Philosophical Musings on Killer Robots

Guns roared and spat at him, sending chips of rock spinning off from the block of concrete he was hiding behind. He tried to look over it but had to fling himself back; a line of bullets stitched a wound across the wall behind him.

Crap.

Why did I have to think I could play cards? Kevin know the answer even as he thought it. Because he'd been drunk.

He leaned around the block a bit and pulled of a few return shots. They didn't do any good apart from remind the gangsters where where he was but he hadn't done it to try and hit them. He'd done it to relieve some of the helpless anger that was swirling around in him.

That anger wasn't new, it had been with him for the last three weeks, ever since his father had died. Thomas Kilborn had been a no nonsense sort of man, brutal in some ways but kind in others. He'd run the family business in mechanic implants for a thirty years. Then he'd died in a malfunction at the factory and there Kevin was. He hadn't had any older siblings and his mother had left years ago. It was only him and a warehouse full of bionic arms. Not a position a man of twenty wanted to be in.

The last few weeks hadn't been good. All his fathers business contacts had faded away and debt collectors had moved in like prowling wolves. He'd managed to hold them off but he know that he couldn't last long. His father had made it all look so effortless. Kevin felt like breaking under the stress.

Then there was the girl.

She had appeared three days after his fathers funeral. At first he wasn't even sure she'd existed; all he saw of her was brief glimpses through gaps in the crowd that always thronged the city streets. But he'd seen her more and more until he was convinced that she was indeed following him. The papers on his desk had been shuffled around when he came back from lunch once and he'd known that someone had been looking through them. It was about then that he decided that life looked better through the bottom of a glass.

It had been some sort of urban fairytale after that, though one that was told to keep children awake instead of sending them to sleep. He'd been in the wrong bar in the wrong area and said the wrong thing at the wrong time. In this case the wrong thing was, “Sure I'm good for a game.” He wasn't exactly sure what had happened after that as all he could remember was a blur then everything came into focus after they started shooting at him. Immanent death was better at sobering you up then a hot mug of coffee.

He knew he was going to die, knew it with certainty. There was no way on earth that he could survive this one. There had to be ten guys out there, all wanting his blood. The only reason they hadn't had it yet was that they couldn't be bothered making much of an effort.

A fluttering made him look round towards the wall. A bird had flown down to the ground and was regarding him with its head tilted to one side. It was a bright, vivid yellow and a forked crest stuck up from its head like it had been split like lightening. The fact that something so small and so delicate had suddenly appeared there made him stare. For a moment it was all that existed in the world to him. Then a dark shadow fell over him and he felt that death had at last come.

He turned, bringing up his gun, determined that if he was going to die it wasn't going to be as a snivelling coward. Then it fell with a clatter from his nerveless hand.

A tall cloaked figure towered over him. A long leather jacket swirled about it in mysterious patterns and on its head was a huge, wide brimmed hat. But what was perhaps the most astonishing thing about it was that it didn't seem to want to kill him. All he could see if it was its back; it faces out at his attackers and from the folds in the jacket he could tell that it had it's arms crossed.

The gunfire petered away for a moment; no doubt the gangsters were just as surprised as he was.

“DESIST” The voice that bellowed forth from the figure was loud and imposing as the voice of God. It brooked no argument. He could feel part of himself curl up and quiver in fear.

The gangsters just laughed and started shooting again.

“Then die.” This time the voice was much quieter, almost a prayer of regret. Kevin was sure he was the only one who could hear it.

Then there was a flicker as light fell back across his face and the figure was gone.

A moment later the screams started.

Kevin looked above the block of concrete and every last drop of alcohol remaining in his system seemed to evaporate, leaving him completely sober and regretting it.

The scene of carnage was brightly illuminated by the rising sun. The figure was a flicker of shadow and death, a whirling vortex from which the occasional glint of metal could be seen. The gang members tried shooting at it but none of them seemed to be able to hit it. Then it would be upon them and a few second later they'd be on the ground, blood flowing everywhere. None of them could stand against it. In a minute it was all over and the figure was turning towards him. He offered up a prayer to any God that might exist and be watching. Slowly, piece by piece, he saw who had saved him.

It was the girl.

Under the brim of the hat all the blue eyes burned. A single lock of silver hair hung between them, lying crooked across her nose. She didn't seem to have an expression, apart from one of mild regret. But the eyes, like fires that stared into his soul. He dropped his gaze from them, couldn't stand to see them watching him, like a cat judging a mouse.

From the rest of her he could see that she appeared to be about nineteen, dressed in a loose leather tunic and loose leather trousers, cut in an archaic design. And from one of her arms a sword sprouted in place of a hand.

“Kevin Kilborn.” The voice spoke and he could hear now a lighter tone to it. But it was still deadly serious.

A quick movement caught his eye. The strange girl had left one of the gang members alive, though whither from mercy or because she hadn't seen him behind the wall he'd dived behind he wasn't sure. But up he popped, a shaven head painted blue with tattoos, and fired at the girl. She must have seen him somehow because she was already twisting out of the way, her other arm morphing quickly into a gun. She was so fast she appeared to fire at the same moment as her attacker. He fell back in a spray of blood, his bullet glancing off her leg in a spray of sparks. Kevin looked down and saw that it had ripped right through her trousers and struck metal beneath. He slowly looked back up to her face.

“Kevin Kilborn” She said again. “I have come for you.”

He looked down at her leg, at her arms which were morphing into real hands then his eyes rolled up into his head and he fainted.

He came round to the sound of cheap, grainy music playing from some beat up sound system, the clink of glasses and the low hum of background conversation. His head ached, his face was stuck to the wooden surface it had been lying on. He raised his head with a groan and a feeling of apprehension; he was in a smoky, dimly lit bar.

