Free Iron Sunrise by Charles Stross

at—"
    "Shut the fuck up," the man said casually, and the bomb stopped in midsentence. "It is a lovely bomb, isn't it?"

    "Yes. Did you make it yourself?" Rachel's pulse raced. She blipped her endocrine overrides, forcing the sweat ducts on the palms of her hands to stop pumping and her stomach to cease trying to flip out through the nearest window.
    "Moi? Do I resemble a weapons scientist? I bought it off the shelf." He smiled, revealing the glint of a gold tooth—Rachel managed to keep a straight face, but her nostrils flared at the unmistakable odor of dental decay. "Is it not great?" He held up his wrist. "If I die, poof! All funeral expenses included!"
    "How big is it?" she ventured.
    "Oh, it's very big!" He grinned wider and spread his legs suggestively, rubbing his crotch with one hand. "The third stage dials all the way to three hundred kilotons."
    Rachel's stomach turned to ice. This isn't your run-of-the-mill black-market bomb, she subvocalized, hoping MacDougal would be listening carefully.
    "That must have cost you a lot of money," she said slowly.
    "Oh yes." The grin faded. "I had to sell everything. I even gave up the treatments."
    "Which treatments?"
    Suddenly he was on his feet and ranting. "The ones that make me Idi Amin!
    King of Scotland, Victoria Cross, KBE, MBE, Governor of Kiboga and Mayor of Bukake! I am the President! Respect me and fear me! You chickenshit white Europeans have oppressed the people of Africa long enough—it's time for a new world of freedom! I stand for Islamic values, African triumph, and freedom from the oppressors. But you don't give me no respect! Nobody listens when I tell them what to do. It's time for punishment!" Spittle filled the air in front of her. Rachel tried to take a step forward without attracting his attention, but the bomb noticed.
    "Alert: close proximity alert! Unidentified human, believed hostile, at—"
    "Don't move," MacDougal whispered tinnily in her ear. "The fucking thing just armed itself. If you get any closer without him telling it you're friendly, it could blow."
    A bead of sweat trickled down the side of Rachel's face. She forced herself to smile. "That's really impressive," she said slowly. Insects whined softly overhead, police wasps circling his head, waiting for an opportunity to strike safely. A thought dug its unwelcome claws into her mind: Got to get closer!
    But how? "I like impressive men," she cooed. "And you're really impressive, Mister President."
    I'm going to try to get close enough to immobilize him, she subvocalized.
    Tell me exactly what your bugs are loaded with again.

    "Glad you think so, little lady," said the Last King of Scotland, rubbing his crotch. Isn't priapism a late-stage symptom? she subvocalized, staring at his dirty sweats and forcing herself to lick her suddenly dry lips.
    "They're loaded with a really strong serotonin antagonist targeted on his reticular activating system. Ten seconds and he'll be in a coma. We just need to stop him telling the bomb to go bang after it goes in and before he nods off. And, uh, yes, it is a symptom."
    "Your little king looks like he wants to hold court." Rachel smiled invitingly, dry-swallowing and steeling herself for the next step. First get his confidence, then abuse it … "What's the protocol for approaching a President, Mister President?"
    "You do it naked. Naked folks are my friends. Naked people don't have no guns. You hear that, bomb? Naked women are my friends. Naked bitches.
    My special friends." He seemed to have calmed down a bit, but the set of his jaw was still tense, and he squinted angrily, as if he had a bad sinus headache. "You going to get naked, bitch?"
    "If you say so, Mister President." Rachel locked her jaw muscles in a painful rictus that imitated a smile as she unsealed her jacket and slowly shrugged her way out of it. Did you hear that? she subvocalized as she rolled her leggings down around her ankles and stepped out of them. She stood in front of him and held