riders. While they were still staring, before most of the raiders
could raise their swords, and before the inn-keeper's daughters - being lashed
to two of the mounts by their captors - realised what the almost
unrecognisable lump on the ground in front of them was and started screaming
again, something thrummed past Sma's shoulder and darted down towards the men.
One
of the warriors roared, brandishing his sword and lunging towards the door of
the inn.
He
managed two steps. He was still roaring when the knife missile flicked past
him, field outstretched.
It
separated his neck from his shoulders. The roar turned to a sound like the
wind, bubbling thickly through the exposed wind-pipe as his body crashed to the
dust.
Faster
- and turning more tightly - than any bird or insect, the knife missile made an
almost invisibly quick circle round most of the riders, producing an odd
stuttering noise.
Seven
of the riders - five standing, two still mounted - collapsed into the dust, in
fourteen separate pieces. Sma tried to scream at the drone, to make the missile
stop, but she was still choking, and now starting to retch. The drone patted
her back. 'There, there,' it said, concernedly. In the square, both of the
inn-keeper's daughters slipped to the ground from the mounts they had been tied
to, their bonds slashed in the same cut that had killed all seven men. The
drone gave a little shudder of satisfaction.
One
man dropped his sword and started to run. The knife missile plunged straight
through him. It curved like red light shining on a hook, and slashed across the
necks of the last two dismounted riders, felling both. The mount of the final
rider was rearing up in front of the missile, its fangs bared, forelegs
lashing, claws exposed. The device went through its neck and straight into the
face of its rider.
On
emerging from the resulting detonation, the machine slammed to a stop in
mid-air, while the rider's headless body slid off his collapsing, thrashing
animal. The knife missile spun slowly about, seemingly reviewing its few
seconds' work, then it started to float back towards the window.
The
inn-keeper's daughters had fainted.
Sma
vomited.
The
frenzied mounts leapt and screamed and ran about the courtyard, a couple of
them dragging bits of their riders with them.
The
knife missile swooped and butted one of the hysterical mounts on the head, just
as the animal was about to trample the two girls lying still in the dust, then
the tiny machine dragged them both out of the carnage, towards the doorway
where their father's body lay.
Finally,
the sleek, spotless little device rose gently to the window - daintily avoiding
Sma's projected bile - and snicked back into the drone's casing.
'Bastard!'
Sma tried to punch the drone, then kick it, then picked up a small chair and
smashed it against the drone's body. 'Bastard! You fucking murderous bastard !'
'Sma,'
the drone said reasonably, not moving in the slowly settling maelstrom of dust,
and still holding the ceiling up. 'You said do something.'
'Meatfucker!'
She smashed a table across its back.
'Ms
Sma; language!'
'You
split-prick shit, I told you to stop !'
'Oh.
Did you? I didn't quite catch that. Sorry.'
She
stopped then, hearing the utter lack of concern in the machine's voice. She
thought very clearly that she had a choice here; she could collapse weeping and
sobbing and not get over this for a long time, and maybe never be out of the
shadow of the contrast between the drone's cool and her breakdown; or.
She
took a deep breath, calmed herself.
She
walked up to the drone and said quietly, 'All right; this time... you get away
with it. Enjoy it when you play it back.' She put one hand flat on the drone's
side. 'Yeah; enjoy. But if you ever do anything like that again...' she slapped
its flank softly and whispered, 'you're ore, understand?'
'Absolutely,'
said the drone.
'Slag;
components; motherjunk.'
'Oh,
please, no,' Skaffen-Amtiskaw sighed.
'I'm
serious. You use
could raise their swords, and before the inn-keeper's daughters - being lashed
to two of the mounts by their captors - realised what the almost
unrecognisable lump on the ground in front of them was and started screaming
again, something thrummed past Sma's shoulder and darted down towards the men.
One
of the warriors roared, brandishing his sword and lunging towards the door of
the inn.
He
managed two steps. He was still roaring when the knife missile flicked past
him, field outstretched.
It
separated his neck from his shoulders. The roar turned to a sound like the
wind, bubbling thickly through the exposed wind-pipe as his body crashed to the
dust.
Faster
- and turning more tightly - than any bird or insect, the knife missile made an
almost invisibly quick circle round most of the riders, producing an odd
stuttering noise.
Seven
of the riders - five standing, two still mounted - collapsed into the dust, in
fourteen separate pieces. Sma tried to scream at the drone, to make the missile
stop, but she was still choking, and now starting to retch. The drone patted
her back. 'There, there,' it said, concernedly. In the square, both of the
inn-keeper's daughters slipped to the ground from the mounts they had been tied
to, their bonds slashed in the same cut that had killed all seven men. The
drone gave a little shudder of satisfaction.
One
man dropped his sword and started to run. The knife missile plunged straight
through him. It curved like red light shining on a hook, and slashed across the
necks of the last two dismounted riders, felling both. The mount of the final
rider was rearing up in front of the missile, its fangs bared, forelegs
lashing, claws exposed. The device went through its neck and straight into the
face of its rider.
On
emerging from the resulting detonation, the machine slammed to a stop in
mid-air, while the rider's headless body slid off his collapsing, thrashing
animal. The knife missile spun slowly about, seemingly reviewing its few
seconds' work, then it started to float back towards the window.
The
inn-keeper's daughters had fainted.
Sma
vomited.
The
frenzied mounts leapt and screamed and ran about the courtyard, a couple of
them dragging bits of their riders with them.
The
knife missile swooped and butted one of the hysterical mounts on the head, just
as the animal was about to trample the two girls lying still in the dust, then
the tiny machine dragged them both out of the carnage, towards the doorway
where their father's body lay.
Finally,
the sleek, spotless little device rose gently to the window - daintily avoiding
Sma's projected bile - and snicked back into the drone's casing.
'Bastard!'
Sma tried to punch the drone, then kick it, then picked up a small chair and
smashed it against the drone's body. 'Bastard! You fucking murderous bastard !'
'Sma,'
the drone said reasonably, not moving in the slowly settling maelstrom of dust,
and still holding the ceiling up. 'You said do something.'
'Meatfucker!'
She smashed a table across its back.
'Ms
Sma; language!'
'You
split-prick shit, I told you to stop !'
'Oh.
Did you? I didn't quite catch that. Sorry.'
She
stopped then, hearing the utter lack of concern in the machine's voice. She
thought very clearly that she had a choice here; she could collapse weeping and
sobbing and not get over this for a long time, and maybe never be out of the
shadow of the contrast between the drone's cool and her breakdown; or.
She
took a deep breath, calmed herself.
She
walked up to the drone and said quietly, 'All right; this time... you get away
with it. Enjoy it when you play it back.' She put one hand flat on the drone's
side. 'Yeah; enjoy. But if you ever do anything like that again...' she slapped
its flank softly and whispered, 'you're ore, understand?'
'Absolutely,'
said the drone.
'Slag;
components; motherjunk.'
'Oh,
please, no,' Skaffen-Amtiskaw sighed.
'I'm
serious. You use
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