Twisted Metal (43 page)

‘She is perfectly safe,’ said the steel robot. ‘Or at least, she will be if her mind is twisted true. It all depends on how far she has diverged from the plan laid down in the Book of Robots. Even then, you may be surprised. As I said, the mind has more lifeforce than robots realize.’

And then, so quickly that Olam could barely follow it, the steel robot pulled out a detonator cap and pushed it between the slippery coiled wire of Janet’s mind, pushed it deep inside. Carefully, he dropped the mind back into its skull cradle.

‘What has he done?’ whispered Janet. ‘What has he done to me?’

‘Nothing,’ called Parmissa, her voice strangely modulated. ‘He hasn’t done anything.’

‘He’s put a detonator cap in your skull!’ said Olam. ‘Parmissa, why lie to her?’

‘Why lie indeed?’ asked the steel robot, bending down before Janet. ‘Just a small charge. You have the strength, you know – the lifeforce to keep your mind together. All you have to do is concentrate. To really, really concentrate. Here it comes . . .’

‘No! Take it . . .’ began Janet, and then there was a muffled crack, and Janet died. Blue wire exploded in a tangled mess.

‘No!’ called Parmissa, and then she was silent. They were all silent.

‘You saw it, didn’t you?’ said the steel robot. ‘The power of the mind?’

They had all seen it. The blue wire had exploded in a tangled ball, but then it had happened, something that they had never seen before. The wire had contracted. It had tried to pull itself together again. It had almost made it, too.

‘This is the knowledge of the Book of Robots. The lifeforce.’

Olam barely heard him speak. Janet had almost made it. She had used her lifeforce to almost pull her mind back together, but not quite. Blue wire slipped and flopped across the rough stone floor.

‘Now,’ said the steel robot, brightly. ‘Who’s next?’

Eleanor

Eleanor ran to the front of the train. Burning diesel was spilling from one of the fuel tanks, and she splashed her way through a puddle of orange flame that sizzled as it burned its way through the snow. The front of the train lay on its side, one uncoupled wheel still spinning slowly. She looked along the train’s underside, searching for a likely panel or access hatch, but there was nothing there, just the wheels and springs and drive coupling.

A muffled whoosh and a wave of orange flame swept over her, covering her with greasy soot. She felt the heat in her electromuscles as the light grew brighter. The flame was spreading.

Quickly, she scrambled up the bogie, on to the top, or rather side, of the train. Again, she looked for an access panel, hoping that the train had not fallen onto it. Finally, she spotted it, its outline painted in red and yellow stripes. She unsnapped the catches. There was another muffled thump and another wave of heat, much stronger now. She flung the panel aside and dropped inside the train.

There were three minds in there, nestling in a neat line. One of them was dead, its blue wire dull and brittle. She pulled out the other two, carefully disengaging the coils, and climbed up and out of the train. Orange flames burned bright all around her, sucking the oxygen from the night. She jumped to the ground, into the heart of the fire, and ran as quickly as she could into the darkness. Flames swelled up into the sky, casting shadows into the darkened surroundings. She ran on, out of the fire

and into the night, looking for the dead and broken bodies of infantryrobots. After some searching she found enough parts to make a body.

Carefully, she slid the first mind into the body, plugged in the coil . . .

‘AIEEEEEEEEE . . .’

The robot began to scream a shrill high-pitched electronic note. It wrapped its arms around its head and curled up on the ground, unmoving.

‘. . . EEEEEEEEE . . .’

Eleanor quickly unhooked the robot’s coil, silencing it. She looked around, seeing if anyone else had heard the noise. Was someone coming to investigate? She scanned the night. No one was in sight.

Now she slid the second mind into the same body.

She waited. The robot on the ground moved its arm. Then the other arm. Slowly it turned its head and looked at her. It reached out and patted the ground, patted itself, patted Eleanor’s hand.

‘Are you okay?’ she asked.

