Sierra Bravo

patches where the blaster shots had struck the grey metal skin. Her mouth tightened into a furious line, and she felt the rage boiling inside her.
"If only you had weapons," she muttered.
"You don't need weapons to destroy an enemy," said Arnie, his voice distorted by the external speakers.
"I don't?"
"Of course not. Anything is a weapon when dropped from sufficient altitude."
Alice turned to stare at the piles of rubble littering the roof. There were large chunks of stone, some as big as her head, and a grim smile broke out as she imagined them raining down from the sky. Suddenly she was galvanised into action, gathering the bigger stones one by one and ferrying them to the ladder. Once she had a dozen or so, she carried them up the ladder one-handed, struggling with every step as she got her makeshift missiles into the airlock.
When she finally managed to get enough on board, she was panting hard, her muscles were burning and her arms felt like they were falling out of their sockets. She took a few deep breaths, then closed the hatch and ran up the spiral stairs to the flight deck. "All set for lift-off?"
"Indeed."
Alice took her seat and wiped the sweat off her brow. As she reached the controls, she wondered if her actions fell under the heading of 'doing something stupid' in Harriet's little book of rules. Then she shrugged. Harriet believed rules made life easier, whereas she, Alice, felt they made life so much more difficult. "Let's go," she said, once her harness was tight.
"Where to?"
"Do you really need me to tell you?"
The jets fired, and Arnie immediately rose into the sky. Moments later they were streaking across the city, and Alice smiled grimly as she anticipated her revenge.
— ♦ —
The cab drove Harriet and Birch through a salubrious area, where large houses were surrounded by extensive gardens. There were private cars parked in many of the driveways, gleaming vehicles fresh from the showroom.
"Something tells me your officer did okay for himself," said Harriet, eying a bright red sports car. She decided she wouldn't mind zipping around Dismolle in something like that. "What did he do, get into financial advice or something?"
"No idea," said Birch.
"Well, he'd never have got here on Peace Force wages."
"Trainee Walsh, are you considering a change of career?"
"No thanks, I like being poor. Plus I get a kick out of arresting bad people."
They pulled into a broad driveway alongside a pair of long, sleek groundcars. There were half a dozen robots in the grounds, scurrying around as they tended to the gardens and maintained the impressive house. As Harriet got out of the cab she saw the curtains twitch in one of the upper floor windows, and she realised their arrival had been noted.
The front door opened before they got there, and a tall, sombre-looking robot emerged. Behind it, Harriet could see a wide hall and a staircase. "Welcome. Please would you state the nature of your business?"
"I'm here to see Martin Caldavir," said Birch. "David Birch is the name."
"Is sir expecting you?"
"We used to serve together."
"That does not answer my question."
"No, he's not expecting me, but—"
"I'm afraid Mr Caldavir does not like to be disturbed."
"This is Peace Force business," said Harriet.
The robot studied her. "If that is the case, Mr Caldavir is even less likely to speak with you."
"Who is it, Worthy?" A woman came down the stairs. She was wearing a dressing gown, and had a cup in one hand. "What do they want?"
"These people are here on Peace Force business. They wish to see your husband."
"Well show them in."
"As you wish, madam." The robot stepped back and opened the door wide, and Harriet and Birch stepped into the hall. "If you'd care to wait, I'll see if Mr Caldavir is available."
After the robot left, the woman eyed Harriet's uniform, then glanced at Birch. She was about thirty-five, with blonde hair and dark eyes, and if anything, Harriet thought she looked bored. The woman drank from the cup, then gestured towards a side door. "He'll be in the workshop, like always."
"What does your husband do?" asked Harriet.
"Not much," admitted the woman. "I'm Moira, by the way. Excuse the dressing gown, I had a late night."
"Bit of a party, eh?"
The woman frowned. "No, I was working on my thesis."
Harriet clasped her hands behind her back and waited patiently. Having been neatly put in her place, she decided it would be best to stay silent.
"You have a lovely house," said Birch, trying to break the ice.
"Really? Do you want to buy it?"
"Er, no."
There was another strained silence, even longer this time, and then with a rush of relief, Harriet heard footsteps. She turned to greet Birch's old colleague, but instead it was the robot, alone.
"I'm sorry, Mr Caldavir is busy and does not wish to be disturbed."
"But I have to—" began Birch.
"Worthy," said Moira. "Be a darling and fetch me a coffee, will you?"
"Of course, madam." The robot bowed and left, and then Moira waved them towards the side door. "Go on, you might as well go through."
"But he said …" began Harriet.
"Oh, forget Worthy. He won't have even gone out to the shed. He just waits round the corner, counts to sixty and comes straight back again."
"But why?"
"Let's just say he has his little quirks. Anyway, if you nip out now he'll never know."
"Won't your husband be surprised to see us?"
"Sure, but he loves an audience." Moira inspected her cup. "Need coffee. You two head out the side door and turn right. You can't miss the shed."
They obeyed, emerging from the side of the house into a lane which led down the side of the house to the back garden.
"She's a bit … unusual," said Harriet, as they set off. She'd wanted to say 'odd', but she toned it down. After all, the woman had let them in.
"I've never met her," said Birch. "Martin was single when I knew him."
As they turned the corner they saw the back garden laid out