Free Day of the Damned by David Gunn

arm, I tighten the grips that hold it in place. Pistons hiss and braided hoses flex as my fingers come back to life. The fighting arm is a work of art. It’s just a work of art made to fit someone else.
    ‘Our house medical AI—’
    ‘Aptitude.’
    She stops talking.
    ‘It’s like that because I want it like that. Some lessons you need to remember.’ I’m pretty sure we’ve had this conversation before.
    Not sure why we’re having it again.
    ‘But you remember it anyway.’
    ‘Without the scars I’d forget.’
    We both know we’re not here to talk about my scars. And I’m pretty certain Aptitude didn’t leave Wildeside’s air-conditioning just to bring me a beer.
    ‘Come on,’ I say. ‘Spit it out.’
    She flushes. Takes another long look at the horizon.
    Smoke drifting from the rift at one edge and the line of hills that form the boundary to the Wolf’s estates at the other. Not much out there she’d want to look at. So I figure she’s taking care not to look at me.
    But I don’t need to see her face to know she’s desperate. That’s obvious from the way she clenches her fists.
    ‘Sven . . .’
    ‘I don’t break my promises.’
    She laughs, unhappily.’ You think I don’t know that? If anyone can protect Vijay from General Luc—’
    ‘So what’s this about?’
    ‘I want to go too.’
    ‘You can’t.’
    Flipping round, she starts to protest and shuts up when I scowl. She looks as if she’s about to cry. And Aptitude doesn’t.
    Not usually.
    ‘You’re taking Leona,’ she protests.
    ‘So?’
    ‘She’s a woman.’
    ‘No, she’s a sergeant in the Farlight militia. A combat-hardened, fully trained specialist with two tours of duty behind her.’ This has nothing to do with gender. Although I know Aptitude won’t believe that.
    ‘I’m scared,’ she says.
    ‘Of course you are . . .’
    A nicely brought up girl like her. How could she not be?
    Aptitude shakes her head crossly.’ You don’t understand. I’m going to get you both killed.’
    ‘Me and Leona?’
    ‘No! You and Vijay. The two men I—’
    Wisely, Aptitude doesn’t finish that sentence.
    ‘Sven,’ she says, ‘I’ve already got Vijay in trouble. And now . . .’
    I don’t realize I’m gripping her shoulders until she whimpers. Then I step back and make myself step back again. Telling her she’s a stupid little idiot isn’t the answer. So that means I’ve got to apologize.
    ‘You stay at Wildeside.’
    She still wants to object, so I give her reasons. ‘If the Wolf captures you, Vijay’s dead. You think he wouldn’t give himself up?’
    The tears come.
    Ignoring them, I take another look at the horizon. I have a better idea than Aptitude what’s out there. ‘Your dad told you about the furies? We need sex and food. Some of us need to fight . . .’
    She’s looking at me strangely.
    Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned sex.
    ‘Furies need to kill. All their instincts are sewn up in one primal urge.’
    ‘They’re human?’
    Maybe once, I think.
    The definition of human is wide these days. Wide enough to include me, Anton and Debro, all three. But I’m not sure it can be pushed that far.
    ‘No,’ I say.
    Better if Aptitude thinks of them as machines.
    Unbuckling my gun belt, I wrap it around Aptitude’s waist.
    ‘Open the holster,’ I say.
    Her fingers fumble with the catch.
    ‘And again. This time make it smoother.’
    Aptitude’s second go is better. Her third better still. Slow healer, quick learner. Works for some people.
    ‘Now give me the gun,’ I say.
    The correct term is a side arm or piece.
    Actually, the correct term is SIG-37, with added Colt combat AI, up-rated memory chip and pulse-rifle capacity. Battle planning, forward projection, combat probabilities and one-minute certain. In U/Free territories the SIG would have voting rights.
    One-minute certain means the SIG can tell you with 99.2 per cent accuracy what is going to happen in the next sixty seconds. (Combat situations only.)