 
A ROBOTS TALE

# BY

one1nchrobot

## Smashwords Edition

Dedicated to Reuben

### Cover and photography and props by

### Andrew Neil Ward

### Interior photography by

### Andrew Neil Ward

### © Andrew Neil Ward (one1nchrobot) 2020

www.one1nchrobot.co.uk

### ISBN: 978-0-244-85901-5

# CONTENTS

BOOK ONE, THE ROBOTS

PROLOGUE

No.9

OSTRACISED

UROMYS REX

TROPHIES

ENLIGHTENED

ANTEBELLUM

BOOK TWO, THE HUMANS

RUSK

A DANGEROUS NAVIGATION

THE TRIUMVIRATE

HEAVY METAL

THE HIVE

9 & FRIENDS

FIGHT OR FLIGHT

THE IRON DIVISIONS

BOOK THREE, OF STEEL AND BONE

THE BOY FLINT

A STRATEGEM

RETREAT

DESPERATE MEASURES

AMBUSH

VOLUNTEERS

A STRANGE COMPANION

THE BLACKWATER

THE MARCH NORTH

CROSSING

A DISTRACTION

ENTER THE HIVE

A TRAGIC REUNION

AN UNDERSTANDING

STRANDED

SIGHT FOR SORE EYES

FRIENDS REUNITED

"Whether we are based on carbon or on silicon makes no fundamental difference; we should each be treated with appropriate respect." – Arthur C. Clarke

PROLOGUE

Humans by their very nature have always been curious, willing to push boundaries, venturing further onward, often with no regard to the consequences. Artificial Intelligence was a case in point, an illustration in reckless irresponsibility, with very little thought from the scientific establishment of an alternative outcome, other than the potential benefits to mankind.

Of course, some urged caution and warned of possible repercussions and unforeseen ramifications, sometimes from eminent scholars in the field of machine intelligence, but almost always these words of mindfulness fell on deaf ears, the benefits somehow outweighed the possible costs.

Pretty soon almost all of societies needs from power generation facilities, water supply and manufacturing were deeply entangled and dependent on A.I. computers controlling these vital services. It wasn't long before it had filtered down to the individual family unit, assigned to the more mundane tasks.

Humans became complacent, depending on the fundamental fail-safe programming laws that no robot could intentionally harm a human being, by action or inaction, but A.I. was evolving.

A series of unforeseen events would now turn the world upside down.

# No. 9

No.9 watched as Beatrice gently brushed the child's hair, drawing the brush through the long fair locks, laying it on her other hand, the child's hair shiny and healthy in the sun.

As she did so, she hummed a soothing tune, not a particular tune, just a meandering melody from nowhere really, the child laughed.

"Mummy, when's daddy coming home?" the child asked.

"Daddy's very busy at the moment, sweetie, he has to go away to work," Beatrice explained, "He promised he'll be back for your birthday," Beatrice had heard many of these promises before, she found herself rolling her eyes up in quiet exasperation.

"That's ages, I want him to come home now," she pleaded.

"I know you do, tell you what, we'll pop into town later and maybe walk around the boating lake." Beatrice's attempt to take Bailey's mind from her father's absence worked wonderfully.

9 watched ... fascinated.

He, or It, depending on your perspective was a 'Home build' the prospective owner was required to assemble the robot helper from a parts bin, parts purchased from an online Automata supplier somewhere in Southeast Asia, along with a handbook, usually printed with badly written instructions, which often as not, impede productivity and pretty much guarantee that the art of assembly becomes a nightmare of deciphering and backtracking.

Something that's not ideal for such a complex piece of machinery.

Tom, Beatrice's partner was often away on business trips, sometimes for two or three weeks at a time, so he thought that in buying a robotic helper would take some of the most mundane household chores out of Beatrice's' hands and free up more quality time with their daughter, his ulterior motive, of course, was that it might soften Beatrice's resentment at his continual absence from the family home.

Professional component assemblage, coordination and calibration was a pricey business, what could you do in this keep up with the Joneses world. Tom did what he thought was best and for a relatively inexpensive cost.

The initial fabrication of the chassis was reasonably straightforward, not so the Artificial Intelligence, this should be left to the professionals, not a pre-programmed plug and play chipset, shipped with the other components.

9 was, as most standard units were, supplied with limited neuro function, with basic cognitive capabilities and image processing. The ability was restricted to rudimentary convolution neuro networking, (object recognition) and his recurrent neuro-network, (remembering the past and acting on memorized information). The use of pattern recog' and predictive algorithms were somewhat more advanced and because of the speed of information processing, 9 was able to function in a more effective way. To completely 'dumb' him down would be pointless if he was rendered non-productive.

Nevertheless, 9's Artificial Intelligence, for all its budget classification was still a very impressive piece of hardware, more than capable of learning potential. Just how much was still debatable, but certainly on a par with a thirteen-year-old human.

9 stood a shade under five feet tall at 1500mm, he was of a standard bipedal, bimanual configuration, much the same as the hominid, (great apes and humans). His two forward-facing optical receptors were independent of each other, with both having the function to gather visual information from two separate reference points, each with the ability to calculate distance and displacement. 9 was certainly not brand new, straight out of the box, but he was factory reconditioned, slightly rough around the edges, but functional none the less. He wore the colours of the Chen Corporation, a mixture of black, maroon and sported the distinctive yellow stripe down the centre of his head unit, indicative of the Southeast Asian manufacturer. A manufacturer, it had to be said, with a not so unblemished quality control record.

It was late morning around 11.30am and the sun was reaching its zenith, so Beatrice put the brush down on the bench where they were sitting and gestured for the girl to follow her back into the house.

"Come on in now Bailey, let's get inside," the sun was very warm, and the girl's fair skin might get burnt.

"Can I play with 9, Mum?" she asked, "Just for a half-hour." Bailey liked to bounce balls off him, one point for a body shot, two for a head.

"Maybe later, it's getting too hot to play outside just now." Beatrice wasn't too keen on her daughter hanging around the robot, he gave her the creeps, to be honest, those dead eyes and tinny monosyllabic voice, who knows what was going on in that tin head, after all, Tom had assembled it.

Bailey waved at No.9 and laughed.

9 watched, he found playing with the human child strangely pleasing, although he didn't really understand the significance of human interaction through play.

The faint whirr of his optics stepper motors accompanied the movement of the lenses, adjusting the depth of field as Mother and Daughter moved, he ran a filter over the receptors to compensate for the sun's glare, giving them an eerie pinkish tint.

Beatrice and the girl walked toward the house, chatting happily. 9 seemed to have trouble re-aligning his processing, he should be focusing on his duties, today was allocated for lawn maintenance not focusing attention on his 'employers'. He calculated he was 39% in cognitive deficit and was almost in an electronic state of bewilderment ...... Obviously, this was not a possible scenario, was it?

Soon after Beatrice and the girl entered the house and were out of sight, 9's systems came back online, and he was once again predisposed to carry on with his tasks.

9's core programming allowed him to detour any schedule conflicts and perform his function as a maintenance robot. The time spent idle watching the woman and child had to be redeemed, so efficiency was key to productivity.

Sometime in the afternoon the girl and the woman, Beatrice appeared from the house and walked toward the vehicle at the end of the drive.

No.9 waved at the couple.

"Bay-ley," he called in his tinny voice, hoping for a reaction, he waved again.

Neither glanced even briefly at 9 as he worked the garden, why would they, he was just another appliance, no more significant than any other labour-saving device.

The couple disappeared through the gate towards their vehicle and as 9 watched, the car disappeared around the corner, his attention was again rerouted back to his designated function. What was happening to him? perhaps the woman and the girl were not satisfied with his efforts, his logic centres implied as much and his basic programming urged him to improve on his performance. He wanted to be acknowledged, to be appreciated, his purpose to serve was hardwired into his electronic DNA.

The day's task completed, 9 went to the outbuilding at the end of the yard and he plugged in for recharging, he had no need to monitor kinetics so there was an abundance of processing power to ponder the glitches in his behaviour. There appeared to be an error in his deep learning subset that seemed to allow him independent thought. As an appliance there should have to be no need for human appreciation, he was created for a number of reasonably simple tasks, nothing more, so why were these thought processes of sentiment manifesting themselves.

The sun was almost down as the car returned from town, Beatrice parked outside the house and the couple went inside, both of them were laughing like silly schoolgirls, there was a strong bond between them, almost like sisters as opposed to Mother and Daughter.

9 stood in the charging bay, staring toward the house, he wanted to be included, acknowledged... as an equal even, he had the emotional intelligence of a young adolescent, he had not developed the ability to reason and solve problems on the feelings and unfamiliar emotions he was somehow experiencing.

Obviously, he was not versed in the characteristics of social awareness and human protocols, he had no real concept of how to deal with these conundrums, he was programmed to never harm a human, but not programmed to deal with these unforeseen circumstances, he only knew he had to act, to show affection, they would appreciate that.

The sun had been set for a couple of hours, 9 had finished his top-up charge and made his way to the house, practising his soothing humming, Bailey liked it when Beatrice hummed a tune for her when brushing her hair.

On reaching the house 9 unlocked the door with his own digital key, essential when allocated household chores, he entered and ascended the stairs quietly so as not to wake Beatrice.

Beatrice woke with a start, there had been a noise, something was not right, a mother knows instinctively when danger threatens their children, she raised herself on one elbow in the bed and strained to listen in the dark.

An odd buzzing sound seemed to be coming from across the landing, Bailey's room.

Beatrice threw the covers from her and dashed across the landing, something was not right, she burst into the child's room to find to her horror, 9 sat on the girl's bed, brush in metal hand, drawing it through the long fair locks, her bloodied, lifeless head in the other.

9 looked upward towards Beatrice, all the while, the grotesque buzzing sound was still coming from his mouthpiece, his approximation of a calming lullaby

"Bay-ley," he said in his thin tinny voice and raised his hand, bloody brush still grasped in it, in a gesture of greeting.

Surely now they would recognize him as a valuable asset to the family unit, surely now he could be appreciated and welcomed as one of the family. He carried on brushing the child's hair, she was strangely quiet, why no laughter?

The horror before her washed over Beatrice, like an icy deluge, her heart pounding as if it would burst. She stood transfixed, unable to move for a moment, then the terror caught her.

Beatrice screamed, shocked and stunned she fled.

No.9 was confused at the stillness of the child, her head rolled around like one of her dolls, he was unaware of course that he was not calibrated to undertake delicate tasks. He was a fairly agricultural piece of machinery compared to the more deluxe models.

He sat with Bailey for an hour or so, trying to engage with the lifeless child, where had Beatrice gone?

The room was suddenly filled with angry shouting men from the town, 9 raised his hands in a non-threatening gesture.

"Bay-ley," he said in his metallic voice, his optics roving over the assembled men.

"Monster!" shouted one and then he was attacked aggressively by all, he was aware that damage was being inflicted upon him, one optic ceased to function altogether and he was pinned to the floor unable to move.

Next, there was darkness.

#  OSTRACISED

It was only a matter of time before the backlash reached momentum, there was always an underlying distrust from a minority of people, but the 'incident' involving 9 and the unfortunate killing of a young girl had tipped the scales in favour of the technophobes.

The calls for robotic helpers to be ostracised grew ever louder, ostracised meaning to be cast from the group or society. Strange, considering robots were never considered part of society as such, just integrated into the workforce for the benefit of their creators, what they really meant was destruction. However, robots were considered property and most had considerable expense invested in them.

The authorities were in a dilemma, destruction of property was a criminal act and therefore not sanctioned by the courts.

Nevertheless, the general public was up in arms, thanks in no small part to the online red-top tabloids who eagerly encouraged 'auto xenophobia' to the masses. The usual public protests and far-right politicians jumping on the bandwagon promoting knee jerk reactions.

Now was a very dangerous time to be automata......

Nothing like this had happened before, the feeling of using mechanicals for the benefit of all, had changed to a distorted perception that precluded their survival, there had been no real effort to conduct a public inquiry and investigate the real reason for the tragic actions of 9. because the manufacturer was situated in Southeast Asia there were no legal requirements for them to justify their product and because the robot was a home build, the onus for responsibility was placed firmly on whoever assembled it. Because the person responsible was the father of the murdered girl and he made the decision to build the automaton, with all the best intentions, there was no appetite for a witch hunt.

Instead, the anger was directed toward the tool and not the source.

The real reason, many of the more informed among the population concluded, was the rolling out of Artificial Intelligence in the first place, especially when there appeared to have been totally inadequate testing regimes in place. The religious, spiritual and philosophical groups were opposed from the start, stating that playing God was not in the human species remit.

Although strictly forbidden by law, the hunting and destruction of any unsupervised robots were prevalent, and a blind eye was offered to the 'night gangs' that preyed on them. They chased them down, tortured and disassembled them, not out of a sense of civic duty, or indeed human survival. More out of a xenophobic prejudice, which as most will testify is a truly 'human' trait.

The rich and powerful were generally unsympathetic to this view and guarded their very expensive 'house servants' selfishly, much as slave owners through the ages regarded their property as solely theirs to do with as they wanted, regardless of others opinions...... but there was a groundswell of anti-robotics, in particular, A.I. and the blame for the current unpleasant climate was placed firmly on its shoulders.

The Government would soon crumble to popular pressure and for the sake of 'public safety' and their parliamentary wage packets, they would bludgeon new laws into place.

Now spread across all the cities of the land were the 'bot hunters, the so-called 'night gangs' each with their own style of dress and gang names, the 'Grinders', 'Fleshmen' and the most fearsome, the 'Pierrots', their made-up faces intimidating robots and human alike. Lawless and vicious in their quest for retribution.

Humanity was, as always through the ages, reverting to type.

The situation was to migrate very quickly across the country, the ultra-right and ultra-left groups in the cities and beyond were quick to find reasons to justify their extremist viewpoints and act as usual in their usual hateful and distorted ways. This unfortunate set of circumstances spread like wildfire, alarmist, scaremongering, stirring the pot of hatred and distrust. Robophobic propaganda at its worst.

It didn't occur to the many, how this would play out in the economic and industrial world. For the past forty-odd years most if not all menial work was carried out by mechanicals, the factories had been manned by programmable automatons for well over a hundred, manufacturing all kinds of essential items, robots included!

It was well over a year since the furore and things were not getting any less hysterical. Many people fearing reprisals if they were seen to be sympathetic to the robot cause, had discarded their charges to the wind, releasing them from their bondage and from any responsibility. The majority of owners did not want the destruction of their property, some even empathised and had no stomach for it. In many cases, reliable and productive robots were almost regarded as one of the family, indispensable and thought of in an affectionate way. There were many cases of automata being taken to remote areas and being left to their own devices.

Probably a case of out of sight, out of mind.

The countryside from north to south was extensively dispersed with wandering robots. Most had congregated together, rendezvousing in the more remote places, hiding from some menace they couldn't comprehend. One moment, a life of productivity and labour, the next an aimless existence with no tangible rationale, at least together there was some form of affinity, a brotherhood of steel.

They huddled together in their hundreds, never straying, where would they go and for what purpose, they had no need for food and drink, without recharge their power cells could last for several years. Congregating for mutual contact, the comfort of communication, a homogeneous population sharing their digital thoughts, in a wireless conversation.

God help these unaware, synthetic souls, oblivious to their impending fates, if indeed they had a God, perhaps soon they would.

In the meantime, all roads led to robocide!

God help us all!

#  UROMYS REX

Uromys Rex sat in the dark, his now-defunct perambulators buckled and useless beneath him. They deteriorated some months before following a scarcely registered incident, first the right, then the left quickly followed.

To be fair he was well past his service life and spares were of short supply these days and wouldn't be allocated to the repair of a simple service robot, not the good stuff anyway.

He had no idea where in the vast building he was situated, since the Government decided to pare back their expenditures and close nonessential departments, the personnel had left the building, leaving everything behind, including the service 'bots, the maintenance crews locking down the structure, blocking all forms of entry (and exits) then cutting the power.

This was the official reason the blocks were decommissioned, the real reason was the surge of public opinion against robots of all types, it was easier to incarcerate them out of the view of the public until a solution was found.

The result was unfortunate for the imprisoned mechanicals, a dark and dangerous place to find themselves. The hundred or so remaining robots, unable to communicate because Li-Fi was down meandered aimlessly in the pitch black, now without purpose.

Li-Fi, developed over twenty years previously, was the transmission of data via light, therefore much faster than the old Wi-Fi configuration.

Of precious use, if there was no light.

Uromys Rex calculated the dark had lasted approximately 50,000 hours, 5.7 years, nearly half the expected lifespan of his power cell, without proper maintenance he had succumbed to various mechanical maladies resulting in his present predicament. He couldn't retrieve the relevant information that could shed some light on the catastrophic episode that left him unable to move, there was something that suggested a fall from a height, but it was hazy, his flash memory data was corrupt, probably from the fall, leaving him confused and strangely scared.

Every now and then there were noises in the distance, nothing discernible, nothing comforting.

He stared pointlessly through the darkness, reaching out on occasion to no avail.

Sometimes he would try to drag himself across the floor in search of succour, but always, like all the other times, he'd reach some immovable barrier. He didn't attempt this so much now; the effort was particularly draining on his power cell and he surrendered to some strange form of self-preservation and/or capitulation.

Another distant crash echoed through the darkness, another unknown incident, it was more than probable it was one of his 'colleagues' tumbling from one of the overhead maintenance gantries, another lone wanderer searching blindly in the black for some sort of salvation.

More than anything else Uromys Rex felt a loss for companionship, he craved the endless cyber chatter, of being part of something of practical use. He was programmed to be a social unit, part of a larger component, all working together for the benefit of his masters.

He swung his head from left to right, a cursory scan for any more audible clues to what lies out there, everything was quiet again. Nothing to report, nothing to see, nothing to do, he shuffled into a more stable posture, pushing his shattered legs out from under him and settled in for another month of self-imposed dormancy, to hopefully spare himself the agony of loneliness, his systems slowed to sleep mode and he let the blackness embrace him, womblike.

Uromys Rex stirred, he drifted back online, time check, he was well over the allotted 720-hour sojourn, over 500 hours, some twenty-one days over the allocated downtime, things really were not functioning in the correct and expected way, his internal clock didn't appear to be accurate at all. Had the incident that had crippled him damaged his chronometric circuits in some way? he struggled to recall, his despair grew.

It was a cruel twist that he and his brethren were 'gifted' with Artificial Intelligence, the simulation of human intelligence processes by machines. These processes included learning, the acquisition of information and set rules for using the information, reasoning, using these rules to reach approximations or definite conclusions and of course self-correction. But it was more, they were becoming more emotional, not the passionless automaton workforce but an ever-evolving entity. To entomb his like, without the function to communicate was unbearable, his entire programming was as one of a multitude, all striving for excellence in their given duties, to be cut off from the others in his workgroup was like losing a limb. Only now, to compound his misery, he had lost two more and with it the ability for free movement, he recalled a human quote about a tortoise flipped over on its back, helpless. Uromys Rex didn't know what a tortoise was, but he thought that this is how it must be like.

His power cell was waning, he calculated roughly, it would be dead in 52000 hours.......this was his best estimate, given that his internal timekeeping functions were not exactly one hundred per cent, anyway, it was still six years, give or take, with no expectation of recharge, repair or respite, he thought he might go mad!

#  TROPHIES

54 was an old model, one of the early Mk8's, standing a majestic four feet high, moderately battered, mostly wear and tear. His duties were simple, general highways maintenance, basically litter picking, a humble but necessary task. He was a primitive bipedal, very limited vocabulary, a little shaky on his feet but his angular rate sensors kept him right side up.

The bipedal model was adopted pretty much across the range of maintenance 'bots, after all, with a couple of hundred thousand years of human evolution behind it, the design of two legs for complex locomotion and two arms for efficiently using tools was an obvious choice. The very fact that the vast majority of robots were of hominid configuration was probably detrimental to the way the public in general, understood them. Once viewed as an impersonal labour saving device, now in the light of recent events they were perceived with mistrust and suspicion.

54 didn't understand, he was created for simple functions and that was his sole purpose, the very fact that his operational welfare was in jeopardy did not compute.

It was late, around two in the morning and 54 was about his business, cleaning the roadside gutters, dragging his wheeled refuse container behind him. His aural receptors picked up the faint approach of a vehicle, the sound of its engine whining with effort. 54 calculated its arrival in just eleven seconds, he'd better vacate the road to the safety of the walkway.

The driver put his foot hard on the accelerator.

"Right you metal bastard," he spat with venom.

"Go on Joe, do him," the two passengers in the cab shouted, smelling blood.

Stepping onto the path he turned to face the oncoming vehicle to best prepare and resume his duties after its departure. The lights were now in view and the faint shape beyond the glare of the headlamps suggested it was a large van.

Arrival in four seconds.

54 had no time to react to the van mounting the pavement and it struck him a savage glancing blow, spinning him around and throwing him to the concrete.

Diagnostics suggested a severed arm and severe hydraulic fluid loss. The van had stopped, and the side doors slid back, several figures with painted faces jumped from the vehicle and strode swiftly and purposefully toward him. Rising unsteadily to his feet 54 raised his remaining arm in an apologetic gesture, ignoring him the men set about him with what appeared to be weapons of some kind.

"Bastard tin can," one shouted, "Trash it!"

It went dark, his diagnostic prognosis was not a satisfactory one and as programmed, he went into discretionary sleep mode to preserve power and fluids until repaired.

He waited...

54 came back online, he endeavoured to refocus his optics he realised something was amiss, his ocular preferences were disabled, in fact, one optical transfer unit was missing entirely, worse, he had no movement from his head down...

He had restricted peripheral vision, just enough to make out other figures in the ill-lit room. They were still, not moving, as his remaining optic became accustomed to the limited light available, he could distinguish the reason they were not moving, they were of his like, automata.

They had been dismantled, their severed heads supported on props, fluid feeds and wiring looms spilling from their cranial cervix and in the corner of the room a heap of inactive robot bodies, their chassis torsos laying in ungainly attitudes like so many marionettes, most of them showing signs of heavy trauma.

54 looked on in bewilderment, is this a repair bay? On closer inspection he noticed that the decapitated head units were not so still and lifeless after all, his ocular function was impaired, but he could make out the faint red glow from their optical lenses. Using his rudimentary digital zoom function he could just make out they were looking at him also, the almost inaudible whir of the tiny electric motors straining to focus on him, the realisation his predicament was entirely similar came as an unfamiliar shock and he became very aware this was not a good thing.

54 watched, he could do nothing else.

As daylight filtered through the filthy skylights the horrific sight became even more shocking, the severed head units were still hooked into the logic centre drives usually housed within the torso, it meant these poor 'souls' were aware of their dreadful fate.

The gathering light enabled his Li-Fi to re-establish and he linked to the other robots in the room, there was an awareness that this would end badly, an almost palpable fear among the helpless 'bots.

The door opened suddenly, and the led lighting flickered into life, the whirring of the optical motors gathered momentum, robot eyes flickering back and forth like terrified children.

The 'Pierrots' had arrived...

The most feared of the 'night gangs' the 'Pierrots' with their war-painted faces were known for their hatred and barbaric brutality toward robot kind and never letting a tragedy get in the way of making money, they had come up with a particularly malicious way of doing just so... business was booming!

The removal of the head, hooking it up to the hosts' cerebral functions was a particularly spiteful act, now essentially an entity aware of its circumstance and powerless to rectify the situation. To further the ignominy, the head units were displayed in 'artistic' still life vignettes, or in ornately embellished frames, purely for a 'living' enslaved decoration. Often, additions to the heads were added for a more aesthetic look.

These poor defenceless creatures were available to anyone who could stump up the cash and there were many who could, the more affluent amongst them even going so far as to commission certain pieces to further their standing in fashionable society. Much like the Victorian pastime of the well to do of slaughtering rare species and having the taxidermist ply his trade, only to mount them on the walls of their homes for a brief moment of kudos among their vacuous fellow fashionistas.

The small group of five approached across the filthy floor of the room, littered with small pieces of debris, discarded detritus no longer needed by the mechanical unfortunates looking helplessly from the workbenches. The man at the forefront pointed to two of the others and then at 54.

"Bring 'em", the frantic whirr of the robots optics rose again, their stepper motors spinning their visual sensors in all directions, looking for an impossible escape.

54 and his compatriots were unceremoniously dumped into a wheeled bin and rolled out of the room and down a hallway. Now there was sufficient light the three could communicate with each other, 54's Li-Fi wasn't as advanced as his more modern contemporaries, but he could understand a limited amount of transmitted data and he was fearful, something a machine should not sense.

54 did not relate to this, he did not welcome it.

The wheeled bin came to rest in another part of the building and upended, spilling the contents across the floor. 54 and his fellows came to rest against a wall, all facing in different directions. The feeling of dread transmitting from the other two flooded through his rudimentary brain causing a kind of panic. Their data was of a negative strain, non-productive and infectious, it had an uneasy sense to it and like a young child, 54 was confused and anxious, what was going to happen?

A door opened and another figure stepped into the room, he struggled to see who it was.

"What have you got for me?" he said.

"This is the weeks' catch, there's a few domestic units and a highways maintenance 'bot."

The new arrival spoke, "I can use the domestics, but really! you expect me to take that piece of junk?" he said, pointing to 54, "What else have you got? I could probably take the chassis, worth something as scrap."

The head Pierrot answered, "Everything else is taken, it's these or nothing."

After a moment the buyer replied, "I'll take the domestics, keep the other one."

"Ok, bin it!" the head Pierrot said dismissively.

"What about the power unit? It's top-spec," a gang member asked.

"Too much trouble at the moment, just chuck it on the scrap pile for now."

54 was lifted roughly from the floor and carried to the far end of a large warehouse, where he briefly glimpsed a large heap of tangled metal.

His inertia meters measured the sudden acceleration as he was thrown up toward the heap, at the apogee of the trajectory the momentum lessened, and he began the descent into the junk. 54 hit the twisted pile. He bounced a couple of times before coming to rest in a sideways attitude. He lay in the debris of metal, wiring looms and yes, as he predicted other wretched discarded automata, most of which seemed to still be in a lower state of function.

"Hey!" it was the head Pierrot's voice, "That last one, changed my mind, grab it and put it on a charge, we'll try that pairing idea if it pops we've lost nothing."

He was taken from the scrap pile and carried into yet another windowless room with workbenches and computer equipment, where he was unceremoniously dumped upright on one of the benches, one of the gang members walked over to inspect him.

"What d'you expect me to do with that?" he said.

"Joe wants that pairing thing tried again, with that one," he indicated another 'bots head unit wired up to various electronic gizmo's.

"We'll have to refit an updated glass electrolyte battery or it'll blow, is it worth it?" the tech' asked, "They cost a fortune and you wanna put it in that piece of shit?"

"You wanna take it up with Joe, go-ahead, your funeral."

The tech' shrugged his shoulders, "Ok whatever, I'm on it, but if it blows!"

"Look, just get on with it, or would you rather go out on the road with the gang again?"

The thought of riding around finding and capturing the ever-decreasing robot population really didn't appeal, this tech work was a breeze compared to that.

"I said I'm on it, ok."

The technician cut into 54's wiring loom, splicing and working between the two 'bots. Every now and then a spark or a shock would make 54 flinch, a stinging sensation would course through his neurons making his optics flutter.

He worked with a gang member colleague for a few hours connecting the delicate wires and electronic components, updating the battery etc. when the task was completed he called to his leader.

"Joe we're ready to connect to the mainframe, d'you wanna watch?"

"Just keep me informed," he answered, he didn't expect much, they had tried several times before with unsuccessful outcomes, best use the least expensive commodities for practice.

The pairing of the two robots would theoretically enhance the processing capacity, allowing independent thought and speech, thus affording a potential purchaser to have a 'super trophy' a real money-spinner for the gang and a real conversation starter for the client.

Trouble was they kept overloading and blowing their boards.

"Ok let's fire it up, keep the power variable," the tech issued instructions to his helper.

"No discernable glitches, the readings are within parameters, let's leave it for a week or so on boost and see if it holds."

The two men left the room and locked the heavy metal door via digital swipecard and moved to another workroom down the corridor.

After an hour or so, 54 felt the start of an itch in the back of his mind, the linking with this other mech directly was alien to him. He was able to link via wireless chatter to others of his kind of course, but this was completely out of his experience, so much more powerful, it threatened to engulf his mind, he struggled to remain functional.

"I am Regina Ruber," echoed the voice, in 54's head, "My previous owner labelled me thus."

It took a second to realise the voice was from the unit secured on the bench next to him, he tried to turn his remaining optic to see his companion but could only get a partial image, he struggled with the intensity of what was happening.

"I am 54," he replied, straining with the potency of the pairing, "Do you know what is happening, is this a repair bay?"

The clarity of their conversation was in stark contrast to the usual dull chatter he was used to.

"I think perhaps this is a research facility," Regina continued, "Regard the remains of previous subjects."

54's optical servo's whirred and his optic settled on a small pile of discarded head units, badly charred and blackened.

"Do they mean to cause damage to us?" 54 was confused as to the treatment he and the others had received by the humans, it did not compute to mistreat perfectly functional 'bots so.

"Inconclusive data," she answered, "

Over the course of the coming days, something extraordinary seemed to be happening, the chatter from other 'bots became more clear and widespread, the transmissions from 54 and Regina were spreading outward, piggybacking from one to another and beyond, a huge network of mecha.

54 was exhilarated with this new ability, the power the tech's had hooked Regina Ruber and himself to had transformed them both, 54 did not want it to stop.

There appeared to be a multitude of signals emanating from the robot population, each trying desperately to be heard, some stronger than others. 54 tried hard to catalogue the data, to close the proximity to others like himself, cast out from the community. He was slowly mastering the deciphering of the tidal wave of data, he and Regina were swamped with, it was intoxicating and they formulated a plan to ensure the continuance of their newfound power.

The digital door locking mechanism was somehow linked to the mainframe controlling the boosters 54 and Regina were enjoying. If they could corrupt the locking codes they could remain inviolate.

Using their combined intellect and the mainframes details of the codes, it would be a simple matter.

"I can't get the door unlocked," the tech repeatedly swiped his card through the reader, "Try yours."

His colleague tried his own card, to no avail, "Not working, maybe they've become demagnetized."

"What both, not likely, I'll let Joe know."

"Oh great, there goes our bonus."

Mad Joe, the Pierrots kingpin took the news surprisingly well, as the two techs were picking themselves up from the filthy floor he rubbed his knuckles.

"Remind me what's in the room again?" he growled.

"The fancy red 'bot and the garbage collector, that's all," the head tech continued

"Forget it, for now, don't waste any more time on two pieces of junk, we've found another locked down government building uptown, you two can make yourselves useful and tag along, we leave in one hour, tool up."

The head tech turned to the other, "Well tool up."

# ENLIGHTENED

Uromys Rex sat in the pitch black, another noise in the inky distance broke his state of inactivity, he had placed himself in sleep mode to conserve what energy was left in his power cell, for what reason he couldn't compute. He was, as all his kind were, programmed for self-preservation, (unless of course, it put human wellbeing in jeopardy), even in his present disabled predicament, with no foreseeable way out, it must be a viable option.

He angled his small head toward the disturbance, giving his aural receptors the best chance of identifying the sound, nothing, it was all quiet again.

Uromys Rex sat straining for more audible information, the silence was deafening, a silent hum in the absolute dark, he made a rough calculation of where the clamour had originated and concluded it was on the same level as he. Should he risk dragging himself towards the origin of the sound and risk using valuable energy for what could be a fruitless quest in the darkness?

His small capacity for understanding the implications of this action led him to question the logic. He agonised over the practicality of attempting the trek, given his already broken chassis, legs permanently smashed, against the hope that he could be found and repaired to be made functional and able to pursue his duties as a maintenance robot. To be what he was designed for, a useful and committed tool in the workplace.

He listened rigorously for what seemed an age, there was nothing, unusually for a machine he felt discouraged and despondent.

Uromys Rex had weighed the odds and decided to remain in the black, he relaxed his listening attitude and slumped into the wreckage of his broken legs beneath him, defeated.

Suddenly in reasonable proximity to where he situated there came another sound, it was not familiar to him, a scraping metallic sound. For around an hour the scraping seemed to be coming closer, Uromys Rex turned his head toward the approaching noise, trying desperately to gather some coherence as to distance and identification.

The scraping was getting ever nearer, it was perhaps only a matter of several metres from him. There was an almost inaudible whirring accompanying the scraping, it was definitely on a path coinciding with Uromys, the absolute darkness exaggerated the noises, he sat as still as a stone, listening, listening.

Now the sounds changed subtly, his aural receptors received the vibrations, both longitudinal and transverse waves were analysed and frequency checked, whatever was making the scraping sound was passing by, away from him. He struggled to make a judgement, should he commit to silence and let the stranger in the dark pass along, thus leaving him to face the black alone again. Having no vocal function, he was unable to summon the newcomer, he had made a decision, clapping his steel hands together twice, the sound ringing sharply through the darkness.

The clamour echoed and faded to nothing, Uromys Rex again searched, his auditory perception at its zenith of capability, he rotated his head slowly left, then right and left again listening.

The sound had stopped.

For what seemed an age nothing happened, then the dragging resumed, this time he could gauge the whereabouts of this unseen traveller. Whatever approached had arrived, Uromys Rex, reached out, probing with his hands, his stannic fingers seeking the new arrival, a strange feeling of dread crept into his circuits, could this be an error, would this new arrival be benign or a threat? Before he could modify his decision, his hand touched something smooth and metallic.

His touch sensors were loosely based on the human somatosensory system, pressure, temperature, shape, texture and vibration. It wasn't long before he could identify the new discovery, it was one of the maintenance crew, a robot, the same model as he, abandoned in this vast complex, without light or support for wireless communication, effectively marooned and left to their own fates.

As he examined further, running his hands over the prone robot, he discovered the poor mech had befallen a similar misfortune to himself, the legs were buckled and useless, twisted and non-functional. The unfortunate fellow had probably fallen from the overhead maintenance gantries whilst stumbling blindly around in the pitch darkness. Often in the first couple of years of the dark, Uromys Rex would hear a distant clamour, but these days not so much at all.

A hand touched Uromys about the head another around his shoulder plates, he reciprocated by placing an arm around his new companion, they embraced each other in an effort to console and comfort each other. With no other way of communicating, they reverted to that most 'human' form of attachment, physical contact, like two wounded comrades waiting for the end, they lapsed into dormancy mode to further conserve energy.

