Free John Golden: Freelance Debugger by Django Wexler

it said, with a laugh. “You humans are so predictable in your emotional attachments. Come over here before I have to start snipping bits off.”
    “ John!” Sarah shouted.
    “ I'm coming,” I answered, peering around the other side of the cage. One of the Falmer-thing's eyes focused on me immediately. The damn thing literally had eyes in the back of its head, which made it awfully hard to sneak up on.
    “ No, you idiot!” Sarah shouted. “Get out of here!”
    I clenched my fists, back to the chicken wire cage. “Delphi, can you hear me?”
    “ I can hear both of you,” Delphi said from the air. Her voice was tight, with the barest note of panic. “Is she okay?”
    “ So far, but I don't fancy trying to take that thing on with my bare hands. Have you got anything?”
    “ I'm trying!” I could hear her typing madly on the keyboard. “This system is a mess, how am I supposed to find anything when I don't know what I'm looking for— [71] ”
    — [71] Oh, like your bedroom is always neat and tidy.—
    “ Armor, weapons, anything like that?”
    “ I've got... Here, try this.”
    The air shimmered, and a booklet appeared beside me and flopped to the ground. I glanced at the cover.
    “'Guide to Installing and Configuring Your Dell' [72] . Not exactly what I need.” Something else caught my eye. “But hang on...”
    — [72] I really have no idea why that was still on there. Sometimes bloatware can be impossible to get rid of.—
    The gun that Sarah had dropped me the first time I'd been in the burrow was still here. That made sense—it would normally dematerialize only when Sarah's system was disconnected from the network. It was halfway between the cage I was hiding behind and the altar, and I gauged the distance carefully. How fast was the puppeteer? If it spotted me, could I beat it there?
    Nothing for it but to try, I pushed off around the corner, my boots scraping against the raw metal grating underfoot. The Falmer-thing's head whipped round, and it clicked and rattled its way in my direction—away from Sarah—and extended a pair of heavy pincer arms toward me. It was faster than I would have guesse d, but it hadn't seen the gun.
    At the last moment I tucked into a roll, slipped past the slashing claws, and snagged the weapon on my way past. I fetched up on my side, flopped awkwardly to face the fairy, and fired.
    The little weapon clicked and emitted a brilliant line of light, too bright to look at. My aim was off, and the shot hit the puppeteer in what passed for its shoulder instead of its face. Its pale flesh bubbled and flowed like wax, leaving a wide crater where the beam had struck. It emitted a weird, warbling shriek that slid up and down the scale like a demented synthesizer. But I could already tell it wasn't going to be enough—it was still moving, bearing down on me like a runaway car.
    I tried desperately to line up another shot, but it swung an arm down, tendrils bunched into a club-like fist, and slapped the weapon from my hands. I scrabbled backward on hands and knees, avoiding the viper-fast snaps of the thing's scissor-claws.
    “Delphi!” I shouted. “This”— snap —“would be”— snap —“a really good time”— snap —“to find something good!”
    “ I don't know how!” Delphi screamed in frustration. Objects started appearing all around me—a can of soda, a bowl of creamed corn, two rubber balls, a zebra-print throw rug. “John!”
    I wanted to reply, but I couldn't. I'd ducked under another blow from the scissor-arm only to find the smaller arm coming up from underneath. It wrapped its cable-tendrils around my throat, seizing me in a solid grip and lifting me off the ground with effortless, mechanical strength. The Falmer-thing's metal joints clicked and whirred.
    “ John, what do I do?” Delphi shouted. “John!” Then her voice vanished.
    “ If I can offer you some advice, Mr. Golden,” the fairy said, suddenly sounding just like Falmer again. “Next