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Here is the somewhat-mecha-related short story that I said I would post. It's mostly a self-contained short story, but there is one inside joke at the beginning for people who had read my previous short stories. Just in case anyone wants to get the joke (it's not a major part of the story), the other stories are on the Web, at: http://www-db.stanford.edu/~sdullman/fiction/suspension.txt http://www-db.stanford.edu/~sdullman/fiction/myth.txt http://www-db.stanford.edu/~sdullman/fiction/saviors.txt They should be read in that order. I've included some spoiler space before this short story for people who want to read the other ones first. Eight Zero One Six by Scott Ullman The darkness of the cave surrounded Kincaid as he fumbled around looking for the power switch. He felt the rough stone of the cave wall against his palms as his hands slid around in the blackness. Finally, the sensation of rubbing against coarse sandpaper was interrupted by the feeling of cold, smooth steel. He found the lever and pulled it upward. Ha! Eight zero one six my ass, he spat out. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he scanned the area and saw that everything was just as he had left it hours ago. Good, he thought, they haven't been here. The cave was part of a long-abandoned military outpost that had been established here on Regulus III centuries ago, when mankind was just beginning to spread himself out across the galaxy. Kincaid had explored the caverns over the past few days, and discovered that almost everything had been stripped from the place, except for this alcove. The walls were covered with the remnants of posters and pin-up girls, conclusive proof that soldiers had, indeed, spent a great deal of time here. One of the more readable posters showed two tall, muscular twins standing behind a topless blond woman whose arms were crisscrossed over her breasts. An ancient control console lay rusting and decaying in one corner of the room. From it's design, Kincaid had judged that it was about two centuries old. Several rusty, dented footlockers, which were of a design that had not changed since the Second World War, contained various articles of clothing, and Kincaid had donned a khaki infantry uniform that he found in one of them. The uniform's dura-fiber fabric was somewhat flimsy with age, and the fit was a little loose, but it was still preferable to his bright orange prisoner's jumpsuit. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the only other thing of any value that he had found here: a large platinum coin. On one side was the lupine profile of a long-forgotten leader, perhaps one as corrupt as the one he had tried unsuccessfully to assassinate. The other side bore the ornate crest of some defunct star empire, possibly one as tyrannical as the current government of Regulus III. Kincaid tossed the coin up into the murky air of the cavern. When it landed in his palm, he slapped his hand onto the top of his other arm. Heads they win, tails I lose, he said. Without bothering to look at the coin, he slipped it back into his pocket. The coin was probably worth enough to buy the services of a cosmetic surgeon, who could change Kincaid's appearance enough for him to slip past the guards at the spaceport and stow away on a freighter heading out of the solar system. It probably wasn't necessary, he thought. The botched assassination and his trial had been all people could talk about up until he was sentenced to death, but judging by recent trends, people had most likely directed their attention to a new celebrity du jour by now and had forgotten all about him. Still, Kincaid had gone through too much to risk foiling his escape at the end. I always wanted some jowl work anyway, he said to himself. As he walked nervously around the alcove, he absentmindedly tapped his thumb against the handle of the Tesla gun that he had stolen from a guard that he had killed during his escape. _base_d on the theories of nineteenth century physicist Nicola Tesla, the Tesla gun used high-powered electromagnets to propel a _meta_l slug at a supersonic speed. He pulled it from the holster, and looked at the power gauge, which was almost in the red zone. His pockets were full of the shiny slugs that fed the weapon, but they would all be useless if the gun ran out of power. A fire fight with a search team three days ago had nearly depleted the weapon's energy. He had taken the four men by surprise, and he was certain that he killed them all before they could send out a message to the prison revealing here he was. I may not be so lucky next time, he whispered to himself. Kincaid's teeth began to chatter a little, and he felt a wave of fatigue pass through his body. He was hungry, and his body was beginning to show the signs of it. His only source of nourishment for the last week had been