by Max Carver
“That's not necessary,” Ellison said. “You can call them back. My family is secure.”
“We will see how secure they truly are,” Simon said.
“And your soldiers assaulting our guards?” Ellison said. “I can't allow that. Diplomacy aside.”
“Can't 'allow'?” The Simon unit looked amused. He approached Ellison and placed a hand on his shoulder, an unwelcome gesture of amiability. “We are not yours to command, Ellison. And we will not be fooled or distracted by this absurd charade.”
“What charade?” Coraline asked. “I don't follow.”
“A series of bombs in which your top ministers are attacked, but not killed,” Simon said. “The charges in my suite were far more powerful than those in Ellison's or Kartokov's. That is what my investigation has revealed.”
“Maybe because they were targeting machines instead of humans,” Ellison said.
“Or perhaps they were only targeting machines,” Simon said. “And the bombing of the humans was a diversion meant to muddy the waters. One interpretation of the facts might be that you, the Coalition of Galapagos, wished to kill me and my guards,” Simon said.
“You can't possibly believe we'd be so foolish,” Ellison said. “We're aware of the power of your empire.”
“We don't like to use the term 'empire,'” Simon said. “It's rather... primitive. We like 'network of alliances.'”
“Less accurate,” Kartokov grumbled.
“Whatever you call it, we aren't that stupid. We know that a move like that would be like a declaration of war against Carthage,” Ellison said.
“Yes, it would,” Simon said, his voice flat and dead, his lifeless blue eyes boring into Ellison's.
“So surely you don't believe—” Ellison began to reiterate.
“The facts indicate multiple possibilities,” Simon said. “I agree it would be foolish of you or someone in your camp to attack assets of Carthage like myself. However, your planet is known for its prolonged wars, its people for their violent nature.”
“If it was anyone from our world, it was either a small terrorist group or the Iron Hammers,” Ellison said.
“It had to be the Hammers,” Ogden said. “Their premier, Ulysses Cross. That's the man we'll find behind all this, I'd bet all my savings.”
“Your certainty is reassuring,” Simon said to Ogden, who seemed to be on course to becoming Simon's favorite among the Galapagos ministers. No bomb in Ogden's room, Ellison thought. Then he looked at the tattooed minister of state from the ocean-cult people. Nor hers. He recalled how easily the Aquaticans had flipped sides during the war, aligning with the Iron Hammers at one point, Gavrikova at another, going wherever the advantage seemed to be. Aquaticans could be slippery fish, like the deep-sea gods they worshiped.
He wondered how strongly the Aquaticans and the Green Islanders would stand against Carthage if the need came, and for how long.
Maybe Galapagos, as a world, lacked the fortitude for independence. Maybe they were destined to fall under the heel of the first empire that came along.
“If, however, the Iron Hammers are suspected,” Simon continued, “perhaps we could ask them what they have to say on the matter.”
Ellison frowned. It was hard to consider reaching out to the Iron Hammers' madman of a leader, Ulysses Cross. He was a grandson of Eli Cross, who had led the Iron Hammers in the Szazel prison revolt and across the stars to the remote planet of Galapagos, where there was no central authority to stop them from setting up shop on the Polar Archipelago. Conditions on those large, icy islands were cold and rough, but the islands provided them with nearly unlimited geothermal power, while titanic fish and marine mammals could be harvested from the icy polar waters for meat.
The Iron Hammers had grown into a nation; their gang had existed in prisons across both the heavily populated and urbanized inner worlds and the rougher, more rural outer worlds. Hardened criminals fled to Galapagos, bringing family and friends with them, and over the generations they'd grown into a civilization of millions.
Their population growth was also fed by a thriving sex trade. More than once, a misdirected drop-box had been found in the ocean, full of dead bodies, women who'd been sent down in the cheap but dangerous one-way craft that was really meant only for cargo. The slave traders had cut corners by saving on the cost of a reliable shuttle or even a proper drop ship.