“I'd be careful, if I was you. You took a bad knock to the head when you fell.”

It was the voice. He stiffened and looked round.

The girl was perched on a stool, hunched over the bar with a tumbler of whisky in her hand. She wasn't looking at him, just staring blankly at the wall behind the bar. In one movement she threw back the whisky and set the empty glass down. The barkeeper, a huge fellow with a broken nose and what looked like knife scars, immediately slid another along to her.

Kevin tried to slip away but the girl merely reached out and grabbed his arm. It might not have looked like much to anyone watching but to him it was like he'd just been shackled. “That's some pretty impressive augments you've got there,” was the only thing he could think of saying.

The girl winked at him. “You have no idea.”

There was silence for a moment while she nursed her whisky. “So what happened?” I asked. She raised her eyebrows and I continued. “What was the accident? That made you get the augments? It must have been pretty bad for you to have your arms and a leg replaced.” And leave you a raging psychopath he added mentally.

The girl shrugged. “Whatever it was left me inhuman.”

Kevin felt more sure with this. He was used to the people who'd come to his dad for spare limbs to feel that they were taking away a part of their humanity. Maybe this was a way to connect to her. And that could only help. She would probably not kill him then.

“You aren't inhuman just because some of you is metal. It might even make you more so.”

She just smiled a wan smile. “But say that all of me was metal. What then?”

This made Kevin pause. He knew that there were some people out there who'd suffered burns or something and had had to have an almost complete body overhaul. They were rare though.

“It doesn't change the basic principle though. Inside you're still...look, can you tell me your name?”

The girl looked at him expressionlessly. “Mysuki.”

Kevin gave her a searching glance. She didn't look Japanese. Then he continued. “Anyway, it doesn't change anything. You're still human at heart.”

“But what does it mean to be human? What is being human?”

Kevin glanced at her annoyed. Usually people were reassured after that; they wanted to be human so much that after those few words they went away satisfied. Those that didn't were usually depressed and Kevin wondered if she were on antidepressants. Or if she should be drinking whisky like it was water. Mysuki had let him go and chugged another of the tumblers. He considered running but knew that it would be pointless. She'd have no trouble coming after him.

He quickly marshalled his thoughts and pressed on.

“Well being human is being alive. And having independent thoughts and being creative. And loving and hating.”

Mysuki was downing yet another whisky. Now he could focus he could see that the bar in front of her was covered in the glasses. She must have downed a couple of bottle at least if they were all hers.

“So having emotions is important for being human? You have to be able to love? But how is that uniquely human? Animals feel it too.”

“Animals don't feel both love and hate. They may love but they don't display the characteristics of real burning have; the need for revenge and to get back and harm the person in any way. Animals don't bear those sort of grudges.”

Mysuki laughed. It sounded out of place, like happy bells at a funeral.

“So the only thing that makes humans unique is hate? What a wonderful species you are. And I'm supposed to be the evil one.”

Kevin felt annoyed at this. “There's love too. But we seem to display hate more. But we're also creative. Can animals be that?”

“They are. There's the way birds build their nests, there's the way that crows can use modern technology to open nuts and shells. So birds are creative too.”

“Not in the same way though,” Kevin argued. “They all build or do things to the same basic pattern. There's nothing new done. And the crows are just adapting to their surroundings. That's not being creative. Look, do you play a musical instrument?” Mysuki nodded and he continued, warming to what he thought was a successful line of reasoning. “Well it's stuff like that that make humans special. Birds and other animals may sound musical but they're just warning calls and stuff. They are necessary. But we do it for fun or some feeling of satisfaction.”

Mysuki shrugged. “And being alive? How do you define it?”

Kevin was pleased. He seemed to be getting through to her. “Well scientifically life is characterised as beings that move, that grow, that breath, that react to their surroundings, that digest and that...um...reproduce.”

Mysuki was grinning now. “So if you're all of these things then you're alive? And if you're alive then you're human?”

Kevin sighed with relief. It looks like he got through to her at last. “Yes. If you are a combination of all these factors then you're human.”

Mysuki's grin only seemed to get wider. “So despite the fact that I am a robot, I'm human?”

Kevin wasn't sure what to say to this. “A robot?” Maybe that was the whisky finally kicking in.

Mysuki whistled and a flash of yellow shot across the room till the forked bird landed on her hat. Then she reached up and swung back her face.

Inside her head was nothing but circuits.

Kevin just stared as she closed her head and calmly ordered another whisky.

“So,” she said, after it had arrived. She pulled a metal saucer from somewhere in her voluminous jacket it and poured the glass into it. The bird hopped over and started sipping from it. “Am I human?”

“No,” was the instant reply to her that sprung to his lips. This just make her grin again.

“You hypocrite. You just sat there and said the no matter how much metal I was made of I was human. Now you want to take it back?”

Kevin was still reeling that the kind-of attractive girl in front of him was, to all extents and purposes, a walking talking toaster. “Yes,” he spluttered. “You aren't alive.”

“How?”

“Well you don't grow. You don't digest. You don't breath.”

Mysuki ordered another whisky. “I do grow. I need spare parts every so often and from them have added on several inches to my height. I used to look sixteen. And do you think I've been drinking this just for the hell of it?” She gestured with an empty glass. “I'm distilling it inside me to use for fuel. Soon I'll have to run off the waste water that's part of it. So how is that different to digesting? And I can breath. I use it to burn the fuel.”

“Please to God you don't reproduce.”

“Why? You interested?” Musuki's smile had turned a bit bitter by now. She stroked the head of the bird with one finger. “I made this little one, using the same procedures as the ones who made me did. We're of the same species and I made another one.”

Kevin had trouble finding fault in her argument though he knew there must be one. Maybe he'd hit his head harder then he'd thought. He reached back and felt the sore bit and was surprised to find it neatly bandaged. He pulled his hand back and smelt his fingers. They smelt of whisky. So she'd even gone to the care of disinfecting it too.

