Not Going Easy
She crouched behind the tree, feeling hot blood drip to the ground. Her hunters were not far enough away. It was over. Amala knew that she was about to die.
Not yet, she thought. They wouldn't get her without a fight.
The robots weren't technically built for the swamp, but that didn't matter. Even if it managed to stop them, they could have reinforcements in a matter of minutes.
Hands shaking, she reached into her small mechanic's pouch, hunting through her tools for something useful.
Everything she had was technically useful, just not in her current situation. Each one of her tools was as familiar as her own fingers, as familiar as each breath she took.
Smiling a little, she touched each one, her fear momentarily forgotten as she was lost in the memories. The wrench set she'd been given by her father on her fifth birthday, the special tool that could open any lock that she'd saved for years to buy new. All scrappers had a similar toolset, though hers were the nicest.
Tucked into the side pocket was a small photo, the last thing she had from her mother. Her mother had never taken to space. Father had said some people couldn't handle travel over lightyears. Made them sick, or something.
Amala touched the frayed piece of paper, feeling the softness of the many times the sheet had been crumpled and flattened. Nothing stayed in good condition in a scrapper's pouch.
She stared at the image, a simple landscape. There'd always been a plan to visit Earth, maybe find her mother. Course, after her father died, that plan had become nothing but a dream. Something about Earth called her, though. Rumour said that all humans felt it, that it was an inherent tie to their home planet.
The robots started splashing closer, their lights cutting through the gloom. Amala shifted, biting back a groan of pain as her wounded leg took her weight, for a split second.
Something occurred to her then, an idea that could save some scrappers from these robots, if not herself. She pulled out her lock opener, unscrewing the back. The battery glowed with a dim light, showing her just how bad her leg wound was. That wasn't something she wanted to think about.
Taking a screwdriver, she pried open the protective casing, which was no easy task. The photon batteries were not meant to be opened, other than in a very controlled and professional environment. Obviously, that was to keep regular idiots from accessing the core, as Amala was about to do.
Staring at the glass tube containing the compressed molecules, she couldn't believe what she was about to do. The red glow made it seem as though her entire body was covered with blood.
Blood was mixing with the stagnant water under her knees, enough that she was feeling lightheaded.
Rising slightly, she broke a piece of bark off the tree stump. The crack echoed around her and the robots stopped. A peek around the tree told her that they were facing in her direction.
She set the core on a flat rock, her palm on top of it. Then she threw the piece of bark against the top of the tree, making it rattle. The robots would have no question of where she was.
A deep breath was all she had time for before the first was around the tree.
"Amala Harri! You are under arrest for illegally modifying your escort."
She scowled up at it. "I put eyeballs on it. Named it. Gave it an identity. And you tore him apart."
"The truce of 3847 decreed that unauthorized modification of an escort is punishable with life in the salt mines if Kara."
"No, you'll not take me to some salt mine."
Amala leaned on her right hand, the one that rested on the core. The thin glass cracked, cutting into her hand. Then the world exploded.
The end.
Thanks for reading, and have a good week. Next time it'll be a take on Medusa's legend, from the mind of Pandora Jarvis, another of my Scribbler associates.
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