by J. N. Chaney
After tossing it to the side, he headed into the belly of the beast with nothing but murder on his mind.
“I surrender!” someone said from above. Warren was standing in the troop transport area of the vehicle. It was empty except for benches on the left and right sides. Ahead of him was a ladder which ended at a fifty-centimeter hole in the ceiling. It was from this hole the offer of surrender was emanating.
“How many are up there?” asked Warren.
“Two of us. We surrender.” They sounded sincere, but Warren felt conflicted. Before, he’d been forced to execute surrendering enemy troops, even when it was clear they were unarmed and were offering no resistance. The war computer had forced him to exterminate the people like they were insects. Now that he had the opportunity to accept a surrender, he wasn’t sure he wanted to take it.
The tank had stopped moving. It didn’t mean it wasn’t still an imminent threat, but if he could get its pilots to surrender, it was just as good as if the tank had been destroyed. Then again, maybe it was better.
“Come down one at a time,” Warren ordered. “Keep your hands where I can see them. If you do anything threatening, I will personally show you what your insides look like. Am I clear?”
“Yes,” both men replied in unison. The first appeared and took shaky steps down the ladder. Warren stepped close, ready to pull the guy’s legs off if he tried anything, but he made it to the bottom without attacking.
Warren feigned pushing the soldier in front of him against the wall. In reality, he was checking for power in case he was dealing with more Ghosts. As he watched the second man’s legs appear, he sensed it. A slow thrumming. An artificial heart. Subtle circuitry. In a flash, he removed his hand and straightened his wrist, then he pressed his fingers together and drove them in like the point of a spear.
The man gasped, and for a horrifying second, Warren was worried he’d just made a horrible mistake. When the soldier yanked Warren’s hand from his chest and tried twisting it behind his back, he knew otherwise.
Warren blocked strike after strike, searching for his opportunity to counter. The second man had finished climbing down and was staring at his co-pilot with an expression of horror and confusion.
“What the—“ were the only two words he got out before Warren’s opponent mule kicked him in the chest. The man went down clutching his torso, then became still.
At the same time, Warren lunged forward, but instead of trying to punch the cyborg in the face like it was doing to him, he plunged his hand back into its chest. It struck Warren on the side of his head, then it struck the other side, and the world seemed to tilt a little. Meanwhile, Warren was fishing for a better hold. He found it and gave it a tight squeeze, then he twisted his wrist.
The protective metal covering over the cyborg’s spine came loose, exposing the meat within. Warren twisted again and drove his opponent against the ladder, then he pinned him across the throat with his other arm and pulled. The cyborg screamed, made a choking noise, and fell to the ground like a marionette who’d just had its strings cut. Warren kept pulling, feeling rivets and connectors popping until it all came loose. He wiped his hand on the corpse and headed up the ladder. There was a certain pilot he needed to put down, and he knew just how to do it.
None of the modules Warren had loaded into his brain from the war computer had instructions on how to operate the tank. Luckily, the Commonwealth had been thoughtful enough to label everything. Warren took it all in, and after a few seconds, he had the hang of it. He closed the troop hatch and jammed the controls forward, bringing the lumbering beast up to its breakneck top speed of eleven kilometers per hour—a fast jog for many, but hardly impressive.
Still, it wouldn’t take long to get around the building, target the fighter, and blow it to tiny pieces. A clang on the rooftop told him his fellow cyborgs didn’t know. If he wasn’t lucky, they’d end up killing him as they tried to defend themselves. Damned jamming by the commonwealth might end up killing him after all.
Ping, ping, ping, ping!
Someone was shooting the roof of the cockpit. There was no chance of them getting through. If they dropped a grenade into one of the pods, they could blow the tank up, or at least the pod itself. It could spell disaster.
Warren leaned over to the gunner’s seat, armed the missiles, and took aim. The sound of the pods rotating caused a rumble. When it stopped, he turned the dial controlling how many rockets were launched all the way up. Then he pressed the big red button marked FIRE.
The entire payload of fifty rockets screamed out from the pods—twenty-five from each side. Warren couldn’t tell how many had hit. All he knew was it looked like the Fourth of July. The tank’s entire armament was spent, so Warren powered it down and pressed the button to open the hatch, then he hurried down the ladder, just in case. Rigby met him at the bottom and wrapped him in a tight hug, then she laughed.
“Hot damn, you show-off,” she shouted. “Come look at what you did!”
Warren joined her and another outside the tank. He’d killed the fighter, alright. He’d absolutely torn it to shreds. It looked like pieces of it had fallen inside the barracks, which were now burning. Other pieces had landed on various buildings.
“I guess maybe half the rockets would’ve been enough,” Warren noted. “I’ll remember that for next time.”
31
Warren wanted to ask how many they’d lost, but he held off finding out. They had to complete the mission, regardless of how many cyborgs they ended up with.
“I think I spotted the power plant,” he told Rigby. “It’s on the other side of the barracks. Big substation, lots of wires, transformers and the like.”
“We saw that, too,” she replied. “We also think we spotted the computer room. What do you want to do?”