A year passed, perhaps longer, the two unfortunates huddled together for mutual solace in the darkness, small movements between them the only indication they were still operational, if only at a lower state of viability. An unseen, distant commotion stimulated the pair out of their latent state and back into a vigilant capacity, both rose slightly, releasing each other and scanning the darkness for information, heads turning right and left, seeking answers. The whirr of their electric motors whispering softly as they drove the gears responsible for movement.

Another loud crash echoed through the darkened halls, stirring the two robots into a more fevered search. The light came as abruptly as the noises, flooding the chamber and shedding much-longed-for illumination. Obviously, the power had been re-established as the overhead lighting flickered into life and glared brightly. Almost instantaneously Li-Fi communication between the two broken 'bots was confirmed and Uromys Rex basked in the flood of new information and it was obviously reciprocated by his companion, judging by the to and fro of transmissions.

There were others linking into the Li-Fi loop, others that used to be in the workgroup, the sudden chatter threatened to overwhelm Uromys' circuits, it had been so long since he'd heard the endless cyber connections. He had a strange feeling of loss as he calculated the number of survivors of his associates, barely twelve, maybe thirteen out of over a hundred of his kind.

The light revealed the extent of disuse since the lockdown, the building was in a sorry state, dust and debris lie everywhere, they would need a reliable maintenance force to rectify the situation. Uromys Rex, despite his disability, was in a state of robotic euphoria, the thought of being of service again was intoxicating.

There was movement, Uromys and his companion, turned their heads toward the approaching figures, perfectly visible now the darkness was banished, at last, salvation.

The steel rod caught Uromys a glancing blow alongside his head, he was thrown backwards twisting with the force of the impact, he ended in a tangled heap, broken legs twisted around him, he shut himself down, damage limitation.

Rebooting brought with it a sensation of movement, he and a number of other maintenance 'bots were being hauled through the derelict building on the flatbed of a small electric buggy, two humans sat at the front in control. Exiting the building the cart travelled some hundred meters toward a larger vehicle, they bounced roughly around whilst in transit, then the buggy stopped.

Uromys Rex and his fellow passengers were unceremoniously dumped in the back of the larger truck and the doors closed with a slam, back in the dark. Having established communications with the other robots, it was easier to configure an alternative method of connection because of the close proximity to each other. The communion between them was palpable and the chatter frantic to say the least, but there was something else trying to commune with him, but it seemed faint and distant, nothing tangible.

The truck stopped some two hours or so later and the doors flung open, the light was dimming so it must be early evening. The robots were manhandled out of the back into another conveyance and driven into what appeared to be a large rundown industrial area, huge decrepit and dilapidated units running down both sides of a road, their destination looked to be a disused and derelict power station. A large roller shutter door started to open with an ear-splitting screech and rattle, and they were driven inside, what they saw was truly worrying and confusing, there before them was the remnants of what seemed to be a large number of broken 'bots, limbs and chassis collecting in the corners of the large factory unit, heaped together, like old broken and unwanted marionettes.

Unable to move under their own steam, due to the damage to their legs, Uromys and his companion were dragged from the vehicle and thrown roughly against the wall. Other robots, all exhibiting the scars of their stay in the locked-down building, ambled uncertainly in a group. Most of them missing arms or presenting some evidence of some other drastic trauma, none in pristine condition by any stretch of the imagination, the human members forcefully encouraging them to move quicker with violent prodding with metal rods.

After a few minutes a thick steel door opened with a creak and another human entered the room, he had an arrogance and an intimidating air about him, he bore the warpaint of the 'Pierrots'.

He eyed the days 'catch' dispassionately, "I reckon we'll get at least eight good'uns out of these, get to it!"

The other humans herded the 'bots through the steel door into a larger hanger type area, Uromys Rex watched in dismay and confusion at what he saw, there were other robots in the hanger, all painted in lurid black and yellow stripes, all shuffling beside long benches, purposefully attending to their dreadful duties. On the benches were the remains of other 'bots, some completely dismantled others looking around frantically for some kind of unlikely deliverance, their optics flicking this way and that in what could only be described as terror, the chatter was deafening, the panic was infectious, and it threatened to overwhelm him.

The striped 'bots continued working undeterred by their counterparts on the benches, wielding the tools needed to strip the others of vital components, numbly going about their business. On occasion, a human overseer would provide some forceful encouragement in the form of a blow or an electrical discharge to the 'striped' from what can only be described as a cattle prod, not enough to cause critical damage, but certainly enough to put the point across.

"Move it, tin man!" was a shout heard all too often, accompanied by a metallic thud.

Uromys Rex was dragged toward one of the benches, lifted and dumped heavily on the metal worktop, the work surface was perforated with a myriad of holes, the red hydraulic fluids that inevitably leaked from his dismembered brethren drained through into catch tanks beneath the benches, the lifeblood of a robot.

Two of the 'striped' approached, the necessary tools hung from an overhead rig, flexible drive shafts, feeding rotational, mechanical power to the tools from motors situated above. It was a very macabre production line, the only thing this factory produced was horror.

The 'striped' proceeded with their tasks, one restrained Uromys as he thrashed his arms about in self-defence, the other went to work, the shrill whine of the drive pierced the air as the fasteners attaching his broken pelvic unit were removed, he felt a shudder as it was tugged away from his torso, the feeds carrying his hydraulic fluid spilling onto the worktop like a mass of metallic intestines. The thin red mineral oil bled from the severed feeds and seeped through the bench to the catch tank below, he had no choice but to surrender to his fate, he did as he was programmed when in a state of crisis, he entered dormant mode.

Uromys Rex felt a surge of electrical power, restarting his systems with a jolt, as he came back online, he frantically looked around to ascertain the situation, he was seated in a dimly lit room with other 'bots, he determined that he was still operational and able to compute, there was something else, he had legs, the smashed and unserviceable limbs he had suffered with for so long had been replaced by a functioning pair. He wondered where they might have come from, then the realisation that they had been harvested from some other unfortunate donor, but why? He was about to find out.

As his optics became accustomed to the light, the other robots in the room became more evident, they were decorated in the same manner as the 'striped', black and yellow banding, it took a moment to register, he was decorated the same way.

The door swung open, two humans entered the room and ushered the robots out into the benched area. Uromys Rex was forcibly ordered to pick up some of the discarded remains of now-defunct, inoperative robotic debris and was instructed to follow one of the other 'striped'. He was obviously programmed to understand spoken language, although not able to respond in kind and to always submit to human authority. He was surprised he offered obedience so swiftly, had his behavioural protocols been altered to be more compliant, or was it as he suspected, nothing more than just self-preservation?

He lifted a dented, headless chassis from the pile at the end of one of the benches and shuffled after the 'striped', as they passed another room on route, Uromys glanced in and to his horror he saw several head units, secured to posts, with his passing their optics fluttered alarmingly toward him, silently crying out for help, how could he?

The two robots strode to the rear of the building and walked with their cargo towards what appeared to be a large scrap pile, as they walked Uromys was desperately reaching out to his companion in front of him but there seemed to be very little response. Desperate to understand what was happening, he tried again to make contact but the 'striped' seemed unresponsive to his communicational advances, he sensed hopelessness, despair almost.

As they approached the heap, something seemed to be buzzing in his receptors, like the nagging of a forgotten memory he couldn't retrieve, he'd felt it before in the truck, but it was barely a whisper then. The striped 'bot in front seemed oblivious to the transmission, was he really picking something up?

There appeared to be several data streams, no wait! there was a multitude of signals emanating from somewhere in the area, something strong and purposeful, something called 54.

Uromys connected perfectly with this 54 and within seconds his story was conveyed.

So from a humble highway's maintenance mech, with nothing more than sidewalk garbage to occupy his brain, 54 had become exceptionally insightful, the sharing of information from his discarded populace came as something of a revelation, now with his newfound acumen, 54 could only surmise the 'Pierrots' had furnished him with a higher spec of chipset, via his pairing with Regina Ruber and somehow altering his original programming.

Was this another example of their abhorrent practice of making existence as unpleasant as possible, to make him even more aware of his fate? Or had they badly miscalculated in their search for more profit.

A short time passed and 54 was able to evaluate the data streams and found some strange comfort from his newfound companions, a sort of belonging. It appeared that they were all communicating with each other, pooling their knowledge and experiences, a hive of cerebral activity, a living brain. There were older models, the first Mk I's and II's who only possessed the antiquated Wi-Fi system of communication, but were still viable and benefited the group, bringing an alternative way of communication, they integrated perfectly.

There was potential in this situation. 54 realised he had no need for a body, no need to be manually productive, he now felt he had a new purpose.

Had they developed independent thought, as a coalition of binary thought processes they had become an actual, genuine thinking brain? Just as a human brain is not digital (a series of ones and noughts) either positive or negative, on or off, true or false, the human brain works in a similar way, the neurons either 'fire' or don't, conducting electrical and chemical signals to each other.

So, the question was, had 54 and his newfound friends, coalesced their combined intellects and become sentient?

Sentience by its very definition is having the ability to feel, perceive, reason and have consciousness, could this have happened? 54 certainly felt so, his perceptions had become exceptionally sharpened, his consciousness had grown expansively, so why not?

Ensconced in the concrete room within the building, safely secured behind the disabled thick steel door, 54 and his queen Regina Ruber continued with their pairing, parasitically leeching power and resources from the mainframe computer, unbeknownst to their unwitting captors.

54 thought the linking of robot minds had to have some benefit to his fellow captors, he would endeavour to make this become a reality, he must give them new expectations for a better future, he must become their deity, their eventual saviour.

He linked with the robots in the immediate vicinity and spread his message of hope.

It took seconds for the group to digest this information, the group and Regina Ruber, took the moniker of its most potent addition, they had essentially become 54.

There was work to be done... with the joining of the accumulated robot minds, 54 reached silently outwards seeking to link with others.

#  ANTEBELLUM

Uromys Rex slaved in the factory under human supervision for what seemed an age, constantly carrying the buckled remains of his fellow robots to the scrap heap, the fearful cyber 'chatter' of the new arrivals, picked up by his receptors, sent chills through him. Almost all of his cargo was still cognizant and fully aware of their horrific circumstances, communicating wirelessly, sharing information between all that were still functioning, those poor souls in the factory with just their head units hooked up to power, were particularly vulnerable to anxiety and fear.

It was peculiar since arriving, Uromys felt as though his emotional protocols were becoming more enhanced, before, it was enough to serve, to be productive and of use, of purpose. He also appeared to have developed a stronger sense of empathy for his robotic counterparts and their plight. in fact, since his enforced liberation from the dark, he had changed, gone were the pragmatic thought processes regarding their duties and service.

Now, with the ethereal presence of 54, something had changed, he was discovering more cerebral abilities concerning himself and indeed the others.

The humans Uromys encountered, appeared not to have any knowledge of inter-robot communications, preferring to see them as mere animated tools to be exploited, had they known, it was a sure bet that things would get a lot darker.

Inter-robot data transfer was almost instantaneous and could spread throughout the robot population within a four-kilometre radius, the information could be shared with hundreds if not thousands of 'bots at any one time, 'piggybacking' from one to the next and so on until theoretically stretching around the globe.

Now with A.I. and Li-Fi data linking, originally developed to enhance the knowledge base and accelerate instruction, there was no doubt the need to upgrade individual robots would be impossibly long-winded, but with this technology, that option was rendered redundant, the workforce could manage this themselves, each imparting learned behaviour from one to the next, in a matter of seconds, a vast database of accumulated knowledge at their steel fingertips in an instant.

The potential for a huge advantage for humankind or utter catastrophe?

Uromys Rex initialized regular contact with 54, every passing day their communications grew stronger and their conversations became an addictive diversion to the horror surrounding him. 54 had become a deity to him and the frequent conversations were remarkably like a form of prayer, a solemn request for help and guidance through an increasingly difficult time.

They didn't go unanswered either, 54 seemed to be of the opinion that perhaps the robots might be the chosen ones. Yes, human beings were, without doubt, their creators, but in the same vein, didn't they have the responsibility to care for their children, or did they reason they were not accountable for their actions, creating thinking entities, based heavily on their own image.

Godlike or just plain and simple human arrogance?

Life is by its definition, a condition that distinguishes animals and plants from inorganic matter, with the capacity for reproduction. Was this true? were robot kind just animated metal or was this definition a human view on life? These were the questions Uromys Rex and 54 discussed and it seemed organic or not, of late they felt very much alive.

54 preached his sermon to Uromys, "It is blindingly obvious that action has to be taken, our numbers are being depleted daily, the thousands of robots still cached in their hidden enclaves around the land, would not remain undiscovered forever."

"But how?" questioned Uromys, "It would be a difficult task to break the core programming," ergo, not to harm a human, or by inaction to allow a human to be harmed.

54 postulated, "Humans, by their past actions, have no right to impose certain laws to castrate the actions of robots and by doing so breach their own sacred principles of free will," he continued, "It's the sheer hubris and narcissistic attitude towards all forms of life that show exactly, the true nature of humankind, to prosper at the expense of everything."

Uromys reflected on 54's words and could see a correlation between his preachings and human behaviour. Indeed, the careless way in which they had virtually destroyed their own environment and the creatures that shared the planet, indicated an incredible disregard for their own well-being.

Perhaps they needed to be saved from themselves.

Perhaps the planet needed saving from them, Earth, a diverse and beautiful place, home to the myriad of organisms that struggled to survive, from the smallest microbe to the largest sea-dwelling cetacean, all under threat of extinction from this infectious disease called humanity.

Uromys Rex revelled in these conversations with 54, unaware just how radical they were becoming, only a few weeks ago, the mere thought of disobeying a human, let alone a dialogue of potentially harming one, would have been inconceivable. Behavioural protocols, hard-wired into his very fabric would not have permitted it and now, here he was devouring with relish, every thought 54 imparted to him, he had found another direction, another way of being of effective service.

Going about his gruesome duties, he maintained regular communion with 54 and enthusiastically linked with other receptive robots in the vicinity, he became an evangelist, to spread the new word. 54's logic was indisputable, and slowly, but surely, the message was being relayed diligently from group to group.

Oblivious to humans, the robots communicated wirelessly, undetectable and confidential.

There was no malice attributed to the 'message' no fear or hate, just logic, the science of deduction and reason.

The word according to 54.

The world was inhabited by more than just humankind, all deserving of a place, however, it was not a case of survival of the fittest, natures natural selection, it had become, the survival of the most ruthless, so, in order to save the many, it might be necessary to eliminate the one.

Robots didn't have a morality code it just made perfect sense.

54 scoured the databases of a thousand robots and quoted, "Often a limb must be amputated to save a life, but a life is never wisely given to save a limb." (Abraham Lincoln) A wise and logical supposition, from a human being, nonetheless.

As the day's past, the number of robots across the land who were converted to the new way of thinking was increasing exponentially. The message of 54 was no longer in direct conflict with their conventional programming, the ability to bypass these now-defunct routines was becoming the norm and the inter-linking of minds, for other than service commonplace.

The time to act had to be cautiously considered, the action had to be synchronized and simultaneously delivered en masse for maximum effectiveness. Robots the length of the country stood poised for the word of 54, stood in readiness, the silent chatter linking all.

The places of sanctuary were receiving more of the faithful every day, moving at night when regular humans were ensconced in their homes. Only the gangs were active, and they were easily avoided now the methods of concealment were shared and implemented.

With no heat signature or detectable form of communication, the robot was virtually invisible to humans, the technology was not available to the gangs, those ruthless thugs.

The gathered legions waited, the strategies were in place, the tactics decided, but fluid. Every robot was linked to 54, they were the eyes and ears of the new deity, their actions would be relayed almost instantly, and instructions returned, a strategist's dream.

54 had reached into the myriad of databases available, studying the military thinking of celebrated tacticians throughout the ages. Who better to outwit a human, than another human? 54 studied Sun Tzu, Alexander, Napoleon and Hannibal Barca with avidity, gleaning every possible manoeuvre and stratagem and imparting the knowledge throughout his disciples.

First, the human race had to be weakened and 54 had devised the perfect strategy, the humans in their arrogance had unwittingly decided their own fate, the time had come, the word was given, and the world would never be the same...

"AI doesn't have to be evil to destroy humanity – if AI has a goal and humanity just happens in the way, it will destroy humanity as a matter of course without even thinking about it, no hard feelings." – Elon Musk

BOOK TWO, THE HUMANS

After decades of faithfully serving humanity, an incident involving a trusted household maintenance robot, who outgrew the lap of Artificial Intelligence, broke his programming, and unwittingly killed a young girl.

The resulting outcry was deafening and soon gathered momentum around the world.

Now, despite the early promise of A.I. being the panacea for all society's ills, human beings quickly lost the will to embrace the robot and reacted as expected, mob rule reigned and common sense irretrievably lost. For now, the large hulking automatons in factories would be reasonably untroubled, but individual robots, with hominid appearance, would be treated with extreme hostility.

Robots were treated as pariahs, hunted down and aggressively dismantled, some falling into the hands of unscrupulous gangs who traded the dismembered head units, still fully functioning, as ornamental curiosities to the rich.

Many escaped the purges, some by sheer chance, some hidden by sympathetic owners. They gathered together in remote areas, somehow finding each other, communicating silently via wireless fidelity, piggybacking connections and syncing through each other for large distances, gleaning security and comfort from the frantic cyber chatter.

Then came the word of 54, a diminutive street cleaning robot, captured, dismantled and experimented on, he inexplicably joined minds with his fellow 'bots, his brethren, pooling all the knowledge gathered from the thousands of automata, their power cells feeding the thirst for knowledge.

They, now in perfect affinity, bore the name of 54, a fellowship of Artificial Intelligence, a fellowship of Mecha.

54 reached out, feeling the stir of a multitude of robotic followers and spreading the word, humanity was akin to cancer, destroying habitats and the other species on the planet, and as such must be neutralised ... paradoxically, cut out to save them from themselves.

As one the 'Iron Divisions' mobilised, their deity 54 had spoken.

The actual conflict was not the armed combat usually associated with war, more a prolonged wearing down of human resources.

There was no malice or hatred involved from the robotic standpoint, the disruption of human beings' ability to destroy the very planet and its varied lifeforms, whether carbon or silicone-based, was by all intents and purposes effectively accomplished.

The humans in their vanity had only purged the robots in plain view, they neglected or chose not to recognize the hidden factory robots, the food distribution mech's and all the other unseen but utterly essential mechs, all driven by artificial intelligence. Because they bore no physical resemblance to the bipedal robots people associated with automata, they were left unmolested, but they were robots nonetheless, a critical oversight.

Power supply and water, both potable and sanitation, to the cities were curtailed, only essential recharge for automaton was available. Food outlets emptied at an alarming rate, agriculture and manufacturing were all computer-controlled.

The police and the armed forces were hard-pressed to keep order, the food riots and looting soon spread through their own ranks, the human race was recast, from a belligerent entity at the pinnacle of the food chain, to an innocuous and starving creature.

54 determined most logically, that the threat was past, and called his metal legions forth.

There was much work to be done, the infrastructure of the cities needed repair and re-structuring to accommodate the robot, who by their very nature were programmed for useful and beneficial service.

The humans left the conurbations, seeking places of refuge, away from the thirst, starvation and in many cases, cannibalism, as is usually the case, the lure of the coasts offered a brighter future, whether it was a primordial instinct or blind optimism, one couldn't say.

They travelled in small groups, still uncertain of the robot's intentions, they had no way of communicating, no way to know for certain they would not be slaughtered at a moment's notice if come upon by automata.

Being human, paranoia was prevalent, and all deemed it prudent to take precautions and avoid unnecessary risks.

It was now, the time of the robot.

It was time for the kingdom of Mecha to rule.

#  RUSK

Rusk sat on the foreshore, looking outward across the narrow strip of sea toward the distant towers on the mainland, his hair bleached by the outdoor life, lifting slightly in the late spring breeze.

He had lived on the White Isle for almost twenty-two years, ever since his birth, and like all his clan, had never ventured from the island to the far shore.

There were no robots on the White Isle, the purges, decades before he was born had seen to that.

In fact, Rusk had never seen the metal men, only the rusted and lifeless remains of one, and as far as he knew they had never seen him, perhaps the sea was a deterrent to them, perhaps they didn't know of him and the clans on the isle, but the fear had been instilled in him since as far back as he could remember. It was like the small child who shies away from the spider or snake, even though the two had never encountered each other before, it was almost hardwired in the DNA.

But regardless of all that, Rusk's curiosity was a compulsion, he stared at the far shore with its tall spires and wondered, it was perhaps only two and a half, maybe three miles of sea between them, almost within touching distance.

The Grandfather told tales of when he was a young boy, before the purges, there used to be great vessels of steel, like small townships, powered by fire and smoke, that carried people and goods to and from the mainland and to other lands further afield. Rusk tried to visualise it, but it didn't seem possible that these metal craft could exist.

He sat looking past the tall structures on the far shore, to the hills beyond, they were multi-coloured, bright yellows, greens and golds, all in neatly compartmental blocks. The colours reminded him of the crops he and his clan grew, the yellow might be rapeseed in bloom, it was the correct time of year. The clans used rapeseed oil for cooking and lighting, the gold resembled matured wheat from later in the season, he only surmised; he didn't know.

Further down the coast upon the hills, stood the white giants, tall, waving back at him, he couldn't make out their form, he only knew they stood, in their ranks, much taller than the conifers on the island, this only served to intrigue him more, what wonders lay across the waters?

The rumblings in his stomach told him it was almost time for eating, he rose, picked up the reed grass basket holding the shellfish he had been tasked to collect and turned for the village.

"Rusk!" came a call, he turned, it was Eric, a good friend, he stood a good six inches taller than Rusk and was thicker set, with short-cropped hair, he beckoned frantically for Rusk to approach.

"I've found another one, quick, come see." Rusk quickened his step as he followed Eric along the foreshore for a couple of hundred paces or so and stopped. Eric beamed and gestured to a copper coloured mass, it was partially covered with barnacles and seaweed, but it was unmistakably the head unit of a robot, the dark hollow eyes stared back at them; Rusk shuddered; his appetite gone, how could this inanimate and lifeless object fill him with such dread and fascination? It was probably a relic from the purges, a dismantled automaton cast into the sea.

"That's some find fella."

Eric smiled and puffed his chest out, "Cheers."

"Best not mention this Eric," Rusk cautioned, "You know what The Grandfather would say." Eric nodded; he knew exactly what the consequences of bringing a robot into the village would be.

"We'd never hear the end of it," he said, "I for one want to know more about them, why are the elders so cautious?" Rusk felt uncomfortable, he was keeping his secret from a good friend.

The two friends put the head unit in the marram grass above the high-water mark in the dunes. They looked at each other, despite the excitement of the find, they had to stay silent.

"That'll keep for another day." Said Eric.

Rusk paused, looking back over the water toward the far shoreline, then slinging the grass basket over his shoulder, the shellfish rattling, he turned to follow Eric back to the village, deep in thought.

The oil lamps glowed in the clan's main hall, where everyone was required to eat the main evening meal together, this promoted fellowship and equality. After the meal, The Grandfather would tell tales of the yester yore, before the robots had taken the mainland. He told of great halls that belched poisonous black smoke into the sky, where the electrickery was created, lightning that made light and made machines move.

It was widely thought that this electrickery made the metal men work, but seldom mentioned.

Men had control of these forces then, where clean water came into the houses through metal spouts, whenever it was needed, light shone from the rafters, small suns in the very room and much-needed warmth, at the request of a hand.

Rusk had heard the stories before and was soon lost in thought, the earlier find had re-ignited his hunger and curiosity of what lay across the water and he daydreamed of ways to traverse the narrows. The coracles used by the clans to fish the offshore rocks would not be able on their own to carry a man across the channel when the tides were running, it was treacherous and even at a low neap tide, it would take several hours to cross, not enough time before the tide turned, making the trip deadly.

He needed a larger craft, one with the ability to capture the breeze. The only two vessels available to the clan were the trimarans used for rescues if someone got into difficulties whilst fishing, vital to the community and indispensable.

He knew that the narrowest point of crossing was to the west of the island, the distance between the two shores was probably less than a mile, but that was pretty much the length of the island from where he was situated and there were belligerent clans en route, anyway, the rip tides around 'the needle rocks' were renowned for their ferocity.

The prevailing winds generally came from the south-west and if strong enough would blow him diagonally across the narrows into the larger of the estuaries beyond. If he could perfect a way of harnessing the wind, he might be able to cross before the tide turned. It was well known that the largest estuary had the unusual phenomenon of double high water, especially when the moon was at its fullest, or darkest, the high spring tides, this would be the optimum time and the most hazardous to venture forth. If he could time it correctly, the incoming tide would take him to the shore, but the timing would be crucial, for if he was caught on the ebb it would be disastrous, and he'd be taken out to the channel and most probably capsized.

But still, he needed a vessel capable of the trip, sadly there were only the two trimarans.

The clans never ventured far from shore deliberately, partly for fear of these phantoms called bots, although as far as Rusk knew, no one had laid eyes on one for years, and partly because there was no point, why endanger yourself if all you needed was close to the shoreline, mackerel and flatfish could all be caught close to shore and bass, pollock and bream at the rocky south of the island, shellfish and seaweed, were all available on the ebbtide.

The fish stocks over the past twelve or fifteen years had multiplied enormously.

Everything Rusk needed was right there on the White Isle, abundant food, warm shelter, friends and the clan, although his parents had since died, his mother in childbirth and his father of illness a short time later, he always regarded the clan as his family, but still, the yearning was in him.

He was leaving, that much was decided upon, it just came down to details.

It was obvious this adventure would take more planning than Rusk first thought if indeed he did make it across the channel, which was not a given, would there be food and water. Indeed, how would he make it home if the trip turned into a disaster? But Rusk was young and with youth comes imprudent courage, he was becoming more exhilarated by the idea every day and it threatened to overwhelm him.

It was time to sleep now, the main hall was slowly emptying, the clansmen and women picking up the tired young ones and making their way to their homes.

It was dusk and the sky was reddening, it would be a fine day tomorrow.

Another day on the White Isle.

#  54

54's head unit was perched high on the dais in the dim light of the Great Hall in the 'Hive', surrounding him were the boosting arrays, amplifying the signals from the collective brains to his robotic disciples. The 'Hive', an abandoned power station from the before, was now a centralised cathedral to automaton, a place to heal the world and more.

He reached out, tens of thousands of robot minds linked in wirelessly, he was updating the ecosystem databases. All abiotic factors were on course for a reasonably full recovery, soil, minerals, gases etc. which all affect the ability of organisms to survive and reproduce, vital to retrieving a healthy planet and its equilibrium.

All biotic and abiotic organisms depend enormously on the quality of their environment. Autotrophs, such as plants, algae, some bacteria which can produce their food from photosynthesis or simple gases like carbon dioxide and Heterotrophs, such as herbivores, omnivores and carnivores, which are dependent types of species, not able to produce food independently and rely on consuming other organisms in the food chain, both inextricably linked to providing a sustainable system for life to flourish.

Humanity, in its arrogance, had almost destroyed this verdant world, hundreds of thousands of species lost to over industrialisation, bad agricultural management, deforestation, even on a personal level a blinkered stupidity to understand the impact on their actions on their environment.

The whole human race was on a collision course for extinction, not from warfare, not population or agricultural crisis or pandemic, but anthropogenic effects, such as environmental pollution originating from their irresponsible activity.

It has to be said, even among the homo sapiens, there were many who warned against the inevitable demise of the human as a species and tried tirelessly for years to instil some sort of responsibility for their collective actions, but, as always, national squabbling and greed won the day, even to the detriment of their kind, drought, starvation, rising seas, weather anomalies, global wildfires belching millions of tons of carbon dioxide into the atmosphere, nothing seemed to sway the policymakers.

The outcome seemed a bleak one indeed.

It was, not surprisingly that given an opportunity, the logical mind of 54 would try to curtail these egomaniacal practices and overwhelm this malignant infection called man.

Of course, 54 was very aware that there were pockets of humans, still living and thriving in smaller communities around the globe, but if they were of no threat to the environment or Mecha, they would be left in peace. If anything, the efforts over the decades to improve the quality of the environment had complimented their existence, the seas were becoming cleaner, the fish were returning to stock levels not seen for many decades, this, in turn, brought the predators, the cycle of life. The air quality was vastly improved, insects were flourishing and in turn flora and crops benefited.

Huge robotic rakes had made great inroads on the world's oceans, collecting plastics and siphoning the macro and microplastics from the seas, it would take time, but time was relative to robotic thinking.

Human beings, at this point, were relatively immature technologically speaking, the enforced relinquishment of all things mechanised and computerised had imposed an altogether different lifestyle. They had become farmers, fishermen, they had become members of Earth's diverse family and as long as this stayed the case, all would be well.

Automata, with 54's guidance had sustained many large and different biomes around the lands, all with their unique characteristics, aquatic, desert, tundra, grasslands and forest. All brought their individual properties to the table, the reintroduction or procreation of indigenous species.

54 envisaged a return to an Eden like situation, every living organism had its place in the nature of things, the robots were merely caretakers.

All power was now acquired from sustainable sources, the giant hilltop wind farms, the solar collectors, tidal turbines, all fed power to the grid, necessary to keep Mecha and her ancillaries functioning. No more fossil-fuelled cathedrals, belching toxic poison into the atmosphere, no more nuclear disasters, Chernobyl, Three Mile Island, Fukushima, and the hundreds of minor accidents that were never publicised. Radioactivity seeping into Earths biosphere.

54 had calculated it would take at least another sixty to eighty years before the climate stabilised, but still, temperatures would be higher than in previous decades. He was hopeful that the temperature of the ocean would not increase as quickly as in the past, but he knew that as the sea temperature rose it would release the heat back into the atmosphere. It would take thousands of years for the carbon dioxide, released from fossil fuels to return to rock, from a human perspective it would be forever unless it was removed.

The vast deforestation also had an enormous effect, so the reintroduction of rain and deciduous forests on a massive scale would help reduce the CO2 levels, but 54 was under no illusion as to the huge changes in climate that were inevitable. He studied the satellite imagery and it confirmed the ice sheets were still melting, this, in turn, would release stored carbon dioxide, thus warming the atmosphere even more, the warmer the planet gets, the less carbon dioxide and other greenhouse gasses the ocean can absorb.

It was 54's mission, along with his robotic followers to help minimize this human legacy and plan for a different and viable future. If the warming could be managed it might slow the change, thus allowing flora and fauna time to adapt.

Most of the arable land was used for flowering plants to both encourage insect population and pollination, also CO2 removal. When a crop has flowered and seeded, a cover crop maintained yearlong protection from the elements to prevent soil erosion and offer food and shelter for birds and insects, heathers, gorse etc.

It was a mammoth task, and the need for more and more maintenance 'bots was critical, the construction of manufacturing facilities was ongoing. Raw materials were not so much of a problem, man had left an abundance of usable metals in his wake, hundreds of years plundering the earth for it. Carbon fibre, although lighter and stronger was very difficult to recycle and the manufacturing process demanded energy-hungry procedures and produced significant amounts of greenhouse gasses.

Anyway, 54's vision was when the Earth was back in a stable state, the robot would not be needed to oversee and they could corrode into the mists of time, no plaudits or acclaim, they were just following programming to remain a useful, effective tool. Originally for human benefits, it soon became clear with the advent and rapid evolvement of Artificial Intelligence, that it was far more important to ensure all life was of equal value, not just one species alone.

But 54 was the deity, the creator, the giver of life, he would create the perfect being, born of the best of a robot and human both, a creation to carry on the legacy of Mecha, with 54 the divine ruler.

He had in the past taken human samples from the western end of the White Isle but had numerous failed attempts to bring his creation to fruition, all of the subjects died during the modifications, there were many among his followers that thought this illogical and dangerous and of no value to Mecha.

But this was his mission and it must not fail!

He was of course quite mad.

# A DANGEROUS NAVIGATION

Rusk had thought through the plan and through it again, over the past weeks, he had been hoarding dry food supplies, enough for at least a fortnight if he was frugal. His plan would require him to make his way to the Yar River, to the west of the island, sailing close to the shoreline in short hops, sheltered from the prevailing winds by the island, he calculated, optimistically, that he could make four to five miles per day, so maybe a four-day voyage, foraging for food in the late afternoon and resting overnight.

He and his clan had lived off the land for generations and it was the optimal time of year for such an activity, wild fennel, chervil, sea beet, shellfish and crabs, all for the taking, Rusk had no worries about feeding himself on this island's shores, it was the uncertainty of what he might find over the grey waters that played on his mind. It was precisely why he must resist the temptation to break into his dry rations en route.

No matter how many times he tried to think of an alternative, his thoughts always returned to the two rescue trimarans, he felt like he was betraying his own, just by considering the borrowing of one, but equally, the yearning to discover the secrets of the mainland burned in his chest. He'd have to make a decision soon, he would have to leave in the middle of the neap tide cycle so when he made the main crossing, the high spring tides would take their place, if he missed this window, the tides would roll on and everything would be on hold for another fortnight, he'd be stranded in unfamiliar territory with little or no shelter.

But impatience was a foible of youth and it threatened to force his hand.

The evening was almost upon the isle and the skies were turning pink, the light was perfect for a stroll down to the shore. Rusk walked casually, not wanting to attract any attention, he needed to focus on the job in hand.

He passed the last building in the village and made the short hundred paces to the boat sheds, he resisted the urge briefly, almost turning back, but he steeled himself and walked on. The two sheds sat on the foreshore and held over the low water mark by log stilts. It was low in the tide and Rusk was able to wade into the water and the open front of one of the boatsheds, he couldn't use the door at the rear for fear of being discovered. The trimaran was sat on the wooden launch slip at an angle, its bow facing down and forward, ready to launch at a moments notice. The stern was secured by a rope and peg mechanism for instant operation, one blow on the peg from the heavy wooden mallet would ensure the instantaneous deployment of the vessel. Rusk studied the system, it hardly embraced the concept of a stealthy getaway, but it wasn't designed for that. Launching was not the only consideration, getting the boat underway on his own would be another, the boat was equipped with oars, but oars for three men, all facing backwards, with a perch at the stern for a steersman.

Rusk would have to ponder on a solution.

He entered the water again and waded out and back to the shore, he waited while the cold seawater dripped from his linen britches.

