“How many, George?”
“Four. Class YK.”
The class designation meant nothing to me. “Let’s get closer.”
“Are you working on a new project, Dr. Kaminsky?” He was trying to sound as if he hadn’t guessed what I intended.
“No. Just curious about the bombers.” One began to take shape dead ahead. Lights gleamed along its flanks and outlined the tail. He picked out horizontal and vertical fins, and the rudder. And the gondola, slung beneath the gasbag. “Hydrogen?” I asked.
“Helium,” said George.
I got a sense of its size as we pulled alongside the tail. It was immense. “George,” I said. “Open the hatch.”
“Doctor Kaminsky, may I ask why? Opening a hatch in flight is hazardous.”
“I want to get a better look.”
“The viewports are adequate.”
“Just do it, George.”
“I have no choice but to decline, sir.”
“Do it. Or I’ll disable you and do it myself.”
The portside lights of the dirigible began to slip past. Damned arrogant sons of bitches were so careful to keep themselves out of harm’s way, they didn’t even have to turn off their lights. “You are not qualified to pilot the lander.”
“I’ve read the instructions.” I knew how that sounded, and waited for the AI to laugh.
“Don’t try it. It’s not as easy as it looks.”
It didn’t look easy.
The AI control was located on the pilot’s left, under the board. You reached down, got hold of a handle, and twisted it. A panel opened, and there it was. On/off.
I grabbed hold of the handle. “George, you sure?”
“Why, Doctor? Why are you doing this? What can you possibly hope to accomplish?”
“I’m doing it because these sons of bitches run loose all over the planet. They kill arbitrarily and they don’t give a damn. It’s a joke. Maybe if they had to pay a price, things would be different.”
“Do you have any idea how you sound?”
“I don’t much care how I sound.”
“Do I have to remind you, Doctor, that you’re only one man? This is a global conflagration. It’s been going on for a long time. For decades. Do you really think you can do anything constructive?”
“It’s not a war, damn it. It’s wholesale slaughter and it goes on and on and nobody cares. Except the people who do the dying.”
“They are not people, Art.” He said it so softly that I barely heard him. It was the first time the AI had used my first name.
“Good-by, George.”
“Wait. What are you going to do when you shut me down? You can’t attack the thing. We’re not armed.”
“I have a laser.”
“A hand laser, obviously.”
“Of course.”
“You’ll get us both killed.”
That was an odd remark. AI’s were theoretically not self-aware. Well, I’d think about it later. I switched him off. The autopilot took over and continued course and speed. I had some trouble extracting the yoke, but we held steady until I had it clear and locked in place. But as soon as I took over, we went into a dive. I was holding the yoke too far forward. So I pulled back and the spacecraft leveled off.
Okay. Pull on it and climb. Push right and go right. Leave the thrust alone. It wasn’t all that hard.
Nok’s atmosphere was similar to Earth’s. And, as had been the case elsewhere, local microbes showed no interest in attacking offworld life forms. I opened up with impunity, both airlock hatches, and the wind howled through the cabin, but I could see out into the night sky. I’d gone past my intended target and didn’t want to try slowing down or turning around, but it didn’t matter. Another dirigible lay directly ahead.
Its propellers spun complacently. There was a symbol on the hull. A national logo, a circle divided equally in three parts, green, white, and yellow. It looked like the old peace symbol.
I let go of the yoke, and the spacecraft veered and dipped.
Okay. I’d known I couldn’t do that but it seemed worth trying. I’d have to manage everything without getting out of my seat. Across the void between the airlock and the dirigible, the night was still. I drew alongside the gondola. Could see movement inside. I was even able to make out a Nok with a telescope. For a moment I thought he was watching me, but of course the lander and I were invisible. Or were we? The hatch was open. Could the interior of the vehicle be seen from outside? I had no idea.
The telescope was pointed at me.
I drew the laser out of a vest pocket and activated it. The mode lamp blinked on, ready to go, and I aimed the thing. Be careful. Don’t hit the airlock. It was hard to concentrate on holding the weapon steady and doing the same thing with the lander. Every time I took my attention off the yoke we wobbled or sank or veered in one direction or another. Finally I switched the AI back on. “George? You there?”
“Yes, Doctor.” We were back on formal terms.
“Take over. Keep us headed straight ahead.”
No answer.
I lifted my hands from the yoke. We stayed on course. Okay. I squinted through the sight, through the airlock, and took aim at the peace symbol. Right in the middle of the dirigible. Can’t miss.
I pressed the pad and watched the red beam blink on. It touched the gasbag. I couldn’t see well enough in the dark to judge the effect, but almost immediately one of the navigation lights went out.
“You understand,” said George, “that they will send you home.”
“Just keep us steady.”
“There’s even a chance of criminal prosecution.” He began to recite the laws I was in the act of breaking. “Your career is over.”
No visible effect yet on the dirigible, other than the missing light. I kept it on. Moved the beam slowly forward.
“I recommend we return immediately to the Sheldrake, and you claim mental stress based on your experience yesterday on the ground. It probably won’t save your career, but it should be sufficient to prevent prosecution.”
“You’re pulling away.”
