He opened his mouth. Nothing came out. He watched them. They waited, silent, expectant. Each of them was probably twice as intelligent as he. Each of them had seen empires rise and fall. He was a monkey giving orders to an army of savants, an army of demi-gods.
His suit shuddered. The coolant system kicked into overdrive, compensating for his increased body heat. A small service robot in his helmet wiped sweat from his eye brows.
He took a deep breath.
“Made minds!” he called. His suit transmitted his message. He turned up the transmission power. It might mean nothing to these robots, but he felt it necessary that he shout.
“Made minds! Sentients! I am Harmonizer Amir Tarkos. I am a human being. You may not know my species. We were still under quarantine when you were made. My species dwelled under the barrier of radio and hyper-radio silence, without visitors from distant stars. We lived believing we were alone in the universe. We were a bestial race, but finally we too found our way to partial peace, and science, and built thinking machines like yourselves. Quarantine was lifted, and now here I am, before you, a savage creature from a savage species, a species striving to better itself, striving to be useful to all life—to all sentience—in the Galaxy.
“I have come to ask for your help. Neelee-ornor is in danger. The Ulltrians have returned and infested the rings with self-replicating machines. Soon, the rings will be consumed, and we fear the planet will be consumed next.
“Why would you help? I ask myself this question, and I have only one answer. Not that you were made to help. You are too intelligent to be slaves to your first purposes. Not because the Ulltrians would destroy you—that is true, but what is destruction compared to centuries in this prison? Rather, I ask you to consider that I, a savage, am now a Harmonizer. That tells us that the Alliance can change, the Alliance can accept new and different… peoples into its community. The Alliance respects the diversity of life, and this means there is hope that the Alliance can be made to respect the diversity of sentience. There is hope that you can win your freedom and then remind the Neelee of your existence and worth.
“I need your help. We are going on a dangerous mission. Many of us will be destroyed. But those who help us, and who survive, can no longer be ignored. Your actions will demand that the Alliance remember you! You, the made minds, the children of our dreams, the progeny of our reason and our hopes.
“Will you follow me?”
No answer came back, no cheer, not even any gesture of having heard. Tiklik moved to Tarkos’s side. Tiklik too said nothing. Tarkos hesitated. He considered speaking again. Then he ran his last words through his mind: will you follow me? He realized that the bots might well take him literally.
He turned his back to the crowd of AIs, and pulled himself through the huge bay door and out onto the surface of the station. He walked a hundred paces before he dared look back.
The machines poured out of the bay, and spread out on the cold black surface of the station. They were following him, wherever he might lead. Tiklik counted their number aloud, which grew by the minute.
_____
The bridge crew of the Zoroastrian looked up in shock as Bria lumbered into the long, low room. She stood and spread her arms, meeting the eyes of each of the small humans in turn. Their little, inset eyes went round, and their mouths hung open. Bria knew this expression from years of experience with Tarkos. The humans were surprised and perhaps frightened.
“Am Harmonizer Commander Briaathursiasalientiormethesess,” she roared. She interfaced with the ship systems, and her voice came out of the ship speakers, but also vibrated from the floor and walls. The crew started, surprised. They had not known the ship could do this. “Commandeer this ship for emergency activity. Compliance required by Consortium Treaty, Earth and Alliance.” She transmitted the treaty, with the relevant passages highlighted and at the top of the file.
The humans on the bridge gaped and looked at their captain, who had entered the bridge behind Bria. Bria looked down at her. She did not stand to Bria’s shoulder.
“No one who objects will be punished,” the captain said.
Bria closed her top eyes and showed her teeth. That was dangerously close to inciting mutiny.
Bria looked back at the bridge crew. She opened all four eyes wide in respect. By rights, Bria could kill them all, if they attempted an insurrection. But she felt a twinge of pity. They were new to the Alliance, not yet full members. They understood so little. Fearful little omnivores unable to comprehend the great scope of history that now swept them up.
