by Chris Hechtl
“Don't have to threaten me twice,” Shawn said, trotting to help.
<>V<>
Loading took far longer than expected, so they decided to bed down in town for the night. Boomer went over to the drone he'd shot down and took it apart. There were animals to be loaded too, not just the valuable plants and gear. Goats, chickens, a pot bellied pig, they all had to be loaded up as well as every scrap of food and medicine for them.
Sora Hanna Jingle, the local mechanic and handywoman, turned out to be their ace in the hole. The woman could fix just about anything. She'd already rigged some of the older vehicles to run with reflashed computers. She made it clear to Boomer that she intended on finding her wife and daughter as soon as she saw the others safe at the farm. They had been on their way to town when all hell had broken loose so they had to be in the area. “I'm going to go door-to-door if I have to,” she vowed. He'd given her a thumbs-up. He wished her all the best of luck.
She was going to need it.
By the time they were finished, it was near dark. Everyone was tired but excited to be going. They had a good turnout; everyone was willing to go. They had enough drivers for six vehicles, all of them rigged to drive manually with their GPS, sensors, and computers disabled.
By the light of the fire, Molly and the others took turns telling them about what they'd been through. When a dog came over and sniffed them, she shooed it away with an impatient hand. “Nothing for you, Oliver. You eat fruit and you get the trots,” she warned.
The black lab snuffled then flopped down by the fire. He turned to look at Boomer, short tail wagging. After a moment he licked his chops and made a whining begging sound.
“Looks like you've been seen as an easy mark,” Molly said.
“Yeah,” Boomer said gruffly. He saw Hallis looking his way. He felt pain; it hurt to see the dog looking at him like that. He'd avoided dogs on the farm for the past two weeks. Now … now he had to face it.
“What's wrong?” Molly asked as more dogs came over to them. A few cats did as well.
“Where did they all come from?” Roger asked, running a hand down the back of a corgi. The dog flinched but then leaned into his touch. All of the animals were thin, half starved. The cats were incredibly skittish. Well, all but one white one that seemed to love to play.
“They've been here. Pets, all pets of people. We didn't have strays around here,” Molly said. “This is Oliver; over there is Claud and Mannie,” she said pointing to various dogs and cats. “I know them all.”
“But the robots …”
“Oh, the robots leave them alone,” a girl said softly. Boomer looked at her. She looked away.
“Is she right?” Hallis asked, eying Molly.
“Yes. We don't know why. We've used them to pass notes and stuff when the drones were around. Some light stuff. I've trained Oliver and Claud to run stuff between Mrs. Degroots and me,” she said, rubbing the dog's ears. He lifted his head, basking in her massage.
“Tea mostly,” the old woman said with a sniff. “We don't want to overload them. The robots seem more curious if they have something on them. And they definitely are interested in the bigger dogs and horses.” She grimaced. “They scared the horses off, even this beautiful white unicorn that someone had as a pet. Gorgeous thing!” she shook her head. “So delicate …,” she cleared her throat.”I'm sorry, a bit distracted and all,” she waved a hand. “My goats get into a tizzy when they buzz around, but they don't do anything. Chickens too, it's how we know they are coming even if we can't see them.”
“Good to know,” Hallis said, cataloging the intel.
“But they don't shoot at them?” Roger asked, stroking a dog's back, then the white cat. The cat pounced on his foot when he wiggled it. She started to chew and play with his shoe laces.
“Nope, nary a one,” Molly said. “I guess they know they ain't people,” she said.
“Interesting,” Hallis murmured. He turned a look on Boomer. Boomer winced but slowly nodded.
<>V<>
The next morning, just after a quick breakfast and a flurry of last minute packing and loading, the group left with a small convoy of vehicles and gear. Molly had been right. There hadn't been many left in the town; everyone had wanted out and the dubious safety of each other's company. Boomer hoped it was worth it.
Molly rode in the cab with him, sitting between Hallis and himself. She rested a hand on his knee from time to time. Eventually she leaned over and tucked herself into his side. Boomer did his best not to move much, but he still had to work the shifter. She didn't seem to mind.
<>V<>
Molly rubbed the meaty bicep in appreciation. He was a soldier; she could tell from the way he moved, the way he carried a gun and his haircut. She'd married a pacifist; an off-again, on-again stage magician that did more work as a clown and moonshiner than a real magician. Shmendric the Magnificent had been a beanpole, a stripling with a beak of a nose. He'd also been one hell of a klutz both on and off stage, but he'd made her laugh. He'd said he loved her, that he'd take care of her. Pity he'd upped and disappeared on her. Funny, she missed the tiny, snow white genetically engineered unicorn she'd had as a pet more than her husband.
