Return to Wardate

by Bill Cornwell

  ‘Where did you move the S. A. I. to? … Okay… okay’

  ‘S-A-I?’ asked Madeline.

  ‘Systems access interface… Thumb and forefinger, right hand,’ said Nuttall calmly.

  To be honest, the mole on her arm was not ideally placed. Rubbing her thumb and forefinger together was a much better arrangement. Now her weapons could be accessed and activated much quicker and altogether more discretely. The text was sent.

  Chapter 8: The training

  It’s fair to say that the knock out flatulence gas had been used the most and proved very effective. Fortunately, being non lethal, her rather indiscriminate over use of it in the past, had not particularly proved too problematic. The tasar weapon, the crudest of any weapon had had its uses, especially at short range. The laser weapon fitted by the American scientists was, in every instance she used it, a complete overkill and if it didn’t kill, it was more luck than judgement - this was definitely an area where a spot of training would be useful. Her hypodermic finger had been used brazenly to kill and stun, perhaps a little training would be useful here too. Finally her least explored weapon, explosive motion. This temporarily enhanced her artificial muscle strength by up to 100 times - with remarkable results. Unfortunately to become suddenly a hundred times stronger than you were a second ago had serious drawbacks for someone with no training. MI 7 somehow knew all about her weapons and deemed that training was compulsory... whether she liked it or not.

  And so the training began. It would take two months – it had to be done properly. Madeline had to become completely in harmony with her weaponry as Poppy had done with her new body. Deployment of any weapon had to be instant, accurate and second nature. There had to be no thought involved, just pure instinct. No hesitation - killing, maiming and stunning had to be done accurately, calmly, judgementally but quickly. She was afterall, an assassin with the highest credentials.

  Special rooms were setup solely for each of Madeline’s weapons.

  The ‘Fart Room’, room 1, was a simple setup. Along the floor on the far wall there were a row of cages holding wild underfed dogs. To the side of the room, a man wearing a gas mask stood nervously with a rifle. No pussy footing about here, the rifle contained real bullets. It was all down to Madeline.

  Remotely, a dog would be released randomly without warning. If she could release her knock-out gas out of her cute little bottom before the growling dog reached her, the dog would be spared the bullet – just pass out with the gas. It was all very clever and proved to be an excellent incentive to improve her technique, principally because Madeline was a dog lover. Like a gunman with finger on trigger, Madeline learnt to poise her thumb and forefinger together ready to rub and press. All it took was one week, the slaughter of eighty four dogs and the occasional instance of a mauled android arm before her response time was up to an acceptable speed. Unfortunately sometimes the gunman would miss the dog or the gun would misfire or Madeline would inadvertently get shot – such is life.

  The process continued almost immediately with her laser weapon. As this weapon was far more severe and altogether more deadly, the training had to be more intense. She was escorted into a darkened room – The ‘Laser Room’, room 2. Another week later she could precisely and neatly slice in half, a Desmodus rotundus, in the dark, before it had chance to peck at her beautiful artificial skin. Vampire bats really did exist. She was solely responsible for the death of hundreds of these vicious little mammals and boy did she find it satisfying.

  Madeline really was coming on leaps and bounds, her reaction times were speeding up and she was becoming conditioned exactly how MI 7 wanted.

  No training was given for her tasar weapon. It was thought too troublesome and ineffective for any serious battle she may endure in the future. ‘Only use if you really have to’ was the advice given. Madeline liked this weapon for a different reason: it was a convenient way of proving to people who needed it proving to, that she really was an android and not a sexy minx. Using anything else un-human may prove too dangerous when proof had to be demonstrated.

  Training for her hypodermic finger consisted of a one day computer based training course with a recognised qualification at the end of it. Madeline was predictably bored to tears and wanted the world to end there and then but she eventually came to her senses - it was only a day out of her life.

  The final weapon in her artillery was the little used ‘explosive motion’. Understandably, Madeline didn’t like using this Hulk type feature as it had potential to cause damage - mainly to her beautiful soft wrinkle free skin. It also could incur internal damage as her inner components went through hell during the process of hitting, bending and breaking things. Regardless of this, training had to be done. She was assured that any damage would be put right but self-harm was never in Madeline’s to do list.

  To recap, normally her muscles worked at no more than 5% capacity – the strength comparable to the strongest of any man but this was a seriously detuned state. Level five ‘explosive motion’ was 100% - full power. Level five was the strength of at least twenty men - or put another way, a JCB. This meant she could easily jump over a double-decker bus if she really wanted to or even lift this very same bus off the ground - very useful if you happened to leave the wheel jack at home. She had only used it once to push open a heavily bolted security door and skewer and few guards with the legs of a chair and that was only level 3. How could she possibly do training for this unusual talent? When explosive motion was switched on, normal movement was near on impossible, a walk turned into a dash and a hug tuned into a crush.