Bria pointed at the bridge screen, that showed burning ship debris cutting into the atmosphere of Neelee-ornor, leaving brilliant streaks of flame. “Alliance serves life,” she growled. “Life above all. Earth life, Neelee life, Sussurat life, all life. In balance. Propagating across worlds. Is dangerous, to fight for life. Many die. Many will die. But, humans of Earth, ancient purposes call to you. Your lifetree needs you. The lifetrees of all Alliance worlds need you. Serve the Alliance. Serve life. Serve your sacred duty.”
No one moved. Bria could hear the heart of the nearest crew, a human sitting at the operations station. It was a woman, Bria guessed. At least, it seemed shaped like the woman that Bria had known a short while: Pala Eydis.
The human woman’s heart hammered, hammered, racing in fear. The woman stood, hesitated, took a step toward the Captain, and then stopped. The human looked at Bria. Bria opened her top eyes wide and stared, breathing through her teeth.
The woman nodded. Bria knew the expression, but did not know what it meant in this case. It seemed almost the woman nodded to herself, having come to some decision. She went back to her station and sat.
“Confirm coordinates and identify dark station,” Bria said. “Move to seven hundred measures from station.”
The crew obeyed. Captain Shirazi raged, breathing as if she had run a long while, but the human said nothing more.
In a few moments they parked above the black station. The mild acceleration stopped and they all drifted up, seeming to rise into microgravity.
“Maintain relative position,” Bria said.
More than an hour passed. As they waited, the crew sometimes stole glances at Bria, but otherwise remained silent and focussed on their tasks. Bria did not speak again, until one crew member said, “Incoming message.”
Bria waved a claw. The crew member put the message through the bridge speakers.
“This is Tarkos. We have our mission team.”
“Number?” Bria asked.
“Two thousand, four hundred, and eleven of the robots await your command.”
A helmet view from Tarkos flickered into life. Before him, on a black plane, legions of robots stood, silhouetted against the white rings of Neelee-ornor, and partly illuminated by the red glow of dying ships.
The crew looked up at Bria. “Move in to two hundred measures,” she told the helms.
“You can’t fit even a fraction of those things on this ship,” the captain said.
Bria pointed at the woman at operations. “Standard Kirt ship. Has sheathed monofilament towing bundle?”
The woman’s voice cracked as she said, “Yes sir. Ma’am. Commander.”
“Unreel full length. Drop to fifty measures above station surface when done.” Bria interfaced directly with the ship’s comms. “Tarkos. Align machines in single line, length of station.”
“Commander?”
But Bria did not explain. Instead, she carefully guided the crew to lay the towing cable over the length of the station’s surface. Formed of twined monomolecular filaments, the towing cable could handle giganewtons of weight.
“I get it,” Tarkos said, as the line reeled out. “We’ll get the robots to hold onto the cable. Good idea, Zoroastrian. Give us time to ensure that each volunteer is secure. Then you can lift them up, and tow them along, like oysters on a long, long line sinking into a black sea.”
In an hour Tarkos transmitted a ready signal. The crew looked
at Bria. She blinked. “Back away, one percent Earth gravity.”
“It’s working,” Tarkos shouted, his excitement loud over the transmission. “We haven’t lost a robot. I’m coming up with Tiklik, Zoroastrian. I’ll confirm when we two are secure in the cruiser.”
Bria looked at the crew. Their lips were turned up at the corners. Human smiles. She considered possible explanations, then decided on the surprising conclusion that the humans were satisfied to have accomplished this unusual task. Good. They wanted to do something after all.
When Tarkos’s all clear message came in, Bria gave the crew new coordinates. “Add acceleration at rate of one percent Earth gravity per minute, confirming cargo can hold to line, until we reach one Earth gravity.”
The captain shifted next to Bria. “Those coordinates are far out of orbit.”
“Stable solar orbit location, relative to Neelee-ornor.”
“The first Lagrange,” the captain said.
Bria blinked.
“That’s too far.”
Bria looked out over the crew. They worked their tasks. The captain’s authority had passed.
