Anger Management

by Lawrence M Schoen

  And then he dropped back, yielding control to Dyrk.

  Kick his ass!

  Dyrk obliged. He fired and then rolled to his left, came up and fired again. Then he repeated the maneuver until he managed to put one Box between him and its compatriot.

  Nice move! One opponent beats two any day of the week.

  «And it looked cool.»

  In their mind, Coop cheered.

  Dyrk swapped a fresh power pack and shot. He shot again. He unloaded on the Box. It was a deadly barrage and the alien paid the price. But not before its targeting sensors finally landed a blow of its own.

  A dozen razor sharp needles blasted into his leg, chewing through the flesh an instant before the pain seared through Dyrk’s shared brain. He dropped his weapon in shock as he reached down to grab his thigh. Blood seeped between his fingers. He fell to his knees.

  «What was that?»

  Pain. Welcome to being human. Now stop asking questions and get us out of harm's way.

  Dyrk concentrated and directed the virus to repair the leg. He felt the pain and discomfort as it pushed the metal needles out of his flesh and began to regrow the shredded tissue and reknit the damaged bone. He also knew the remaining Doos was still there. He looked up.

  The Box had worked its way around to Dyrk’s left. It pivoted as its treads picked its way through rubble and crushed snoozing bodies that littered the terminal’s floor. Dyrk reached for his pistol only to realize it was on the ground beyond his reach. He pulled out his stun baton, and saw the cap had cracked. Things looked bad.

  And then Tycho came charging in.

  The young woman’s face was as blank as a plague mask, but with less humanity. Her empty features stood in stark contrast to her violent actions. Tycho fired wildly as she sprinted at the Box. It swiveled to engage her but recoiled when it saw Potato awkwardly mounted on her shoulder. The brief pause resulted in the Box taking a hit to its neck.

  The avatar’s head titled away from its body. Tycho threw her weapon to the floor before she jumped like a tiger on top of the Box. Her blood-stained hands grabbed on to the avatar’s shoulders and her lithe legs wrapped around its torso.

  «That hospital gown isn’t doing much for her modesty.»

  Are you going to tell her that?

  «Nope.»

  Tycho thrust a hand into the opening in the avatar’s neck. She grunted savagely as she tore her hand on something inside it before yanking it out with force that belied her size, but then this was the same girl who'd ripped a hunk of marble from the floor. Her shredded hand pulled free. A tangle of wires and hardware clasped in between her fingers like she had torn out its beating heart. She held her prize up to the sky, an offering to some dark god.

  «Let me rephrase that. Not a chance in Hell.»

  Good call.

  Dyrk flexed his leg. «Almost there,» he announced for Coop’s benefit.

  Tycho dropped from her fresh kill and scuttled on all fours to where her last weapon lay. Potato clung on for dear life, but it flashed a tongue-filled grin in Dyrk’s direction.

  Potato seems happy.

  «It lives off of pheromones and adrenaline. It's high as a kite right now.»

  Like I said. Happy.

  Dyrk nodded as he watched Tycho pick up her weapon and jump on the metallic carcass of the last Doos he'd taken out. The young woman knelt, brought her weapon to her shoulder and fired back the way she'd come. She sent the last two Box scattering.

  Dyrk’s leg finally felt good enough to stand on.

  That was really quick.

  «Yeah, the more I practice, the easier it gets to focus the virus. Just think of all the things we can try if we don’t have to worry about permanent damage. Cool, huh?»

  Let's survive this first, and then we’ll talk.

  Dyrk regained his feet and darted to his left to retrieve his pistol. One of the Box had just gone that way. And its attention was focused on Tycho. It was a distraction that Dyrk intended to capitalize on.

  It required him to put on a burst of speed, but he managed to stay out of the line of sight of the avatar’s sensors. He shuffled to his left and did his best not to flinch as the police began firing again. Rounds went all over the place.

  «Where did these people learn to shoot?»

  If I had to guess, from the movies.

  Dyrk ran and ducked behind another support pillar where he paused and sucked down air. He heard the Box coming closer and ventured a look out.