“Well do you love and hate? Do you feel emotions?”

Any semblance of a good mood Mysuki might have displayed were fell and truly gone. She had another glass of whisky and was glowering over it as if bad memories plagued her. It was a moment before she answered. “Oh I feel emotions all right. I've hated. I might have loved. I've felt joy, such as in this little one,” here she stroked the bird again. “I've felt sad and alone. Yup, I've felt emotions.” And she slugged back the whisky.

Kevin wasn't sure what do say next. She was obviously thinking back over her past. He didn't really want to intrude. But there was one final point to go over.

“Are you creative though?”

In answer Mysuki reached into her jacket and pulled out a flute. She put it to her lips and began to play. A haunting melody filled the pub, seeming to drown out the cheep music. This was a real song. It spoke of hope, then sadness, loneliness, despair. It trailed off and Mysuki stared into thin air for a moment. “I wrote that song,” she said dreamily.

“What the hell was that crap?” A burly man had got up from one of the nearby tables and ambled over. He looked like he worked at the nearby docks. If they even were still near the docks. With a small thrill of horror Kevin realised that he had no idea where they were. “Do you think this is the sort of place you can come to practise your music lessons? Or are you looking for some action?” He grinned greedily and reached towards her.

Kevin stood up and shoved his hand away. “Keep away from her,” he growled. The man stared at him and he was instantly conscious of the fact that he'd lost his gun somewhere and that the man outweighed him by what seemed like a ton.

“Piss off squirt.” The man swung a punch at his stomach. Kevin closed his eyes and waited for the pain.

All that he heard was a sigh, a whisper of wind and a mangled grunt.

“That's very sweet of you Kevin but it's my job to defend you, not the other way round.”

Kevin open his eyes when the pain didn't seem to be forthcoming and stared in amazement at the still tablue before him. Mysuki seemed to have intercepted the punch and now she was quietly throttling the man with his own arm. His head was back against the bar and his arm was hooked over his throat. Mysuki was leaning casually on his hand, sipping quietly more whisky. A palpable aura of anger and violence radiated off her. “You wanted me, right? Well now you've got me. Are you happy?”

The man managed a strangled grunt and somehow lashed out with his leg. It hit Mysuki's leg with a faint clang and a small snap. The mans face turned white. He appeared to have snapped his own ankle.

“What, you want more?” Mysuki flexed the fingers of the arm holding his down; there was more snaps. She had certainly broken some bones. “Is that enough for you? I could break more of your body. I could kicked you so hard in the balls that you'll have three Adams apples and will sing like you're high on helium for the rest of your life.” She put her glass down and morphed her arm into a blade. The man stared at it frantically out of the corner of his eyes. Kevin was aware of having the attention of the whole bar on them by this point. He stood aside to give them a better view.

“There's lots of places I could stick this where it would really really hurt. Places where you'd die real slow. And I'm sure you don't need your tongue. You didn't seem to be interested in talking before.” The man made more faint moaning sounds. It was hard to sound pleading with just grunts while your face was all the colours of the English flag but he managed it. Mysuki shrugged. “All right, I'll let you go.” she twisted his arm and pulled, spinning him through the air. She stopped him mid-flight by grabbing his head then rammed it straight down onto the bar. His nose flattened completely and as she let go of him he slumped unconscious to the floor, blood gushing out and covering his face. She wiped her hand fastidiously on her jacket. “I hate people like that,” she said to the room at large and there was the faint sound of people trying very hard not to look like people like that.

She straightened her jacket, drained what remained of the whisky that she'd poured for the bird into the saucer (which wasn't much, the bird had basically emptied it), put the saucer back into a pocket then turned to the door. She appeared to have calmed somewhat but Kevin still felt scared of her. The way that she'd turned her anger on like that and crushed the guy. The rather sweet girl he'd been talking to the minute before had disappeared utterly.

She paused at the doorway. “So we've established that I'm human, have we Kevin? You've just seen emotions. What do you think?”

She didn't give him time for a reply. “Well whatever you think you should come with me. Whatever my origins I have been told to protect you. Or at least your family, for the last few hundred years. Only I didn't like many of them much, so I decided to stay away. But I think I like you, so I'm going to hang around.”

She turned and flashed him a smile. “Lucky for you, eh?”

Sleep is for the lucky

So I wasn't able to get Freaky Ears 3 up tonight. Why? Because I've been stuck under a dusty desk all evening installing a computer then uninstalling it because it didn't have all the right parts. And I've still got a short story to write for a competition. But hey! Who needs sleep anyway?
So the story I'm putting up is one I wrote a few months ago in place of a philosophy essay. It ain't great up at least it's something.
More stuff up later in the week. If I can wake up.

Freaky Eatrs 2

The chair was plastic and uncomfortable but Isaac didn't really care. He wasn't in this place looking to relax. He just sat stock still, glaring at the red light above the door in front of him.  It seemed to defy him with its glow, remind him of the mistakes he'd made.

It wasn't too long ago that he'd been out on patrol, his first. He'd loved it. Not everything, like the dirt, the uneasy sleep and the constant knowledge that there could be something creeping up on him at any moment. But the rest. The knowledge that he was protecting the people back home. The knowledge that he was good enough.

He'd been in awe of the rest of his patrol. Ben and Howard. Though only a few years older than him they’d done so much. Everyone had heard if them. The time they'd gone AWOL from the base, been gone for weeks then returned almost without a scratch. They were living legends and he was out there with them, basking in their glory. It was the stuff of his dreams.

And it had lasted right up till their first contact with the enemy.

