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that, chummy,” said Sam. “Up with your hands and come along quietly.”
    “And drop your weapons,” added Officer Denton. “And do that before you put up your hands.”
    “Good idea,” said Sam. “Do as the nice lady tells you. Or there will be trouble.”
     
    It must be noted that it had now become very crowded in the Starling breakfasting-cum-suppering area which, although spacious enough to accommodate at least four well-fed adults, now found itself playing host to rather more than that. There were the mountainous Maggot, Officers Denton, Higgins, and Tudor; there was Tim McGregor, Will’s mum, Will’s dad, and Will. And there was also the terrific figure which was now towering over all of them and snatching up one of his weapons.
    “Fire upon the murderer,” Sam ordered. “And try not to kill too many civilians.”
    “Hit the deck,” shouted Will’s dad.
    “Aaaagh!” went you-know-who once again.
     
    And then the carnage began.
    The DOCS weaponry was, in its manner, awesome. It
was
the state of the art, and this
was
the twenty-third century. And although it did take Sam’s team a moment or two to get their guns out of their holsters, and a few moments more to get them actually working, they were soon blasting away with a vengeance, spraying chunks of the murderer to the four cardinal points of the compass and all those in between.
    There was so much flesh and gore – and all those other pieces.
     
    And when the smoke had finally cleared, which took a bit of a while as the air-conditioning system was now broken, there was very little of the murderer left to be seen, other than a great deal of metal cogwheels and a lot of broken springs.
    “Damn me,” said Chief Inspector Sam Maggott. “It was a robot.” Officer Denton shook her head. “It
was
,” she agreed, “but I don’t see how it could have been, sir. I mean, we don’t actually have any robots like that, yet. There’s no such thing as robots like that. They only exist in science fiction.”
    “The exception that proves the rule?” Sam suggested.
    “No sir, I don’t think so.”
    “Well, bag up the bits; we’ll take them back to the department.”
    Sam glanced about at the cowering civilians. The cowering civilians were covered in all sorts of vilely-smelling guts and gore. The outer covering of the impossible robot.
    “Thank you very much for your cooperation, citizens,” said Sam.
    With his mouth still open, and his mind somewhat numb, Will watched as Sam’s team did what they could to scoop all the bits and bobs into pink plastic bin liners [4] .
    “I’ll help you,” he said when he could find his voice.
    “We’ll send in a clean-up team to wipe away all the splatterings,” said Sam, once the bagging up had been completed. “And so, farewell. And thank you once again for your cooperation.”
    And he took his leave, the words “one hundred per cent clean-up rate”, being the last the Starling family heard from him as he and his team departed.
     
    “Well,” said Will’s dad. “That
was
exciting, wasn’t it?”
    “The supper’s stone cold,” said Will’s mum. “I’ll have to reheat it.”
    “I think I’ll leave you to it,” said Tim. “I think I’ll go home now and take a shower.”
    “Yes,” said Will. “Okay, yes.”
    “Robot, eh?” said Tim. “Reminds you of that old movie, doesn’t it? You know the one I mean?”
    “Of course I do,” said Will. “Everyone knows
that
movie.”
    “Sent from the future,” said Tim. “Amazing. Whatever next?” And walking upon wobbly legs, Tim too took his leave.
    Which left just Will and his mum and dad: just Will and his mum and dad and all the terrible smelly splatterings.
    And there was one thing more than this: one thing that Will held tightly in his hand; one thing that he had picked up from the floor when he’d helped the team from the Department of Correctional Science to bag the pieces of the impossible robot.
    Will opened his hand and gazed