I ducked back as the robot headed towards my hiding place. On the plus side – no cannon. And it could only use the blade at close quarters. On the minus side – the blade was almost the size of a surfboard and could slice through metal like a spade through warm squit. The robot had been reduced from a tank to a giant gladiator, but it was still deadly. I needed a plan, but all I could come up with was ‘stay out of striking distance.’
I turned and ran. The steady thud of the robot’s footsteps followed me. It didn’t run – it didn’t need to. Its steps were three times the length of mine. Sensing that it was close, I ducked, throwing myself forward. I hit the ground and rolled onto my back. The massive blade sliced through the air where my neck had been a moment ago.
The giant cleaver rose high above me and came whooshing down. I rolled at the last moment and the blade crashed into the metal deck sending up sparks.
Desperate to find some sort of cover, I crawled towards a flatbed trailer that was loaded with crates. There was just enough room for me to slide underneath it. I lay on my back and watched the unhurried approach of the robot’s giant-sized feet. I tensed, ready to move again. The robot swiped the heavy crates off the trailer, sending them tumbling and crashing across the deck. Then the cleaver whistled down, biting into the trailer’s flatbed. The gleaming edge of the blade came through the underside, stopping less than an inch from my nose. I uncrossed my eyes and shuffled sideways away from the robot and out the other side.
The robot lifted the trailer and threw it aside. It raised the cleaver, ready to strike down at me – but I was no longer there. I scrambled to my feet and ran.
Watching two evenly matched robots fight it out in an arena can be fun. Being in the arena and completely outmatched by your opponent – not so much. I had no sword of my own and no shield. But I did have a pistol loaded with six explosive shells. I ducked behind one of the metal crates the robot had scattered across the floor, drew my gun and aimed at rampaging robot. The first shot bounced harmlessly off its chest plate and exploded off to one side. Not a surprise – the pistol wasn’t powerful enough to launch armour-piercing rounds. I braced my arms on the crate and targeted the joint in its groin – all is fair in robot wars – hoping to damage its leg and at least slow it down. This time the shell exploded against the robot and I saw it stop and stagger. I didn’t wait to see what came next – I used my momentary advantage and sprinted away from it.
The repaired wound in my thigh was only a dull ache and my damaged fingers felt fine. Things would probably be different once the adrenaline and painkillers wore off. Assuming I lived that long. I glanced back. The robot was still standing – the explosion hadn’t even knocked it off its feet. And when it started moving again, it wasn’t even limping. My little handgun was no good against a military robot.
In front of me were the massive steel doors that were open onto the launch deck. I could get outside – but then what? If I tried to climb down to the jungle the robot would just jump down and be there waiting for me at the bottom. My best chance of escape probably lay in heading back into the ship where I could lose the robot in the labyrinth of corridors. But my failed attempt to flatten the robot with a truck had brought me to the wrong end of the hangar. The doors into the ship were almost a quarter mile away. There was no way I could avoid the robot and cross that open space.
There were metal walkways around the walls of the hangar some thirty feet or so above the deck. If I could get up there, I might stand a chance of running the length of the hangar. The robot’s size gave it an advantage on the open hangar deck, but its weight and bulk would slow it down on the narrow walkway. There were metal staircases at various points around the hangar, but I would have to reach one well ahead of the robot. Otherwise it would tear the stairway down before I managed to climb up to the walkway. How could I slow it for long enough to get across to the nearest stairs and safely up them? Hitting it with a truck hadn’t worked.
I dodged behind another crate, thinking of trying a shot at the eye screens in the robot’s head – they looked much less substantial than the rest of its armour. But there was every chance they were formed from some sort of synthetic diamond rather than glass, so I decided to save my shot. I needed explosives. A big bomb. Not for the first time, I wished I had my backpack with me – though I wasn’t sure that the little limpet bombs that I had managed to scrounge up for this trip would have been enough. But it would have been nice just to have something. Even the red fire axe strapped to the back of my pack would have been better than the nothing I had in my hand at that moment. I would far rather go down fighting than be a sitting duck waiting to get picked off.