He'd imagined it for years, lying in his bunk, staring at the concrete ceiling. The first time he'd meet those robots. He'd have a really big gun yet be able to heft it with ease, like he'd seen others do. He'd kill everything that got in his way.

Real life hadn't been like that. He'd got the big gun but it was so heavy he wasn't really sure he could fire it properly. And the fear. He hadn't imagined the fear. The thoughts that at any moment he could be sliced into pieces and fed to the machines. He'd almost not been able to face them.

They'd wanted to send him back. Ben and Howard. They'd seen he was afraid and they'd offered to let him escape to live. While they went and fought those robots. Even a feared Reaper. He'd had nightmares about Reapers. Everyone had, in the orphanage. But they were walking to certain death and they didn't even seem to care. So he'd gone along.

It would probably have been better if he'd stayed behind.

Someone sat down next to him. Ben.

“You all right, kid?”

Isaac didn't answer, just kept staring at the light. It was flickering slightly and he found himself unconsciously counting the number of times under his breath.

Ben decided to keep talking.

“Is it this place? I hate hospitals too. Something about the smell.”

Still Isaac didn't talk. Though he agreed about the cloying smell of disinfectant.

“Howard's going to be ok, by the way.”

Isaac started crying and didn't know why.

Ben seemed to understand. He put his arm round Isaac's shoulders.

“It's called shock. These things tent to hit you a bit after they actually happen.

“You know it wasn't really your fault?”

“But it was!” Now Isaac talked and it all seemed to want to come at once, in great shuddering gasps. He could see the scene again, topping the rise, seeing the shine and the Reaper, firing his grenade launcher. “I thought it was a squad lying around down there. Everything was shining so bright, I thought it was their suits. I didn't know it was just mirrors. I thought that thing was just finishing the last one off.”

“That's another bonus of the suits, apparently. They're supposed to disorientate the machines as well as make us hard to pick up on infra-red. Though machines usually have filters to cut that sort of stuff out. Trust Jesse to find a way to fox them.”

“And I killed her! She can fight machines like that, she can go one on one with a god damn Reaper, and I killed her!”

Ben patted him on the arm. “She won't blame you for it. That's how she would want to go. She would have done the exact same thing. Probably. You're just lucky. In the old days she had explosives strapped all over her. She said she didn't want there to be anything left of her for the robots to eat. But she must have found better uses for them.

“Howard might blame you though. He's always been a bit protective of her.”

“Protective?” Isaac laughed, sharp, barking exhalations. “Of something like her? Who is she anyway?”

Now Ben looked surprised. He raised an eyebrow, as if not able to believe the question. “Who is she? You honestly don't know who Jesse is? You've never heard the stories?”

“No. There are stories?”

Ben sat back a bit, the plastic groaning under his bulk. “Quite a few. You've never heard of her necklace of ears and fingers?”

“What?” Isaac sat up straight, his hands flying up to his head, as if scared that her vengeful spirit might try taking his.

“Well, robot ears and fingers. She built up quite a collection.”

“Oh.” Isaac slumped down again. “But I thought that was Howard's necklace. Didn't quite understand why he wore it.”

“It was Jesse's originally. She gave it to him when she left.”

“Oh.” Isaac stared blackly at the light again. He willed it to stay on. It had to stay on. The second it turned off it meant the operation was over. That meant he'd learn if she was alive or dead.

There was silence for a while. It became unbearable. He had to break it.

“Would you tell me some of the stories?” he asked eventually.

Ben had begun to doze off by this point and jerked himself awake. “What? Oh, no.” He shook his head. “I was never any good at them. You'd better ask Howard. He knows them all, much better than I do.”

“He'll never tell me. I killed her.” Isaac didn't start crying again, though he half expected to at those words. It was as if all his emotions had drained through a plughole in his soul.

“I don't know. Jesse's tough. I think it'll take a lot more than a grenade to finish her off.”

Isaac wanted to believe Ben's words, he really did. But he remembered how frail and damaged she'd looked when they'd followed Howard's mad dash into the dusty room and found her unconscious, with a pulse barely beating at her neck. And Howard slouched beside her, a bloody lump raised on his head by a rock off a wall. He remembered Ben taking in the situation at a glance then laying Jesse on her red metal shield and lifting her aloft by himself, then staggering off back to the base. Isaac had been left to try and carry Howard. It must have been miles before other people, sent to find him by Ben once he'd got to the base, finally arrived with a stretcher. Isaac had hurried beside them, learning that Jesse had been taken straight to the operating theatre. He'd hurried down to this plastic seat as soon as he'd got back and hadn't move, awaiting destiny.

It had been seven hours.

Morose silence had once again descended. He couldn’t do it, couldn't sit like this, just waiting. He had to talk again.

“So were Howard and Jesse....?”

He didn't get to complete the sentence. There was a disturbance further down the corridor. In a moment Ben was on his feet, a gun seeming to leap from the holster he wore under his jacket to his hand. Isaac rose as well and together they stared towards the source of the noise.

They saw Howard coming towards them, banging into the walls and shoving people out of the way. Like Ben he had removed his silver suit and was dressed in jeans and a dust coloured denim jacket. Isaac still had his on, he’d not had a chance to change it yet. His head was swathed in bandages.

He saw Ben and lurched forward, barging past nurses carrying a supply of bedpans, sending them clattering to the ground. “Where is she?” he yelled.

Ben stepped forward and grabbed him just as he collapsed. “You should be in bed,” he told him.

Howard gritted his teeth and tried to stand. “Fuck that. Where is she?”

Ben sighed and gestured towards the door. Howard heaved himself and half fell through it.

“Follow him,” said Ben, giving Isaac a bedpan from off the floor. Then he left.

