Colonel Howe intercepted the general. “Sir, what are you doing?”
“You’ll see soon enough, Colonel. Sergeant Miller, get the plasma cutter.”
The Ranger carrying the piece of equipment, a Corporal Dennehy, set it down. It was a large black rectangle about the size of a cooler. He plugged one end into the portable generator. On the other end was a hose with a nozzle and a thick wire with a metal clamp that resembled a jumper cable.
General Morgan nodded. “Cut off its arms.”
“Yes, sir,” said Miller. He turned to Corporal Dennehy and told him to fire it up.
The corporal started the genny, then turned on the machine.
Caroline Dixon was fuming. “Youcannotdo this, General.”
“Of course I can.”
Lieutenant Lehner, the robotics engineer, spoke up. “Sir, I can detach the arms in the lab in a way that is safe and nondestructive.”
“This is perfectly safe, Lieutenant. Everyone, take a few big steps back. Let’s go.”
Corporal Dennehy put on a welding mask and picked up the metal clamp, which he affixed to the titanium plate on the upper portion of Bucky’s left arm. Then he picked up the nozzle of the plasma cutter, which had a red push handle.
Colonel Howe said in a low voice, “Sir, I need to speak with you in private.”
“We’ll talk later,” said Morgan. “How’s lunch?”
“Now, sir,” said the colonel.
Brodie eyed the woman, whose buttoned-up demeanor looked ready to crack. He also stole a glance at Caroline Dixon, who was watching Colonel Howe with concern.
Morgan ignored Howe and stepped away from the D-17 as Corporal Dennehy knelt next to the bot and pressed the red lever on the plasma cutter. A blue flame emitted from the nozzle. The man looked around from behind his welding mask, waiting until everyone was at a safe distance.
Brodie, who decided he really wouldn’t mind seeing this thing get its arms sliced off, took a few big steps backward.
The corporal touched the flame to the titanium plate near Bucky’s shoulder, sending up a stream of hot orange sparks.
It was over in seconds, a clean cut, and Bucky’s left arm lay on the asphalt next to the machine, curls of smoke rising from the edges of the cut. Dennehy moved the grounding clamp over to the other arm, and then sliced it off too.
Brodie noticed Howe and Klasky standing off to the side, conferring urgently.
Morgan stepped toward the bot. “Thank you, Corporal.” He took the orange key out of his pocket and said, “Sergeant, make sure your men are at the ready.”
“Yes, sir.” Miller glanced at his fellow Rangers, who fanned out around General Morgan and trained their EMP rifles on the inert robot.
The general crouched, inserted the key, and twisted it. The bot snapped to life, swiveling its bucket head slightly and twitching its legs.
Morgan stood up and said, “Number 20, who am I?”
Bucky fixed its sensors on the general and said in its monotone male voice, “You are Brigadier General Christopher Morgan, commander of Camp Hayden.”
“Where are you?”
Bucky moved its head from side to side. “I am lying on the ground.”
“Be more specific.”
“I am lying on the parade ground in the center of Camp Hayden.”
“That’s right,” said Morgan. “Now get up.”