‘I’m fine. Who are you?’

‘Eleanor. Are you Karel?’

‘Yes.’

Eleanor smiled. ‘Excellent. Then come with me. There’s someone I think you should meet.’

Olam

The tangled minds of three robots spilled over the floor. ‘This one almost did it,’ said the steel robot, looking at the pool of twitching wire that slowly uncurled around its feet. ‘See? It
is
possible. Remember that, when it’s your turn.’

Olam’s gyros lurched as the robot looked directly at him. Was it to be his turn next? And then, to his overwhelming relief, the steel robot turned and walked through the door, leaving the building.

Olam and the rest remained silent for a moment, unable to quite understand what had happened. Not quite willing to believe their good fortune. Were they to be saved?

No, because now the thin, pig-iron robots were pulling Parmissa to the centre of the room, they were unpicking the metal of her skull.

‘Please!’ she called. ‘Please, not me!’

‘Parmissa!’ called Doe Capaldi. ‘Show some dignity. You are an Artemisian!’

‘No I’m not! I’m a Wiener. I only joined this army so I didn’t have to die back in Wien!’

Just like me
, thought Olam.

‘Did you hear that?’ she called to the thin robots. ‘I’m not really an Artemisian! Let me alone!’

Mercilessly, they unpicked the last of her skull. Slowly, carefully, they lifted the blue wire of her mind from her body.

‘No! I told you! I’m not one of them! I’m . . .’ They unhooked her coil from her body, and her voice died.

They slipped the detonator cap in between the wire of the skull. Olam felt as if his gyros were filled with sand, the way they now seemed to grind inside him. He knew what was coming next . . . Except he didn’t. Because now a hinged shell was produced, the size of a skull. Parmissa’s mind was hooked up inside it, the shell closed with a snick, the whole then placed carefully on the floor. What were they doing?

They had finished their work with Parmissa. What now? Horror: they pointed at him. It was Olam’s turn. They were coming towards him . . .

‘Olam!’ called Doe Capaldi. ‘Wire bombs! They’re making us into wire bombs!’

Olam was being dragged to the centre of the room, his body being propped into position next to the empty shell of Parmissa.

‘Olam, when the charge detonates, you mustn’t fight it! Don’t try and keep your mind’s shape! You will only harm some other Artemisian!’

‘What do I care for Artemis?’ Olam shouted, his voice shrill. ‘Parmissa was right! We only joined because we wanted to live!’

‘I didn’t!’ said Doe Capaldi.

‘Then
you
relax and let your mind be blown apart! I certainly won’t!’

Fragments of Olam’s skull were dropping to the floor in front of him. He willed his electromuscles to start working, to no avail.

‘I don’t want to die!’ called Olam. ‘Listen, I’m not an Artemisian. My mind is not just metal!’

‘Don’t be such a coward!’ called Doe Capaldi. ‘Why not try and hold on to some dignity? You’ll never make it anyway! None of the others did. It’s all a trick!’

‘A trick?’ shrieked Olam. ‘We didn’t even know this was possible until twenty minutes ago! Did
you
know that the mind had that much strength? Did
you
know about the Book of Robots?’

So much metal falling to the floor. How much longer did he have?

‘Olam, what does it matter? Your mind is steeped in radiation. You’ll only have a few months left anyway!’

‘So? What did you say to me? Better six months of life than death in Wien—’

And then his vision was cut off. They had unhooked his coil.

What was happening now? Were they squeezing the detonator into his mind? Would he feel it? Could he tell the difference?

How long had it been? How long had it taken them to prepare Parmissa? By now they must be placing his mind into a hinged shell. Hadn’t they hooked Parmissa’s mind up to it in some way? Why was that?

The answer came in the shape of grey light. He could see again, after a fashion. And he could hear the dim sound of Doe Capaldi’s voice.

It was done, Olam realized with horror.

He was now a wire bomb.

