Star Harbor Nights

D.J. wasn't sure which she was cursing herself more for... letting Perfect go off with Pamela like that in the first place, deciding it was her job to follow them, or waiting so long to make up her mind that they had a head start.

Fortunately, alcohol made Perfect talkative and Pamela was just a loudmouth. D.J.'s ears functioned as directional mics. By killing the volume on her internal music player, standing on Broker's roof, and turning slowly around, she was able to lock on to the sound of Perfect's babbling stream of complaints about her apparent ex-boyfriend, Ray, and Pamela's reflexive agreements.

They were moving across the city rooftop to rooftop, which meant Pamela had to be carrying Perfect in her arms. D.J. shuddered to think of all the ways the big blonde might be taking advantage of that arrangement without the younger woman's awareness. Perfect had alway been such a wide-eyed innocent in many ways... even living on her own and losing her virginity apparently hadn't cured that.

D.J. sighed, and took off after them. Her mechanical legs were strong, but they couldn't match those of "Pummella" for the amount of sheer power she could put into a leap. Speed was another matter, though. Pamela's brain was purely human. Even if she could drive her legs like pistons, she couldn't necessarily coordinate them at superhuman speeds, to say nothing of making the calculations needed for each jump in the blink of an eye.

D.J.'s brain was human, but connected via neural interface to the sophisticated array of microcomputers that drove her synthetic body. She thought out where she wanted to go and what she wanted to do, and the computer made it happen. She was closing the gap.

"Men'll say all sorts of things to get you into bed," Pamela was saying as D.J. approached the apartment building where the two seemed to have come to a rest. "You can't really blame them for it... it's just in their nature."

"I s'pose so," Perfect said. "But... women aren't like that, and don't we all have the same, I don't know, instincts?"

"We most certainly do," Pamela said.

D.J. had a few moments as she descended from the peak of her jump to look at the scene below her. Perfect was laying down on her back, Pamela laying on her side behind her. Perfect looked as miserable as she sounded, but Pamela was smiling like the cat who'd ate the canary.

"That's why I think..." Pamela continued, when D.J. landed at their feet.

"Playtime's over," she said. "Come on, Perfect... I'll take you back to the bar, or back to your place, but I'm not leaving you alone with her."

"What are you, her owner?" Pamela asked indignantly.

"Perfect, can't you see that she's trying to take advantage of you?" D.J. said.

"Advantage of me?" Perfect said, laughing as she sat up. "Yeah, right. She's a famous, big-time hero... what do I even have to take advantage of?"

"Gee, I don't know... how about your naiveté?" D.J. said. "Your body?"

"My b...? You sound just like Mr. Buttons... Pamela's not even a lesbian," Perfect said. "Um, you aren't, are you?"

"God, no!" Pamela said, laughing. After a moment's consideration, she added, "Well, that's not to say that I haven't... uh, let's say I'm straight but not narrow. You know, I'd be open to it, if..."

"See? She's not," Perfect said. "So, you can just be on your way, Miss Deanna Jade, because the three of us have things well... in... hand."

"Three?" Pamela asked, confused.

"If you won't listen to me, listen to Mr. Buttons," D.J. said, rolling her eyes. Was it just the alcohol, she wondered, or had Perfect actually regressed that far from the last time they'd seen each other?

"Just who the hell is Mr. Buttons?" Pamela demanded.

"Her bunny" and "My bunny," D.J. and Perfect said at the same time.

"It's getting awfully crowded up here," Pamela said, looking uncertainly at the stuffed toy riding on Perfect's back.

"He's just a stupid... know-nothing who thinks he knows everything," Perfect said. "But don't worry, he isn't real... and I'm not crazy."

"Of course you're not," Pamela said soothingly, stroking her arm and shoulder.

"Don't you... wait, hold on," D.J. said, suddenly cocking her head to the side. An alert was going off in her head. She closed her eyes; internally, she diverted processing power from her visual input to auditory. "It's about to get more crowded... something's coming up the building."

"What, climbing the sides?" Perfect asked, suddenly sounding more alert. She got to her feet. "Where?"

D.J.'s computer interface converted what she was hearing into a 3D map of the environment. She gasped. The shock of what she "saw" made her eyes fly open.

"Everywhere."

All around them, small round lights appeared rising over the edge of the rooftop... some red, others purple or green. All were arranged in pairs of two; they were unmistakably eyes. Their unearthly glow glinted off metallic casings, revealing a variety of quasi-humanoid shapes ranging from less than a foot tall to nearly as large as Pamela. There was no one central design scheme... they were an odd mixture of gleaming high-tech silver and steel, and rusting scrap metal and junk.

"Portaliens!" D.J. said.

"Why the hell are they swarming on us like this?" Pamela asked, whipping around to see a second rank of the machines coming up on the heels of the first, and the hands and grasping manipulators of another group rising up behind them. "I thought they were only interested in stealing high tech st..."

"D.J.!" Perfect shrieked as realization struck her. "You've got to get out of here!"

"No way, Jose," D.J. said. "If I bolt, they'll just take off after me and I don't like my chances alone."

"But..."

