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I want More
By Mark Hermanson
Cal swears under his breath, and listens to the engine thrum in front of him. Everything had gone so perfectly at first- too perfectly. Maybe that should have tipped him off. “Going to pull his head off, and…”
He knows he is going to lose his cool, so he starts re-hashing the events of the day. That morning he had pancakes, bacon, and coffee. The service was sub-par, so no tip. He had enough money problems as it was. Outside the café, he bought some hollow-point bullets from a wandering vending machine.
By noon, he was on the base floor of the bank, shattered glass around him, waving his wrist-gun in the air. Robbery was such an ugly word- he preferred to call it wealth acquisition. He had some class, after all.
The faces of terrified customers always made him smile a little bit. It was a bad habit- his usual technique of pointing guns at people, barking like a mad dog, and breaking things was his secret to success. It got him past the front counters, to the vault, and almost into an accountant’s pants. He was busy, and didn’t want anyone spoiling the operation, so he compromised by getting her number and giving her a kiss on the cheek, until later.
Cal is a big man. He has enough nano-steroids and artificial bones to carry the contents of the vault out on his shoulders. Granted, it’s one hundred eighty pounds of currency chips, but it’s still heavy.
He was slightly relieved to find half of the chips missing, with a large hole in the back of the vault, leading to his exit. Thirty seconds later, he had the currency chips in his bag, and went out the new door. He got into the parking lot to see a ground-car peeling out of town, just like he was about to. A guard of some kind tried to stop him, but didn’t survive being hit in the face with ninety pounds of E-pesos.
All this brings Cal back to the present. He wants the other 90 pounds enough to warrant a chase. The speedometer says he is doing twice the speed limit- almost to his high score from last week. A hundred yards ahead is another ground car- electric, not gas- doing slightly less speed. Unquestionably, it was his new target. Some jackass with long hair, and the wrong tires for a country road.
Cal loads his wrist-gun with armor piercing bullets. He calmly rolls his window down, rests his elbow on the door-frame, and opens his fingers to give the muzzle a clear shot from the center of his palm. The safety turns on when you close your fingers- it’s a good feature to avoid blasting your digits off.
Aiming is quite simple. Cal got the optional optics package, which puts a holo-projector in his left pointer and thumb fingertips. When his left hand opens all the way, with the wrist pulled back slightly, the L created by his hand lights up with aiming calculations. Any other day, it would be set to aim for the crotch.
A flurry of bullets erupts from his left arm, and pierces the rear of the car ahead of him. Ground-cars are less vulnerable than their airborne counterparts, but not invincible. Thank goodness whoever this is didn’t buy one with armored treads.
The electric car in front of him swerves, skids out of control, then goes over the side of the road into a large field. Battery acid spews into the air from a punctured power cell, and Cal smiles with satisfaction. “Damn, I’m good.”
He puts on the brake, and undoes his seat belt. Safety first, especially if people are shooting at you. He keeps his left hand aimed at the disabled car, and grabs an empty sack with his right. Now that he’s out of hands, he kicks the door to his car open from the inside. It makes a “chunk” as the hinges reach their maximum turning radius, and there’s a slight whistle from the serrated blades he had welded to the door. The sound reminds him that he hasn’t used them in a while.
It’s a clear, sunny day. The asphalt shimmers with mirages, and the cracks stretch across it in all directions. Since the advent of affordable flying cars, no one really cares about anything other than parking lots.
Cal surveys his prey. It’s been immobile for six seconds, but he can still see movement in the driver’s seat. It looks like a nerd car: rubber tires riddled with holes, obvious electrical powertrain underneath, and several antennas sticking out of the top.
“Hey asshole!” Cal yells, keeping his reticle on the car. “You got something for me?”
Something about the size of a baseball jumps through the sun-roof, and explodes in brilliant light. Cal forgot to put on his special sunglasses, so he’s blinded by the flash-flare. A rookie mistake, to be sure; his car has twelve of them, to confuse air-to-surface missiles.
When his vision returns a half-second later, he sees a blurry shape combat-roll from the driver’s side. As more color and fidelity returns, he sees it’s a woman holding a semi-auto pistol at him.
For a few seconds, both of them stand still, surveying each other. He has artificial muscle, a synthetic jumpsuit, and a wrist-gun loaded with AP bullets. She has a hoodie, blue jeans, and who knows what else in the car.
His face is hard, and angry- it’s his game face. She looks tired, and possibly scared. She yells, not very loud, “Put the gun down, jackass!”
“No thanks- I kind of like it here.” The optics are training his gun on the left side of her chest- the recoil will drag each successive shot sideways across her torso.
“Come on! Let’s just take what we’ve got and leave. No one has to get buried.” Her gun is trained at his head. No scope, no fancy holo-optics, just iron sights. It looks like a piece of crap bought from a garage sale.
“Are you kidding me? My robbery, my loot. Ninety pounds isn’t enough to buy a tank with a USMC authenticity sticker on it.” Cal actually has dreams about it.
“And it also isn’t enough to buy a house with a basement full of French wine and computers. But we’re here now, each with half the loot.” She sounds hurt, but still capable. Cal admires that.
“So you’re classy? Big deal. But, explain this to me- how’d you get into the vault?” Genuine curiosity touches the meathead’s voice. He might be able to do it himself, whatever it is.
“My ‘robo. It’s equipped with a chemical saw and an expensive nano-solvent to make a nice hole into the vault. An hour before that, I hired a few punks to screw with the security system.” She flaunts her technique. It’s nothing new, but she pulled it off nicely. “Pity the robot isn’t a heavy lifter. I might’ve been able to take everything and be gone while you were still punching desks in the lobby.”
Cal smiles. “Bravo, then. Where’s the robot now?”
“Trunk.” She doesn’t glance over, but she knows Cal filled it full of holes when he shot at the car. “It should be out here, spraying you with solvent, and turning you into dog food.”
Cal laughs. She’s got teeth; baby teeth, but still something to admire. “I suppose I’ve got a proposition, then.” His aim is starting to waver as his arm gets tired.
“Eat dirt and die?” She suggests with a smile.
“No, actually- let’s team up.”
She’s a little bit stunned. This, coming from the man who’s pointing a wrist-gun at her? “Explain. And don’t screw with me- I can read you like a book.”
“We’re both good enough to make away with one hundred eighty pounds of pesos. Imagine how much we could do together? With your automation doing the heavy lifting, and me running interference, we’re a hell of a team.”
The wind blows through her hair, carrying the scent of cut grass with it. “Nice pitch- but what’s the insurance? We just met at gunpoint.”
Cal thinks for a bit. She does have a point. He speaks plainly. “I really like money. So much, I’m willing to work with someone else to boost profits.”
“I almost believe you.” Her hands are getting tired from holding the gun. She does have more flash-flares, though.
“You said I’m transparent, right?” He closes his fingers, and lowers his .45 caliber hand.
She stares at him briefly, then pockets the gun. It doesn’t have any bullets, anyway. “Just two things I need to know first.”
“Yeah?” Cal looks over his shoulder to see if his car has killed anything in his absence.
“What’s your name, and can a pretty girl get a ride?” She grins, and opens up the trunk of her now-derelict car. She likes this guy, and thinks their friendship will be very… profitable.
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