Thought of the axe triggered another idea in my brain. There would be firefighting equipment in the hangar – and it might include something I could use against the robot. Dousing it in fire extinguisher foam might slow it down. Or I could chop off its leg with a pair of those hydraulic jaws they use to cut people out of wreckage. I looked around. There were two sets of doors painted red and marked ‘Fire Control’ – one on each side of the hangar. The one closest to me lay within sprinting distance. Just about. There wasn’t much margin for error. If that fire equipment storage room was locked, I’d be sliced into cutlets by robo-butcher.
Deep rapid breaths to get oxygen into my blood – then I set off. I was aware of the twinge in my thigh where the wound had been knitted together, but I ignored it. Arms pumping, boots slamming against the deck – this was all about speed not stealth.
I felt the deck vibrating. The robot in pursuit. And now it had decided that it too should run. I didn’t dare look back, knowing its massive stride would quickly eat up the distance between us. I concentrated on my target. Twenty yards ahead of me. When I was within twenty feet of it, I glanced at the lock beside the storage room door. The tiny red light was bad news. Locked. Why would anyone lock up fire safety equipment? Why should I need to be authorised personnel to grab a fire extinguisher? Not slacking my pace, I fumbled for the ID tag that Trixie had made for me. If this didn’t open the lock, I was dead meat.
I didn’t slow until the very last second and I didn’t stop at all. I slammed into the red door and slapped the ID tag against the lock. It seemed an age before the red light blinked and turned green. I pushed the door open and ducked inside, banging it shut behind me. I hit the button to relock the door and then smashed the control box with the butt of my pistol. The robot wouldn’t be able to unlock it from outside and that would slow it down – for a little while. But I was under no illusions – I had only bought myself a couple of minutes. The storage room door was airtight, but it didn’t have the strength of an external airlock. Who knew how long it could withstand an attack by a giant cleaver. I had to move fast.
It was a small room, part closet and part changing room. Racks of equipment were neatly stacked and labelled. Rubbery-looking suits hung on pegs, looking like deflated and decapitated corpses. And there were shiny yellow fireman’s helmets. I grabbed one and jammed it on my head. It wouldn’t provide much protection against the cleaver, but it looked great.
Behind me, the robot was hammering on the locked door, first with its massive metal fist and then with the cleaver. A spiderweb crack appeared in the thick glass window, but it didn’t shatter. Dents started to show in the steel plate as blow after blow struck the door close to the frame. It wouldn’t withstand this onslaught for long.
There were two sizes of fire axe. I tucked the handle of one of the smaller ones into my belt as a spare and took one of the bigger ones as my primary. If I was cornered, a well-aimed chop at the robot’s neck might be enough to slow it down. But I wanted to avoid getting that close if I could. There were coils of hose – the big flat ones and ordinary plastic pipe – but they weren’t connected to anything. You evidently had to attach them to some kind of faucet outside in the hangar. Pity – a high-pressure hose might have knocked the robot back and maybe sent fluid far enough inside it to cause a short circuit.
There w
ere more heavy blows and then a nasty ripping sound as the edge of the blade tore through the metal. I glanced back. It was only a narrow cut, but it meant the door would soon give way.
I found a large metal toolbox – almost too heavy to lift. I couldn’t take it with me but maybe I could swing it at the robot and knock it off its feet. Or maybe not. There were also a couple of rolls containing smaller tools and I stuffed one of these into the leg pocket of my khakis. For balance, I shoved a roll of duct tape and a larger hammer into the pocket on the other side.
As I had expected, there were several sets of hydraulically operated jaws. The largest of them would take off the robot’s head – but only if it lay still long enough for me to use them on its neck. I didn’t think there was any chance of that happening. I needed something I could deploy more rapidly.