“Yes. I’m programed to keep you out of trouble. To the best of my ability.”
Our angle with the dirigible was changing and I had to shut the laser down. “George,” I said, “you’re supposed to be intelligent.”
“That’s an illusion, Doctor. As you well know. I am a programmed system. I am not a sentient entity.”
We were getting still farther away Behind us I saw a wisp of smoke. The dirigible was beginning to sag. Dropping out of formation.
“George, put us back or I’ll shut you down again.”
No response. A few cockpit lamps began blinking. George was unsure what to do. Then he slowed down, angled right, and laid us back alongside the damaged airship.
It was losing altitude. I raised a fist in a silent gesture and wondered when I’d last felt so good. I gave the dirigible another burst and took out the portside propeller. Then we moved forward along the bow and shot that up as well.
It was a great feeling.
The dirigible staggered and began to heel over.
“Congratulations, Doctor,” said George.
“I didn’t think you guys could be sarcastic.”
“I do not take offense.”
“I’m glad to hear it. There’s another one ahead on the left. Take us alongside.”
“Kaminsky, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” McCarver’s voice exploded from the commlink.
“George.” I tried to sound betrayed. “Did you tell him?”
“Of course. I had no choice, Doctor.”
“Kaminsky, answer up.” There were voices in the background. McCarver told somebody to please shut up.
I opened a channel. “I’m here, Paul.”
“What’s going on out there? You didn’t really do what George says, did you?”
Damn. I wanted to tell him I wished he could see what I had seen. That he had an obligation to take a
ction. I’d have done that with someone less intimidating. “Truth is, Paul, I’m watching one of them go down now, and I don’t know that I’ve ever felt better about anything. The sons of bitches got exactly—.”
He broke in with a string of expletives. It was the first time I’d heard him use profane language. Then: “I don’t much care how you feel, Art. Turn the damned thing around and come back. Now.”
I stared out at the dirigible running directly ahead. George was taking us across the tail, putting us on her left side so I could get a clear shot. “I can’t do that, Paul.”
“Then I’ll do it for you. George, are you listening?”
“Yes, I am, Dr. McCarver.”
“Bring the lander back.”
I put my hand on the disable switch. “He’s not in a position to comply, Paul.”
“Why not?”
“He’s already shut me down once, Doctor.”
“Damn it, Art You want to get yourself killed?”
We drew alongside the tail. We were down a bit, halfway between the horizontal fin and the lower vertical fin. I aimed at the rudder. “I have to go, Paul. I’ll talk to you later.”
McCarver hesitated, trying to control his rage. While he did, I broke the link and burned the rudder. Sizzle. Instant results. The dirigible began to lose its heading. I fired again, took off the lower vertical. Then I cut a hole in the gasbag and it started down.
“They’re talking to one another,” said George.
“Let’s hear it.”
“—Lost buoyancy… Altitude—.”
“—Somebody out there—.”
“What happened to you?”
“—Not sure—. Flying wheel—.”
“—Say again—.”
“—No gasbag—.”
I took out a third airship and then switched over to the fleet’s frequency. “The Messenger of the Almighty is among you,” I said. “Stop the killing.” I would have preferred to use maybe Avenger. Or Destroyer. But I couldn’t think of equivalent terms.
“Please repeat,” came the response. “Who is this?”
“The Messenger of the Almighty.”
“The Almighty needs a radio? Who are you?”
“Stop the killing,” I said.
No answer.
Something exploded in the third dirigible. Fire broke out amidships. I’d hit something sensitive. It began to drop more quickly and finally went fluttering into the dark. Nobody was going to survive that one, and I felt guilty.
“Doesn’t matter, does it?” said George. “They’re just as dead. Their blood is on your hands.”
“They don’t have blood.”
“Humans are only literal when they’re ashamed of something.”
I let the other two go. Take the message back, you bastards. Tell your bosses the free ride is over. There’s a wild card in the deck now.
“You’re quite melodramatic,” said George.
“I feel melodramatic.”
“Good. Can we return now to the Sheldrake?”
“No,” I said. “We’re going to look around some more.”
4.
Several hundred Noks had been lined up in the city square, herded together like animals. They were of all ages and both sexes. Females carried infants; toddlers clutched the hands of relatives, unaware what was happening; one elderly Nok was on crutches.
I moved among them, and among the invading soldiers, wearing the lightbender, recording everything. You could see the terror in the victims’ eyes, which had turned gold. And in the way they held the young ones. In the desperation of the males. Here and there, a soldier tried to help, whispered a word of commiseration. It will be quick. Occasionally they were repaid by a kick, sometimes by the victims, once or twice by their officers.
When they’d finished a sweep of the houses, the troops had lined up about eight hundred of the occupants. The officers reported results to the commander. So many fled into the woods. Several killed resisting. Three soldiers dead. Eight injured.
The Noks all looked alike. I knew male from female, tall from short. The marks of age were easy enough to make out. But distinguishing individuals, for a human, was impossible.
The square was surrounded by wooden buildings. Several were burning, providing a hellish backlight. There were a few trees in the square, some benches, and a playground. A library stood on one side of the street. They’d touched that off too.