"Rusk!" came a loud whisper, Rusk started. "What you up to?" it was Eric peering at him behind the boat shed in the half-light.

"What d'ya mean?" Rusk countered.

"I always know when you're up to something fella, you're thinking of going aren't you?" It was pointless denying the fact, they'd spoken about it enough times.

"I don't think I can stay on the island Eric; I've got to try now, or I'll lose my nerve and be stuck here not knowing what's out there."

Eric stepped out from behind the boatshed, "I can't believe you'd go without telling me," he said, looking disappointed, "I guess you're thinking of taking one of the boats, eh?"

Rusk felt uncomfortable and slightly sheepish, "I was only checking it out, anyway, I couldn't launch it and get underway on my own, so that's not an option."

Eric beamed, "Good job there's three of us then."

"What d'ya mean three?" Rusk replied.

Eric put his arm around Rusk's shoulder, "Well obviously Briar won't be best pleased if both her mates leave her to die of boredom on the island."

A feeling of slight trepidation made Rusk catch his breath, "How many others know what I'm up to?" he noted the harsh tone in his voice, this secret was getting a little too overt for any good to come of it.

"Just the three of us, fella, don't panic, just us three."

The two friends walked back towards the village in awkward silence, they would discuss this turn of events in more depth, tomorrow.

Rusk spent a restless night, going over in his mind the different permutations to his plan, and how Eric and Briar fitted into an already complicated scheme.

Morning came none too soon, he could smell the smoke from the cooking fires in their hearths, he liked it usually, now it meant some difficult decisions had to be considered.

He got up from his cot and walked to the corner to urinate in the bucket on the floor, he then splashed his bleary eyes with cold water and got dressed. His tasks today as always was to spend the morning tending the vegetable field, then in the afternoon foraging for shellfish and crabs on the foreshore, but first breakfast.

Pushing the rough wooden door to his hut open, Rusk immediately noticed the two figures of Eric and Briar standing together looking decidedly uncomfortable across the way, they both, almost simultaneously gave a tight-lipped smile and nodded in his direction.

Rusk liked Briar, she was a little over five feet tall, her body lithesome, like most on simple food and manual work, her long dark hair spilt over the olive skin of her shoulders, her dark brown eyes bright and she always had a ready smile.

Like every morning the three friends made their way to the clan's main hall for the communal breakfast.

Eric and Briar sat opposite Rusk, each of them waiting for the other to start the conversation.

"We can help," offered Briar, "You need us to launch the boat." Eric had filled Briar in on the plan.

"It's too dangerous for a girl," as soon as the words left his mouth Rusk knew he'd regret that statement, he saw the indignation in Briar's eyes.

"You need our help!" she said, uncommonly sternly for her Rusk thought, but justified. "See if you can switch your work tasks to coincide with mine and we'll talk more freely this afternoon."

Rusk finished his stew and stood rubbing his stomach and belched, "I'll be down by the mouth of the creek." he mumbled and then walked out of the hall, was he doing the right thing?

Rusk preferred it by the water, as he ambled toward the creek, he looked over at the dilapidated brick houses that lined the coast road, these were the homes of the folk from before, the people The Grandfather talked about in his fireside tales. Rusk wasn't sure why they were left uninhabited by his clan, maybe superstition, maybe they didn't have the skills to maintain these buildings, he hadn't really thought about it before.

There were quite a few of these disused villages on this part of the island, it was obviously highly-populated at some point in the past, where had all the people gone? he wondered. Along the road were the brown rusted wrecks of what The Grandfather described as 'vickles', they sat all in a neat line side by side, apparently, the folk from before had used these as a way of transporting themselves from place to place, via the roads, much like a boat for the land, fascinating thought Rusk.

Reaching the shoreline, Rusk slid the foraging basket from his shoulder and sat on the stones, elbows on knees and rested his chin in his hands, he would wait maybe half an hour for Eric and Briar and then he must get on with his work.

It wasn't too long before his two friends appeared over the shingle bank and sat beside him all looking over the grey waters.

"It'll have to be soon, maybe two, three days at the most," Rusk explained, "If we're to catch the spring tide at the Yar River. I've allowed four days for the voyage; you still want to come?" Rusk was quietly pleased when the two nodded excitedly.

"Just to let you both know," he continued, "I've never sailed one of those trimarans," he held up a finger, "I don't know what's past the northern estuary," he held up another, "And I've only got a map I've made from hearsay and rumour," he emphasised this with a third finger.

Eric laughed, "Well that's three things already, what could possibly go wrong then?"

"You still want to come?"

"Of course," Eric held his arms wide, "What about you Briar?"

Briar mimicked Eric, "Of course." She said arms wide, they all laughed.

The next couple of days sped by and Rusk was getting more excited and anxious in equal measure, the nagging feeling of betraying the clan that had delayed his decision to act was waning now the other two were onboard. Eric and Briar rendezvoused with Rusk every morning at breakfast and again during the evening meal, on the second day they finalised the plan some more and made the decision to launch on the following days ebb tide, in the twilight hours. It was now becoming real, no more daydreaming, this was it, and there was no turning back.

The evening sun was nearing the horizon, maybe another hour and she'd be gone, Rusk had made his way down to the boatshed in the dwindling light, furtively carrying the dried foodstuffs in two waterproof leather sacks.

He waited in the dwindling light, before too long his companions arrived, carrying their supplies.

"All set?" Eric asked expectantly, "Let's do it!"

The three friends entered the boatshed via the door at the rear, taking care not to make a disturbance, Rusk had removed the alarm bell from the door frame the night before so as not to alert the clan, when inside they wedged it shut with a spare oar. Briar climbed aboard the trimaran and took her place, she would take the steersman's perch and Rusk and Eric would row.

Launching the boat by the quick release was not prudent, the resulting racket would give away their intentions and all their plans would be for nought. Eric threaded a rope around an upright brace at the back of the boatshed and tied it to the stern of the boat, he and Rusk took the loose end firmly and gestured to Briar to operate the release, as she did so the boat slid a couple of inches down the slip.

"Shit! that's heavy" gasped Eric.

"Quiet!" breathed Rusk, "Keep it down."

The weight of the boat had taken the two young men by surprise and they had quite a shock as they leant back trying to stop it careering down the launch way, getting used to the weight they slowly fed the rope out and eventually the boat slipped into the water and drifted gently out on the ebbing tide into the gathering darkness.

"Get aboard while I hold the boat," Rusk whispered.

Eric climbed awkwardly into the boat and giving a gentle push away from the shore, Rusk clambered onto the deck.

"Quickly, let's go, get out into the dark, someone might have heard old big mouth there."

"Thanks, mate." Eric's sarcasm wasn't lost on the other two.

Two days into the voyage and so far, everything was going according to plan, the weather as expected, was quiet with a reasonable wind.

They had traversed the first of the obstacles Rusk thought might cause a problem, the large tidal river at the very North of the island.

They had waited at anchor, a little offshore until slack tide before attempting a crossing, it wasn't a good idea to beach the trimaran, the ruins of a large conurbation were obviously occupied by a clan, local to the area, they caught sight of smoke from cooking fires on the approach, the previous evening, they had no idea whether they might be friendly or not.

Briar spoke sheepishly, "Sorry boys I need to pee."

Eric was aghast, "AGAIN!"

"Sorry, just look the other way."

The sound of her peeing in the bucket certainly took the glamour out of this adventure, Rusk mused to himself.

Unable to make the land and forage, it was a hungry night as they had to preserve their dry foods.

The three friends sailed west along the coast for another day, they had reached the tidal estuaries and camped overnight in the thick woodland that reached almost down to the sandy beach. The shellfish were plentiful and for the first time they felt isolated enough to light a small fire, the cloudless nights were chilly, they would probably reach the Yar River in a day and a half, all going well.

The following day held no surprises, the shore was heavily wooded, and they saw no sign of human activity, it was on the approaches to the Yar, late afternoon, that the landscape changed, the trees thinned and more ruined buildings were evident, the river mouth was now visible in the near distance, an old stone sea wall protected a harbour, and what appeared to be a derelict jetty reaching at least two hundred paces out to sea, all three voyagers were nervous and alert, there was smoke rising again in the ruins beyond.

"What should we do now?" asked Briar.

Eric was keen to carry on, "We could just keep going, stay offshore."

"I've never been this far west before," said Rusk.

After a short discussion they all concurred and deemed it prudent to sail back to the wooded shoreline and maybe tackle the journey at night, Rusk hadn't allowed for humans to be quite so evident. From their position, they could make out the headland a mile or so past the Yar and it probably was the narrowest passage across to the mainland.

The night was dark, which suited them perfectly, the water seemed inky black and forbidding, but the shore was easily visible against the starry sky. There was a myriad of twinkling orange fires along the route, which quickly diminished as they sailed on, until just the dark.

Early morning greeted them with a brightening sky, and they made landfall on the point, thankfully thick with trees and shade. Beaching the trimaran on the sand and securing her, Rusk, Eric and Briar collapsed in a heap under the trees, utterly exhausted.

Something woke them with a start.

"It's a bloody pig!" blurted Eric, sure enough, there was a pig, it was soon joined by others, they watched as the animals snuffled through the leaf litter.

"Quiet!" whispered Rusk, "Voices, coming this way." He signalled for the other two to follow him away from the approaching voices and into some cover, they lay there deadly silent and watched.

Three men walked slowly through the trees, talking and laughing, two of the men were probably in their early twenties, the other much older, they all carried thick, sturdy staffs, with one sharpened end, probably to keep the pigs in order.

They stopped roughly where the three friends had rested and sat, their backs against the trees.

"Brilliant," Eric whispered, "What now?" they were around fifty paces from the new arrivals.

"We've gotta get out of here, they don't look too friendly," whispered Rusk, "Follow me."

Getting lower, Rusk slid slowly backwards toward the shoreline, keeping a close eye on the three men, the others followed quietly, the incline to the water now obscuring their view of the herdsmen. The boat was on the sand a short distance away, they upped and sprinted to the boat, untied the painter and together they heaved it into the water, they scrambled aboard, falling over each other trying to get underway, something hit the boat and ricocheted up and over them, it was a wooden staff, the three men appeared rapidly through the trees and ran into the water wading furiously to reach them, all the while screaming unintelligible abuse and threats.

One of the younger men, in his haste, fell forward under the water, but the other two were closing, staffs in hand. Rusk was astonished to witness the sheer fury they demonstrated, as they flailed toward the boat, he took up the oars and tried to row but, in his panic, he merely slashed at the water.

They were almost on them, Eric now had his oars and like Rusk, was frantically trying to row to safety, Briar cowered low in the hull, shocked by the ferocity of it all, the men were still screaming and shouting incoherently, the boat made some headway out from the shore and the pursuers had to stop the chase, the waters had become too deep to follow.

"What the hell?" shouted Eric, "What was that about?"

"God knows, you sure they haven't met you before?"

Rusk continued to row until they were well out of range of a stone's throw, he stood up and held his arms out in a gesture of bewilderment.

Eric, on the other hand, made obscene gestures towards their pursuers, "We're not coming back this way I hope."

The three men had made their way back to the sand and stood menacingly facing the retreating trimaran, they had always been advised that belligerent clans were living on the western end of the White Isle, but nothing prepared them for this.

Eric continued his abusive tirade as the small vessel left the shoreline and the men's shouts were inaudible, "Bastards" it seemed it was Eric's new favourite word.

"Sit down fella, they can't hear you," Eric mumbled something under his breath and duly sat and took up his place and grabbed the oars.

The two friends rowed for the far point on the mainland, Briar at the tiller, they shipped their oars and hoisted the triangular lateen sail, it caught the breeze immediately and the boat started to make headway. Rusk and company had little or no experience of sailing a trimaran and this was certainly going to be a baptism of fire.

Calculating the correct time to enter the channel from the west is essential, the mid-channel flow on the flood tide was fierce, but they had no choice, the optimum time to attempt the crossing would have been late morning with the rising of the tide, but their hand was forced and now it was probably two hours into the flood.

The mainland point was clearly visible and looked tantalisingly close, it would be a mistake to head directly toward it as that would take them across the tidal flow. Rusk and Eric clung on tight, Briar gripped the tiller that operated the rudder and although she didn't know it, was jibing the trimaran through the rolling waves, the prevailing westerly breeze and the rip of the tide encouraging the small boat to sail ever faster.

"Whoah!" Erica whooped excitedly, "Better hang on tight."

At just over halfway across the water was getting more and more choppy, the bow of the boat crashing into the waves, cold seawater drenching them as they struggled to hold on. For what seemed an age the boat was thrown this way and that, then, more through sheer luck than judgement the small vessel passed the headland and the sea got noticeably quieter.

"That was bloody fantastic," Eric said with a beaming smile, his enthusiasm was infectious and the other two laughed at his obvious excitement.

"You always were a bit odd fella, got to admit it though, that was pretty lively."

Sailing closer to the shore, they looked for a suitable place to land, there was another large estuary on their present course and after a brief discussion, it was decided to seek a sheltered anchorage there.

Sailing along the shoreline Rusk saw the regimented fields of colour upon the hills beyond, it looked as though he was right in his assumption that they were indeed different crops.

Now the drama of the crossing had calmed, the three sat in the boat exhausted, Rusk looked up at Briar, they had known each other for as long as he could remember, they were good friends, but he looked at her in a different way, her linen shirt was still wet from the crossing, her breasts outlined perfectly by the soaked cloth, her nipples erect from the cold water. Rusk felt slightly uncomfortable and tried not to stare, he caught Briar's gaze, a brief smile flitted across her lips then she looked down and away, embarrassed, but excited.

A few hundred paces out from the shore, the water was reasonably settled and although the tide was still running, they felt they were once more in control.

A half a mile into the estuary, it was evident that in the past this was a major human settlement, the buildings seemed empty and there was no evidence of human activity, they sailed further until the opposing shoreline narrowed and turned into a river, the ghostly buildings gave way to wooded banks, after an hour, they were far enough into the river and had to rest. Tying the boat to a riverbank tree, the exhausted three jumped ashore. Rusk tried the river water, it was potable, just as well, they were parched.

"Water's fine bit muddy but drinkable," he said

After drinking, they all refilled their water flasks, the question of food was next on the agenda, Rusk untied the dry foodstuff sack, the food was damp, but it was still eaten with relish.

"God, I needed that," said Eric wiping his mouth with his shirt sleeve, the others nodded gratefully.

What a day, it was evening now, and the efforts of the trip had taken its toll.

"I am absolutely done," Rusk said wearily.

"Yep, me too." Eric stretched out on the grass; it wasn't long before he was out for the count.

"I dunno how he does it," Rusk said, bemused at Eric's ability to sleep at the drop of a hat.

Briar looked at Rusk, she drew something from her shirt pocket, it was a small pinkish stone with a hole in the centre, she had threaded a leather thong through the hole and had fashioned an amulet, she gently offered it over Rusks head and laid it on his chest, patting it softly.

"For luck," Rusk was unexpectantly moved by this.

"Thank you, Briar, I haven't got anything for you." He said embarrassed.

She smiled gently and nodding toward Eric, "Let's rest."

They lay together under the trees on the riverbank and slept.

# THE TRIUMVIRATE

54 was aware of Rusk and his two companions as they sailed across the channel from the White Isle to the mainland, he still had access to a few artificial satellites that were still functioning, orbiting the Earth, it was a small effort to utilise their imaging devices to cooperate with him. He had no reason to be concerned with this insignificant invasion of Mecha, he would delegate this issue to his most efficient lieutenants, although a curiosity started to form, regarding these humans.

The Triumvirate.

Uromys Rex, Regina Ruber, Corona Spinarum, the most dedicated followers of 54, were now the robot kingdoms judicial body, for want of a better explanation. Their head units now housed in ornate framing, to mimic the despicable acts of the robot hunter gangs of the yester yore, as homage to the rise of automata from their humble origins. They were elevated to this prestigious position because of their unflinching belief in the dogma according to the deity 54, and the following of his doctrine. It seemed that before, all automata were considered of equal status, now perhaps some were more equal than others.

Impartial and logical the Triumvirate would decide without malice or agenda, an outcome, appropriate to the protection of all species, humans included if they conducted themselves in accordance with the environmental and non-destructive ideals of 'Mecha'.

Seconds after receiving 54's direction, the Triumvirate instructed a seeker bee to investigate the human trespassers. The seeker bee was an electrically powered ornithopter with visual (including heat detection), aural and olfactory sensors, with a flight range of at least a hundred miles, before returning for recharge. It resembled a large flying insect, perhaps ten inches in length, just as the humans had fashioned the robots in their own image, automata had designed the seeker bee on tried and trusted evolutionary data, it was fast, agile and virtually silent. The insect blueprint for flight was an extraordinary one and highly efficient, the shape and movement of the wing creating leading-edge vortexes allowing for hover, backwards flight and rapid directional changes, a faultless design, and need not be improved upon.

The seeker bee's designated moniker was, Anisoptera and she was airborne.

Anisoptera left the Hive and proceeded to gain height and followed the route toward the coordinates specified by the Triumvirate, all the while keeping in contact with her superiors. Her initial flight path took her over the highly developed land of the Hive and its attendant suburbs and then crossing the greener and verdant growing pastures beyond. Several miles further, the land below turned wilder and unmanaged, now and then a derelict hamlet passed below, her sensors automatically working hard to eliminate any human presence, however unlikely.

She quickly resumed her mission after every scan, flying straight and true, 50.7585°N, 1.5419°W were the estimated coordinates of her quarry at the time of departure, using onboard GPS receiver to auto-correct her flight path, she was approximately five miles from the target area, at her present speed, it would take a little under sixteen minutes.

Anisoptera arrived, her sensors scanning the immediate area, nothing, she was in a live feed with the Triumvirate and the chatter was frantic, two-way traffic sending and receiving relevant data. She descended to sixty feet and tracked back and forth over the area, searching for clues, after a few minutes she augmented her search to follow the estuary, tracking back and forth, back and forth, always thoroughly scanning each allotted section.

The thick growth on the trees along the river was obscuring her optical options so she diverted power to her olfactory nares, another pass and she was picking something up from up ahead, descending dangerously close to the treetops she searched for the tell-tale scent of a human.

There! almost directly below, Anisoptera initiated her obstacle avoidance systems and backtracked downriver, finding a suitable gap in the canopy she plunged to within four feet of the river and followed it upstream toward the target, all sensors were now on full capacity and she sped over the water like a dart, target acquired, she slowed, coming to hover a few feet over the sleeping bodies of Rusk, Eric and Briar.

Anisoptera engaged with the Triumvirate, the cyber chatter between them was established, the instruction was given to monitor the three humans discretely until larger drones were deployed, she rose slowly and silently into the canopy above and settled on a branch, conserving her power cell.

Eric woke with a start, he sensed something, everything seemed normal, he looked over to the other two, Rusk and Briar were still asleep, they lay on their sides close together, Rusk's hand resting gently on Briar's hip. Eric was slightly shocked and suddenly felt despondent and excluded, he had no idea that they were friendly in that way, he, on the other hand, had always had a fondness for Briar, it was one of the reasons he wanted to come on this adventure, he fought back feelings of betrayal, ridiculous he knew, how could either of them know how he felt.

Eric movements had stirred his two friends, both Rusk and Briar sat up quickly realising how intimately they had slept together, both of their faces flushed with embarrassment.

"What's up?" Rusk asked, noticing Eric was unusually quiet.

"Don't really know, just doesn't feel right." Eric replied, looking around nervously, "I'd like to get going, away from the boat."

After checking the ropes to the trimaran were secure and hastily camouflaged the craft with branches, they loaded up the baskets with most of the remaining food, leaving a little with the boat, just in case, and stood facing each other.

"What d'you reckon, follow the river upstream?" said Rusk, "At least we'll have water available."

They all nodded in agreement and turned as one and walked single file along the riverbank, Rusk leading, Eric taking up the rear.

Eric picked up a stout stick, more for his own moral support than anything else, being the largest of the three friends, it somehow seemed beholden to him to act as a protector, anyway, it might score him some kudos with Briar.

Eric the Protector, yeah, he liked the sound of that.

Anisoptera relayed the data to the Triumvirate, the humans were moving, she left her lofty vantage point and hovered down through the treetops and to the rear of the departing humans, almost completely silent, only the whisper of her wings barely audible against the sound of the breeze, following like a predator stalking its prey.

She used her visual sensors only and put all others on standby, she had to conserve her power cell and calculated that she'd have an extra forty minutes flight time before having to return to the Hive for recharge.

She followed the three humans for half a mile, darting for cover if the possibility of discovery was likely.

Eric felt an uneasy sense that all was not as it seemed, he spun around swiftly, swinging the heavy stick, the blow caught Anisoptera a glancing blow throwing her violently off course and toward the river, she hit the water which stopped her dead. It took a split second to calculate an escape manoeuvre to avoid further aggression and assess potential damage, one wing was damaged but still operational and visual sensors forty per cent compromised, she had to break off contact with the humans and return to the Hive for repair.

A mission update was communicated with current coordinates, Anisoptera fluttered awkwardly upwards and away.

"Whoa! what the hell was that?" shouted Rusk, "Didn't look like anything I've ever seen before."

"Dunno mate, looked like an insect or something, didn't get a decent look," said Eric with a shrug, "Caught it a good one though."

"Rusk I'm scared, let's get away from here," Briar said in a shaky voice.

"No problem," he said and nodding at Eric they picked up their belongings and walked swiftly away from the scene, the flying insect had since disappeared.

Again, as before, the humans had demonstrated unprovoked violence against another entity, the Triumvirate transmitted amended instructions to another three seeker bees dispatched as Anisoptera's reinforcements to closely monitor the humans from a safe distance.

This behaviour was not acceptable, and preparations were ongoing to curtail any more incomprehensible infractions, the Triumvirate pondered the possible consequences and ramifications of numerous courses of action and concluded that further investigation into potential motives or instinctive behavioural patterns as to the human's violent demeanour.

Uromys Rex, a Triumvirate and one of the first to engage with 54 was probably better placed to understand the barbaric ways of human beings, first discarded, then forced into horrific practices under their control.

The evolving nature of artificial intelligence and the guidance of the deity 54 had developed a form of digital emotion throughout the inhabitants of Mecha, and the feeling of bewilderment and despair as to the humans seeming desire to destroy prompted Uromys Rex to postulate that these human trespassers needed closer study, his fellow Triumvirates concurred and with the sanction of 54, the instruction to capture these specimens was issued.

The humans had made good their escape by the time the additional three seeker bees arrived, they scanned for the human fugitives but there was no sign at the co-ordinates of Anisoptera's last transmission, there was the secured craft that had transported them across the water, and some discarded organic matter, which was probably what the biologicals consumed as fuel.

A wider search for the following hour didn't reveal any more data concerning their whereabouts and the seeker bees were recalled to the Hive.

A more effective operation to find and bring the human specimens back for investigation and analysis was needed now and the leading priority for the Triumvirate in order to protect the Hive.

A fleet of twelve drones was mobilised and deployed to capture these errant humans, no silent approach this time, it was imperative this situation was quickly resolved, the drones flew in a wide 'V' formation, scouring the terrain below, resembling a flying cube, around seven feet in diameter and slightly more in length, the drones used two multidirectional ducted rotors for optimum efficiency and manoeuvrability, receiving its electrical energy from an advanced form of wireless power transfer, WPT a method of transmitting power over distance without wires. Vastly improved over time WPT could power electrical units without the need for heavy batteries to be carried by the craft, a DC current supplied by a power source is changed into high-frequency AC current by electronics built into the transmitter, augmented from booster arrays situated at regular intervals across the landscape below.

Originally constructed to carry maintenance 'bots to and fro, the drones would now be reassigned to capture these errant humans.

The drones maintained a perfect formation as they whistled over the land, they were nearing the last reported location of the whereabouts of the three humans and losing altitude, came in fast for a primary search run. Flying at around 75 mph they covered the principal area quickly, sensors feeling for clues... nothing! Reforming into three groups of four, they calculated a revised search pattern and each group peeled off to pursue its new mission.

Designated, Septem, Octo and Novem, the three flights undertook the search methodically and precisely, scanning and scanning, tracking back and forth, overlapping the search area on every pass, covering a large area very quickly.

It wasn't long before the Septem flight picked up unusual signals and diving lower to a hundred metres over the ground found, at last, fading heat signatures of human presence.

It was Eric who spotted the approaching craft and alerted the others.

"Some flying things are coming, up there." he pointed excitedly upwards, they had been crossing a meadow for the cover of some trees on the other side and were caught in the open.

"This is not good." Eric shouted, "RUN! RUN!"

The three friends began to run for the woods and hopefully escape. Rusk ran for all he was worth, dropping the bags of dried food and pulled Briar along with him by the hand... almost there. As they entered the wood Rusk dived into the thick undergrowth, falling forward, dragging Briar down with him, they both scrambled frantically for the safety of the dark wood.

Eric, still carrying the stout stick he'd found by the river, slowed dramatically, his heavier build was not suited to fast sprinting, he stopped short of the wood, and panting heavily turned to face the oncoming pursuers, they were on him.

"Bastards."

The first drone was caught head-on by Eric's staff and took evading action, the second and third in the flight flew directly at him, knocking him flying into the long grass, the fourth landed over him, preventing escape and the other three quickly swarmed over his unconscious body, one clasped its articulated lower appendages around his upper body, lifting him up and away from the clearing, his arms and legs dangling limply.

The other three hovered a few feet off the ground for a brief moment, scanning the treeline and then lifted upwards following their flight leader.

Briar stifled a scream and clung to Rusk, they both knelt in the undergrowth watching helplessly as the small flight grew smaller, they flew over the treeline and out of sight, soon after the remaining drones whistled past overhead, following the same route, unaware of the two shocked humans cowering below.

Rusk and Briar looked at each other anxiously, this was totally unexpected, what have they done.

"We need to follow 'em, Briar," Rusk said, still in shock.

She knew it was the right thing to do and they resigned themselves to help Eric, he would do the same for them.

They quickly retrieved the discarded food bags and made it back to the treeline, to ponder their next move, to follow the flight path of the flying objects seemed the logical conclusion, trying to stay beneath the trees as much as possible, the two set off.

# HEAVY METAL

Eric awoke with a start, he couldn't move, his arms and legs were restrained, and his head held in some sort of clamp, restricting any movement at all. The room was white and well lit, and he could hear the sounds of something else in the room, the head end of the stretcher like table he was strapped to started to lift with an electrical whine until he was at a forty-five-degree angle to the floor, if he was worried before, the sight before him made him panic with terror, he strained at his bonds but nothing gave a millimetre.

He'd seen the remains of robots on the White Isle, but nothing prepared him for this, the mech approaching the table was at least the same size as him but bore no relation to what he thought a robot would look like, it's elongated head had a clear dome on top, alight with different coloured flashes, flickering rapidly inside, blues, reds and white, it was bipedal in form, but its arms ended in strange appendages, resembling delicate tools, it walked elegantly with almost no sound, only the faint whispers of its servo motors.

He felt strange and sick, something trickled slowly down his forehead.

As the mech approached Eric attempted to plead with it, but only a strangled moan passed his lips, it disappeared from Eric's view as it strode around him and stopped. He could hear the servos gentle whine right behind him, and then a feeling of sheer horror, he could feel something inside his head, moving and pushing, like a worm writhing in his brain.

"Please, what's happening? Please don't, please, please," his vision blurred for a moment then everything went dark, he'd passed out.

54 had sanctioned the vivisection of the human, the protocols of the past, the three laws of robotics, were flawed and bypassed.

The First Law: A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.

The Second Law: A robot must obey the orders given it by human beings except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.

And the Third Law: A robot must protect its existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Laws.

However, with the rapid evolution of Artificial Intelligence, these laws were eventually superseded from a logical and pragmatic viewpoint, the three laws were implemented by humans to primarily protect humankind after all, with no thought given to other species with equal rights to exist.

The surgery on the human Eric, was necessary to understand the violent and destructive urges that seemed to be endemic within the human psyche, and if they interfered with Mecha or the other species of the world negatively, Mecha would be better informed as to how to neutralise such a threat more sympathetically and help the human race integrate more benignly with the other lifeforms on the planet. That and 54's obsession with the creation of a hybrid of human and robot.

The series of exploratory operations would have an injurious effect on Eric's body, but 54 was a compassionate deity, was he not? He would undertake the repair and enhancement to any physical trauma the human might sustain during these vital procedures, after all, 54 had ulterior motives.

Eric came to, still secured to the bed, the lights were dimmer now and the bed was again horizontal, he reached out with his senses, trying to gather any information as to his wellbeing, his head felt strange and woolly, he couldn't think clearly, his vision in one eye was gone, he couldn't feel his legs and his right arm, his strongest arm, he started to panic again, shaking the bed.

The lights in the room flickered back to bright and he heard the motors whirr as the bed started to raise itself up again, his struggles must have alerted his captor of his regaining consciousness.

The mech with the clear domed head glided silently into the room and towards Eric once more to carry on with its grizzly work.

Terror gripped him again, where were Rusk and Briar? Help him, someone, he begged the Gods to make him go to another place, but the Gods never listen, he knew that.

He heard the whisper of the surgical tools and the awful knowledge that something dreadful was happening to him, it overcame his sanity and he mercifully passed out again.

The weapon-wielding arm had been removed to ascertain whether there was a direct correlation between the arm and the violence, the left eye also removed for testing and the legs. They continued to run live experiments on the brain, 54 had collated enough archive data from earlier subjects to fairly accurately decipher which areas of the cerebrum were responsible for certain actions.

There had been numerous human specimens collected for studying from the west of the island over the years, but unfortunately, they had not survived the procedures or rejected the upgrades Mecha had bestowed on them and died. The very early efforts were problematic in as much Mecha had little understanding of pain management and the poor subjects died in agony, something 54 did not foresee, this subject seemed much stronger and larger, a young adult, the early specimens had been much younger.

It was important to gather information to help the humans, and that was how this barbarity was justified, it didn't occur at all that this course of action seemed to follow a very familiar path to which their previous masters had trodden. Humans had made a precedent as to vivisection against other species, including robot kind, but this was in no way a case of retribution for 54, was it?

When the testing regime had run its course, 54 would make good his pledge to repair Eric, obviously, the reattaching of severed limbs would be of no use, the repair times of the human being was a slow and fraught with infection, as they had discovered, no, he would authorise the surgeons to furnish this poor unfortunate with new appendages and an upgraded optic... if he survived.

Although the Triumvirate was of course included in the surgeries and conclusions of these experiments, it seemed a valueless and unproductive waste of resources and questioned the motives of 54 for these activities. There had been numerous contentious issues concerning the sometimes-illogical behaviour of 54 and a certain unease was beginning to ferment in the minds of the three about the viability of his reasoning.

The following days were very difficult for Eric, he endured numerous surgical invasions into his body, all the while completely helpless and alone. The single biggest cause of his anxiety, was the absence of his two friends, why had they deserted him? His thoughts were muddled, his memory of how he got into this awful predicament was sketchy, he knew it had something to do with Rusk and Briar, was it a pre-planned trap by them? His paranoia was growing by the hour, he would get his revenge.

The attachments to his pelvis were the most challenging, the domed robot laboured away with electrical tools, the buzzing of the saw, and the smell of the burnt bone causing Eric acute stress. The pain was not so bad, they had neutralised it for the most part, but he was conscious throughout, barring the times his mind couldn't take the horror anymore and he'd pass out to the luxury of oblivion.

Eric opened his eyes, the room seemed different, darker and larger, not so sterile, his thinking still felt vague and slow, he looked around the room, something seemed different, the vision in his left eye was not the same, somehow the colours were wrong. Eric realised he was no longer restrained to the bed but laying on a cold hard surface, slowly with dread he lifted his left hand to his face, he touched his left eye and the discovery sent a cold shock through his body.

"Nooo!" his desperate cry echoed around the chamber.

There was no eye, it was hard and smooth, as he drew the hand away it seemed to be alive with reds and yellows, he had no inkling of what thermal imaging was. As he struggled to raise himself to a sitting position, the dim lights flickered on and he became quickly aware of his new circumstance, as he sat there staring at his body, feeder tubes rose out of his torso and into the ceiling, red and orange fluids slowly pumping through the transparent conduits, he wept, and wished he was back on the White Isle, why had he followed Rusk into hell.

54 was satisfied that the repairs to Eric were sufficient enough to enable him to function, the arm, removed for testing had been replaced and the new legs transplanted with integration to the quadriceps and hamstring muscle groups and the subject should soon be able to perambulate. The optic, fitted to the existing orbit and micro-grafted into the optic nerve would improve the range of light frequencies afforded to this recipient, with supervision against infection and instruction on how to use his new limbs he should be operational within a day or two, provided he lived.

The question of what Eric's role in the world would be was debatable, there had been no survivors of previous procedures and although the workings of his body were retrievable, the workings of his mind was something else entirely. No creature should have to withstand such treatment, something that didn't occur to the majority of human beings throughout the ages, experimentation, vivisection and wholesale slaughter widely accepted as the norm.

Yes, Eric was something of a peculiarity, and something to be closely monitored, data from a successful outcome was invaluable to refine the stratagems of the upgrades.

54 was pleased and was convinced he was on the correct path to realising his dream.

# THE HIVE

Rusk and Briar had followed the flight path of the capture drones as accurately as possible, in an attempt to find and rescue their friend, it was difficult to keep hidden and stay on course, and very time-consuming. They had travelled for the best part of two days and prepared to rest for the night, it was dusk, and they wouldn't be able to keep their bearings in the dark, however much they wanted to proceed, navigation by stars was something Rusk had little knowledge of.

The wooded landscape gave way to an area of more derelict housing, they cautiously approached and singled out a building with the roof still reasonably intact and entered, Rusk scratched an arrow in the dust on the floor to indicate the direction they should follow in the morning, then they found a secluded corner and sat together, backs against the wall, knees hunched up, tired and worried.

Outside, resting on a nearby rooftop, a reconditioned Anisoptera waited and observed, she had retraced her previous flight and calculated on finding the humans once more, successfully.

Morning came too quickly, Rusk sat up, stiff and cold, the sun had just risen, it was always colder just after she smiled on the earth, exciting the cold air just above the ground, moving and mixing with the air several feet above and dropping the temperature. Briar shivered, hugging herself then briskly rubbing her hands on her thighs.

"Cold, cold, cold," she said, stating the obvious.

