Drifter's War

by William C. Dietz

  Della raised an eyebrow. "So?"

  The smuggler shrugged. "So, I don't know."

  "Well, I do," Wexel-l5 said. "It's time to eat!"

  The humans turned to find that the construct had entered the room with a heavily laden tray of food. Lando helped him place it on the table.

  Then Dru-21 arrived with a tray full of drinks.

  "We'll make a heavy of you yet," Wexel-15 joked as the other construct put the tray down. "Assuming you gain some weight, that is."

  Dru-21 made a show of examining Wexel-15's rather extensive waistline. "Not that much, I hope!"

  Wexel-15 laughed heartily and slapped Dru-21 on the back. The light staggered slightly, smiled, and sat down. The stool that he chose was right next to Wexel-15's.

  Lando was impressed. The constructs had come a long way in a short time. If they could do it, the rest could too. Not overnight, not without problems, but so what? It could be done. That was the important thing.

  After the food was shared out Lando found that he was hungry. The constructs were vegetarians, so there was no meat, but the smuggler didn't miss it. His sandwich consisted of a half loaf of fresh bread, hollowed out, and stuffed with an extremely tasty mixture of stir-fried vegetables. The vegetables had been cooked in a sauce that soaked the inside of the bread and tasted wonderful.

  There was comparative silence at first, broken only by the sounds of eating, and the occasional request to pass the whatever. Lando found himself ripping off huge bites of sandwich, chasing them with gulps of fruit juice, and scanning the walls. It came to him again. The feeling that he'd missed something, something big, something important.

  Then, suddenly, he had it! Of course! It made perfect sense! And it had been there all the time, sitting right in front of his nose, staring him in the face.

  "Pik, what's wrong?"

  All of a sudden Lando became aware that he had crossed the room and stood inches away from the satellite photos. He put his finger on a city and moved it from place to place. "Look at this, and this, and this!"

  The constructs looked at Della and she shrugged. "They're cities. So what's the big deal?"

  "Yes, they're cities," Lando replied impatiently, "but what else? Look carefully. Look at the way individual buildings were placed, at how the streets were laid out, at the roads that connect cities together. What does it look like?"

  Della stood and crossed the room. She frowned. It did look like something, but what? Then it came and she felt as dumbfounded as Lando looked. A circuit board! Or, to be more accurate, a gigantic spread-out-all-over-the-place series of linked circuit boards!

  "What?" Dru-21 asked anxiously. "What is it?"

  "God," Lando answered simply. "We found God."

  "But how could that be?" Wexel-15 asked. "God is everywhere and nowhere at all."

  "True, but a bit misleading," Lando replied. "Look at this. God's a machine, right?"

  "Right," Wexel-15 said somewhat reluctantly.

  "A machine made up of circuits, chips, transistors, capacitors, diodes, and who knows what else."

  It was right about then that Dru-21 understood and came to his feet in openmouthed amazement. "The buildings, the villages, the streets, they are all part of God!"

  "Exactly!" Lando said triumphantly. "God is huge. His circuits run on for miles, his memory chips are large enough to put a building on, and his sub-processors occupy entire villages!"

  "Villages that we were encouraged to repair, but were never allowed to change," Dru-21 said thoughtfully.

  "Villages that have suffered heavy damage," Wexel-15 said with slow but inexorable logic.

  Lando and Della looked at each other in alarm. The construct was right. The Il Ronnians had systematically destroyed many of the villages. And each time they did so the aliens damaged God as well.

  No wonder the machine was falling apart, and no wonder it had summoned the humans to help. Its own survival as well as that of the constructs had been at stake.

  The drifter! Lando and Della had the same thought at virtually the same moment. God controlled the drifter and the drifter could be used to get help. The kind of help that could drive the Il Ronnians away and keep them away.

  There was a down side, of course. Once involved the human authorities would waste little time throwing Lando in prison. Help for the constructs would come at his expense. But it couldn't be helped. He liked the constructs, convenient or not, and would hope for the best.