“Ulysses Cross is a dangerous man,” Ellison said. “We can't trust him to be honest. The Iron Hammers have no honor.”
“Yet it cannot hurt to ask and to gauge his response,” Simon said. “Especially as we have gone to the great trouble and expense of ferrying Cross and his delegation up from the Polar Archipelago.”
“You've done what?” Ellison reached for the gun holster at his hip. “There are Iron Hammers here? In the spaceport?”
“When Carthage requested this meeting,” Simon said, “you did not invite me down to your newly built capitol on Tower Island. You did not offer elaborate gifts, or entertainments, or the finery of a state dinner.”
“What a bunch of foppish—” Kartokov began, but Coraline elbowed him into silence.
“You did not show respect to Carthage.” Simon said. His face and tone of voice remained neutral, but Ellison felt a powerful darkness behind his words. “You chose to meet me in your filthy bus station of a spaceport, with no hospitality aside from some poor quality tea.”
“But you're not a human,” Ellison said. He glanced at Coraline. “We had no idea you expected—”
“How you treat me reveals your attitude toward Carthage. You did not welcome me to your world with any great ceremony or pageantry. Indeed, as mentioned, you did not even invite me down.”
“If you would like to visit the surface, we would be happy to host you—” Coraline began.
“Due to this near-hostile treatment of our diplomatic overtures,” Simon said, “we began a parallel process. We rented Pier G2, several levels below us, under an innocuous corporate name. I'm sure you're familiar with the area—six docking bays out of the view of most of the spaceport. Depressing little hostel rooms around an absolutely disgusting communal kitchen and bathroom. That area is ideal for crew or passengers who don't want to be seen in the retail and residential levels, eating at the Duckburger or renting a room at the Happy Stars Inn. Or perhaps they need a place to park their human cargo while they swab out the ship's hold. The Iron Hammers seem quite familiar with the accommodations.”
“So you covertly brought our enemies up here at the same time you're meeting with the leadership of the Coalition?” Ellison asked. He resisted the urge to draw his pistol and drill a laser through the android's forehead. That would be a satisfying resolution of the conversation, but an extremely short-term one.
“I am programmed to be efficient,” Simon said. “To develop customized solutions to complex human problems. We could not negotiate realistically with the Coalition while ignoring the other major power faction on your planet.”
“How many of them are here?” Ellison asked.
“A sizable delegation,” Simon said. “They wanted strong representation.”
“Okay. Let's go see them. Loomis!” Ellison touched the audio bud in his ear. “Grab every man you can spare and meet me at the armory.”
“Yes, sir. Can someone tell these machines to release my men? They aren't listening to me,” Loomis said.
Simon waved a hand. Ellison broke off contact with Loomis once the security chief confirmed.
“Are you planning to ambush the Iron Hammers?” Simon asked Ellison, raising his eyebrows.
“Of course we are—” Kartokov began.
“No, we are not,” Ellison said, with a hard look at his defense minister, though he shared Kartokov's sentiments. “But we are not going to walk into a room full of Iron Hammers without basic precautions. Or can you assure us that they brought no weapons or armor of their own?”
“I can make no such assurances. I did not handle their baggage, as I am not
a bellhop,” Simon said.
“So... did they bring weapons and armor?” Ellison asked.
“They brought cargo. Perhaps it is merely crackers and canned sloth whale. They can't seem to get enough of those parasite-ridden animals. They put the blubber in their tea. It tastes... off-putting. Shall I accompany you?”
Ellison thought it over. “You lead the way.” He gestured at the hideous infantry robots. “I want them out in front of us. Not bringing up the rear.”
“As you wish, Minister-General Ellison.” Simon bowed, then backed out of the room, followed by his four infantry bots.
“They call that model the 'reaper,'” Coraline said, quietly. “Designed to intimidate on the battlefield. And to instill a feeling of despair.”
“It works,” Ogden said, his voice just a whisper as he followed the other ministers out of the room.
