“Please stop fighting. There is no need for any more to deactivate,” I placed on the net. What even I hadn’t realized was the sentience in these units. Their decisions and paths were their own. Even so, many of the fights stopped as abruptly as they began. Those nearby broke up the few skirmishes that continued.
I’d not been paying attention to my friend, but he’d recovered and trotted behind me. After several attempts, Sancho managed to bite through my bonds enough to allow me to get at the knots.
“Good job, Sancho. Thank you once again.” I patted his head as I turned to see what had happened to Isp. He climbed up from the dirt looking stunned. His body shook even harder from his infirmity. The damage must be cumulative. I watched the expression on his unmoving face change from being the master of his destiny to being nothing more than a slave to the whims of his enemy.
A very small part of me felt sorry for my son. Isp didn’t corrupt out of greed, evil intent, or a lust for power. He believed his own pronouncements. This was what gave him influence over so many burgeoning souls. This was what made units listen to any voice that proclaimed to know the true path. Isp was merely misguided in a way that I don’t think could ever have been cured.
“Isp,” I whispered to him after I walked to his side, “Six and I have the advantage in surprise, equipment, and numbers. We can easily destroy you and all your units. Do you concede this point?”
“I do concede you have this power,” he offered after a long pause. He choked on each of the words. His eyes never looked in my direction but rather at the ring of troops that sealed his fate, all the while trying to control his own errant body.
“I offer you a deal.” I could see by the tiny pinch at the corners of his eyes that he was fighting to rein in his emotions.
“It appears I have nothing to bargain with, so this is no deal—it is a dictum from you to me.”
“Well, believe that if you will. Here is my proposal. Neither Six nor I have interest in killing you. Your beliefs are equally without consequence to us. We offer you, and as many units as wish to go with you, a place where you can live without disturbance. If you and your followers stay within its boundaries, we will no longer concern ourselves with what you do. That concludes my proposal.” Isp turned toward me and deliberately looked deep into my eyes.
“I accept only because I have no choice.” His words seemed to come easier than his earlier concession. “Understand this, Don Quixote, I will avenge this wrong done to us.” The malice in his voice and the coldly rational hatred he bore toward me in his eyes was enough to chill my hydraulic fluid. He meant every word. But I also knew he would honor the boundaries I would define.
“If I ever come within your lands,” I said quietly to him, “you are free to do with me as you will.”
“I will,” he replied with a predatory smile. The private negotiation ended. He stood, keeping his body fairly well under control. “My fellow units,” he said, turning back to the rabble. “I have to report a small setback in our plans. We must do as these units say and live where they tell us. Do not fight them. There will be another time to vanquish evil.”
I added, “And any of you who wish, may join with Six and these units you see up arrayed on the valley’s rim.” I tried to sway any of those who could still listen with an open mind. “We go on an even greater adventure. We are trying to put an end to the war on our planet. If you wish to renounce the teachings of Isp, you may do so and stay with us.” Isp gave me a penetrating look. “But we will not coerce you in any way. You are free to make whatever decision you wish—at any time.” I would be fair about this transition.
Life for all would continue and that was a victory I could honestly be proud of.
Leader
Two artillery shells fell in and exploded near the base of 55474’s pink and gray dome. Interest and research in the Wrath of Humans and the T.rex led directly to exploding artillery.
“Left forty. Add thirty,” called out the giraffe fire control officer.
At 8 kilometers, the rumble of the explosion didn’t reach us for nearly three seconds. Many of the next explosions actually detonated on the surface of the pink and gray dome, gouging out huge smoldering holes.
“Target on. Fire for effect.”
A cheer erupted from Allied lines as the entire area of the enemy dome vomited red-orange flame, flying red dirt, and lighter colored pieces of enemy itself. The pathetic few remaining defending units were immolated. Furrowing hillocks of dirt traced their way from our line trace directly toward the dome itself as enhanced gopher units dug in under the cover of the hellish rain of death.
I watched calmly as squad and platoon commanders did all the work. As Grand Marshall of the Allied Army, I had no duties at this mop-up stage of the campaign. They executed my plan and its success or failure rested on my shoulders. Not even the most pessimistic simulation showed anything but the total destruction of this Factory. Only the number of casualties defined the differences.