  This time, training involved doing things Madeline and Poppy hated: cooking and washing up. She was reluctantly sent, kicking and screaming into the kitchens - firstly to help cook for all the MI 7 staff. As she progressed she would move on to be the chief washer upper. Poppy’s idea of cooking was pierce the lid several times and throw in the microwave - a dishwasher then did the washing up. To peel potatoes and chop up carrots was a living hell but excellent training for muscle control whilst in ‘explosive motion’. Eventually the potato peeler peeled just the potato and not her lovely skin off her finger bones – eventually the knife just chopped through the carrot, not half way through the chopping board. Two weeks it took for this degree of control and then she was allocated a huge stainless steel sink to wash the dozens of plates and dishes. Eventually a whole day went by without breaking a single item of crockery. Training was now complete. As a side effect, the kitchen had brought out many dormant qualities in her, including discipline, commitment and working as a team. These were virtues the old Madeline severely lacked.

  But had they really changed Madeline Bull the feisty android into some new obedient fighting machine? …Unlikely!

  ‘Your training is finished – your car is out at the front. Go home and wait for instructions,’ said Nuttall aloofly.

  Chapter 9: Back Home

  It has to be said, Madeline Bull is the sum of all female fictional characters ever to have been thought up, including Cat women, Black widow, Wonder woman and Buffy – only many would agree, better looking, sexier and much less human. However unlike other super heroes, she was no longer a free agent. For the moment, though, this didn’t bother her, she was just glad to be leaving Capesdown Hall behind.

  Madeline was now effectively bugged. This violation of her personal space hadn’t as yet, fully sunk in but Barton was fully aware of the implications. In M.I. 7’s eyes she was a very cleverly programmed android; they had no reason to think otherwise. If they ever found out that she was in fact controlled remotely by assumed dead, news reporter, Poppy Cock, it would change everything. The coexistence worked, their sum was greater than their individual parts. Without symbiosis there would be nothing but an inactive machine and a severely disabled human.

  After a long enjoyable drive down a few congested motorways, she was now back in her flat in Bristol - Barton had to talk to her privately. The only way he could do this was to break the radio link and
speak to Poppy directly in her tank.

  The radio link was broken and Madeline collapsed ungainly in a heap on the floor.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Barton through a voice link into Poppy’s tank.

  ‘Barton! Thought you’d deserted me,’ said Poppy amid a state of sensory deprivation.

  ‘If only! They mustn’t know about me… more importantly, they mustn’t know about you. I just hope Adam can hold his tongue. Unfortunately, at the moment, the only way to talk to you is to deactivate Madeline. Not really very practical, I’ll have to put some thought into it.’

  ‘How am I? I feel fine,’ enquired Poppy

  ‘You’re still on 2mg of morphine per hour but you actually you’re quiet strong and healthy.’

  ‘Yes, but how am I? You know what I mean.’

  ‘You need Madeline,’ said Barton succinctly.

  ‘Right,’ said Poppy, suppressing a mountain of emotions.

  ‘I’ve moved you, by the way; you have a new home.’

  ‘Are you going to tell me where?’

  ‘Best it stays with me for now,’ said Barton.

  ‘I understand… Don’t get killed then, will you.’

  ‘Goodness knows what MI 7 are up to. I suspect your first mission will start pretty soon so make the most of the next few hours,’ said Barton wisely.

  ‘Don’t worry, I will!’

  With that Barton reactivated the transmitter and the radio link re-established. Madeline took a moment to get her bearing – she was prostrate on the floor – she quickly jumped to her feet. At that moment the door bell rang.

  It was Adam.

  It seemed like a decade ago but finally they were together again. The last time was in another existence where Madeline was Poppy and Adam was a slightly different Adam. The last time Madeline and this particular Adam were together it could hardly be described as happy circumstances. The cow shed housing Poppy’s tank was on fire, consequently the connection failed. As a result, Madeline, who was in the car with Adam, racing back to the farm, entered her default mode and fell asleep.

  Now Madeline was well and truly awake, sentient and horny. They cuddled and kissed for a few minutes and then raced upstairs, they had a lot of catching up to do. Madeline was now trained, disciplined, apparently rebuilt and she had the reactions times of a house fly. None of this made any difference when they made love apart from folding her clothes when she took them off and making the bed when they had finished. However this was pretty pointless because it was now late evening and time to use the bed for another purpose.

  The next morning they both woke refreshed and decided they had time to make love again before breakfast. In the fullness of time, Adam had a bowl of cereals and a strong coffee, Madeline couldn’t. Instead she reminisced about the tea rooms and the cream scone and paddling in the stream, Adam couldn’t – he was the wrong Adam. He was, however, the Adam who went to Barry Island, so he reminisced about that.

  They were about to go out for a walk in the park just at the moment the front door was bashed in with a battering ram.

  ‘Madeline Bull, we arrest you for the murders of Ronald Poultney, Ray de Par, Tara Gogli and Guzman Osborne,’ yelled one of the Policemen.

  ‘Here we go, dare say Nuttall’s behind this. Love you lots,’ Madeline gave Adam a hug and kiss and left peacefully with the group of fifteen heavily armoured and gas masked riot police.

  Chapter 10: Bull sent down

  In a very short time she was locked up in a prison cell without a trial, without interrogation, without any legal aid and without her designer clothes.