Eleanor

Eleanor kept having to stop to wait for Karel, struggling as he was to come to terms with his new body.

‘Come on!’ she called impatiently.

‘I keep thinking I’m still in the train,’ he replied, trailing behind her as they picked their way up the hillside. Snow and dust whipped out of the darkness, forming random patterns around them. ‘So many sensations . . . I keep wanting to pull the brakes.’ His hands made compulsive gripping motions as he spoke. ‘Where are you taking me?’

‘To see Kavan. You’ve heard of Kavan, haven’t you?’

‘Kavan?’ Karel stopped. ‘He’s the
Choarh
who invaded Turing City. He’s the one who had my child killed!’

Karel began to stumble up the hill behind her, unfamiliar feet slipping on stray pebbles, the cold creeping in at his joints and numbing the electromuscle there.

‘Why are you taking me to
him?
’

‘Don’t you want to see your child’s killer?’

Hadn’t he realized yet, she wondered. Hadn’t he recognized her? And then she felt him take hold of her arms, felt him pull her around to face him. She saw his yellow eyes gazing into hers.

‘It’s you, isn’t it?’ he said, his voice crackling with static. ‘You were in my apartment . . . ?’

He lashed out, gripped her neck, tried to force her head upwards, tried to get at her coil. Eleanor almost laughed. He was doing it all wrong: infantry bodies were deliberately engineered to stop this happening, the pieces were joined in different fashions.

Besides which, she was trained in the use of an infantry body. She had worn one for years, while Karel had worn one for only a few minutes. She broke his grip easily, tripped him and sent him tumbling backwards onto the ground.

‘There’s no point fighting me,’ she said, gazing down at the robot on the ground, his hands still clawing the air furiously. ‘Listen, I only followed orders. It was Kavan who sent me to your apartment. He’s the one you should blame.’

Karel gazed up at her silently from where he lay.

‘Karel, listen to me! Kavan is losing it. This battle could well be his last. You don’t know how Artemis works: if Kavan isn’t the right leader, then he’ll be replaced. Kavan knows that, and if he thinks he is wrong for Artemis, he would be
happy
to be replaced.’

‘What’s that got to do with me?’

Eleanor held his gaze. She wanted him to understand.

‘
I
can’t kill Kavan,’ she said.

Karel said nothing. Eleanor turned on her heel and resumed her climb up the hill. The weather was going crazy: the icy wind drew itself across her body like a saw, frost patterned her chest, and yet, across the bowl of the North Kingdom, the land was dissolving in a warm mist.

She continued her climb, listening for the sound of Karel’s feet. What would he do? Would he attack her again?

Through the wind she could hear the clank of metal as Karel began to follow her.

Kavan

Kavan’s forces had been pushed back on two flanks. In response he concentrated his remaining troops into one force, intending to push forward like an awl, deep into the heart of the North Kingdom. He would stab right up against the skeletal tower that stood at the centre.

He stood on a splintered shelf at the edge of the broken maze, looking down over the ever-present railway lines that reached from Artemis City, so far to the south, now preparing to probe deep into this last northern post of resistance.

He looked over the remnants of his army as they ranged down the nearest slope, barely three hundred infantryrobots and sixty Storm Troopers. No one knew for sure how many Scouts were still out there.

His troops were forming into the shape of a knife, ready to thrust forward. The mess of the train wreck had been heaved to the side; ahead of it engineers were busy lengthening the track, piercing their way forward.

‘We’re almost ready,’ said Wolfgang.

‘They can see us massing,’ said Kavan. ‘They’ll need to strike soon if they are to finish us off.’

He gazed over at the far side of the bowl. ‘Wolfgang, what’s making that mist?’

The far side of the bowl was filling with a white haze. The magnesium flares reflected eerie white light back from a rising fog bank that was engulfing the land beyond the tower. The wind blew tentacles of mist out across the bowl, which slowly insinuated themselves throughout the Artemisian lines.