“I want your names,” I growled. “I want your ranks. I want your serial numbers. I want the names of your superiors. I want your frickin’ VINs! Cough up, you low-lifes!”

Instead, they started to back away even faster, finally transforming back to sports cars and racing off. I followed them with a stream of imprecations, broadcast over Aegis short-range frequencies. Once I heard the engine sounds fade, I chuckled. The good ol’ Bavarian Fire Drill, works every time.

Of course, it might not take long for them to realize they’d been had—not to mention remember their fallen comrade—so I had to work fast. Turning to the three downed automechs, I quickly stripped them of anything I could use—which was mostly their main and backup personality cubes. (I disabled their transponders, not wanting a repeat of that first surprise visit.) I also took Dugout’s rifle to augment my pistol. Like all automech weapons, it was modular and broke down for storage in my own body.

Once I had what I needed, it was time to scram.