Return to Wardate

by Bill Cornwell

  The requirements were basic: 25 cutlery knives, a note pad, a couple of forks and one garlic capsule. Madeline accessed the psychiatric reports for the 27 inmates. Normally this would have been completely inaccessible but Madeline had been given special dispensation to access to every known data base. (This was through a special arrangement made between Brownsword / Turner and the certain government officials when she was originally built as an automaton). As she expected, they all, without exception, had a hang-up - a fact about each of them that if focused on would rile each of them to the point of insane rage and vengeance. All Madeline had to do was deliver a little note to each inmate pointing out their hang-up and claim she was simply the messenger. The note would naturally be signed by another inmate. If she did this right she could work through all the inmates systematically.

  And so the plan began. Meal time was ideal - she sat next to the first recipient. Madeline explained that she was issued with a conventional steel knife and fork because she was allergic to the type of plastic the prison issue cutlery was made from. There was a simple reason why plastic was the preferred material - steel knifes made excellent weapons.

  She delivered the note, it said...

  ‘Your hoar of a bitch Mother never loved you. regards Bent Tooth’

  Predictably, in an instant blind rage, this particular inmate snatched the steel knife out of Madeline’s hand and left the canteen. Within an hour, Bent Tooth was found dead, stabbed several times with a relatively blunt object – presumably a cutlery knife. For each of the next 24 meal times, Madeline carried out the same procedure of innocently delivering a note to a fresh inmate, apparently signed by a target inmate pointing out their hang-up in a particularly colourful language. In the fullness of time, a total of 25 metal cutlery knives were snatched off Madeline and used to stab to death the target inmate.

  After just over a week, there were only three inmates left alive in the prison, one of them being Madeline. Meal times had become progressively quieter until only two prisoners were left for Madeline to deal with. A slightly different tactic now had to be used. It happened to be breakfast time. Madeline sat next to one of the two remaining inmates known as Dogfish - she gave her the note. Incidentally, this time Madeline was using plastic cutlery, not steel.

  ‘A Problem?’ asked Madeline.

  ‘I swear I’ll kill her,’ said Dogfish, note in hand.

  ‘Kill who?’

  ‘Mole-grip, the fucking bitch!’

  ‘Why, what’s she done?’ said Madeline innocently.

  ‘The bitch said she’s had my pooches killed.’

  ‘Pooches?’ Madeline pretended to be taken aback.

  ‘Yea, my Staffies.’

  ‘Oh, your dogs… You’re in for human trafficking aren’t you?

  ‘So fuckin’ what?

  ‘Sixty died in transit, didn’t they?’

  ‘Had a fuckin’ glut of them, had to cull them.’

  ‘Cull human beings and you’re upset over your dogs?’

  ‘My pooches are worth a thousand, no a million of those fuckin’ scum Ethiopians.’

  Of all the intense evil that Madeline had previously come in contact with, this was by far the most intolerable and distasteful of all. She swallowed as best as androids can and continued with her charade.

  ‘I understand, I’m a dog lover too, tell you what, I’ve got this garlic capsule. I’ve injected slow action poison into it - was going to use on Dogfish for bruising my leg. You give it to her. Tell the bitch it will do her crushed wrist good.’

  The inmate snatched to capsule off Madeline and walked over to Mole-grip.

  ‘What’s funkin’ that?’ said Mole-grip, almost politely.

  ‘Garlic capsule, took it off Stick Insect over there. Thought it would be good for yer wrist,’ said Dogfish.

  ‘Err, yes, thanks,’ Mole-grip didn’t know what to say, it seemed like an act of kindness and she didn’t know how to deal with that.

  Timing was now important. They both watched as Mole-grip threw the capsule in her mouth and gulped orange juice from the glass. Seconds later, Madeline jumped up from the table and ran over to Mole-grip.

  ‘Don’t take the capsule, it’s laced,’ screamed Stick Insect (Madeline).

  ‘Laced?’ boomed Mole-grip.