  «Perfect.»

  The Box trundled right toward him. Backward.

  He quietly stepped out from his hiding place, held his pistol inches from what Tycho had just revealed as a weak spot on the avatar's neck, and fired. The Box never knew what hit it. It just jerked and shut down. Dyrk stepped in casually, using its body as a shield as he peered out at the apocalyptic scene that used to be the passenger terminal.

  That left just one Box and a couple dozen cops.

  And one Tycho.

  «I almost feel bad for the Box. She’s gonna destroy them.»

  Do you? Really?

  «No. I don’t. Screw Doos.»

  That’s my boy.

  Dyrk maintained his position of cover and watched Tycho.

  She picked up what remained of an arm from one of the fallen Box. Then, with Potato still perched on her shoulder, she charged the remaining avatar and began to bludgeon it, striking it over and over again with her improvised club.

  Doos did its best to fend her off but she was in too close for it to fire on her with any of its limb weapons. It flailed and attempted to restrain her, squeezing her tightly with those tentacle-like arms, their edges cutting into her. She ignored them and continued mindlessly snapping off bits of the avatar with each blow.

  Blood began to flow from her numerous lacerations. The Box gyrated wildly as it tried to avoid Tycho’s attack. But it was a losing proposition. She continued to heal with miraculous speed and Doos didn't heal at all.

  Tycho tore a gap in the avatar’s chest console. She wedged a hand into the opening, placed her feet on its chest, and heaved against the bolts and fasteners. It began to pry apart, but only so far.

  The Box pulled one of its limbs free and smashed it across her face. The blow scored a large gash across Tycho’s forehead. She froze as blood flowed into her eyes, blinding her. But by the time she pulled a hand free to wipe the blood away, the gash had already healed over.

  That is incredible.

  «Is that another way to say ‘scary.’?»

  Yes.

  The young woman growled and redoubled her efforts. She wrapped her legs around the avatar's torso and wedged her club into the gap she’d created in its armor. Doos swung at her again, but with little effect. Without relinquishing her grip or grasp she nonetheless pivoted in place and avoided the worst of its attacks. She moved like a Tasmanian devil that had gotten ahold of some PCP.

  Tycho had jammed her makeshift club far enough into the Box to allow her to use it like a lever. She wrenched it savagely and the carapace finally tore away at one corner.

  That was what she'd been waiting for.

  The battered teen yanked her weapon free and plunged her bloody arm into the Box’s chest.

  The Doos tried to seize her. Blood flowed around its weapon limbs as it desperately attempted to rip her away. In the end, it succeeded.

  But as Tycho fell to the ground, she did so clutching a handful of the avatar's internal parts.

  It came to an abrupt stop. Tycho didn’t move. She just lay on her back and panted. After a few breaths, all her cuts had healed enough for the bleeding to stop. All of the Doos extensions had been defeated.

  Dyrk turned his head to check on the police. They had rallied and were being organized into a line ten cops across and two deep.

  «Ben, I don’t see this ending well.»

  For whom? Tycho or the cops?

  «Yes. And for us.»

  I suspect you’re right. Got any brilliant ideas?


  «Also, yes. But…»

  But Dyrk never finished the sentence. He was distracted by the arrival of two additional Doos avatars. The duo ignored the police, plowing right through their line as they advanced on Tycho where she lay prone on the floor.

  It was a fatal mistake.

  Tycho's virus had long since restored her. She sat up. Her gown was a wreck. It hung in tattered strips from her shoulders and had a mélange of blood, dirt, and other stains covering its surface. Her face was similarly smeared which only made the deathly eagerness of her eyes seem more disturbing.

  She looked left and right. Then she stood up as both Box drew closer.

  Dyrk stayed still.

  There are only two of them left, they can’t afford to let her escape. So they better be careful.

  «They’ve been careful to not hurt Potato the whole time. It hasn’t worked out well.»

  Tycho cracked her neck. Then she leaned over and placed her hands on the ground before standing back up with her fists clenched.

  She turned to face one of the Doos square on. It raised its weapons and slowed but continued forward.