  A strategy started to emerge. One with nice clear objectives, one that stood a good chance of success, but one that would forever change life as the constructs had known it. Would they accept it? Fight for it? And if necessary, die for it?

  Lando returned to his sandwich. The smuggler took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. The vegetables had turned cold and somewhat mushy. He decided to take it slowly, one step at a time. "This changes everything."

  "Yes," Dru-21 answered slowly, "it does."

  "We could repair God and ask him to summon the spaceship."

  "Yes, we could."

  "We, along with some representatives from your people, could go for help."

  "Yes, that would make sense."

  "But things would change. God would lose control, and so would you."

  "Yes," Dru-21 replied soberly. "That is correct."

  Wexel-15 looked confused. "Control? Change? What are the two of you talking about?"

  Lando started to reply but Dru-21 cut him off. "Pik refers to the way things were done in the past. God told us what to do, we told you what to do, and you did it. If we go to the humans for help, and they agree to give it, things will change. Nothing will be as it was."

  Wexel-15 gave a human-style shrug. "Oh, that. Things have already changed. Are we not seated side by side? Is it not true that our people die in each other's arms? What is done is done. There is no going back."

  A grin stole over Wexel-15's face. "And besides, we deserve a say, and have weapons enough to make sure that we get it!"

  There was silence for a moment followed by howling laughter. Things had changed all right. And for the better.

  The next two days were a blur of activity. There was much to do. The constructs would have to wage a war while simultaneously repairing significant amounts of the damage incurred so far.

  The need to perform both functions at once stemmed from the fact that the Il Ronnians were unlikely to let them make repairs unimpeded. So, given the fact that the aliens could destroy God faster than the constructs could put him back together, they had little choice but to do everything at once.

  And then there was the matter of timing. Because the planet was a long ways off from the Il Ronnian empire, too far for a slower-than-light radio message to do any good, the aliens would be forced to send a ship. A ship that would go hyper, stay there for a week or so, and come out in the vicinity of an Il Ronnian-held planet. Explanations would have to be made, ships found, and troops loaded. The whole thing could take weeks, or even a month.

  But, given the fact that the humans had a similar journey to make, and would lose additional time while dealing with the no doubt skeptical authorities, the whole thing shaped up to be a tight race.

  The first force to arrive off-planet would polish off what remained of the opposition and fortify the surface of the planet. Once there, it would be almost impossible to dislodge them with anything short of a massive war fleet, and Lando doubted that either side would deem the planet worth that kind of effort and expense.

  So there was a great deal to do. An improved system of communications had to be designed and then put into place. All available constructs would have to be identified and allocated to either the resistance movement or to the newly formed construction corps. Teams of lights would have to examine heavily damaged villages to determine how the circuitry had been put together. The satellite photos would have to be analyzed to determine which parts of God's circuitry should be repaired first. And on, and on, and on.

  A less-organized society,
or one rife with discord, would never have been able to pull it off. But, thanks to a preprogrammed need to work, and acceptance of higher authority, the constructs did as they were told. No one said that the orders came from God, but most of the constructs assumed that they did, and acted accordingly.

  The result was an amazing amount of progress in a very short period of time. Lando thought the whole thing was remarkable, and knew that if members of his species were placed in the same situation, they'd still be squabbling over how to get started.

  And so it was that the smuggler was just emerging from another in a long unbroken string of strategy sessions when there was a disturbance at the other end of the corridor.

  The first thing he saw was a silvery ball as Cy came flying around a corner. A dirty, somewhat disheveled Melissa was right behind him. She saw Lando, started to cry, and ran the length of the hall. She hit the smuggler hard, pushed him back a step, and sobbed into his chest.

  "The Il Ronnians came! They took Daddy away! Oh, Pik… I'm so scared."

  Lando swore internally. Damn! Trust Cap to screw things up. This was exactly the sort of situation that he'd hoped to prevent. He dropped down to his knees and gave the little girl a hug.