  ‘Got poison in it! Dog-face nicked it off me, was going to use it on the guards,’ whimpered Madeline convincingly.

  This time steel cutlery wasn’t required. Within seconds, Mole-grip’s hands were around Dogfish’s neck and she was dead. Moments later Mole-grip was dead too, from the poison contained in the capsule. It was Madeline’s deadliest poison she had available from her syringe finger – last used effectively on Ray De par.

  ‘27 dead and not a one by my hands,’ said Madeline out loud to whoever may be listening. In all respects, it was a job well done. Off course there would be questions asked, for instance, where did the 26 steel cutlery knives and the deadly poison in the capsule come from but Madeline was innocent, instrumental yes, but completely unblemished. The prison was now empty of inmates, the prison officers were redundant, tax payers would save umpteen million pounds a year and the building could be sold off as a Premier Inn – or something.

  Madeline Bull was exonerated and all charges dropped. Her first MI 7 mission had been completed, quicker, neater and with less loose ends than anyone in the Ministry could ever have hoped for.

  Someone deep in government circles realised that this routine could now be performed all over the world, Britain could sell the format. A Madeline Bull would not be required as the notes could actually be delivered by email or text and steel cutlery surreptitiously deposited in convenient places.

  There you are then, mass murderers, rapist, child abusers and other very evil people. Beware - capital punishment may not come back but there’s always steel cutlery!

  Chapter 11: An a23 Battery

  Madeline soon found herself back home with Adam. Ten days she had been away from him so she had a lot of catching up to do. She was now officially, a secret agent, which meant she ran a double life. As a consequence, if she ever discussed detail about her missions she would then have to kill whoever was listening. Adam naturally wanted to known where’d she been and what she’d been doing. Madeline nicely threatened him with death. He stopped asking questions but he knew exactly where she’d been and had a damn good idea what she’d been up to so he used an alternative approach.

  ‘Have you seen the news… no of course, how could you have done – locked up!? You know all that hoo-ha about putting all the whole lifers together in one prison?’

  ‘No, not really,’ lied Madeline curtly.

  ‘Well they ended up all killing each other. Unbelievable don’t you think?’

  ‘Unbelievable.’

  Someone entirely new was now listening in, bugging her, violating her - she detested it. This arrangement was not what she signed up for, not that she ever signed anything. Then it was only Turner, she could handle him, even tease him a bit but the possibility of the whole of MI 7 watching and listening in was intolerable. She wondered if she could still shut herself down. She went through the menus displayed in her left eye, found the ‘shut down’ command and clicked on it.

  ‘Barton!’ Poppy yelled. ‘Barton, are you there?’

  A couple of minutes went by whilst Barton opened up the communication link directly to her tank.

  ‘I’m here, what’s up?’ said Barton.

  The sound of Barton’s warm and friendly voice was comforting and settling. He was altogether a father figure - she had a ‘wanting to cry in his arms’ feeling. Barely remembering her real father, she never really experienced what fathers are for but she always knew that she had missed out on something. She loved her Mum of course and all the wonderful things she had done for her but she often assumed that fathers can offer other qualities to form a well balanced attitude to life. It would never be right to call him by his first name, not that she could remember what it was, Barton
rolled off the tongue, Barton it would always be. Madeline perhaps didn’t fully realise it but Barton had an unconditional love for both Madeline and Poppy. He had created Madeline and in every way possible, adopted Poppy.

  ‘How can I stop them – MI 7 - listening and watching me? I thought I could cope, I can most of the time but when I’m with Adam I just want him in my life and no one else.’ Poppy was clearly holding back the tears.

  ‘My dear Poppy, so you are human after all. Shouldn’t be much of a problem, you just need a black spot.’

  ‘How am I going to put my flat in a black spot?’

  ‘You need an 800 MHz jammer then. I’ll post one over to you, now get back there, you’re missing out on Adam time.’

  ‘Okay thanks Barton, love you.’