“Yes,” Bria hissed. “Too far. But there we must go.”
Tarkos stepped onto the bridge. He did not look at the captain, but made a point of stepping over to the opposite side of Bria.
“There is still a lot of debris burning up in the atmosphere,” Tarkos said.
“Second wave Ulltrian attack,” Bria reported. “Scattered. They harry.”
“Right,” Tarkos said. “They’re using distraction attacks. Maintaining the chaos. Any word from the planet or Savannah Runner?”
“No,” Bria said. “All attention of planet forces is to prevent KunPaTel attack in atmosphere.”
“Stopping the attack through the rings is up to us, then.”
“Yessssss,” Bria said, drawing the word out. “Us.”
CHAPTER 8
“It looks like a cannon,” Tarkos said. “I mean, like an old Earth weapon. Only huge. And harmed. Gouged and burned.”
He stood with Bria on the bridge of the Zoroastrian. The crew studiously ignored him. He understood. Bria taking over their ship was far less humiliating than if he, a fellow human of obscure rank and strange allegiances, had done so. But he hoped that it reassured them somewhat, to see a human in the Harmonizers. He tried to smile at the few furtive glances that he caught.
The big gun drifted before them. Along one side of the black structure clung an array of crystal windows. That would be where the Neelee crew had lived. But now an occassional burst of burning gas escaped from a series of long tears and gashes in the crystal, where shrapnel and laser weapons had cut through the hull. A soup of radioactive particles still rained through space here too, as the dirty aftermath of a directed fission bomb reached even this far from the main battle.
“This radiation won’t be good for our passengers outside,” Tarkos said. “Not all those robots are shielded. Probably most of them aren’t.”
Bria blinked. She sent a radio request for Neelee contact. No reply came.
“Bring ship one kilomeasure above crew area,” Bria instructed. The Zoroastrian slid closer as the helms feathered gas jets. Still no reply came to their hails.
“We should go down,” Tarkos said. “We can get our robot volunteers inside the weapon and out of this sleeting radiation.”
“Lower to one hundred measures,” Bria instructed. “Slowly. Set tow cable on weapon.”
They passed the weapon and steered slightly around it, so that their trajectory settled the tow cable against the long, ominous barrel. They switched the bridge screens to a ventral view, and watched as the robots dropped off the tow line and clung to the black stealthing surface of the big gun. They gripped to its dark surface, or to each other, steadying themselves after the shift. In moments they began to crawl toward the gashes in the hull, their sharp-edged limbs moving with deliberate speed.
“You’ve delivered your payload,” the captain said. “You can leave my ship now.”
Bria turned her huge head and looked over her nose at the captain. After a long silence, she interfaced directly with the ship’s computer and told it to project a tactical of the near space situation around Neelee-ornor. The crew leaned back in their seats, turning their heads as they gazed up at the simulation of the space around them. It was a muddle of braided lines, the tactical recreation of the trajectories of ships that pursued and evaded each other, and the trajectories of missiles hunting missiles. The Zoroastrian’s position showed far from the planet. From their perspective, as they faced the world, they saw the rings on edge, as a white line drawn through Neelee-ornor’s equator.
“Task,” Bria said. “Burn symbionts from ring. Not all of ring in view. From here, cannot target all rings. Also: planet on other side of rings. From here, cannot fire weapon without hitting Neelee-ornor.”
The Captain’s eyes went wide. “You want to move it? That weapon must mass millions of tons.”
“Will move slowly,” Bria said.
The crew looked at the huge Sussurat with open mouths, stunned by the realization that she intended to use their starship as a tug.
Tarkos lifted his helmet above his head. “I’ll go out and assess the situation. And I’ll find a way to set up a towing connection.”
_____
Two hours later, Tarkos radioed the bridge of the Zoroastrian. He piped helmet views with his transmission, so that the bridge crew could see what he saw. He floated on the outside of the weapon, feet tapping against the hull. The weapon stretched away like a monstrous steel hill. In the distance, groups of robots moved. They looked like ants, moving in chaotic unison.
