“Everything for Percival,” comes the voice.

  I still don’t see the person or thing behind the voice.

  “You got delivery note?”

  “What? No, I haven’t got a frickin’ delivery note.”

  “You got package protocol printout?”

  “What the fuck? No! I’ve got a literal truckload of metal boxes filled with ex-military weapons. Do you want them or not?”

  “You got quality inspection report?”

  “Oh, screw this!”

  I heave the metal box up onto my chest and launch it with all my might through the gap in the door. It lands on the other side with a crash followed by a digital squealing sound.

  “Eeee – caution! No damaged goods allowed, without damaged goods report!”

  I peer over the bottom door panel. A small robot the size of a paper shredder stares back at me. He’s got two wheels instead of legs and an antenna on top of his head that looks like an upturned plunger. It wobbles slightly as he tilts his head at me.

  His two large unblinking eyes stare deep into my soul, and his digital unibrow changes from a horizontal line to a shallow ‘V.’

  “I’m going to get the rest of the boxes now,” I say to Stickler, trying to regain my composure. “This is gonna be a lot easier for the both of us if you can open the bottom door panel as well.”

  “I not happy. You not authorized. I make exception. Temporary.”

  I walk back to the truck and hear a metal door creaking open behind me. The next box contains the assault rifle arm components. It’s a little lighter, so I hoist it onto my shoulder and head back to see Stickler.

  Thankfully, he has indeed opened the lower part of the door now. He’s standing off to one side of it, staring at me, his unibrow twitching. The ‘V’ is more pronounced than before.

  I walk past him with the box, and he makes a tutting noise.

  “Row 27. Section F. I sort later,” he says.

  A bank of lights turns on automatically as I walk into the building. There are rows and rows of metal-framed shelves and wooden pallets piled high with metal boxes. An automatic forklift and several robot arms whir at the back of the building, lifting pallets, moving boxes, and picking out items.

  I make my way to Row 27. It’s rammed full on both sides with metal boxes on both sides. But I keep walking and reach Section F at the end. There is a single vacant shelf. I slide the box in.

  I go back to the truck and repeat the process for the rest of the boxes. The ‘V’ on Jobsworth’s unibrow gets more pronounced with every trip. He doesn’t stop tutting.

  I finally place the very last box onto an empty shelf and walk back out of the door.

  “That’s me done. Do you need me to sign for anything?”

  “You a joke. I beam you necessary paperwork.”

  He slams the lower door closed, almost hitting me in the butt. Then he makes a strange humming noise, and his antenna fires out of his head on a thin wire. Its rubber sucker attaches to the upper door panel with a boing.

  He winds it back in like a winch, and the metal door slams closed in my face.

  There’s a popping sound then a whir. I also get a notification on my feed that a nearby robot has beamed me a file containing twelve pieces of paperwork.

  I walk over to the two guards in front of the yellow building.

  Time to find Sarah.

  And deliver something else to Percival.

  Chapter 7

  Iwalk up to the guards in front of the house, expecting them to stop me or ask for ID.

  They just stand there. Like robots.

  I guess I’ll just head right in. Thought they might scan me or something.

  I walk past them and up to the doorway when a loud ahem comes from behind me. Knew it.

  One of the guards points down to the doormat I’m standing on.

  “My apologies, gentlemen,” I say.

  I give my dusty feet a good brush and walk in.

  The foyer is stunning.

  Polished white marble, lilies, and well-lit opulence. A huge chandelier hangs from the ceiling. It’s dripping in diamonds and sends light sparkling across every surface.

  Piano music drifts through from one of the adjoining rooms – Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. The soft perfume of flowers hangs in the air. A shock of bright-red roses explodes from an ornate vase standing on a black marble-topped table in the center of the room.

  A grand double staircase winds its way to the upper level. Impressionist oil paintings hang on the walls. I walk past an ornate mirror and notice the thin black metal collar soldered to my neck. I grimace and instinctively scratch at it. I hate this damn thing.

