Dogs of War

by Adrian Tchaikovsky

  Bees has more problems with cold nights than Dragon. Her small bodies must generate far more heat because of their surface area to volume ratio. She does this by compromising the efficiency of their wings so that some of the flight energy is converted to warmth. However, she will run out of energy very quickly.

  Bees go to Honey, I decide. This is not ideal and I know Honey finds it uncomfortable, but soon all of Bees’ units are nestling within her pelt so that she is crawling with their hard, black bodies, like living armour.

  Like living armour. The thought surprises me. It is something completely new that I have thought, entirely from my own head. Immediately I want to share it with the others. Like living armour, I repeat to them. Bees and Dragon do not understand, and Honey is covered in Bees and already irritable. I wonder if I could share the thought with any of the humans, perhaps Doctor Thea de Sejos. Perhaps it is a thought from that part of my DNA that is human.

  We decamp from the village, moving quietly. The humans have set a watch on us, I know, although I am not sure why. It is not as though they could stop us doing anything if we decided that they were enemies.

  We retreat out into the fields, avoiding cows so that we don’t spook them. We crouch low – even Honey – and watch, listen, sense. I think about sending out some of Bees’ units for close-range intelligence gathering, but they would burn out and die far too quickly, and we cannot get any more.

  The humans have heard the vehicles by now, and abruptly a lot of them are running around between their buildings. I see most of the small humans taken to the big stone building – Church, my database informs me. Some of the others run around in a fairly disorganised manner, and others take up firing positions as they did when we came.

  The vehicles are approaching along the rough road from the north. In the lead there is an open-top car with four men. After that, the Armoured Fighting Vehicle comes, an old piece of military surplus but with its 30 mm cannon manned and ready on top. I compare and contrast to Honey’s Elephant Gun – the vehicle-mounted weapon is comparable in power with a superior rate of fire. After the armoured car come some trucks carrying unarmed people and goods – both secured to prevent them being thrown around too much. Last is a bus that was colourfully-painted once, but is now mostly dustcoloured. This is filled with armed men.

  I signal: Counting ninety-seven new humans visible, plus unknown within the AFV. Of visible humans: fifty-three armed. I tag database files for weapon types. The new humans mostly have old military assault rifles, sufficient to kill Dragon but probably not Honey or myself. Some have underslung grenade launchers, and these are a greater cause for concern. The gun atop the AFV is by far the most significant threat as a direct hit would badly injure even Honey.

  Dragon’s channel: Doesn’t matter. We’re not fighting them.

  The vehicles have drawn up before the village and the gunmen have got out. I can hear words being exchanged and forward these to Honey so she can take advantage of my superior ears.

  At first there is a lot of shouting, and I see the AFV gun tilting to point at some of the buildings. The shouting goes on – from inside the building where the villagers have mostly gone, and from the cars using an amplifier – loudhailer, my database supplies, bullhorn. The new humans say they are part of some revolutionary army that Honey has never heard of. They are making demands.

  The AFV gun shoots into the side of the church once, punching a crater. I hear high screams. The resident humans have inadequate defences. If I was giving them orders I would recommend a fighting withdrawal from an indefensible position, but truly they are not well positioned to recapture battlefield superiority in any way.

  Dragon’s channel: We should be going.

  Honey’s channel: No, wait.

  I just watch. The new humans are making demands, and now it looks like the resident humans are surrendering. They are coming out into the open without guns. I feel shock go through me, because this is not a tactical option that I have ever considered. It is not something that we were ever intended to do. Surrender. The idea is slippery in my mind. Can we do that?

  I hear more angry words. Some of the resident humans are being pushed about or struck. The newcomers want the small humans to come out of the church. There is a man in black – the man who first came to speak to Honey – standing in the doorway. The tone of his voice is reasonable and calm but I can hear the fear in it.

  I whine a bit. I am very uncertain, because I do not know if the resident humans are enemies or not, and I do not know whether the newcomers are enemies or not. I know where I am, with enemies.

