The Doomsday Code

CHAPTER 65

1194, Sherwood Forest, Nottinghamshire

Bob steered the horse through the woods, deftly ducking the low swoop of branches. Up ahead he could hear Locke scrambling his way over fallen branches that cracked noisily under his feet. Making far too much noise to hope to evade him.

He caught a glimpse of Locke up ahead. The man was making pitifully slow progress, the wooden box tucked under one tired arm, pushing his way through a tight bush of brambles with the other.

‘Cease running!’ Bob called out. ‘You will not escape!’

Locke stopped and turned. His eyes widened at the sight of Bob calmly steering the horse as it picked its way through the undergrowth towards him.

Locke seemed to realize he was wasting his time. He slumped down on to a small boulder, winded and spent. Bob swung his leg over the horse, dropped heavily down to the ground and approached him.

‘I presume you want this?’ said Locke, holding the box out.

Bob reached out his one hand for the box. He placed it on the ground, lifted a small metal clasp and opened the lid. He stared at the contents in silence for a moment before closing the lid.

‘Who are you people … really?’ asked Locke between laboured gasps.

Bob’s grey eyes studied him silently.

‘You’re just a dumb robot, aren’t you? Inside all that skin, blood and bones … a dumb robot? Just like my war-surplus mech — a machine under orders.’

‘I have mission priorities,’ said Bob drily.

‘And what do you know about what’s in there?’ Locke said, nodding at the box.

Bob was silent.

‘Right …’ Locke nodded. ‘Not much … uh?’

‘The item known as the Holy Grail may contain sensitive information about the agency. That is why we seek to obtain it and decode its contents.’

Locke laughed, a wheezy and dry cackle. ‘Is that it? Is that all you think might be in there? Something that might expose your little agency?’ He shook his head and laughed some more. ‘You really have no goddamn idea … do you?’

Bob’s eyes narrowed. ‘Explain.’

‘That,’ he said, nodding at the box, still struggling for breath, ‘that … contains something far more important. Your secret agency is nothing compared to this … it’s a speck of dust compared to this!’

‘Explain.’

‘It’s our future … it’s everyone’s future. Don’t you know this? There’s a door that opens in 2070 … a door that opens on something that — ’

‘What?’

Locke shook his head. ‘That’s just it … We don’t know. No one knows! That’s why I was sent back. To find out — to decode it. To find out and in some way to get a warning through to everyone in my time. So that they can prepare themselves!’ Locke spat phlegm on to the forest floor. ‘Good God, you have to help me! You have to help me get the key off King Richard and — ’

‘Your mission priorities are in conflict with mine,’ replied Bob.

‘What? What the hell kind of priorities are more important than knowing what’s going to happen?’

‘Mission priorities: Retrieve the Grail. Decode the Grail. Correct contaminated history. Locate and terminate potential contaminants.’

Locke looked up at him. ‘Terminate potential contaminants? Oh, I see. I get it … You have to kill me?’

‘Correct,’ said Bob, pulling his sword out of its scabbard. ‘Your presence in this time represents too much of a risk to the timeline.’

Locke’s eyes followed the dull glint of the sword’s edge. ‘Look … I have no modern technology artefacts on me. I’m just one man on my own. You could let me go. You could let me just walk out of here … You see, I don’t want to go back to 2070! I really don’t!’

Bob silently appraised him.

‘Please! Just let me go … What could I say that anyone would believe anyway? I’d just be considered a madman! A village fool!’

Some small part of Bob’s brain registered the growing desperation in Locke’s voice … a desperate desire not to die — to live longer. The small part of his brain could understand that animal instinct. Even sympathize with it.

‘Get up,’ said Bob.

Locke clambered slowly to his feet.

Bob raised his one good arm and pointed into the woods with the tip of the blade. ‘You must run in that direction.’

Locke looked confused.

‘Run in that direction. You must leave the county of Nottingham immediately. Any attempt to influence historical events will be picked up by us and we will return to kill you. Is this clear?’

Locke nodded. ‘Yes … yes, of course.’

‘Then proceed.’

‘Go? Now?’

‘Immediately.’

Locke stepped away from Bob, cautious backwards steps at first, then, a few yards from him, he turned tail and began to run.

Bob silently watched him pick up the pace as he ducked and scrambled through the undergrowth. Certain now that the man wasn’t going to dare look back again, he pulled the sword back over his shoulder, poised for the briefest moment as he calculated speed and trajectory, then flung the blade forward.

It whistled through the air, one complete cartwheel hilt over tip, ending with the tip facing forward once more just as it made contact with the soft fleshy space between Locke’s shoulder-blades. He tumbled forward, and kicked once on the ground.

A moment later Bob stood over the man’s body and retrieved his sword, wiping the blood off on Locke’s clothing. His silicon mind quietly ticked off the lowest of his list of mission priorities. His animal mind begrudgingly murmured approval of the small mercy he’d given to Locke, letting him believe he was going to live. Death came without any warning … and quickly.

A small mercy at least.