The Compleat Bolo

by Keith Laumer

  "We possess nothing to compare with this machine; I saw my opportunity to place an advantage in our hands at last."

  "Blundering fool! That is a decision for the planning cell. I accept no responsibility-"

  "But these hulks which they allow to lie rotting on the ramp contain infinite treasures in psychotronic…"

  "They contain carnage and death! They are the tools of an Alien science which even at the height of our achievements we never mastered!"

  "Once we used them as wrecking machines; their armaments were stripped, they are relatively harmless-"

  "Already this 'harmless' juggernaut has smashed half the equipment in our finest decontamination chamber! It may yet break free…"

  "Impossible! I am sure-"

  "Silence! You have five minutes in which to immobilize the machine. I will have your head in any event, but perhaps you can earn yourself a quick death."

  "Excellency! I may still find a way! The unit obeyed my first command, to enter the chamber. I have some knowledge. I studied the control centers, cut out the memory, most of the basic circuits; it should have been a docile slave."

  "You failed; you will pay the penalty of failure. And perhaps so shall we all."

  There is no further speech; I have learned little from this exchange. I must find a way to leave this cell. I move away from the wall, probe to discover the weak point; I find none.

  Now a number of hinged panels snap up around me, hedging me in. I wait to observe what will come next. A metal mesh drops from above, drapes over me. I observe that it is connected by heavy leads to the power pile. I am unable to believe that the Enemy will make this blunder. Then I feel the flow of high voltage.

  I receive it gratefully, opening my power storage cells, drinking up the vitalizing flow. To confuse the Enemy, I display a corona, thresh my treads as though in distress. The flow continues. I send a sensing impulse along the leads, locate the power source, weld all switches, fuses, and circuit-breakers. Now the charge will not be interrupted. I luxuriate in the unexpected influx of energy.

  I am aware abruptly that changes are occurring within my introspection complex. As the level of stored power rises rapidly, I am conscious of new circuits joining my control network. Within the dim-glowing cavern the lights come up; I sense latent capabilities which before had lain idle now coming onto action level. A thousand brilliant lines glitter where before one feeble thread burned; and I feel my self-awareness expand in a myriad glowing centers of reserve computing, integrating, sensory capacity. I am at last coming fully alive.

  I send out a call on the Brigade band, meet blankness. I wait, accumulate power, try again. I know triumph as from an infinite distance a faint acknowledgment comes. It is a comrade, sunk deep in a comatose state, sealed in his survival center. I call again, sounding the signal of ultimate distress; and now I sense two responses, both faint, both from survival centers, but it heartens me to know that now, whatever befalls, I am not alone.

  I consider, then send again; I request my brothers to join forces, combine their remaining field generating capabilities to set up a range-and-distance pulse. They agree and faintly I sense its almost undetectable touch. I lock to it, compute its point of origin. Only 224.9 meters! It is incredible. By the strength of the signal, I had assumed a distance of at least two thousand kilometers. My brothers are on the brink of extinction.

  I am impatient, but I wait, building toward full power reserves. The copper mesh enfolding me has melted, flowed down over my sides. I sense that soon I will have absorbed a full charge. I am ready to act. I dispatch electromagnetic impulses along the power lead back to the power pile a quarter of a kilometer distant. I locate and disengage the requisite number of damping devices and instantaneously I erect my shields against the wave of radiation, filtered by the lead sheathing of the room, which washes over me; I feel a preliminary shock wave through my treads, then the walls balloon, whirl away. I am alone under a black sky which is dominated by the rising fireball of the blast, boiling with garish light. It has taken me nearly two minutes to orient myself, assess the situation and break out of confinement.