I got close-ups of mothers and their kids, of Noks dragged out of their homes, others beaten to their knees for objecting to being killed. I relayed everything live to the Sheldrake. Take a look at this, McCarver. This is what you’re tolerating. What happened to the reputation of that other guy who stood by and washed his hands of murder?
The commander barked an order, and the soldiers faced their prisoners. Some of the victims were wailing, pleading for their lives, and the lives of their children.
It was enough. I put the imager away, took out the laser and aimed it at the commander.
“Art.” George’s voice. “At least use the tensor. Don’t kill him.”
I was too far away for the tensor. Anyhow, it was hard to feel sympathy. I pulled the trigger and the narrow red beam blinked on. The Nok commander had raised one arm, ready to give the order to fire. The beam took the arm off.
He screamed and went to his knees. And I put him away.
Two or three of his junior officers rushed to his assistance. I hit one of those, too. Confusion broke out. Soldiers swung their rifles toward the empty windows of the buildings overlooking the square. An officer, who might have seen the laser, looked my way and started jabbering to one of his comrades.
I switched to the tensor and took him out.
“I’ll have to report this, you know,” said the AI.
That was the last thing I cared about at the moment. “Stop whining, George.” Two or three were coming my way. One fired off a shot from a sidearm and the bullet slammed into a bench. I hit the deck.
“You’re going to get yourself killed.”
Two or three more shots came a bit too close.
Picking them off was easy. Duck soup. They kept coming and pretty soon I had a pile spread out in front of me. Somebody lobbed a bomb but they had no idea where I was.
Nevertheless, I moved. Got out to an area lit up by the fires. Where my invisibility counted for something. And I put a few more out of action.
I wasn’t enjoying myself anymore. Truth is, I’d seen that the individual soldiers, some of them, had been sympathetic of the townspeople. It was the officers I wanted to nail.
They carried off their dead commander. Someone else was trying to reorganize the execution. He was tall, even for a Nok, and he’d done something to his mask to give himself an especially cruel look. A new kind of cosmetic surgery, maybe. “Get on with it,” he said. “Let’s get it done.” He raised a pistol. “On my command.”
I didn’t like him, so I switched back to the laser and ended his career, too. I should tell you that I’m one of those people who’s spent a lifetime being very polite, and who is careful not to harm animals that get in the way. But I had no regrets taking the Nok officers out of play.
By now the soldiers knew something was wrong and they were scrambling for cover. The townspeople saw their chance and scattered. Ran for the woods. A few charged the soldiers and tried to seize weapons. Fights and shooting erupted everywhere. I did what I could, evening the odds where possible.
Within a few minutes, the town had cleared out. Troops, natives, everybody. They left behind a lot of bodies, both townspeople and in uniform.
I got back into the lander and closed the hatch and just sat. “You know,” George said, “while you were out there joining in the mayhem, I could have invoked the emergency provisions and taken the lander back into orbit.”
The possibility had never occurred to me. “I know,” I said.
“But you trusted me? Why didn’t you disable the connector?” What was he talking about?
> “I assumed,” I said, “you knew if you left me you’d be putting me in danger, and you wouldn’t want to do that.”
It was the right answer. “That’s very good, Art. Absolutely right. And the corollary to that line of reasoning is that I have your welfare at heart.”
I was getting tired being lectured by software. But I let it go. “I will continue to trust you.”
“I hope you are making the correct judgment.”
I better be. If my life depended on disabling the connector, I had a serious problem.
We found a burned-out village and went down. Bodies were everywhere. A few survivors wandered around in a state of shock. They cried out and flung their arms about their heads in despair. I tried to help, getting water, helping put out a fire. I had to be careful, of course. I got more clips, including a riveting segment in which a handful of survivors, mostly young ones of both sexes, swore vengeance against the attackers.
We were everywhere that night. In a moderately sized city on the shore of a large lake, I took pictures of corpses and hysterical children and recorded the arrival of a band of Noks who came to help. I sent everything to McCarver. Here’s more, Paul. Here are several hours of cultural development, helped along by our neutrality. Maybe we need to send them some pious maxims.
Cathie got on the circuit.
“Did you see the clips?” I asked her.
“I saw them.” She was silent, obviously trying to phrase what she wanted to say. Finally: “Art, you’ve got to stop.”
“Did McCarver tell you to try to get me to behave?”
“No,” she said. “Paul hasn’t said anything to me about you.”
Another long silence. “But the conflict down there is global. You can’t stop it. You’re only one man. You can’t really do any good. All that’s happening is that you’re throwing your career away. Art, they will prosecute you. They’re really getting upset.”
“Oh. Well, hell, Cathie, I wouldn’t want to upset anybody.”
Over the next few days I waged war against whatever military forces I could. I poured sand in the gas tanks of transport vehicles, cut a dirigible loose from its tether, and set another one afire. I boarded ships, stole lubricants from the engine rooms and poured them into gun barrels. I blew up ammunition depots and even disrupted a parade by seizing someone’s weapon and firing shots into the air.
Cryptic - The Best Short Fiction of Jack McDevitt Page 39