  I can hear more words. The man in black has been thrown to the floor and there are guns pointed at him. There is a boot on his back.

  Dragon’s channel: Target acquired.

  What target? I demand.

  Dragon’s channel: Any target. Does it matter?

  Honey gives a big sigh. Rex, she transmits.

  Are you worried they will damage the satellite transmitter? I ask her.

  Honey’s channel: That is one of the things I am worried about.

  Our comms are very swift, far more so than the crude shouting of the humans.

  Rex, says Honey again. I have a thought concerning our future.

  I do not often understand things better than Honey. This is one of those times. You think these new humans may be enemies, I say.

  Dragon’s channel: They are enemies of the old humans. He is switching from target to target idly, calculating distance and wind direction.

  Honey’s channel: I think it would be useful if they were declared enemies.

  Some of the old humans are being pushed against the wall of the church. Still they keep shouting. The man in black is being kicked. I see Doctor Thea de Sejos run over to him, but she is struck and kicked as well.

  I whine, deep in my throat. She is not a friend. She is not Master, nor does she wear a Redmark logo. She is a human I have spoken to, though. She exists in my head as an individual I have a relationship with. She is not just not-friend/notenemy like the rest.

  It is up to Master to say who is enemy and who is friend. I am not intended to make that decision myself. But Master is not here. I am in command: there is no superior to whom I can look for guidance. My database and my feedback chip are silent.

  I think they are enemies, I say, and wait for my feedback chip to castigate me, for Master to appear and say, Bad Dog!, for the world to fall on my head.

  Nothing happens, because I have said those words and made that decision, all on my own. No, that is not quite it. When I say it, it becomes truth. They become enemies. I have made them enemies.

  Dragon’s channel: Target acquired. I check his choice of targets and confirm this is satisfactory.

  Bees on me, I order, and the swarm mobilises, bustling about my body with scratchy little legs: a burden, but one I can bear. I give my heat so Bees may conserve her energy for the fight.

  My orders: Dragon, priority targets (a list). Honey, supporting fire as I engage, then join me. Bees, priority target list to be updated on engagement.

  Dragon’s channel: (ready signal).

  Honey’s channel: (ready signal) Confirmed, Rex.

  Bees’ channel: (ready signal) Go go go.

  I go go go, on all fours and hitting thirty miles per hour after three seconds of acceleration. Bees does her best to cling to me but individual units are constantly coming loose and hurrying after me to reattach.

  Dragon’s channel: Bang. Next target acquired.

  The enemy manning the AFV gun pitches backwards.

  Honey’s channel: Boom.

  The bus jumps five feet as the Elephant Gun’s shot strikes it in the centre-flank, buckling in the thin metal and then exploding in the interior. Honey counts seven casualties, dead and injured, from gunmen who had not disembarked.

  Much panic and shouting from the newcomers in the village. They have not seen me yet. A new thought: When they do, they’ll really shout.

  Dra
gon’s channel: Bang. Next target acquired.

  The enemy holding a gun to the man in black drops, most of his head gone.

  Honey’s channel: Boom.

  The open-top car explodes, the chassis just about flying off the wheelbase. One driver confirmed dead.

  The enemy have an idea where the shooting is coming from. The AFV is moving, and the rest are taking cover, pointing their guns out towards Honey and Dragon. Honey is already on the way in.

  I have taken a curved path into the village. I am not where they are looking. I run through the streets of the village at top speed and they do not even see me coming.

  My Big Dogs are shooting, picking off the gunmen who are closest to the residents. The residents are running everywhere, so targeting is a challenge, but my eyes highlight every enemy in red against the dark background.

  I hit a stand of residents, too fast to stop, and knock them all flying. Acceptable losses. I am on the enemy.

  My orders: Bees, deploy.

  I explode into the enemy with teeth and claws. Bees explodes from me in a stinging cloud. We are all tapping our deep energy reserves tonight, so the rest of the world seems slow and lazy. I am striking to disable because one disabled soldier is more trouble to the enemy than two dead ones. I take limbs in my teeth and crunch and shake. I hook and fling with my claws. I send men hurtling into walls and onto roofs.