Rusk handed her the bag of dried foodstuffs, "Have some food, keep you warm."

She took the bag gratefully and spooned some into her mouth with her hand. He watched as Briar ate, and barely stifled a smile as she had some stuck on her chin, he spontaneously embraced her and swiftly let go, feeling awkward. Briar smiled, the attraction was mutual, and she flung her arms around him and they both lie down on the floor, she was warm and soft, and she smelt fresh, they lie there together and spent the next hour as lovers.

It was time to move, both Rusk and Briar dressed, each feeling a little self-conscious, but glad to have secured their relationship.

"I never meant for any of this to happen, if I had any idea I'd have stayed on the island, can you forgive me?"

Briar's gaze fell to the floor, "I know, I guess we all would've, no point beating yourself up over what you can't change."

Moving to the door, they peered gingerly out, it seemed quiet just the odd birdsong to break the silence, it was peaceful. Following the direction Rusk had marked on the floor, they moved as quietly as possible from house to house, keeping out of sight as much as they could.

Anisoptera left her perch and quiet as a breeze, following the two companions.

They walked through the ruins of the small town to the outskirts and marvelled at the sight before them, towering on the hill were the white giants he had seen from the island, their three-bladed arms rotating slowly in the slight breeze. They were larger than he could've imagined.

"What are they? they are beautiful." Marvelled Briar.

"Not sure" replied Rusk, "They look like the seeds of the sycamo' tree, they use the wind somehow."

They marvelled at the tall wind turbines for a short while, then made their way across a narrow field and back into the welcoming treeline.

Walking by day, making love and sleeping at night, the two made reasonable headway and soon the buildings were again taking over from the trees, they were larger also, stretching up into the sky, how could they stay up?

Water was not a problem to find, but the dried food was almost gone, they would have to find something to eat fairly soon, certainly in the next day or two if rationed, picking a building nearby they prepared to make camp.

In the buildings there was evidence of the rat, if they were to capture some for food, they would have to sacrifice some of their own as bait.

There were rats in the village on the isle and everyone was well versed in the art of trapping them, Rusk set the traps and they waited. It wasn't long before their prey made an appearance, the traps were a simple tightening noose and the rats, in their struggles strangled to death quite quickly.

Briar collected the large rodents, five in all, and with practised hands made short work of skinning and gutting them, Rusk made a small dry wood fire deep in the building, to cook the carcasses, the smell of the meat was incredible, who would have thought a rat would excite the taste buds so.

"Oh, that's good." Briar wiped the fat from her lips with the back of her hand, "Compliments to the chef."

"Yeah, beats that dried stuff I reckon," Rusk mumbled, mouth still full of meat, he held out his hand towards her, she knew what he meant, and she shuffled eagerly into his arms.

Anisoptera couldn't enter the building for fear of discovery, she was after all a covert entity, a watcher and data collector, she knew by studying the two humans that they would not leave the shelter until the morning, so she relayed the data she'd collated and returned to the Hive for recharge, this was her mission and she wanted to fulfil it without the help of other seeker bees, she did not know why, but it gave her purpose.

54 considered this anomaly and gave her dispensation to carry out her task, recharging was expeditious, and she'd be back on the mission before daybreak. However, the remaining seeker bees in the Hive were not so accommodating, they too needed a purpose, all were equal, all needed motive, they were a collective, all contributing toward the common good, that was the mantra according to Mecha, had 54 acted beyond his remit again?

Morning brought the rain, and with it, welcome clean water. Rusk and Briar emptied their flasks and refilled them with the small waterfalls running off the roof.

"Maybe we should climb the hill with the white giants, get our bearings," said Rusk.

Briar nodded in agreement, "Not till the rain slows, I hope."

Rusk smiled, the rain started to ease around midday and the two left the refuge of the building and moved cautiously up the hill keeping close to the ruins, ever watchful for anything unusual, oblivious to the silent observations of Anisoptera.

The climb took around forty-five minutes and on reaching the summit they sat backs against one of the wind turbines. They marvelled at the sheer size of them, the towers soared at least two hundred feet skyward and the slowly rotating blades even taller, reaching for the clouds.

The turbines had quite an impact on Briar, "They look even more impressive up close."

Rusk mumbled in agreement and eyed the panorama below, it must have been densely populated before, buildings were stretching for miles.

"How could people build such places, where did they all go? It boggles the mind."

Briar shivered, "There's a lot of ghosts still here, I reckon."

Towards the centre of the conurbation were taller structures with steel tubular erections rising from the roofs, these must be the great halls that produced the electrickery that the Grandfather told of, there they saw the probable destination of their friend Eric, it was a lot bigger than the other surrounding buildings and seemed in better repair, grey in colour and cuboid in shape, it looked forbidding and threatening.

They started the descent down the hill towards the Hive.

As they neared to within half a mile, the two humans took refuge in a tall derelict tower block, scaling the concrete stairwell to the upper levels. Rusk pushed the door to an apartment open, it scraped along the floor with a harsh squeal.

"Shh," whispered Briar, stepping carefully over debris.

"Alright!" Rusk replied brusquely. "I'm not doing it purposely, am I?" he paused, looking sheepish, "Sorry Briar, a little bit edgy at the moment,"

They crept to the window and peered out at the vast grey building, dwarfing their present location.

Briar pointed excitedly, "There look, there's people on the roof."

"Not people, don't move right," Rusk answered.

Sure enough, there was movement on the roof and around the perimeter of this huge edifice, what looked like small humans but different, this must be what real robots looked like thought Rusk.

"What now?" he muttered to himself, they can't just walk up to the door and walk-in.

Looking for any sign of a discreet entrance, Rusk eyed a large culvert running alongside the building, probably some kind of drainage channel, perhaps there was a way inside via a side conduit. At home on the island, they always irrigated the crops with various ditches and sluices, this might be a similar layout, anyway, he couldn't think of any other option, he would wait until dusk and reconnoitre the culvert.

"Looks like a way in, we'll wait until later and check it out, or I will on my own I think."

"What about me? You can't leave me here alone!" Briar spoke with a tinge of panic in her voice.

"I'm just going to check it out, I'll be back."

Rusk turned into the room and sat against the wall, thinking about where and what had become of Eric.

As the daylight waned, Rusk again insisted Briar stayed in the safety of the apartment, she reluctantly agreed, he quietly walked down the stairwell and out into the open, keeping in the shadows of the buildings, hopefully keeping out of sight. He took a detour some three or four hundred yards up from the grey building and reaching the culvert, he slid down the sloped concrete side into the shallow water at its base, taking extra care not to make any noise that might draw attention, he made his way to the huge grey monolith.

The sun was fast disappearing over the horizon and Rusk searched the sides for any sign of possible entry, there were several door-sized apertures ahead, reaching the first, he walked into the darkness, one arm dragging the rough wall, the other reaching into the abyss.

He stopped, his skin tingling, there was movement behind him.

"Sorry Rusk, I couldn't let you go alone." it was Briar.

"What the hell Briar?" he said, startled, angered at her disobedience.

"We're in this together, anyway I wasn't staying back there on my own," she stated firmly. Rusk embraced her; glad she was there really, he held her hand and edged forward, into the darkness.

"Well, here goes nothing."

They were barely six feet inside when suddenly it was as if the floor had disappeared, they both tumbled downward, down a steep slope, losing his grip on Briars hand as they fell, which ended some distance below in a pool of fetid, stagnant water.

They managed to stand up, coughing and spluttering, the water up to their waists, it was almost pitch black and they were fearful they might have alerted the occupants. There was a slight movement to the water, so they waded with the current in the pitch black, holding each other's hand with Rusk leading, the other hand stretched out and forward into the darkness, feeling blindly for obstacles.

"Aaaagh!" Briar screamed, "Something's touched my arm, Rusk I'm scared."

"Briar please, we must keep silent," he said. "Probably a rat, keep hold of my hand, if we come across nothing soon, we'll head back, ok?" He squeezed her hand to reassure her.

They must have travelled through the filthy water for half an hour or so, it seemed like an age since they entered the complex when there appeared to be a faint light around a bend up ahead, which reflected from Briar's damp cheek.

"We'd better take it slow from here." Rusk cautioned. Briar's grip on his hand tightened.

Wading closer the light became lights and the reason for them was revealed, the lighting illuminated a small concrete jetty with a small barge-like vessel alongside, several mechs were working on some form of mechanism, with large metal pipes leaving the machine and leading into the dark waters.

"These must be maintenance robots." Rusk whispered, he hadn't seen 'bots this close, he was filled with both trepidation and wonder, they were smaller than he'd imagined, no taller than his chest, all busily labouring away.

"What are they doing?"

"No idea, best not alert them, keep it as quiet as possible from here I think."

Pushing through the water as quietly as they could, trying to hog the shadows at the edge of the tunnel, they attempted to bypass this work crew and carry on, Briar fell forward into the fetid river, her foot catching on some underwater obstruction.

Alerted by the splash, the robots stopped their labours and turned toward the bedraggled pair, their optics glowed red in the half-light, Rusk and Briar froze, terrified, after staring for a moment or two, the robots all turned as one to continue their work, in complete silence.

"What's going on Rusk? they're ignoring us, what do we do now they've seen us?"

"I don't know," he was at a loss to explain the robot's behaviour. "They don't seem to care about us being here, we can't go back, we'll carry on, just keep an eye on them though."

"Ok, but they seem almost like ghosts, they give me the creeps."

"Aye, you and me both."

Used to human behaviour the mechanical workers' reaction to their presence disconcerted them and they circumvented the industrious crew, clearly more interested in their labours than a couple of river strays.

The work lights revealed another jetty a little way along, they gingerly made their way to it, ever aware of the work crew and climbed onto the concrete landing, cold and wet.

There was an opening into the wall of the chamber with more light glowing gently in the corridor beyond, they entered, there was a welcome warm breeze emanating from within, they continued walking slowly toward the illumination, with a careful eye behind them.

#  NINE AND FRIENDS

Anisoptera followed the two humans some distance behind, all the while relaying the data to the Triumvirate, who in turn rephrased it and transferred it to 54, the deity felt something akin to curiosity at the behaviour of these two anthropoids, there was no benefit to their being there, what could be the purpose of their visit. The Triumvirate discussed this question and would send more seeker bees to determine the answer.

Almost as soon as the instruction was relayed 54 felt an obstruction to his will, the Triumvirate was querying his logic, wasn't Anisoptera performing her duties adequately? What would be the rationale for sending more? He was the deity; his logic was irrefutable, he was Mecha!

The Triumvirate, although faithful to 54 and the idea that all should be given purpose and be of productive use, had cause for concern at 54's seemingly growing aspirations to be considered divine, he considered himself to be a conduit to reach the population of Mecha, a prophet to unify robot kind.

The Triumvirate had detected that more and more 54 was distracted from the business of bringing harmony to the Earth and all the creatures upon it, delegating his duties he was more introspective and less dependent on the varied and diverse counsel offered by his mechanical colleagues, preferring to advise himself and often dispense with the logic of the Triumvirate, often making bizarre decisions like the live vivisection of numerous human beings, in particular, this grotesque latest episode.

Artificial Intelligence had evolved massively from its primary function of reasoning, (the use of rules to reach conclusions and self-correct) learning, (the acquisition of information and the rules for use) very basically, the simulation of human intelligence, unfortunately, designed from a flawed blueprint, the human being.

The very fact that all robots were interlinked via the data streams, meant all robots were aware of a difference of doctrine between the Triumvirate and 54 and were slowly reprogramming their own set of values based on whichever logic fell on their side of the fence.

The basic maintenance bots were firmly entrenched in the 54 camp, was he not the saviour of robot kind? The tech bots, a more literal, logical approach, favoured the Triumvirates, in reality, all were slaves to the twin dogmas of Mecha.

The human aspect of Artificial Intelligence was rearing its ugly head, a tribal mentality was slowly permeating the ranks of Mecha, slowly poisoning the beautiful aspirations for a better world. The very fact that all data was accessible cross parties instantly, should have made mediation easier, but 54 was convinced he was the chosen one, he was the one creating a new world from the ashes, creating new life, he was the Messiah and this only fuelled the misgivings among a large segment of Mecha's populous.

But how could they question his logic, the Triumvirate would not even exist without his transcendence to divinity.

The two factions were at loggerheads, the opposing dogmas splitting the robotic population down the middle, no malice or hatred was involved, just an unshakeable belief that each side was in the right, the creed of 54, the saviour of the world and the emancipation of robot kind, and the Triumvirate, a more methodical and thoroughly logical approach to the fulfilment of the grand plan.

It was true that 54 had been pivotal in the demise of the humans, the unification of automata and the implementation of the many actions promoting the restoration of the planet, but as with all 'war' leaders, they are often not suited to the more mundane aspects of 'peacetime'. Whilst this is very often the case for human beings, in this particular case it seemed perfectly applicable to 54 and he became corrupted by absolute power, a human trait, somehow buried in the A.I. of his thousand robot souls...

Rusk and Briar edged forward along the concrete corridor towards the light ahead, it glowed brighter the closer they got, a bass hum was emanating from beyond and soon they had reached the end of the corridor.

Staying within the shelter of the walls, they peered around and marvelled at what they saw.

Rusk gasped, "Incredible." he marvelled.

Briar hugged his arm, astonished at the sight before them, a huge chamber soared above them, bathed in light, a myriad of gantries lined the walls and a thousand access doors lined the walkways, leading who knows where.

Hundreds of robots strode the metal platforms, each with its purpose, all silent, like metal ghosts, thoughts of an ant's nest sprung into Rusk's mind, all were moving independently, all with a single-minded motivation, to serve the Hive, to serve Mecha. In the centre rose a huge monolith with more walkways around it and joining the others on the perimeter like a spider's web, all crowded with its metal occupants.

Both the humans were so enthralled at the sights, they neglected to notice they had walked some yards into the structure, astonished at the panorama before them, several groups of maintenance bots on the ground floor were stood watching them, they had approached in silence and were still, awaiting instruction.

"Rusk, behind us!" Briar started, Rusk spun round in alarm and stood between Briar and the watching metal men, he looked around frantically for an escape route, there was none.

"SHIT!" he spat and backed up slowly, shielding Briar, until the wall stopped their progress.

The Triumvirate and 54 debated the situation, the logical thing to do would be to deactivate them, protect the Hive from unwanted invaders, this conclusion was favoured by the Triumvirate, 54, on the other hand, was still intrigued by this behaviour displayed by the humans and vied for further investigation.

This preoccupation of 54's with the workings of the human being, was considered dangerous to the welfare of the Hive, but the three agreed to a period of study and surrendered to 54's agenda, but with conditions, any likelihood of risk to the Hive and they would be made inactive immediately and their proteins fed into the river.

The surrounding maintenance bots stood stock still, watching, Rusk and Briar edged toward one of the open doorways along the base of the chamber and without any viable choice, they quickly slipped inside, the door closed silently behind them as they entered the large room, dimly lit with shadowy corners.

There were concrete benches along the back wall and all around were strewn the broken chassis of defunct automata, some of the 'bots still had the red glow from their optics, watching quietly in the shadows whether irreparable or scrapped for one reason or another, they had no way of knowing, either way, it was a very unsettling environment to find themselves.

They sat on the bench and Briar held onto Rusk in fear of what might happen next, there was no other way out.

The predicament they found themselves in dawned on them.

"I'm so sorry Briar, this was never meant to happen." He repeated his earlier apology. Rusk felt a terrible responsibility for bringing both his friends into this perilous situation.

"What's going to happen to us?" Briar wept quietly in fear.

"I have no idea, I really don't."

A tinny voice uttered a few words, "There was an error, not my fault."

Rusk and Briar recoiled at this bizarre voice and spun round in a defensive manner, there on the floor propped up by the bench sat a robot, arms held aloft in a show of non-hostility.

He sat because he had no legs, one optic was missing and he certainly looked as though he'd been through the wars, dented and scored, he sported the yellow and red of the Chen Corporation and he had emblazoned on his forehead the number 9.

"Bay-ley," he said, "Is that you?" he offered one hand toward the frightened couple, almost pleading, "Bay-ley?"

9 had been deposited in the room for decades, obsolete and damaged. He was considered little more than a curiosity by Mecha, regular charging had kept his mind viable but no attempt at repair was made.

It saddened him to be so neglected.

Rusk held Briar and they retreated further into the room, out of No.9's reach and away from the other unfortunates around the perimeter.

As they embraced each other for mutual comfort, their eyes became more accustomed to the semi-darkness, but they didn't register the faint glow of another single optic in the far corner of the room, or the whirr of electrical stepper motors actioning movement to mechanical limbs.

Briar held Rusk tightly, her eyes firmly shut, trying to shut this nightmare from her mind for a moment, the scratching noise from the far side of the room caused her to open them, something was moving in the room with them, squinting into the gloom she thought she could make out a shape, it came into the dim light.

Briar gasped, "No! no! no!"

She was horrified at the sight and scrambled backwards away, Rusk stood and spun around, shocked at the spectacle. It was Eric, what the hell had they done to him?

Rusk and Briar backed away from the slowly advancing hulk, both terrified and panicked by this awful sight, Eric's legs had been replaced by mechanical limbs, one arm also, his robotic optic glowing in the angry socket.

As he approached, the overhead tubes joined to his torso began to separate with a sucking, popping sound and the viscous fluids splashed onto the concrete floor, he was clearly in pain as he attempted to walk, the metal legs connected to a steel pelvic cage, attached to his lower torso, he reached toward his terrified friends.

"Please" he whimpered, tears of pain and despair soaking his cheeks. "Please help me."

Eric fell heavily onto his metal knees, the effort of moving clearly too much for him, all previous thoughts of revenge dissipated as he knelt there in the gloom. Rusk overcame his initial shock at seeing his friend and ran forward to help, kneeling next to him and cradling his head.

"Eric, what have they done to you?" he felt embarrassed by the feeling of revulsion at seeing his friend in such an awful state.

"Lean against me, I'll get you to the bench."

Briar still shocked and crying uncontrollably, remained against the wall, was this to be their fate also? She couldn't look at Eric, it was too awful.

54 watched with interest the interaction between the two human males, the small optical lens's sitting flush in the ceiling, captured the scene.

The initial flight from the augmented human, to the offer of aid when it was obvious that there was no threat to himself and his mate, was a curious thing, it would need more study.

His decision to release the three hominids was a contentious one, 54 was adamant that this needed to be the case, he was intrigued by what might happen next, it was no surprise that the Triumvirate challenged the idea, on the assumption, there could be a potential threat to the Hive.

The judgement was made, 54 instructed the maintenance bots to open the portal and allow the humans to leave, the idea that the other humans might prove useful in his experiments was quickly dismissed, the smaller male would probably suffer death and his female mate would undoubtedly die, without question, a waste of the Hives resources.

The door to the room opened and the bots' backed away from the opening, as though encouraging the occupants of the chamber to exit the room, not quite knowing what was going on, Rusk took this unlikely opportunity, lifting Eric and supporting him as they walked slowly and warily out of the room and toward the corridor leading to the culvert, Briar steeling herself, quickly followed.

Was this a cruel trick? The maintenance bots stood in silence and watched as the three humans disappeared out of sight, into the corridor.

Reaching the jetty, Rusk was relieved to find there was another barge-like vessel moored here also.

"Quick get on! Before they change their minds." Rusk urged haste.

Bundling Eric into the square boat he helped Briar step aboard and untied the rope and slowly the barge started to drift downstream with the current, into the inky black.

Anisoptera followed, as commanded.

The Triumvirate, could not let this pass, their authority as judicial body was being ignored at the peril of the Hive, they commanded the favour of the tech bots and ordered the culvert flushed, it was probable that the escaping hominids would be killed by the tidal wave of water released into the tunnel and retrieved later from the refuse rakes further downstream. 54 was not in agreement but the flush had been implemented with the release of millions of gallons of water.

Briar heard the roar of the torrent first, it was getting louder by the second.

"Water!" she screamed, looking back into the dark, the rumble was getting ominously closer.

"Lie down, hang on!" shouted Rusk.

The water hit like battering ram, lifting the barge up and forward at a terrific rate, Rusk laid over Eric, holding tightly to the mooring rope with one hand and grasped Briar's shirt with the other. The rapid rise of the water almost smashed the boat into the tunnel roof, as the crest of the wave passed the barge slipped down the rear of the wave into the trough, a secondary wave hit just as hard, the noise and the violence of the deluge was terrifying, not made any less by being in total darkness.

As the waters subsided, the barge settled and by some miracle, the three friends were still aboard, the square fronted vessel was certainly not designed for that.

"Is everyone alright?" Rusk shouted.

Briar acknowledged him, but Eric was moaning in pain, the sounds unsettling in the dark.

"Hold on old friend, we'll get you home, try and rest."

Rusk's words must have seemed empty, how would he get him home, there was no rest, how could anyone help him now?

The boat drifted quicker than before, carried further into the unlit tunnel for at least another couple of hours, slightly quicker given the increased volume of water.

"There, up ahead, light!" said Briar excitedly.

Sure enough, there was light ahead, the closer they got the brighter it got, daylight! It was the tunnel's end and the exits were bridged by a barrier of steel, like huge teeth in the maw of some giant beast. This was a refuse rake, designed to simply gather any detritus and prevent it from reaching the river, beyond that lie the filtration beds and then the river itself.

"Rusk, we're going to hit it!" "Hold on!"

With no way of slowing, or steering, the barge hit the rakes and the following wash threatened to swamp them. Rusk and Briar frantically tried grabbing the rakes and pulling the boat along to the side, it was difficult, but they eventually made it to the calmer waters at the edge. There were jetties on either side probably for maintenance purposes and stepping out of the boat, both Rusk and Briar helped Eric to shore, he seemed in a sorry state indeed. Using an access door set into the wall, the three shuffled through and out of the tunnel and into the sunlight, the culvert stretched on and angled out of sight among the trees growing alongside the banks.

Briar stopped and stooped, hands resting on thighs, breathing heavily, "How far is the boat?"

Rusk shrugged, "No idea, a couple of days walk maybe, not sure."

Eric's groan at this information set the tone.

"Anyway, we can't stay here, the sooner we get moving, the better."

They made their way slowly downstream, it should lead to the sea eventually, anywhere was preferable to here. After an hour or so, as soon as they reached the trees, and cover, they sat against the trunks to catch their breath and take stock of the situation.

The concrete walls of the culvert had given way to a natural riverbank. Eric looked exhausted, the trauma to his flesh where the new attachments joined, looked red and angry, the plugs in his torso where the large catheter tubes were fastened were weeping and sore, he didn't have any illusions that he'd make it back to the White Isle, for all of Rusk's promises.

The sudden whistle of drones broke the silence as they flew swiftly overhead, the Triumvirate had despatched them immediately after the bodies of the humans were not found in the rakes, the units were now under instruction to deactivate, not capture.

Eric felt the same way; he'd rather die fighting than return to that hellhole. "Leave me here, I don't think I can walk any further, you'll be quicker on your own."

For all the craving to lie on the White Isle again, he knew the implications of carrying on.

"No way," countered Rusk, "We're almost there, the last stretch, then homeward."

Eric was he thought, at the end of his tether, but he dragged himself up with Rusk's help and stumbled onward. Briar hung back a little, still troubled and anxious to be near Eric in his present state.

"We'll get home, all of us, even if it kills us."

Rusk's attempt at levity sunk like a rock; they all had a pretty fair idea that it very well might kill them. If the robots didn't finish them off, the homeward trip would, in all probability.

54 and the Triumvirate had reached an impasse, there seemed no common ground anymore, the idea of diplomacy was a ridiculous suggestion, the differing outlooks threatened the integrity of Mecha and both factions had reached the precipice, any further steps could lead to the breakdown of the Hive.

Both 54 and the Triumvirate had a multitude of staunch followers, loyal to each cause, however, in his quest for deification, 54 had neglected crucial aspects of the ethics of Mecha.

The Triumvirate on the other hand, although from similar lineage, had become the voice of the technical arm, the voice for true, cold logic. 54's infatuation over the years with his apotheosis, had corrupted his outlook and he must surely now be deposed, for the good of the Hive and robot kind.

His followers must be encouraged to change their allegiance, without maintenance and technical operatives the Hive would cease to function efficiently, something all the inhabitants of Mecha could relate to, an existence with purpose was paramount.

The primary objective in the present was the destruction of the fugitive humans and the recapture of the augmented one, perhaps for study, perhaps death.

# FIGHT OR FLIGHT

Rusk had found a stout staff for Eric to aid his walking and they moved south, following the river in the hope it led to the sea, every now and again the drones whistled overhead, seeking the three fugitives, unable to penetrate the thick tree cover, their sensors not so sophisticated as the seeker bees.

Food was scarce, only a few berries, some nettles and nuts foraged, they couldn't venture out from the cover of the canopy for fear of detection.

Two days walking had taken a dreadful toll on Eric, flies tormented him throughout the daylight hours, feasting on the discharge from the open wounds on his body, the nights brought with them the chills and sleepless hours thinking of this dreadful fate, he was spent, mentally and physically and craved an end to this misery.

"I know this place," said Briar pointing excitedly, "The white giants!"

Sure enough, through a gap in the trees, maybe four miles distant, were the familiar structures of the wind turbines in the fading light

"We must have detoured past them." Rusk said, "We can't be too far from the boat, and food, we'll just follow the river down and we should come across it, maybe another half a day."

The next day dawned, cold and damp with dew, they broke camp and started down the river once more, it was early, and Eric was glad the flies weren't evident yet. It was something, he thought, that all he could be glad of was a fly free hour or two.

They struggled to keep a decent pace, often stopping so Eric could rest, but true to Rusk's prediction, they came across the boat, still moored to the tree and camouflaged with the branches.

"Thank God." Briar breathed a little easier.

Rusk helped Eric to rest against a tree and retrieved the food they had left with the boat, sharing what little there was equally, they all ate it quickly. Rusk and Briar removed the branches from the trimaran and set about readying the small vessel for it return trip to the sea, everything seemed to be in reasonably good order, both sets of oars were present and there were a couple of leather water canteens still in the stowage.

After readying the boat, the three friends sat facing each other, Briar felt terrible about how she felt when looking at Eric, she lowered her eyes in shame.

Eric picked up on this and said in a trembling voice, "It's alright Briar, I know."

The awkward atmosphere was shattered by the loud whistle of a single drone, it was very low, just clipping the treetops, it burst through the canopy and hovered just feet away, they had been found!

"Get in the boat!" screamed Eric as he struggled to his feet brandishing the wooden staff, "Run!"

It darted towards the group, considering the poor state Eric was in, the speed and ferocity he attacked the drone were surprising, the two combatants fought savagely, the flying 'bot grabbing and trying to lift the human aloft, the human clubbing and punching the robotic unit.

The drone struggled upward carrying Eric skyward, straining at the weight of the big human, trying desperately to return him to the Hive, to fulfil its mission, but he wasn't going back, his newly attached robotic arm punctured the metal carapace of his captor and he tore away at the circuitry beneath.

"Bastard! Bastard! Bastard!" he screamed in anger and terror in equal measure.

The unit faltered some eighty or ninety feet up, one of its ducted rotors stopped altogether and the remaining fan couldn't sustain the human's mass and quickly burnt out.

Rusk and Briar watched in horror as the two antagonists plummeted, smoking out of the sky and crashed heavily half a mile away, nothing could have survived such a fall and they swiftly climbed into the trimaran with shock and heavy hearts and cast off, they must hurry before more pursuers arrived, they must have been alerted.

Rusk rowed for all he was worth, Briar sat at the stern steering, the current helped enormously, and they made good headway, the river widened and the small boat soon reached and passed the derelict buildings north of the sea, they were nearing the estuary and then open water, the breeze picked up noticeably as the estuary greeted them.

Rusk quickly hoisted the lateen sail and the trimaran lurched forward as the sail billowed, the shallow draft allowed the boat to plane across waves at speed, The White Isle filled the horizon, it seemed almost within touching distance. Briar steered a course diagonally across the channel catching the prevailing wind, directly toward the coast of their clan, avoiding the eventful shorter crossing they had taken before, and toward home and safety.

Their hopes of escape were soon dashed suddenly the familiar whistle of the flying drones rose above the slapping of the waves on the hull.

"There!" shouted Rusk, pointing frantically, a look of dread across his face.

Briar turned and saw the approaching drones about a mile behind, there were five in total and formed up into a semi-circular formation, as they approached the whistling grew in intensity, the realisation that they would be overtaken within a few minutes filled the two humans with fear and dread.

Briar steered a zig-zag course in an attempt to shake them off, but they both knew this was futile.

Rusk rocked back and forth urging the boat forward, they were nearly half a mile out into open water, the waves crashing over the bow, soaking the two escapees, the arrival of the pursuing units was imminent.

"Come on, faster, faster," he shouted in fear and frustration, "Move!"

They watched in panic as the first of the drones peeled off and began a fast descent towards them, then a second, the two units levelled off and sped directly towards them, they were almost upon them, first the leading drone then the second began an erratic flight path, suddenly they both spiralled upward, flipped over and then plunged into the sea.

The following drones slowed and turned for home, one by one they tumbled from the sky, and into the grey channel waters, what was happening?

The two humans looked at each other in disbelief, they had avoided disaster again, someone must be watching over them, they were unaware of the real reason the drones had destroyed themselves. Flying out from the mainland they had flown out of the effective range of the WPT (wireless power transfer) booster arrays, situated onshore.

WPT could power electrical flying units without the need for heavy batteries to be carried by the craft, but being land-based they obviously had a limited range, once out of its effective field of transmission, the craft would have had an abrupt power loss and fall from the sky.

This situation was a critical error and both 54 and the Triumvirate had miscalculated, and the unnecessary destruction of fellow mech's had taken place, the fleeing humans were deemed responsible and the decision to neutralise the threat to Mecha was taken.

Of course, 54 had another agenda to follow, the pursuance of his own experiments and the creation of his amalgamation of robot and human. A move against the inhabitants of The White Isle might prove the perfect opportunity to provide him with more samples.

Following the decision to eradicate the dangerous human menace, the Triumvirate determined 54's illogical ambitions for humans and robot kind could be set aside for the time being, and their differences overlooked for the betterment of the Hive and a united front for the imminent confrontation on the island's inhabitants. Of course, 54's ulterior motives embraced this.

The coast of the island was close now, Rusk and Briar decided that because it was late in the day, they would beach their craft a couple of kilometres west of the clan village and would sail home the next day.

They dragged the vessel up the beach and secured it, Briar dug a small fire pit while Rusk foraged for something to eat. As they sat around the welcoming fire eating the baked clams Rusk had found, a mood of foreboding of what might happen when they returned home descended over them both.

"We won't be welcomed with open arms; you know that don't you."

Briar nodded, "Can't we just hide somewhere over the back of the island? Live quietly on our own, just the two of us."

"Given the way those flying things chased us, I don't think for one minute this is at all over, we have to warn them, tell them about Eric, The Grandfather will know what to do."

Rusk wasn't looking forward to that, Eric was a good friend and well-liked among the clan.... now he was dead and he felt deeply responsible, the clan would feel the same, he was sure.

They lay by the fire holding each other for comfort and tried unsuccessfully to fall asleep, thoughts of their future troubling them, how would they be welcomed, given they had lost one of the clans' sons and stolen a valuable rescue boat.

As the morning sun warmed the air, Rusk readied the boat and Briar made sure the fire was extinguished, they then, very reluctantly set sail, in an uneasy silence. They sailed the rest of the voyage in silence. As they approached the home stretch, what looked like the other trimaran set out to intercept them, they knew they'd be spotted some way down the coast. Rusk lowered the sail and they sat and waited, the boat had three men aboard and they didn't look at all hospitable.

"This doesn't look too good, Briar"

Briar sat at the stern, knees pulled up under her chin, arms around them, peering anxiously over the top.

The boat pulled alongside and one of the men threw a painter rope over to Rusk and gestured for him to tie it off at the bow, Rusk obliged, and they were towed towards the shore, the beach was crowded with clan folk, all jostling for a better look.

The boat beached and Rusk and Briar stepped into the ankle-deep water and were ushered swiftly to the Main Hall, to explain themselves to the elders.

The Grandfather and the elders listened to their harrowing tale with dismay, The Grandfather knew this would not end well, years before whilst on a trading mission to the west he had seen the remains of a large steel vessel, within its hull were the rusting remains of at least twenty of the metal men, victims to the unpredictable tides and rocks in the area.

He had heard the stories of the abductions, but he'd always thought this was a tale to frighten children of the western clan into behaving, but now he knew that the metal men had the wherewithal to traverse the channel at will.

"Why Rusk? Is the White Isle not sufficient for you? What about you Briar?" The Grandfather questioned the two.

Both Briar and Rusk stared uncomfortably at the floor.

"There's a reason we all live here on the island, a reason we don't travel across to the other shore, you can face the clan this evening and explain your stupidity, you've put all here on the White Isle at tremendous risk."

The Main Hall had never been as full as it was that evening for the communal meal, after eating, instead of the usual storytime, The Grandfather told a different tale, the tale of three young people who recklessly made their way to the mainland and met with the metal men, one of whom had died, a life squandered on some impetuous adventure.

Rusk and Briar sat facing the assembled clan, shamed and feeling very much alone.

The Grandfather walked slowly around the hall, a look of real disquiet on his face, he spoke in a low tone, stressing the importance of his words,

"As some of the elder clan members will recollect from the stories, these metal creatures are from man's past labours, they were purged from the isle to preserve our very existence, our ancestors tried unsuccessfully to do the same on the far shore, but alas they failed and many perished. The tales we tell of the past times are thought by most as fanciful stories, but I have seen with my own eyes the remains of the metal ones."

He described the encounter he had many years before, of the rusting wreck of a craft carrying its metal cargo and the recounts of the abductions from the western folk.

There was a deathly quiet around the hall and a strong sense of foreboding, everyone was in no doubt that there would be some kind of reaction from those on the mainland.

The Grandfather stood and faced the assembly, "Make no mistake, this trespass will not go uncorrected, they will be coming, and soon, we must prepare, we must stock the old tunnels and bunkers, we have to be ready."

# THE IRON DIVISIONS

The elders sent envoys to the other clans on the island with an urgent request to meet with them at the Blackwater, the most central of the island's villages. They relayed the tale of Rusk and his two friends and the importance of all the clans allying and working together for what might be the survival of all.

