Pardon Me, But Would You Have Any Grey Energon?

“I found you rather charming, actually, if a bit naive,” the newcomer said in a cultured male voice. His gun never wavered. From the assortment of car part junk hanging off of him, I judged he might turn into a limousine or other Grey Poupon-mobile. “Certainly you’re a better fit for that body than my—” I could have sworn the robot’s nose wrinkled. “—esteemed late colleague, Botnet. Congratulations, by the way; not many processees manage that feat.”

I snorted, keeping my own gun up. “Judging by what I saw, that kind of surprises me.”

The limobot sniffed again. “He was a—I believe the pejorative you used was ‘script kiddie’? A rank amateur. A regrettable error on our part; we were trying to recruit a master hacker—one of your class.”

“Only your recruiter didn’t know his ass from his elbow either,” I said. “We get that from the feds all the time.”

“But to get down to brass tacks…” The limo paused, and very deliberately lowered his gun. “…the Marauders are prepared to offer you a position.”

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