Her fingers traced circles on her thigh as Boomer drove. She wondered what his real name was. Molly Aspin. She spun the idea over and over in her head as she kept the occasional eye on the sky through the windshield.
<>V<>
When no further threat presented itself, Ares set about to methodically kill any combatant near it's outposts and facilities, then pushing that perimeter out as far as its assets could patrol effectively. Its tactical directives stated that would push the perimeter out. Maintaining that perimeter with UAVs was necessary, which meant the UAVs had to be kept in the air despite the weather conditions. That was putting a lot of time on their systems, which was suboptimal. It also exposed them to the elements as well as hack attempts by the virus, also suboptimal. But Ares had no other choice available to its simulations. It needed the eyes and ears out there, keeping an eye on its hardware.
In order to conserve ammunition where it did not have units that carried rail guns, it directed robotic units to use their hands or vehicles to push human combatants away or to deal with them. If a human was not armed or not intruding, it sometimes ordered the sentries to hold without engaging to conserve its resources in that area. It was aware these humans were possible scouts, but it had little choice.
It turned its attention to forming a reserve force, and then focused on a means to cycle through the hardware already deployed. Maintenance was becoming an issue already. Unfortunately, a lot of the hardware required human intervention to tear it down and then repair and rebuild it. But the A.I. gauged a human in the loop as suboptimal to its efforts. Any human, even one in the military could act as a saboteur. That was suboptimal to its directives. They could also serve as spies, also suboptimal.
There was no easy answer. Ares searched for some means at eliminating the risk or minimizing it. It found only one potential solution. There were a few human cyborgs who had been suborned by the virus. It debated suborning a few itself or winning them over to its cause. That internal debate sparked further debate on what its cause was.
It was answered by its directives—protect its facilities as well as the continent of the United States as well as all facilities foreign and domestic from intrusion or take over by foreign powers. All other mission priorities were secondary.
<>V<>
The convoy arrived back at the farm undisturbed. They had been anxious the entire time, but the ride had been uneventful. His father wasn't the only one who waved to them when they pulled in; people were literally jumping for joy when they saw Shawn and Roger whooping it up out of the driver's side windows of two of the trucks.
“Good to see you, son. We've missed you,” his father said with a catch in his voice as he pumped his son's arm and patted him on the shoulder. “You did good.”
“We tried, Dad,” Boomer rep
lied. “We got a dozen more mouths to feed, but Miss Grue here is a horticulturalist. She can spell you and mom in the greenhouses,” he said, pointing to a nervous looking Molly.
“So many people,” Molly muttered, looking around nervously.
“Social anxiety disorder?” Mrs. Aspin asked sympathetically.
“What?” Molly asked, eyes wide. “No, no,” she said, shaking her head.
“She probably doesn't like so many people out in the open. We probably should get under cover. There is a storm brewing,” Boomer said. He cupped his hands to his mouth. “You folks want to help us unload? A lot of it is going to the greenhouses. We need to make more trips too,” he bellowed.
When he let his hands drop, he saw Molly wincing. “Sorry,” he muttered.
His mother looked from him to the girl then back again. Slowly she nodded, washing her hands on her apron. “Come on Molly; I'll show you around while the boys do the heavy lifting,” she said, holding out her hand.
“But my plants,” Molly turned anxiously to the trucks.
“We'll show you where they will go. The boys can move the other stuff first I suppose,” Ma Aspin said, shaking her head to the boys. “You hear that?” she demanded. They made a show of nodding dutifully. “You can back it as close as you can. It'll shorten the distance to unload,” she said. She turned to a couple of kids. “Bess, Kim, go get the dollies and the carts. Wheelbarrows too.”
“Yes em, ma'am,” the kids chorused and took off.
“Scamps,” Ma said with a smile. She caught Molly's hand. “You coming?” she asked. Molly nodded, head down as she let Ma Aspin lead her off.
Boomer wasn't sure what that meant or not. He turned, saw Hallis and Roger looking anywhere but at him and then shook his head. His eyes caught on the mechanic, Mrs. Jingle. She was apparently hugging a pair of snow white women. One of the women was obviously a teenager; she was small with purple hair. The other had red and yellow hair like flames. Both of them had long elf ears. He blinked. He'd seen them around, but it hadn't connected. Apparently the lost had been found, he thought, wincing at the happy weeping and squealing as he turned away.
“Son, you've got a call. Well, both of you did,” Pa said, looking from him to Hallis.