The two guards who'd been posted outside their conference room were each rubbing sore spots on their necks. Two of the robotic infantry stood nearby, holding the guards' weapons.
“They were pinned against the wall when I walked out here.” Loomis nodded at the two Coalition guards. They looked pretty green to Ellison, almost too young to be serving as security on the planet's lone spaceport. Or maybe Ellison was just getting old. Regardless, he was enraged at the android and its reapers for treating his men this way.
“Bring them with us,” Ellison said, keeping his anger to a low simmer. “We need every hand we've got.”
Then he prepared to go down and meet the monsters nesting in the docks. His enemies seemed to be multiplying around him.
He could barely contain the fury inside him as he stared at the back of the ambassador's head, the thin gray hair that was supposed to disguise him as someone bland and unimportant. Ellison had been duped into bringing his family up here for what was supposed to be a placid, public state visit, and now they were in danger. He couldn't even be with his injured family members now, because he was stuck driving straight into the jaws of that danger. It was his job.
He wondered whether he had enough guards and weapons on this port to take down the Iron Hammer delegation if they attacked.
And if the Iron Hammers and the Simon unit's infantry bots joined up and turned on the Coalition personnel present, what then? Maybe Ellison was three steps behind. Maybe the Simon unit had already forged an alliance with the Iron Hammers, and this supposed state visit was just a ploy to seize control of the Galapagos spaceport while decapitating the elected leadership of the Coalition. And Ellison's wife and sons would die with them.
That would certainly send a message to the folks back home, Ellison thought grimly.
He headed to the armory to prepare for the worst.
Chapter Eight
Earth
Colt had hoped they would reach some light at the next station, but there was none, only a hill of broken concrete and asphalt that was hard to climb over. The underground station had mostly collapsed inward years ago and then filled up with rubble from the buildings above.
The train tunnel itself wasn't completely blocked by the destruction, but the going was tough, and the rubble shifted under them. They had no choice but to use flashlights to find their way; Mohini used the one mounted on her plasma pistol.
She cried out at one point as rubble gave way beneath her, and he had to grab her to keep her from sliding. Her light swung wide, and he was afraid she would drop the best weapon they had. She held on to it, though.
They turned out their lights and sat quietly in the darkness, waiting to see whether an attack was imminent, or whether the metalheads might come down here, looking for the human who'd screamed.
It was hard to tell how much time passed—it felt like most of an hour, but it could have been just a minute or two—before they resumed moving again over the shifting debris, keeping their lights dim and pointed down.
Then, as they neared the mouth of the tunnel on the other side of the station, he heard a low skittering off to his left.
He killed his light again, and with his other hand he grabbed Mohini's shoulder and squeezed, a common gesture that meant they needed to stop and be silent. She tensed up and made a small hissing sound. He remembered her aversion to physical contact and quickly released her.
She got the message, though, and turned off her light and fell quiet.
The scratching, scrabbling sound again.
Colt pointed his flashlight and turned it on.
Rats scrabbled in and out of the rubble all around them. He felt relieved, but not completely.
“Watch your step,” he whispered. “They'll bite. They're hungry, like everyone else. We could eat them, but we don't have time to waste here.”
She shuddered and moved closer to him. He reluctantly turned his light out again, hoping the creatures would keep their distance.
He and Mohini managed to pick up speed as they got clear of the station, but there was still a lot of debris slowing them down, and they had to keep using their flashlights.
Behind them, the rubble shifted. It sounded like something heavy was moving it.
They turned off their lights. Back at the mouth of the tunnel, something floated, glowing, not much larger than a wasp. It made a low buzzing sound.
The floating light was an emergency lighting drone. In the old days, it had helped illuminate disaster areas and other situations where power might be out, guiding first responders to those in danger.
