Doos's Fear gun,” said Coop. “I don't see any cops beyond here. They've probably figured out the distance by trial and error.”

  «Get as close as you can, I'm ready to move as soon as I detect the first tingle of fear.»

  Nodding to himself, the actor strode ahead. Things did not look good.

  He saw Tycho. She stood at the end of the terminal. The Doos had her backed into a corner. She appeared to be using an overturned cart and the luggage it once held as cover. But it wasn’t going to be enough.

  Potato still clung to the young woman. Tycho had just stood up again. Her legs looked a bit unsteady. But the weapon clutched in her hands seemed just fine.

  Fanned out around her at a respectful distance were nine Box extensions. Like the one he'd fought earlier, they were all armed to the teeth with an assortment of weapon-limbs, most of which could do a lot more damage than mere bullets. They clearly had no interest or concern for the cops holding the perimeter behind them. They were an avenging horde with Tycho as their sole focus. Nine against one. The odds clearly sucked.

  A handful of police stood between Coop and the Doos. The cops looked less focused, but one of them, a negotiator of some sort, had positioned himself off to one side, closer to the actor than any of the other cops. He crouched behind a pillar. He had a bullhorn, and apparently he wasn't afraid to use it.

  “Surrender now. You are in violation of multiple spaceport ordinances. Put down your weapons before someone gets hurt.”

  Coop looked around the terminal skeptically. He noted the presence of many unconscious bodies. Some bruised and bloody from being trampled.

  «Is this guy serious?»

  “He probably thinks he is.”

  Coop turned his gaze back to Tycho in time to watch her pop up and unleash a burst of lightning bolt rounds at one of the Doos. The avatar had tried to out flank her, and received three perfect shots to its carapace for its efforts. The Box immediately withdrew, slumping before it rolled to a halt, its internal mechanisms completely fried. One down, eight to go.

  But it had been a feint. During the distraction, another Doos had taken aim and fired one of its weapons at Tycho. The kinetic round smashed into the girl’s leg. Her knee skewed sideways in a way that knees are not meant to skew. Ever. Tycho dropped like a rock.

  The Box closed in. But they didn’t get very far.

  Coop stared in awe as the young woman’s leg snapped back into place on its own. Then she jumped up onto her feet like nothing had happened and promptly sprayed the Doos avatars with automatic weapons fire. The Box immediately stopped their advance. Some even retreated.

  “Geez, did you see how fast she healed?”

  Dyrk whistled inside Coop’s mind. «I sure did. Did you see the blank look in her eyes?»

  Coop had. He nodded solemnly. Tycho didn’t look human. But her fire hadn't been indiscriminate. She'd only sprayed live rounds at the advancing avatars. None of the cops had been hit.

  «Coop, maybe you should duck or find cover.»

  “Right you are.” Coop bent over and rushed behind a pillar.

  As he continued to watch, Tycho and a pair of Doos exchanged fire. One of the extensions went down in a smoking heap, but the other managed to score a hit. Tycho jerked away and blood blossomed on her shin. Through it all Potato maintained his perch atop her shoulder and managed to lick her brow during lulls in the excitement.

  “What is that stupid little furball doing?”

  «It’s lapping up the pheromones she’s putting out through her sweat. It can’t help itself. And I bet it reeks with chemical scents of its own. That's got to be how she's healing so fast.»

  “Again with the pheromones?”

  «The virus communicates with its host through smell. Potato is the source of the virus. Ergo—»

  “Yeah, yeah, Potato's a stinkpot, I get it.”

  «Potato is also probably the only reason Tycho’s still alive. The Doos won’t aim high for fear of hitting it.»

  “That’s nice to know, but how do we use it? We need to shut the Box down and stop Tycho from shooting anyone who comes near her. You got any ideas?”

  Dyrk didn’t get to respond. Several of the cops chose that moment to open fire, ending the brief lull. It jerked Coop’s attention back to the fight.

  Things went to hell very, very quickly. The police fired a fusillade of non-lethal rounds at the Doos extensions. None of them caused any damage, but the electronic interference they produced got the Box's attention. They now viewed the cops as a threat.

  Four of the avatars turned around. From his position behind the pillar Coop fell to his knees, convulsing with inexplicable terror. And then, as Dyrk came to the fore, the sensation drained away.

  «No worries, Ben, I got this. You okay?»

  Coop shuddered deep in his mind. I will be.

  The police fared worse. Some collapsed, others turned to flee. It didn't matter. All four of those Box extensions whipped identical weapon-limbs into play and aimed gouts of acid at the police.