"No buts," D.J. said. "We're friends... we watch each other's backs."

One of the building's tenants had set up a small flag pole with an anarchy flag on the rooftop. D.J. pulled the aluminum pole out of the socket, stripped away the flag, and gave it a twirl.

"Let's get ready to toast some toasters," she said as Perfect whipped out her twin batons.

"Right," Perfect said. She pivoted her hip back, slipping into a defensive stance... or that was her idea. She very nearly tripped over her feet.

"Great, not only does she have no powers but she's also hammered," Pamela said derisively.

"Whose fault is that?" D.J. asked sharply.

"I'm fine," Perfect insisted, squaring herself off. "Just... a moment to... adjust."

"You won't get much more than that," D.J. said, drawing closer to her friend. Pamela did likewise. She had the tactical smarts to put her back to the others, facing off against the foes behind them.

"They operate as a network," Perfect recited, her voice a little slurred, but becoming clearer and more focused as she spoke. The robots came on slowly, deliberately, clearly coordinating  "The big ones usually have the most processing power. They serve as the main points of view for a swarm, but they can pass control to any of the others if they're damaged. Even alone, the littlest... smallest probes are capable of operating at animal-level intelligence until they find material to upgrade or build more units."

"Somehow, I don't think we're going to have to worry about what they'll do alone," Pamela said.

"Wait for it," D.J. said as the sea of walking metal came closer.

"For what?" Perfect and Pamela asked.

One of the human-sized robots that had been among the first to come over the top was the nearest to them on D.J.'s side. It had a face like a welder's mask attached to its body not by a single neck but three flexible metallic rods. Its body was a metal cage, inside of which were visible multiple hard drives, a car battery, and several odd-looking, harder-to-identify components. Below that were four insect-like legs. D.J. let it get in close, even leaned forward to put her face just inches from its head... and then she cut loose. The sound she made was something like a drum solo being played by a machine gun inside an enclosed metal tube, and it hit the lead robot like a physical blow. The head piece was torn free of its moorings and the body flew backwards, smashing and scattering many of its compatriots on the way over the edge.

"Nice move," Perfect said.

"Thanks," D.J. said. "The impact drops fast with distance, and it takes a lot of power, besides... but it's not bad for an opener."

That was all the conversation they had time for before the alien machines were upon them. D.J. immediately launched into an attack routine that was half dance, half martial arts. Her human brain selected the best move combinations, her computerized "second brain" queued them up and her robotic body executed them flawlessly. Her internal musical track synched up with the pulse of the battle, aiding her sense of timing and balance. A pulsating golden light flared up from beneath her artificial skin.

She swung the pole around in front of her, acting as both shield and weapon. She intercepted the distinctly vise-like hand of one of the giant metal monsters as it came down to bludgeon her, swept the ground clear of the moving carpet of toy-like contraptions, and brought the bar up level to clothesline a more human-like bot that had sought to take her by surprise, using its longer legs to charge in over the backs of its lower comrades.

The big bot with the clamp hands took advantage of her momentary inaction to grab onto the pole with its immense pincers. It lifted upwards, trying to wrench the improvised weapon from her hands. She held tight, but instead of resisting the robot's movement she kicked off of the ground, flipping feet first up and over the seven-foot frame to kick the robot in the back of the head with the completion of her acrobatic maneuver. The robot's head was smashed in completely; they both let go the pole as the machine clattered to the ground.

D.J. landed clear of the toppled bot, but was now thick in the midst of its allies. She kicked a leg out in front of her and one behind, planting her hands on the ground and going into a spin that took out the legs of two of the larger constructs and sending all the smaller bots around her flying. She was back up on her feet in an instant, spinning in the opposite direction with her hands out like blades. The pulsing glow left blurry motion trails as she fought off the relentless press of machine men, her body in constant motion. She found her rhythm and went with it.

Her ever-present internal soundtrack reacted to her movement, the beat adjusting to match her pace even as she used the beat to keep pace. It was a synthesis of sound and action as she herself was a synthesis of mind and machine.

When she'd earned enough breathing room to shoot a glance towards Perfect, it seemed like the young woman was almost managing to find a similar balance to D.J.'s without the hardware. She moved like a human hurricane, her silver batons flashing together in the night and thumping out a staccato beat on any drone that came too close... which seemed to D.J. to be quite a few of them. They seemed as intent on subduing Perfect as they were in coming after herself. Pamela had ripped the arms off another one of the big bots and was swinging one of them like a club, keeping a wide swath clear... but the robots coming from that direction were mostly going around her, which put Perfect next in their line of fire.

Worse, D.J. could tell that Perfect was still feeling the effects of her earlier drinking. Though her movements were a blur compared to an ordinary human's, there was a moment's hesitation at the end of each combination or routine she used. Her footwork wasn't as steady as it could have been. They were small mistakes, but any one of them could be fatal.

Acting on an instinct, D.J turned on her external speakers and began to pump up the volume. Perfect caught the pulsing bass beat immediately, and she began to move with it. She found her footing, and began to sway with the music. Her two weapons, which before had moved in tandem, began to whirl out independently of each other while somehow showing a remarkable level of coordination. The robots began circling a healthy distance backwards, their aggregate intellect processing the new development.

