by C. Gockel
“Sending the Skimmers in would needlessly endanger them.” Orion released a long breath. “And the galaxy, not just System 5, can really use their help.”
Volka glared at him, but then dropped her eyes. She could ignore him. She could leave now. She could find Sixty, and … be as stupid as Orion believed her to be and selfish. Young, Patrick, and Orion were right. The Skimmers would be vulnerable to attack while trying to pick up civilians—more vulnerable than conventional ships and with less passenger space. If there was truly no other option, then perhaps it would be worth doing. But there were options, and it sounded like the situation in New Grande and System 5 was well on its way to being under control.
Volka’s ears folded. I can’t run to you, Sixty. I’m sorry. He wouldn’t hear of course. With a human, she might have been able to tell him or her telepathically.
“You’re right,” she said. “We need to discover how best to use them, and we need to adjust to them, and they need to adjust to us.” She met the captain’s gaze. “Unlike Sundancer, they can talk. We can ask their opinion on how they think they may be able to help us.”
Orion’s thoughts filled her mind. Not terribly intelligent, but definitely has her heart in the right place.
Volka didn’t roll her eyes—but only just. She put her hands behind her back to keep from strangling him.
Carl whispered, “Hey, he’s developing a slightly better opinion of you.”
“Maybe, but I wish I’d not known his original opinion at all,” Volka responded telepathically.
“But at least you know you are on the same side,” Carl said.
That was true, but almost more disheartening. It was one thing to suffer the condescension of enemies; to suffer it from friends was worse.
Turning away from Orion, she accidentally met Stratos’s eyes … and found herself, literally found herself, in one of his daydreams with Rhinehart and many blue aliens. She rolled her eyes. More things she didn’t want to know, and soon she’d doubtlessly find herself in a meeting knowing too much about too many people.
She swallowed. Her annoyance was petty. The battle in System 5 was raging, and Sixty, who was her friend, if nothing more, was in real danger. Hopefully, help would be there soon.
35
Battle
Galactic Republic: System 5 New Grande
6T9’s feet pounded up a metal fire escape that wouldn’t have been out of place on a twentieth century tenement building. Davies was panting behind him. A glance down the alleyway showed a flood of sex ‘bot troops. Phaser fire echoed from the street, drowning out the amorous calls of 6T9’s draftees.
Since the Infected had stopped bombing and switched to infecting, more Infected had been put on the ground—which had made them vulnerable to 6T9’s troops. But the Infected had caught on and were fighting back, utilizing their ships to mow down sex ‘bots en masse. 6T9 had to adapt faster than the Infected—he had a plan, though not currently the means, to make it work. He cleared the top flight of steps to the rooftop. Ignoring the orange warning light reminding him he was low on power, he ran past heating and cooling ventilation shafts and a mechanical room to drop behind the wall at the far corner of the roof. The roar of advancing hover engines grew louder, and phaser cannons joined the din. Davies kneeled down beside him; a second later, Mao was on the sergeant’s shoulder. “Get,” the sergeant said, knocking the kitten off before peering through his sights.
Peering through his own sights, 6T9 saw a troop of twenty humans surrounded by thousands of sex ‘bots. The humans were clustered against the corner of the building adjacent to 6T9 and Davies. Some were firing on the sex ‘bots. Their victims cried out in ecstasy, and the other sex ‘bots surged over their fallen brothers and sisters in their excitement to meet the same fate.
“Still disturbing,” Davies muttered.
Mao jumped onto Davies’s shoulder. Davies shrugged, trying to get her off, but, cursing, gave up. 6T9’s ethernet activated … but only with Mao’s voice. “The humans you see in that cluster are all Infected.”
“All of them,” 6T9 said to Davies. It was all he needed to say. Davies opened fire on the Infected humans, making the sex ‘bots cry out in dismay at missed rapture.