Isaac took a deep breath and pushed the door open, stepping into an observation area. Howard was slumped on the floor, his strength apparently having failed him. He looked up weakly. “Give me that, kid,” he said. Isaac handed over the bedpan and Howard promptly threw up into it. He examined the yellowish mixture with what appeared to be interest. “Bile,” he muttered to himself. “A concussion.” Then he looked up again.  “How is she?” he asked.

Isaac finally looked through the window at the operation taking place; something he’d been trying not to do ever since he’d entered the room. There wasn’t much to see. A large team of surgeons were fussing around a table mostly obscured by their bodies and a large green cloth. The only part of her he could see was her hand, which dangled like a pale branch of a wilting tree. “She seems ok,” he lied.

“She’ll be fine. She’ll be fine.” Howard kept repeating it over and over again. Isaac didn’t say a thing. There wasn’t much he could say. He saw a glint of light from around Howards neck and realised it was the necklace.

They stayed that way in the ever present silence of the waiting; Isaac standing looking down at Howard, who was clutching his bedpan. Every so often Howard would mutter, “She’ll be fine,” to himself in a very determined way. Isaac wasn’t sure what would happen if Jesse died. It looked as if Howard had already lost his mind.

Then he sensed the bustle of the surgeons behind his back get more frantic. He turned, not wanting to see what he knew was awaiting him. Back in the orphanage they’d sometimes watched old DVDs of tv shows. It was just like the medical dramas. They were loosing her.

Howard seemed to realise this too. He rocketed to his feet, desperation lending him back his failing strength. “No!” he screamed, banging against the glass with his clenched fists. “No! You can’t die! I won’t let you die!”

He cast around frantically then darted towards a door into the operation room. He was through it just as the heart monitor stopped its beeping, dying instead to a low whine. The surgeons grabbed a set of defibrillator paddles while Howard grabbed Jesse’s hand. He was sobbing and seemed to be begging with Death.

“No! You can’t go! You can’t die. I won’t let you.” He grabbed the necklace from around his neck and thrust it into her hand. “See I’ve still got your necklace. I told you I’d give it back to you. It was just before you hit me, remember?” He tried to wrap her fingers around it but they kept falling loose. The surgeons sweated and swore, trying the paddles for a second time. Isaac didn’t think they would work.

The door to the operation theatre banged open behind him and Ben strode past. He had the Reapers scythe in his hand, Jesse’s whip still twined around it. He didn’t pay Isaac any attention, just walked over to Howard and tapped him on his shoulder.

Howard didn’t look around, just held out his hand for Ben to drop the scythe into. Then he threw the necklace back over his shoulder and put forward the weapon instead.

“There, see! Now you can’t die. You always wanted a Reapers Scythe. I remember you talking about it. Imagine what you could do with a weapon like this. So you can’t die now.”

It still didn’t seem to be working. The surgeons were about to try the paddles for the third and final time. Howard grabbed Ben’s hand and made him hold the scythe into Jesse’s hand. Then he walked up to her head, weaving his way around the doctors.

He carefully brushed some of her bright red hair away then leaned down. “You can’t die now,” he whispered. “Then they would have won.”

The paddles came down for the final time. As they hit Jesse finally grasped the scythe. Static seemed to run along its blade as her eyes flew open, shining with a fierce, green light. “Like hell they do,” she whispered back. Then her eyes dimmed and closed. But her heart still beat, stronger each pulse. As if with every pump of blood it damned the enemy she hated so much.

One of the surgeons turned and seemed to notice them for the first time. “What the hell do you think you’re doing in here? Get out, and take this with you.” But no matter how hard they tried they couldn’t prise the scythe from her hand. In the end they just chucked the three intruders out into the observation room.

Howard went back to slumping against the wall, looking up at them with mad laughter in his eyes. “She’s back,” he told them. Isaac just nodded while Ben beamed down at his friend. “She back.”

Then he went cross-eyed and threw up again.

Hurried Because Of Minecraft.

So, the second week and we've got another robot story. Some people commented on the last one and I just love pandering to popularity. Ok, so no but I did want to continue this. I'm planning on making it a series of short stories so if you don't like it then comment. Or comment anyway, I'd like to know what you think.
Saying that, I'm not sure if I'll be able to get one out next week. I've got a competition where I have to write roughly 3000 words in a short story so that'll take up a fair bit of time. So I'll probably put something I've already written up instead.
Enjoy.

Love Kills Genius, Not Guns

The school bus was it's usual loud, crowded self. Kids screamed and yelled, fought and argued, or just listened to loud, blaring music. It was a glorious riot in action.

Except for the seats third from the back, where a busy silence reigned. The rows were three seats wide and all these seats were occupied. The two boys sitting closest to the window were gazing out it in a bored fashion. The boy next to the isle was pouring through books and notes in a frantic way.

“So Bill,” the one in the middle said, his hair a tangled confusion of gel and dye, trying to start up a conversation. “Did you see the game last night?”

Bill turned away from the view and was about to answer when the boy with the books shushed him. “Quiet please. I need to concentrate.”

Bill rolled his eyes. “Yes Peter.”

Peter muttered something and subsided back into his work.

“So what's up with him again?” the boy in the middle asked.

“Same as usual, Ben. A test.”

“Ah.” Ben continued talking, ignoring the annoyed look that Peter shot him. “But why?” He knows it all anyway.”

“Yeah, but so does she,” Peter said, still sorting through notes and absently blowing part of his blond fringe off his glasses.

“Who?”

“Teegan.”

“Ah,” his friends chorused. They knew the reason anyway. They just enjoyed his reaction.

“But does it matter? Really?” Bill asked innocently.

“Yes. I can't let her beat me. He shot a glance at where she sat down the bus a bit, also engrossed in notes. She must have sensed his eyes on her because she looked up and stuck out her tongue at him. He flashed bright red and hurriedly turned back to his books.