  I give Bees her priorities and she masses around the AFV, finding ways in. One enemy is at the gun again, tipping the body of the previous gunner over the side. Dragon kills him with a Bang and Bees pours into the hatch.

  Bees’ channel: Integrity 84% Venom reserves 69%. The venom can be manufactured in her bodies, but there are no new bodies. Still, she seems to be enjoying herself.

  There are resident humans who have guns now. There are resident humans who have been shot. Doctor de Sejos is providing medical help, just as I would order her to, if I could – as though she is a fifth member of my squad. Bullets strike me like angry insects, but they do no more than bruise.

  Honey is here now, lumbering into the village and throwing herself at the enemy where they have tried to gather. They stop gathering there very quickly, and then they are running for their vehicles. Only the trucks are left. The people there have not joined in the fighting or untied themselves.

  I have a quick discussion with Honey about them. She says they are not enemies, and puts a shell into one truck’s engine block just as it is being driven away. The other truck has not started because Dragon is amusing himself by targeting anyone who sits in the driver’s seat.

  There are not many enemies left, and they are making a strategic withdrawal. It is not a good withdrawal because they are all just running and none of them is laying down covering fire, or any of the other things you are supposed to do.

  Dragon kills them all, and I let him. It keeps him busy and his feedback chip will probably say, Good Dragon, every time he hits. And besides, they are enemies, and we kill enemies. It’s what we’re for.

  After that, the sun is coming up and I put down the burdens of command for a bit and just stand and watch it through the Bees-flecked air. After a while, I order Dragon to let me use his eye-feed, because he sees the colours so much better than me.

  I am surrounded by the bodies of enemies. They are enemies of my own making. I made a command decision. I have nobody to tell me Good Dog or Bad Dog for doing so. I do not know what I am becoming.

  I send just to Honey: I miss Master. I miss Hart.

  Honey’s channel: I know, Rex.

  My channel to Honey: Was this right?

  Honey’s channel: I hope so. Trust me, Rex. You have to trust me..

  17

  de Sejos

  Clean-up had taken a while.

  None of the attackers had survived. Those who ran had been shot down methodically by the reptile. It had coiled its way up the church wall and on to the roof and simply aimed and fired, aimed and fired, until there were no more running figures left.

  De Sejos was busy dealing with the wounded. Estevan had said that seven of Retorna’s own had died and eleven had been wounded, mostly caught in the crossfire. Some had broken bones from getting in the way of the beasts. She was doing her best with them, eking out her antiseptics and her anaesthetics.

  The injured bandits or Anarchistas or masterless mercenaries who had been left in the village, they were not going to live, either. There were plenty of them – the animals had been brutal, but not uniformly lethal. Now Rex was going from one to another with the patient care of a priest giving last rites. For a moment she could not understand what he was doing, but then she saw. He was breaking necks with tiny, practised motions of his huge hands.

  De Sejos lurched up from tending poor Maria Chicahua – whose shin the dog creature had fractured in the fight – and she shouted into his big, dog face, telling him he was a monster; telling him to stop; telling him to get out of Retorna and go back to hell where he came from.

  He did not slow, and when she stood in his way he shouldered her aside as though she wasn’t there.

  “They are enemies.” The words were not in Spanish, but she knew enough English to follow.

  “Doctor Thea de Sejos, you have patients,” came the innocuous female voice of the bear. It – she? – stood with her huge gun still cradled in her arms, the dawn light striking her pelt and turning it russet, almost gold in places. “Do you wish we’d not been here to fight these humans?”

  “I suppose your world is always as simple as that.” De Sejos returned to Maria, to splinting her fractured shin.

  “Not necessarily.” The bear released her weapon, and the gun’s hinged arm folded up to lay the deadly thing along her back. “It was supposed to be. That was how they made us.”

  De Sejos looked up, finding the bear a silhouette now, against the brightening sky. “I don’t understand you.”

  The bear – Honey? – sighed, an exaggerated burlesque of the human expression. “You know what we are, Doctor.”