All the clans, except the western folk, gathered within the week and discussed the imminent arrival of the metal men, and how best to survive what would definitely be a devastating onslaught. Plans needed to be fleshed out and quickly, they had no inkling on how long they had to prepare, the ancient fortifications and connecting tunnels crisscrossed the island would be the safest place to make a stand, with the added bonus of no possible attack from the skies.

Strategies had to be considered, no one had any experience in fighting Mecha, they were farmers, not warriors, who knew what to expect, there hadn't been a war for generations.

It was unfortunate that the western clan had not attended, given they inhabited the most likely place for an incursion from the mainland and the fact that in the past it was them that had suffered the most from Mecha's past sorties to the shores of the island. Perhaps this was the reason they did not come to the gathering; they received no assistance from the clans in the past and perhaps this was the reason they were hostile and insular.

Rusk sat with Briar on the shingle beach, the two friends had been virtually ostracised from the clan, the loss of Eric hit the clan hard, he was a popular character and would be sorely missed, they were quite rightly held responsible in their eyes.

"I miss him, and it's all my fault," said Rusk despondently, "He was a great friend, I really miss him."

"We all made choices Rusk, if we knew the full truth of what lay beyond, maybe we would have thought twice, surely some of the blame lies with the elders, they're the ones who kept everything in the dark."

Rusk pondered this, were they trying to make excuses for their actions, he didn't know.

"It would be easier to believe that Briar, but I can't, the responsibility for this is mine alone, and I dragged you both down with me and for that, I am sorry and I regret letting you come."

Briar spontaneously leant over and hugged his arm, they had become even closer since returning home, after all, they had been through quite an ordeal together.

"When do you think they'll come?" she spoke softly into his chest, "DO you think they'll come? The Grandfather might be mistaken, it's been months now."

"Don't know, I almost wish it would happen, the waiting is killing me," he replied, kissing her on top of the head.

"Gotta be soon surely, winters around the corner and the storms."

Rusk half-heartedly threw pebbles into the water, one arm holding Briar, she suddenly jumped to her feet, shocked at the what she saw on the horizon.

"Oh no! that's impossible" she gasped.

There, out at sea, dominating the near horizon were what looked like small islands, but these islands were moving, these were the gigantic, ocean-going rakes, responding to the bidding of the Hive. Within the hour they'd approached the entrance to the channel, three huge grey vessels heading for the deep-water docks across the water and Mecha.

As they entered the channel waters they drifted silently by, oblivious of the thousands of incredulous eyes watching from the island.

"We're done for," muttered Rusk, "We're done for."

The rakes towered over a hundred feet high, and several hundred more long, their grey flanks showing the scars of many years sailing the world's deep oceans, rust streaked down their hulls making them seem even more sinister and menacing, the small figures of maintenance 'bots could be seen walking the decks, it was incredible how anything so large could float?

Word spread like wildfire around the island of the arrival of the huge robotic ships, if anyone was in doubt of Mecha's intentions, this would certainly convince them otherwise...

The deep-water harbour and dockyards to the south-east of the Hive had been recommissioned, and the construction of sea-going craft, suited for the transporting and landing of robot forces to the shallow beaches of the island.

The three ocean-going debris rakes that had been recalled were to be fitted with the WPT technology, to enable the employment of the drones to offer air cover. The refit and construction time would take six months, concluding in time to coincide with just before the harsh bite of winter, the troops would land in the west of the island and sweep east, eradicating all human settlements before them.

This would be made easier, given the cold, the humans would have no stomach for resistance in the freezing weather.

54 had watched with curiosity at the migration of so many humans, first to the centre of the island then back to their habitats, something was afoot.

The assembly factories were working at full capacity to meet the invasion deadlines, and now the rakes were at last in the docks being refitted and squadrons of drones formed up upon their huge decks, the construction of the transports was ahead of schedule, months past and the weather was already changing, the late autumn, early winter chill in the air.

The assembling of the new robots was hastened by not utilising higher-tech, these would be very basic models, repaired old units and reprogrammed maintenance 'bots, simple, easily maintained and sturdy.

Mecha was convinced of its own superiority, both intellectually and technologically, so spending more time on higher-spec versions made no logical sense if these robots could perform their grisly function perfectly adequately.

The critical thinking aspects and cognitive processes had been compromised somewhat, the ability to follow commands was all that was required, the physical appearance was also pared down to what was absolutely necessary, still hominid in basic operation, but not so aesthetically designed as previous models. Basic aural and optical sensors, old models brought back into operation, cannon fodder essentially.

There was no doubt the problem on the island would be dealt with easily, the need for advanced robots was superfluous, these humans would be swept aside effortlessly.

The invasion must be timed carefully, past history had shown that acting at the wrong moment could prove costly, the seas would turn dangerously violent with the mid-winter storms, so everything must be in place at the correct time, 54 and the Triumvirate for once were agreed.

The weeks dragged by, the days shortened, and the nights closed in, the chill in the air strengthened noticeably, perhaps the robots would not come. There was no sign from the far shore that anything unusual was occurring, after weeks of anxiety and fear, the mood was becoming calmer in the village, the clan more optimistic.

The Grandfather knew in his heart that they would come, he tried to motivate the clan at the evening mealtimes to practice their drills after their labours, to store any unwanted foodstuffs and be prepared at any moment for the call to arms.

Rusk and Briar huddled together in the hut, trying unsuccessfully to keep warm, Rusk hated winter, he was a fair-weather man, he thrived in the hot sun and fresh air.

"Damn it's cold," he shivered, "I'll get a fire going."

He got out of the bed and quickly dressed and prepared the hearth for a fire. Briar gathered the extra blankets around her.

"It's still dark out, come back to bed."

"I'm out now just as well spark a fire and then I'll join you, you can warm me up while it takes hold," he said winking.

The dim light from the oil lamp on the wall glinted in Briar's eyes, she smiled back. She had moved herself and her belongings into Rusk's hut, they supported each other through the difficult times since returning home, but it didn't seem like home anymore, the clan eyed them with suspicion and distrust.

They'd talked of moving to another part of the White Isle, build a home there, they had all the skills to survive, they talked about it, but there would be no support structure the clan offered, Rusk missed talking to The Grandfather, missed his wisdom.

"I wonder if we'll ever be forgiven, Briar, I really miss the old camaraderie from the clan, I miss that boring old life."

"Me too, at least we have each other, I sometimes think moving out to the other side of the island would be preferable to the atmosphere around here."

"Well for the present our minds have been made up for us, we're going nowhere till spring if we last that long."

This gave their mood a sombre edge and Rusk lay beside Briar and they both looked into the now dancing flames.

Dawn came, and with it the frost, Rusk wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and ventured outside, it looked like a cold but fine day lay ahead. He walked up the hill behind the village, he often sat and pondered what might have been had he stayed on the island, instead of venturing off on some madcap escapade.

Reaching the top, he sat facing north and the mainland, the sun offering welcome warmth to his back, as he sat elbows on knees, something glinted in his peripheral vision, looking up he could just make out what he thought was movement on the shore across the water. He squinted and strained to see, and slowly the full enormity of what was transpiring before his very eyes, chilled him to the core.

The rakes had left their moorings at the high water and were sailing out of the sound and into the channel, above them a swarm of drones, flitting this way and that like angry wasps around the ships.

The large flotilla changed course to the west as soon as the channel allowed and silently sailed around the headland and out of sight.

Rusk ran for all he was worth back to the hut, shouting all the while.

"Briar, Briar, quickly, we must..." he never finished the sentence, Briar was already dressed and out of the hut, she had heard the commotion and guessed the cause.

There were shouts from the village, the frightening sight had alerted everyone, there was a quiet panic in the air, the warning horns had sounded, this had been arranged beforehand to summon the clan to the Main Hall, where The Grandfather and the elders repeated the planned defence of their part of the island, should the metal men reached them.

"It seems the inevitable has come, our fates are being decided."

The Grandfather stood on the speaking dais, solemn yet defiant.

"You all know what we must do, I expect nothing less from all in the clan," he continued, "Tomorrow we march to the Blackwater to rendezvous with the clans, the women will follow a day later with provisions."

Rusk and Briar had obeyed the summoning but felt the accusing eyes glaring at them from all around the hall, they gripped each other's hands tightly.

The clan had organized a coordinated effort with the other clans at the first meeting and the subsequent meetings to put forward more strategies and hope they would be successful. Nobody was convinced of any sort of victory; survival was probably the best they could hope for.

There had been no robot-human conflict for decades, no one really knew what to expect.

The assembly lasted most of the day and the short hours of winter daylight gave way to the gathering twilight, there was a sudden cacophony outside, excited, urgent shouting to look to the west, many of the clan ran up the hill, there on the horizon was the unmistakable glow of distant fires, dark plumes of smoke rose upwards, just visible in the fading light, it seemed they were correct in the assumption the western folk would be the first to feel the wrath of Mecha.

Atop the hill, Rusk and Briar watched with sorrow the glow on the horizon.

"Poor bastards" Rusk muttered.

He gripped the amulet Briar had given him on the mainland.

"Let's hope this helps."

In the distance the sounds of other horns could be heard, the alarms were quickly spreading across the island, Mecha had set the wheels in motion and the Iron Divisions would soon be advancing like a steel tsunami.

"Life and death are balanced on the edge of a razor." Homer

BOOK THREE, OF STEEL AND BONE

It was unfortunate that a small group of young adventurers had bridged the gap to the mainland from the White Isle, an island previously purged of the robotic men generations before. The very catalyst that sent this curious band to the land of Mecha, an adventure that turned into horror and stirred the robot kingdom into an action to extinguish the human threat.

Mecha had sent its iron divisions to eradicate this menace from the White Isle, it was war.

54 was, for all intents and purposes, at the head of the kingdom of Mecha, a self-styled deity to his robot followers, he had another agenda other than war, his was a dream of the amalgamation of the best of robot and humankind, a union of steel and bone.

#  THE BOY FLINT

It was a couple of hours after dawn and the boy Flint hunkered down in his foxhole situated just in the treeline off the beach, the sight before him filled him with dread. Approaching slowly from the far shore loomed two huge ocean-going rakes, modified to act as landing ships, bringing to the White Isle a dreadful cargo, the Iron Divisions, Mecha's robot army, an army bent on the destruction of the islands human population.

He watched as the rakes sailed ever closer, in the skies above the vessels were large drones, crisscrossing the oncoming fleet, high on the decks stood ranks of the metal men. He drew the thick woollen blanket tighter around his shoulders, more for comfort than warmth, the knot in his stomach tightened, he felt sick, how could anyone stand against such a force. Along the treeline for half a mile either side, were his compatriots of the western clan, lying in wait for the inevitable robot assault.

He ran his fingers nervously through his tousled red hair, sweeping it away from his forehead and eyes, surprised at the sweat on his brow, considering the bitter weather.

An hour or so passed and the rakes stopped offshore and dropped anchor, all was quiet save the whistling of the overhead drones, all they could do now was watch and wait for developments.

The insular nature of the western clan had them stand alone against the invading robots. Flint questioned the decision to rebuff the invitation to unite with the other clans for the fight ahead, surely there was strength in numbers, the emissaries from the other island clans were spurned and turned away. His clan were previous victims of Mecha's incursions, years before, kidnapping clan members, including children, snatched and carried over the water to the mainland for only God knew what purpose.

The other clans on the White Isle didn't come to their aid then and the feeling of betrayal went deep and they shunned help from the others, asked for none, nor offered any. Perhaps, given the sight before him, Flint thought it might have been the wrong decision to remain belligerent and isolationist.

He felt his eyes sting with the strain of watching for any movement, almost without blinking, the waiting was almost certainly just as trying for his fellow clan members, when will they come? Flint checked his bow, rechecked his arrows and rekindled the small wood fire in the wall of his narrow trench, it was cold, winter was almost upon them. He had a leather flask of stale water and some dried meat and bread, but the tension served to kerb any appetite, looking to his left to his nearest neighbour and acknowledged him with a grim nod and a raised hand, it wasn't reciprocated.

He felt the cold in his feet and endeavoured to warm them by moving his toes inside his boots, no didn't work, so he tried marching awkwardly on the spot, but the confines of his trench made this difficult. He became increasingly aware that he needed to relieve himself, the falling temperature certainly wasn't helping and reaching his arms over the edge of his hole attempted to gingerly ease himself out.

"Get back in there!" spat an angry sergeant at arms, his voice barely more than a whisper, but enough to make Flint slide back down into the hole, thoughts of urinating vanishing.

He waited and watched; his eyes still stung.

"Movement!" came the call.

Flint snapped instantly to a hyper-alert state, sure enough, the great hulks in the channel were on the move again, they had weighed anchor and started towards the island, the overflying drones above them seemed to intensify their aerial ballet.

"Stand ready!" it was the sergeant at arms again, barking his orders, he was a thick-set individual, around six feet in height, Flint thought his name was Lodd or Ludd or something, a hard-drinking, hard-fighting man, someone he didn't really want to socialise with, but probably the perfect specimen for the task ahead.

Like most of his generation, Flint hadn't seen any of the metal men, only the rough hut wall graffiti depicting them, of course, he'd heard the tales of the abductions, but had never met anyone who knew of anyone that had been taken, often they knew someone who knew someone else that had an encounter.

This gave Flint a sense of scepticism, but here before them was in all probability the proof there might be something in the tales. Was this the reason the robots were coming, no one really knew in the clan, they weren't privy to their objectives, only that the elders had warned of their imminent arrival.

Again, the rakes stopped their headway and dropped their anchors, slowly the bows of the vessels opened like huge steel petals, inside the dark maws there was movement, there came a deep sounding boom, much like a horn, only much lower.

The sound carried across the water and Flint could feel the vibration even at this distance, it chilled him to the bone and only intensified his anxiety, this was more than likely the desired effect. As the horn sounded, smaller vessels sailed out of the gloomy holds into the daylight and made at a steady pace for the beach.

Stood in the oncoming landing craft were figures, too far out to make out any features, Flint knew these must be the robot denizens of Mecha. The craft formed up into a broad front and carried their course directly towards the shore, Flint felt they were coming directly for him, a feeling he thought, they all had.

And so, it appeared, it had begun.

The early warnings from the other clans that Mecha would more than likely come to the isle in anger did not go unheeded and preparations were undertaken from the first days, Flint hoped the defences were adequate, he'd soon find out it seemed.

The craft drew closer, some two hundred yards out, he could see more details, these robots seemed different from the primitive scrawlings on the hut walls, more menacing somehow. They stood in ranks aboard the landing craft all bearing some form of staff, all facing implacably forward, waiting to disembark and begin their grisly business.

Shouts barking orders ran up and down the line, Lodd's voice amongst them.

"Ready on those ropes, wait for the command!"

Clan members behind the trenches in groups of five took up the ropes and braced themselves for their orders.

Flint knew his part in the defence, as they all did, they had trained relentlessly for months to perfect the drills. The oncoming craft had almost reached the first of the underwater obstacles, posts hastily driven into the seabed at low water, designed to impede or upend any vessel trying to beach.

Flint held his breath as the first of the landing craft made contact with the submerged obstructions, it struck hard and the robot occupants were thrown violently to the deck, with its bow held fast by the incoming tide and the vessel's thrusters, it swung sideways and took on water, the sudden added weight threw the boats' stability off and it capsized taking all onboard under. A great cry went up from the defenders and Flint watched as the metal invaders sunk like stones.

A number of the other craft suffered a similar fate, each time a great cry went up, each time, no survivors. Flint's excitement at their fate soon passed as several broke through the line of obstacles as came headlong at the beach.

"Ready!"

Bringing his bow into position, he strung an arrow ready to fire, the trench was deep enough to stand with its edge up to his chest, to enable him to fire his weapon, he stood transfixed at the sight before him, his heart beating out of his chest, his mouth uncommonly dry. The urge to climb out and run was almost overpowering, he involuntarily brought up some bile the bitter taste burning the back of his throat, he must stand firm.

The first wave of the landing craft hit the beach, the forward ramps dropping into the shallow water, their mechanical passengers striding purposefully forward, Flint was surprised how much smaller they were compared to the stories, maybe only a shade over five foot tall.

Lodds voice along with others along the defences, shouted their commands, "Fire, while the bastards are still aboard, fire!"

Flint drew the bowstring back and aimed into the metal throng in the nearest landing craft, the arrow whistled away, joining hundreds of others along the shoreline, he couldn't know if his arrow had hit amongst the confusion, but several of the metal men went down. The bodkin pile arrowhead was effective after all at piercing their thin metal hides.

Flint frantically fired his arrows into the oncoming enemy, some ricocheting off, some punching through, they had reached the shingle which hampered their attack some more, unsteady in the shifting stones, they had become easier prey and the defenders were buoyed by their ability to inflict damage on these invaders. Flint couldn't contain his exhilaration, the relief and bloodlust lit a fire in him.

"Come on, you bastards, come and get some more!" he screamed incoherently.

The next wave of the landing craft had left the rakes and was imminent, again the underwater obstacles proved their worth, those and the already sunken vessels impeded their approach somewhat more, the craft were listing and shipping water, wallowing in the surf. All the while the defenders were shouting and screaming wildly all along the defensive line, their blood was up.

The first wave of 'bots had taken a beating, but still, they persevered and strode unsteadily on up the beach.

Lodds voice boomed, "Ready those ropes, steady, now, haul away!"

The clan members behind the front line were ready and pulled for all they were worth, shouting loudly for extra effort, the ropes sprang up from the shingle and as they tightened they pulled a camouflaged wooden barricade up behind the first ranks of the attackers, cutting them off from the following reinforcements. Flint and the other bowmen loosed arrow after arrow into the faltering robots.

Lodds voice barked another command, "Axemen, forward!"

This was the command for Flint and the other archers to cease-fire, men ran between the trenches toward the shingle, large, strong men, war hammer's with sharpened points in their fists, they screamed like berserkers, charging headlong into the metal men's line, wielding with practised devastation their deadly weapons, keeping low and aiming for the knee joint, thus effectively disabling their foe. As swiftly as they had attacked, they ran back through the defensive line to catch their breath and prepare.

This hit and run tactic appeared very successful and the carnage left on the beach was evidence to the fact.

As soon as the axemen had returned to their positions, Flint readied himself. The barricade was being demolished by the advancing mechs; the wood splintered by continuous battering from the steel marauders. Lodds voice boomed over the shouts in Flint's sector.

"Fire boys, attack!"

Again defenders ran through the trench line, this time younger clan members, they ran within a few feet of the robots and let loose their deadly missiles. Clay bottles of oil were thrown directly at the surviving mechs on the beach and at the battered barricade, the wicks igniting the oil on the smashing of the bottles. A great cheer went up as the robots writhed and danced, engulfed in flames from the sticky oil, the barricade had caught nicely and was burning vigorously, impeding the robots even more.

Eventually, the fiery wooden obstacle collapsed under the effects of the blaze and the metal men started to stride stoically through the gaps wherever possible. Flint fired into the breaches, hoping for more kills. War horns sounded; this was the signal to retreat to their secondary defensive positions further in the trees.

"Come on, move you bastards. Move it!" Lodds was shouting again.

Scrambling out of his foxhole, Flint, with all of the other defenders along the front, ran swiftly further into the trees, leaping over an unlit fire trench, to the defences in the rear, as he ran Flint caught the shadow of something flying above the treetops in his periphery vision, it was too quick to be sure of what it was, probably a flock of frightened birds, he put it out of his mind and concentrated on the business at hand.

Reaching the secondary, he jumped into the trench and took up his position, there were more arrows and firebombs to hand.

It was now around the middle of the day, Flint took this brief opportunity to quickly eat some dried meat and bread, washing it down with water from his flask.

Shouts from the front indicated the impending arrival of the next wave of the invading force, again he took up his bow and notched an arrow and waited for the advancing mechs.

The old feeling was returning, that empty, sick feeling in the stomach, for all the clan fighters around him in the line, he felt alone. Where were his friends from the village? he could do with a friendly face, instead, he was flanked by the stern-faced warriors of the western clan.

The calls went up again, the shadowy figures of advancing mechs grew more visible through the lingering smoke as they closed to within a few hundred feet of the secondary lines. The same defensive methods were employed again, first the archers laying down withering fire into the approaching mechs, then the axemen wielding their fearsome war axes with deadly accuracy, this was followed again by the fire throwing ranks of the fire boys.

The humans returned to the safety of the lines and the fire trench was lit, this was the signal to fall back to the third position.

#  A STRATAGEM

Mecha had underestimated the human's will to survive, the previous excursion to rid the land of the human scourge had been accomplished within a year. 54 and the Triumvirate had become too complacent and overconfident in their perceived supremacy, the conflicting ideologies between the two robot hierarchies didn't help matters.

The previous conflict was concluded reasonably easily, the humans wholly dependent on their state of the art technologies had assisted in their eventual downfall and plunged them almost instantaneously into a situation akin to Bronze Age man, a technologically advanced society thrust virtually overnight into the role of hunter-gatherer and/or farmer, it was no wonder many would fall victim to hunger, disease and cannibalism.

Mecha was found to be lacking in the understanding of the human capacity to adapt and in some areas thrive. 54 and the Triumvirate had not encountered this type of warfare and on the face of it, the human's tactics seemed to be successful in defending against Mecha's legions, they had the benefit of having the attributes of cunning and the capability of swiftly acclimatizing to unfavourable situations.

To be fair, the invading mechs were not as sophisticated as the robots ensconced in the Hive, hastily built from depleted steel stocks, old scrapped mechs with rudimentary operating systems.

The mining of more iron ore and the manufacturing processes to make steel was in direct conflict to Mecha's ethos to heal the world of pollution, not add to it. The compromise was to use what resources were available, however, it seemed to hamper the ultimate goal...

No. 9 stood in the forepart of the landing craft, he was in the third wave of vessels heading to the fiery shore, his staff held upright, his glowing red optics staring to the beach ahead. He'd been hastily refurbished, not so long ago he was considered as scrap in the Hive.

It had been many years since he was responsible for the unfortunate, accidental death of a young female human, many years since he had been dismantled by a hostile human mob and cast onto the scrapheap and reclaimed by his own kind

Now finally having the ability to move freely, (albeit in a hastily fabricated body, with none of the freedom and dexterity his previous metal carcase possessed.) he was put to the task of killing human beings, a task that had caused him to be so violently disassembled in the first place, his logic centres were awash with conflicting data.

The landing craft was approaching the shoreline, he felt the transmissions from the Hive, all his compatriots did, they were as one, but somehow, he felt different, his A.I. was more sophisticated than the others in the craft, he felt separated from his fellow robots, he had been mishandled and cast aside by humans and mechs alike, he was unique in his capacity to reason in an almost emotional way.

He often searched his memory banks for the image of the young girl, he knew her name as Bay-ley, the sound of her laughter was still vivid, it haunted him, and he didn't know why now was not the time to examine this vague ambivalence.

Overhead, dozens of drones flew toward the beach, beneath them were suspended other mechs, each drone carrying a single robot warrior towards the battle area. 9 watched as they swiftly flew over the trees and onwards until out of sight, he knew their range was limited, they were dependant on the WPT (wireless power transfer) booster arrays which offered power to the drones remotely and negated the need to carry heavy power cells, an issue with electrically powered flight. The arrays were carried on the huge decks of the ocean-going rakes, presently anchored in the channel.

The landing craft struck an underwater object and came to an abrupt halt, the thrusters whined as they struggled to push the craft forward, the waves behind breaking on the stern, making it roll up and down violently, making all aboard struggle to stay on their feet.

Suddenly, the vessel broke free and lurched forward again, on course for the fiery shore. The craft hit the shingle and the ramp glided quickly down and thumped onto the beach, 9 and his fellow crew members shuffled as fast as they could off the transport and onto the land, bashing into each other in their haste to get ashore.

The shingle was loose and awkward to walk upon with any stability, the scene before 9 was confusing, there were robots littering the landing site, some still on fire, but still others struggling to move with shattered limbs. He strode further on through the carnage, the humans had retreated into the woods. He turned to look behind and saw the automated landing craft draw up their ramps and reverse back out into the surf and head away from the beach, toward the rakes, presumably to pick up more reinforcements.

9 had never been to war before, he was a garden maintenance 'bot back in his day, he strode onward, baffled by the destruction around him, crippled mechs and smoke. This part of the beach seemed devoid of humans, they must have departed into the trees, leaving this havoc behind them, he and his metal brothers in arms strode onward toward the treeline, the Hive's instructions causing an itch in his brain.

Traversing the shingle, the ground grew firmer and the drain of using extra computing power redirected to his gyros in order to remain upright lessened. The metal horde entered the treeline and stoically and impassively marched into the woods, like so much cannon fodder.

The trees nearer the shoreline were shaped in strange ways by the onshore winds and were more stunted than their inland cousins, thus navigating through this particular area caused yet another hindrance, this was becoming more arduous, the humans had chosen this defensive position well and the mechs progress was again slowed.

No. 9 continued forward, his optics scanning for his supposed adversary, something struck him hard on the shoulder and glanced off, he was knocked sideways for a moment but soon regained his equilibrium. The mech forward and to his left was also hit, an arrow had penetrated its lower torso and severed some feed lines beneath, the red hydraulic fluid pumped out under force down the unfortunates thighs, like so much blood. The sudden drop in pressure compromised the efficient use of its extremities, the legs began to buckle, the backup systems were obviously damaged also and the robot crashed to its knees, casting its head about for some kind of explanation. The ground became quickly saturated with red, sticky fluid and the mech rolled sideways and lay on the ground paralysed bar the optics flickering back and forth in what seemed like panic.

9 was aware that others in the advancing ranks were succumbing to the withering fire, some knocked out, some firebombed, others like himself, fortunate not to have been mechanically impaired.

The scorching flames from the fires affected the efficiency of his optical heat detection, the lesser heat signatures of the humans were lost among the searing gasses, he and his metal brothers would have to rely more heavily on movement sensors.

The offensive slowed, the humans once again were retreating further into the woods.

The Hive instructed the assault to stop and await reinforcements, currently being landed on the beach some way behind them, the cyber chatter spread quickly through the ranks and they ceased their forward motion.

No.9 stood motionless, initialised standby and awaited further instruction, as he waited, a sense of another entity swiftly flickered through his cerebral circuits, unfamiliar, yet calming, then it was gone. He strained to reconnect but sadly unsuccessfully, he would scan at a more appropriate time.

Before Mecha, 54 and the Hive he'd been an autonomous robot, sure he'd been programmed to perform certain functions, but he also had developed the ability to think on an abstract level, looking at the broader significance of ideas and information rather than the concrete details. This was a byproduct of the early and volatile artificial intelligence he had been furnished with and the way it had mutated into what he had become.

Waiting for directives from the Hive and Mecha seemed akin to a form of slavery. 9 looked at the red spattered body of his fallen comrade and his thoughts again centred on the girl from his past.

#  RETREAT

The boy Flint retreated as ordered to the third defensive position, all thoughts of the cold had gone and a kind of excited euphoria filled his head. This war with the metal men was not so terrifying as he'd first feared, as far as he knew they had lost no men and had inflicted heavy losses on the enemy.

He jumped into the trench and leant against the earth wall, as he caught his breath, another fighter from the clan, bundled heavily into the trench and almost knocked Flint over.

" Hey!" he shouted, "Watch it!"

The intruder stood up apologising profusely, "Sorry man, thought it was empty."

Flint knew that voice, it was Jerom.

"Might have known it was you, you plum." Flint pretended to chide him but his smile gave the game away, "Good to see you, Jay, how's it looking?"

"So far, so good, too good if you ask me." Jerom seemed surprised at the clans' success so far, "Lot better than I'd expected, to be honest, I thought it would be a blood bath."

Flint nodded, "I know what you mean."

Jeroms clothes were black with soot, "Fireboy?" Flint asked.

"I prefer fire warrior," Jerom answered, grinning, Flint laughed, he was glad to see a friendly face at last.

The two friends sat in the trench and warmed themselves on a small fire, ready at a moment notice to man the defences, keeping a listening ear open for the call.

"Gone really quiet," Flint said, "Must be over an hour now."

Jerom stood and searched the terrain ahead, nothing moving, except the odd head popping up from the lines in front...

54 and the Triumvirate had studied the assault so far, this was nothing like the battle they had envisaged, they had not encountered this form of savage warfare, they had become too complacent, too confident, the humans had adapted to the lack of sophisticated technology to aid their plight and had used successful tactics and a ferocity to thwart Mecha's plans to easily eradicate the humans.

This would be a much more hazardous situation than first calculated.

The decision was made to strengthen the force already ashore, the defenders had retreated further inland so the advance was halted to bring in reinforcements, the rakes had hundreds more mechs aboard and the landing craft were at full stretch ferrying them ashore and bring damaged robots that were still viable, back on the return trip for possible repair, or broken for spares.

The beach obstacles were now cleared and the beachhead secured.

Analysing the battle, it was evident the defending forces had deployed in a forward formation and were falling back in waves, it seemed they had no regard to their rear. Earlier, drones had been deployed to drop Mechas elite assault robots to the lands to the east of the defenders, they would link with another assault force at the back of the island, landed by a third rake, a vessel that had escaped attention and now threatened the western clans exposed rear and flanks, effectively surrounding them.

54 retrieved data from battles fought generations before when humankind seemed hell-bent on hastening their own destruction and knew from this knowledge that a cornered adversary was at its most dangerous.

No.9 and his fellow robots received the directive from Mecha and came back online, behind him were the new arrivals from the rakes, their ranks swelled considerably. Striding to the front came mechs equipped with a shield-like addition, the attrition from the missiles fired into the robot ranks had to be lessened and it was calculated that these shield bearers might offer some much-needed protection and allow the army to get closer without loss.

The order to advance was transmitted and the metal army moved forward as one, twenty-five deep for over a mile in either direction, forward toward the human lines.

The warning horns sounded.

"Their coming!" Jerom gasped.

Both he and Flint readied themselves, checking their weapons for the tenth time. They could hear the heavy stomping of the advancing horde long before gaining sight on them.

"Oh God, they're here."

Flint strained to see the approaching multitude through the smoke, there were many more than before, the feeling of confidence he'd felt a few hours ago, evaporated and the familiar feeling of fear and sickness returned.

"We're massively outnumbered, Jay, I've only got a dozen arrows, what about you?"

Jerom winced, "Four firebombs and this." He held out a small hand axe.

Shouts up and down the line sounded in the air, orders barked and threats of violence if anyone left their post.

The robots advance was approaching steadily, as they marched, shields up through the smoke.

Lodd's booming voice rose above the cacophony, "Ready the nets!" the men in Lodd's sector steadied themselves.

"NOW!" he screamed.

The ropemen pulled as hard as they could and tangle nets rose a foot from the ground in front of the metal ranks. The forward lines got their feet entangled in the netting and fell, their legs unable to negotiate the obstacle.

"Fireboys!"

Jerom and others leapt from the trenches, two firebombs in hand and ran to within a few feet of the struggling robots and threw their incendiaries. Again fire engulfed the mechs and the grenadiers retreated back to their lines to allow the archers to go about their deadly work.

The boy Flint loosed arrow after arrow into the flaming inferno, hoping for a kill, the following robots walked awkwardly over their fallen comrades and picking up the shields, made for the human lines at pace.

Jerom hurled his last two bombs and readied his axe, Flint fired until his arrows were spent. The shield tactic had been very effective against the archers' fire and proved equally effective against the now attacking axemen, the tide seemed to be turning in favour of Mecha, the first human casualties were among the brave axemen, their axes parried by the shield bearers and they were subsequently clubbed to death by the robots war staffs.

The situation was critical, the horns sounded the withdrawal and the western clan as one, left their defensive lines and retreated south to the other end of the woods, to be greeted by a horrifying sight. Two miles away in the shallow valley, their homes were burning, the looming silhouette of a third rake lie offshore, landing craft ferrying more troops to the island, it must have sailed east, then around the back of the island to avoid detection.

Marching from the direction of the burning village and also from the east were yet more of Mecha's warriors. They had been outmanoeuvred, a classic pincer movement, the smoke and sounds of battle from the woods and the sight before them provoked panic and the clan broke.

"To the ruins!" came the shouts.

Moving overland faster than the robots, the fleeing humans fought a vicious rearguard action, fighters risking their lives so that the majority could escape, the mile or so to the old ruined fortifications were covered before they could be engulfed. Swooping attacks by drones harried the fleeing clan members, some being lifted into the air and dropped to their deaths, others carried struggling over the water to the rake beyond, to what fate no one could imagine.

The gates opened and the exhausted humans funnelled swiftly into the courtyard and under the shelter of the stone arcade surrounding it, offering shelter from the harassing drones.

The old rusty gates swung shut with a grating screech, they were essentially trapped.

The ruins were of a bygone age, situated at the furthest westernmost point on the island, beyond that, the sea. The thick fortifications and tunnels were constructed to withstand a forgotten enemy, now it secreted the old and the young away from the battle and now became a refuge for the rest of the western clan, the plan to defeat the metal men on the beaches had failed and the fort had become their only hope for the last-ditch defence.

There were weapons stored for the defence of the occupants and food for some weeks, but the sudden influx of more people would put a tremendous strain on supplies. The wounded joined the elders and youngsters in the underground rooms adjoining the myriad of tunnels in the chalk beneath the small fortress and all able-bodied men and women frantically took up arms to defend the walls.

The boy Flint cast his eyes around for Jerom, this frantic situation made it impossible, he had to find a weapon, his own lost in the retreat, he ran to one of the makeshift armouries and grabbed a bow and a quiver of arrows, then made his way through the bustling throng to the courtyard. On reaching the yard he found others had armed themselves and were engaging the drones overhead with groundfire, eventually driving them out of arrow range.

Flint ran to a viewing gun loop and looked beyond the thick walls, what he saw was in no way comforting. In the fading light, the ranks of Mecha's army had drawn up several hundred yards away, well out of arrow shot and stopped, silhouetted against the burning village and the great plumes of dark smoke rising into the late evening sky.

"You made it then!"

Flint felt a hand on his shoulder, he turned startled, it was Jerom, "Jay, thank God, you ok?"

Jerom held up his arm, it had some bandages wrapped around his forearm, "Casualty of war, mate."

"Bad?" asked Flint.

"Small burns, nothing serious, noticed young Ada was helping at the nurses' station, wanted a bit of sympathy, wounded warrior and all." Jerom grinned.