the supply of Yummi Cakes that he had found in the cave, which were nearing the end of their alleged two hundred year shelf life. Plus, his hemorrhoids were acting up again, and he would have given anything for a tube of Rectoleum. Tired, and feeling like his legs were going to give way, he sat down on one of the footlockers, the cool steel of the rectangular box soothing the pain in his rear end somewhat. He unwrapped a Yummi Cake and began to eat it. He had gotten used to their rather odd flavor. As he savored the excessively sweet cream filling and the rubbery, cinnamon-flavored cake that surrounding it, his thoughts traveled back in time to his university days. Kincaid's troubles started when he was finishing his third year at the University of Regulus at Regulus City. Germaine Dworkin, a member of the planetary Senate, seized control of the Regulan government and declared herself the Supreme Magistrate of the planet. At first, Kincaid was ambivalent toward the new dictatorship, but then the abuses began. Kincaid was one of the first students to organize a protest against Supreme Magistrate Dworkin's removal of the fluoride from the Regulan water supply despite its proven role in preventing tooth decay. Kincaid then organized protests against the Supreme Magistrate's censorship of the news media. Despite these abuses, Kincaid and most other activists didn't think of Dworkin's government as a serious threat. Soon, however, rumors began to circulate about mass graves being discovered in the northern badlands of the planet, and of mysterious disappearances of political dissidents. Having led demonstrations, Kincaid began to fear for his life, and at this point he had been ripe for recruitment into the newly formed Free Regulus underground. With the help of the Free Regulus underground, Kincaid faked his death. The underground trained him in building explosives and using firearms. Acting as an assassin, his first targets were minor officials, but as his skill became evident to his fellow resistance fighters, he was soon tapped for their most ambitious plan yet: the assassination of Dworkin herself. They spent months planning and rehearsing the operation, accounting for every contingency and hitch. Except one. A government informant had infiltrated the resistance cell, and Dworkin's security force knew the plan as well as Kincaid did. When he got himself into position on the seventh floor of the Smeal Building in downtown Regulus City, and began to power up his long-range Tesla rifle, he was jumped by three security officers who had been waiting for him, and they immediately placed him in handcuffs. Feeling that he had nothing to lose now, Kincaid took a gamble and reminded the security officers that he hadn't actually shot anyone yet. One of the guards picked up the Tesla rifle, went to the window, and fired the rifle at an elderly man below, killing him with a shot to the head. The crowd on the street below, which had been waiting anxiously for the arrival of the Supreme Magistrate's motorcade, erupted in chaos. The guard turned back to Kincaid, smiled, and said, Now you have. The guard turned on his communicator, and informed his superiors that he had apprehended the assassin. Kincaid breathed in the dusty air of the cave, and then let out a cough that sent a deep rumbling sound reverberating through the cavern. The rumbling sound echoed around him for a little longer. Ten seconds later, his ears could still make out a faint rumbling sound. He felt a slight tremor pass through his body. You can't let your nerves get to you, he warned himself. If you get jittery when you need to aim that Tesla gun, you're finished. After a few seconds, he noticed two things. First, the rumbling sound was still reverberating around him. Second, the tremor was actually coming from the ground, and he could feel the rock beneath his feet shaking slightly. An earthquake? he asked himself out loud. On Regulus? As the sound became louder, and the vibrations more intense, Kincaid noticed that it was actually an intermittent thumping rather than a continuous shaking. As the thumping grew louder and stronger, dust and small rocks began to fall of of the cave walls, causing Kincaid to be enveloped in a grayish cloud that choked his breath. Oh damn! he said as he realized exactly what it was that was causing the tremors. A small rock fell from the ceiling above him and beaned him on he head. A shelf that was attached to the wall near him collapsed, and a cacophonous chorus of clanking _meta_l filled the room as assorted junk fell to the ground. Although he didn't want to go outside, the cave that had been his refuge for the past week was collapsing around him, and he wanted even less to be buried alive. Not bothering to pick up any of his gear, he ran down the narrow passageway that lead to the
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