Battleship Raider, Paul Tomlinson [inspirational books for women .TXT] 📗

I pulled the pins on them two at a time. I was hoping the robots had maintained these as well as they had everything else. I squeezed the triggers.

With a person, you can predict how they are likely to react to a loud noise and a cloud of gas. The shock will cause them to back away and the movement will be involuntary – caused by some primitive survival mechanism. But robots don’t have the same in-built reactions. I needed the robot to retreat from the doorway, at least slightly, so that I could get out. I set off the carbon dioxide extinguisher, knowing it would create a cloud that would blind both of us. The robot wouldn’t know where I was – but I would be at an equal disadvantage. The CO2 would clear quickly and I would need to be ready with the foam, covering the robot’s head to blind it so that I could make my escape.

These things never go exactly to plan. The blast of sound and dry-ice smoke did make the robot pause to assess the danger. But it didn’t step back. It kept coming into the little storage room, ducking its head to get through the door. It almost filled the space. Through the fog, I could just about make out the lights on its casing. But the air would soon clear. And even blind, in this confined space, the robot was dangerous. It swept the blade backwards and forwards, slicing the rubber suits across the middle and almost doing the same for me.

The CO2 extinguisher was exhausted and I tossed it towards the back of the room. This attracted the robot’s attention and it moved towards the sound. I was able to dodge around it so that it no longer stood between me and the door. I could make my bid for freedom. I pushed my improvised go-kart out through the wrecked door into the hangar. I picked up two of the foam fire extinguishers.

“Hey, Chuckles!” I shouted. The robot turned. I triggered the fire extinguishers. The one in my left-hand misfired and spluttered. The one in the right doused the robot’s head in a thick coating of wet foam. I couldn’t decide if it looked like a giant snow cone or the victim of a mad barber.

The robot lunged forward blindly, swiping with the cleaver. I stepped back, but not quickly enough. The blade sliced across the front of my shirt and I felt it skim across the flesh underneath. It was hardly more than a papercut, but it stung like a bitch. I staggered backwards out of the door, throwing the two dead extinguishers at the robot as I went.

The exit doors at the other end of the hangar looked like they were miles away. It was a long straight run, which was a good thing because my home-made go-kart had no steering. I placed one foot on the kart. My intention was to stand and scoot along until I picked up speed and then crouch down on it for the rest of the journey, scooting with my foot only if the kart slowed down.

Surfboarding and skateboarding had never really been my thing. I prefer something with a motor. But as a thief, my sense of balance is pretty good. I set off, hoping the duct tape would hold together with my weight onboard.

“Wheeee!” I scooted across the hangar deck.

Behind I could hear the robot crashing about in the storage room. Maybe it was trying to put together its own go-kart. I didn’t look back. If I lost my balance or hit an obstacle, my run would come to an inglorious end and I wouldn’t get a second attempt.

The doors at the end of the hangar were approaching rapidly. I was crouching on the kart now, feet off the ground, relying on the momentum I had built up. The bearings in the wheels must have been pretty well-oiled because there was very little friction to slow me down. I think the ship must have been tilted downwards at that end too, helping to carry me onwards. As the doors came closer still, my speed became something of a concern. The kart had no brakes.

A crash behind me as the robot broke free from the storage room. It began pounding across the deck towards me. But I wasn’t worried by this. Victory was at hand – my head-start was too great. I was going to make it! Of course, if I slammed into the doors and knocked myself unconscious, my celebration would be short-lived. As would I. I could either try and slow myself by dragging one foot on the ground – and risk veering off course to one side. Or I could wait until the last moment and then throw myself off the kart. I decided on the second option.

An angry roar echoed around the hangar. I thought it was the robot. Some acoustic anomaly was making it sound like the roar came from in front of me.

The double doors at the end of the hangar slid open – and in the gap stood the one-eyed dragon. It roared again as it saw me heading straight towards it.

Chapter Twenty-Five

I threw myself off the kart and let it go skidding towards the dragon. I scrambled to my feet and launched myself towards the nearest stairs. If I could get up onto the walkway, I might stand a chance of escaping both death by dragon and death by robot.

Apparently, it wasn’t enough that I face a giant metal gladiator in this arena – Fate had decreed that I must also face a ravenous beast. I was a Christian thrown to the lions. A matador at the mercy of a raging bull. And all I had to defend myself was a low-powered handgun, a fire axe, and half a roll of duct tape. This was going to be a challenge for even my improvisational skills.

I reached the metal stairs and lurched up