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NARRATIVE OF GORDON ARTHUR OF MARS - CHAPTER 3 : THE ROOM
By
swindonbloke

NARRATIVE OF GORDON ARTHUR OF MARS - CHAPTER 3 : THE ROOM

A fight between a medical droid and a patient...

We are not interested in the possibilities of defeat. They do not exist.” Queen Victoria 1890.

Tiredness overcame me and I drifted back towards the sullen inkiness of sleep. I knew then in my soul that something terrible had overcome the ship and its crew.

Unless I found a way out of this grey room in which I had been confined for an uncertain period of time then the same fate would overcome me as well.

I watched the Medical Droid with half an eye open, knowing I only had one chance at my plan. The leaden bolster on which I had been laying my head, was most uncomfortable and was making my neck hurt.

I stood up from the bunk, making sure I halted not far from it. As the Droid approached I remained firm in my resolution that I must escape.

“Please return to your Bunk...”

I replied in the negative that I would do no such thing.

“Please return to your......” The droid was almost level with my face. I could look straight into its emotionless faux eyes. For a brief second I was sure I could detect something alive behind the human-like moulded face, a fleeting sentience, then it was gone.

As it uttered its last words, I swung the heavy bolster from behind my back and smashed it straight into the droids spheric forehead , sending it tumbling backwards.

For a moment it regained its balance and took a lurching step towards me. This time with the needle in its hand that it must have used to put me to sleep the last time. This time I feared the sleep would be eternal and frankly I was too young for death having not yet even visited Earth or watched a Test Match at Lords.

Even though I was still stiff and bruised from my accident, moving fast enough to dodge the needle, striking again I followed through with a heavy-footed wallop to its body, sending the brass monster collapsing to the floor.

Before it could recover its equilibrium I was astride its torso and kept hitting and striking until it stirred no more.

I searched the remains of the Droid for a sign as to why it had turned on me, any sign as to why it was keeping me in this room. Unscrewing the top of its brass skull and looking inside with a quizzical eye I only found brass and cogs.

I was never one for giving up. At school I was always the last one off the Rugby field, even in stewing heat of the Martian summer: I had to survive...I had to escape, I must find my friend and return home.

I am not alone in thinking that the Empire was born on the playing fields of England. It was thrashed into me by the Master at my Schoolhouse that failure is not part of the English character neither within the divine spirit of pax victoria.

I came to the conclusion that the room must contain an Air Vent, after much searching I found it behind my bunk. I was able to wriggle my body inside, it was very tight and dark.

In the distance, at the top of the air shaft was a faint light.I started to climb upwards.

Now that I had dealt with the Droid, I now just had to find a way out of my prison, and that would be easier said than done.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than storiesspace.com with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

Copyright © Copyright @2014 by R.C.Grace

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