  "I'm sorry, honey. Tell me what happened."

  "Well, I was playing in the square. Then the Il Ronnians came. They strafed the village and landed. Daddy told everyone to run. I didn't want to go, but Lana-8 dragged me away. That's when the Il Ronnians captured Daddy and took him away."

  "Was he hurt?"

  "No, I don't thing so."

  "Was he sick?"

  Melissa made a snuffling sound and nodded. "He's been sick a lot lately. Ever since we arrived."

  Lando gave her another hug. "Well, don't worry, honey. Your father has faced worse than this and come out all right. Remember the fight in the asteroids? Right after we found the drifter? Your dad saved our bacon that time."

  Melissa looked up into Lando's face. Tears made tracks through the dirt on her face. "This time is different, Pik. I don't know why, but I can feel it."

  The words felt right somehow but Lando forced a smile. "Nonsense. Your father will be just fine."

  Lando stood. Della had appeared by his side. She held out a hand. "Come with me, honey. We'll get you all cleaned up."

  Lando watched them go and turned to Cy. "After all she's been through. Now this."

  The cyborg bobbed up and down in silent agreement.

  "Who brought her in? What did they say?"

  "A construct named Lana-8. She tried to call but a large part of the com system is down."

  Lando nodded. The damage to God had destroyed portions of the com system as well. That's why a well-concealed factory was working around the clock to make portable radios.

  "What do you think they'll do?"

  "Put the squeeze on Cap."

  "And?"

  "And Cap will tell them everything he knows."

  Lando nodded. "That's what I think too."

  "So what should we do?"

  Lando felt very, very tired. He shrugged. "The very best that we can."

  20

  Cap couldn't stop shaking. His hands, his head, even his tongue was trembling. He had already thrown up what little food had been in his stomach and was sweating like a pig. And not just because of the Il Ronnian-induced heat either. No, this was his old enemy delirium tremens, a condition that had affected him many times before.

  There were only two ways to counter it, give up alcohol completely or have a drink. Of the two the second seemed the most desirable. He rolled off the oversize bunk, staggered over to the durasteel hatch, and banged on it with his fist. The cell, and therefore the door, had been designed to contain much more powerful inmates than he. The sound of flesh hitting metal was little more than a dull thump.

  Cap felt a tremendous sorrow. An almost overwhelming upwelling of self-pity. "Please listen to me! I'm sick! I need help! Please!"

  Teex watched via the tiny, almost invisible camera mounted high in one corner of the cell. He knew next to nothing about chemical dependency, but the human was in bad shape, that was apparent. He turned to Deez. "So, what do you think? Is the human ready?"

  The intelligence officer signaled assent with his tail. "Yes, the data files agree. The next stage of withdrawal could involve hallucinations. They could work against us. This is the moment to befriend him."

  "Excellent," Teex replied. "I will make sure that the stage is set. You bring him along."

  Cap staggered and almost fell into the hall when the hatch hissed open. They'd heard him! A distant part of his mind asked how and why but he ignored it. The aliens had heard him, that was the important thing. The Il Ronnian doctor was there to greet him. The vest full of electronic instruments had disappeared and been replaced by a regular uniform. "Come… we will help you."

  Cap felt a strange mixture of eagerness and embarrassment as the alien took his arm and led him down the sweltering corridor. There, up ahead, what was that? The hull metal seemed to bulge inward under pressure from an unseen monster. Now it swirled, moved, and condensed into a horrible face. It looked like Melissa with most of the flesh missing from her skull. Cap heard himself scream: "No! No! No!"

  But the pressure on his arm was inexorable. "There, there," the voice said soothingly. "We have what you want. Medicine to make you feel better. But you must cooperate. You must come with me and answer some questions."

  The face melted away and Cap allowed himself to be propelled forward. "Cooperate… answer questions… yes… but I need some medicine first."

  "And you shall have it," the voice said reassuringly. "Just come with me and you will feel much, much better."