  Tycho moved her head side to side like a curious dog.

  Then she broke into a sprint. She ran right at the Doos. After five steps she threw her hands out and a cloud of rocks, bits of ground glass, and dust filled the air in front of her. The avatar’s weapons systems sprang to life. It blindly fired its non-lethal rounds. Its companion, which had been tracking Tycho as well, did the same. But she had already slid to her side and her speed carried her inside the reach of the second avatar’s weapons.

  She came to her feet with a blank expression on her face and a fresh slab of concrete clutched in her hands.

  «Ben?»

  Yes, Dyrk. What is it?

  «I don’t want to watch this, but I can’t stop.»

  That may be the most human thing you’ve ever said.

  «Humans are sick.»

  You aren’t wrong, Dyrk. You aren’t wrong.

  Tycho struck. She growled and howled and grunted as she smashed her improvised weapon into the Doos. Over and over again she brought it down.

  The avatar flailed. It struck back. But its thrashing was ultimately useless. The teen simply could not be deterred. She was a machine, devoid of emotion and pain. More, Tycho was a weapon incarnate. One extension or ten, Doos never stood a chance.

  After what seemed like an eternity, Tycho struck one last blow. Then she whipped around and placed her back against the mangled avatar’s torso. Her right hand snatched up one of the weaponized arms. She pulled it to her body and aimed it at the remaining Doos.

  Potato rose up on its little legs and looked over the top of Tycho’s head. It licked her scalp frantically.

  The last Box had nowhere to go. It couldn’t shoot Tycho and she had it dead to rights.

  The Doos rotated its torso one-hundred and eighty degrees and ran. It didn’t get far. Tycho lacked mercy.

  She opened fire on the avatar’s back. Her weapon bucked four times and when it stopped, her opponent lay face-down with a massive hole through its body, its treads still whirring above the marble floor.

  Tycho pressed the release on the weapon she held, disconnected it from the dead avatar. She hooked it under her arm and stepped away from its previous owner.

  Potato hopped back down to her shoulder and resumed licking her neck.

  Nearby, a police commander shouted. “They’re down. Prepare to advance. We want to take her alive… if we can.”

  Tycho turned slowly toward the gathered officers. Her eyes swept over them as her head swiveled side-to-side. It was not an appreciative look. It was a predatory one.

  «This is not good. If she can demolish those Doos like that, she’s gonna kill those cops.»

  I’m afraid you’re right. Dyrk, it’s time for me take over.

  «Gladly. She’s all yours.»

  Chapter 22

  Coop shook his head and arms. It cleared away the weird sensation that came with resuming control of his own body.

  He took a last look at the scene unfolding in the terminal. The cops had regrouped. They were preparing to march on Tycho. She looked frighteningly unimpressed.

  “All right, Ben Cooper,” he whispered to himself, “this is as close to that starring role the Box promised you as you're going to get on Titan. Time to put on a show.”

  The newly vibrant actor — looking and feeling thirty years younger than when he'd arrived earlier in the month — dusted himself off and wet his lips. Then he licked his hand and ran it through his hair. Twice. Just to make sure. One could not leave these things to chance.

  Coop stepped out from behind the Doos he’d been using as a shield. He rose to his full height, extended his chest and jaw, and just freaking exuded authority.

  He walked confidently toward Tycho. She responded by pivoting in place and aiming her weapon at him.

  «You know she might shoot you, right?»

  “Not helpful,” Coop muttered.

  He kept walking.

  When he was halfway to Tycho he extended his hand in the most imperious manner he could muster.

  “Stand down, soldier!”

  Tycho’s head tilted to the side. She swiveled her head and looked at Coop.

  But she did not lower her weapon.

  Coop paused. He forced himself to maintain an aura of calm authority. “I said, stand down. You’ve defeated the enemy. These are allied forces,” he gestured toward the police. “Lower your weapon.”

  The young woman looked at the weapon. She looked at the police. Then she looked back at Coop.

  “I said, stand down!” He stamped his foot for emphasis.

