by Isaac Hooke
“Well Jim, this is going to be tricky,” Brontosaurus said. “I’m an engineer, not a doctor!”
“That’s supposed to be the reverse,” Eric said.
“I’ll get the references right eventually…” Brontosaurus said.
“Is he misquoting Star Trek again?” Frogger said as he approached with the rest of the platoon.
“Uh huh,” Eric said.
“That’s what happens when you watch the shows at five times the normal speed,” Frogger scolded the heavy gunner.
“Hey, we got the machine cycles to handle it,” Brontosaurus said. “We might as well…”
Marlborough ordered the team to head east, toward the agreed upon rendezvous point with the tanks.
During the march across the termite-ravaged terrain, Brontosaurus wasn’t able to fire the new weapon once. It was taking a lot more work to figure out than the energy weapon, apparently.
“I’m beginning to wonder if you tore away the neurons I need,” Brontosaurus said at one point.
They arrived at the rendezvous point, which was situated in a small valley amid the Caucasus. A defensible position, considering that the mountains only offered steep faces on either side—the robots and humans would face an attack only from one direction. Well, two, if one counted the air.
Brontosaurus kept Slaughter at the edge of the group, well away from most of them, with the double-barreled cannon pointed outward.
While they waited for the tanks, the cannon on Slaughter’s back finally fired, surprising everyone. The beam smashed into the cliff face beside them, but a wormhole didn’t form.
“The hell was that?” Slate asked.
“I think I just hit upon the beam meant to dispel a wormhole, after it’s been created,” Brontosaurus said.
“Well shit man, it’s kind of good you found that first,” Slate said. “Because it’d suck right now if you created a wormhole and couldn’t turn it off.”
“It would indeed,” Brontosaurus said.
Eric sat slightly apart from the others, keeping guard on the perimeter with the remaining Ravager.
Al-Khayr approached alone.
“You were human, once?” the warlord asked in Arabic.
11
Eric glanced down at the warlord.
“We all were,” Eric said. “Well, the Cicadas, and me.”
“I have heard this was possible,” Al-Khayr said. “But I never thought I would see it.” He paused. “You must think we are ants, compared to you.”
“Not at all,” Eric said. “More like cats, compared to my size.”
Al-Khayr frowned.
“I’m joking,” Eric said.
“Ah!” Al-Khayr said, his face brightening. “An American joke.”
“Yes,” Eric said.
“Why did you agree to this?” the warlord asked. “To have your mind moved into a machine? To become an abomination? You will never go to paradise.”
“First of all, I didn’t agree, and second of all, it doesn’t work that way,” Eric replied.
“You were forced into this?” the warlord pressed.
“Essentially, yes,” Eric said. “I had my brain frozen when I died, and the army purchased the cryogenic company’s assets a few centuries later and created me from an image of my brain. I still died. I’m merely a copy.”
“So the real you is dead?” Al-Khayr said. “It does not matter. You still won’t go to paradise.”
“I’m not too worried about it,” Eric said.
The warlord rubbed his lower lip. “So you are dead. But this machine, it holds your memories, and your knowledge. So some of you lives on.”
“That’s an apt description,” Eric said.
The warlord nodded slowly. “I’d almost want to do something similar to myself. Perform some sort of mind dump so that my knowledge endures for my tribe. But it still seems an abomination. A violation of all that is sacred. I don’t think I could do it. And if I was forced, my copies would destroy themselves. I’m surprised you and your brethren haven’t done the same.”
“We all have our own reasons to go on,” Eric said.
Al-Khayr stared out at the plains beyond the two mountains ahead. “You know, I’ve lived here since I was a child. I’ve watched your armies come and go. Watched ever more advanced robots arrive each time. Technology is supposed to help humankind rise above the shackles of conflict, and allow us to live in an era of peace and prosperity, free of war, but instead, your technology has only given you more excuses to cause those conflicts in the first place. The wars here in my lands, they fund the production of your robots. Without war, you would not exist.”