One of the Infected fired up at 6T9 and Davies, and a piece of the wall they were sheltering behind exploded into pebbles. Another of the Infected’s comrades joined him, and more of the wall burst directly in their faces, rocks, pebbles and dust coating their armor. Neither 6T9 nor Davies was harmed, but Mao jumped from Davies with a shriek of protest. In unison that couldn’t have been ethernet orchestrated any better, Davies and 6T9 scuttled to the side like crabs, aimed again, took out both of their attackers, and then methodically began firing on the rest until the remaining Infected ducked around the corner. The sex ‘bot onslaught continued, pinning the Infected where they sheltered.
For a moment, there was nothing to do but wait as the sound of distant warship hover engines grew louder.
Taking a long slurp from his suit’s electrolyte filter, Davies said, “Call me a heretic, but I love these Galactic suits.” It was the sort of unimportant quip he often offered in times like these.
Grinning, 6T9 responded, “Heretic.” In the past hours, they’d developed a camaraderie that probably wasn’t typical between a general and a sergeant, but 6T9 wasn’t a real general.
Davies snorted, and 6T9 saw the man grin back. Davies might have said something, but it was drowned out by cannons that could only have come from one of the Infected’s warships. 6T9 imagined the felled sex ‘bots it was leaving in its wake, and his own smile faded.
The ship came into view, moving up the street perpendicular to the one their building was on. It traveled slowly, mowing down the sex ‘bots beneath it.
“Might be good to clear the roof, sir,” Davies said.
Before 6T9 could formulate a reply, the ethernet came back online, sending a pleasant rush of power through unused circuits. An officious voice said, “Citizens of New Grande, this is a reminder to boil your water—”
“Radios online,” 6T9 said, favoring radio for “ethernet” on his sensitive Luddeccean companion’s behalf.
“Covering you,” Davies replied.
That was the last 6T9 heard. Michael was contacting him with the location of another warship a few clicks away, and so was FireMan, the Q-comm-carrying sex ‘bot with Lang and Falade.
6T9 had been able to connect with the local police during a previous short bout of connectivity. Their machines trusted him—so the police did. He’d put the police in touch with members of The One. The One had helped them separate Infected System 5 forces from the few legitimate pilots that had been shot down and to distinguish the Infected pirates from common criminals. Now, a sergeant in the local police forces gave coordinates for another invading craft their hovers and drones couldn’t handle. Acknowledging them all, 6T9 connected with fifty-one members of the New Grande Remote Control Hover Enthusiasts Club. He’d also “met” them during a previous burst of ethernet availability.
A voice that sounded like it belonged to a young child cried excitedly, “Sixty, you’re back!”
“Targets acquired,” 6T9 replied, transmitting the locations of the Infected craft. Excited voices responded to the data.
“All right!”
“Ready for the mission.”
“Yep, my remote is hovering outside my window. Ready. To. Go!”
“Woo-hoo! I get to crash my hover and not get in trouble!”
It was impossible to know if the voices were authentic or computer generated to hide their identities, but a fair number of them sounded like they were pre-teens and adolescents. Infection now was worse than therapy sessions later, and so 6T9 didn’t ask. With a thought, 6T9 divided them into three equal groups based on their locations … and hoped the ether connection would last. As soon as he disconnected from the Model Hover Club, he connected to the main police channel while he still could.
His presence in the ether was f
elt immediately. Someone whose name he’d never learned said, “General 1, welcome back.”
Digital data about ongoing confrontations flowed into his mind, and he inputted the Model Hover Club’s targets so police resources could be utilized efficiently. He’d almost finished when a mechanical voice crackled over the police force channel. “Secure’Bot2923 at Northeastern Memorial Hospital. Reporting attempt by Infected ships to land on roof.” The commentary included visuals from Secure’Bot’s camera eyes. A small but well-armed craft was hovering above the hospital roof, firing on Secure’Bots there.
There was an explosion of static and for a millisecond, 6T9 thought the ether connection had been lost, but then the police force channel was flooded with chatter. “The Secure’Bot is down.”
“There is no one close to the hospital!”
“Tied up, can’t get there.”
6T9’s Q-comm hummed. The Infected had been conspicuously ignoring hospitals. 6T9 had presumed it was because the Dark didn’t want sick Infected—it wanted workers. He had no idea what had changed its mind.
