It was nearly noon, and Green 6 of Section 20, aka Buckler, hadn’t caught a single Remnoid all day.
This wasn’t for lack of trying. He kept his tase-gun in one hand and vibroknife in the other, the first for bringing them down, the second for taking them apart. He got a commission of about fifty for each one he brought back to the branch office, but he didn’t end up with much of it—droids had their own currency, for reasons of tax and the Brennan laws that ensured their status as second-class citizens. But his section leader was one of the better ones, and clearing the waste-jungles was essentially his purpose in life. Otherwise, where would he go? The obso-yards? Would he end up a SSA , or worse, an SSA salvager?
So he pressed on, two hours left of peak time, five EMP charges remaining. The jungle was silent, save for the modulations of recharging forest creatures in the distance. He waited for one to emerge, its steel skin rustling against fallen leaves. He had all the time in the world.