“I can’t disagree with you there,” Eric said.
“I think these alien invaders are the same,” Al-Khayr said. He pointed toward the sky. “Wars funded everything they have. To achieve spacefaring status, to want to travel the stars, one needs a reason. And that reason is war. The aliens, they came here to fight, to conquer us. It’s the only explanation.”
“It’s certainly one explanation,” Eric said. “And a feasible one, at that.”
The warlord finally returned his gaze to Eric. “Do you think of yourself as a man? Locked in the body of a machine?”
“I do, in fact,” Eric said. “I have to. I think I’d lose it, if I didn’t.”
The warlord pressed his lips together. “I suggest burning away that part of yourself. Scour it to dust. Because when you face these aliens, you must show no pity, and fight like a merciless machine. You must fight like them. It’s the only way to save us.”
Al-Khayr walked away.
“What did he want?” Marlborough asked over the comm.
“To give me his version of a pep talk, I think,” Eric said. He sent a log of the conversation over.
Marlborough obviously viewed it at a higher time sense, because he replied only seconds later: “He’s a strange one.”
Eric couldn’t help adding: “Mr. Grinch.”
“What was that?” Marlborough said.
“Never mind,” Eric said.
Frogger came to join him next. “Hey myself.”
“Hey yourself,” Eric agreed.
“We’re talking gibberish to each other today. Nice.” Frogger aimed his rifle at the plains, helping to watch for targets. “I heard you say Mr. Grinch over the comm. Figured you could use someone from your own time period to talk to.”
“Yeah, but talking to you is like talking to—”
“Yourself, I know,” Frogger said.
“Maybe we should stop completing—”
“Each other’s sentences?” Frogger said. “Probably. You got it wrong, by the way.”
“What wrong?”
“Mr. Grinch,” Frogger said. “It’s supposed to be: ‘he’s a mean one, Mr. Grinch.’ Not ‘he’s a strange one.’”
“Oh, I know,” Eric said. “I couldn’t help it, though.”
“Yeah, I hear you,” Frogger said. “Hey, Bambi approached me earlier.”
“Let me guess, she wants you to join her in VR later,” Eric said.
“Actually, she was asking if the two of us wanted to join her,” Frogger said.
“And you told her no, I hope?” Eric said.
“I told her I’d think about it,” Frogger said. “It might be kind of fun.”
“I’ll pass,” Eric said. “Tell her she’s welcome to emulate us if she wants.”
“Oh, but emulation is inferior to interacting with the real thing,” Bambi said, walking over.
“Nice of the two of you to relieve me,” Eric said. “Enjoy your watch standing.”
He walked away.
“Well that was rude,” Bambi said to his back.
Eric returned to the rest of the party. He was careful to keep his energy cannon pointed away from them at all times, by keeping his torso partially rotated.
He went to Mickey, who was seated beside Massacre, and continuing his experiments on the trapped termite.
“Any updates?”
Eric asked him.
“No,” Mickey said. “I’ve tried all known frequencies and bands. I even tried directing some of the EM signals I recorded during some fights with the termites, but I don’t get anything. I think the plates of this containment field are interfering. It’s the only explanation.”
“Well, no one ever said reverse-engineering alien tech was going to be easy,” Eric said.
“You and Brontosaurus did it pretty well,” Mickey said.
“No,” Eric said. “We actually didn’t. We figured out how to use it, yes, but not how it works. Those are two different things.”
“I suppose so,” Mickey said. “I just wish there was some brain tissue dangling out of this micro machine that I could shove some electric probes into for stimulation purposes. You guys had it easy. First I have to actually find the frequency band these machines are using to communicate. Then I have to determine the protocol. Then I have to determine the encryption. And on and on. It’s going to take a very long time. Hundreds of years, in fact.”
