Charles Stross by Accelerando

Author:Accelerando
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2011-04-03T02:56:49+00:00

Claws go snicker-snack before his face. “Investment

partnership!” screeches the harridan. “Seat on the board! Eat brains for breakfast!” It lurches sideways, trying to get past his guard.

“I don’t fucking believe this,” Pierre snarls. The Wunch-creature jumps at just the wrong moment and slides onto the

point of his blade, claws clacking hungrily. Pierre slides away,

nearly leaving his skin on the rough bricks of the wall — and

what’s good for one is good for all, as the hacked model in force

in this reality compels the attacker to groan and collapse.

Pierre pulls the sword out then, nervously glancing over his

shoulder, whacks at her neck. The impact jars his arm, but he

keeps hacking until there’s blood spraying everywhere, blood on

his shirt, blood on his sword, and a round thing sitting on a stump

of savaged neck nearby, jaw working soundlessly in undeath.

He looks at it for a moment, then his stomach rebels and

tries to empty itself into the mess. ” Where the hell is everybody?”

he broadcasts on the private channel. ” Hostiles in the Louvre! ”

He straightens up, gasping for breath. He feels alive,

frightened and appalled and exhilarated simultaneously. The

crackle of bursting shells on all sides drowns out the birdsong as

the Wunch’s emissaries adopt a variety of new and supposedly

more lethal forms. ” They don’t seem to be very clear on how to take over a simulation space,” he adds. ” Maybe we already are untranslatable concept number #1 as far as they’re concerned.”

” Don’t worry, I’ve cut off the incoming connection,” sends Su Ang. ” This is just a bridgehead force; the invasion packets are being filtered out.”

Blank-eyed men and women in dusty black uniforms are

hatching from the lobster shells, stumbling and running around

the grounds of the royal palace like confused Huguenot invaders.

Boris winks into reality behind Pierre. “Which way?” he

demands, pulling out an anachronistic but lethal katana.

“Over here. Let’s work this together.” Pierre jacks his

emotional damper up to a dangerously high setting, suppressing

natural aversion reflexes and temporarily turning himself into a

sociopathic killer. He stalks toward an infant lobster-thing with big black eyes and a covering of white hair that mewls at him from a

rose bed, and Boris looks away while he kills it. Then one of the

larger ones makes the mistake of lunging at Boris, and he chops

at it reflexively.

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