A Fistful of Trouble (Outlaws of the Galaxy Book 2), Paul Tomlinson [bts books to read .txt] 📗

house, I’ll have secret passages and hidden rooms. But I’ll shield them from sensor scans.

The Colonel and his plus-one entered the reception room. The vintage feel of the show I was watching was enhanced by the fact that the bad guy was wearing some sort of mock-historical soldier’s uniform jacket and the robot he encountered was a forty-year-old combat droid. The big blue robot was standing beside a window, looking out at the army surrounding the house. The shiny skeleton soldier pointed its energy rifle at the blue robot.

“Where is he?” the Colonel asked, looking around, gun in hand.

“Quincy Randall is not in the building,” the big blue robot said. It was holding the rocket launcher. It raised the weapon but did not point it at either the Colonel or the grey soldier robot. It pointed its weapon towards the window.

This was the moment when Colonel Hodge realised that he had walked into a trap.

“What are you doing?” There was a hint of panic in the Colonel’s voice.

He knew exactly what the big blue robot was doing. If it fired the rocket-launcher through the window, it would signal the end of the stand-off. The army outside – the Colonel’s army – would open fire on the house. His house. With him inside it. Keeping secrets from your own people brings risks with it.

“Wait!” he said, holding up a hand to stall the big blue robot. “If you fire, you’ll be killed too.”

“I am not alive,” the big blue robot said. It flicked the safety mechanism off with its huge thumb.

“Stop him!” the Colonel said, pointing out the target to his military machine like this was a bad stage play. The Colonel then sprinted towards the door to the secret passage. He pulled it open so fiercely that it smacked him in the face. Maybe it was a farce.

I will make a confession here. I did a mean thing. I blew up the Colonel’s escape tunnel so he couldn’t get out the way he’d come in. Or that I’d gone out. Obviously, I wasn’t so cruel as to blow it up while he was in it. But he was near it. He saw the tunnel collapse in front of him. Unfortunately, the nearest camera didn’t get a good shot of his expression. With the main tunnel blocked, he had to crawl on his hands and knees through one of the smaller service tunnels. I hoped he remembered the layout and could find his way out. No, actually, I didn’t.

Meanwhile, above ground, the shooting started.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Every pane of glass in the front of the Colonel’s house was broken. The pillars and white walls were peppered with bullet hits. Rocket-propelled grenades had punched holes right through the walls in several places. Through the windows and holes, multiple small fires could be seen burning and some of them were taking hold and beginning to spread. The left-hand pillar – the closest of the three to the window that the big blue robot had fired a rocket through – had taken more hits than any other spot. It had been nibbled away as if by voracious concrete-eating termites.

The initial barrage had been going on for perhaps twenty minutes. It wouldn’t be long before the Colonel’s army realised that they were the only ones shooting and that the house was empty. Battles are chaotic, but not so wild that you don’t notice there’s no return fire.

More high-calibre shots gnawed away at the pillar and it became so damaged that it crumbled. As it fell, the portico it supported began to sag. The additional strain placed on the remaining pillars, which had themselves sustained some damage, caused them to crack. They seemed to shake, straining to support the weight they had been designed to bear, but finally they collapsed. It was the total destruction of the portico that brought a lull in the shooting. The human soldiers paused to take in the damage that had been inflicted on the house and instructions were passed to the robots to cease firing.

Flames licked out of a damaged window, blackening the wall above. Smoke billowed out of the other windows and holes in the wall, rising and staining the sky black. Loud cracking sounds echoed within the structure and a section of the roof sagged inwards. The big white house had been mortally wounded.

People looked around them, trying to locate the Colonel, seeking guidance. I think they were also a little worried that they had trashed his place. Word began to spread that their leader was missing. The men began to move. Crawling at first, then dodging from one bit of cover to another, gradually gaining in confidence until they just stood and began to gather at a single point. They had all been drawn to Casey, hoping the Colonel’s second in command could answer their questions. Where’s the Colonel? Did we win? What do we do now?

Casey had no answers for them. He too had no clear idea of what had just happened or why. Had they won? He wasn’t even sure if the other side had fought at all.

The answer to their question ‘Where’s the Colonel?’ was easy. Colonel Hodge was still crawling around underground like a rat failing to complete a maze. At his present rate, he’d never find the cheese. Or the exit. If he had emerged from one of the manholes that were scattered around the area, the Colonel might have taken charge of his army and led them in a search for Patricia Brennan. And me. But he didn’t, and it was left to Casey to improvise.

The problem with an obsession or a personal vendetta is that it really only drives the person who holds it. Everyone else is just hired help. Colonel Hodge had controlled his men by sheer force of will. He told them what to do. He gave their actions meaning. And he gave them money. In his absence, things would quickly unravel. A bunch of fighting men with no