C.A.I.N. - Chapters 1 - 4 by Jesse Lawson

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The Duke remembered watching from a hideaway and hearing the guttural sound the soldier made when the robot discharged its weapon and struck him right in the side of the neck. After the survivors opened fire they only had about thirty-seconds left in their lives. After it was all over Duke rummaged through their things, watching the robot fly off in the distance.

A soft piano and drum arrangement came on. He stood up when the monitor towards the front of the cab lit up with pictures of LAX-SP. Beside him, the blue head started talking.

WELCOME TO THE LOS ANGELES INTERNATIONAL SPACEPORT (LAX-SP). PLEASE WATCH YOUR STEP WHEN EXITING THE MAGNERAIL.

Two sliding doors opened on the side of the cab but stopped halfway. A collapsed portion of the ceiling in the magnerail station impeded their complete movement, but they were open enough that he could step out. It was definitely shaken up, with huge concrete pillars cracked in half and sections of the ceiling collapsed in several different places, exposing the blue sky. He felt relieved to see people around, socializing here, talking on their PLACs (Portable Long-range All-channel Communicator) there. It was odd to see them using PLACs at first, since they were usually only afforded by wealthy people, but when he noticed that they were all dressed up in suits and ties he figured they were all either owners or representatives of major Earth businesses trying to take their scams elsewhere in the galaxy, like on Mars or floating around on some space colony somewhere, searching for the meaning of life or whatever it is they do.

In front of him about thirty feet away was a pillar with a plasma screen depicting a map of LAX-SP. Between the screen and him a group of individuals stood all bunched up like they were important. They weren't dressed the same as everyone else; they wore similar flak jackets from the early twenty-first century all hanging open like sweaters and fatigue cargo pants. Duke knew that this was not the time and place to start a fight (not that the place mattered), plus they looked like all five could combine themselves into one sizeable opponent, so he cleared his throat, lifted his head a little and walked carelessly towards the screen.

But of course, one of them had to say something.

"Well, well," the middle one started, "whatta we got here? Looks like ya lost, buddy." Duke stopped and the rest of the group slithered around the one who spoke like a bunch of slugs into a shoulder-to-shoulder position, like a grade-school fight. He looked at all of their young faces, left to right, then directed his attention back to the middle one.

He remembered having only four rounds left in his sidearm. His plasma rifle was collapsed and slung behind his back underneath the tattered-black leather jacket he won off of a poker player on the Noswall Colony, and would take too much time to retrieve, but much more fun to shoot them with. He decided against it - for now.

Expressionlessly, the Duke spoke.