“That makes sense, I
suppose. We'll wait until it moves off. Less chance of it spotting us
if it's concentrating on where it's going.”
“Yes sir.” Peters
peered down the corridor. “What does it want with the computer, do
you think? Whoever's behind it, I mean. If you've got the technology
to create that, surely you don't need a computer cobbled together
from old mobile phones.”
“Any number of
reasons. Perhaps the computer knows the identity of the robot man.
Perhaps he needs access to the internet. Perhaps he wants to
integrate the two two and make a functioning, self-aware robot.”
“That would be an
android, sir.”
“Can't be. It'd be
too big to get inside a mobile phone.” White watched his sergeants
eyes narrow as he tried to work out if he was being played. Honestly,
how old did Peters think he was? The Terminator came out in
eighty-four when he was still in his twenties. Of course he'd seen
it, though he still didn't think it as good as the earlier Blade
Runner or the later Aliens. It wouldn't be a surprise to discover
Peters thought he'd grown up with Chaplin and Harold Lloyd.
“No sir. Two
different things. Android on the phone is an operating system, like
windows.”
“Ah.” He pretended
to have a moment of enlightenment. “You can see through it, you
mean.”
“No sir. I meant the
system on your computer...” Peters huffed. “You're having me on,
aren't you?”
“Just a little bit,
sergeant, though I do feel a tad guilty about it. Pulling your leg is
the mental equivalent of pretending to throw a ball for a dog.”
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