Captain Victor Allen Worthington glared at the black fortress of the evil Cardinal Zoon. He sat astride his scarred and battle-proven warbot codenamed, Sparky. The powerful AMQ-3002 battle tank pawed at the ground in anticipation. It looked much like a robotic dinosaur with coppery colored plating and gaping gun ports. The dangerous yet devoted artificial intelligence on board the machine sent a map to Worthington’s implants. It displayed a map in his mind showing the best route from the cover of the forest to the secret entrance to the fortress. Plan approved, Worthington shouted, “Attack!” and all 67 special forces operators dashed across the plain.
“Vic!” called a voice.
Sparky and Worthington led the charge. The small contingent of guards protecting the secret entrance were cut down immediately by 20mm cannon fire. Sparky released nanites that effortlessly broke the code of the door’s lock. They moved in, cutting down the crimson liveried guards like wheat.
The guards attempted to overwhelm them with numbers in the gold filigreed halls. Sparky swatted them aside with deadly swipes of his claws. Worthington unleashed Excalibur, his nine foot long nuclear-powered battle sword. With great sweeps of the deadly weapon, he cut down three and sometimes four guards with a single blow. A lone assassin, creeping along the balcony, took aim at the battling captain. Sparky’s ion cannon roared from his jaws and disintegrated the would-be killer, saving the most important man in the galaxy from certain death.
“Victor!” The voice was more insistent.
They mounted the marble stairs leading to the private quarters of Cardinal Zoon. The dreaded cyborg, conqueror of a thousand worlds, would soon die and the galaxy would be free! The 20mm gatling guns on Sparky’s forelimbs aimed at the door as Worthington raised Excalibur. The adamantium steel of the door could not hope to resist the power of the mystic sword. Worthington slashed and…
“Victor Allen Culpepper!” shouted Victor’s mom from the foot of the stairs. “I’ve been calling and calling.”
“What Mom?” The 8-year old lowered his foot-long plastic sword. He pushed up the colander bowl, worn as an ersatz helmet, with a cleaning brush glued on as a Spartan comb. “We’re about to save the galaxy!”
The war machine squatted, and Vic slid off. His red polka-dotted pajamas (with footies) bunched a little as he slid. “But Mom! Sparky will be disappointed.”
“You mean that computer?” said Adeleine Culpepper. “Computers don’t get disappointed.” She hated the idea of an actual war machine armed with military weapons in the house. Further, she hated it being anywhere near her child. After two kidnapping attempts, she’d finally agreed with her husband to employ the thing.
“No mom. It’s an AMQ-3002.”
“Uh huh. Now it’s time for your bath.”
“It’s not a computer. It’s an artificial intelligence. It has feelings just like you and me.”
“It’s a computer,” argued Adeleine. Sighing, she led the boy away.
Behind them, Sparky’s 20mm gatling guns spun down. It sat and propped its head on an armored fist. Deep inside its molecular circuity, it whined. It would never know the glory of battle, being tasked with protection duty. Still, the imaginative child was a joy to play with. Their shared world of imagination was Sparky’s creation as much as Vic’s. It always missed the youngster when his overprotective mother shooed him away.
Soon though, they’d rejoin their fantasy of galactic adventure.