Destroying both was an option, he knew, but so was only destroying one. The power plant would always be useful to someone but leaving it didn’t necessarily mean the Commonwealth would benefit. First Corps didn’t even have a ship anymore. They might be stuck here for a while, and it would be nice to have electricity in the meantime.
“Please show me the computer room,” he told her.
Warren, Rigby, and four others formed a squad and hurried toward the rear of the barracks. Sure enough, there was another building to the east of the power plant. Warren hadn’t gone far enough to see it, but the moment he set eyes on it, he knew what had convinced her.
The power plant was about a hundred meters square. Taking up most of the wall facing the barracks was a large area surrounded by a three-meter-tall chain-link fence lined with razor wire—a surefire way to keep intruders away from the electrical equipment inside. There was also a locked gate, which Warren ignored, as it only led to the substation equipment.
The smaller of the two buildings should’ve been powered like the rest. Maybe a single cable running underground, completely hidden from view. One of those things everyone took for granted as they plugged their favorite appliance into an outlet, and it magically worked. Instead, there was a bundle of cables, each seven centimeters thick, running straight from the power plant. They bypassed the substation and connected directly to the smaller building. Whatever was inside, it required a lot of power.
“See what I mean?” asked Rigby. “There’s more.”
She led the squad to the far side of the building, opposite from where the cables entered, and showed Warren what looked like the door to a vault. The metal wasn’t shiny, but it was silver. He checked with his hand to see if it was electrically charged but felt nothing. He tried to scratch it with his cybernetic fingernail like General Kaplan had done to the table, but he couldn’t make a mark.
“I am here,” reported Lukov as he and the rest of his squad hurried to him. When they arrived, his squad spread out, doing their best to provide 360-degree security. Another thirteen cyborgs arrived a few seconds later.
“Poulton,” Warren said, motioning for first squad’s leader to come to him. When he stoppe
d a few seconds later, Warren leaned in. “Is this it? We’re four cyborgs short.”
He nodded. “Sorry, Warren, this is it. Four of our soldiers didn’t make it.”
“Damn.” Without a war computer, there was no chance of bringing them back. Without knowing whether the Camel had survived long enough to land and hide the Cyborg Data Cubes, there was no knowing if they could be brought back. The competing feelings of regret and anger chewed at Warren’s psyche.
“They died with many honor,” said Lukov. “Now, we must bring more of honor to their death. We must find any survivor by making the jamming to shut down.”
Warren nodded, pasted on what he hoped was a neutral, relaxed expression, and turned back to the vault door. In the center was a keypad mounted flush to the door. A few centimeters above it was a circular protrusion made of the same metal but with what looked like a glowing, green diode inside. “Any ideas?” asked Warren.
“Just one,” said Rigby. She reached past him and mashed a bunch of numbers on the keypad. It beeped angrily, and the door didn’t budge. “Well, that’s it for me. Anyone else?”
“Maybe there’s a magazine around here somewhere,” suggested Cooper. “We could hotwire one or two of those rockets to the door, then stand back and light the fuse.”
Warren was considering it when Poulton spoke up. “What about just cutting the power cables running to this building? They’re right out in the open.”
“And get shocked and die,” said Rigby. “There could be a lot of power running through those things. Plus, you might end up frying something in the power plant. But these people seem to have spent a lot of time fixing the stuff they had. I bet there’s a cutting torch around here somewhere.”
The ideas kept coming, but Warren was no longer listening. Instead, he’d taken a few steps back to look at the bigger picture and wondered if the simpler answer might be a better one.
“What is it?” asked Rigby.
“Why are we so focused on getting through this door?”
She just looked at him. “Because we need to get in there?”
Warren smiled, then he made a fist and punched the wall next to the door. The concrete cracked. He punched again, and the crack grew wider. A third time and his fist went through, pieces of gray wall crumbling to his feet and into the room. He glanced at Rigby. “What’s everyone waiting for?” he asked.
The others joined in, making short work of the portal. Warren and Cooper checked to make sure everyone was out of the way before each delivering one more punch. Together, they yanked the door down. Broken wires sparked from the top of the frame.
Warren held up a hand to encourage everyone to stay back. Whispered expletives and curses made it clear the other cyborgs had mixed feelings about what they were thinking. His raised hand may have been the only thing holding them back. Inside the computer room was something which bore a strong resemblance to a Republic war computer.
“Shit,” whispered Rigby. “It makes complete sense now, doesn’t it? The Republic didn’t go cheap when they designed us. Especially the way they kept us under control. It would take a war computer to jam us.”
“Or to shut down our comms,” replied Warren. “And someone found a way to do it so we wouldn’t know about it.”
“Is to making destroyed?” asked Lukov, patting his rifle lovingly.
“Wait, what’s that?” asked Rigby.
Among the crystalline panels, each displaying random images Warren didn’t think had anything to do with any of his cyborgs, was a strange-looking pedestal. It was tucked away in a corner and definitely wasn’t Republic tech. Only one part of it looked like Commonwealth tech.
“That would be an AI pod,” said Warren. “I guess we know what they’re used for, among other things.”
“So, do we destroy it now? Shut down the transmission? Go find our people? Make war against the governor?”
