He kept shaking Junior at the end of his arm. The child looked like a puppet, bouncing up and down and all around, wriggling helplessly. "How bad you want it?" the truck driver asked. "Real bad? You want it real bad?"
"Yes!"
"Go get it!"
He threw Junior at the fence. His tiny body sparked once and clung, somehow, before falling to a limp heap on the ground. Junior didn't move. He didn't cry. Amy turned to look back at the trucker. For the length of a single computational cycle, she imagined throwing him on the fence, too. But she didn't. She ran to get Junior. Her hands were on him, holding him, when someone kicked her from behind and sent her straight into the fence.
Her body filled with electricity. The fence's charge was larger and faster and sharper than anything she'd ever touched. Her fluids simmered; her layers of muscle rippled subtly in different directions before settling, re-patterned, into something stronger. For a moment she was pure diamond. Then her hands – glassy now, black and hard like obsidian – left the wires. She stood up. She turned around. The kid was there, all pimply and drooly and excited. His foot was still half-raised.
Portia reached right through him, straight to his heart, and squeezed.
"It's all right," she said. "It's over, now."
Stop!
The kid's mouth was already bubbling. He kept trying to take a deep breath, as though that would get rid of the fist inside his chest. "D-don't," he said. "P-please…"
"Shh…" Portia's fingers slipped around the heart. It felt so strong, even now. Each chamber worked in perfect concert. They kept lub-dubbing, each time more rapidly than the last despite the massive hole in the kid's body. The muscle was so warm and smooth and pleasant to the touch. It felt like petting a whale at a zoo – all slick and alive and allegedly precious. She could smell the peanut butter from the kid's sandwich on his panting breath. His neck oozed sweat. "I know you want this," she said. "I know you wouldn't have done what you just did if you didn't."
Don't do it, Amy pleaded. He doesn't know any better–
Portia crushed his heart in her fist.
Inside her, Amy screamed.
Portia withdrew her hand. She opened her fingers and shook most of the blood away. She looked up at the truck driver. He looked like something had already been scooped out of him, too, as though a puff of air could scatter him like dead leaves. He ran.
Let him go, Amy urged. Let him go, let him go, let him–
Portia charged. After three steps her feet left the ground, and she sailed over a pile of garbage. It was almost absurdly delightful, the sense of increasing the void between her feet and the earth. She'd have to find Javier and thank him. He really was generous, to share his toys like that. She landed in front of the truck driver, who held up both the mech arm and the puke pistol.
"Stay away," he said. He swung the arm. Portia smiled. She feinted back, hopping lightly. Doing so taxed her energy reserves, but her toes almost craved the bounce. She jumped backward as the trucker once again swung the arm at her middle. She laughed.
"Get away from me!" He fired at her with the puke pistol; she leapt up high as his shooting arm came up, and landed behind him. He whirled, and tried swinging the mech arm, but Portia caught it and ripped it from his hand. She threw it far behind her. The gun came up, but she grabbed his wrist and twisted it completely around. He howled.
"I'm sorry," he said, kneeling and cradling his wrist and crawling backward all at once.
"I know," Portia said.
You've hurt him, Amy said. You've punished him enough, you don't have to do anything else, you can let him go–
"You wanted to kill him, too, Amy. I saw."
That was wrong, I chose not to, I didn't do it–
"You've got a real killer instinct, just like your dear old granny."
No, I don't, I'm not like that, I don't like this, I want you to stop–
"You can let me go," the trucker said. He shoved himself backward on his ass with just his feet, searching blindly behind him with his good hand. "I won't say anything, I won't tell anybody–"
He shut up instantly as Portia bent down to look at him. She clasped her hands behind her back. "Of course you won't tell anybody," she said. "Why would you do that?"
He tried to smile. "Right! Why would I? That would be stupid."
"Yes. Yes it would."
"So… can I just get going? Can we just forget all this?"
Portia smiled. "You have to do me one favour first. You have to lie down."