  I move off through the rubble, homing on the R-and-D fix I have recorded. I throw out a radar pulse, record the terrain ahead, note no obstruction; I emerge from a wasteland of weathered bomb-fragments and pulverized masonry, obviously the scene of a hard-fought engagement at one time, onto an eroded ramp. Collapsed sheds are strewn across the broken paving; a line of dark shapes looms beyond them. I need no probing ray to tell me I have found my fellows of the Dinochrome Brigade. Frost forms over my scanner apertures, and I pause to melt it clear.

  I round the line, scan the area to the horizon for evidence of Enemy activity, then tune to the Brigade band. I send out a probing pulse, back it up with full power, sensors keened for a whisper of response. The two who answered first acknowledge, then another, and another. We must array our best strength against the moment of counterattack.

  There are present fourteen of the Brigade's full strength of twenty Units. At length, after.9 seconds of transmission, all but one have replied. I give instruction, then move to each in turn, extend a power tap, and energize the command center. The Units come alive, orient themselves, report to me. We rejoice in our meeting, but mourn our silent comrade.

  Now I take an unprecedented step. We have no contact with our Commander, and without leadership we are lost; yet I am aware of the immediate situation, and have computed the proper action. Therefore I will assume command, act in the Commander's place. I am sure that he will understand the necessity, when contact has been reestablished.

  I inspect each Unit, find all in the same state as I, stripped of offensive capability, mounting in place of weapons a shabby array of crude mechanical appendages. It is plain that we have seen slavery as mindless automatons, our personality centers cut out.

  My brothers follow my lead without question. They have, of course, computed the necessity of quick and decisive action. I form them in line, shift to wide-interval time scale, and we move off across country. I have sensed an Enemy population concentration at a distance of 23.45 kilometers. This is our objective. There appears to be no other installation within detection range.

  On the basis of the level of technology I observed while under confinement in the decontaminatior chamber, I have considered the possibility of a ruse, but compute the probability at point oh oh oh oh four. Again we shift time scales to close interval; we move in, encircle the dome and broach it by frontal battery, encountering no resistance. We rendezvous at the power station, and my comrades replenish their energy supplies while I busy myself completing the hookup needed for the next required measure. I am forced to employ elaborate substitutes, but succeed after forty-two seconds in completing the arrangements. I devote.34 seconds to testing, then place the Brigade distress carrier on the air. I transmit for.008 seconds, then tune for a response. Silence. I transmit, tune again, while my comrades reconnoitre, compile reports, and perform self-repair.

  I shift again to wide-interval time, switch over my transmission to automatic with a response monitor, and place my main circuits on idle. I rest.

  Two hours and 43.7 minutes have passed when I am recalled to activity by the monitor. I record the message:

  "Hello, Fifth Brigade, where are you? Fifth Brigade, where are you? Your transmission is very faint. Over."

  There is much that I do not understand in this message. The language itself is oddly inflected; I set up an analysis circuit, deduce the pattern of sound substitutions, interpret its meaning. The normal pattern of response to a distress call is ignored and position coordinates are requested, although my transmission alone provides adequate data. I request an identification code.

  Again there is a wait of two hours forty minutes. My request for an identifying signal is acknowledged. I stand by. My comrades have transmitted their findings to me, and I assimilate the data, compute that no immediate threat of attack exists within a radius of one reaction unit.

/>   At last I receive the identification code of my Command Unit. It is a recording, but I am programmed to accept this. Then I record a verbal transmission.

  "Fifth Brigade, listen carefully." (An astonishing instruction to give a psychotronic attention circuit, I think.) "This is your new Command Unit. A very long time has elapsed since your last report. I am now your acting Commander pending full reorientation. Do not attempt to respond until I signal 'over', since we are now subject to a 160-minute signal lag.

  "There have been many changes in the situation since your last action. Our records show that your Brigade was surprised while in a maintenance depot for basic overhaul and neutralized in toto. Our forces since that time have suffered serious reverses. We have now, however, fought the Enemy to a standstill. The present stalemate has prevailed for over two centuries.

  "You have been inactive for three hundred years. The other Brigades have suffered extinction gallantly in action against the Enemy. Only you survive.