“So who's winning at the moment?” Ben asked. They couldn't be bothered keeping score. The only real difference it made to them was that their friend wasn't so much fun to be around on test days.

“She got ahead in Chemistry, I scrapped it back in Biology. So we're even.

“Now shut up.”

Bill and Ben knew not to push it any further. They were silent for the rest of the journey. When the bus came to a rest they stayed back a moment as Peter gathered up all his stuff and shuffled off. There was an awkward moment as he and Teegan both tried to move into the same space at the same time and ended up glaring at each other. Then she forced herself ahead and he followed on behind, glowering.

Ben sighed. “Honestly,” he said to Bill as they both started moving. “When are they going to admit that they fancy each other?”

Peter stood in the corridor outside the classroom, staring into space and muttering to himself as he ran through facts in his head. He had to win this one, had to get a better score then Teegan. He wasn't going to let her better him.

“Hey ya, ready to be beaten again?” He turned around and there she was. Those almond-shaped eyes with that intelligent look, that long, flowing black hair that made him think of the sea at night. He felt himself go red and told himself that it was through anger.

“Of course not. I'm ready to beat you.” It wasn't the sharpest comeback ever but he couldn't think of anything better.

“Sure, sure,” she said, her eyes dancing. “If you say so.”

“I do say so.”

“Fine then.”

“Yeah, fine.”

They stood, glaring at each other for a moment as the class slowly filed into the classroom behind him.

Then she kissed him.

His mind, which had been mostly concentrating on the test, shut down almost completely. He was only aware of the feeling of her lips in his and the sensation that he was slowly boiling from the inside out.

Then she stepped away from him and grinned. “Good luck concentrating now,” she said.

He stood frozen, just staring at her, till she stepped pointedly around him and into the classroom. He followed her, as if in a daze, barely noticing the frown the teacher shot at him. The test was already at his place and he stared at it blankly as he sat down. Then he shook his head, took out a pencil and, when the teacher said, opened the test.

He focused on the first question. Or at least he tried to. But all he could think of was the look of her face and the smell of her hair. He knew the answer, knew it was in some part of his mind. But that part was locked far away from him, everything else was locked away. There was only the kiss, playing itself over and over and over.

He swore softly to himself. She'd done it. She'd won.

Soft lips, shocked gasp, surprised expression. That was all that was filling her mind. Not the test and it's simple questions. She'd thought she'd come up with the perfect plan. It would put him off, he wouldn't be able to focus, he would get so much less than her.

Teegan slumped her head forward, her black hair cascading with it and pooling in the paper in front of her.

Yeah sure plan. Like she'd thought it through for more than about a minute.

She tried looking at a few more questions but they were all the same. It was as if they were locked behind a pane of wavy glass; she couldn't focus on them at all.

It was no good. She might have got him. But she'd got herself as well.

St Valentines Day

Today is St Valentines Day and so I'm bringing you a truly horrible love story. My only real excuse for how awful this is is that I have a cold. At least it's short. I might update it later but until then I give you 'Love Kills Genius, Not Guns.'

Now I'm going to go throw up into a bucket.

Freaky Eatrs

The grass was long and supple beneath him. He wasn't doing anything, just lying on his back with his eyes closed, enjoying the feeling of the sun's rays beaming down on him. He could hear wind rustling in the trees and the nearby babbling of a brook. He felt he could lie there all day, perfectly content and safe.

A shadow passed over him, blocking out the light and warmth. A sudden fear descended upon him.

“Jesse?” he asked, then a hand clamped itself over his mouth and woke him up.

He groaned and opened his eyes, hearing a voice say, “Howard!” in a cautious, repeated whisper. He finally focused on the shape hunched over him. “Ben?” he asked, mumbling around the hand. “Is it my turn on watch already?”

His friend shook his head in warning, a scared look on his face and Howard realised for the first time just how much trouble they were in. He nodded to his friend, showing he understood, and the hand was removed. “How many?” he asked in a whisper.

“Too many,” was the almost silent reply as Ben turned and started slithering away through the wreckage, his foil suit just beginning to shine in the light of the rising sun. Howard followed, after taking the safety off the gun that had lain beside him as he slept.

The landscape through which they slipped couldn't have been more different from that of his dream. There were no plants here, no green, no life. Instead barren rock and the remains of crumbled buildings, splashed red with the pre-dawn glow. Dust coated everything, undisturbed apart from his passage. He spat out some that got in his mouth and continued on.

After as a few minutes they came to a small hollow. Here there was more dust on the bottom but ridges of rock rose all around it. There was also something of a roof, providing a little shelter. It was in this dark space that a boy crouched, fiddling away with the dials of a machine that emitted a faint green light.

Howard turned to Ben. “You woke him before me?” he said, trying to sound a little hurt.

Ben shook his head. “Isaac was the one on watch. He woke me but I didn't think it would be safe for him to wake you. You know, with your whole 'sleeping outside of camp' thing you've got going.”

“I can't sleep in here, it's too creepy.” Howard gestured towards the roof. “This was once someone's home. If I slept here I'd dream of their ghosts.” It wasn't the truth and Ben knew it but Howard didn't want to have the conversation again. There was no point, he and Ben had already gone over it too many times. Instead he crawled over to Isaac and the screen he was intently studying. “What's the situation?” he asked.

Isaac looked up, the light changing his eyes from their normal pale blue to green. “We're dead,” he said simply.

At first Howard was tempted to laugh it off. He turned to Ben to share the joke and the laughter died in his throat. Ben was nodding along and Howard was much more inclined to pay attention to him.

“What are we up against?” he asked.

No one answered him so he pushed Isaac out of the way and had a look at the machine himself. He just stared blankly at the screen for a second, unwilling to believe what he was seeing. “Shit,” he swore softly, only just under his breath.

Then he frowned. “Why is the image all fuzzy?”