Fire extinguishers. A whole row of them. Carbon dioxide ones for electrical fires and wet foam ones for other types of flames, all clearly marked. I could use foam to blind the robot’s visual systems and CO2 to confuse its heat sensors. That might be enough for me to dodge around it, but I still needed to travel the length of the hangar at something close to light speed.
If this had been a movie, the hero would have found a fireman’s motorcycle conveniently stashed in a corner. But I couldn’t see anything with wheels – except the hand trucks the larger fire extinguishers were on, and these only had two wheels. I couldn’t really see myself scooting across the hangar on one of them. Not on one of them. But perhaps two?
A crash. The glass in the door finally exploded inwards in a shower of fragments. Time was running out for our hero as he frantically bound two of the hand trucks together with duct tape to form a sort of go-kart.
The door split down the middle and the robot’s giant hand tore out the remaining pieces of metal.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I had the fire extinguishers lined up ready. There’d been no time to test-fire them, so I pulled the pins on them two at a time. I was hoping the robots had maintained these as well as they had everything else. I squeezed the triggers.
With a person, you can predict how they are likely to react to a loud noise and a cloud of gas. The shock will cause them to back away and the movement will be involuntary – caused by some primitive survival mechanism. But robots don’t have the same in-built reactions. I needed the robot to retreat from the doorway, at least slightly, so that I could get out. I set off the carbon dioxide extinguisher, knowing it would create a cloud that would blind both of us. The robot wouldn’t know where I was – but I would be at an equal disadvantage. The CO2 would clear quickly and I would need to be ready with the foam, covering the robot’s head to blind it so that I could make my escape.
These things never go exactly to plan. The blast of sound and dry-ice smoke did make the robot pause to assess the danger. But it didn’t step back. It kept coming into the little storage room, ducking its head to get through the door. It almost filled the space. Through the fog, I could just about make out the lights on its casing. But the air would soon clear. And even blind, in this confined space, the robot was dangerous. It swept the blade backwards and forwards, slicing the rubber suits across the middle and almost doing the same for me.
The CO2 extinguisher was exhausted and I tossed it towards the back of the room. This attracted the robot’s attention and it moved towards the sound. I was able to dodge around it so that it no longer stood between me and the door. I could make my bid for freedom. I pushed my improvised go-kart out through the wrecked door into the hangar. I picked up two of the foam fire extinguishers.
“Hey, Chuckles!” I shouted. The robot turned. I triggered the fire extinguishers. The one in my left-hand misfired and spluttered. The one in the right doused the robot’s head in a thick coating of wet foam. I couldn’t decide if it looked like a giant snow cone or the victim of a mad barber.
The robot lunged forward blindly, swiping with the cleaver. I stepped back, but not quickly enough. The blade sliced across the front of my shirt and I felt it skim across the flesh underneath. It was hardly more than a papercut, but it stung like a bitch. I staggered backwards out of the door, throwing the two dead extinguishers at the robot as I went.
The exit doors at the other end of the hangar looked like they were miles away. It was a long straight run, which was a good thing because my home-made go-kart had no steering. I placed one foot on the kart. My intention was to stand and scoot along until I picked up speed and then crouch down on it for the rest of the journey, scooting with my foot only if the kart slowed down.
Surfboarding and skateboarding had never really been my thing. I prefer something with a motor. But as a thief, my sense of balance is pretty good. I set off, hoping the duct tape would hold together with my weight onboard.
“Wheeee!” I scooted across the hangar deck.
Behind I could hear the robot crashing about in the storage room. Maybe it was trying to put together its own go-kart. I didn’t look back. If I lost my balance or hit an obstacle, my run would come to an inglorious end and I wouldn’t get a second attempt.
The doors at the end of the hangar were approaching rapidly. I was crouching on the kart now, feet off the ground, relying on the momentum I had built up. The bearings in the wheels must have been pretty well-oiled because there was very little friction to slow me down. I think the ship must have been tilted downwards at that end too, helping to carry me onwards. As the doors came closer still, my speed became something of a concern. The kart had no brakes.
