Read Undying Mercenaries 2: Dust World for Free Online

shunted off down through a line of groaning troops. Everyone had a hand on their side and a grimace on their face.
    As I entered my tent a robot grabbed me. It was skinny, a pile of wires and steel tubing. It had fingers—lots of them, and the damned thing seemed to be trying to frisk me.
    I’ve gotten into trouble in the past by abusing robots. In fact, I take a certain degree of pride in my ability to mess with them. But as the legion people never seemed to be happy with my changes to their scripts, I thought I would give the tech who operated this thing a chance.
    “Can someone please explain why I should put up with this?” I asked loudly of the plastic, shivering walls.
    No one answered me. That was typical of legion tests. They often wanted to see how I would handle a situation. Sometimes they were testing my psychology as well as my physical abilities. On other occasions, they just didn’t give a damn what I thought about anything and didn’t feel like bothering to tell me what the plan was.
    It was hot and humid in the tent. The pressure felt higher, too. There were no ventilation sources I could see, and as far as I could tell, the whole chamber was being filled up with a continuous blowing fan that pumped hot wet air into the dome. It was about thirty feet around and nearly as tall. I could easily stand up and walk around inside—that was, if the robot let go of my shirt.
    Instinctively, I resisted the robot. It’s just something in me, I guess. I could stand a bio driving what amounted to a metal spike into my guts, but having a robot molest me—that was too much.
    The machine managed to get my chest-wrap open. We didn’t have shirts, not exactly. Legion uniforms were fairly dumb as smart-clothes went. They only knew enough to fit a man’s form and hug up against him, adhering to skin and other smart-cloth.
    Having the robot rip my shirt open was too much for me. I was already sore, pissed off and hot. I narrowed my eyes at the skinny bundle of metal sticks.
    I figured that someone had to be watching—this wasn’t my first rodeo—so I decided not to attack the bot directly. Instead, I grabbed its right hand, pushed against its right shoulder, and simultaneously swept my foot behind it, stepping on its power cord. It was a judo move tailored for the target enemy.
    The effect was quite gratifying. The robot lost its balance and flipped onto its back. It crashed onto the floor with a jangling sound I quite enjoyed.
    “Test failed!” shouted a voice from a hidden speaker.
    I looked around but still didn’t spot the camera. The tent was hotter than ever, but I was frowning now and becoming stubborn.
    “Sir? How did I fail the test, sir?”
    “We aren’t playing Q and A. Exit the tent, soldier!”
    I didn’t budge. “Your robot seems to have malfunctioned,” I said.
    The robot tried to get up, servos whining. I kept my foot on its cord, so it couldn’t stand.
    “You struck the machine,” said the voice. “That’s a clear demonstration of malice right there. I’m calling that intolerance under mild stress and discomfort. Test failed.”
    “I repeat, your robot has malfunctioned,” I said, trying to sound reasonable, even cheerful. Sure, I felt like belting the owner of that voice, but I spoke pleasantly and even managed to inject a note of concern into my tone. “I tried to catch it as it fell. Maybe the heat was too much for the machine.”
    There was silence for about ten seconds. Taking a chance, I stooped over the robot and appeared to be trying to help it. In reality, I groped its chest panel until I found a set of hair thin wires. I gave them a little tug, and the robot stopped struggling.
    A moment later, a rustling sound made me turn around. A small, portly woman with blonde hair and twisted lips came in. She put her hands on her hips and glared at me. She was a tech, a type of enlisted specialist that worked with advanced equipment—like robots.
    “This automated unit checked out