  I walk around the circular table, my feet clanking on the marble floor, and follow the piano’s refrain.

  What a truly beautiful house for a truly horrible man.

  I have a vision of shooting Percival in the chest on the upper balcony and watching him fall backwards to his death as he crashes onto the black table. The vase of roses flies into the air in slow motion.

  I walk through oak double doors into a luxurious baroque living area. And there he is – sitting on a purple and gold stool, his back to me, playing a grand piano. The notes reverberate off the white marble floor and around the spacious room. Portraits of European monarchs in gilded frames adorn every wall. The faint trickling noise of the water fountain drifts in through one of the large windows overlooking the courtyard.

  The sonata builds as I step closer.

  I walk past a polished mahogany bar. It’s furnished with drinks and bottles of all colors and sizes.

  Percival continues to play. A glass half-full of scotch sits on top of the piano, rippling a little with every note. His wizened fingers move skillfully across the keys. He moves his left hand to the lower notes, and a flat black bracelet slides out from beneath his jacket sleeve.

  The rhythm and power of the music rises.

  It is time.

  I raise my left arm, flick open my wrist, and the gun muzzle protrudes. I aim it at his back.

  “Tell me where she is,” I say.

  Percival crosses hands briefly on the piano, brushing his bracelet as he does so. He continues to play the brooding music. Louder and louder.

  I issue the command for my arm to fire, but it doesn’t work. There’s a conflict, and my feed jams up with errors. I shake my head. I don’t understand.

  The rifle arm is moving in time with the music, but I’m not controlling it. Percival plays louder still, the sonata coming to a menacing crescendo.

  I see it now. My arm mirrors Percival’s exactly.

  As he plays the last ominous chord, my arm copies his. The jarring refrain hangs in the air. He stands up from the stool and turns around to face me. He raises his left arm, and mine lifts in synchronicity. I try to push it down with my right hand, but it’s immovable.

  “You must learn to accept that there are things in this life you cannot control,” he says.

  He points the index finger of his left hand at his head and moves it toward his temple. My arm mirrors the action, and the muzzle pushes against my head as his finger touches his.

  “You and I are more alike than you think,” he says.

  “Your monologues need work.”

  He snorts. “You see – this is what I mean. You laugh in the face of danger. And you don’t like being put in your place.”

  He lowers his finger and the muzzle lowers in unison.

  “My place is not working for you. Or anyone.”

  He takes a sip of scotch and puts the glass back down on the piano.

  “We are all slaves. The question is – which master do we choose?”

  “I’m bored. Can you kill me now, please?”

  His expression darkens.

  “You have abilities my men don’t have. But I need you to comply. Otherwise, you’re of no use to me.”

  “Death it is, then.”

  He points toward a door on the far side of the room, and the muzzle arm swings around in unison.

  “I’d like you to meet a supplier of mine who also refused to comply,” he says in a gruff tone.

  Scuffling sounds and muffled shouts come from behind the door. Then it bangs open. It’s Sarah. Barry is dragging her by her hair.

  “Get off me, you fucking ape!”

  Her hands are duct-taped together. Tenor walks behind them, pointing a gun at her back. He avoids eye contact with me.

  Sarah looks at me, then at the muzzle pointed at her. She has large dark circles under her eyes and sallow cheeks.

  “Tedd! What are you doing?”

  “I can’t control it. It’s not me. It’s him!” I point at Percival with my right hand.

  “The droid will kill you now,” says Percival, pointing his finger at Sarah. “And you’ll both learn the lesson that it’s always best to comply.”

  Sarah screams, kicking out at Barry and spitting in his face.

  I try to put something – anything – between my rifle arm and Sarah. I dart to the other side of the piano, but Percival adjusts the direction of his finger, so the rifle swivels to point at her.