Isaac shook his head. “I don't know. It's been like that all night. Maybe there's another patrol out there. I thought I heard something moving about during the night.”

Howard pondered on it for a moment then shook his head, not wanting false hope to enter his mind. “No,” he said. “We're the only ones supposed to be here. There's no help out there.

“We have to face them alone.”

“We could just hide and wait for them to go away,” Isaac suggested.

Howard glanced at Ben and shook his head. He and Ben had been going out on patrol together for several years and wore the scars to prove it. This was Isaac's first time and his fresh face was full of fear.

Ben looked pointedly at Howard then turned away to begin unpacking some cases that were stacked against one wall. Howard knew what it meant; he was the leader, he should sort it out.

He put one hand on Isaac's shoulder, who had gone back to the machine after Howard had turned away from it. “Look kid, we have to attack them. That's what us being here is all about. If we don't, someone else will have to. Better it be us then someone caught off-guard.”

Isaac didn't answer, just kept staring at the screen. Howard sighed.

“Ben, what's the chance of us surviving against this?”

Ben looked round, a machine gun in each hand. “Against a Reaper? Maybe one in a hundred? Against a Reaper, two Birds, a Crawler and a few Harvesters? None at all.”

“That's what I thought.” Howard turned back to Isaac. “You can sit this one out, kid. We'll need someone to get a report of this back to base anyway.”

He was just crawling over to get some ammo from Ben when Isaac spoke.

“I'm not a kid.”

“You're sixteen,” Ben pointed out.

“And you're nineteen. If you're fighting I am as well.”

Howard hesitated a moment then nodded. “Good man. Ben, give him the grenade launcher and the M-52. That should do it.”

Once they were suitable tooled up they left the cave, leaving the machine behind them. The place was a well known supply point. They'd left a message on the machine, so that anyone who found it would know their fate.

They had been creeping through the rubble for about ten minutes before they eventually saw the dot in the sky that they knew signalled their death. Ben took a quick look through some binoculars then grunted. He passed them over to Howard.

“That's how they managed to get a Reaper this far north,” he said.

Howard looked, a read-out on the binoculars telling him that the enemy were still a couple of kilometres away, though they were closing fast. He took in the sight, those bird-like contraptions, wide wings glistening with solar panels. Between them he could see the Reaper, curled up and inactive at the moment.

He cursed briefly and wondered if he should send Isaac back to report this after all. Reapers couldn't usually make this journey; it required too much energy from them. But if they were being transported like that they could travel as far as they wanted.

He decided against it. They machine was still recording everything and their commanders would be able to work out how it was done by the way the signatures of the Birds and the Reaper separated. This was to be his last stand, he was suddenly aware that he wanted everyone between himself and death as possible.

He was just wondering if Ben felt the same way when his friend spoke.

“So did Jesse ever say anything on how to deal with these things?”

Jesse. As always the name brought back so many memories, some sweet, many scary. To this day he didn't know whether he'd loved her or was just drawn into her wake, like a flagellant to a prophet of doom. He remembered when he'd first seen her, her red hair dripping with blood. It wasn't often she was in a better state. There were a few treasured moments stored in his mind; of when she was clean and as close to a normal human being as she got. He'd even got her to dance once, at one of the occasional balls that used to be held. She'd been glowing in a dress and, as he'd held her close to a slow waltz, he'd felt happy in a world full of possibilities.

Then he's made the mistake of trying to lean down and kiss her.

He'd woken up the next day to find his broken nose neatly set and Jesse sitting by his bed. She hadn't apologised and he hadn't tried again.

It was soon after that that she was gone.

“Howard?” Ben gently broke him out of his revelry. “Did she have anything to say?”

“Jackhammer rockets.” The memory of Jesse summoned anger to melt through the fear. Suddenly he only wanted the machines that oppressed them in little pieces. “She said a couple of those should do the job.”

“Right then.” Ben swung the launcher round from where it hung over his shoulder. “No time like the present.”

Howard removed the safety of his gun and nodded. Isaac just stared ahead, the grenade launcher held ready. Ben pulled his trigger then immediately started loading another rocket.

Howard ignored him, focusing instead on the path of the first. It curved though the air, looping in deceptively gentle spirals. Then it hit the Birds.

They must have sensed it coming because they dropped the Reaper just before it hit. They tried dodging but weren't fast enough. The rocket exploded just between them, shredding their wings and most of their bodies. They plummeted to the ground, leaking a dark, red, liquid.

He hadn't the time to watch them. The Reaper had survived and would be active in only a few minutes. Already the other robots had tracked the heat source of the rocket and were closing in.

They appeared suddenly from the maze of rubble, the Harvesters merely simple boxes with a head and a multitude of limbs, the Crawler a moving semi-sphere, bristling with guns.

“One each!” yelled Howard, overcome with battle lust and the memory of his once friend. “The Crawler's mine.”

He ran forward, finger pressed tightly on the trigger, spraying bullets at his target. Jesse had always said to move fast when fighting Crawlers. They had trouble tracking fast moving objects. He dodged to one side, Ben's next missile streaking past him and detonating against a Harvester, blowing it to pieces. The small part of his mind that wasn't being clouded red analysed this and caused him to frown. They didn't usually destroy Harvesters like that, it risked their cargo. But once the Reaper got airborne they were likely all dead and it was important to deprive their enemy of as much as possible.

Then there was no more thinking, no more analysis. There was just the Crawler in front of him and the gun in his hands.