It was a war computer. Sure, there was a nasty Commonwealth AI attached to it like a barnacle or tapeworm, but it was real. Hendrose was still alive and knew enough to get this thing running. He knew enough to build a new Cyborg Upkeep and Production unit, too. He didn’t just think it could be done; he knew it. He absolutely believed it with everything about him.
If they could find the Camel and get the Cyborg Data Cubes back, none of this would matter. There was still the matter of the biologicals, but Hendrose could find a way to make that work, too. There was enough tech in this room to make it happen. He’d received data from a war computer. He’d also sent it commands. With any luck, once they separated the AI, they’d be able to upload data, too.
“We can’t destroy it,” said Warren.
Nobody responded, and though Warren couldn’t see their faces because of their helmets, he thought he could read their body posture. Nobody spoke. Instead, they stared at him in bewildered silence.
“We are not to be finding the others?” asked Lukov.
“Of course we’re going to find the others,” replied Warren. “But, we’re not going to destroy this war computer to make it happen.”
After a few more seconds of silence, Cooper clapped his hands together and said, “Okay, thinking caps. How do we disable it without destroying it? Cutting the power cables might short it out, but maybe we can find a way to shut the power plant down instead of destroying it.”
“Then that’s what we do,” replied Warren. He turned back toward the war computer. If Hendrose was here, he’d have something to say about the whole situation. None of the modules Warren had loaded into his people had anything to do with the war computer. Why would they? The information was supplemental data designed to make cyborgs better warfighters, among other things. At no time did they ever suspect a cyborg would need to repair a war computer.
When Warren had freed himself and the others, he’d had a single instruction loaded into his memory. The Reotians who’d freed him had left it there. Pull one card, rotate it, then put it back. That was as far as his technical knowledge went. Hendrose, and many other crew members, were at least trained in the basics, but Hendrose was the only one he trusted to this extent.
The cyborgs were still waiting for orders, so Warren issued some. “First squad, stay here and guard the war computer. Nobody is allowed inside except me and anyone I directly authorize. If I buy the farm, Lukov will take command. Second squad will accompany me to the power plant. We’ll work at figuring out a way to cut the power to the computer without destroying it, or we’ll see if we need to isolate the entire power plant until we can figure out something more subtle. Third and fourth squad will secure the rest of the base with first squad acting as the quick reaction force. Any questions?”
He hoped there wouldn’t be any. Warren and the rest of second squad needed to get comms back up, and the only way to do that was to get to it. He had no idea how long it would take.
Visors turned toward other visors. Sergeant Brinn was the only one besides Warren without a helmet, but his expression was unreadable.
“Where do you want me?” the sergeant asked.
“With third squad,” he said. “You’ve been here longer, so you might be able to provide them with info if you find any unarmed military personnel or civilians. Remember, everyone, we are not the Republic anymore. We don’t follow the Republic’s rules. Head out.”
Second squad formed up on Warren, who signaled for them to assume a column formation and head out. They were close, so it only took a few minutes to walk from the building, around the chain-link fence separating the substation from anyone who might want to experiment with electricity, to the double metal doors on the other side. When Warren got there, he hovered his hand over them, checking for electricity. He didn’t sense any, so he tried the doorknob. It was locked, of course. It was also of the cheap variety—more in line with what Warren expected to see from the Commonwealth of Worlds. With a nod to the others, Warren crushed the doorknob, gave it a hard twist, and shoved the door open.
“Another door!” the first cyborg shout
ed. “Continuing!”
Warren wasn’t sure what he’d meant until he got through the door last. The double doors from the outside opened to a small room, barely four meters square, and another set of double doors to the right. Probably to keep dust out during windstorms, or water when it rained, he realized. “Fatal funnel!” he reminded the others, urging them to get out of the doorways, the most likely place they’ll be shot. The other cyborgs started moving faster, clearing the doorway so Warren could enter the main power plant room in only a second.
The main part of the building was vast. The only subdivision, so far as Warren could see, was the smaller room he’d just come out of. He couldn’t see past the huge machine in the middle of the room, though. It resembled a colossal sphere someone had squashed about a third of the way. It’s base truncated in a half-meter stem that seemed to disappear into the polished concrete floor and was at least two meters in diameter. The exterior was covered in thousands of squarish silver panels. Hundreds of copper-colored pipes formed a nest on the top of the device, which didn’t look like it was connected to the ceiling. Warren sensed power leaking from the silent machine, even though he was still at least twenty meters away.
After a moment of indecision, he decided to head straight, following two other cyborgs as they hurried along the wall to the right. It was the one which would bring him closest to where he expected the distribution point for the war computer to be. Along the wall ahead of them were a row of lockers painted gray with numbers in the center of each of their doors in yellow.
The first cyborg hurried past them. The second reached for the silver handle of the nearest locker. Warren nodded. His job would be to cover their rear and back the cyborg up if any of the lockers had someone hiding inside. It would be difficult to keep his eyes peeled in both directions, but he did his best.
The first locker opened. The cyborg stepped back, rifle raised in case someone wanted to jump out. Nothing. The second locker opened, and a set of hands appeared.
