Mech 3: The Empress Read Online Free Page A

negligence. They might even sue him, attaching a rider to the wages of his next contract.
    The security cameras showed an empty chamber, filling with sand. There was no one on the table, and the clamps were open. Megwit slapped himself in the temple, but his mind did not respond by operating with greater efficiency. He flicked to the records.
    Sixty-Two, the records stated. Prisoner number Sixty-Two had been there, in those clamps. He was sure of it. The mech had been left there during processing—which had never been completed. But where had the prisoner gone? How had he left?
    Megwit spent the next several minutes consulting one camera after another. It was difficult to see anything other than blowing sand. Piles of it had drifted over some of the video pickups. Others could rotate and scan, but he saw nothing other than the dark humps of half-buried buildings.
    Once he thought he saw a figure for a fleeting instant, when a gust of pure air cleared the sand and allowed a longer-range view. But it was only for an instant. He was left with the impression in his fogged mind of a man wearing a flapping scarf. That could not be, he told himself. How could there be a man out there? Megwit was the only living human within a hundred leagues. After continuing to scan every video pickup for half an hour or more, he finally sagged down in relief and defeat. Whatever it had been, the figure was gone now.
    Then came the knock. It was incredibly loud, being created by one large hunk of metal banging against a flat slab of even thicker metal. The sound reverberated through Megwit’s office and caused his brain a good deal of pain. He clamped his swollen eyes shut and slapped his hands to his ears, gritting his teeth and crying out.
    When the sound finally, blissfully ceased, a fresh sound replaced it. Megwit tentatively removed his hands from his ears, and forced open a single, puffy eye.
    The valves on the doors were opening. There couldn’t be any doubt of it. The bottom one had twisted fully around to the vertical, and the upper was squeaking and turning slowly even now. He thought of jumping up to twist the lower valve shut again, but something kept him in his chair. There wasn’t enough time left, and so he did nothing. He sat and stared dumbly. Perhaps it was shock, or simply apathy brought on by the blur-dust that coursed through his system.
    A moment later, the second valve was vertically aligned and the door opened. Megwit barely had the time and forethought to claw his goggles into place. The sandstorm would be coming through that hatchway with a vengeance.
    A blast of grit and howling wind flood his office a moment later. Every report, faded decoration and scrap of clothing lifted up and swirled around the chamber as if caught in a tornado. Sand stung his lips and shot up his nostrils. He had not had time to get his breather into place.
    His eyes, looking through the grimy goggles, beheld a surprising sight. It was a mech, he could tell that much. But unlike other mechs, this one had a scarf around its face. That flapping bit of cloth seemed like a human affectation, and somehow it was frightening. Still, he knew who this visitor must be.
    Megwit watched as the mech closed the door behind it. The mech had a missing arm, he noticed. A slurred moment later, he realized the missing arm was in the mech’s other gripper. The mech was carrying its own broken arm. Somehow, this did not make sense to him, and he almost laughed aloud. Almost.
    “Sixty-Two?” Megwit asked. “Are you Sixty-Two? Report your status, then shut yourself down for maintenance.”
    The towering figure said nothing in reply. Instead, the mech approached Megwit’s desk. It hefted its broken arm with its good one. The mech then began the methodical process of beating Megwit to death with the broken arm, wielding it like a club.
    As the only human within many miles succumbed, he saw the scarf covering the mech’s face slip away due to the heaving effort it