My problem was how to get out of this dead machine with my limbs intact. The crazed, leaderless bunch of kids outside - one of the suburban gangs, the Kings or maybe the Crack- would inevitably take me for a marauder clerk. I left that particular profession some time back... no, in fact, they threw me out of the service when the annual audit turned up a few surprises in my biog. Four generations of humanoids in the family being one of them. I was lucky to be allowed to leave. So many ex-clerks are rendered on the spot. I still wonder why they let me go. Maybe it was because I'd done ten years of loyal service, which was not an ethical problem in those early days. Demolishing dangerous buildings, scooping up the plague-rats and destroying mugger-pits to make way for new apartments - all of that was fine. The past year, I haven't been so sure. The focus has changed. Clearing the way for the Mesh. Flattening any place that might be used as a temporary departure hall, whether it's inhabited or not. All wrong. I can see why these street gangs behave they way they do. At least, somebody has remove the face-tape and shout loudly. I'm no gangster. Just some guy who's feeling uneasy about things and decided to hot-wire his old marauder one last time.
The marauder comes with 360 degree vision. It makes these bio-machines very versatile. But judging by the smell in here, this one has seen its last day of action. My idea was to take the whole damn thing through. See what would happen. See what it's like on the other side. If I wasn't immediately incinerated, that is. I saw those two kids and I hesitated. That's when the dog-beam hit us. Time to go, I guess. Though it's hard to quit an old friend like this. Stupid name, I know, but I've always called the marauder Audrey. Now it's a case of kissing Audrey goodbye. Who knows - maybe they'll come for her, do a refit and we'll find our paths crossing again.
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