He ducked behind cover, waited a moment, then dived forward in a roll which brought him to the base of the Crawler. He jumped, using the protruding gun muzzles to clamber to the top. The blue line about halfway up it flickered erratically as the robot tried to process his sudden disappearance. He didn't give it time, placing shot after shot into the blue plastic hub below his feet. It cracked, was blown away, revealing the metallic brain of his adversary. He didn't stop, kept firing till the light went out completely and he was left standing atop a dead hulk, like a child on a morbid climbing frame. He scrambled down and back to his comrades. Ben was still trying to load another rocket. Isaac was also loading more ammo, his Harvester a smoking wreck. Howard was pleased to see he hadn't frozen. He felt hopeful for the first time.

Then some sixth sense caused him to look back and he saw the Reaper rise into the air.

There was a certain deadly beauty to it. It was humanoid, with a big, bulky chest and a blocky head. Over one of it's shoulders Howard could see the protruding handle of the scythe that gave the Reaper it's name. It hovered in the air, supported by twin jets of power from the pack on it's back.

“See those, kid?” Ben asked Isaac, still trying to fit the rocket in. It seemed to have jammed and he swore rapidly before continuing. “Well those are the reason we don't see any this far north. Takes too much power.”

“I know,” Isaac replied, his hand tightening on his grenade launcher. Howard could hear the fear in his voice and didn't blame them. The Reaper was death and it didn't seem like Ben would have his weapon ready in time. Because time had just run out.

The Reaper had spotted them, turned in their direction and started to move forward with blinding speed.

The next few moments would remain embedded in Howard's mind for quite some time.

“Got it,” he heard Ben say, just as a rocket jetted upwards on an explosion of flame, heading directly for the Reaper. It sensed it while it was a metre away, shutting off it's jets and dropping a foot as the rocket sped through the area where it had been. It flew forward again, intent on it's target.

Just as the rocket curved in mid-air and hit it from behind.

The Reaper let loose a screech of what could almost be described as pain, falling heavily to the ground. This didn't stop it however, it was on it's feet and running with blinding speed in the direction the rocket had come from.

A jumble of wreckage fifty metres to his right.

Ben tried firing his rocket but the machine easily dodged, still heading in the same direction, drawing it's scythe from it's back as it ran. Howard sprinted forward too, knowing in his heart there was only one person who it could be.

With a flash of red hair and a shriek of laughter Jesse jumped into sight.

Howard knew that he couldn't do anything to help. The Reaper was already too close to shoot at, he would risk hitting her. So he could only watch and pray.

At it closed with her Jesse struck first. Her hand whipped forward and something a glittering silver flowed in an arc around it. It struck the Reapers chest, drawing a scar across the flawless metal. She was already flipping herself backwards out of sight when it swung it's weapon in retaliation. The Reaper leapt after her and they both disappeared from view.

Howard had to climb a mountain of rubble before he could them see again. They were in the small confines of a room, filled with dazzling mirrors that shone as bright as the suit he was wearing, almost blurring with the speed with which they struck against each other. The Reaper was faster but Jesse seemed able to anticipate all it's moves and use them against it. She managed to produce a small red shield from somewhere and was just deflecting a strike as he watched. Her other arm twirled in response and again the light streaked, giving the robot yet another scar to add to the others she had apparently already inflicted. But the Reaper had managed to wound her as well. Blood dripped from light scars on her arm and neck where she hadn't managed to completely dodge in time.

Howard could hear his companion's scramble their way up behind him but he couldn't turn away from the sight before him. They almost seem to be dancing, both managing to lightly hit the other a few times but nothing fatal. It seemed like they could go on for ever, both tireless, each given energy by their hate for the other.

Then came end-game.

Jesse moved abruptly and her weapon finally stopped moving long enough to become recognisable as it wrapped itself round the hilt of the scythe. It appeared to be a whip made of blades, each edged with some strange gold metal. It anchored itself firmed and Jesse twirled, guiding the scythe over her head. For the first time the Reaper seemed uncertain, it stumbled and Jesse struck. She leapt, landing firmly on the Reaper's weapon, forcing it to the ground and out of it's grip. It flailed backwards, blades sliding from it's fingers as it attempted to defend itself but Jesse didn't give it a moments pause to assimilate the new scenario. She bashed her shield into it's face then leapt after it, her whip pulling the scythe after her. She caught it by it's handle and swung it at it's former owner.

Isaac reached the top of the hill and fired into the room.

Time seemed to slow and Howard almost saw the grenade move through the air. Jesse had just decapitated the Reaper and it's head had started a slow tumble to the earth, the lights in it's eyes already fading. Howard couldn't see her face but knew what it would look like, the savage smile on her face, the gleam of triumph in her eyes.

Then the grenade reached her and exploded.

Howard was already running down the hill, his reflexes sharpened by years of combat. He hoped that she still lived, while knowing the chances of it happening were very slight. But if anyone, anyone at all, had any chance of surviving surely it would be her.

Dust had fountained into the air with the explosion and, coughing, he fought his way through it. He stumbled a bit as his feet met the Reaper's body, broken from battle and fire. His questing hand found a wall and he followed it along for a bit. Then a hint of red caught his eye and he hurried towards it, shouting her name, caring not for the grit that got into his throat.

It was her shield, battered but still whole. Behind it she was draped against the wall, her slightly frame twisted and still.

“Jesse!” he yelled. Then a crumbling sound reached his ears. Looking up he saw the descending rock that had fallen off the top of the wall seconds before it hit him.

Then there was only blackness.

It Begins

I've finally got a website up and running. It isn't quite what I was wanting but it'll do for now.

So. I'm Skald, apprentice writer and practitioner in the art of tale-weaving. This is where I put those tales, at least once a week, more if I can. They shall be posted here every Sunday, and it still counts as Sunday if I haven't gone to bed yet, till I can't write any more or I move to a new site. For your entertainment only.

Sit back, grab a pint of something and let me regale you with talk of worlds as yet unknown.

And to mark such an auspicious start I thought I'd put up something simple, beautiful and profound. But that sounded boring so I did something about robots instead.