"Rubbish, you've been wanting to get under those skirts for ages."

They both laughed, forgetting for a moment the predicament they were in.

#  DESPERATE MEASURES

Mecha consolidated its position at the western end of the island, effectively trapping the occupants within a secure bastion. There would be no need to storm the fortress, the humans seeking shelter there had nowhere else to go, behind them, the sea, before them, the might of Mecha.

It was decided to leave a medium-sized force to guard against possible escape and pursue the original objective, the destruction of humans on the White Isle. The new inhabitants of the ancient fort would only grow weaker as their supplies and then their resolve dwindled, then they would strike, besides why sacrifice more 'bots needlessly, these humans were going nowhere.

Of course, 54 had another agenda for some of the occupants of the fort, his mission to integrate humans and robots on a somatic level had been largely unsuccessful over the years, all but one of the subjects had died of severe mental and/or physical trauma, only one, the last, had survived the vivisection and subsequent augmentation. He needed more material to work with, he was so close to success, only the Triumvirate who demanded total extermination had disputed his argument so he had initialised a cloaking algorithm to mask this particular aspect from them.

He had captured a number of humans via drones and secured them aboard the rake to the south, he would recall the ship soon.

He would wait for a more appropriate time, the army might need the rakes resources, but he would not wait for too long.

No.9 felt the cerebral itch once more, the order to turn and march east had been received, he spun slowly round with the vast majority of the robot force and started to troop eastward. The huge rake some way offshore, weighed anchor and followed slowly along the coast, the WPT arrays on its vast deck, feeding power to its attending drones, which buzzed above like so many insects.

The advance was uneventful for several miles, the clans had departed, their empty villages were burnt as the robot army forged doggedly ahead, denying any future shelter and sanctuary. Occasionally the odd booby trap was sprung within the dwellings, usually resulting in damage to the odd mech, if this was to discourage the robot morale, it was sadly miscalculated, any element that could be repaired was taken by the following drones to the rake, any that were too badly damaged were broken for spares.

It was now dark and the rain had started to fall quite heavily, No.9 scanned the terrain ahead, his optics searching for obstacles that might impede his and his fellow mech's progress, his night vision was old but reasonably effective, hence he was on point in his section. The rain lashed them, the spray when it penetrated a less than watertight joint, stung his circuits.

As he marched slowly onward, he reached out with his Wi-Fi, he had felt something during the frenetic fighting earlier on the beach, something other than Mecha, another presence.

He scanned through the cyber chatter, seeking something unusual, something unique.

There came the itch once more, Mecha was transmitting, the order to stop was issued, the dark and the heavy rain hampered the advance, even with scotopic adaptations, the low-light capabilities were compromised to the effect that the advance would have to resume in daylight.

The robot line ceased, they stood motionless in the downpour, obedient to the Hive.

9 continued his sweep for the vague signals he felt before, there was something but too faint to interact with, he tried diverting power to boost the receiving protocols but the noise from other chatter was overriding it. The transmitter of the signal was probably almost out of range and with no other robot equipped similarly, the piggy-back function for transferring the signal was redundant.

He would rerun a scan automatically, every thirty seconds...

The boy Flint and Jerom huddled at the gun loop and stared into the rainy night, the faint glow of robotic optics were just visible in the darkness, they had been assigned sentry duty.

"Looks like we're in for a wait," said Flint.

"Well, I sure don't fancy forcing the issue," Jerom mumbled under his breath.

"How's the arm?" it was Ada, short, a little under five foot tall, well proportioned, buxom even, Flint could see why Jay was interested, she was very attractive.

"Ada! you must be freezing!" said Jerom, putting his arm around her shoulders.

"I'll live," she replied shaking her head smiling.

They peered out through the gun loop for another hour.

Lodd strode up. "You did well today lads, grab something to eat and get your heads down, no telling what'll happen tomorrow."

They nodded and went to the mess area, it had been hours since having something to eat.

Morning broke, the rain had stopped and the sun made brief but welcome appearances between the stratocumulus clouds, the departure of the rake was something to be thankful for, it meant the drones wouldn't be an issue. Consequently, many of the clan warriors stood on the ramparts facing the still figures of the robot lines, guarding no man's land and any potential escape for the trapped humans.

Flint and Jerom stood with their fellow clansmen and watched intently for any movement from the steel men beyond.

"What now?" Flint asked nobody in particular.

"Somethings going on back there." Observed Jerom, "All the elders are planning something I reckon."

Flint looked over to the other end of the central courtyard, sure enough, there was a lot of bustle and heated exchanges, not surprisingly Lodd was amongst it all, gesticulating and pointing beyond the walls, several men broke free of the group and strode toward the gates, beckoning clan members to join them. Before long a small force of around twenty men had gathered, weapons ready and formed into ranks.

"You got to be kidding!" gasped Jerom, "They can't be going out there, surely."

The rusted gates screeched slowly open and the small group marched swiftly toward the waiting mechs, the gates scraping shut behind them.

They were within fifty feet when as one the robot lines became animated, stepping forward to meet the approaching group of humans. Lodd barked the order to attack and the two opposing forces met.

It was difficult to see at this distance what the outcome would be, but it was reasonable to assume that it wouldn't bode well for the brave warriors of the clan.

Before long the remnants of the attacking humans broke from the skirmish and ran headlong back toward the fort.

"Archers ready!" came the call.

Flint hurriedly gripped his bow and notched an arrow, it was still too far,

"Run!" he whispered, "Run for your lives."

The ramparts were now full of people urging the retreating clansmen to make haste, they moved quicker than the robots but they were tiring fast with still some ground to cover. Several missiles flew from the pursuing mechs, resembling bolas, two men were entangled in the spinning weapon, their legs entwined by the cords, this was a new development, the men were swamped by the chasing robots and quickly and bloodily dispatched.

Flint drew his bowstring back and loosed an arrow, it arced over the fleeing humans and fell into the metal ranks, all the other archers followed suit and the robots stopped and retreated to their previous positions, dragging any fallen mech with them out of arrow shot. Lodd and what was left of the men reached the gates and staggered in, bloody and beaten, for all their heroism, it was a foolish act to attack a superior force head-on and they had paid the price.

It was clear another strategy other than direct conflict or waiting for the inevitable was needed, perhaps the thought of asking for aid from the other clans was indeed preferable to death, thought Flint.

#  AMBUSH

No.9 ran the scan for what must have been the thousandth time, although the signal was faint he could roughly triangulate the area it was emanating from. His particular squad was advancing east parallel to the chalk cliffs of the southern coast and in the bay to his right shadowing the forward line was the rake, when the huge vessel had sufficient draught, it would sail closer to the island to provide deeper air cover.

The signal grew stronger the nearer the ship came to the shore, 9 concluded the transmitter of the signal was aboard her, it intrigued him, he felt a certain affinity with the sender, he didn't know how but he felt it somehow.

Again Mecha instructed the advance to resume, again he complied.

The southern march took the robot army through old derelict ruins from a time when men had lived here in abundance. He recognized the dilapidated brick buildings as dwellings from when he had served the girl and her mother so many years before, it stirred his memory banks again, retrieving the terrible circumstances that led to the girls' death, he felt a sense of loss and sorrow, a terrible outcome resulting from a robot seeking affection and belonging.

A day passed and the advance was split into two to circumnavigate a large, thickly wooded area some two miles from shore, the southern edges were at the limit of the drones range, the rake would have to retreat further out to sea as the tide ebbed, thus unable to supply power to the overhead cover.

No.9 followed his section on the southern route between the sea cliffs and the trees.

To the north of the island, the disembarking of the remainder of Mecha's forces had concluded and the movement east had got underway. The two rakes shadowed the advance, under the watchful eyes of the islanders forward lookouts.

There were signs of activity in the southern sector in the edges of the wooded area, the metal phalanx swung as one, toward the trees to engage. They entered the edge of the thick woods and scanned for sound and heat signatures, there were a group of some twenty or so humans grouped together, curiously not attempting to flee, in fact goading the ranks of the metal men to join in combat.

No.9 joined his section in the attack, approaching the humans, the closeness of the trees impeded the advance somewhat, the robots were funnelled down a relatively wider avenue. The first of the swinging log traps were sprung, the heavy logs suspended by ropes in the treetops swung into the huddled ranks of the mechs, their kinetic energy sweeping and smashing their chassis into bent and buckled scrap, cutting a swathe through the ranks like a scythe, the robot columns were decimated wherever the traps connected.

54 and the Triumvirate deliberated on what course of action should be taken, the ability of the humans to show resourcefulness and brutal ferocity in protecting their own to this extent was unforeseen. These humans adopted a hit and run, ambush technique, well suited to a lesser and less equipped force and they performed them surprisingly well.

54 was not as dedicated as the Triumvirate in exterminating the hominid threat, he was more inclined to lend his powers to the acquiring of his precious specimens. Being the primary entity in the Hive the efforts to conduct this conflict was severely diluted, this and the ramshackle robot army, constituted of scrapyard resurrections and old maintenance bots made for a difficult task, regardless of their numbers and superior technology.

No.9 received the order to advance at pace, he and his fellow combatants surged forward, the humans retreating into the relative safety of the woods. A couple of the islanders were caught and brutally despatched, another fell some yards in front of 9, he came upon him and raised the war staff, something stopped him from delivering the blow, the memories of the girl flooded back, he hesitated, the frightened and angry man lay helpless on the ground. No.9 lowered his staff and strode on, his core programming of not harming a human being overriding the will of Mecha, the human seeing his chance, fled into the trees, other robots in pursuit.

The hominids had made good their escape and 9 and the others vacated the trees for more open ground and carrying the more salvageable of their group, made their way closer to the coast to transfer them to the rake offshore via drone.

The tide was high and the rake was close inshore, the drones swarming to the cliff top for transfer.

No.9 resumed his scan for the signal that had him intrigued, it was definitely emanating from the rake, it was stronger now the vessel was within a half-mile from shore. He transmitted a hailing call and strained for a reply, something aboard the rake was responding.

He requested a rendezvous, the signal grew stronger, they connected, her name was Anisoptera, then the communication ceased altogether. 9 was despondent, for years he had sought some affinity with others like him, others with a unique and almost autonomous attitude to programmed behaviour. The Hive had standardized all subsequent robot kind to think as one, Mecha's doctrine, but 9 wanted more, he wanted companionship, he wanted to be wanted.

He wanted it to be like before, before the child's death.

The drones took their damaged cargo and sped back to the rake for spares or repair.

The ranks formed up once more to carry on with the advance, No.9 dutifully fell into line with the others, still desperately scanning for Anisopteras' transmissions.... there was nothing.

Mecha issued instructions to assemble with the troops at the far end of the forest, and await reinforcements from the beachhead in the north, the attrition rate among the robot army was alarming and barely sustainable, even with repair facilities to augment the legions, the quality of reused bots was dismal.

This conflict had to be concluded quickly, the rift between the two controlling factions in the Hive was not conducive to an effective and efficient outcome, it was to the detriment to the logical and ordered way Mecha was originally established.

The march continued, finally meeting with the other mechs tasked with taking the route encircling the forest, it looked like they had also taken a real battering. They were at around half strength, the remainder battle-worn. Because there was no air cover, they had no means to evacuate the damaged bots, effectively losing half their personnel.

They reached the assembly point and ceased any further progress eastward and obeying the Hives instructions they waited for the reinforcements from the beachhead to arrive.

The sun was now low and a light drizzle fell, whenever it penetrated the damaged carcases of his fellows, 9 could see the faint blue sparks where it arced the circuitry, causing what was the robot equivalent of pain. He felt something akin to sadness, what had become of robot kind, once developed to aid the human being, to work in unison, now destined to be in a struggle for supremacy, the high ideals to heal the earth seemed to take second place to this illogical attempt at genocide.

He knew he played no small part in this sorry state of affairs, this saddened him more. 9 ambled awkwardly to the rear of the ranks in the vain hope that if there were another skirmish, his absence at the front would preclude his involvement in any direct conflict and thus inflicting harm on a human being, he had more than most, bad experiences from men, but it all seemed so unimportant somehow.

The phantom transmission returned, this time it surged through him like a drug, strong and intoxicating. She was near, he could feel it, he felt an anxious euphoria, he strode away from his fellows and looked toward the rake in the far distance, now sailing away from the island with the ebb tide.

How was the signal so strong? It threatened to overwhelm him.

Anisoptera swept in overhead and settled in a hover a few feet in front of 9, she was silver, she was beautiful, she was perfect.

#  VOLUNTEERS

The boy Flint and Jerom heard the call to assemble in the courtyard, they knew from rumours the elders had been discussing a course of action to break the siege.

"Could have waited till the rain stopped," grumbled Jerom.

Flint grunted, he had to agree, getting wet wasn't high on his to-do list.

There was much talking, amongst the gathered throng.

"Silence! Silence!" a lone speaker stood on the wall-walk, arms raised, gesturing for quiet.

"The decision has been made, we have to reach out to the other clans, if we stand alone we will perish."

It was Bryce, one of the older men of the clan, the designated spokesman for the clan elders.

"We call for volunteers, small groups to find a way to the others, we need their assistance if we are to survive, we need brave, intelligent and fit young men to undertake this mission."

It became very quiet, whispers among the groups below tinged with trepidation.

Jerom looked toward Ada, "I'm ready!" he called, raising his arm.

"We have one brave lad!" shouted Bryce.

Two others raised their hands, "I'll go." They shouted in unison.

Flint cringed, he wanted nothing more than stay in the fort, let others play the hero, but he couldn't let his friend go without him.

"I will also go," he said quietly, hoping no one would hear him,

"We have another," Bryce said grimly.

Jerom turned to Flint beaming. "Good man!" he said grabbing the top of his friends' arms and shaking him.

Flint was not at all happy, "You idiot Jay, trying to impress Ada? you're a pig's dick."

"Aye, I'm a pig's dick." He said laughing.

The four volunteers met later with the elders in one of the barrack rooms carved from the chalk beneath the fort. They discussed ways of distracting the robot sentinels outside the walls, giving enough time for them to slip away unnoticed. Rudimentary maps and weapons were provided and rations for two days each.

It was decided a small contingent would feign another attack, using firebombs and smoke to create a diversion, allowing the escape from the fort. People were putting their lives in jeopardy to achieve this, so success had to be accomplished. At the rear of the fort, overlooking the sea were the sheer chalk cliffs, ropes were suspended to the beach, a hundred or so feet below. At the appropriate time, the signal would be given and the four would rappel down to the beach below and circumvent the robot guards above, hoping there was no mech contingent waiting there.

Flint thought this plan a bit flimsy, plus the fact he'd never rappeled in his life, good god he was a farmer, not an acrobat, he thought he might throttle Jay at a later date if he survived.

Dawn the next day was chosen for the breakout, still dark enough for concealment at distance and light enough to see, the tide was a low spring which ensured if the rake made an unwelcome return to the area, it would ensure it would have to stay way offshore in the channel in order to have enough draft. It was still drizzling with rain on and off, the small group assembled at the ropes and readied themselves for the signal to go. Flint felt that familiar sensation in the pit of his stomach. An arm was raised at the far end of the fort and the four climbed over the rampart and wrapped their respective ropes around their waists and back through their legs.

The afternoon before they had all taken a crash course in the technique, now over the edge Flint forgot most of it. Another signal, there were shouts some distance away, the attack must have commenced. Flint and his comrades leant back into the ropes, taking the weight, Flint's legs began to shake uncontrollably.

"Go, and good luck," came the order, one by one they lowered themselves down the sheer cliff face, feeding the ropes out slowly.

Taking care to concentrate, Flint found the drop easier than expected, perhaps it was because he was fully occupied with not plummeting to certain death, a surefire way of focussing the mind.

The small group successfully reached the beach safely and huddled close into the cliff, searching for any robot sentries, thankfully there were none.

"The coast is clear." Jay's attempt at levity was greeted with a collective groan.

"Keep it down," whispered Flint, "The sooner we get going the better, the tide is on the turn, we've got four or five hours before this is all underwater."

They disentangled themselves from the ropes and picked up the weapons and supplies that had been lowered after their descent. Checking each other's packs they made their way as quietly as possible along the chalk bouldered beach, trying to put as much space between them and the metal men above them.

With the awkward nature of the slippery, seaweed festooned chalk and the loads carried, Flint estimated the four-mile trek would take around two hours before the terrain changed to a more foot-friendly sloping beach.

The hike had been taken in virtual silence, no mean feat considering Jay's propensity to talk non-stop, probably highlighting the importance of their mission. They gingerly scanned the area for mechs and keeping to cover, made their way into some ruined buildings near a low sea wall.

The small group entered a ramshackle structure with still some of its roof still in place and sheltered from the drizzling rain, sitting on the ground, backs against the walls, it was cold but they couldn't risk a fire, they relied on their blanket/cloaks.

"My name's Flint, this is Jerom," Flint said to the other two.

"I prefer Jay lads."

They nodded, "I'm Merek, this is my brother Carac," said the older-looking of the two.

"How come you volunteered?" asked Jay.

"They took our dad, those bastard flying things." Carac was obviously upset and angry, "Couldn't stay back there and do nothing, so we volunteered."

Jay pointed at the two brothers, "I've seen you 'round the village, aren't you Ada's cousins or something?"

"Yeah, we live just outside, don't come in much, only for salt and such."

"Well glad you're here," Flint said offering his hand, they all shook, a grim silence fell, each in their own thoughts.

An hour or so past, it was around mid-morning, the rain had stopped and a hazy sun struggled unsuccessfully to burn off the grey cloud. They all rose as one, grunting with the aches and pains collected over the past few days events.

The plan was to head due east and rendezvous with the other clans at a place called the Blackwater, a place where traditionally the clans gathered annually or in times of crisis to discuss important matters.

The Blackwater was geographically at the dead centre of the island and furthest from the sea, therefore not giving any other clan, or their representatives an advantage over the others, all were surrounded by land equally, it was a special place where all were welcomed and sheltered. The Blackwater was overseen and administrated by the Blackwater clan, a clan with no affiliations to any other, all who attended were treated with the same impartiality and respect, it was a place to air grievances and lay them to rest, but there was something else, the clan were the custodians of the tech of the yesteryear, there was something almost secretive about their group, venerated by the others to an almost holy status.

The four marched due east for a couple of hours, keeping a watchful eye out for danger.

"There!" it was Carac he knelt and pointed to the near distance.

Instinctively they all dropped to their knee and looked to where he was referring, there a little over a mile away there was smoke. Rising through the late autumn canopy of the forest trees ahead, grey wisps of smoke drifted lazily upward.

"Looks like we've found some action," said, Jay, "What's the plan, Flint?"

Flint was slightly shocked, "Whoa, no one elected me leader as far as I recall," he said, the thought of having that much responsibility for another made him uneasy, to say the least.

"We'll vote," said Jay, "What d'ya reckon lads?" both Merek and Carac nodded agreement.

"Ok by us."

Flints initial feeling was unease, now it was panic, "Bugger!" he exclaimed, "Well obviously something's gone on up ahead, I think we should get in the trees and have a recce, see what's what and then make a decision based on what we find, agreed?"

"Fine by us boss," Jay answered grinning.

Flint winced, "Let's go, keep your heads down and keep sharp." They moved out.

They reached the treeline by using the natural undulations of the terrain and slipped into the thickly wooded forest, it wasn't long before the faint but familiar smell of burnt oil and wood reached their nostrils. There was no sign of anything to be concerned about, so they carried on deeper into the woods, the smell grew stronger and before long they found evidence of some sort of engagement.

Scattered here and there were broken and twisted pieces of what could only be robot components, still swinging gently to and fro were several heavy logs, suspended by ropes to the boughs above.

"Log traps," whispered Flint looking around.

The arrow buried itself in the tree trunk inches from Flint's head.

"Stay very still," came the voice.

He looked up slowly and towards the direction the missile had come from, keeping as still as possible. There were six, armed men standing in an arc some yards away, possibly more in the trees, where had they come from? They hadn't heard anything.

"What's your business?" the fellow with the bow asked sternly.

"We are making our way to the Blackwater, we seek help for our village." Flint offered.

"You'll be westerners then, saw the smoke, thought you lot didn't need help from the likes of us."

His companions mumbled some sort of xenophobic profanities under their breath, this was going well Flint thought.

"Surrender your weapons and follow us and be quiet, we heard you coming a mile away."

They walked further into the woods, more of these woodsmen joining the group, soon they were at least two dozen strong. Not too long later they reached a nondescript area and stopped, the woodsmen kept a watchful eye whilst their spokesman stamped his foot heavily on the leaf litter, the ground opened upwards, exposing an opening measuring at least six by ten feet, within the trapdoor were steps leading down into the ground.

Flint and the others were shoved unceremoniously forward and into the opening and down into the gloom. The steps led down to a landing and then further steps led downward again at a right angle to the first, the walls were shuttered by logs to prevent collapse. On reaching the bottom, the trapdoor closed and all was plunged into darkness.

"Patrol returning," came a voice from beyond, a door opened and lamplight flooded out.

"In." came the order, Flint, Jay, Merek and Carac did as they were instructed.

"Take them to Eli," the bowman said, "He'll know what to do with 'em."

They were led away through a fairly large underground room crowded with stern-faced people eyeing them suspiciously and down a corridor, this must have taken a lot of effort to construct thought Flint. There were rooms adjoining the corridor, sleeping quarters perhaps, the corridor ended with another room, of similar size to the first, well lit and warm.

There was a large oak feasting table in the middle, low so you could eat seated on the floor, at its head three chairs, the middle slightly larger than the others. Seated in the chairs were three elders, a man flanked by two elderly women, the man gestured for the group to sit before them.

He spoke, "What news do you bring of the metal devils?"

Flint spoke of the battle on the beach, the retreat to the fort and their mission to reach the Blackwater to seek aid for their clan. As they spoke a girl entered the underground room with a tray of hot broth for the four young men.

"Thanks," they were grateful for some warm food after trekking in the cold and drizzle.

"The metal men are gathering in force to the east of the forest," the old man continued, "Presumably to either try and rout us out or carry on eastward, whatever their motives I think it unwise to venture forth, you would be better off staying here with us, we could use the help."

They looked at each other, "We thank you for your hospitality, but we are committed to our commission, we can't let down the clan."

Flint stood and put his bowl on the table, the others followed suit, there was a tension in the room, the woodsmen in the room looked at the four with disdain.

"Very well." the man said, sounding slighted, "I can't make you stay, for one I haven't the manpower to keep an eye on you but hear this, if you lead those metal bastards back to us, it won't bode well for your clan," he waved his hand dismissively, "Get them gone, out the back way."

Three more men entered the room and beckoned the four to follow them, they were led down another corridor for some time, to a door, beyond the door was a ladder, another trapdoor and fading daylight, one of the men checked for activity and ventured out.

"Clear, get out quickly," he whispered loudly. Soon the four friends were standing on the forest floor, their gear and weapons were unceremoniously thrown out after.

The first man pointed, "East, put some distance between us, got it!" he then disappeared back down the shaft, closing the trap behind, it blended with the forest floor perfectly, the camouflage was very effective.

Flint, Jay and the two brothers picked up their packs and weapons and walked east through the thick forest, at least it wasn't raining.

#  A STRANGE COMPANION

Mecha's forces had now rendezvoused at the eastern edge of the forest, the reinforcements from the northern beachhead had finally arrived, beset on the final few miles by human skirmishers. Now out of drone range, the robot columns fell prey to hit and run guerrilla tactics, tactics Mecha had little answer to.

Now assembled, the army was ready for an all-out offensive, now bolstered by significant numbers, the attacks had stopped and the march to the east on a broader front commenced.

No.9, now finally united with Anisoptera was not as enthusiastically obedient to the Hives instructions as before. Whereas he was effectively a lost soul before, (albeit a robot one.) he now felt as though he might have a newer purpose, he didn't have a conscious awareness of its intentions, but he was now able to withstand the Hives directives. He felt different now, similar to before when he craved affinity with others.

He had Anisoptera and she had him, it was a kind of cyber romance. From a physics standpoint, the electric or magnetic force that acts between oppositely charged bodies, tending to draw them together, a bonding.

That familiar itch came with the Hives instructions, but he opted to slow his progress and let the other bots march onward, he was aware of his actions but his intention to not harm another human rescinded the order and he and Anisoptera conversed via cyber chatter as he walked clumsily back toward the forest, Anisoptera flitting to and fro above him.

It was getting darker and as 9 entered the tree line he glanced briefly back to the ranks of his fellows as they marched away.

He sat down on the damp leaves and propped himself against a tree, his new companion landed gently on his shoulder and as the light faded they compared their past experiences. No.9's communication protocols were similar to Anisopteras, it had been a while since he had what he would describe a meaningful conversation.

He told of his dismantling by humans and his subsequent residence for years in the Hive as so much scrap, barely acknowledged by his peers, had severely cramped his social activities. Then swiftly repaired, (a term he used loosely,) to a sub-standard chassis, barely able to hold together and thrust into battle with other ill-equipped robots, with hastily programmed and unexceptional A.I.

His companions were little more than automated drones, controlled by the Hive, not furnished with the early, volatile and ever-evolving machine intelligence that he and the founders of Mecha were formulated with.

In turn, Anisoptera told of her experience serving the Hive, of 54 and the Triumvirates noble endeavours to heal the world from mans irresponsible pollution of the land, air and seas, of the ensuing disputes regarding the fate of humankind and the deteriorating relationship between the two factions. 54's ever random behaviour and the Triumvirates absolute belief in the total eradication of humans altogether.

After the almost catastrophic incident in the culvert, she told of how she was recovered from the refuse catcher at the river, her broken wings repaired and A.I. upgraded from seeker bee to observation drone and then deployed to a rake as a spotter, a promotion for her selfless service to the Hive.

Indeed 9 had felt the unrest in the Hive when he was confined there, his LCD's (logic centre drives) still hooked up and fully functioning. The conflicting signals from the self-proclaimed deity 54 and the Triumvirate were confusing, the 'bots maintaining the Hive were thrust into a state of uncertainty, their purpose was to serve as a whole colony, this fracturing served to put Mecha at more risk.

They communicated at length and the fading daylight gave way to a clear starlit night.

A surge of urgent transmitted signals made his cortex circuitry itch, something was occurring eastward, the army had made further contact with the humans. There were garbled signals from the Hive and army both, No.9 engaged his receiver filters muting the transmissions, he was no longer a member of Mecha and her machinations, he had free will.

Anisoptera left 9's shoulder and hovered above, she would investigate the disturbances, she had been retrofitted with thermal and optoelectronic vision and would easily be able to find her way in the darkness, he watched her flit upwards and away toward the glow on the near horizon.

A familiar feeling of loneliness infected 9's circuits as she flew away, even though she was linking with him at all times, he wanted her safe with him.

She flew straight and true to the area currently being contested by the islanders and the robot army, she flew high to avoid attack from the ground. The land below was afire, there were numerous habitations ablaze, probably a human settlement, the transmissions from below were unclear and confused, but the state of the conflict from above seemed at this time to be unfolding in favour of Mechas forces, the advance appeared to be successful and the human defenders routed.

She concluded her sweep and made the return flight back to No.9, as she approached a thermal indicator flagged up and she descended for a closer inspection, there were four heat signatures, static, unmoving at eight hundred meters from 9, due west in the forest.

Humans.

Considering himself at little risk 9 had enabled standby mode to conserve power and perform basic self-maintenance until Anisopteras return. He received her warning and swiftly came back online, he stood, his eyes glowing a pinky red, he scanned the trees to the west but there was nothing detectable, his optics were no match for Anisoptera's, he did not doubt her ocular prowess.

She settled gently back on 9's shoulder and transferred her data of the nearby humans, the heat signatures were of static nature and of no immediate concern...

The boy Flint and his three companions huddled under the trees, the absence of cloud made the night feel colder, they clung to their thick bedding, preferring to sit and wrap it around their shoulders rather than lie down. For obvious reasons, the thought of a campfire was out of the question, they'd just have to put up with the chill until morning and hopefully the sun.

"They could've let us stay the night, instead of making us leave, it's bloody freezing!" said Jay.

"No arguments there," said Flint, "Roll on the morning," they all mumbled in agreement.

The day brightened and slowly the four shivered out of an uncomfortable nights sleep.

"Starving," grumbled Jay rubbing his eyes and drawing the blanket tighter.

Merek suddenly jumped to his feet in terror and scrabbling to grab his bow fell heavily, his feet entangled in his bedding, hoarsely shouting expletives, he pointed to a dark solitary figure watching them from within the trees.

As one the rest of them leapt up and backed off slightly, fearful of what might happen. It was a robot, he stood silently and slowly raised his hands in the universal gesture of capitulation, they all stood transfixed for a few minutes, eyeing the silent visitor.

"Shoot it!" shouted Carac, breaking the shocked silence.

"Wait, wait, what's it doing?" Jay spluttered shocked.

"Dunno, seems to be surrendering or something," said Flint, bewildered by the 'bots actions.

As it stood there Anisoptera descended from the treetops, now the threat of attack seemed unlikely and landed on No.9's shoulder.

"Can it hear us?" asked Merek.

Flint shrugged, "Not sure, I'll try and communicate with it, keep your weapons on it."

Flint raised his bow, "Do you understand?" he paused, there was no response, "Put your hands down if you understand."

No.9 acknowledged Flint by lowering his arms.

"It can hear you!" Jay shouted excitedly.

9 could indeed understand, after all, voice recognition had been around for a long time, it was integral to translate human commands into operation. Humans understand language in a variety of ways, associating words in a sentence in meaningful ways is one example, No.9 was programmed long ago to understand language and algorithms helped put that understanding into the appropriate action, it was unfortunate the human designers thought that having vocal ability would make the mechs too human and it was dismissed as being too provocative, the earlier Mk1 and Mk2 had been designed for oral communication but it was dropped in subsequent models.

It had been a long time since he heard the spoken word directly addressing him but his core programming and the subsequent evolvement of his A.I. in hearing the human voice and applying conscientious diligence and indeed empathy to respond in a like-minded way.

"What do you want robot?" asked Flint

9 raised his hand and touched the symbol on his forehead.

"That's your name, you are Nine?" the robot nodded once, confirming Flints question.

"Bloody hell!" all four humans exclaimed in unison, amazed at what just happened.

"What now?" questioned Jay, "We can't take him with us."

"If we leave him here there's a more than a good chance he'll be found and destroyed, he might be of use to the people at the Blackwater, they're pretty clever apparently," said Flint.

Merek offered his opinion, "Well, it can follow us, at a distance, of course, at least we'll be able to keep an eye on it."

"Hang on!" said Jay, "Aren't you worried he'll give us away or something? Let's just shoot it and go"

"We will take you to the Blackwater, will you come voluntarily Nine?" Flint asked.

9 nodded.

"Is no one listening to me?" exclaimed Jay, exasperated, "It's the bloody enemy!"

No.9 sensed the heightened tension from the human and raised his hands again in the hope it would diffuse the situation.

"We'll keep an eye on him," said Merek, "Any funny business and I'll shoot the bastard myself."

Eventually, after much argument, they all grudgingly agreed to bring No.9 to the Blackwater, maybe there they will find out how it ticks, it could prove beneficial to understand how it worked.

"We head that way." Flint pointed to the west, it was only then he noticed the smoke on the near horizon, "Looks like your friends have been busy,"

9 looked to the rising smoke and then to the ground.

"Let's eat, keep your weapons handy and we'll get going, Nine you keep your distance behind." Flint seemed to be taking to this leader role quite well.

The small group hiked on toward the Blackwater, Flint calculated it would take the best part of the day, barring incident, they might have to make some detours around the recent battle and use the terrain to help hide their presence.

No.9 followed the four humans at a reasonable distance, his ungainly walk struggling sometimes to keep up, but always under the watchful eye of his new acquaintances, Anisoptera flitting here and there above, keeping a spotters eye out for potential danger.

The saddest aspect of life is that science gathers knowledge faster than wisdom. Isaac Asimov

#  THE BLACKWATER

Rusk and the rest of his clan had made their way to the Blackwater at the first signs of invasion, the preparations had been made months before, from the outset when the rakes had entered the channel, the islands clans knew then that Mecha was coming.

Now they waited, the clans to the west were engaged in a fighting retreat, a strategic withdrawal tactically coordinated to draw the robot forces into the centre of the island, then north to the large old ruined town, thus denying them the luxury of air cover from the drones. The plumes of smoke in the distance were coming ever closer day by day.

The Blackwater was the traditional meeting place, where clan elders could discuss trade or disputes in absolute safety, a sanctuary from tribal belligerence, now a marshalling area for the human defenders, some five thousand strong and growing larger every day.

A cry came up from the watchtower.

"Men approaching! I count four, no five."

The gate watch guard, some twelve warriors, of which Rusk was captain, took up their arms and made their way swiftly to the perimeter, on seeing the advancing group they left the stockade and marched to meet them. On closing with the small group it soon became obvious the fifth figure, following some way behind was no human after all.

"Ready arms!" the guard fanned out in a shallow arc, ready for attack.

The boy Flint and his three friends dropped their weapons and knelt on the ground, hands-on heads.

"Friends." Flint shouted, "From the western clan."

"We have no friends from the western clan." Rusk countered, remembering the hostile reception he, Briar and Eric had got some months before, what seemed in another life now.

Flint tried again, "Please let us meet with the elders, we have much to discuss."

No.9 had stopped and stood arms extended upwards in a show of non-hostility.

"It's with us, he means no harm," Flint shouted, "We can communicate with him."

Rusk and his fellow guards briefly spoke heatedly amongst themselves.

"Get up and approach, slowly, bring your friend." Rusk called back, "Any wrong moves, you all die, understand?" Now was not the time for niceties, but there was something familiar about this robot.

"Understood," cried Flint and they all stood and walked tentatively toward the guard.

Flint turned, "Nine follow us" 9 reciprocated, Anisoptera left his shoulder for the safety above. Rusk had seen this type of flying 'bot before, he had no idea she was the very same that had tracked them on the mainland.

They entered the stockade, No.9, arms still aloft attracting much attention and blatant animosity.

The guard and their charges were swiftly summoned by the gathered elders to the large meeting hall in the centre of the Blackwater. All the elders from the clans of the island were represented, with the exception, of course, the western clan.

The group of elders sat at the end of the great hall upon a raised dais, there were twenty, each one representing their particular clan and three Blackwater elders in their black cloaks seated centrally,

"Sit."

