Free The Thirteenth Man by J.L. Doty Page A

slowly about, taking several seconds to complete the motion. He didn’t have to look carefully to find the source of the noise. He spotted a small bot on top of his spacer’s bag where he’d thrown it on the bed. It was shaped like a six-­legged spider, sharp little mechanical legs poking and prodding at the bag and the uniform he’d tossed there. His heart climbed up into his throat—­this was not benign.
    It was probably looking for a thermal signature combined with motion detection, perhaps with a hormone or DNA sniffer, which was why it had focused on the dirty clothing. It was pure luck that he’d immediately stepped in front of the fire. The heat radiating from it swamped Charlie’s own low-­level thermal image.
    There was a small, spinning globe on top of the mechanical spider. It rotated full-­circle every two or three seconds. Again, with infinite slowness he lowered into a crouch in front of the fire, hoping to further obscure his thermal signature. He had no weapons, nothing near at hand to throw or use as a club. He had the robe he was wearing, and the warmth of the fire was becoming uncomfortable. He carefully peeled off the robe, held it close to the fire until it was starting to give off little tendrils of smoke. It should give off its own thermal signature now.
    Maintaining his crouch, he tensed, then tossed the robe into the air to one side of his position. The bot responded instantly, scurried across the room with blinding speed and leapt at the descending robe before it hit the floor. The force of the bot’s leap was such that bot and robe together slammed into the wall then dropped to the floor. The bot, tangled in the robe, thrashed about furiously as Charlie scrambled across the floor on hands and knees. He gathered up the edges of the robe, lifted it like a sack with the bot trapped inside, swung the robe around his head once and slammed the bot into the wall. Taking no chances he swung again, and again, and again, until finally sparks and smoke erupted from the dead weight trapped in the robe.
    He dropped the bundle on the floor, and as the rush of adrenaline subsided and his knees turned to rubber he sat down in the middle of the room, caring nothing for the fact that he was as naked as the day he was born.
    If they don’t get you with the first strike, Roacka seemed to whisper, don’t forget the backup plan .
    To Charlie’s right he heard a pneumatic whoosh . He scrambled on hands and knees toward the fresher door, a new spurt of adrenaline goading him on. Behind him he heard a buzzing sound, and he suffered an irrational moment of fear that something would attack his bare ass. The last few steps before the fresher door he got to his feet in a low, running crouch, slammed through the door, and sprawled to the floor in a tumble of arms and legs. He lunged to his feet, caught a glimpse of small reptilian wings rocketing toward him, stumbled toward the door, threw his shoulder into it and slammed it shut.
    A tiny reptilian head punched through the door just above Charlie, scattering splinters from the door and transmitting a bone-­jarring shock to his shoulder. The little beast’s momentum stopped halfway through the door, pinned half in, half out. Its head jerked up and down spasmodically, began spewing a stream of emerald green liquid that shot across the floor of the fresher. Charlie kept his shoulder pressed to the door until the little beast’s head slowly jerked to a stop. And only then did he relax, sliding down the door until his bare butt hit the cold floor of the fresher.
    â€œShit,” he said.
    Charlie got up and knelt beside the green liquid on the floor, wondering if it was caustic, or something else equally harmful. Staring at it carefully he noticed something moving in the green ooze, and on closer inspection he could see dozens of tiny larva, all squirming and thrashing about in the slime.
    Charlie was bruised, sore