A crash behind me as the robot broke free from the storage room. It began pounding across the deck towards me. But I wasn’t worried by this. Victory was at hand – my head-start was too great. I was going to make it! Of course, if I slammed into the doors and knocked myself unconscious, my celebration would be short-lived. As would I. I could either try and slow myself by dragging one foot on the ground – and risk veering off course to one side. Or I could wait until the last moment and then throw myself off the kart. I decided on the second option.
An angry roar echoed around the hangar. I thought it was the robot. Some acoustic anomaly was making it sound like the roar came from in front of me.
The double doors at the end of the hangar slid open – and in the gap stood the one-eyed dragon. It roared again as it saw me heading straight towards it.
Chapter Twenty-Five
I threw myself off the kart and let it go skidding towards the dragon. I scrambled to my feet and launched myself towards the nearest stairs. If I could get up onto the walkway, I might stand a chance of escaping both death by dragon and death by robot.
Apparently, it wasn’t enough that I face a giant metal gladiator in this arena – Fate had decreed that I must also face a ravenous beast. I was a Christian thrown to the lions. A matador at the mercy of a raging bull. And all I had to defend myself was a low-powered handgun, a fire axe, and half a roll of duct tape. This was going to be a challenge for even my improvisational skills.
I reached the metal stairs and lurched up them. The rapid thump-click of the dragon’s clawed feet hitting the deck was closer than I would have liked. He could leap and climb and was a much more agile pursuer than the robot. Once I was up on the walkway, I could use the axe to defend myself. But if the dragon seized me while I was on the stairs, I would be consumed in bloody gobbets. Using hands and feet I scrambled up the steps. I felt the staircase shake as the dragon jumped onto it.
A movement way over to my right caught my attention. The robot was climbing another staircase, heading for the same walkway as me. I was going to be attacked from two directions.
The pounding of the dragon’s steps and those of the robot were causing the stairs and walkway to vibrate. Could this old metalwork support their combined weight? Not to mention the stresses of any sort of fight up there. Knowing my luck, I’d be the only one who didn’t survive the drop when the walkway collapsed and the other two would fight over my broken body. Morbid, I know. But if this wasn’t an appropriate
moment for dark thoughts, I don’t know what is.
The movement of the walkway had achieved earthquake proportions by the time I got to the top of the stairs. The robot was already on the walkway, striding towards my position. I risked a glanced back and saw the dragon was having some difficulty on the stairs. It didn’t – or couldn’t – use its upper claws to hold onto the handrails and so was trying to use its tail for balance. And the claws of its feet seemed to be getting caught on the metal mesh that the steps were made from. A good solid kick would probably send the dragon tumbling backwards. But I didn’t want to risk either of my favourite feet anywhere near those shark-like jaws. But I did still have explosive rounds left in my pistol. They wouldn’t penetrate the dragon’s thick scaly hide, but the impact might knock it off its feet. I took aim and fired – two rapid shots.
The dragon’s look of surprise was almost comical as it fell backwards. I saw it hit the hangar deck and lie still. Then it twitched, regaining its senses, and got back to its feet. This obviously concerned me, but the robot presented a more immediate threat. It was striding closer and closer. I backed away. Behind me was a sealed metal door. It might open if I pressed my ID tag to it, but it might not. My only other possible escape was to jump over the railing – and learn to fly before I hit the deck thirty feet below.
The robot was level with the stairs I had climbed. It stopped and looked down. The dragon had started up the steps again. With a few swift, powerful swipes of its cleaver, the robot sliced through the metalwork of the stairs, cutting through each of the points that supported the structure. The staircase tipped sideways, throwing the dragon back onto the deck. The clatter as the stairs hit the deck echoed around the hangar.
Battleship Raider Page 17