  Dyrk ducked back behind the pillar as howls of terror turned to screams of agony. He counted to three as the battle raged across the terminal. Then he peeked out again. Several members of the phalanx of cops further back had rushed forward to pull their injured comrades to safety. Others came up to take their place. Some carried shields large enough to provide cover for multiple combatants. And still others dropped into position aiming new and much more lethal looking weapons at the robotic juggernauts. They didn't intend to be as gentle this time, but intention failed as they came within range of the Fear gun. The same four Doos advanced on the quivering humans, passing Dyrk's position, while their four compatriots resumed their fire against Tycho.

  The young woman took more hits. She absorbed them. She healed. But her recovery rate was clearly flagging.

  I don’t know how much more of this she can take.

  «She’s only made it this long because Potato is with her and amping up the virus. It's a fuzzy catalyst for the virus’s growth and activation.»


  Got it. Potato equals super-human Tycho. Now, do you have any ideas about how to get them out of here without us getting killed? Because that would be helpful.

  Across the battlefield, Tycho popped up from behind some smoldering luggage and managed to take a Doos square in the chest with a liquid-metal round. The avatar halted, clearly out of commission. Then the young woman pivoted to her left and walked a string of those same lethal projectiles up the body of another Box, effectively dismembering it into a pile of slag.

  «I almost feel bad for them. Almost.»

  Then she took an electric bolt in the hip and disappeared from view behind the Samsonite mountain. A new scent of burned flesh wafted from the luggage.

  Dyrk, I know she is… or was, brain dead. And I know she was programmed on war movies and post-apocalyptic garbage, but I don’t want to see her get killed either.

  «This isn’t my specialty, Ben. I understand strategy, make no mistake, but I do my best work with spontaneity and improvisation. It's clear though that the Box have two big advantages here. First, they aren’t worried about surviving. They only need one extension to make it out of here with Potato. Second, they don’t care about anyone else surviving either. I think Doos will raze the entire spaceport to get what it wants. Those seem like big factors in favor of it winning. And if Al was right and Doos arrived with twenty avatars, then there's another ten that are probably on their way.»

  Wait, you’re right.

  «Am I? About what?»

  The Box. There might be more of them coming. We need reinforcements!

  «You’re excited about this? Just when I thought I was starting to understand humans—»

  Shut up, Dyrk. Just get ready. You see the guy with the bullhorn? He wasn't affected by the Fear gun. Does that mean he's out of its effective field?

  «Probably. I don't think it has a very wide arc.»

  Great. Go smack him in the head.

  «Why?»

  Because I need his bullhorn, just for a few seconds to deliver my lines. Then you'll take over again.

  Dyrk looked around and focused on his new target. The jackass was lying down, still shouting through his bullhorn. His weapon remained holstered.

  Earth cops would eat these guys for breakfast. They're about as effective as the stormtroopers in that first Star Wars movie.

  «Classic flick!»

  Well, yeah!

  «Okay, here we go.»

  Dyrk sprinted out from behind his cover. He crossed the intervening distance in record time. At the last moment he slid to his knees on the marble flooring of the terminal and allowed his momentum to carry him the rest of the way. He collided with the surprised cop and delivered a sucker punch right to the officer’s temple. The man’s head jerked away and smacked against the pillar he had been hiding behind. The bullhorn fell from his limp fingers. Dyrk snatched it up.

  None of the other cops seemed to have noticed. That, or they didn’t care. Likely they had more important things on their minds.

  «Okay, you're up. You remember our common goal?»

  Don't get us killed?

  «That's the one!»

  A moment later and Dyrk had receded into Coop's mind, leaving the actor back in control of their shared body. He pulled the trigger for the microphone and leaned out, pointing the bullhorn at Tycho.

  “HANG IN THERE, SOLDIER! REINFORCEMENTS HAVE ARRIVED! WE’RE COMING FOR YOU!” He followed this up with an admirable imitation of a bugle sounding Charge! Then ducked back behind the pillar.

  “All right Dyrk. Its action time. Go get our pretty little war machine.”

  Chapter 20

  While anyone who was anyone on Titan maintained a residence or at minimum an office in the spaceport proper, entrepreneurs and industrialists had taken advantage of the cheaper real estate beyond. An entire warehouse district had grown up a short drive from the spaceport, which in turn had led to the construction of twenty commercial gates at one end of the facility, accomplished by adding a cul de sac to the spaceport and spacing the gates out evenly along the resulting arc. Each had airlocks big enough to accommodate a small truck. Seventeen of these were available on a rental basis in two-hour increments and were typically reserved weeks in advance and around the clock. The remaining gates had been set aside for the exclusive use of the spaceport's three crime bosses.

  Alhiz’khlo’tam's was commercial transit gate seven.

