Eight feet tall and forged of high-grade steel, the Histrion aimed its flak rifle. Crimson eyes showed no mercy.

 

There on the pavement, under the hot December sun, Clark waited for the inevitable.

 

“Human,” said the robot, “in which year did England repeal the Corn Laws?”

 

“1846.”

 

“Correct.”

 

Clark nodded. His photographic memory was the reason he’d been chosen for the mission.

 

The robot turned its weapon on Clark’s partner, Julian. “Human — in which country did women first achieve the right to vote?”

 

Julian’s pudgy face was as blank as a freshly cleaned whiteboard. Clark knew the answer, of course, but he could say nothing. The Histrions suffered no cheating.

 

“America?” said Julian. “No, wait a moment, maybe England? Or Sweden?”

 

“Human — what is your answer?”

 

“USA. Definitely the USA.” His shoulders slumped. He looked at Clark with a smile.

 

The Histrion squeezed the trigger. The flak gun roared. When Clark opened his eyes, bloody shreds of skull were all that were left. Julian’s headless body dropped to the ground.

 

“The correct answer is New Zealand,” said the robot. It turned its attention back to Clark. “Human. Take the corpse to the recycling centre.”

 

With its free hand, the Histrion picked up Julian’s body and held it in the air. Clark hefted the cadaver onto his shoulder.

 

The robot pointed to the building, which, as the Resistance knew, was at the end of the block.

 

Like most streets since the conquest, the road was empty. People kept indoors as much as possible, where you wouldn’t be questioned on the causes of the Russian Revolution or the consequences of the Vietnam War.

 

Clark was no soldier. The weight of Julian’s body was already too much to bear. His knees threatened to cave with every step.

 

As he stumbled, he caught sight of a boy at a window. The kid looked up from the books on his desk, and his gaze met Clark’s. The boy’s eyes were filled with fear.

 

Damn the Histrions, thought Clark. How stupid of us to turn education over to AI. Sure, at first it seemed like a good idea. But someone forgot to train morality into the algorithm of the History AI, and it soon decided the only way to improve grades was to take over the planet and instigate martial law, with a relentless culling of those who failed to make the grade.

 

Well, the fight back starts today. Clark gave the kid a thumbs-up and staggered on. This is for you, Julian, he thought.

 

Another Histrion guarded the entrance to the recycling centre. It raised its rifle.

 

“Human — what were the three main causes for the assassination of Julius Caesar?”

 

Clarke was gasping from the exertion. “Firstly, uh, to prevent him growing further in power.”

 

“And?”

 

“Secondly, uh, it’s difficult to speak. I’m tired.”

 

“I don’t have all day. Answer the question or die.”

 

“Right. Secondly, to stop him becoming king and, uh, ending the republic.”

 

“And?”

 

“Thirdly, uh…”

 

His mind went blank. His photographic memory deserted him. Perhaps it was the shock of losing Julian. Perhaps it was the torture of having to carry his body.

 

“And?” said the robot.

 

“Thirdly…”

 

The Histrion put the barrel of its weapon to Clark’s forehead. “And?”

 

Shit. He couldn’t think of the answer. But if he were killed, the Resistance plan would fail. He had to say something. Anything.

 

“Some people, uh, just didn’t like him.”

 

He tensed, waiting for the Histrion to pull the trigger.

 

“Correct,” said the robot. “What is your business here?”

 

“Body for recycling.”

 

“You may pass.”

 

Clark lurched through the doorway into a compound filled with corpses. Conveyor belts fed an endless stream of bodies into a factory. Thankfully, the whine of the belts covered up the sound of whatever was going on inside, but, from a chimney on the roof, black smoke belched.

 

Clark dropped Julian’s body onto the nearest conveyor belt, then he turned and left.

 

Just over six minutes later, the bomb, which had been sewn into Julian’s stomach, exploded.

 

The destruction of a single recycling centre was, of course, barely an irritation to the Histrion AI. But for Humanity it was the spark which lit the flame.

 

All around the globe, people realised that the Histrions were not invulnerable. Another future was possible. One that didn’t involve learning about the evolution of medieval agriculture.

 

And so, twelve years later, Clark was able to play freely in his front yard with his husband Peter and their adopted child, who’d been named in honour of a great hero, Julian.

 

Clark was being chased by Julian when a familiar sound stopped him dead. That terrifying clank-clank rhythm. It couldn’t be. Not now. He turned and saw an eight-foot tall robot marching towards them.

 

“Peter,” said Clark. “Get Julian inside.”

 

“What’s going on?”

 

“Just do it. Please.”

 

Peter grabbed Julian and dashed inside their home.

 

The robot had already made it into their yard.

 

“The Histrions are dead,” Clark shouted. “We beat them.”

 

“Correct,” said the robot. It raised its flak gun. “I am a Geographon. How many countries make up the continent of Africa?”