  A second later she was back with Adam. Madeline wakened to find herself in his arms on the sofa. Unexpectedly but instinctively, she had sent her love to Barton. It had taken a long time, finally Madeline realised that she had a father figure and it was Barton. He really did care for her, look after her and devoted his life to her as fathers do - she found it impossible to hold a tear back.

  ‘What’s wrong sweetheart?’ asked Adam.

  ‘Nothing now,’ said Madeline.

  The next day a parcel was delivered. It contained the smallest of devices but it lacked a 12 volt battery.

  ‘You want an a23 battery for that. I’ll nip down the shop, I need a newspaper anyway. I’ll only be a few minutes,’ said Adam.

  In the short time that he was gone a black Range Rover with tinted windows screeched to a halt outside Madeline’s flat, picked her up and then catapulted off in to the distance.

  Chapter 12: The ‘V’ room

  The shiny black 4x4 pulled up at a private airport. An equally shiny black helicopter was waiting with rotors spinning. For once, Madeline felt important; a sleek colossally expensive helicopter just for her. In no time the helicopter had travelled up the country to Cheshire and was landing skilfully on a helipad on top of Capesdown hall. Pike was waiting to escort her into the building. A lift took them many floors down, far more than the Hall appeared to have from the outside. The lift opened on to a small room. Nuttall stood there alone.

  ‘Thanks Pike, you can go now.’

  Nuttall remained silent until Pike was in the lift and ascending.

  ‘Sorry Madeline, we need you again, something serious this time,’ said Nuttall wondering if it was necessary to apologise to an automaton.

  ‘So terminating 27 in my last mission wasn’t serious then?’

  ‘Brilliant job, by the way… No, that was just a test.’

  ‘You mean you riled the nation, filled a morgue and emptied a high security prison just to test me?’

  ‘You underestimate yourself. You are possibly the greatest asset this country has ever had. We’ve spent billions on nuclear submarines and fighter jets, but you can do things on an altogether different scale. Call yourself a gold plated investment.’

  ‘Investment? You’ve claimed me because my genius builders have conveniently all gone. You haven’t a clue how I function, what if I go faulty? What if my core program is corrupted,’ said Madeline angrily.

  Apart from anything else, she thought it was wise to reinforce the android illusion.

  ‘We’ll… fix you,’ said Nuttall positively.

  ‘Don’t ever underestimate me!’ said Madeline sternly. ‘So what’s my next job then?’

  ‘First things first, a little explanation about this room: We are thirty metres below the surface, the walls are two metres thick, lead impregnated and charged with 100, 000 volts…’

  ‘So, a fall out shelter,’ chirped Madeline. ‘Expecting a nuclear attack?’

  ‘Not at the moment. This room is one of a kind, the only one in the world. We call it the ‘V’ room – a full spectrum veil chamber.’

  ‘Am I supposed to be impressed?’

  ‘Absolutely nothing can penetrate this room, not even neutrinos.

  ‘You’ve built all this just so you can’t be bugged?’

  ‘On the contrary, we’ve built it to stop anything getting in.’

  How wrong Nuttall was. The complex signal from Professor Braugenhau’s radio transmitter was clearly ‘getting in’. Madeline continued to communicate perfectly with Poppy’s interface many miles away. Fortunately Nuttall didn’t know this. He had no reason to suspect Madeline Bull was anything other than a very cleverly programmed android.

  ‘What don’t you want to get in?’ asked Madeline.

  ‘Thought waves,’ said Nuttall with a serious face.

  ‘You what… thought waves? You’re taking the wee-wee.’

  ‘On the contrary, have you ever heard the name, Mark Titoo?’

  ‘Course I have, who hasn’t?’

  ‘You have? Oh… I was hoping you hadn’t… Well, who is he, where have you seen him?’ asked Nuttall.

  ‘He’s the… he was on…’ Madeline couldn’t answer.

  ‘Exactly, everybody in the country has heard of him but nobody knows who he is but his name is familiar as rain.’

  ‘He’s a News reader?’ claimed Madeline.

  ‘No he isn’t.’

  ‘He’s an author?’