“We don’t need you to communicate with them,” Eric said. “If you could find out what frequency they’re using, that should be good enough. Because then we just need to come up with a way to outpunch that frequency.”
“Again, not an easy task, considering how many of them there are,” Mickey said.
“True,” Eric agreed. “You got your work cut out for you.”
“What does that mean?” Mickey said.
“Just an old colloquialism,” Eric said. “It means, you’re work certainly isn’t going to be easy.”
“I can agree with that,” Mickey said.
Eric went to Marlborough and Dickson and sat beside them.
“I think it’s fairly obvious by now that the tanks aren’t going to come,” Marlborough said. “We’ll wait another hour, and then continue east.”
“We have to find a way to get off this continent,” Eric said. “And do our best to help North and South America.”
“And Central,” Dickson added.
“Central, of course,” Eric said.
“All we can really do is hope to find a mode of transportation,” Marlborough said. “Something that could fly us to the East Coast of North America before the swarm reaches it.”
“What then?” Eric asked.
“We drop off samples of the technology we’ve captured, and hope that the scientists come up with something in time,” Marlborough said.
“Unless we come up with something first,” Eric said. “With the technology we’ve captured…”
“If we do, then as soon as we find a way out of here, we’ll fly to the termite storm and destroy it,” Marlborough said.
“What’s East?” Eric asked.
“You remember the alien transport we saw earlier?” Marlborough said. “The one that brought in the slop for the bioweapons at Malibu base? It headed east when it departed. The aliens have to have a command and control center somewhere nearby. So we travel east, in the same direction as that transport, and keep an eye on the thermal and visual bands, scanning the horizons for signs of any structures, or ships.”
“And what if we don’t find anything?” Eric said.
“Then we’ll continue east,” Marlborough said. “Eventually we’ll reach Iran. The Iranians have underground bases. If we’re lucky, we’ll find one that survived the passage of the micro machine swarm.”
“Iran?” Eric said. “It’s too far. Even if we find an intact base there, and defeat any guard units, any transport we find will never convey us to North America before the swarm crosses the Pacific…”
“If we keep up a good pace, we can make it to Iran with time to spare,” Marlborough said.
Eric glanced at the group of humans. “A good pace… to do that, we’ll have to leave behind the Kurds.”
“I’ve already decided to do just that, yes,” Marlborough said. He pointed to the shoulder of the mountain. “There’s a cave here. I’ve talked with the warlord. He’s agreed that it’s probably safest for the tribe to hide out here until further notice. Especially considering that there are roving bands of bioweapons on the plains. I want you to escort them, along with Traps, and some of the Savages.”
“When?” Eric asked.
“Well, the rest of us are only going to wait an hour, so now would be a good time,” Marlborough said.
Eric fetched Traps, and with a few of the Savages, they escorted the grim-faced Kurds deeper into the valley, and up the shoulder toward the cave entrance. When they reached it, Eric had Traps send one of the Savages inside to scout.
While they waited, Al-Khayr approached Eric.
“So we part ways, Robot,” the warlord said. “Thank you for doing what you could to help us.”
“We’ll send a team back for you, if we survive,” Eric said.
“If you survive,” Al-Khayr said. “That is the key, isn’t it?”
“Forget if,” Eric said. “We will.”
The scout returned a while later. “Looks clear. There’s a cavern about two hundred meters inside. You can hole up there. It’s too bad you don’t have any more of those demolition bricks though.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Al-Khayr said. “If they find us, we will retreat deeper. We know these caves.”
“You have a map?” Eric asked.
Al-Khayr nodded. He tapped his temple, smiled politely, and then led his tribe into the cave. The men, women and children filed inside after him.
Eric marked the location on his map using his internal coordinate system, since GPS wasn’t active. It would be accurate enough for a retrieval mission.
“You think they’ll be all right?” Traps asked.
“I honestly have no idea,” Eric said.
He, Traps and the Savages returned to the main platoon.