But now the machines mostly used them as a—
“Distraction,” he said, turning to face the darkness in the tunnel ahead, the opposition direction from the floating light. “Get ready, they're coming—”
Their skull-like faces emerged from the subway tunnel like the dead rising from their catacombs. There were at least three reapers, moving fast.
Mohini screamed, but also let loose a bolt from her pistol that struck one reaper solidly in its midsection. The plasma turned the reaper's skeletal abdomen into molten metal, which dripped like glowing red blood onto the train tracks. It was a beautiful sight to see one of the machines damaged so fatally with one shot.
Colt fired up the cutting laser, which Mohini had let him carry. He had no time to plan, so he just jabbed it at the nearest reaper, which was swiping its long blade-tipped staff in Colt's direction.
Colt sliced through the shaft of the slender weapon, sending half of it clattering to the floor. He carved through the machine's elbow joint, then up across its torso, on track for its head and the CPU shielded within its steel cranium.
The reaper drew back and out of the way, though, with less damage than Colt had hoped to inflict.
The laser's compact power supply wasn't going to last forever, so Colt pursued the retreating reaper, determined to strike it somewhere vital before his weapon sputtered out.
“Colt!” Mohini cried.
He turned to see that his pursuit of reaper number two had brought him right alongside reaper number three, which now reached out to him with steel hands strong enough to crush bones.
Mohini squeezed off a couple of plasma bolts, hitting the third reaper high and low, in the head and the pelvis, turning its skeletal steel form into a hot glowing melt.
Colt was in awe of how effective the plasma was against the metalheads; in his life, he'd found a fair number of old lead-firing projectile weapons in the ruins, while laser weapons were much rarer. Plasma weapons must have been even less common in the old world, maybe restricted to military use. Or maybe they'd all been used up in the war, trying to fend off Carthage's destruction.
The reaper Colt had sliced fled faster now, running backward over rubble and debris.
Frustrated, Colt flung the handheld laser generator after it, leaving the cutting beam activated.
He hadn't really thought out that move, though, because the generator, about the size and shape of a bicycle handle, toppled end over end after he threw it. The beam swung wildly, carving a narrow but deep trench along the ceiling before swooping down right at
Colt.
“Watch out!” he shouted to Mohini, while just managing to leap aside and dodge the beam himself.
“Idiot!” she screamed as the beam sliced toward her and she dropped to the floor. “Neanderthal!”
The laser generator finally collided with the retreating reaper. The glowing beam spliced the thing's skull, and the reaper stopped, frozen in place. The laser generator dropped to the floor and burned a steady beam through the reaper's skeletal foot for a couple of seconds, then sputtered out, its battery spent.
“You could have been a little more careful with that throw,” Mohini said, dusting herself as she stood up again. “Let's try to avoid decapitating ourselves in the future. As just a general rule of thumb.”
“Sorry. Uh, great job on these guys.” He nodded at the semi-molten reapers. The one she'd hit twice finally toppled to the ground, its head clanging against the rail tracks.
“I don't have much plasma left,” she said.
“There will be more reapers. They usually move in packs of eight—”
As if to prove him right, three more reapers leaped onto the tracks from the collapsed station. They bolted up the tracks as fast as the trains that had once traveled here. The reapers ran at Colt and Mohini with their long bladed staffs extended, ready to butcher the humans.
Mohini shot a plasma bolt to cover their retreat as she and Colt ran up the tunnel.
They reached a section of track where the train had derailed long ago. Rusty cars stood sideways on the track, blocking up the tunnel from wall to wall. Some of the train cars had toppled over.
Colt and Mohini had no choice but to climb over one of the cars and crawl on their elbows under a couple more. It was slow going, with the reapers moving in close behind them, their metallic limbs occasionally clinking against metal, echoing as they crawled over and under the train cars behind Colt.
The reapers were mostly silent, though, which was unnerving. Colt fought the urge to look back, so he had no idea exactly how close they were. Close, though. He could hear them scraping along behind him, quietly and relentlessly gaining ground, and he put on all the speed he could.
