announced, scowling at a fax from his printer. “The kids call themselves, geez, The Bloody Deckers, and they’re supposed to be the worst street gang ever to plague this city.”
“I think they stole my car once,” Dr. Wu said, scrutinizing the monitor closely, and then she nodded. “Yes, it was them, all right.”
“Mohad!” Prof. Rajavur barked, making everybody jump. “Contact Idow immediately and tell him that he's made a terrible mistake!”
Tense minutes followed as Dr. Malavade tried once more to break through the alien radio silence. As the communications expert waged his private brand of electronic warfare, the FCT, and the rest of the world, carefully studied the six gang members.
They were all young, in their early twenties, yet each bore scars testifying to battles hard fought, and won. Five men and a woman; their hairstyles ranged from crewcut, to ponytail, to bald. They wore boots and denims like a uniform, and everyone sported a black leather jacket, dripping in chains, with the back of each adorned with a vividly painted toolbox splashed with crimson. Underneath that was the name of the gang, boldly emblazoned in shining steel studs: “The Bloody Deckers.”
Dr. Malavade snapped his fingers for attention. “I have been talking to an entity named Squee, and he assures me that a road maintenance crew is perfectly acceptable to them.”
“Road maintenance crew? Aw hell, that's a street gang!” Rajavur groaned aloud. “Mohad, make him understand!”
“Too late,” General Bronson stated.
The transmission from the ship had shifted to a wide angle view and inside the test chamber something was happening. Close by the street gang, a section of the floor had dilated and a column rose into view, bearing four metal lumps; blue, gray, brown and green, each resembling army helmets. Hesitantly, the Deckers took a step forward but Idow's voice stopped them.
“THIS IS THE FIRST OF YOUR TESTS. WITHIN SIXTY SECONDS, THESE FOUR DRONES WILL BE ACTIVATED. THEY WILL INSTANTLY TRY TO KILL YOU.”
Supremely defiant, The Bloody Deckers sneered, the FCT frowned, and the rest of humanity leaned eagerly into their TV sets. Hot dog, action at last.
“DESTROY THESE DRONES OR DIE . . . HEY.”
The ‘hey’ was because the street gang was already in action. Their leather jackets flapping like bat wings and howling their name in a battle cry, the six youths leaped upon the inert drones, smashing them to pieces under their heavy motorcycle boots. The largest gang member grabbed two and ground them against each other. Fragments of wire and plastic sprinkled to the floor. A slim male produced a motorcycle chain and viciously whipped it down, sending bits of drone flying everywhere. The remaining drone was dropkicked into its component works by a hulking third gang member, while two more Deckers moved in and systematically stomped into junk anything they could find. The sixth member of the street gang, a tall hairy male, watched the carnage with a bored expression and kept checking his watch.
As the end of the minute approached, he whistled them to his side and on the 60 second mark, one tiny chunk of drone stirred. Bravely, it gave forth a fierce hoot and a shining steel blade emerged from the broken shell of its body. The smallest gang member scuttled over to the dying drone, snapped off the blade and happily tucked it into his sleeve. The lord of the Bloody Deckers nodded approvingly at this act and then turned a murderous grin towards his unseen audience of 500 million.
“So tell us,” he asked smugly. “What is next on the game plan?”
* * *
Almost falling out of his chair, Leader Idow yipped and hit the switch killing his microphone. Spinning about, the blue being found himself staring at his equally flabbergasted crew.
“GAME!” Idow roared using both of his mouths. “Did he say, game ?”
Completely rattled, Squee rubbed his claws together. “Yes,” he hissed. “There is no chance of
“I think they stole my car once,” Dr. Wu said, scrutinizing the monitor closely, and then she nodded. “Yes, it was them, all right.”
“Mohad!” Prof. Rajavur barked, making everybody jump. “Contact Idow immediately and tell him that he's made a terrible mistake!”
Tense minutes followed as Dr. Malavade tried once more to break through the alien radio silence. As the communications expert waged his private brand of electronic warfare, the FCT, and the rest of the world, carefully studied the six gang members.
They were all young, in their early twenties, yet each bore scars testifying to battles hard fought, and won. Five men and a woman; their hairstyles ranged from crewcut, to ponytail, to bald. They wore boots and denims like a uniform, and everyone sported a black leather jacket, dripping in chains, with the back of each adorned with a vividly painted toolbox splashed with crimson. Underneath that was the name of the gang, boldly emblazoned in shining steel studs: “The Bloody Deckers.”
Dr. Malavade snapped his fingers for attention. “I have been talking to an entity named Squee, and he assures me that a road maintenance crew is perfectly acceptable to them.”
“Road maintenance crew? Aw hell, that's a street gang!” Rajavur groaned aloud. “Mohad, make him understand!”
“Too late,” General Bronson stated.
The transmission from the ship had shifted to a wide angle view and inside the test chamber something was happening. Close by the street gang, a section of the floor had dilated and a column rose into view, bearing four metal lumps; blue, gray, brown and green, each resembling army helmets. Hesitantly, the Deckers took a step forward but Idow's voice stopped them.
“THIS IS THE FIRST OF YOUR TESTS. WITHIN SIXTY SECONDS, THESE FOUR DRONES WILL BE ACTIVATED. THEY WILL INSTANTLY TRY TO KILL YOU.”
Supremely defiant, The Bloody Deckers sneered, the FCT frowned, and the rest of humanity leaned eagerly into their TV sets. Hot dog, action at last.
“DESTROY THESE DRONES OR DIE . . . HEY.”
The ‘hey’ was because the street gang was already in action. Their leather jackets flapping like bat wings and howling their name in a battle cry, the six youths leaped upon the inert drones, smashing them to pieces under their heavy motorcycle boots. The largest gang member grabbed two and ground them against each other. Fragments of wire and plastic sprinkled to the floor. A slim male produced a motorcycle chain and viciously whipped it down, sending bits of drone flying everywhere. The remaining drone was dropkicked into its component works by a hulking third gang member, while two more Deckers moved in and systematically stomped into junk anything they could find. The sixth member of the street gang, a tall hairy male, watched the carnage with a bored expression and kept checking his watch.
As the end of the minute approached, he whistled them to his side and on the 60 second mark, one tiny chunk of drone stirred. Bravely, it gave forth a fierce hoot and a shining steel blade emerged from the broken shell of its body. The smallest gang member scuttled over to the dying drone, snapped off the blade and happily tucked it into his sleeve. The lord of the Bloody Deckers nodded approvingly at this act and then turned a murderous grin towards his unseen audience of 500 million.
“So tell us,” he asked smugly. “What is next on the game plan?”
* * *
Almost falling out of his chair, Leader Idow yipped and hit the switch killing his microphone. Spinning about, the blue being found himself staring at his equally flabbergasted crew.
“GAME!” Idow roared using both of his mouths. “Did he say, game ?”
Completely rattled, Squee rubbed his claws together. “Yes,” he hissed. “There is no chance of
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