“Well, Bolt Eaters,” Marlborough said. “It’s been about an hour. It’s time to set out again.”
“I can’t believe we’re leaving them like this,” Bambi said. “It feels wrong.”
“I’ve made up my mind,” Marlborough said. “And they’ve agreed that they’ll only be a drag on us. We move out.”
The group started on its way.
“We should at least leave someone behind to guard them,” Bambi said.
“Are you volunteering?” Crusher said.
“Well, no...” Bambi said.
“Then keep your mouth shut,” Crusher said.
“Don’t tell me to shut up, you hillbilly trash,” Bambi said.
Before Eric could blink, Crusher was on Bambi, smashing her face with her fists.
“I can’t believe I saved your sorry life!” Crusher said.
Bambi grabbed Crusher’s wrists and slammed her metal-polycarbonate head into Crusher’s face, and swiveled her body, managing to get on top. Then it was her turn to pound.
Marlborough threw himself at them and tore them apart.
“You call yourself professional soldiers?” Marlborough said. “Fighting during the middle of a mission? Wasting our time? You should be ashamed of yourselves. If we weren’t separated from central command, I’d have you stripped of your ranks and decommissioned immediately, your AI cores sent back to cold storage. But I need you, so I can’t do that.”
“She started it,” Bambi told Marlborough.
“No she did!” Crusher said. “Calling me hillbilly trash. How dare she! If there’s anyone who’s unprofessional, it’s her.”
"I never claimed to be a professional," Bambi said, sounding a little snooty with her French accent. "I was only ever a reservist."
"Most of the Bolt Eaters aren't professionals," Marlborough said. "I can respect that. We were either reservists, or retired from the army for many years when we died. Myself, I was neither. I never left. I was a lifer. And I expect discipline from you all. I know it's hard, now that you have emotions again. But we have to work with it. Shake hands, you two, and ask for forgiveness." When neither Bambi nor Crusher made a move to obey, he added: “Now!”
; Bambi shot out her hand, and Crusher accepted.
“I’m sorry,” Bambi said, her gaze lower.
“Me too,” Crusher said, also unable to meet Bambi’s robot eyes.
“Now let’s move out team!” Marlborough said. “Time’s a-wasting!”
Manticore remained still while the rest of the platoon moved on.
“Is there a problem, Corporal?” Marlborough asked the man.
“I’m sorry, Sarge,” Manticore said. “I’m going to stay. And do my best to protect the humans.”
“You’ve developed a heart, too, huh?” Marlborough said. “Well, too bad. I can’t let you stay. I’m going to require every last one of you in the coming hours and days. I need you. Your brothers and sisters need you. It’s more important now than ever that we stay together.”
“You don’t understand,” Manticore said. “I’m going to be a detriment to the team. I’ve been having a lot of negative thoughts lately. Ever since breaking free from my emotion code. I don’t think I’ll be able to hang on much longer.” He held up two fingers and pinched them close together. “I’m this close to losing it. Could happen the next fight. Or the one after. I’m a powder keg waiting to go off. Trust me Sarge, it’s better if you leave me behind.”
“No one gets left behind,” Marlborough said. “If you lose it, we’ll be here for you. We’ll walk you back down to sanity. But you’re not staying here to die.”
“So you admit it,” Bambi said. “We’re leaving the Kurds to die.”
“No,” Marlborough said. “That’s not what I meant. The Kurds can take care of themselves. The warlord already agreed with me. They’ve got weapons. They’ve got food. They know these lands. But Manticore here? If we leave him, he’s liable to do something irrational. He’ll throw himself to the wolves, as it were. Seeking some glorious death.”
“How do we know he won’t do the same thing if he stays with us?” Eagleeye said.
“Shut up, bro,” Slate said. “Don’t side with Manticore. Bitch has to come with us, and he knows it.”
“He admitted he’s a powder keg,” Eagleeye said. “That doesn’t sit all that well with me.”