  A long moment passed. The police held their line. Coop held his breath.

  Tycho lowered her weapon.

  Coop did not miss his mark. He strode right up to her and grabbed the liberated weapon limb. He bent at the knees to set it down carefully and after he rose up, he hooked his elbow in Tycho’s own.

  “Soldier, it’s time for us to make a tactical withdrawal.”

  The police took a united step forward. Then another.

  Coop shot a look their way. “Stay back. I’ve got this.”

  The cops continued their march.

  “Oh, hell.” Coop reached into his pocket and palmed the grenade of sleeping agent he'd scooped up earlier. “I’m gonna pay for this.”

  He pulled the grenade's pin and tossed it in front of the police.

  Coop did not wait to see how they reacted. He tugged on Tycho’s arm. “Come on!”

  The pair ran pell-mell toward the outer shell of the terminal. The gas behind them expanded rapidly and briefly concealed them from view.

  Coop dodged then, veering off from the obvious exit of the passenger terminal and aiming them toward a maintenance door. He knew from Dyrk's study of the spaceport's blueprints that beyond that door lay a large supply closet filled with cleaning products, custodial gear, and emergency environmental suits. The last of these was hardly standard for a maintenance room, but they made sense in this case. On the opposite side of the small room lay Coop's actual destination, a small airlock to the moon's surface.

  As soon as they entered the safety of the airlock, Coop wheeled around and pressed the button to shut the double doors. The doors slammed shut without a sound, sealing them inside. He let go of Tycho. She allowed herself to be dragged this far, for the few moments it had taken to get here, but now she looked on the verge of violence. To be fair, it was a little hard to tell.

  Potato, on the other hand, seemed quite content. The little alien pranced on Tycho’s shoulder before jumping into Coop’s arms.

  Coop caught it and shifted the alien up to his own shoulder. Then he ran to the large storage bin mounted on the wall, adjacent to the airlock's inner door. Inside were several of the bubble-like environmental suits. He scrambled into one with a minimum of difficulty, though Potato did get a little squished and Coop had to press one hand against it, pi
nning the little guy against his chest. Through it all Tycho glared at him.

  «Are you sure this is going to work?»

  “Hell, no! There’s probably better than a 50/50 chance that this will kill her.”

  «Then why are we doing it?»

  “Allow me to explain human police. There is an absolute certainty that those cops back there are going to lock up somebody today. They are most certainly not going to let Tycho walk away. And when they attempt to detain her, she’s probably going back to full-on war-machine mode. She’ll kill a bunch of them, maybe all of them. If not, it will only be because they got lucky and killed her first.”

  «I don’t know, she heals stupidly fast. I don't think even a headshot is guaranteed to take her down. She’s already a freaking zombie.»

  “I’m counting on that healing. Also the zombie thing.”

  «You are?»

  “Yeah, it's the only way my plan actually works. Now, before she realizes what we’re doing, I need to blow this damn airlock!”

  Coop ran to the far side of the airlock and slammed his palm into the emergency exit button. There was a rapid exchange of gases and the outer doors opened with a massive clang. The wonderfully breathable, oxygen rich air was gone, replaced by Titan's toxic atmosphere.

  Tycho whirled to face Coop with that really scary face of hers. Then her body shook. She clutched her throat and tried to cough. Her eyes lifted and focused on him.

  “Time to go!” He waved his arm in a 'follow me' gesture.

  Tycho charged. Coop turned and rushed out of the airlock onto the tarmac surrounding the terminal.

  The young woman in her tattered hospital gown tried to give chase. But her muscles could no longer get the oxygen they needed. Her body couldn’t handle the strain. She staggered and stumbled in pursuit. Coop did not look back. He ran like a college football hero whose life was defined by how quickly he could cross the field and arrive at the far end without being taken down by the other team — or in this case, a teenage zombie war machine. The football, in this instance, was Potato. Which is why he didn't notice when, after less than fifty yards later, Tycho fell to her knees. Convulsions rocked her body and her carefully tended fingernails ripped at her throat before she finally fell to the ground, unconscious.