  I make a run for the double doors and the foyer. But the collar shrieks at me louder than ever, sending me crashing to the ground in pain.

  My rifle arm still points toward Sarah, who’s squirming on the floor trying to break free.

  Barry has a foot on the small of her back. He’s smirking.

  Tenor lowers his pistol. It seems I really will be the one doing this.

  A shot rings out.

  The shrieking from the collar stops.

  Percival holds his left side.

  Blood is seeping out between his fingers. His face is ashen, and his mouth hangs open.

  Barry looks on, wide-eyed, still gripping Sarah by her hair.

  A thin wisp of smoke wafts out from the barrel of Tenor’s pistol. He aims it at Barry next.

  “Let her go,” says Tenor.

  “This ain’t gonna end well for you.”

  “Let. Her. Go,” he says, jabbing the gun toward Barry.

  “Okay, okay! Shit, man. You’ve fucking lost it. They’re gonna kill you.”

  Tenor squeezes the trigger and shoots Barry in his right kneecap, sending him screaming to the floor. He writhes in agony for two seconds, then passes out.

  Blood seeps from his wound, forming a small puddle on one of the large white marble tiles.

  Percival runs toward the double doors, hunched over and clutching his bleeding side. I sprint toward him and club him on the back of the head with my fist.

  He falls. I reach down and grab the blood-stained bracelet.

  Shots ring out from the foyer. They narrowly miss my head and shatter a window.

  I look back into the room.

  Sarah is trembling a little, but unharmed.

  There’s a clatter as Percival crashes into the double doors as he stumbles out of the room. I try to fire the arm rifle, but it doesn’t work. He’s gone.

  More shots from the foyer. One glances off my shoulder and lodges into the piano, snapping one of its strings with a ping. I crane my neck toward the double doors. The two guards from outside are crouching behind the marble table, calling for backup.

  I spin around and run to Sarah. I flick open my blade and cut the tape around her wrists.

  “Close your eyes and cover your face,” I say. Her eyes look at me scared and confused.

  I cradle her in my arms, and she curls into a ball. I break into a run and jump sideways through the broken window, sending the remnants of its glass shattering onto the cobbles.

  I hear radio sounds and muffled voices coming from the foyer.

  I shout through the broken window to Tenor, “It’s time to go!”

  He reaches down and takes the pickup keys out of Barry’s pocket.

  “I’ll drive,” says Tenor, running for the window.

  He fires off a couple of rounds towards the foyer and clambers through the broken window frame.

  We sprint to the pickup.

  “You can call shotgun,” I say to Sarah, opening the passenger door for her. “I call assault rifle.”

  Tenor gets in the driver’s side and I jump in the back.

  We zoom around the fountain and head back to the arch in the wall. A deep rumbling noise looms behind us. It sounds like a stampede of horses.

  I turn my head.

  It’s worse than horses. Much, much worse.

  Chapter 8

  We’re being chased by a pack of robowolves.

  There’s six of the abominations. Gray plastic monstrosities with four powerful legs, rubber hooves, and a clunky, back-mounted vision module with several lenses.

  They’re gaining on us.

  Their movement is graceful and synchronized. They’re probably made by Boston Satanics, or some shit. Unthinking killing machines. With legs.

  I tap on the cab window to warn Tenor and Sarah. Sarah yanks the window open. I want to say, ‘We’ve got company’ but I don’t think I can carry it off.

  I opt for just pointing behind us instead.

  “What the fuck are they?”

  “Robowolves.”

  “They don’t have mouths; how bad can they be?”

  “I guess we’re about to find out.”

  She taps Tenor on the shoulder and points her thumb backwards. He looks in the wing mirror and puts his foot down. The burst of acceleration sends me careering to the back of the truck.

  We emerge from the archway and the robowolves break off into two sets of three behind us, their legs in a blur.

  Up ahead, armed guards fire shots at us that ping off the roof of the truck. We zoom and crash through the barrier, and the guards scatter from the road.