D.J. shifted the tempo down a bit, turning and stepping backwards to get in close to her allies again. Pamela ceased her wild flailing, bringing her makeshift club up to a ready position. The three heroines stood, back to back to back, at the mass of robots.

"They just keep coming, don't they?" Pamela said.

"And I'm not so sure they're after me," D.J. said.

"But what else... oh, no. My spread-spectrum distributed communication protocol!" Perfect said.

"Your what?" Pamela asked.

"I needed a way to make untraceable cell phone calls, so I made a system that can piggyback anonymously onto any existing cellular or digital network," Perfect said.

"All of this effort to get a freaking cell phone?" Pamela said.

"If the Port-bots had something like that, they could take their individual little local hives nationwide... and not have their communications traced or intercepted by human authorities," D.J. said. "Without it, they have to choose between range and stealth."

"But with it, they'd have both," Perfect said.

"If it's so untraceable, how do they even know about it?" Pamela asked.

"Uh, it might be because I kind of plugged my program into a hole that somebody else had already made in the cellular infrastructure," Perfect said. "I'd guess they were already working on something like this, and I just beat them to it. Whatever we do, we can't let..."

Without warning, one little gremlin-like robot with long, multi-jointed arms and stubby fingers launched itself in the air with a jet of blue gas and flame, seemingly on a collision course with Perfect's head. She whipped her neck backwards to avoid being struck, but not fast enough to stop it from snatching the hat and mask off away from her. The burst of rocket propulsion carried it clear over the assembled crimefighters, on to the other side of the wall of robots.

"Son of a...!" Perfect exclaimed as the barrettes that held the beret in place were torn away. "Don't let it get away!"

Her powerful muscles moving almost too fast for D.J.'s optic processor to follow, Pamela cocked back her arm and threw the battered robot limb overhand. It burst clean through a particularly fragile robot made out of pipes and smashed the leaper to bits. Perfect's headgear went skittering towards the corner of the roof, coming to rest a few inches from the short brick wall around the edge.

Perfect dove through the gap Pamela had made, rolling past the robots. She took several hits in the process, but ignored them. She slammed into the brickwork, but came up with the target object in hand.

"Smash it!" Pamela suggested. "If they can't get it, they'll have no reason to fight."

"Destroying the hardware won't stop them from reverse-engineering Perfect's program," D.J. said.

"No, but this will," Perfect said. She ripped something half the size of a pocket calculator out of the hat and shouted into it, "Command: reformat confirm yes authorization Beatrix seven!", then tossed it over her shoulder. "Show's over, guys. Go home."

All around them, the Portalien robots all went very still, the lights in their eyes visibly dimming.

"I think it worked," Pamela said.

A moment later they surged back to life, running around the D.J. and Pamela to launch themselves at Perfect.

"Do robots hold grudges?" Pamela asked.

"Perfect, if they can't get your gadget, they want you!" D.J. shouted.

"Oh, you think everybody wants me," Perfect said, hopping up onto the ledge, straddling the corner with one foot on each wall. "How about it, boys? You wanna come and get me?"

The robot horde slowed its approach, but crept on towards her.

"Don't overestimate your importance to them," D.J. said. "Your cell phone trick would be useful, but it's not going to open their portals for them."

"No, but if they'd prefer me alive to dead, this'll make them cautious," Perfect said. "In the mean time... eine kleine Schlachtmusik, maestro?"

D.J. pumped up the volume and the tempo again and the three set themselves to it. The robots took that as their cue to renew hostilities, as well, but Perfect's position, as precarious as it seemed, was actually tactically sound in some ways. She couldn't be outflanked or surrounded. Pamela smashed and bashed her way through the robots, while D.J. whirled and twirled. Instead of being in the middle of a sea of opponents, the two superheroines now had their targets in front of them. The robots were at first more occupied with pulling Perfect back down onto the roof than defending themselves, but the combined efforts of the other two demanded their eventual attention.

Perfect kicked and stomped at the limbs of the smaller robots that came near her, and lashed out with her batons at the larger ones, but after one time too many when a reflexive dodge almost toppled her over backwards, she dove forward into the thick of the battle, knocking over some of the robots in her roll before springing to her feet. She fell into the dance almost effortlessly, fending off attack after attack while inflicting serious damage on her metallic foes.

It was over before any of them noticed. Each of the women had found their own place in the fight, and they shredded robot after robot until Pam's fist, D.J.'s leg, and Perfect's steel club came together to smash one unfortunate metal head at the same time. The three smiled ruefully at each other. Perfect and Pamela were breathing hard. D.J. simply swayed with the beat.

"You know... that kind of kicked ass," Pamela said.

"Yeah," Perfect said weakly. "Kind of did."

"Hey... are you okay, Perfect?" D.J. asked, noticing her suddenly pale complexion. "You're looking a little..."

She trailed off, cupping a hand over her mouth as Perfect fell over forward, revealing the three-pronged robot hand sticking out of her lower back, trailing a broken metal arm.