While the connection was open, he reached out to Time Gate 5. “I need drones.” He gave the coordinates, and Time Gate 5 replied, “What kind, General?”
“Any kind.”
Models and makes of delivery drones scrolled through his mind. They’d been grounded at the hospital and nearby buildings during the attack. “How many do you need?” the gate asked.
“Just give me all of them,” 6T9 replied.
Binary data poured across the ether, and 6T9 activated every drone within a half kilometer of the hospital. They were slow, defenseless things, meant to ferry small packages. He put them all on a collision course with the hovering warship—knowing their programming was sure to turn away at the last minute. But hoping that …
The military hover began firing on the drones, just as 6T9 had hoped.
6T9 reached out and implanted his “consciousness” into one of the slowest and largest drones at the back of the pack.
He became FerrierEZ, and it was as processor crushing as being the plumbing ‘bot. EZ soared through the air but did not feel joy. Something collided with EZ, sending it off-course, and making its circuits darken. Adjusting its altitude, other circuits lit, informing it that it was running low on power. It crashed onto the hospital roof, bounced and gained altitude, and then lost altitude again. Circuits dimmed abruptly except for the sensors informing it that it did not know its current location and had only seconds left of power. Switching to power save mode, 6T9 released EZ’s consciousness, and for less than a millisecond, he was nothing but thought without body, but then he connected to the visual sensors of a drone not yet shot down and pinpointed EZ’s location on the hospital rooftop. The Infected ship was landing and there was no one but EZ to stop it, and EZ had no weapons. 6T9’s Q-comm lit, performing analysis of the Infected ship’s make and trajectory, and then he threw himself back into the EZ.
EZ could not collide with the hover. But EZ wasn’t itself. It was 6T9, and 6T9 had the power to kill. He fired EZ’s thrusters—or, in this case, his thrusters. EZ’s original operating system activated a subroutine that made it announce to no one, “Danger, malfunction, danger,” as it shot not quite vertically thirty meters into the air into the starboard hover engine of the landing craft at just the right angle … Sensors screamed … and the world was black.
6T9 was himself. The world was black, but he could hear explosions. Had he been successful? The ether was still buzzing and alive in his mind. He reconnected to the police channel and heard someone exclaim, “The ship above the hospital is going down!”
He switched to the Hover Club’s channel and heard triumphant shouts—and then the ether went silent. And the world was still black. 6T9 heard an explosion and phaser fire. Why was the world black? Also, why was he lying on his back? He sat up and found himself staring over Davies’s shoulder. The Luddeccean was aiming his rifle through a door. Mao was perched on his head. The illustrious kitten’s voice filled 6T9’s mind. “You can tell Davies that he’s shot all the Infected who followed us up onto the roof.”
“Davies,” 6T9 said gently.
The sergeant started. Mao shrieked “Rowr!” as she lost her balance and soared over 6T9.
Davies quickly turned back to scan the roof.
“Mao said you got them all,” 6T9 said.
Davies did not put down his rifle.
6T9 looked around. They were in the mechanical room. Five men in pirate attire were sprawled on the rooftop.
“Are they dead?” 6T9 asked Mao.
“Yes,” Mao replied, “and all Infected if you wondered.”
Eyeing the corpses’ weapons, 6T9 rose, but Davies held out a hand. “Pirates may be booby trapped—”
There was a flash on the rooftop deck, and 6T9 threw up a hand to shield his eyes, pebbles pelted his suit, and its sensors alerted him of dangerous heat levels … that unfortunately his suit was blocking and he couldn’t utilize for power. A brick-sized piece of something collided with Davies’s head … and dropped to the ground. The human whistled. “I love these Galactic suits.”
6T9 scowled at the now-smoldering remains on the roof. Davies had warned his team that sometimes pirates had explosives programmed to detonate on their deaths. 6T9 hadn’t remembered; he needed to reboot.
Scanning the mechanical room for an outlet, 6T9 said, “You dragged me in here.” Had 6T9 not noticed Davies moving him because his local hardware and distant server had determined Davies wasn’t a threat? Or was it another symptom of a need to reboot?
Davies looked up at him, and even with the low light and through the visor, 6T9 saw him blush. “You’re unexpectedly heavy, sir. Didn’t mean no disrespect.”
