That was when Kevin realized he’d been wrong. The plan had never been to repeat Jack Anastole’s hotel-room mishap at all. This time it was going to be a car accident. “They”—his stepmother; her lover; whoever—were doing it right now!
From that point, Kevin was not really in control. Pure reflex took over. He flung himself off the seat, arms and legs spread like a freefall parachutist, and landed sprawled along a cardboard ridge formed by a lid flap bent down inside the box. For a moment he clung precariously, a drop to the floor on one side, a compartmented plastic tray containing paints and craft materials on the other. Then he got his grip and scurried along the ridge to the corner. Trusting to the feel that hours of playing battle games had given him for mec-world physics, he leaped across to the plinth, avoiding the detour of going down to the floor and back up again as the killer beetle had done.
Although the beetle had the superior grasping ability of six legs, whoever was operating it was moving more carefully. Even so, it still had a lead. It seemed to be heading for the top of the driver’s seatback. Kevin could either rely on his speed advantage to try and overhaul it, or go forward over the utility top between the two front armrests and hope he could alert Eric. If he opted for the latter and failed, there would be nothing to stop the beetle; and in any case, even if he did manage to get Eric’s attention, there would still be the problem of trying to communicate the situation. He crossed the gap from the plinth to the seatback and began climbing after the black shape moving high above, clinging to the russet, fur-covered Eiger.
By the time the beetle reached the top, Kevin had halved the distance between them. When Kevin finally scrambled over the edge, the beetle was a matter of inches away—at mec scale, a couple of car lengths. He could see clearly now that it was of a pattern unlike anything that had ever come out of Neurodyne. It had more external linkages and piezoelectric fiber attachments, and the leg design and jointing arrangement was a different concept. Close-up, the purpose of the sting-like protrusion at the front of the turret head was chillingly plain. It was moving across the top of the seatback, in the space below the headrest. Through the gap, Kevin could see part of Eric’s collar and neck, and an ear, his head swaying to the music as he drove. The road ahead plunged into a tight, leftward curve, wet rock rising on one side, a drop disappearing into mists on the other.
Vanessa crouched on the seatback, checking the scene ahead through the windshield. The road was treacherous, no other traffic in the vicinity. She bunched, preparing to spring.
There was no time to form any strategy. Kevin launched himself as the beetle arched itself to leap onto Eric’s shoulder. They collided like metal wasps, Kevin trying to use surprise and his momentum to tear the beetle off and hurl it away. But momentum was of limited value at that scale, more than offset by the gripping power of six legs. The assassin bug held on, turned and parried him, and they rolled over and over along the top of the seat in a tangle of interlocked limbs and appendages.
It was like wrestling with a lobster. Not knowing the situation, Kevin had picked the wrong mec from the two in the trunk. Toad had been built more as a testbed for variable vision than as a fighter. If only he’d brought out Tigger instead, with its gigantic chainsaw, things would have been very different. But it was no use wishing now.
He grasped one of the assassin’s legs to try dislocating it at a joint, but each of his arms was countered by another leg, both of them stronger. Another leg seized his head and started to twist. He turned his body, kicking one of the beetle’s supporting legs away, and it fell to one side, partly releasing its hold to right itself. He feinted, ducked, and went again for a foreleg, locking close with the assassin for an instant, head to head like boxers in a clinch, and found himself staring into the monster’s black, impenetrable eyes. He loosened an arm and tried to dislodge a leg that was forcing him over . . . but he was four limbs trying to fight six; and then he saw the pincers coming in from the side, ducked away . . .