Free Creation Machine by Andrew Bannister

downhill it went, and the tall, irregular buildings of schist and sandstone gave way to more modern, although still very old, structures of foam stone and cinder blocks. Fleare preferred the claustrophobia of the older streetscape; the wider spaces made her feel thoroughly exposed. On an instinct, she slowed, then stopped and ducked into a doorway. As she did, something stung her cheek. She raised a finger to the place and held it out for examination.
    Blood. Her cheek was bleeding. Which meant . . .
    Pock!
    A puff of dust kicked off the corner of the stone porch, barely an arm’s length away. Fleare launched herself into a flat sprint that took her along a snaking path out into the middle of the broad street and across to the other side, while the ground exploded in a line of angry little craters behind her. There was some kind of statue sticking out from the building opposite her. It was on an arched base; she threw herself under it, crashed painfully into the wall at the back, rolled as upright as the space allowed and slapped her ear. ‘Muz!’
    ‘ Ow . What? Don’t shout.’
    ‘I’m not. All right, I am. Under attack, big time! Some sort of geriatric bullet thing. You were supposed to distract them. What the fuck did you do?’
    ‘Nothing! Well, apart from showing them a lot of very good porn. Kept them happy for a while. But now something’s triggered a legacy defence system. It wasn’t me. At least, I don’t think so. Are you under cover?’
    ‘Yeah, for the moment.’ The ground beneath the monument was raw earth; she scooped up a handful and threw it out towards the middle of the street. It landed in a deafening rattle of prehistoric gunfire. ‘Surrounded by automatics, though. Muz, get me the fuck out!’
    ‘Okay. Working on it.’ There was a pause. ‘Okay, Plan B. No, wait, fuck, okay, Plan C.’
    ‘Muz!’
    ‘Sorry. Plan D. Definitely. Listen, can you draw some fire near you? Um, as near as possible? I’m patched into the Monastery automatics but I need a fix. Plus-minus a couple of metres should do it.’
    ‘This had better be necessary.’ Fleare bit her lip, scooped another handful of earth and lobbed it gently out of the statue base. It landed in a straggling arc less than two metres from the statue. Fleare crouched and covered her head.
    The ground in front of her exploded in a shatter of dust. Through the ringing in her ears she heard Muz. ‘Got it! Coming in. Ah, shit, wait. Look, sorry . . .’
    ‘What?’
    But then her body buzzed and her sight darkened and things stopped mattering.
    She woke up on a hard floor somewhere that smelled of oil. Her head ached. She risked opening an eye, winced at bright light, and closed it again.
    ‘Ah. Glad you’re awake. Feel okay?’ It was Muz’s voice.
    Fleare forced both eyes open and looked around for him, but there was no one there. She was alone in a small room with plain metal walls. ‘What happened? And where are you?’
    ‘I had to, ah, expedite things. And you’re in a decontamination room just in case. This ship’s a little cautious; it thinks I’m contamination. I’m outside the door. I’ll be with you in a minute. Sorry.’ The voice didn’t sound apologetic.
    ‘Expedite?’ Fleare propped herself up on one elbow. It hurt. She shook her head carefully. ‘I feel like something hit me.’
    ‘You probably do. Stun field. As I said, sorry.’
    Fleare got to her feet. ‘Was it you?’
    ‘Yes. Look, it wasn’t part of the plan, okay?’
    ‘Oh really. Not even Plan D? So why’d it happen?’ She wanted to stare accusingly at something, but the room was featureless. She selected a corner at random and glared up at it.
    ‘We got jumped. Some kind of fleet. A lot of small agile stuff and something much bigger that stayed a long way out. The small stuff might have been slaved to one control source, judging by the playback. Anyway,’ and the voice gave a stagey sigh, ‘we had to pull you out in a big hurry. Too fast for