The Pharoah Contract

The bola seemed to float across the intervening space as languorously as a bird in a dream, the spinning weights throwing off warm gleams. The splinter gun rose toward Ruiz, inexorably. Ruiz threw himself sideways and down; the floor was impossibly far away. He pointed the ancient handgun as he fell, but his first shot was an impotent click.

The splinter gun fired with a soft stuttering cough, just as the bola struck the cyborg. Splinters sleeted through the spot Ruiz had just vacated, ricocheting off the bulkhead in all directions, some embedding themselves in Ruiz’s back.

The bola’s chains snapped tight, pinning the splinter gun to the cyborg’s torso at a momentarily useless angle.

Ruiz gasped, pulled the trigger again. The gun boomed, an ear-shattering sound in that enclosed space, and the slug knocked the cyborg against the port. Marmo bounced off the armorglass, apparently undamaged, but he had lost his grip on the splinter gun. The cyborg floated forward, ripping at the chains, but Ruiz was faster. He leaped across the deck, snatched up the splinter gun, threw himself onto the cyborg’s back. He pressed the muzzle to the soft flesh under Marmo’s chin.

“Be still,” Ruiz said, “or I’ll eat a hole right into you. You’re mine, tin man.”

Marmo turned his head, looked into Ruiz’s eyes. “I see that. Be careful, please. I am more fragile than I appear.”

Ruiz tugged the bola chains down, tucked the ends tightly. He fished the knife from his shoe, worked it into Marmo’s shoulder until he had severed the hydraulic lines that powered Marmo’s metal arm.

“Was that necessary?” Marmo seemed no more than mildly curious.

Ruiz made no reply.

Marmo’s blank steel eyes flickered past Ruiz’s shoulder for a moment. A wave of misgiving filled Ruiz as he whirled to look out the port. A small white shape ran toward the perimeter.

“Nisa,” Ruiz whispered. He grabbed at the collar controller. Red and yellow buttons marched in rows. Color codes marked each pair of buttons, so he could locate Nisa’s buttons, but he had no way to tell which button exploded the collar and which injected the anesthesia. Nisa was almost to the perimeter, and overhead Ruiz heard the whine of the ruptor turret coming to life. Ruiz looked about wildly. He could not identify the ruptor controls; there was probably no time to disarm it, even if he could find them.

Ruiz thrust the controller at Marmo. “Which kills, red or yellow?” he demanded.

“Yellow,” Marmo said without perceptible hesitation.

Ruiz’s finger quivered over the controller; then he stabbed the yellow button. Just for an instant, he closed his eyes and sagged against the cool glass of the port. But he heard no explosion, and when he opened his eyes he could see Nisa sprawled on the ground, just short of the perimeter. He whirled, just in time to dodge the cyborg’s rush. Marmo thumped the glass with enough force to have crushed Ruiz; the impact seemed to disorient the cyborg for a moment. Ruiz jumped at him, crooked an elbow around Marmo’s neck, and set his foot against the bottom of Marmo’s floater chassis. Ruiz heaved, and the cyborg slowly tipped over, to fall with a crash on his side.

Marmo spoke in a gently reproachful voice. “This is a sad situation. I cannot raise myself from this position.”

“You lied to me; I should cut your head off,” Ruiz said. “But I’ll wait a bit. Who knows, I might even let you live, if you can find a way to be useful to me.”

Marmo sighed. “I trust that I can.”

“Begin this way. Where is the key to our collars?”

“I fear Corean has the only one.”

Ruiz knelt by the cyborg and smiled. He raised his stiletto and began to saw methodically at the tough fabric that underlay the segmented coupling between Marmo’s head and torso.

“Uncivilized. You should use the gun; so much more efficient.” Marmo’s steel eyes rolled.

Ruiz laughed, bore down. The tip of the stiletto slipped between the segments, and a drop of bright blood welled up. The cyborg jerked, tried to twist away.

“Wait!” Marmo said. “I suddenly recall that a backup key is locked under the main console.”

Ruiz flipped the stiletto shut. He went over to the console, looked beneath it. Set in the tangle of wires was a small black case. On it a red light flashed beside a small keyboard.

“How can I trust you to give me the code?” Ruiz asked.

“A problem,” Marmo said mildly. “Let me think.”

Ruiz glanced out the port. Nisa still lay by the perimeter, and he felt a sudden twinge of anxiety. “Think fast,” he admonished the cyborg, and then he opened his stiletto again.

“Calmly, calmly. I have it. Roll me over to the lockbox, and I’ll open it for you. If it’s booby-trapped, I’ll take the brunt of it.”

Ruiz set his foot and rolled the cyborg over. Three turns later Marmo lay under the console.

“You’ll have to loosen my arm,” Marmo said.

“In a moment.” Using the point of the stiletto, Ruiz teased open the access plate on the side of Marmo’s torso. Inside was the cyborg’s main power cell. Ruiz got a good grip on the handle of the cell.