  We whiz onward and out of the compound, their parting shots hitting our caterpillar tracks with sparks.

  The robowolves close in, forming two uniform lines on either side of us.

  I raise my left arm, flick open my wrist and try to fire the assault rifle again.

  Still no joy.

  I’m wearing the bracelet, so it should have worked. Damn thing.

  We race out into the open desert now, gaining speed. We pull away from the pack a little, churning up a billowing trail of dust behind the truck.

  Three wolves pull left and three pull right, trailing us a meter back. They stay in line this time in a diagonal echelon. The back-mounted modules on the two leaders angle upwards slightly. Two intense bright-red lasers fire out from circular ports on each module.

  They cut right through both of the smaller triangular tracks at the front of the truck, showering sparks and drops of red molten metal onto the dirt. We instantly lose speed, and I lurch forward. We bump over the pieces of metal track and career on.

  The wolves come alongside us again in rows, their weapon modules turned toward us on both sides.

  Tenor steers violently left and right trying to shake them off or crash into them. But they automatically adjust, staying in formation.

  He sticks his pistol out of his window and pulls the trigger repeatedly. He fires off his final three rounds at the nearest wolf.

  The first two shots miss. The third hits. The wolf goes down with a crackle, tumbling in the dirt.

  The two wolves behind try to adjust to avoid a collision, but the second in line is too close. It tries to leap over its fallen comrade but catches its rear legs on the spinning body and goes tumbling back in the dust.

  The last wolf readjusts and runs toward Tenor’s window.

  Sarah yells at me from the cab. “Shoot it!”

  “I can’t. Take this!”

  I give her the black bracelet. Maybe it will work for a human.

  She puts it on her wrist and raises her arms in a ‘What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?’ gesture.

  My rifle arm copies the movement.

  Her eyes widen in understanding.

  She smiles, marveling at how turning her own hand makes the muzzle on my arm follow suit. She points her finger at Tenor, and my rifle arm points at the wolf.

  She pulls her index finger back in a trigger motion, and the arm fires a shot.

  It misses.

  The wolf angles its laser module upwards toward Tenor’s window.

  “Aim lower!” I shout to Sarah.

  She adjusts and points her finger at Tenor’s groin. He gives her a sideways glance. My arm adjusts.

  The wolf fires its laser.

  It cuts upward through Tenor’s window at an angle, sending shards of glass crashing to the desert floor. Its death line shoots up and out of the roof, leaving a dime-sized circle of blue sky.

  Tenor ducks down but loses grip of the steering wheel. The truck lurches violently to the right, sending us all jolting over to the left.

  Sarah moves her arm back into position, points at Tenor and pulls her trigger finger.

  A shot rings out from my rifle arm.

  It hits the wolf right through its lens, sending it crashing to the ground with a crackle.

  I turn to the passenger side. A wolf is closing in on Sarah’s window.

  “Three o’clock!” I shout.

  “Huh?” She raises her hands in the air, confused. My rifle arm rises in tandem.

  I point to the right-hand side of the truck instead. She turns to look and gives a little yelp.

  Tenor slams on the brakes and veers left trying to lose it. We all lurch forward, but all three wolves adjust instantly in lockstep.

  Sarah points diagonally forward and down a little so my rifle aims squarely at the nearest wolf. She pulls her trigger finger in the air.

  A lot.

  Several shots ring out, and the first wolf breaks up into shattered pieces of plastic and metal.

  “Go easy, Scarface!” I shout. “I don’t know how many rounds this thing has.”

  Sarah tries shooting the next wolf, but my arm just clicks.

  No more is the answer.

  I shuffle toward the edge of the truck bed, as close as I can to the front, and lean over.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” yells Sarah.

  “Just trust me.”

  She tilts her head and narrows her eyes at me.

  The next wolf in line moves up close to her window. It raises its laser module, angles it upwards and—

 

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