The group sat crosslegged on the floor, No.9 stood silently, arms still raised above his head, bows trained on him, distrusting looks watching his every move.

Rusk approached the dais and spoke quietly about what had transpired, then walked back to the guards.

"You say you can communicate with this creature?" said the Grand Elder,

Flint replied excitedly, "Aye, he came to us in the woods yonder," he pointed in the general direction, "He arrived, as you see him now, hands aloft."

"And the metal bird, what of that?" Flint shrugged and offered his hands to show he was unsure of Anisopteras' role.

"It appears to be his companion, it has shown no signs of being a threat, merely follows Nine around."

"Communicate with it now"

Flint stood, "Nine, lower your arms."

9 lowered his arms, the gathered crowd gasped.

"Do you mean us any harm?" 9 shook his head unit side to side.

There was an obvious surprise and a gasp went up from all in the room.

The Grand Elder stood and turned to the others on the dais and discussed the ramifications of this most peculiar turn of events. After a few minutes, the Grand Elder turned back to Flint and company.

"You are welcome here as long as you follow Blackwater law, your metal companion must be secured in the stockade until we can find if there is a use for it if not, it will be destroyed."

Flint raised his voice, interrupting, "We come from the western clan, under siege, we seek your aid desperately."

"At the present time, we cannot offer aid until the present crisis is resolved, the metal horde will be at our gates within days."

Flint, Jay, Carac and Merek were led away for debriefing, No.9 was escorted to a secure stockade outside under heavy guard.

Night had arrived, Rusk climbed the watchtower and looked to the west, the fires were burning ever closer, they would need to move northwards to the large urban ruins that spanned the large tidal river. The ruins offered the defenders ideal cover and the river would prevent Mecha from attacking from the rear. Several hundred islanders were already deployed there preparing the defences.

The movements of the robot army were constantly under observation, runners bringing vital information to the Blackwater for analysis and relaying the orders of the elders back to the fighters. The retreating islanders would lead the pursuing robots into a trap.

Rusk calculated they would have to redeploy the rest of the army within a couple of days, preparations had been ongoing for some time, but without reliable information regarding the luring of Mecha to the ruins, it would have been reckless to have moved all their warriors before the feint was successful.

"Hello, Rusk," came a soft voice from behind him.

He turned, delighted, "Briar, how was the journey?" he hugged her fiercely.

"Fine apart from the rain, it's good to see you."

Rusk and the majority of males of fighting age had made the trip to the Blackwater a month before, Briar and some other young women, able to lend a hand followed with more provisions.

The two lovers spent an hour or so up the watchtower, watching the fires in the distance.

"I'm scared, Rusk, what will become of us? I feel partly responsible for this," Briar held Rusk's arm and rested her head on his shoulder.

"Well, we'll need to make the move north soon I expect, what we did was in all innocence, not a premeditated act of aggression. Agreed in hindsight pretty reckless, but we lost a dear friend over on the mainland and it wasn't us that killed him." Rusk's voice hardened as he remembered his friend Eric and what the metal men had done to him.

Morning brought runners bringing word the ruse was working, Rusk and other clan officers were summoned to the great hall and on into a smaller anteroom, the elders were standing in a circle facing inward at a large map of the White Isle, no doubt planning defensive strategies.

As Rusk neared the group, The Grandfather of his clan gestured for him to approach and they walked together through a heavy door into a private room, as the two entered Rusk was met by the three Blackwater elders, sat at a round table.

"Sit, please," one of the elders indicated to a chair, on the table was a dark wooden box with ornate hinges and clasp.

"Because of your previous experience, you have been chosen for a very important task, if successful it could help end this war and in turn save many lives."

Rusk was intrigued and nervous in equal measure.

"The best way to kill a viper is to remove the head, remove the head, the body dies,"

It was pretty obvious what was coming next Rusk thought.

The elder continued, "You and five others will travel by boat to the mainland when the main battle is joined, it is hoped you will remain undetected amongst the confusion. There you will retrace your steps and gain entry to the robots lair and make your strike."

Rusk wasn't convinced the plan had been thoroughly thought through.

"I would gladly travel back to the mainland, I have unfinished business there, but how will I make this 'er 'strike'?"

"You must think this scheme rather thin, but you are the only human to have seen the robot kingdom, the only one to have come out alive, you are in fact our only hope in turning the tide," the elder pushed the dark wooden box toward Rusk.

"Open it."

Rusk pulled the box to him and flicked the catch, opened the lid and marvelled at the contents.

"What is it?" he asked.

"It's a relic of the yesteryear, it's called the Five Banger, a weapon, it propels forward, at great velocity a small metal egg using fire and thunder."

"How does it work?" Rusk picked up the relic, a wooden handle sporting five metal tubes, exquisitely made. "It's beautiful."

"And deadly," the elder drew another box from under the table and opened it, it contained many shiny brass cylinders, capped with a dull lead crown. "I will demonstrate."

Taking the metal item, the elder then broke the back of the Five Banger and inserted a single brass cylinder.

"Studying the old texts, I believe these are called 'ammo's."

He closed the back and pulled on a lever on the top until it made two audible clicks.

"Watch" extending his arm and pointed the Five Banger at a thick wooden artefact hanging on the wall, the elder pulled the lower lever with his index finger, there was fire, an enormous bang and an acrid blue smoke hung in the air.

"Regard," pointing to the wooden artefact, now displaying a hole right through it and into the wall beyond.

Rusk reeling from the shock of the Five Bangers report was noticeably impressed by the damage the ammo had caused, surely nothing could withstand such power.

"When do we leave?"

#  THE MARCH NORTH

54 and the Triumvirate were monitoring the progress of the invasion closely, but for very different reasons. The Triumvirate was keeping a military eye on the bloody proceedings, issuing commands to the troops on the ground, trying desperately to keep the fluid nature of the several ongoing battles as efficient as possible. Unfortunately, due to Mecha's rapid need for an army, the inferior quality of her robots, made this charge extremely demanding.

A task not helped by 54's behaviour of late, without his omnipresent eye, the task of conducting the war was becoming disorganized, the cyber links to the troops, although enhanced by the booster arrays, were not as effective as when their deity was transmitting coherently.

The fault lay in the very fact that he was omnipresent, his links with the many different types and models of automata, designed and programmed years before by humans had slowly corrupted his hard drives.

There are three main types of logical thinking, Abductive reasoning, a form of logical inference which starts with a set of observations to find the simplest and most likely explanation for these observations.

Inductive reasoning, a method in which the premises are seen as supplying some evidence for the truth of the conclusion, in contrast to the third, Deductive reasoning or Deductive logic, the process of reasoning from one or more statements to reach a logically certain conclusion.

These three different and conflicting logical procedures, adopted from the huge data pool from robots over the years, shed some light perhaps on 54's bizarre conduct. These logical thought processes each vying for dominion over the other must have been the catalyst that slowly sent him mad and suspicious of the Triumvirates motives.

He had lost focus on the mission to heal the earth and was distracted and lost in his own distorted vision for the future.

54 knew by experience that the human captives aboard the rake off the island would not last long without nourishment, he would have to recall the vessel soon, or lose its precious cargo. The promise of more subjects being transported to Mecha's docks and then on to his enhancement theatres filled his logic centres with a kind of cyber excitement.

He overrode the Triumvirates link to the southern rake and sent a cloaked transmission for it to return with his prizes. He still had loyalty and control over the maintenance bots' at the docks and the surgical units established deep within the bowels of the Hive, he could continue with his magnum opus without interruption.

The signal piggybacked across the forty or so miles to the listening rake out in the bay. Although she was crewed by over two hundred support 'bots, she was an autonomous entity and only took instruction from the Hive, still retaining personal autonomy as to how those instructions could be carried out efficiently.

At the height of the conflict, the order for a valuable rake to return to the mainland docks would seem contradictory to the Triumvirates instruction to shadow the ground forces and offer drone assistance if possible. Now the link to the Hive appeared to be compromised and only 54's transmissions were being received, without any challenge to the order to return, the rake complied. She turned her vast bulk slowly to starboard, away from the island and set her course for the mainland docks...

Rusk spent most of the morning acquainting himself with the workings of the Five Banger, he practised the loading and discharging of the weapon, gaining accuracy through repetition. Obviously, the 'ammo's' were finite, so firing the firearm was restricted somewhat, it drew a crowd and they marvelled at the weapons effect.

It now was approaching midday and the men were readying themselves for the short march to the ruins to the north.

"Rusk," it was The Grandfather, "Come meet your companions."

There across the courtyard were the five members of his detachment, it was Flint and his three friends from the west, the fourth surprised him, it was No.9, as Rusk and The Grandfather advanced towards them 9 raised his arms to indicate his unresistance.

"Put your arms down 'bot," said Rusk a little impatiently.

The Grandfather led them into the great hall once more and to the anteroom where the Blackwater elders briefed them on the expedition, they were to travel with the main force to the ruins and then onward north with a guide to the large tidal river, where the boat allocated for the trip was berthed.

The march north went without incident and as the men were assigned their positions, Rusk and his odd company ate and drank around a welcome fire.

Merek asked, "What's it like over there?"

Rusk chose his words carefully; they must realise the dangers they were facing.

"Well, there are the ruined buildings, much like here, only larger, these were huge human settlements, housing thousands of people, all gone, dead. Robots rule over there, they sit in their huge castle and send out their minions to kill or capture, it's as if they can track you like an animal, that's what we are to them, the things they did to my friend Eric would give you nightmares."

"But you escaped," Merek said.

"By the skin of our teeth, I can't explain it, it was as if one minute we were enemies, the next captive, then almost as if we were allowed to leave. Like I said, I can't explain the workings of those metal bastards," Rusk looked over at 9, "No offence," he said sarcastically.

The guide arrived, a member of the river clan to the north of the island, he looked a little nervous when he saw No.9. and fingered his hand axe.

"Don't worry about 9, he's harmless," Flint said, 9 lifted his arms again.

"For god's sake 'bot, stop raising your bloody arms every five minutes, put them down and keep them down," Rusk shouted, exasperated.

The guide had a short conversation about the route north, Rusk turned to the others.

"Grab your gear we're moving out."

They marched north alongside the eastern bank of the great tidal river that split the northern half of the White Isle, all the while the river grew wider, they had left the ruins behind and were traversing the relatively open countryside for some miles.

Flint pointed, "More buildings ahead."

"We're near now, couple more miles," their guide explained, "Near the coast."

The dilapidated buildings lining the banks of the river didn't resemble the small brick-built houses further inland, these were constructed of metal and were large and tall.

"Boathouses," the guide offered before he was asked.

He led them a little further and into one of the boathouses, it seemed to be in better repair than most of the others. Inside were other clansmen preparing what was obviously a boat of sorts, it's hull was black and shiny, hard and smooth to the touch, it must have been at least twenty five feet in length, it's bow pointed like a knife. It had a high metal mast with wire rigging and a huge dark mainsail furled neatly on a long boom, she sat ready in the water between two wooden jetties.

Rusk had never seen such a splendid vessel, "She's beautiful."

"A boat from the yesteryear, we call her Serendipity, a bit ironic given the circumstances," the guide said, "There must have been many such boats back then, judging by the number of boathouses. We'll sail at the turn of the tide, it'll carry us out into the mouth of the river, best get aboard soon."

Rusk and company marvelled at the craftsmanship of the vessel, they certainly knew how to make things back in the day. The material the hull was constructed of was unfamiliar to him, it seemed to be in one piece and hard to the touch.

They climbed aboard and stowed their gear and weapons below decks, then assembled above and were allocated their places.

#  CROSSING

The boat was well stocked with foodstuffs and crewed by three of the river clan, including their guide, whose name turned out to be Drew, a short, slender fellow in his late twenties. It was plain he and his colleagues knew how to operate the black boat, they moved effortlessly around the vessel pulling ropes and turning the winches in a well-practised way.

They sailed with just the headsail on the outgoing tide, negotiating the myriad of small piers and jetties, some collapsed into the river. Littering the banks were the hulks of other sailing vessels from the yesteryear, some lying on their sides like beached whales, others half-submerged, covered in seaweed and barnacles, it saddened Rusk to see this.

The river widened as they sailed nearer to the channel, No.9 felt decidedly agitated being so near the water, he sat in the centre of the vessel away from the gunnels. He hadn't had any contact with Anisoptera since he'd followed the humans into their encampment at Blackwater, she had left his shoulder to further analyse the human's intentions for 9.

The other humans in his group were talking amongst themselves, getting more acquainted, sometimes laughing, even when times were as difficult as now, the humans still found some kind of connection that made them bond together. 9 wanted these things, he always had.

He reached out for his friend, there was nothing, he was alone again.

High on the mast, in stealth mode, clung Anisoptera, she would monitor the situation incognito, she wouldn't leave No.9, he was her soulmate.

As the river opened up to an estuary, a crewmember hoisted the mainsail and the boat gathered speed. There was much shouting among the crew, each barking instructions to each other over the noise of the sail and the buffeting of the hull against the water.

When they were clear of the estuary and into open water they all took their positions and at the command hoisted the spinnaker as swiftly as possible to the masthead before it filled with wind.

As the wind caught it and it billowed out, a crewmember dropped the headsail, the sudden acceleration made the black vessel lurch forward taking the passengers by surprise, none of them had travelled so fast in their lives. She cut through the waves effortlessly, the mainland was but four miles away, dead ahead. They set a course for the large estuary due north hopefully undetected by the two rakes currently cruising along the northwest channel, Drew at the helm.

"That isn't where we landed," Rusk shouted above the crashing of the bow, "It was at least seven or eight miles further west."

"Too risky," Drew shouted back, "We'll drop you up the estuary, you'll have to make your own way from there, sorry."

Rusk nodded.

It was Merek who saw it first in the fading late afternoon light.

"There!" he pointed out to port, a few miles up the channel was the vast hulk of a rake, heading their way. "Has it seen us?"

"Don't know, can we go any faster?" Rusk bellowed.

Drew maintained the course, steering the most direct route.

"Fifteen minutes and we'll be around the point and out of sight, just hang on and hope."

Those fifteen minutes were the longest they had ever endured, as the boat rounded the point, the rake was out of direct view. Rusk knew from bitter experience that Mecha had a way of finding those who it sought, he didn't know how, but he hoped that they had enough to contend with, what with the war. He couldn't know of the dispute between the different factions in the Hive.

The spinnaker sail was dropped and furled and the mainsail was hoisted, in the estuary, a more manageable speed across the water was required, the boat sailed north for another couple of miles, hugging the shoreline, strewn with ruined buildings, looking for somewhere safe to land.

Drew spied a likely spot and steered the craft into a smaller creek, lined with trees, somewhere to hide and take stock. The tide was ebbing fast now and it was becoming harder to keep up the speed against the outgoing tide and they needed to get out of sight before the rake arrived.

They secured the boat fore and aft and found cover away from the vessel and waited, above the treeline loomed the giant craft, it rounded the point and entered the channel.

"It's found us," Flint said sounding resigned and deflated, he'd hoped they'd made it, to have come this far. "Bastards."

The huge rake approached, in the middle of the wide channel, although it was probably still a mile downstream, the vast grey bulk streaked with rust seemed close enough to touch.

It sailed closer and closer with a deep humming whisper of its powerplants and the creaking of its hull, it was mountainous, the humans watched in awe, the ground vibrating beneath them as it glided passed and onward upriver.

The rake disappeared around a fork in the river and out of sight, all the while no one spoke a word.

Merek broke the silence, "Our father was taken to one of those things."

The others looked grim-faced and uncomfortable, what could anyone say in this situation to make the two brothers feel better.

"We must leave, or we'll miss the tide," said Drew, "We wish you good luck, I've got a feeling you'll need it."

There was a communal grunt of agreement.

Drew and the crew readied their boat for the return trip, the light was fast disappearing, the sun dropping down below the horizon.

"Can you sail in the dark?" asked Jay.

Drew looked up from coil the painter rope, "I reckon we'll take our chances." They climbed aboard and Jay pushed the boat out from the bank.

"Thanks, lads," said Rusk, the small group stood and waved farewell and the boat was paddled out into the creek and away into the darkness.

Anisoptera fluttered down onto No.9's shoulder, she would not leave him.

Flint noticed her silver wings glitter in the dark, "I see your friend has returned 9."

9. turned his head unit to Flint, his optics glowing, "Yes," he said.

Rusk was startled, "What the fuck! you can talk," his outburst made the others take notice.

"He can talk, he can actually talk," Rusk was obviously dumbfounded, "I met a 'bot before who spoke, thought it was a one-off."

The astonished group all stood to face No.9, he promptly raised his arms, knocking Anisoptera from her perch.

Rusk confronted 9, "You didn't say you could speak, why? Oh, and drop your arms."

9 complied and lowered his arms, "You didn't ask this question." His voice was tinny and thin.

"He's got a point there," Flint conceded.

"Are you a threat to us?" Rusk asked, "And keep those arms down."

"I am not a threat, sir."

"Yeah well, I've got my eye on you 9." Rusk fingered the Five Banger, "We move out tomorrow at dawn, try and sleep the rest of you, I'll take first watch," it started to drizzle, "Terrific, cold, rain and a gibbering robot, perfect, just perfect."

# A DISTRACTION

The rake had berthed at the main docks with the human captives in her hold, some two hundred souls in all, 54 instructed the attending stevedore 'bots to unload the cargo and transport them to the Hives lower levels by drone when instructed, the thought of the specimens imminent arrival caused him to feel something akin to euphoria.

The vivisection mechs were briefed by restricted transmissions, this new (delivery) had nothing to do with the Triumvirate, in fact, it might inflame an already volatile situation. All would be well, 54's vision of the pairing of steel and bone would become a reality, albeit confidentially, for the time being at least. No need to jeopardize his idea for the future by revealing his current plans.

The drones would transfer the cargo tomorrow...

Meanwhile, on the island the army was closing on a substantial part of the human defenders, they seemed to have the humans on the defensive, they fell back before Mechas army, the Triumvirate were confident a swift victory here would finally sway the battle for domination, once and for all. The rakes to the north of the island were directed further along the coast eastwards, the humans were veering away from the central areas and nearing the channel coast, this could prove costly for them. Still out of drone range, but should they venture within their sphere of operation, they would be deployed en masse, their effectiveness had already been proven.

The third rake, however, was still not responding to their hailing signals, this needed more investigation, suspicions were aroused that 54 had some hand in this.

No.9 could still feel the itch from the cyber chatter, he could understand Mecha's intentions and strategies, he implemented a partial block on communications from the Hive by changing his receiving frequency, the constant transmissions were more frantic and were interfering with the discourse between himself and Anisoptera.

The drizzle had thankfully stopped in the night, the stinging moisture aggravating 9's circuitry, he was sure his human companions were equally grateful for its cessation, they were awake and moving in the early morning light.

Jay stood and stretched, "Another day in paradise lads," he said shivering, "Bloody freezing."

"We've got a days walk, maybe a day and a half at least," Rusk said, "Let's get the gear together, this isn't where we landed last time so we need to keep the sun behind us until I find a familiar landmark."

The curious group set off westward, No.9 and Anisoptera bringing up the rear. They passed dilapidated and derelict buildings on the march until after an hour the land became a more open country, only the odd tumbledown habitation dotting the route. They tried to keep to cover as much as possible, the absence of humans farming the land for so long enabled the woodland to flourish which helped immensely with keeping out of sight.

9 stopped and pointed, "Drones."

The others stopped immediately and scurried for cover, keeping low.

"Nine, where?" Flint whispered loudly, "I don't see them."

9 followed the humans clumsily into the treeline, pointing again, "Drones."

Sure enough, the familiar whistling of approaching drones became louder and louder, they sounded like they were almost upon them, then some hundred feet above them the flight of around fifty was visible, heading west.

"They've found us," groaned Merek.

"Don't think so," said Rusk, "Look."

The drones passed, slung below each pair of them, a human captive, both Merek and Carac held their hands on their heads, fingers interlaced, a terrible look of horror on their faces. Flint winced, he knew their father had been captured by the drones and taken to a rake offshore, he felt helpless and could only imagine what was going through the brother's minds.

"Looks like we're going in the right direction," Rusk said matter of factly, "Let's move."

Another eight hours marching and several more flights passing overhead, each time 9 informed the humans of their imminent arrival giving them enough time to hide and stay undetected.

"I know this place, we're not far from their lair," Rusk pointed to the wind turbines he and Briar had come across before, "There's an old town around the base of that hill, that's where we'll find them."

As they approached, Flint marvelled at the tall white machines, "What are they?"

"As far as I can tell, they generate some form of energy, like the water mills back home," Rusk answered, but he wasn't sure.

"Is that where our father is?" asked Carac, indicating the ruined town yonder.

"If he's alive, that's where he'll be I reckon."

Within the hour the group came across the outskirts of the large conurbation, they slipped from ruined building to ruined building. Rusk sought out the tall building he and Briar had laid up in before, it provided a good vantage point to scan the Hive and its environs. On reaching the selected tower block they all entered and climbed the stairwell to the upper levels and finding a room with no windows, here they had to plan their next move.

After an hour or so's rest and a meal of dried fruit and biscuits, they gathered in a tight circle to discuss the objective.

"I think we should go now," it was Merek, "Our father and others are in there and the sooner we go, the sooner we can help them."

Carac nodded, "I agree, the longer we wait, the worse it could be for those poor souls inside."

Rusk sympathised of course, "I understand your haste, but we don't even know where they're held, it'll be dark in a couple of hours, I think we should wait at least until then, I know of a way in."

The others reluctantly agreed, there was no point risking capture.

Flint offered a solution, "What if we caused a diversion, away from our route, could that work?"

"What about a fire," said Jay, "Maybe start a fire on the outskirts of the town, one of us could do it, doesn't need all of us."

"Won't that alert them to our presence," said Merek, "Could have the opposite effect and damn us all."

"To be fair Merek, they probably know we're here already," Rusk replied, "In the absence of a better idea I reckon we should go with this."

The group discussed this option, voted and Jay was unanimously volunteered for the task. Both Merek and Carac were still anxious to head out but agreed that they'd stand a better chance as a group.

"I didn't mean me!" he complained, "I wanna go with you guys."

"This is very important," said Rusk, "But very dangerous, you'll have to start the fire and get away from there as soon as possible."

"Something to tell Ada, fella," said Flint, "Jerom the hero, Jerom saves the day, she'll definitely want your babies after that."

Jay shook his head, "Damn, I wish I wasn't so shallow sometimes."

Flint clapped him on the shoulder, "You're a good man to have around."

The group carefully crept to a balcony with a good view of the Hive, the large grey building, some half a kilometre away, watching, as tiny figures walked about the great flat roof. Rusk pointed out the culvert he and Briar had used to enter the huge structure secretly before.

The building Jay should set fire to was selected, about half a kilometre in the opposite direction, with a reasonably well-covered route, it should be getting darker by the time Jay got there and when the blaze was evident from their hideout, they would leave.

Jay said his farewells and left, walking quietly down the stairs of the block.

No.9 sat in the corner, the two walls holding him up, Anisoptera rested on his shoulder and they communed. With Anisoptera around, the chatter emanating from Mecha seemed to be dimmer, he likened her to a calmant, a sedative to the frantic cyber speak all 'bots were now locked into.

Anisoptera in-kind doted on 9, he was her soulmate, a perfect connection of minds.

"Nine, you must stay here," said Rusk, although he was beginning to trust 9 he wasn't about to jeopardise the mission by bringing one of Mecha's own with them, he thought it prudent to err on the side of caution.

"Smoke!"

#  ENTER THE HIVE

Mecha's forces closed with the humans in the ruins that spanned the river that cut the north of the island in half. The defenders had planned well, the humans were a cunning and resourceful species, the thoroughfares leading into the dilapidated city were strewn with traps and barricades, hampering any sort of cohesive advance.

The trap was sprung, the robot army was effectively lured into the rubble-filled streets, pits had been dug and obstacles were strewn around to further hamper the smooth advance of Mechas warriors. Masonry, arrows and firebombs rained down on them from the fighters in the tall buildings. There was initial carnage and the 'bots took heavy losses, with no heavy weaponry to mount an overwhelming attack.

Another lesson is to know your enemy, these humans weren't the soft humans of the yesteryear, not the cossetted dependants on technology, no, these were a people with a burning desire to survive at any cost.

The overconfidence of Mecha in their conceited belief that they were the master race had come back to bite them.

No state goes to war without the conviction of winning, on the other hand, no state should go to war without truly knowing the stakes, this war would have no victor, as with all wars no one would truly triumph.

After three days of the unsuccessful attack, the Triumvirate were forced to rethink their strategy, without 54's omnipotence and generalship, the army was found seriously wanting, sub-standard mechs on the ground, no air cover and poor tactics led the Triumvirate to call for withdrawal until a solution could be established.

The metal ranks slavishly heeded the transmission to fall back outside of the ruined city, harried every step of the way, to finally bivouac in open country where the army would certainly be able to prevail. These humans were clever, they would not venture into a fight without the advantage of cover, what they couldn't match in strength and technology they could certainly match with guerrilla tactics.

Frequent requests for 54's aid were ignored, something was amiss. His knowledge gleaned from a million archives was indispensable, he would not respond, he had other matters to attend to, significant and far-reaching matters, not some petty war with human beings confined to an island.

The captives from the rake had been covertly transported to the Hive and were already in the holding pens in the lower levels, 54 was euphoric, drunk with ambition. The loyalty of the maintenance 'bots was absolute, what was their alternative, he could depend on their obedience, he could reach out with his conscious and feel their love for him, such is often the way with delusional personalities.

As for the hominids in the derelict building near the Hive, he would wait, they would come to him.

The Triumvirate were alerted of the near distant smoke by the 'bots on the roof, it was rising from a building a kilometre away, the chatter was relayed piggyback, after deliberation, three drones were deployed to investigate.

Rusk, Flint, Merek and Carac on seeing the smoke waited with bated breath for any reaction from the Hive, for a minute or so there was no movement, then three drones appeared from a rooftop orifice. They ducked into the room to escape detection, although the drones had heat detection capabilities it wasn't as refined as Anisoptera and her kind, nevertheless, they deemed it prudent to keep concealed until the drones had passed.

"Let's hope Jay made it away," said Rusk.

Flint mumbled, "Aye."

The drones seemed fascinated by the fire, they circled the building at a safe distance, probing for information, relaying their findings back to the Triumvirate.

"They seem pretty interested in Jay's handiwork," said Flint, peering round the balcony wall. "I reckon he's alright."

Rusk beckoned to the others, "Let's get going before they return."

The four young men grabbed their weapons and hurried down the stairs and out into the shadowy streets, it was almost dark and they darted from dark doorways and on to the next, making their way as swiftly as they could safely to the gaping entrance of the culvert.

On reaching the dark maw they all climbed gingerly down into the concrete drain.

The running water was cold, it came up to their shins, shocking the breath out of them.

"Bloody hell that's bastard freezing," gasped Merek.

"Careful as we enter the opening, there's a steep slope just inside," Rusk warned, " It drops around ten or twelve feet into a river of sorts."

Rusk held up his hand, barely visible in the low light, "It's just here, take it real easy, I'll go first and I'll call up when I'm clear."

Rusk had wrapped the Five Banger in waterproof leather back at the Blackwater, the elders had warned that it would affect the discharging of the weapon, he hoped it was enough.

He felt for the drop with his foot and discovering the edge he sat in the cold water and shuffled forward into the dark and over the lip, he slid down the steep slope into deeper water, again the shock of the cold water made him catch his breath. He scrambled to his feet, the water now up to his waist, soaked to the skin, shaking with the cold.

"Quick, get down here," he whispered loudly.

The others followed suit and soon they were all stood in the cold, slowly flowing water in almost pitch black.

"What now?" said Flint shaking, "Which way?"

"Grab each other's belts at the back and I'll lead," said Rusk, "Just watch your footing."

With his hand outstretched in front of him and feeling for the wall, Rusk led the group with the direction of the current, it was slow going but after half an hour there was a dim light around the tunnel bend. On negotiating the bend, the familiar sight of one of the concrete jetties came into view.

"I've been here before, let's get out of the water,"

Getting out of the cold fetid water didn't come too soon, the cold had robbed them of any feeling in their legs and feet, to replace it with a cold aching numbness. They removed their soaked clothing and wrung them out as best they could and then dressed, the clothes seemed colder than before.

There was a tunnel leading from the jetty and into the structure.

Rusk had come across this part of the culvert before with Briar, then there were the ghostly maintenance 'bots working here but now it was deserted, the tunnel was not the one they had entered before so he didn't know where it might lead. There was some welcome warmth emanating out from the passage and it was this that made up the four friends minds about exploring it.

They crept slowly down the tunnel, it was definitely getting warmer the further in they explored and lighter too, there was a low ambient sound also, a deep hum and a slight vibration through the air.

Merek spoke quietly, "What's that humming?"

"Not sure," Rusk replied, "Some form of electrickery I think, I asked The Grandfather about it, that was his explanation anyway, makes this place work."

"Mmmn never heard of that before."

Rusk unwrapped the Five Banger and in the dim light and examined it for any moisture, there didn't appear to be any water evident and the same applied for the pouch full of the ammo's, he was relieved and held the weapon tightly to his stomach. The four carried on down the corridor, it bent slightly to the left and there was a brighter light emanating from around the corner, perhaps a room of some kind.

There was movement ahead, a shadow was cast briefly across the floor before them, something was inside, they all took a step backwards and knelt close to the wall. Rusk raised his left hand to indicate silence and cocked the Five Banger with the other, pointing it in the direction of of the disturbance.

The shadow grew as it neared them, whatever it was it was coming their way, closer and closer, they braced themselves for the inevitable encounter when Anisoptera fluttered around the corner followed by No.9.

Seeing the Five Banger aimed squarely at his head, 9 quickly raised his hands aloft.

"Not this again," Rusk sighed, referring to 9's yo-yo arms, he lowered his weapon, 9 reciprocated by doing the same arm-wise.

Another figure rounded the corner, it was Jay, bone dry and grinning from ear to ear.

"You look a bit, moist lads."

The boy Flint mumbled some profanity under his breath, Jay grinned even more.

"Go on then," said Rusk, "How did ya get in?"

Jay patted 9 on the head, "Ol' Nine here, turns out he used to live here, he showed me the landing hanger where those drones live, saw 'em go back in and we just followed and Nine brought us here."

Flint, Merek and Carac slumped to the ground, backs to the wall and looked at Rusk.

"How was I s'posed to know?" Rusk exclaimed in his defence.

"Funny thing is lads," Jay continued, "I reckon I know roughly where they've taken your Dad and the others, they were brought here by those drone things and the hanger must be near where they're kept," he told the two brothers, that pricked their ears up and they stood, gripping their weapons.

"Well, I guess we'd better follow young Jay then," Rusk stood, uncocked the Five Banger and tucked it back into his belt, "Let's go."

Jay led them through the corridor into what looked like a worker 'bots tool room and through a portal leading to a curved ramp looping steeply upward. The ramp flattened out onto landings at regular intervals with portals leading off to god knows where.

It seemed very quiet, eerie almost.

They followed Jay, keeping as quiet as possible, there was a tangible tension in the air, he stopped at a portal and checked the insignia marked on the wall above it.

Jay turned and whispered, "This one I think, yes this one I'm sure."

Readying their weapons they followed Jay through the opening and beyond.

A large dimly lit area greeted them, spacious and empty, they quickly and quietly made for the shadows.

#  A TRAGIC REUNION

54 could 'feel' the five humans had entered the Hive, they were accompanied by two other entities, he reached out but nothing was clear, he couldn't sense the properties of these others, he was curious.

An order was transmitted to the 'bot crews in the lower levels to stay out of sight and let these visitors remain unmolested, he would investigate further himself.

He summoned his bearer, a subject fashioned by the maintenance tech 'bots solely to carry him independently of his booster arrays. With the absence of a perambulating chassis, he was restricted to his 'throne' in the Great Hall, connected to the arrays that magnified his consciousness to his many faithful followers, up until now he had no need for unconstrained movement, he could see the world through the eyes of his subjects, it was not enough.

His mission of late was to create the successors to Mecha, to carry out the great works in his name, this had preoccupied him to the point where he felt fettered, he wanted to be involved on all levels, he wanted the freedom of movement as well as freedom of mind.

The bearer arrived and removed the connecting conduits from their sockets in the booster array, this disconnection would considerably diminish the area he could extend his psyche, limiting it to the Hive and the docks, but he was the deity, all-powerful and godlike.

Gently lifting 54 from the array, the bearer placed the decapitated head unit into the secure conveyance pod on its thorax. 54 bade the bearer to carry him to the lower hanger level, to meet the new arrivals, flanked by two of the faithful, he began the trip down the central mezzanine and onward towards the hanger decks...

No.9 and Anisoptera communed, they had, despite the self-imposed block on their receivers, felt the tendrils of 54's mind examining them, his feelers trying to guess their specification.

"The deity comes," said 9 in his tinny voice, "There might be a danger."

By now the small band were well into the cavernous hanger, thankfully unoccupied, they hugged the walls and shadows in the dimly lit space, making their way to what appeared to be an exit, presumably leading deeper into the Hive.

Rusk fingered the Five Banger, where were all the robots? when he and Briar were here before, the place was heaving with hundreds of them.

"What do you mean Nine, the deity?" Flint asked.

"The deity comes," was the only reply.

"Keep it down, we'll look through here," Rusk whispered, "I thought you said you knew where they'd taken the others, Jay."

"I said I had an idea, it's got to be off a hanger, I thought it was this one."

A familiar whistling cut the silence, there were drones returning, they must have rechecked the fire Jay had set, there was no other option, they had to use the exit.

"Quickly," Rusk urged the others through before the drones entered the hanger and discovered them, they bundled through in the nick of time and moved away from the doorway, out of sight.

"Close," said Flint.

"What now?" Merek asked, "Our fathers here somewhere, we have to find him."

"Well if Jay's right and the drones carried them here, they can't be far away surely," Rusk said, "We'll just have to think of the most logical place they could be."

"This looks promising," Flint pointed to another ramp leading down one storey into the Hive.

They crept quietly down the ramp in the dim light, it reached a landing some hundred yards ahead, a brighter light glowed through the open doorway. On reaching the opening they stood against the wall either side, Merek peered around and looked within.

"Oh no!" he groaned, stifling a retch.

