Bob.
[
‘Bob! What’s going on — tell me? What’s it saying?’
‘It appears to be following mission instructions from a war that ended in 2049. It believes it is in a Korean jungle. It also believes the year is 2047. This unit was not properly decommissioned. Its mission program is still active but has been crudely hacked to make it follow the verbal commands of J. Locke.’
‘Well … can’t you just tell it that it’s wrong?’
‘Negative. It has no way of identifying the correct year.’
Liam eased himself slowly back along the ground away from the Hood’s unmoving form. ‘Is there not a way you can, you know … convince him to — ’
‘I will try.’
[Information: current location is 53°9′56.49'N/1°5′1.43'W. Sherwood Forest, England]
[Negative]
[You are outside the target combat zone]
The robot’s response took a moment to come back.
[
Bob tried a different approach.
[Information: current date is 12 June 1194]
[Negative. Present time data is 11-03-2047, 07.45 hours]
[Transmitting correct time data]
The robot received the information, then cocked its head curiously.
[Transmitted data
. Data confirmed as valid. Please wait]
[You are beyond mission parameters. You are not in the target combat zone]
[
Data conflict]
[Deactivate combat status immediately]
The robot’s blue LED eyes dimmed and flickered out. And its frame sagged and shuddered.
Liam clapped his hands together. ‘Bob! You did it!’ He got up off the ground and took a cautious step towards the immobile statue of corroded metal and melted plastic. ‘Jay-zus-’n’-Mary, you made it turn himself off, so you did! You’re a bleedin’ genius!’
Bob shook his head. ‘It is not turned off. It is merely …
Liam’s eyebrows arched and he stopped mid-stride. ‘Oh, in that case …’ He took several steps back. ‘Couldn’t we just hit it over the head? You know? While it’s busy
‘An offensive action may activate its self-defence routine.’
‘Oh. How about we just run?’
Bob’s mouth had just opened to reply when the statue stirred to life with the soft whirr of servo-motors.
[
The blue eyes glowed once more.
[Verbal command from J. LOCKE (password verified)]
[Command received 4 minutes, 34 seconds ago]
[Command status: active]
[Command = ‘kill them both’]
Bob eased his broadsword out of its sheath; the scrape of metal on leather seemed deafeningly loud in the stillness of the woods. The noise seemed to trigger a reaction from the robot. It pulled its own sword from a scabbard and, holding the weight of the long blade effortlessly in one hand, it advanced towards Bob.
‘Liam O’Connor, you should run.’
CHAPTER 61
1194, Sherwood Forest, Nottinghamshire
The robot’s last step took it within striking range and with a whiplash movement it swung its sword at Bob’s head. Bob quickly raised his own, parrying the blow with the sharp, vibrating clatter and ring of metal on metal.
Bob’s riposte was a lightning-fast lunge towards the robot’s ‘armpit’ — hydraulic fluid pipes momentarily exposed between plates of pitted metal armour. The lunge nipped at one of the pipes, causing a clear yellow liquid to spray out under pressure.
The robot swung its arm down, snapping Bob’s sword like balsa wood. It reached out and grabbed Bob by his neck, lifting his feet off the ground and hurling him like a child’s toy against the fallen oak. He bounced off the stout trunk. The tree shuddered under the heavy impact.
‘You must run!’ barked Bob as he struggled to get to his knees.
Liam shook his head. ‘I can help!’
‘RUN!’
The robot reached down and grasped hold of Bob’s right ear in an attempt to lift him up off the ground. But with a loud ripping sound it was torn from his head, spattering them both with a thick gout of blood. The robot tossed the ear aside and reached down again, this time picking Bob up by his neck, raising him above its head.
Liam could see a fine spray of the yellow liquid puffing out from the rubber pipe that Bob had managed to nick with his blade. It was pumping out in arterial pulses …
The robot carried Bob, still aloft, like some sort of trophy, towards the trunk and then slammed him down across it. Liam thought he heard something snap as Bob grunted and rolled off the side, falling heavily to the ground.
The robot thrust the sword still held in its other hand through Bob’s left upper arm, skewering him to the trunk, like a butterfly pinned in a collector’s cabinet.
‘Bob!’ Liam shrieked. Bob struggled to wrench the sword out of the wood, but its blade was buried at least a foot deep into the old dead oak.
With Bob pinned down, the robot now slowly turned round to focus on Liam. Blue eyes softly glowing, evaluating its next target.
‘Please!’ Liam’s voice quaked. ‘I’m not in your war!’
It advanced on him.
‘Hey there! H-hey! James Locke said to go an’ get me, right? Not … n-not
Liam fell as he took a backwards step, landing amid a cluster of nettles. The robot stood over him and then slowly squatted down, placing one glove-covered hand around Liam’s throat.
‘P-please! I can help Mr Locke! … I can h-help … h-him!’
Behind the robot, Liam thought he heard something crack and rip. Or maybe that was the sound of the tendons in his own throat. He felt the robot’s fingers begin to compress his windpipe, firm and steady like someone winding a vice closed, feeling tender muscle and trachea, cartilage and his Adam’s apple pressing in on each other. His eyes saw white sparks, his ears roared with pulsing blood struggling to find a passage up to his brain through a dangerously compressed carotid artery.
Then suddenly hot foul-smelling liquid was splashing into his face.
The hand round his neck twitched painfully as if attempting to snap it, but then released its grip as if someone had suddenly decided to spin the vice’s handle the other way. The hand dropped down on to his chest like the lifeless appendage of a paralysed man.
