The Windup Girl

Anderson fights the urge to scream at her. "It's not white shirts."

The banging continues on his door. "Open the fuck up, Anderson!"

He calls back, "Just a second!" He pulls on a pair of pants, glaring at her. "It's not the damn white shirts. Carlyle would slit his throat before he'd get into bed with white shirts."

Carlyle's voice again echoes through the door. "Hurry up, goddamnit!"

"Coming!" He turns to her, orders her. "Hide. Now." Not a request anymore, but an order, driving at her genetic heritage and her training.

Her body goes still, then suddenly she becomes animated. Nodding. "Yes. I will do as you say."

Already she is dressing. Her stutter motion is fast, almost a blur. Her skin gleams as she pulls on a blouse and a pair of loose trousers. Suddenly she's shockingly fast. Fluid in her movements, strangely and suddenly graceful.

"Hiding will do no good," she says. She turns and runs for the balcony.

"What are you doing?"

She turns back and smiles at him, seems about to say something, but instead she plunges over the balcony's edge and disappears into the blackness.

"Emiko!" Anderson runs to the balcony.

Below, there is nothing. No person, no scream, no thud, no complaints from the street as she spatters across the ground. Nothing. Only emptiness. As though the night has swallowed her completely. The banging on the door comes again.

Anderson's heart thuds in his chest. Where is she? How did she do that? It is unnatural. She was so fast, so determined at the end. One minute on the balcony, the next gone, over the edge. Anderson peers into the blackness. It's impossible that she jumped to another balcony, and yet… Did she fall? Is she dead?

The door crashes open. Anderson whirls. Carlyle spills into the apartment room, stumbling.

"What the-?"

Black Panthers pour in after Carlyle, slamming him aside. Combat armor gleams in the dimness, military shadows. One of the soldiers grabs Anderson, whirls him about and slams him into the wall. Hands search his body. When he struggles they jam his face against the wall. More men pour in. Doors are being kicked open, splintering. Boots thud around him. An avalanche of men. Glass breaks. Dishes in his kitchen shatter.

Anderson cranes his neck to see what is happening. A hand grabs him by the hair and slams his face back against the wall. Blood and pain flood his mouth. He's bitten his tongue. "What the hell are you doing? Do you know who I am?"

He chokes off as Carlyle is dumped on the floor beside him. He can see now that the man is tied. Bruises pepper his face. One eye is swollen shut, black blood scabs on the orbital bone. His brown hair is clotted with blood.

"Christ."

The soldiers wrench Anderson's hands behind his back and bind them. They grab his hair and jerk him around. A solider shouts at him, speaking so fast he can't understand. Wide eyes and spittle in his face as the man rages. Finally Anderson catches words: Heechy-keechy.

"Where is the windup? Where is it? Where? Where?"

The Panthers tear through his apartment. Rifle butts to smash open locks and doors. Huge black windup mastiffs scramble inside, barking and slavering, snuffling everywhere, howling as they catch their target's scent. A man shouts at him again, some kind of captain.

"What's going on?" Anderson demands again. "I have friends-"

"Not many."

Akkarat strides through the door.

"Akkarat!" Anderson tries to turn but the Panthers slam him back against the wall. "What's going on?"

"We have the same question for you."

Akkarat shouts orders in Thai to the men tossing Anderson's apartment. Anderson closes his eyes, desperately thankful that the windup girl didn't hide in the closet as he suggested. To be found with her, caught out…

One of the Panthers returns, carrying Anderson's spring gun.

Akkarat makes a face of distaste. "Do you have a permit to be armed?"

"We're starting a revolution and you're asking about permits?"

Akkarat nods to his men. Anderson slams back against the wall. Pain explodes in his skull. The room dims and his knees buckle. He staggers, barely keeps his feet. "What the hell's going on?"

Akkarat motions for the pistol. Takes it. Pumps it idly, the heavy dull thing massive in his fist. "Where is the windup girl?"

Anderson spits blood. "Why do you care? You're not a white shirt or a Grahamite."

The Panthers slam Anderson against the wall again. Colored dots swim in Anderson's vision.

"Where did the windup come from?" Akkarat asks.

"She's Japanese! From Kyoto I think!"

Akkarat puts the pistol to Anderson's head. "How did you get her into the country?"

"What?"

Akkarat strikes him with the butt of the pistol. The world darkens.

– water gushes into his face. Anderson gasps and splutters. He's sitting on the floor. Akkarat presses the spring gun to Anderson's throat, pushing him to climb up to his feet again, then to teeter onto his toes. Anderson gags at the pressure.

"How did you get the windup into the country?" Akkarat repeats.