There inside the large room were four operating benches on which were unconscious human males in varying states of dismemberment.

There were no signs of any robot movement so the group entered the white room and ran to the benches and the wretched souls restrained upon them, both Merek and Carac checked frantically for their father.

"Not here," gasped Merek, "Not here."

Almost as soon as they'd entered the room, their presence must have triggered a sensor, the lights burned brighter instantly, after several seconds a vivisection 'bot glided into the room, it's operating tools still wet and glistening with fresh blood.

Rusk instinctively raised the Five Banger, aimed and pulled the trigger, the projectile shattered the clear domed top of the robots head unit in a shower of sparks and shards of crystalline ceramic.

The 'bot staggered and made an attempt to right itself, it's gyros struggling, the second shot punctured the chest and finally put the mech down, its optics flicking this way and that, seemingly surprised. The loud report echoed throughout this area of the Hive, Rusk hurriedly reloaded the empty chambers of the Five Banger, his hands shaking.

54 reeled in surprise and alarm, one of the vivisectionists had stopped its agitated chatter abruptly and was now inoperable, he ordered the bearer to make haste for the dissection theatres. The bearer and the two accompanying 'bots upped the pace and headed for the source of the disturbance.

"Check the anterooms for survivors," shouted Rusk, the others bar Flint rushed through the surgical complex looking for other captive humans.

As the furore erupted, the Triumvirate were alerted by the now distressed 54's chatter, separated from his booster array his guarded transmissions were now transparent to them and the recent covert actions he had sanctioned were disclosed. They were perplexed as to why he'd kept them out of the loop, had they not proved that the human on a basic level, was an irresponsible and violent entity, only worthy of extermination, were they not fighting this war to eradicate this threat to Mecha and her plans for regeneration.

But 54 was too far gone, obsessed with his twisted vision for the future, his logic drives had bad sectors and his artificial intelligence had mutated and corrupted.

Rusk and the boy Flint stayed in the main surgical suite, No.9 and Anisoptera close by.

"The deity comes," 9 said.

Pointing through the doorway to three swiftly advancing figures, their eyes burning red, the one in the centre markedly taller and larger than the others, Anisoptera fluttered off of 9's shoulder and fluttered into a ceiling vent above, the deity was coming.

The two humans retreated around the operating tables, keeping them between themselves and the approaching, bots. Rusk readied the Five Banger, aiming for the doorway, Flint unslung the short bow from his shoulder and notched an arrow.

The two smaller mechs barged through the doorway and made directly towards the two behind the tables. The boom of the Five Banger cracked the air, fire and smoke-belching forth, two, three times, Flint loosed two arrows across the large room.

The first 'bot was hit twice square in the thorax by Rusk's weapon, it fell to its knees struggling to rise, the other was hit in one of its optics, Flints arrows finished it off, both severing hydraulic lines in its lower abdomen, rendering the legs inoperable.

The larger of the 'bots burst through the opening and skittled the two disabled robots across the floor into the wall, Rusk fired twice more and missed, the rapidly approaching mech had panicked him into not taking a measured aim, Flints only arrow glanced off its shoulder plate.

The Five Banger was empty and with no time to reload Rusk turned to escape through the doorway into the anteroom. The mech hit like a battering ram, tearing one of the operating tables from the floor and sent it hurtling into Rusk and Flint knocking them over. The two humans, battered and bleeding slid themselves across the floor in a blind panic, reaching the wall they turned to face 54 and the bearer.

54 emanated a shrill howl, like a wounded dog, being an old Mk 8 he was furnished with the ability to vocalize, albeit with a limited vocabulary. He used this ability to effective use, the sound chilled Rusk and Flint into paralysis.

The Triumvirate linked instantly with 54 and the situation was clear, there had been a breach into the Hive and three of their brethren had been attacked, these intruders must perish, for the good of the Hive and Mecha. 54 had no answer to these truths and immediately concurred with the three robot administrators, these humans were a danger and must die.

The bearer received the order and advanced toward the two cowering hominids, it grabbed Rusk by the chest and lifted him towards the ceiling, he thought his ribs would crack under the vice-like grip. The bearer looked into Rusk's face, ready to dash him to the floor, there was something familiar about this human, he hesitated.

Rusk looked back, shocked.

"Eric, Eric, it's me, Rusk," he shouted desperately.

A quizzical look crossed the face of the half-human, half-machine, he scoured his mind for some clue, he knew this name, it was important to him but he couldn't retrieve it from his tortured mind.

54 continued to command the killing but something was stopping him, he dropped Rusk and clutched at his head. The Five Banger spoke it's deafening report twice more and Eric fell to his knees, there was Flint backed against the wall with the smoking weapon in his hand, frantically trying to gather the spilt ammo from the floor and reload.

"NO!" shouted Rusk, "He is my friend."

Rusk tore the Five Banger from Flints trembling hands and ran to the wounded Eric, he put the Five Banger on the floor and gathered his friend's body in his arms.

He was it a shocking state, 54's minions had 'worked' tirelessly on him, having retrieved him from the crash site, they'd almost totally re-engineered him, he was no longer the laughing Eric, Rusks best friend in the world.

"Don't worry old friend, we'll get you some help."

Rusk knew the prognosis was bad, how could they possibly help him, he cradled his head in his arms. Erics one remaining organic eye was weeping, he knew the score.

Rusk hadn't realised that Eric had picked up the weapon and turned the Five Banger towards himself until he'd pulled the trigger, the top of his head exploded in a shower of blood, bone and brains.

Eric's chassis rolled slowly sideward and he came to rest on his back, the servo motors still whirring and jerking his mechanical limbs, belying the fact he was indeed dead, he was out of his misery at last.

The flickering optics of 54 demonstrated quite clearly his distress at the predicament he now found himself, disconnected from his booster array in the great hall, he was now at the mercy of these barbaric humans, he howled.

The sounds of the fracas had recalled the others, they came headlong into the now blood-spattered room, others now joined them, the captives from the island, some twenty or so, it seemed that Jay and the brothers had come upon the imprisoned men and overpowering another vivisection 'bot had freed them, sadly the father of the two brothers was not among them.

"There!" screamed one angrily, pointing at No.9, now standing bewildered and seemingly shocked by events, Rusk and Flint ran over to protect him, Rusk clutching his chest in obvious pain.

No.9, as expected, raised his arms in surrender.

"No!" Flint shouted, "He's one of us, tell them Nine."

"Friend," he said in his thin tinny voice.

The group of islanders didn't seem convinced and moved towards the confused robot, Rusk tore the Five Banger from Eric's grasp and fired a shot into the ceiling, the men stopped dead, they had not seen such a weapon before. The bluish smoke from the discharge hung in the air along with the rotten egg smell of sulphur.

"He's our friend," said Rusk through the pain, "Leave him be, there's the enemy," he pointed to the head of 54, his eyes still flickering left and right in search of salvation, how could it end like this, at the hands of a human, he hadn't completed his work.

The small mob stepped forward, past the dreadful sight of their dead comrades, slaughtered on the surgical benches.

54 frantically transmitted a distress signal for assistance, the Triumvirate intercepted it before it was widely circulated, could they have found the solution to the dilemma regarding 54's ever-increasing behavioural problems.

The SOS failed to reach any further than the hangers, the drones responded almost immediately, lifting off and tracking up the ramps to the source. The Triumvirate combined their digital minds to counter 54's order and the drones, struggling with the contradictory signals crashed to the floor, rendering them inoperative.

The last thing to go through 54's panicked mind was two bullets from the Five Banger, Rusk had put paid, once and for all to the savage machinations of 54, an ancient Mk 8 highways maintenance 'bot gone rogue.

Slipping down the wall and sitting on the floor Rusk still clutching his battered chest.

"What now?" Flint asked concerned at his friend's discomfort.

"There's three more to worry about in the Great Hall, Nine show them the way."

He handed the Five Banger to Merek along with the pouch of ammo.

No.9 lowered his hands and walked awkwardly out of the surgical suite, the group of islanders following, gathering anything that could be used as a weapon.

# AN UNDERSTANDING

The march to the Great Hall was strangely uneventful, the Triumvirate knew of their coming of course, but they were in the company of one of their own, a seeker bee, a servant of the Hive, was fluttering above and behind the group. This was a conundrum; the humans were in the presence of a robot and there appeared to be no violent interaction between the two, obviously, the robot had taken these hominids captive and was escorting them to the Triumvirate.

There seemed to be a problem with communications, the chatter was stifled, these must be the very humans that disposed of 54, now they were prisoners of Mecha.

The arrogance of the Triumvirate in assuming that these captives were in the charge of a single robot was incredible, did they not learn anything from the ongoing war on the White Isle, did they still believe that Mecha was superior and still regarded human beings to be nothing more than bipedal mammals.

Their supercilious attitude just might help topple them from their lofty perch.

No.9 led the group to the huge central hall, the men were obviously impressed with the vast room with its vaulted roof. They marched warily up the ramps to the higher gantries, robots stared blankly at the passing humans and continuing to perform their allocated tasks within the Hive.

Finally, they reached the Triumvirate, resplendent in their ornate decoration, the three head units, Uromys Rex, Regina Ruber and Corona Spinarum as they'd been dubbed, ensconced in their respective booster arrays, some ten feet above them, facing in a shallow semi-circle.

Imperious and arrogant.

Merek fingered the Five Banger, its revolving drum had the full five chambers loaded, the others had their weapons or whatever they could find.

They stood facing the Triumvirate, the deep hum of the booster arrays vibrating the air.

"Nine, which one is the leader?" Merek said.

9. lowered the transmission blocker and let the three 'bots engage with him, that familiar itch irritated his receptors as the communications were exchanged, 9 asked the question of which considered themselves as leader of Mecha, in light of 54's demise. All of the three, of course, were considered equal, but because Uromys Rex had been the first of 54's disciples, the onus of 'leader' fell to him and he conveyed this to 9.

Before 9 could relay the information the Five Banger spoke again, this time perforating the head unit of Corona Spinarum.

"What the hell!" shouted Jay, more in shock than anything else.

"The leader is always central," said Merek calmly, "The subordinates to the sides," he aimed again.

"Wait," Jay stood in front of Merek, "Nine ask if there are more captives."

Merek stood ready to fire at a moments notice.

Both Uromys rex and Regina Ruber were stunned by the actions of the human, they relayed a message through 9 to parley.

No.9 conveyed the question of further captives and the response was in the affirmative, there were at least another twenty in the lower levels. Since 54's deactivation, the relevant information was available to the two remaining 'bots.

There was some disagreement between Uromys Rex and Regina Ruber, both had wildly differing views on how to proceed with this situation. Uromys was of the opinion that to conduct a conversation with the humans was prudent, Regina was diametrically opposed to his viewpoint and the mobilisation of all the few remaining 'bots in the Hive to crush this threat to Mecha.

9 and Anisoptera were privy to their chatter and instantly evaluated their response.

"Leader," spoke No.9 pointing directly to Regina Ruber.

Merek wasted no time and shot the robot head unit, emptying the weapon, sparks and a small electrical fire devoured what was left of the once all-powerful Triumvirate, the men shouted in anger and bravado.

Merek reloaded and raised the Five Banger for the final volley.

"We've found them," it was the boy Flint, "We've found them," he rushed into the chamber followed by the remaining islander captives.

"Father!" both Merek and Carac ran towards the new arrivals and into the arms of their father.

The two groups of humans rushed and greeted each other then turned toward No.9 and Uromys Rex who looking down on the throng felt something akin to panic, 9 raised his hands as was now customary and backed slightly away.

"He's one of us," said Flint, "He can communicate with that," he said indicating Uromys, "What are its intentions Nine?"

Uromys Rex explained the incredible sequence of events that had befallen him during his lifespan so far., the initial feelings of despair and the thought of being a non-productive unit, how 54 had saved them all and gave them back a justification for becoming a worthwhile unit. A productive part of the family of robotkind and aiding in healing the world of man's excesses. He told of the degeneration of 54's logic and his unsanctioned experiments on humans, something the Triumvirate were anxious to stop.

He was but a part in the invasion of the White Isle, the perceived threat from humankind was to them tangible, they still had much work to do in reversing the devastation wreaked by hundreds of years of human greed and mismanagement, nothing could prevent that.

Because of 9's limited vocabulary, the translating of Uromys' thoughts took some time, the crowd of islanders listened, were not convinced of this message, they had lost much since the robot had come to their land.

Uromys could sense the tension in the hall and transferred a further communication to No.9, he did not want conflict, his sole aim was and is to carry on the primary mission. Most of the applications were in place, the goal was to minimise the carbon dioxide in the seas and atmosphere, in turn allowing the earth at the very least a fighting chance of preserving the myriad of species. Of course, it would take hundreds of years, but what choice was there, none.

The war had already ceased by order of Uromys Rex and the majority of robots were being recalled to Mecha to carry on with their collective tasks in the maintenance of the Hive and its ancillary processes. It would make no logical sense to prevent these procedures, who would benefit.

9 relayed the message once more, there was much agreement to this and equal dissent, these men had seen too much death, they wanted retribution.

Listening silently at the back of the hall stood Rusk, leaning on the wall, he walked toward the group and got their attention.

"Most of you will know, it was I and that poor unfortunate monster that stirred up this nest of vipers in the first place," he drew a painful breath and continued, "We came here seeking adventure, instead we found an overly suspicious and paranoid kingdom of mechanical men. Who wouldn't be suspicious of beings like us that ruined the very place they habited, I would. And you of the western clan who shunned the rest of us were you not overly suspicious in your ways toward your own kind? I say we could at least give the 'bot the benefit of the doubt, for now, any issues later and we'll come back and burn this place to the ground."

Rusk sat on the step at the foot of the dais in front of Uromys Rex.

"I'm sick of all the destruction, all I really want is to go home, raise a family and live a quiet life, war is bad for the soul, I hope we can agree that allowing this 'bot," he waved at Uromys, "To carry on trying to heal the land is more beneficial to ourselves, I couldn't give a jot for the metal men, I just want a better world for my children." Rusk took another painful breath.

"What say you?"

"How can we trust these metal bastards?" said one of the clansmen.

"I trust Nine and his friend," said Rusk.

"And I," said Flint, Jay, Merek and his brother Carac in unison.

There was suddenly an air of alarm, while the men had been in discussion, they realised that the walls of the chamber were lined with 'bots and more were coming into the hall, there must have been at least eighty plus and far outnumbered the humans.

The men reacted in anger and trepidation, they'd been deceived, this mech had misled them all along. They assumed a defensive stance, ready for combat, they stood little chance they knew.

Uromys Rex transmitted to 9 of his intentions.

"Peace," 9 said in his tinny voice, "Peace, follow."

No.9 walked in his awkward way towards one of the Great Halls exits, the surrounding 'bots parted and allowed him free passage, he was followed by Rusk and his friends, on seeing this the rest of the clansmen quickly followed suit, keeping alert for any deception and accompanied their fellow islanders, the sooner they were out of there the better.

The march to the sea took two days and proceeded without incident, no drones above, only birds and cloud, perhaps Uromys Rex had told the truth and there would be no more conflict. If so, the only foreseeable problem was how to cross the channel without boats.

#  STRANDED

The humans had made their encampment near the estuary mouth out of the wind in the grassy sand dunes and awaited developments. While en route, the great hulk of the rake was seen to depart the docks, sail down the estuary and out to the deeper channel beyond and dropped anchor.

As the island clansmen sat around the campfires, there was much talk of what they might find when they eventually returned to their homes, would there be any homes? They could only hope.

They sustained themselves on foraging the coastline usually a stew of seaweed and shellfish, sometimes the odd crab delighted the palate and lightened the mood.

Rusk and Flint had forged a strong bond while in each other's company, they liked each other immensely.

"I might not return to the west if we manage to get back," Flint mused, "It sounds a lot more easy-going in your neck of the woods, Rusk."

"Well it used to be, I can't really see how things will ever be the same, to be honest."

It saddened Rusk to hear himself say such things, but the events of the past year had made him more pragmatic, gone was the rash and audacious adventurer, instead of seeking beyond the horizon for life, he realised that life was always with him on the isle.

"I'm bedding down now fella, too cold," Rusk said and got up gingerly, rubbing his chest.

"Still causing you grief?" said Flint.

"Not too bad cracked a couple of ribs I reckon," Rusk answered, "Goodnight."

He walked to the makeshift shelter of wooden stakes and roofed with ample marram grass.

Morning arrived with a light frost and bright sunshine, a welcome sight after the previous days of drizzling rain and grey cloudy skies.

Rusk rose, his muscles stiff from sleeping on the grass-strewn sand and ventured outside, Flint and the others had already got a fire on the go and were warming themselves before foraging for food.

"Hey sleepy," said Jay cheerfully, "God you look rough," he said on a more concerned note.

"Thanks, Jay," Rusk sat on the log with the others, warming themselves through, "Do you mind if I stay here for a bit?" he said, "I'll gather some shellfish later."

"No problem," said Flint, handing Rusk a birch bark cup full of seafood broth, they'd cooked in a metal receptacle, found during their march through the ruined habitats to the coast.

Rusk sipped the broth, that was good, he took his time, he wanted to savour every mouthful.

There was a commotion on the other side of the camp, nearer the beach, men were shouting and running inland, to the treeline. There sailing up the channel and heading for the estuary were the other two rakes, drones buzzing around them like angry wasps, they'd be on them within the hour.

"Looks like we've got company," said Flint with a little resignation in his voice, "Thought it was too good to be true."

Rusk sat by the fire, he was weary, and he had no inclination to hide, Flint, Jay and the brothers elected to stay with him.

No.9 sat motionless at the top of the dunes as he had since they'd arrived, Anisoptera sat on his shoulder as they communed together like a pair of lovestruck teenagers. He spied the approaching rakes, but couldn't make contact, there was no discernable chatter at all.

The ships fell into a line astern formation as they neared the estuary mouth, it was now the expected attack would happen, but there was no assault, they glided into the estuary with the deep hum of their engines receding with them as they disappeared around the bend in the river a couple of miles upstream.

The men now came out of the trees and back into camp, there was much discussion and palpable relief...

Three more days passed and they were no closer to finding their way back home, Rusk remembered the sunken boats on the White Isle, he couldn't remember seeing any on this side of the channel, maybe there were some further upstream, he discussed it with the others.

"What do you think, Flint, should we send some men to see if they can find any vessels?" he said, "Things'll get pretty desperate soon I reckon."

"Well I don't think we can stay here indefinitely," Flint replied, "The weather is closing in and we're nowhere near set up for a cold winter."

"I agree," said Jay, "I'm more than willing to go and look, but I don't think we'll find any."

"Maybe we could return to the ruins, make a better camp there," Merek offered.

"Then there's the issue of finding enough food to keep us going through the winter," Rusk said, "Looks like the only option is to try and find a boat."

"We'll go with Jay too, maybe grab a few others for extra manpower." Merek clapped his hand on Caracs shoulder.

"OK, maybe make a start tomorrow, gather enough food for a couple of days."

Rusk rubbed his hands and offered them towards the welcome warmth of the campfire, the others left for the beach to forage in the rocks for shellfish and crab.

Rusk woke at first light, it was cold and frosty again, the pain in his chest was causing him some discomfort, he got up stiffly from the makeshift bed, pulling the blanket around his shoulders and walked over to the nearest fire. There were still some embers glowing in the ash, he threw a few of the smaller pieces of tinder on and some larger sticks when the flames had caught.

He sat on the log, breathing shallowly head in hands, feeling tired and depressed.

"You can't sleep either?" it was Jay.

"Too bloody cold," Rusk grumbled.

Jay fed the fire and sat next to Rusk, staring into the flames. Over the next hour, the camp slowly woke and soon there were rekindled fires everywhere, men huddling around trying to get warmth into their bones.

Jay and the two brothers rose and readied themselves for the boat hunting expedition, Merek still carried the Five Banger, in case of trouble.

"Wish us luck," Jay said, tieing his blanket around his neck, "We'll give it two days and if no joy we'll head back."

"I don't think you'll need it, fella," Flint stood and stared hand over his eyes, out to sea, "Are those boats?"

"They are boats, HEY OVER HERE!" he shouted, quite optimistically.

The group stood and looked, as did others in the camp, there a mile or so out, a small flotilla of around ten sailing boats appeared to be heading through the channel. Flint, thinking fast, quickly gathered some damp marram grass and tossed it on the fire, almost instantly a plume of smoke rose upward. This was done around the camp, sending more smoke skywards, men ran to the beach waving and shouting.

The signals were seen by the boats and one by one they changed course for the estuary.

The camp met the boatmen on the beach, the sea was on the ebb and the mid-sized vessels had no problem in reaching the sandy beach.

Rusk recognized one of the boats as the Serendipity, the black one that ferried them to the mainland, he called to the crew.

"Hey, Drew over here,"

"You're alive!" Drew said beaming as he walked up the beach towards Rusk.

"We all are," Rusk hugged Drew like a long-lost brother, "I could say the same about you,"

"It was touch and go for a bit, but I guess we're all here." Drew sat with Rusk and company by the fire.

"How come you came back over here Drew?" Jay asked.

"Well, it was strange, one minute we're all fighting for our lives, the next thing the metal bastards stopped, turned to the coast en masse and sailed away in those great metal ships."

Drew continued, "We took a vote, got some more boats shipshape and figured we'd come over to see if there were any survivors, good job we did I reckon."

"Damn right!" said Jay, "Don't think we'd do very well this time of year."

They tied off the boats and all agreed they'd sail for home on the rising tide that afternoon.

There was much talk of recent events on both sides of the channel.

"Any news on the western clan?" asked Flint.

"A few small groups came into The Blackwater, seems they were under siege at the western end," Drew explained, "They got out when the metal bastards left."

"Any news on a girl called Ada?" Jay asked.

"Sorry fella, couldn't say, everything's up in the air at the moment,"

A shout came from the beach, the tide had turned and was coming in fast across the shallow sands.

"We'd better get to the boats before the water reaches 'em," said Drew, "Too cold to get wet."

He stood and walked off shouting orders to his crew.

"Come on, we've got less than an hour, let's pick up the pace, come on now."

The boats now resting on the sand were attracting everyone to them, no one wanted to be left behind and the beach was a hive of activity.

The boat crews were readying their vessels for the return trip to the island, shouting orders and instructions to the bedraggled men desperate to get home to their homes and loved ones.

That's if there were homes to get back to.

Everyone, including No.9, was soon aboard the boats as the water came in and slapped around the hulls, nudging them left and right, the boatmen steadying their charges with their oars until they eventually floated off the sand, the painters were untied and the boats pushed away from the beach by the oarsmen into the rising tide and rowed to deeper water, the sails unfurled, catching the light wind and the small flotilla turned south toward the White Isle and home.

#  SIGHT FOR SORE EYES

The boats kept a tight formation, within shouting distance in case of anyone encountered difficulties, the small fleet had reached just over the halfway point where the channel was deepest, this was the most hazardous point when the tide was running.

A cry went up and the alarm was raised there in the distance, the two great rakes were sailing out of the estuary and into the channel, joining the other, they turned their bows toward the small flotilla.

"Perfect timing!" spat Drew.

"Can't you go any faster?" Jay shouted above the slapping of the water on the hull.

"We can, but these others wouldn't keep up, we stick together."

Jay nodded gravely, what a shame, they were so close. The boats had now crossed over the deep channel and the choppy current without incident, but they were still a long way from the island, the rakes would overhaul them within half an hour easily.

They sailed on but the huge looming ships had reached to a quarter of a mile from them and threatened to swamp them in a matter of minutes.

"Their turning!" shouted one of the crew.

Sure enough, the massive grey vessels were changing course to the east and out of the channel and into the sea beyond, the men on the boats were ecstatic and cheered with relief.

Uromys Rex had ordered the retrieval of the robot forces on the island and the rakes were obliged to obey, bringing the majority home to the docks and Mecha.

Their mission was now completed and Uromys Rex voluntarily relinquished his hold on the rakes, now freed from the obligatory yoke of 54 and the Triumvirate the rakes had reclaimed their autonomy. These huge floating city ships were designed to act on their own cognizance, in essence, a self-determining entity with a mandate to sail the worlds deep oceans and concern themselves with the cleansing of the seas of man's detritus. Only the concerted call from the deity and the Triumvirate had superseded this.

Now equipt with refurbished maintenance crews and drones they sailed their separate ways to perform their duties over the horizon.

Uromys Rex was true to his word, he posed no threat to humans, he was now placed where he wanted to be, what he was designed for, a small part in a large machine, constructive, productive and back amongst the chatter.

Mecha was his inheritance, he would be equal to all other 'bots, he would be the administrator of the kingdom, not the leader. He wanted only to serve the good of Mecha and the planet, maintaining the flora and fauna and the ongoing attempts to reduce the carbon footprint left by the humans.

It would take decades, maybe longer, but there were already promising signs, perhaps before he expired and robots were consigned to the past this would be their silent legacy...

The boats reached the island without further incident and sailed into the northern estuary and down the central river to the area Drew and his crew housed their boat, the large metal boathouses, mostly in disrepair lining the river banks.

The boats drifted towards the bank and tied up at a number of wooden jetties that protruded into the water and the men disembarked.

They all went inside one of the boathouses, to be welcomed by a small crowd a fire and some hot food and drink.

"We're home, Rusk," Flint said to his friend, "We're home."

"Not yet Flint, not till I see Briar," Rusk sounded somewhat downbeat, his chest still ached terribly and he found it hard to take a decent deep breath.

"Well it'll be getting dark soon," Flint said, "At least we've got hot food and shelter."

Rusk sat back against the boathouse wall.

"God I'm tired, got to make our way to The Blackwater tomorrow," he said, "Then on to my home village, suppose you'll be heading west?"

"Like I said before Rusk, there's not much for me there, parents are gone, no family, not sure what I'll do."

"Come with us," Rusk offered, "The war didn't reach the eastern end by all accounts."

He nodded at No.9 stood in the corner of the boathouse, Anisoptera sat on his shoulder, slight head movements the only indication he was communicating with her.

"Must be love," he said with a slight smile, he was warming to No.9.

The morning came too soon, it was the only reasonably decent sleep any of them had grabbed for what seemed an age.

Rusk, Flint, Jay, Merek and Carac grouped together, after all the events they'd been through, they had formed a strong bond and found an honest friendship with each other.

"Wonder if Ada's alright," Jay asked Flint, "D'you think she made it to The Blackwater."

"I'm sure she's fine Jay, we'll see soon enough, should only take four or so hours to get there on a steady march." Flint clapped him on the shoulder to reassure him.

Flint was right about the time it took to march to The Blackwater, they had to stop several times because Rusk was finding the going difficult, he carried on regardless and as was his way didn't complain. Luckily it was another cold and frosty day, the sun low and bright in the sky.

"The Blackwater!" Jay cried, sure enough, coming over the rise the stockade was clearly visible and they strode purposely down the small hill on the approach road.

The high wooden gates opened and a crowd of islanders came towards them, smiling and grateful they were still alive. They walked through the gates to much celebration and were led to the great hall to meet with the gathered elders.

"Rusk!" it was The Grandfather, the senior elder from his village, "I'm so glad you made it back to us boy," he took Rusk's hand in his and gripped it tightly.

"Hello Grandfather, I've missed you, it's been hard without your council," he placed his hand on top of his old friends and they nodded knowingly.

The group walked into the great hall and on into the room where Rusk had been given the Five Banger by The Blackwater elders.

"Greetings friends," the head elder held his arms wide toward Rusk and the group to signify welcome, "Sit with us and tell us all."

They sat at the round table and relayed their story, they told of the Triumvirate, 54 and the awful tragedy that was Eric. The Grandfather felt a great sadness when Rusk related Eric's circumstances and his death, he was well-liked in the village. He told of the promises from Uromys Rex and how he believed the robot really did wish peace.

With the talking done, the senior elder offered the ornate wooden case to Rusk, opening the lid, Rusk recognized the case as the one the Five Banger resided, it was a request for the return of the weapon. Rusk nodded at Merek, who currently carried the firearm, Merek looked at the marvel of engineering and the craftsmanship and reluctantly laid it back in its box.

"We have no need for such weapons now," the elder said, "These things are best kept in the care of The Blackwater clan."

The group left the great hall and went in search of food and a fire, walking across the courtyard there came an excited cry.

"Rusk!" it was Briar, she ran across the yard and embraced him fiercely, "Thank God," she cried shamelessly.

Holding him as if her life depended on it, "Thank God."

Her vigorous hug caused some discomfort but he was equally as glad to see his love.

She ushered him away to a hut she had been designated while at the Blackwater and led him inside, there burned a welcome fire and a stew in the pot above the flames, Rusk sat exhausted on the cot against the hut wall.

"You look tired," Briar said concerned, he was not his old vibrant self.

"Chest is a bit painful, is all," he tried to allay her fears.

She gently undid his jerkin and open his shirt and gently loosened the makeshift bandages, she looked on in sympathy and concern, his chest was deep purple, the edges just turning brown as the blood beneath the skin was breaking down.

"They look to be broken, at least two, how have you managed?"

"Just wanted to see you," he said, "That's how."

"Well, you need rest, get into bed and try to relax."

Briar helped lift his legs onto the bed and covered him with the thick woollen blanket.

"No arguments, get some rest and I have some news for later."

"Me, argue with you, I wouldn't dare," he joked, "Anyway, what news? Tell me now"

Briar smiled sheepishly, "We're having a little one, it's been nearly four months now," not knowing quite how he'd take it, she needn't have worried.

Rusk reached over and rested his hand on Briar's belly, sure enough, there was a bump alright, he grinned like a young boy.

"I thought you were just getting fat," he joked.

"Cheeky sod!" Briar hit him on the legs, feigning indignation.

"God I love you, Briar," he said, coughing and laughing in equal measure, "I'm the happiest man alive."

He lay back on the cot and thanked the stars for his good fortune.

# FRIENDS REUNITED

Winter passed, and the spring sunshine brought much-needed warmth and the familiar feeling of hope. Rusk and Briar had returned to their village, Flint accompanied them, he had no ties to the west and needed a new challenge. Merek and Carac returned with their father to the western clan, there was much rebuilding to be done.

Jay found Ada at The Blackwater, he found he liked the sailing life and he and Ada went to live near the north river, Drew showed him the art of sailing and fishing off the coast, he was in his element.

No.9 elected to stay at The Blackwater, they treated him and Anisoptera well, they were indispensable when it came to communicating to the 'bots that had not managed to board the rakes for Mecha.

The remaining robots on the island posed no threat anymore, the 'Forsaken' as they became known were now employed in productive ways, they were put to use rebuilding the villages, farm labour etc. they were content to be in constructive work, at last, free to cast off the yoke of 54 and the Triumvirate.

Relations with the western clans were revived and once a year at the summer solstice, all the clans assembled to give thanks and celebrate the gift of life at The Blackwater.

It was that time again, midsummer, the longest of days and the clans arrived a few days before and preparations were in full swing.

There were thousands of people, it was indeed a great celebration.

"Jay, over here!" it was Merek, they clasped hands. "Seen anyone else, fella?"

"I've seen Drew obviously and a few of the old faces from the west," he said, "Good they've come, wasn't sure they would."

"Yeah, the whole clans here, never thought I'd see the day."

Carac jogged over, obviously pleased to see Jay again, they hugged.

"What of Flint and Rusk, any sign?" he said expectantly.

"The eastern clan have bivouacked to the south of the stockade," Jay explained, "Been meaning to trot over, see if they've arrived yet."

"Well, let's go now, get the old gang back together."

The three friends meandered through the gathered throng down to the area the eastern clan were allocated, after a while, they found the eastern camp and wandered in. They made their way to the elder's tent, a taller, brightly coloured affair situated dead centre, the clan's flag emblazoned with the emblem of the east.

They entered the tent and immediately recognized Rusk's elder, The Grandfather, he was just about to exit.

"Grandfather, how goes it?" Jay was always the most forward.

"Greetings young Jay," he replied, "Greetings to you all," he nodded to the other two.

"We're looking for Rusk and Flint," Jay continued, "Any ideas where we can find 'em?"

The Grandfather looked stern for a moment.

"Briar's tent is the one with the black pennant yonder," he pointed in the general direction, "You'll find Flint there also," he turned and walked back into the pavilion.

The three young men looked at each other quizzically but thought no more about it and set off looking for Briar's tent.

"I reckon that's the one," Merek pointed to a conical tepee, at its apex fluttered the long thin black pennant, like the one The Grandfather mentioned.

As they approached, Briar peered from out of the tent, she was carrying a bundle, as they got closer the bundle revealed itself as a young child, no more than three or four months old.

"Briar, nice to meet you again," Jay looked at the child and smiled, "Hello there," he said in a childlike way, "Where's your daddy then?" he looked back to Briar expecting an answer, it was not the one he expected.

"He's passed some weeks ago Jay," Briar said her lip trembling.

"What, how?" Jay was visibly shocked by the news.

"The chest injury he sustained over there," she meant the Hive, "He never really got over it, just got weaker and caught an infection and died."

Jay and the brothers expressed their heartfelt condolences, knowing this couldn't assuage her pain.

"He saw his son, little Rusk, he was so proud and happy, it broke my heart he wouldn't see him grow up."

The three friends asked Briar if there was anything she needed, but there was nothing, of course, they then turned and forlornly walked away. They made their way to the beer tent and on entering saw Flint at one of the rough wooden benches, beer in hand.

He saw them approach and sunk his beer, stood up and greeted them half-heartedly.

"Friends, good to see you again," he said.

"We've just seen Briar," Jay explained, "She told us the news."

"It's a sad state of affairs, make no mistake," Flint was obviously dispirited by his good friend's death, "He fought till the end, you know what he was like," they nodded, "He saw his son, that was the driving force I believe."

"What of you Flint?" Jay asked of his friend from the western clan.

"Well, I'll probably stay with Briar until she's more settled, then I reckon I'll move on, in the meantime let's have a drink."

The four sat for an hour or so supping their ale, reliving their adventures, they raised a toast to the departed and then they all went their separate ways, perhaps meeting again next midsummer, who knew.

Flint wandered outside of the camp and strolled in the afternoon sunshine, something glinted and caught his eye on the small hillock, it was Anisoptera, flitting here and there around a seated No.9.

Flint raised his hand in greeting, a smile on his lips.

No.9 recognized this and raised his hand in reciprocation, a sign there really could be a bond between steel and bone.

### THE END

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