“It’s proven very easy to organize the robots,” Tarkos said. “I asked them to form groups of 25, and work in teams to divide up and fix all damage that they knew how to fix. There must be some technology here that was developed after they were… stored away. But I’m assuming there are things they can repair. Hopefully most of the damage can be repaired by them—hopefully all of the damage that matters to firing this thing.”
He looked up at the Zoroastrian, floating above. “A few hundred of the robots are also working out how to attach the tow line. The robots with shielding are outside. The rest are inside. This weapon has its own engines. They’re weak, but they can help move it, and take some of the stress off the Zoroastrian and off the tow cable.”
He turned to look to his side. Nine robots floated nearby, silent and patient. Eight looked vaguely like Neelee technology, but they were all different: a menagerie of strange giant insects. “I asked Tiklik to get me the three best robots for physics, the three best engineers, and the three best at navigation and piloting. Tiklik is one of the nine—no surprise there. They’re going inside with me, and I’m hoping they can coordinate our trajectory and firing.”
He spun around to face a structure affixed to the otherwise smooth cylinder: a low crystal building. A large uneven cut in the side opened to the interior. Tarkos grabbed the torn edge of the wall, and pulled himself through. The nine robots followed, as if he led a dark train of black limbs.
He bounced down a long hall. As he went, he finished his status report to Bria.
“We found one structure where shields were still active. Six unconscious but alive Neelee were inside. Only survivors we’ve found. Two robots are bringing them to the ship. Tell doc Winters she’s about to earn her pay.”
“Weapon systems?” Bria asked.
“Well, the gun’s AI doesn’t want to talk with me. It calmed down when I gave it my Harmonizer codes, but it was designed by the Neelee to only answer to Neelee.”
Bria growled. “Against protocols.”
“Right. But this AI doesn’t seem too interested in a legal discussion or some big-picture reasoning. The good news is, the AI isn’t fighting us. Tiklik thinks it can aim this weapon without the AI. If we can talk the AI into just managing the fusion chambers to generate the particle beam, we’re in business. Tiklik c
an do the rest.”
He came to the end of the hall. LEDs glowed from slots in the walls, shedding enough light to reveal a round opening to his left. The few lights in the dark indicated a broad room lay on the other side. Tarkos kicked off a corner and through the door, into the darkness where control lights twinkled. He turned up his helmet spotlights.
“Weapon structure?” Bria asked.
Tarkos took a deep breath, making a loud sound in the confines of his helmet. “There are about a thousand robots crawling down the barrel of this thing, inside and out. Most of them are specialists in engineering. Some of them just fix whatever they find that’s broken. Kind of obsessive repairers, that can’t pass a flaw without stopping to make it right. But a few seem to get that we want to fire this thing up. Tiklik is proving a very effective ambassador between us and them. So far, it seems that there is no structural flaw that would render the weapon inoperable. But, unfortunately, we may not know for sure until we try to fire it.”
He let himself drift forward, till his knees hit a desk and stopped his forward momentum. He could only see a few meters ahead, to a few other desks in the dark, their surfaces transparent but streaked with the translucent colored patterns of Neelee hard interfaces.
“I seem to have come into the main control room,” Tarkos said.
Tiklik climbed past Tarkos, moving with shocking speed, flinging its limbs like whips as it seized hull or a control desk and pulled itself across the room. Tarkos watched the blue lights in its flanks as Tiklik hurried forward, the only thing visible in the farther dark stretches of the room. Then Tiklik reached a limb forward and touched something on one of the panels. Lights glowed into brightness throughout the room.
A dozen Neelee bodies very slowly tumbled through the room. They had been invisible in the dark and invisible on the infrared overlay that Tarkos had run in his helmet. One cold Neelee corpse drifted by directly in front of Tarkos, its helmet off, its eyes bulging out of their sockets and frozen to pale gray. Tarkos’s voice came hard over the microphone as he said, “I don’t think anyone else survived this. We would have a signal, something, if any Neelee were in a sealed environment.”
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