A Fistful of Trouble (Outlaws of the Galaxy Book 2) Paul Tomlinson (reading strategies book .TXT) 📖

“Have a look at the map,” I said. “See if you can find us somewhere for breakfast.”

“I bit my own knee,” Harmony said, rising slowly.

“Is that all? I think I ruptured a testicle.”

Chapter Nineteen

“There’s something big up ahead,” Harmony said, pointing to the blip on the dashboard map.

“That’ll be him,” I said. “We should see the smoke soon.”

“Smoke?”

I pressed down harder on the ‘go’ pedal and the Trekker picked up speed.

“You weren’t joking,” Harmony said. There was a thick black plume of smoke rising into the sky. “What does that thing burn?”

“Some kind of oil,” I said.

“Is that what I can smell?”

“Yep.” It smelled like a fire at a fast-food restaurant.

“We should do the planet a favour and take that thing off the road.”

“You’re not allowed to blow it up until we get Floyd out of it,” I said.

“What about Happy Hawkins?”

“Ideally, he should be out of it too.”

“Ideally,” she said.

I was probably wrong to have given her that much leeway. I tried to feel guilty about it. And failed.

We were gaining on the truck. It wasn’t really built for speed. Happy must have caught sight of us in his mirror because there was an abrupt change in the pattern of smoke coming out of the stack. The smoke came out even blacker.

“He’s trying to blind us with that stuff!” Harmony said.

I flipped on the heads-up display in case visibility got any worse.

“Is it falling apart?” Harmony asked, leaning forward and peering through the smoke.

Something was happening to the trailer in front of us. A split had appeared in the side of it in the top corner. It did look like the trailer was coming apart at the seams. Then I realised that it was meant to do that.

“He’s dropping the side down,” I said.

“He’s what?”

“That whole side drops down to form a stage – so he can sell the robots from it.”

“Why is he opening it now?”

“Guess.”

The stage dropped down on its cables until it was sticking out horizontally from the trailer. If a vehicle came the other way, it would get sliced open like a burger bun.

“Get ready for the first act,” I said.

Harmony’s hand moved slowly towards her pistol. She was watching me to see if I would stop her. I didn’t. She rolled down the side window and the smell of smoke was suddenly much stronger.

“Here they come!” I shouted over the wind noise.

One of Happy Hawkins’ skinny robots stepped out onto the bucking stage, trying to keep its balance like a tightrope walker. It was holding a rifle in one hand. Behind it, its twin staggered out clutching a big old machine pistol. And then came a battered trash collector, bouncing on its fat front tyre. There was some sort of mini grenade launcher welded to its shoulder.

“They’re lined up like ducks!” Harmony yelled. Her hair was whipped about by the wind.

“Do you think you can hit them?”

“Of course.”

“Then fire at will!”

Harmony’s first shot went wild as she tried to get a feel for the situation. The second was right on target, hitting the first robot in the head making it explode in a shower of sparks. The headless robot staggered around the stage blindly, collided with the trash collector, and then marched itself off the edge of the stage. I didn’t have time to swerve. There was a thunk-thunk as it passed under the Trekker’s tyres.

The loss of their comrade seemed to spur the other two robots into action. They opened fire on us.

“Incoming!” I yelled as I braked and swerved wildly to get out of the path of the first missile. It exploded harmlessly on the ground some distance behind us.

While the trash collector popped another grenade down the spout, the skinny robot sprayed bullets from the machine pistol. I stayed back and most of the shots ploughed into the road surface, sending up debris that clattered against my windshield. I heard one of the bullets ping off the bars on the front of the Trekker.

The little rolling trash can was manoeuvring itself into position to fire again.

“Can you take out the dumpy one?” I yelled.

“Get me closer!”

This would make us an easier target, but we had to get rid of the threat posed by the missiles. I eased the Trekker closer, staying way out to the side to give Harmony a clearer shot. I was also worried that Happy might slam on the brakes and we’d slam into the stage that was hanging there at windshield height.

Harmony and the garbage grenadier must have fired at almost the same moment. She hit him and spoiled his aim. The missile exploded above us and I could feel the heat from it through the open window. Harmony fired again, hitting the robot’s front tyre which exploded and threw the robot sideways off the stage. I braked and swerved as it bounced on the ground and I clipped it with the offside wing.

Another spray of bullets rattled on the armoured underside of the Trekker, vibrating the floor under our feet.

Harmony leaned out and loosed two rapid shots. The skinny gun-bot staggered back, disappearing into the open-sided trailer.

“How many are in there, do you think?” Harmony shouted.

“No idea. I’ll try and pull alongside.”

I had to take us off the road and drive through the loose dirt along the shoulder. The Trekker was designed for this kind of surface and the wheels dug in, propelling us forward.

“Don’t hit Floyd!” I shouted as we moved closer, gradually coming up alongside the trailer.

As we came even with it, the skinny robot hurled itself across the gap towards us. It landed on the hood of the Trekker and clung on with its free hand. The other hand brought the machine pistol around to target me through the glass.

“Persistent little sucker, isn’t he?” Harmony said. She leaned out of the side window.

“Don’t hit my car!” I yelled.

This might have spoiled her aim. Or improved it. The shot hit either the machine pistol or the