  He'd left the fairly central location of Patel's pawnshop and set out for the gate, his long legs carrying him faster than a pedicab could manage the trip. And too, he needed to burn off some energy. His brain buzzed with his intentions. It was one thing to suddenly plan to do the impossible, but until he actually implemented the idea it might just be a fanciful dream. It wasn't a dream he wanted to wake from, even as the prospect of living in the world that would result unnerved him.

  There was no one on all of Titan who had ever seen Al unnerved, nor ever imagined it.

  He activated his comm as he walked, and spoke to another of his minions.

  “Clara, kindly review the status board and tell me the locations of the remaining Box.”

  There was a moment of silence and then, “I'm only showing seventeen of the original twenty, sir.”

  “That's consistent with my own accounting,” said Al. “Three of the roving avatars have been disabled. As for the rest, any change to their distribution?”

  “Originally, thirteen had set up positions at various entry points throughout the spaceport. Five of those have moved on and it looks like they've been joined by four remaining rovers, for a total of nine that have converged in the vicinity of the passenger terminal.”

  “Nine?”

  “Yes, sir. I'm getting reports of a riot at the passenger terminal. No, wait. Make that eight Box there. One of the nine just went offline.”

  A word flitted through Al's mind. Impossible. Then it was gone. In its place was the realization that Cooper, and perhaps also Dr. Acorns, were undoubtedly at the passenger terminal. No one else on Titan could do the impossible.

  Unless he changed that.

  “So Doos has eight of its extensions at the passenger terminal and the remaining eight guarding entry points?”

  “Yes, sir. Three are at the hub of commercial gates, two more at customs, and the remaining three spread out along the length of the spaceport at the more prominent export portals. Naturally we have full monitoring of the export locations.”

  “Naturally.”

  The three crime bosses had divided Titan up not in terms of territory, but activity. Big Tony held sway over gambling, protection, and general racketeering. The Diamond Queen's domain included drugs, alcohol and sex work. Al had laid claim to the import and export trade. Each of them had some small instances of overlap, but in the interests of Titanian harmony the three bosses had always managed to work things out peaceably.

  “And sir, I've just received a report about the young woman you'd left in the doctor's care at the Presidential suite of the Palais Titan.”

  “What of her?”

  “She woke up, insisting she was Dr. Jessica Acorns, and then ran off.”

  “That makes no sense,” said Al. “The human I left with Eddy was a teenage female with dark hair. Dr. Acorns is a decade older, noticeably taller, with red hair. It should be impossible to confuse the two.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Al frowned and tried to understand. Had Dr. Acorns been transformed? And even if she had, what had become of the comatose teen she now resembled? And where was Potato?

  “Thank you, Clara. Keep me apprised of any new movements among the Box. I'm nearing the far end of the spaceport now.”

  Al turned his comm off and approached the hub of the commercial gates. A Doos avatar rolled toward him, its treads eerily silent.

  “Clusterian!”

  Al kept his expression neutral as he continued walking, stopping only because the other choice was to collide with the Box. He swallowed hard and felt hi
mself begin to sweat. This creature had destroyed his life, his family, his people, his world.

  Impossible. Impossible. Impossible.

  “It is rare to encounter a Clusterian,” said Doos.

  Al said nothing.

  “What brings you here?”

  He gestured toward the arc of commercial gates. “I have business there.”

  “What kind of business? Does it involve a human physician and researcher?”

  “No. I am receiving a shipment of… cleaning devices.”

  “Cleaning devices?”

  Al nodded. Given the vast array of sensors available to Doos, it was safe to assume it was monitoring him, looking for any indication of falsehood. “Semi-autonomous cleaning devices.”

  “And you don't know of any human physician?”

  “I believe there was one employed by some of your fellow Box, at a compound out beyond the spaceport.”

  “Yes, that is the one. Do you know where she can be found?”

  Which meant that she wasn't part of whatever was happening at the passenger terminal, else this Doos would already know it.

  “No idea,” Al answered truthfully. “With all of your advanced technology, I am surprised you cannot locate her.”

  “On the contrary, I have located her without difficulty. That is the conundrum.”

  “How so?”

  The Box waved a limb, gesturing with the weapon. “She is… all around. And yet, she is nowhere.”

  Al bit back his smile. Score another point for Cooper. “Curious. One would think that, given how you distribute your consciousness across multiple avatars, you wouldn't be so puzzled by a human who appears ubiquitous. Now, will you excuse me? As I said, I have business.”

  “You may go.”

  Impossible. Impossible. Impossible.

  If he could, with an act of will, Al wanted nothing more than to fling this and every Doos avatar into the sun. He opted to step around this Box and continue walking. As he moved into the cul de sac of the commercial gates he noted two more avatars, positioned like the foci of an ellipse. They ignored him, doubtless having the report from the one who'd questioned him.