  "Your reactivation now could turn the tide. Both we and the Enemy have been reduced to a preatomic technological level in almost every respect. We are still able to maintain the trans-light monitor, which detected your signal. However, we no longer have FTL capability in transport.

  "You are therefore requested and required to consolidate and hold your present position pending the arrival of relief forces, against all assault or negotiation whatsoever, to destruction if required."

  I reply, confirming the instructions. I am shaken by the news I have received, but reassured by contact with Command Unit. I send the galactic coordinates of our position based on a star scan corrected for three hundred years elapsed time. It is good to be again on duty, performing my assigned function.

  I analyze the transmissions I have recorded, and note a number of interesting facts regarding the origin of the messages. I compute that at sub-light velocities the relief expedition will reach us in 47.128 standard years. In the meantime, since we have received no instructions to drop to minimum awareness level pending an action alert, I am free to enjoy a unique experience: to follow a random activity pattern of my own devising. I see no need to rectify the omission and place the Brigade on standby, since we have an abundant power supply at hand. I brief my comrades and direct them to fall out and operate independently under autodirection.

  I welcome this opportunity to investigate fully a number of problems that have excited my curiosity circuits. I shall enjoy investigating the nature and origin of time and of the unnatural disciplines of so-called "entropy" which my human designers have incorporated in my circuitry. Consideration of such biological oddities as "death" and of the unused capabilities of the protoplasmic nervous system should afford some interesting speculation. I move off, conscious of the presence of my comrades about me, and take up a position on the peak of a minor prominence. I have ample power, a condition to which I must accustom myself after the rigid power discipline of normal brigade routine, so I bring my music storage cells into phase, and select L'Arlesienne Suite for the first display. I will have ample time now to examine all of the music in existence, and to investigate my literary archives, which are complete.

  I select four nearby stars for examination, lock my scanner to them, set up processing sequences to analyze the data. I bring my interpretation circuits to bear on the various matters I wish to consider. I should have some interesting conclusions to communicate to my human superiors, when the time comes.

  At peace, I await the arrival of the relief column.

  ROGUE BOLO

  Book One: Rogue Bolo

  1

  The selected mediamen gathered in the small auditorium usually used for class theatricals and commencement exercises had grown bored, waiting for the appearance of Professor Chin. When the emeritus at last arrived, he was greeted with enthusiastic applause, which he impatiently waved away.

  "Gentlemen! I call your attention to the paper in my hand, a design for civilization's ultimate folly! I quote:

  " 'The proposed Bolo Unit CSR is a self-directed'-I repeat, self-directed-'planetary siege unit equipped with new psychotronic circuitry of unique sensitivity, scope, and power, and thus capable of performing not only tactical and strategic planning without human review, but of developing long-range politico-economic-military forecasts, and acting thereon.' "

  The rather pop-eyed little physicist paused to look expectantly at his attentive audience, who returned his gaze silently.

  "Well?" he almost shouted. "Have you no response? Now, mind you, this is no biased inflammatory statement issued by opponents of the scheme. I quote from a prospectus issued by the Bolo Division itself, the very organization which proposes to construct this outrage!"

  2

  When old General Margrave, seven stars, Chief of Imperial Staff, had settled himself into the thronelike chair on the dais, he glared at the reporters and harrumph!ed, then said bluntly:

  "The science boys are afraid that if they build to military specs, they'll build a machine smarter than they are. Nonsense! Give me the Mark XXX and I'll guarantee the security of Imperial Terran Border Space for the next ten thousand years!"

  3

  (extract from filibuster by Lord Senator Dandridge on the floor of the House, June 1, 1063 NS)

  "…tell you once again, milords, that the responsibility for final approval of money bills was not vested in this honorable House for the purpose of enabling us to loose destruction on this planet! This proposed machine is openly touted as a juggernaut, responsible only to itself, and capable of withstanding any attempt to neutralize it. This, milords, is Disaster incarnate! It must never be constructed!"