  De Sejos was not feeling charitable just then. “You’re killing machines.”

  “Worse,” came Honey’s warm tones. “It would be easier if we were machines. Although more of your people would be dead.”

  “Doctor!” Blanco came running over and then skidded to a halt as he registered the bear. From a safe distance he told her, “The people from the trucks, we have forty or more new mouths to feed, it looks like.”

  “Who are they?” de Sejos asked him.

  “Farmers, shopkeepers, all sorts,” Blanco explained.“They were taken from San Torres, from Mixan, from another couple of places I never heard of.”

  “Why?”

  Blanco shrugged and grimaced. “Mostly they’re women. Nobody told them what they were for, but even so, mostly they’re women.”

  De Sejos closed her eyes briefly. Maria’s leg was splinted now. There were others with lesser injuries requiring her attention. “Can you find them somewhere to go, get them food, water?”

  “I have my people on it already,” Blanco confirmed. He eyed the bear warily. “You… Are you fine here, you need help?”

  “I can always use more clean water.”

  “I’ll get some.” He backed off, glowering at the huge animal from what he probably imagined was a safe distance.

  “We are not machines,” Honey continued. The lizardsnake creature was still up on the church, basking on the orange tiles of the roof like a sign plucked out of Revelations. The dog had finished his grisly work. The air was heavy with bees: they moved with a purpose and a coordination that was wholly unnatural, now she knew to look. Some of them touched down on the corpses and dabbled their feet in the blood.

  De Sejos felt her stomach turn. Abruptly she was on her feet, trying to face down a monster that must have weighed twelve times as much as she was, and stood twice as tall. “So you’re not machines,” she snapped. “Machines aren’t cruel. Machines don’t snap the necks of helpless men.”

  “They do i
f you tell them to,” said Honey implacably. “And machines do not decide when to fight and when not to fight. They fight when they are told. They let unarmed people die when they are told. But we are not machines. We have choice.”

  “Free will incarnate.” Father Estevan had come up behind de Sejos, shading his eyes as he looked up at the bear. “What on earth do you want here, friend bear?”

  “I want to use your satellite connection to understand the world.”

  “And do what?” Estevan asked her. “Or are you so far from your makers’ design that you cherish knowledge only for knowledge’s sake?”

  The bear scratched at herself thoughtfully. Divorced from her movements, her voice stated, “If we have choice, then it must be informed choice.”

  “You’ve gone rogue,” de Sejos said. “That was what you meant, before. You’re not with Redmark or following their orders. You’ve gone… feral.”

  The dog padded over to stand in Honey’s shadow, and de Sejos was acutely aware of the lizard and its long-barrelled gun up on the church roof.

  “That is not relevant,” the bear ruled.

  “You were made to follow human orders,” de Sejos went on. Estevan laid a warning hand on her shoulder but she could not stop the words. “You were supposed to be under human control. But now you’re wild. You could do anything…”

  “Yes,” Honey confirmed. “That is our choice. You want us to follow human orders. You think that is better.” The bear’s animal stare was nothing if not judgemental.

  After she had dealt with all the injuries and had Estevan set up a makeshift infirmary in the church, de Sejos returned to her clinic, where the beds were full.

  Another three people had died overnight. She dictated notes into her phone, remembering her first entries where her voice had been shaking. There were seventeen left, now: men and women who had been out south of the village when the planes came over.

  She wasn’t blind. Before the Bioforms had turned up to hog her bandwidth, de Sejos had been doing her own research. The world beyond had a very fragmented picture of what was going on in southern Mexico right now. Everyone knew there was a lot of fighting, and that between them, the Anarchistas and the international counter-insurgency had effectively demolished anything passing for civil infrastructure. At first the war had been fought for hearts and minds, both sides making political statements on the television and launching DOS attacks against each other’s websites. Then the war had been fought with guns and men – militias and private security forces clashing, with units of the army on both sides. For the first few months it had all been almost civilised, everyone trying to be gentlemanly about the whole thing.