Chapter 1 (Scout’s Honour: Epilogue)
Tiny metal fragments raced through the sky, dusty specks among a billion more in the enveloping cloud. The debris of war grew denser with each passing year and now, when caught by the sun, created a sparkling reflection to the planet surface. It was as if every star in the sky had spawned a twin, and living space in the heavens had become scarce.
One fragment's long flight came to an abrupt end when it slammed into a drone. It passed clean through a gap in the machine’s thick panels, which folded around a sleek chassis, and ignited the volatile ammunition buried inside. The fragment and the drone fell out of the sky together, and burned up in the atmosphere.
A spectator on the ground might have cursed an angry god for an apparent start of the apocalypse. Hundreds of fragments now struck fresh drones, and they rained down as chunks of flame. But many escaped and soared skyward, heedless of the havoc playing out behind them in the debris.
The fastest drone punched up through the cloud into empty space, a hundred kilometres above. Once out of danger, the next sequence of the drone’s automated program kicked in and initiated a networked search mode with its fellows trailing behind. One by one the drones formed up on each other and rotated in unison on a single axis, scanning for energy signals within the pattern of their movement. More drones escaped the cloud and joined the group, adding their eyes to the hunt. Soon one emitted a happy ping, and the others spun to focus on the winning drone's vector.
A single inhuman eye on the nose of their shark-like bodies limited their field of view, but it compensated for that one inefficiency by enhancing the designed effect of a deadly predator. It was an effect they had put to extensive use terrifying the people of the world. In the last stages of the downfall of modern civilisation, when nations’ armies turned on their rioting citizens, the drones had been created as an overwhelming, terrifying force. They had fought fire with fire, and won.
If you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to fear, the drone masters had preached. They were the world’s new single government, the Confederacy. For almost thirty years since, they had kept any insurgents in line through fear of the drones’ unceasing watchfulness.
Many people had agreed with the Confederacy’s sentiments. People who were happy to relinquish their privacy for the sake of their safety. There was no risk involved, since they had no secrets. They trusted their new government despite having no choice in who ran the operation. Why should anyone care? But there was one small group that continued to defy them in secret. That group's base had been destroyed just days ago, and the drones’ mission today would be the final nail in the coffin for the survivors.
The drones verified their target. They spread into a staggered formation and moved to intercept the approaching enemy. The rogue object whirled toward them at incredible speed, trailing a stream of scrap in a long wake behind. Flecks of metal scraped off as it flew in a low, dangerous orbit. Even as it clung to the final moments of its operational life, the doomed target dutifully bounced radio messages back down to the planet. The communications satellite came within firing range.
The drones extended their launcher pods, executing the last stage of their orders, and opened fire with a barrage of missiles. The projectiles were small, designed for mobility. The payload, however, was more than enough for the fragile satellite. The thin atmosphere snuffed the fireball out with all the indulgence of a covetous custodian. The satellite's last hurrah, over before it began.
Their thankless task completed, the drones turtled up by tucking away their missile launchers, and slipped back down through the debris cloud.
Scout's Honour Page 11