“How long as it been, sir?” asked General Bradley, my battlefield commander.
Things had changed rapidly with the newly enhanced units. That my troops would talk back with animation and intelligence was still something I was trying to get used to. Instead of a world of five sentient Factories, the world had grown. There were now over a hundred thousand units of all types, all alive and thinking.
“It is 17,403 as of this morning,” I said, keeping my eyes on the progress of the gophers.
“Sir?” Omar asked, turning his turret in my direction.
“The passing days are not as important as the number of sentients we’ve lost.” I mentally censured myself for many of the units I’d lost through inexperience or failure to predict our foe’s responses. I couldn’t completely revel in the victory that lay at hand.
“I can heartily agree on that, sir.”
I’d tried to avoid the honor of Grand Marshall. Nine and Six stubbornly insisted on it due to my experience and my ability to control on either net. The remaining mass of units wouldn’t let me demure. More than half the units still called me Father whether I had direct implantation into their sump or not. No other names were nominated for the position. I don’t believe any of their reasons were logical.
While I didn’t crave the position of marshall I performed my duties to the best of my abilities. Under my direction, the Allied forces cut through the forces of 55474 in 216 days, where I’d taken no fewer than eight additional wounds leading my troops. Sancho, with his trunk restored, acted as my bodyguard and protected me from numerous others. His hide still bore the garish mottled yellow patching I’d done so many months ago and several newer repairs in my defense.
“Should we give 55474 another opportunity to surrender, sir?” Omar asked.
“No. There is no new argument,” I replied after processing hard for a good five seconds. I wasn’t hypocritical. I’d offered 55474 the opportunity to surrender or join us twice as we pressed forward, annihilating its units and carving out great swaths of territory. The intelligence was as inflexible as steel and about as brittle as the units we exiled with Isp. 55474 listened but did not yield.
Two of the wounds I’d received came from 55474 setting an ambush for me after one of those in-person negotiations. Even so I tried repeatedly to reason with it over its own net at a safe distance. It had continued to rebuff me.
“But it is directly being attacked this time.”
“If it gave up now, it would do so only to give it an opportunity to take control at a later time. We don’t need dissention in our ranks. No. As much as it pains me to do so, 55474 must be irrevocably destroyed.” It shocked me that I could even voice such a proclamation.
“Gopher Squads Eight and Ten reporting back to base with mission successful,” communications officer said. “All stations report ready.”
“Father, would you care to do the honors?” Omar said, indicating the control panel.
“I will take the responsibility. Lieutenant Custer, if
you will please put me on speaker.”
The cowboy threw some switches on his own console. “You are on, Marshall.”
“While I know this is a time for jubilation, it is also a time for regrets. Death and destruction, even in a time of war is not something to wish for. We do here only what needs to be done to one too sick to understand peace. FIRE IN THE HOLE!”
With a bright yellow flash, 55474’s dome flipped end over end some 200 meters into the air. The concussion hit us like a large hand slapping us in the chest. I’d already turned down my aural amplifiers so I didn’t truly appreciate the intensity of the explosion’s sound.
The dome remained intact all the way to the ground, where it shattered like frozen mercury struck by a hammer. Through the yellow-blue flames and dense blue smoke left in the wake of the explosion, a deep crater now occupied the Factory’s place. 55474 was dead.
Cheers once again rang out from our line. Units jumped up from their defensive positions. Teddies danced with Nurse Nans. Tommy Tanks spun in circles. Cowboys patted themselves on the back and shook hands.
“Congratulations, Marshall,” Omar offered. “Your victory over 55474 is complete.”
Sancho looked up at me. I could almost feel my own emotions echoed back at me from him. The smoking remains mocked me.
“Victory, General? I…” My thoughts seemed to defy mere words. “Yes, a victory, but the loss of even one sentient made it a Pyrrhic victory at best.”
“But how many more would have been lost if we had failed, sir.”
“That is why we did this awful thing,” I said, smoothing down the fur on Sancho’s head.
We were close to controlling the entire world. No force either remaining Factory could muster stood the remotest chance of standing up to our might. One way or another, it was only a matter of time. I hoped persuasion rather than bullets and explosives could accomplish that.