  ‘No,’

  ‘So how the hell have I heard of him then?’

  ‘Well, until just, I really thought it was some sort of mind influencing signal but now it begs the question how have you been influenced with a computer processor instead of a brain?’

  Madeline, of course, didn’t have a brain as such, she just used Poppy’s, which, last time she checked was definitely biological. To circumnavigate this deception, a little white lie was necessary.

  ‘Actually a bit of me is biological. My designers had to develop a way of making the many thousands of electrical connections in my processor more dynamic so they used protoplasmic fibres instead,’ said Madeline, not having a clue where the word protoplasmic came from.

  ‘Well that explains a lot but we were hoping that you were immune. Can you hear anything?’

  ‘No nothing, it’s deadly quiet.’

  ‘Turn your gain up to full - your new diamond ceramic mike’s will pick up any trace of noise.’

  Madeline rubbed her finger and thumb together in a particular way.

  ‘Amazing, I can hear your heart beat, you want get that checked it has a murmur and your breathing… bit of phlegm there.’

  ‘Actually our boffins think it maybe some sort of ultrasound - a kind of tinnitus if you like. We believe that someone has developed a way of transmitting these mind influencing signals all over the world. Down here we’re shielded from the signal,’ said Nuttall.

  ‘Yes, we must be,’ Madeline lied.

  She was conscious of a very faint high pitched tinnitus type sound. But they were Poppy’s ears not Madeline’s - Poppy ears weren’t thirty metres underground.

  ‘If someone has found a way of influencing everyone remotely using ultrasound – tinnitus, whatever, this person is the most dangerous person ever to have walked the planet. He can start wars, instil hatred, overthrow governments… just about anything can happen,’ suggested Madeline.

  ‘The human being is a very susceptible entity,’ said Nuttall solemnly.

  ‘Well, it certainly beats your average mass murdered, rapist, psychopath and extortionist. So, you want me to kill him… or her then?’

  ‘Yes and quickly before this Titoo chap starts something. Only you have the resources, the invulnerability and… dare I say it, the ingenuity to do it,’ said Nuttall.

  For some reason, Madeline became overwhelmed with emotion and her eyes welled up as he said this.

  They left the veiled room and entered the lift, the faint tinnitus noise returned inside Nuttall’s head.

  ‘I don’t know why but suddenly I feel very depressed. I have an odd feeling that everyone despises me,’ said Madeline trying her best not to cry.

  The passable smile on Nuttall’s face dropped and the friendly g
lint in his eye extinguished. He immediately began to loath the person next to him. The lift door opened. They were greeted by six angry looking men wielding hand guns. Nuttall felt the urge to join in and took out his hand gun and shot Madeline in the chest - then the others opened fire. The bullets pierced Madeline’s designer clothes but fortunately bounced off her new impervious body. She hastily selected explosive motion level 5, pushed them violently aside and ran at the speed of a Bugatti Veyron, down the corridor, out of the main entrance, across the gravel drive and out of the main gates.

  ‘This is going to be a challenge,’ said Madeline out loud as she flew across a ploughed field with powerful strides of over ten metres. The feeling that everybody hated her suddenly disappeared and the distant hail of bullets suddenly stopped. A message came through on her invasive MI 7 communication device:

  ‘You now know what you’re up against, for a few minutes you were the most loathed person on Earth. The hate feeling disappeared as quickly as it appeared. Find this Mark Titoo or whoever is doing this and do what you’re best at. Good luck.’

  Madeline didn’t like the idea that killing was what she was best at. Surely there were other things that she was better at than killing. She thought about it and realised that there wasn’t. She ran for over four miles across fields, jumping easily over dry stone walls and streams until eventually, after about five minutes, she reached a small town with a supermarket. The most important item on her shopping list was an a23 12volt battery. She fitted it into the small device she had received in the post that morning and dialled up Barton.

  ‘Hi Pops, hope your device works,’ said Madeline deciding to try out a new name for him.

  A voice came back clearly recovering from a serious bout of sobbing, ‘Is the green light on?’