Bucky jerked one arm up, and all three Rangers fired their rifles point-blank into it. Shell casings ejected from the rifles, and the EMP barrels emitted brief, powerful punches of deep bass. Bucky’s arm collapsed again, lifeless.
Caroline Dixon jogged up to the Rangers. “Move.”
They made room for her, and she got on her knees and attempted to flip the heavy robot. Two of the Rangers shouldered their rifles and helped her turn it over. It landed, loose and lifeless, on its back, one arm splayed across its bucket head. Brodie noticed blood spattered across its titanium chest.
Dixon straddled Bucky, grabbed the initiator key from its lower right abdomen, then twisted and pulled it out. She stood and shook the small orange device at the assembled men. “They arenothingwithout this.Nothing. Who the fuck turned it on?”
Mendez said, “We believe it was Kemp, Ms. Dixon.”
“Where is he?”
“Dead.”
Dixon looked down at Bucky and its blood-covered chest. “Jesus Christ.”
Mendez was staring at her. “He must have been trying to move the unit, but we don’t know why.”
She looked up at the senior MP. “I called the brig and asked him to bring Bucky to the lab for additional testing. I told him to get another hand and bring it over in a truck. He said the MP truck was brokendown. I told him to borrow a vehicle, but he said, ‘I’ll just make the bastard walk.’ I cautioned him not to do that, but I guess he didn’t listen.”
Taylor asked, “How strongly did you caution him?”
Dixon shot Taylor a look. “It’s a standing order issued by the camp commander, Maggie. Regardless of how emphatic I was, he never should have activated the unit without authorization.”
Brodie approached the bot, then crouched and looked at its right hand. Between the thin gaps in the segments of its articulated fingers were strands of brown human hair. He asked Mendez, “Is the body still inside?”
Mendez nodded. “Yes, sir. The coroner is on his way.”
Brodie and Taylor entered the brig and walked through the main room toward the holding cell. Another MP, a Corporal Nimitz, stood at the door. The man appeared shaken.
Brodie said, “Morning, Corporal.”
“Good morning, sir, ma’am.”
Taylor said, “We are so sorry.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Nimitz stepped aside, and Brodie and Taylor entered the holding cell. It was a sparse room with a cot, a metal sink and toilet, and a single wooden chair.
Kemp’s body was on the ground, covered in a white sheet that was saturated in blood near the corpse’s head. On the wall about six feet above the floor were a cracked depression in the concrete and a large bloodstain.
Nimitz said, “We believe the thing broke its manacles and grabbed Specialist Kemp by his hair, and then thrust him into the wall.” He took a deep breath and added, “Partially shattering his skull.”
That sounded like Bucky all right. Brodie looked at the bloodstained sheet covering Kemp’s body. They’d so far been speculating whether and how Major Ames might have provoked the thing. Butwhat could this poor MP have done? Unless the only sin that mattered to the tin men was being human, and breakable.
Brodie crouched and partly peeled back the sheet. The SPC’s head was caked in blood, and the upper left portion of his skull was essentially flattened by the impact against the wall. Brodie carefully replaced the sheet, and he and Taylor left the holding cell.
They lingered in the brig’s main room, out of earshot of anyone. Brodie said, “Your request to Dombroski has grown more urgent.”
“No shit.”
“We’re either dealing with a bad actor with the capacity to covertly reprogram these things—and that would be averyshort list of people at this facility—or a faulty product that’s likely to kill again. And if it’s a system-wide issue, there’s fifty-nine more murder machines currently taking a nap.”
Taylor nodded. “What about Caroline?”
“What about her?”
“Who knows what she told Kemp on that phone call? We’re taking her word for it. Maybe she told him to activate Bucky and walk him over, knowing something like this might happen or would happen?”
