still wore a robe. Two humanoid robots stood beside him, one
on either side, each holding a futuristic gun. “Cyonics,” Callie
had called them.
Across the room, a Destroyer towered over Fred. The angry
voice came from there.
“It doesn’t matter whether you help us,” the pilot said.
“Eventually they’ll come for you. Then they’re nished.”
Fred snorted. “Whatever, dawg. Try not to pee your pants
when they send you cryin’ back to daddy.”
With a frustrated growl, the pilot punched a hole in the
oor and red his railgun into the ceiling.
As debris rained down, Fred xed the Destroyer with a at
stare. “So, do I send the repair bill to you, or your evil boss?”
The Destroyer stomped closer, shaking the house. “My
instructions were to keep you alive. But maybe you resisted.”
Its left arm peeled open to reveal the cannon inside. “Any last
words?”
“Yeah. I always get the same nightmare when a school proj-
ect’s due. I dream that everyone in class got a bird to take care
of all year. Last day of school rolls around, everyone’s in class
with their birds, alive and healthy, all proud and whatever. And
I’m sitting there with nothing but a piece of fried chicken.” Fred
looked around at the machines. “Never told anyone that before.
I feel real close to y’all now.”
The Destroyer aimed at Fred’s head. “I will enjoy this, you
dark-age hillbilly.”
Alarmed, Malcolm drank in a rush of Time. He felt a
shift
as Valentine did the same. But instead of backing down, Fred
laughed.
“Yo, I don’t think so, TinMan. See, you made two mistakes.
One, you threatened my friends.” His grin turned dark. “And
THE GENESIS FLAME
67