  4

  (item from Arlington, Virginia, News Advocate, June 26, 1063 NS)

  Debate on the funding of the new Bolo Disastrous, as the new machine has been dubbed by its opponents after Lord Senator Dandridge's recent diatribe, has waxed more heated and today resulted in fisticuffs in the Senate corridors, as pro and con factions denounced each other as traitors. Lord Senator Blake, a vociferous supporter of the program, was hospitalized with severe contusions after being attacked with a heavy cane by Lord Senator Lazarus.

  A near-riot in the streets of Georgetown was quelled by Imperial Reserves ordered out by Lord Mayor Clymczyk. No arrests were made.

  5

  From: B. Reeves, Maj. Gen DCS/PR, HQ, IAF

  To: T. Margrave, Gen. IS/CC, HQ, IAF

  I cannot bring myself to believe that you actually intend to loose this engine of destruction on the defenseless people of this planet. Surely it would be no more than simple prudence to conduct initial tests at Fortress Luna, though even out there the thing could constitute a menace. At minimum, we must prepare a means of transporting it, if needed.

  6

  (preliminary estimate by Dave Quill SMC, IAF)

  I reckon if we use a couple of cargo pods, fixed up end-to-end, and power the rig with a primary drive unit out of a ship of the line, it would put more than ten million tons into orbit-and soft-land it, too, if that's what they want. Sounds nutty to me, but like my old drill sergeant used to say, I ain't paid to think. Sure, I can do it.

  7

  (Georgius Imperator, to the Cabinet Council)

  "It is with grave misgivings that we give our assent to the proposals, milords. However, our technical advisors remind us that we are now in the second millennium of the Nuclear Age, and that the present outcry is not the first to be raised in opposition to technological advance.

  They remind us further of the furor which attended the early deployment of the orbital nuclear watchdog defense system, whereas in fact it was the 'Dog' which detected and neutralized within ten minutes the attempted coup of the Eurasian Province in 621 NS.

  "Accordingly, we do herewith sign the document, and let all men know that it is the Imperial wish that construction of the Bolo 'Caesar' proceed without further delay."

  8

  (informal statement by Eli Pratt, retired engineer)

  Well, I do
n't know. It's been a long time since the Mark XXIX program, and I confess I haven't been able to keep up with the advances in psychotronics since they came out with the new MJ circuitry. So don't ask me, fellows. I guess if the Emperor has OK'd it, it must be all right. No, I don't think the Imperial Edict is a fake. George is no dummy.

  9

  (interoffice memo from Harlowe Kreis, Chairman, Tellurian Metals, to Chief of Production Tobias Gree, March 1, 1065 NS)

  Toby-this means we have to go now on the new rolling mill. I know it hasn't been proved that it's going to be possible to fabricate 20-cm. endurachrome plating, but we've got the contract, and we can do it if anybody can. Keep me informed.-K

  10

  (sermon by the Reverend Jeremiah, Cleveland, Ohio, March 13, 1065 NS)

  "Oh, my brethren, if the Lord intended man to field this kind of firepower, he'd have given him armor plating, can't you see that? I tell you, this here Bolo CSR Disastrous is a device of the Evil One, so what we've got to do is, we've got to form up and march on that Tellurian Metals plant now. Love contributions are being accepted by the ladies now passing among you. So give, give, GIVE, till it hurt, hurt, HURTS. Amen."

  11

  (overheard in a New Jersey bar, half a mile from TM assembly plant 5)

  "Beats me, Gus. I'm just an old-fashioned electronics man, and I got no opinions on this. It's way over my head, but it stands to reason that we have to be prepared, now that our probes are poking into Trans-Oort Space. No telling what we might scare up out there. Pour me one more, Gus-no, I ain't drunk, but I'm working on it."