  For the past six weeks the British prison service had undergone a radical shake up. Madeline had been kept far too busy to be aware of this. On the surface, it seemed like a good idea – to bring all the whole life prisoners together, under one roof. But this didn’t mean to say there wasn’t strong objection to the idea. The main concern was that all the really bad eggs were in one basket.

  Brackendale prison seemed the most unlikely choice for the conglomeration of evil. A modern low security prison, well equipped with a Gym, swimming baths, cinema and carpeted cells. The complex nestled aside beautiful countryside and was less than a mile or two away from several peaceful villages and infant schools. Also for some bizarre reason, the staffing levels and security were kept to a minimum – it really was a calamity waiting to happen. This was where Madeline found herself rubbing shoulders will all the evilness this country had captured over the past years. She had a text message…

  “27 of the most evil people this country has spawned all under one roof. You know what you have to do.”

  ‘Good God, you have to be joking!’ shouted Madeline – to herself.

  What exactly was expected of her? …To kill 27 people? Up to now she had killed a total of four, a distasteful fact that often haunted her in her sleep. However in many ways, eradicating this lump of festering toxic evil did make sense - she knew it did. Humanity was best rid of such monsters and besides the cost to the taxpayer for keeping these people locked up was exorbitant. It was decide that dropping a bomb on the place was out of the question, innocent people would certainly be killed… so someone had to pop them off individually. To kill 27 people, this someone had to have inhuman qualities so who better than Madeline who happened not to be human to carry out the deed.

  Firstly it was only right that she researched all 27 inmates and find out what they were in for; then and only then would she be prepared for proper mass murder.

  The research was relatively straight forward; all 27 were well documented for what they had done. They all had one basic thing in common - they were all completely toxic to society. The crimes they had committed were simply repugnant, ranging from mass murder to child abuse. Not so many years ago they would all have been hung from a rope or boiled on the electric chair, certainly not pampered with cosy cells, Sky TV and gourmet food.

  Yes, why not? She would do it.

  The extra wide bed in the generously sized cell was extremely comfortable; she lay on the soft duck down filled quilt and gazed up at the ceiling. She wondered if the CCTV camera was infringing any human rights.

  ‘Any ideas,’ she said out loud, ‘… how I’m going to do it?’

  Nothing came back, clearly that was her problem. MI 7 were keeping their hands clean – they were all human – she wasn’t. No point in rushing it, she thought, however she did want to get back to Adam sometime soon. She stood up, sank into the thick pile carpet and walked to the large picture window. There were the customary iron bars on the outside but they didn’t particularly hinder the distant views of the countryside, the local church and the infant school. She had no doubt with her explosive motion she could easily smash the glass, bend the bars and escape but what was the point in that? She was on her first mission and she was instructed to kill 27 human beings in what ever way she thought best – what a dangerous person she was. She lay back on the comfortable bed and went to sleep.

  Morning came abruptly with bell sounding and a clunk of the door automatically unlocking. She decided to get to know the inmates a little before she did the deed. She would study their habits and see if they all had anything in common. Naturally Madeline didn’t want any breakfast, a thirteen amp socket in her cell/room was sufficient - but all the same, she decided to mingle in the canteen. She sat next to a large woman, not fat but muscular and tall. Others called her Mole grip but her real name was Daisy Grunt – probably a very appropriate name. Madeline began a little idle chat with her – a very much, one way conversation. Eventually Mole grip was sufficiently annoyed to demonstrate her name sake by squeezing Madeline’s thigh under the table. It was a powerful grip, enough to rupture the flesh and bruise the muscle but Madeline’s thigh was different.

  ‘Please get you hand off my thigh,’ asked Madeline politely.

  ‘Run a few errands for me and let me have your food and I will,’ Mole grip… grunt-ed.

  ‘No, take your hand off me or I’ll have to hurt you,�
�� said fragile looking Madeline.

  The grip intensified. Madeline selected explosive motion level 3 and grabbed hold of Mole grip’s wrist touching her thigh. A few bones cracked and ligament snapped whilst Mole grip’s scream reverberated around the canteen. Her outburst was largely ignored by the Officers - they really didn’t want to get involved. Mole Grip generally scared the shit out of everyone she came in contact with including the Officers.

  ‘I’m afraid you’ve been out squeezed,’ said Madeline calmly.

  ‘I’m going to kill you,’ said Mole grip wiping a large tear from her eye.

  ‘Well you’re well practiced in that aren’t you? - Six innocent teenage girls? Was it because they were pretty and you’re dog ugly?’

  ‘Who the fuck, are you?’ Mole grip raged.

  ‘Justice, that’s who I am,’ said Madeline sternly.

  That was enough to convince her. Everyone locked up in this inappropriate hotel deserved everything they were going to get. She certainly wasn’t going to go through all the other 26 to assess their merits for death. She knew it would be wise to get a move on, Mole grip’s wrist would shortly be x rayed and questions would be asked.

  The deed could be done with poison in the food but that would certainly be hit and miss, far too unreliable. Her weapons were highly effective but mainly for individual use; even her laser would only kill one at a time.

  They were back stabbing, murderous lumps of toxic evil - all 27 of them - maybe she could use this fact to her advantage.