6T9 laughed, not really sure why he was laughing. “None taken.”
The power light at the periphery of his vision went from orange to red, but the ethernet came on again, and 6T9 tuned in. From the police he heard, “They’re retreating!” He saw a schematic of the city with the Infected ships delineated as red lights. They moved out of the canyon to the frozen wastes. Police officers’ cheers rang in his mind.
Mao interrupted the scene with the observation. “There are still ongoing skirmishes, but all roving gangs of Infected are contained.”
And then another voice came over the ether. “Citizens of New Grande, this is your mayor. The Galactic Fleet is arriving. Please remain in your homes as they engage the remaining terrorist invaders. Keep boiling your water until the all clear is given.”
Shouts and cheers … real live shouts and cheers … rose in the city.
6T9 disconnected from the ether to find Davies looking about in surprise—presumably at the cacophony of sound rising outside their shelter. “Fleet is here.” 6T9 grinned at the man. “Although, according to Mao, we had it all under control already.”
The ether also pinged with his sex ‘bot lieutenants, Michael, and his ‘bot infantry. Everyone but Michael and the Luddecceans were running out of power. 6T9 connected to the local police superintendent—and found himself in a meeting with the local police and Fleet’s command in System 5. There was a brief flurry of hashing out logistics, and then 6T9 disconnected, his sensors blaring he was out of power … but his Q-comm sparking brilliantly.
Outside the mechanical room, there was the roar of ships. He gazed up and saw Fleet on the horizon. Closer was a police hover. Etherly, the police hover’s pilot let 6T9 know he and his “troops” were relieved. 6T9 gave the order for his sex ‘bots to find a power source. Finally spying an outlet, 6T9 disconnected and ripped off his helmet.
Davies stared at him with wide eyes.
“I can’t be infected,” 6T9 said. “And I need to reboot and recharge.”
Davies blinked. And then he chuckled nervously. “Oh, right. I sometimes forget you’re not human.”
6T9 frowned. “I have to peel off my face. You won’t be able to forget.” Emotional expression apps made the words gruffer than he wanted them to
be. It made him uncomfortable to make humans uncomfortable.
Davies gaped.
Unable to ignore his diminished power levels, 6T9 peeled back the side of his face covering his temple outlet. He took out his power cord and jacked into the wall.
Davies stared a moment, but then said, “I’ll stand guard.”
Power surged across the cord. All evidence pointed to a need for a reboot, but he hesitated. He hated rebooting in front of humans, but the Luddeccean was guarding the rooftop, Mao beside him … he’d only be out a few minutes. Facing the wall, 6T9 locked his joints and rebooted. He came online a few minutes later. Nothing had changed. Davies was still guarding the rooftop.
“I’m done with my reboot,” 6T9 said.
Davies looked up at him, and then looked away fast, face draining of color, no doubt at the sight of 6T9’s metal skull. “That … was … fast,” he stuttered.
Almost as a challenge, 6T9 added, “You can sleep if you want, until we rendezvous with Fleet.”
Davies turned back to him. “Really?”
6T9 scowled. “If you can sleep, you’re welcome to. I can stand guard and monitor the ether.”
Eyebrows rising, Davies took a long sip of the straw within his helmet that provided the electrolyte solution, and then he pulled back from the doorway and settled down against a wall. Hugging his rifle, he closed his eyes. Mao hopped up onto his chest and curled into a ball. Eyes opening to half mast, Davies stared at the kitten for a moment, and then closed his eyes again. Within minutes, he was snoring.
6T9, half his face hanging off, stared at the human, and then huffed a soft laugh. With power surging through him, he had plenty of bandwidth to monitor his immediate surroundings and the ethernet, so he connected. To his lieutenants, most already connected to power sources, and Michael, he said, “Well done, everyone.” To the sex ‘bots in Falade and Lang’s presence, he said, “Tell your Luddecceans I said so … and tell them they can get some sleep until Fleet arrives.” He remembered he was forgetting someone and connected to Time Gate 5. “We couldn’t have done it without you, Five.”