  Cap did his best to cooperate, forcing himself to ignore some of the more outrageous visions that leered from connecting corridors, or peeked out of the ship's air vents. They were hallucinations. He knew that. In fact he'd encountered most of them before, in the privacy of his own cabin, or out on the streets of now-distant planets. Personal monsters that followed him everywhere and knew each and every one of his secret fears.

  Finally they were there, entering a cabin that Sorenson recognized as nicer than those he'd seen so far, and was already occupied by three Il Ronnians. Cap heard the doctor introduce them but forgot the names as quickly as he heard them.

  One of the aliens, an individual that seemed shorter than the other two, invited him to sit down. Cap did so and was careful to place his still-trembling hands under the table where they couldn't be seen.

  Then the Il Ronnian did something for which Cap would eternally be thankful. He picked up a delicately shaped earthenware container, poured out a small amount of golden brown liquid, and handed him the cup. "Here, this should help."

  Cap's hand shook as he brought the cup to his mouth. He brought the other one up to steady it. The liquid had a thick almost honeylike consistency and tasted of mint. It took some time to slide down his throat and explode in his belly. Cap experienced a wonderful tingling sensation that spread all the way out to his fingertips.

  Alcohol! Eighty or ninety proof alcohol, and just the thing for what ailed him. His spirits soared. Cap took another sip and eyed the decanter that it had been poured from. Would they give him more? Or was this all he could have?

  The Il Ronnian seemed able to read his mind. He lifted the earthenware vessel, grimaced in what might have been a smile, and poured another shot. The human nodded gratefully and circled the cup with his hands. He felt better now and could afford to look around.

  The aliens seemed to understand this process and remained silent while he examined the wall niches, the carefully chosen pieces of art, and the planet that filled most of one bulkhead. He hoped the comment would sound suave but it came out as a croak.

  "A very attractive compartment. My compliments to your decorator."

  One of the aliens, the one seated in front of the viewscreen, stirred slightly. "Thank you. I'm glad you like it. Do you feel better now?"

  Cap
nodded, then wondered if the gesture had any meaning for them or not. "Yes, much better. May I ask a question?"

  Another alien, the smaller one, made a motion with his tail. "Go right ahead."

  "What do you plan to do with me?"

  "Ah." the first Il Ronnian replied. "A very interesting question indeed. The answer depends on you."

  Sorenson didn't like the sound of that. What if he said the wrong thing? They could deprive him of alcohol. He swallowed the rest of his drink. "What do you want?"

  "Nothing much," the second alien said smoothly. "Some information, that is all."

  Cap looked at them through narrowed eyes. He remembered the look on Melissa's face as Lana-8 dragged her away. "I refuse to say or do anything that will endanger my friends."

  "Commendable, quite commendable," the third Il Ronnian said, stirring from his apparent lethargy. "We applaud your sense of loyalty. However we would be derelict in our duty were we to ignore an opportunity to speak with one of the resistance movement's most important leaders. I have a suggestion. Let's talk, but limit our conversation to subjects that have no current military value."

  Sorenson sipped his drink. Of course. Their desire to speak with him was only natural. And the suggestion did seem rather reasonable. If they asked the wrong sort of questions he would refuse to answer. Besides, the longer they talked, the longer he could drink.

  "That seems fair… what would you like to discuss?"

  "The alien spaceship seems like a good place to start," the first Il Ronnian said easily. "We would like to know what the interior is like and how it operates."

  Cap frowned. It was hard to concentrate, but the last time he had agreed to discuss the drifter with a stranger, all sorts of things had gone wrong. The bounty hunters had come after Lando, they'd been forced to flee the planet, and had ended up here. Wherever "here" was. No, there was no doubt about it, he shouldn't answer.

  Sorenson did his best to sound dignified. "I'm sorry. I cannot answer your question."

  The smaller Il Ronnian sounded surprised. "Really? Why not? The spaceship is no longer around. What harm could it do?"