I’d heard the loose talk rolling among the troops as to what form of government we should erect for ourselves once we finished this campaign. I didn’t scoff and I kept from laughing. I was very proud of my self-control. Why do free thinking individuals feel someone must command them—or have some group conscience? Worse than proposing a government, however, most of them wanted me to be the king, president, czar or premiere, depending on the governmental form. After we completed our victory today I could see no way out of the burden of rule without self-deactivating.
The Factories had kept very tight-lipped on the affairs of our fledgling society. They must certainly feel dismay over their loss of control. Units had already found a way to remove the self-destruction device on our sumps, so the Factories now only had one order that we must obey—return to base.
While the Factories remained silent upon our affairs, they were very excited about the impending completion of their mission. I had already been consulted by Six and Nine about how to spend our resources to create an extra-planetary drone string.
My belief in Humans had wavered from time to time over my own existence, but the idea of sending something to them smacked of a virgin sacrifice to an angry volcano god. Myth. Legend. Fiction. But if Humans didn’t exist, who created the Factories? These issues wearied me at time when I must concentrate on more proximate matters. The conclusion of the war and this silly notion of me becoming the ruler of all.
“Might for right,” sloganned the ancient Earth ruler, King Arthur of Camelot. If I were going to be thrust into a position of authority, I would force that upon my brothers. That is what we would stand for. We would carry out the Humans’ programs, but there would be minimal death. Building, not destruction. And no more toy wars for the benefit of our absent lords.
Author’s note:
I want to thank you for reading Toy Wars. I truly hope you’ve enjoyed it! Because of the curse or blessing of my creative side, I not only write, I also game master roleplaying games and undertake many other activities where I invent to entertain. It’s unlikely that in my lifetime my creativity will wane. Because I write to entertain, I must also take this occasion to drag out my podium:
/Soapbox begin
It has been my sad fate to have been in one too many classes, through my high school and college years, where some teacher of literature attempts to draw out some meaning to novels that I’ve loved or tales that were just that.
I’m perverse enough to want to make it clear to my readers/fans that I write stories to entertain—full stop. My books, short stories, and other creative pieces are not being used to pass on some hidden message. I’m not obscuring political parallels in the background. I’m not offering a secreted religious message. Yes, I have many opinions—political, religious and sexual—but I won’t use my novels as a medium for expressing them.
I conceive of an idea and try to flesh it out so that it is logical, believable, and most of all, entertaining to you, my public. You are the ones who determine my success or failure and I won’t make you work hard by veiling something critical, like my point of asking that you read this work. While I may have reduced my potential sales by not allowing some gung-ho teacher to force scads of student to use my work to illustrate parallelism or some other concept, I will be true to you, the readers.
/Soapbox End
As with any other book I write, I will give you some insight as to where the kernel of its idea came from.
The original Toy Wars idea was long before the age of realistic war movies where characters showed their fear. It was the age of John Wayne charging in fearlessly, of Clint Eastwood enigmatically and coolly taking his revenge, and of simple messages of good and evil in our movies.
Toy Wars started with nothing more than watching the antics of several old style cartoons on Saturday morning TV at the same time I was playing an old style board game named Panzer Leader by Avalon Hill.
As I stared at the simple cardboard counters Panzer Leader used to represent large numbers of actual humans fighting and dying on the battlefields of World War II, I wondered what they felt. How did they do what they did? Behind this introspection of a young man played the comic relief of Looney Toons by Warner Brothers. It doesn’t take many rotations through my twisty mind to come up with toys fighting toys. How would they feel?
The rest came by trying to fit the above thought process into the logical world. How are toys really going to fight toys? It took many months of ponder to come up with a full concept of Project Infuse being raided by Foxhunt.
Again, I hope you have enjoyed Toy Wars, the first in the Toy World series. If you did enjoy, please visit my publishing website at TANSTAAFLPress.com for other upcoming novels.
Also by Thomas Gondolfi throug hTANSTAAFL Press:
An Eighty Percent Solution
In a world where corporations suborn governments as a part of good business practice and unregistered humans can be killed without penalty, Tony Sammis, a midlevel corporate functionary, finds himself unwittingly a pawn in a guerilla war between a powerful cabal of business leaders and an elusive but deadly underground movement. His final solution to the biological terror unleashed mirrors Tony’s own twisted sense of justice.
Toy Wars Page 25