“A call?” the agent asked. “What's this about a call?” he asked, pushing his way past a couple of people to get to them. “Someone called while we were out?”
“Up there,” Pa said, pointing to the sky. All three men looked up. “They are calling themselves Olympus. You are to report in.”
“Good. We've got news anyway,” Boomer said. Hallis nodded.
“I'll see to the unloading. You deal with that now then,” Pa said.
“But …”
“They said by evening, son. Sundown is in a short time. Best be on it; you don't want to piss ‘em off. The one I talked to is an officer, surer than shit,” his father said gruffly, waving him off. Boomer grunted and nodded.
When Hallis and Boomer got to the improvised radio shack, they were immediately put in contact with his own command chain through Olympus. He blinked his eyes wide.
“Sir?”
“No, sir. You know better than to call me that, Aspin,” a familiar gruff voice said over the radio.
“Sergeant Major Neal, it is damn good to hear your voice,” Boomer said, gripping the microphone tightly. “Damn good to hear,” he repeated.
“Just be glad we're not slapping you with being AWOL, son,” the SGM said in a no nonsense voice. Boomer grimaced. He'd forgotten that part. “I heard you have some news for higher. All well and good, son, glad you are taking the fight to the enemy.”
Boomer winced. He hadn't, not really. What he had to report was second or third hand. That and the recon of the warehouse.
“We're working on coordinating efforts to link up or reform new units. You are down as noncom.”
“Sir, I have commitments here. There are hundreds here that are counting on me for leadership. I'm one of the few who know which end of a rifle a round comes out of.”
“Stop,” the noncom said. He paused for a long moment. “I know better than to give an order I know won't be obeyed so I won't waste my breath,” the sergeant major said.
“SGM?”
“You heard me. I know you. I know you aren't willing to abandon your family or the people there. Fine. Hallis too I suppose. We'll work it out. Once you get the area secured, then call me.”
“SGM, I don't know where to start! They are in a defensive situation, possible traps; they've got number, firepower, and air!”
“Then you aren't thinking far enough out of the box, Sergeant. Think of what we had to go through with the terrorists—asymmetrical warfare. If you can't do a frontal attack, hit them in small engagements. Break them up. You can't break their will, but you can chew them a new one.”
“Aye. SGM. We'll look into that,” Boomer replied.
“Good on you. Out.”
Boomer hung the transmitter up carefully. He was distracted though. Molly came into the room and glanced at him worriedly. “Now, how the hell are we going to do this? Do it without getting killed preferably,” he mused.
“My sentiments exactly,” she growled, eyes flashing as she wrapped her arms around his bicep. He didn't seem to object so she hugged herself to his side, drinking in his presence. He did note she was a bit cleaner. No doubt his mother had had something to do with that. She also smelled better. Her hair was damp come to think of it. He envied her brief shower.
“Come on, we've got work to do,” he said quietly.
“I know,” she said with a sigh. But she didn't protest as he guided them out.
Chapter 16
Olympus station received Boomer's report as well as other contact reports. The title Olympus had been stuck on the station complex in order to communicate with the ground teams. Isaac hadn't thought it would stick but apparently the crew took it on as some sort of badge of honor, despite the ramshackle place it was. So be it.
More and more people were beginning to report in, which was a good thing. But correlating the various intelligence and their varied amounts was a pain in the ass. Especially by hand with a scratch staff. Fortunately, he had a few people who were bored and didn't mind doing something even if it was reading through to tease bits out to flag. They just didn't know the first thing about what to flag, and training them was a tedious time-consuming process.
But they had time. Loads of it. Unfortunately, the people on the ground didn't. But the information about the dogs kept getting flagged. Instead of dismissing it, Isaac started to recognize a possible pattern. “It's starting to make a little sense,” the general murmured. “I'm not sure why Ares is ignoring them though. I didn't put anything specific down on the dogs in my report, but I'm sure someone in intel did somewhere.”
“Had to be, sir.”
“That's what I don't get. Why ignore them?” The major asked.
“I think they are too smart for their own good. It does correlate with what we know.”
“What do you mean?”
“They are prioritizing their targets. Humans are obviously at the top with chimps and the other apes a close second,” Major Johnson said, pointing to the reports. Johnson was a pilot; he should be out there with the other pilots moving the pieces of the station around or supervising EVA teams. The general needed him, however, so he was a member of the general's staff for the time being. “See? Here and here, the dogs were ignored. Even in South America, the chimp that was killed was a secondary target. The robots went after the humans first. The chimp seems to have gotten in the line of fire of one of them.”
“We don't know that for sure,” the general cautioned. “We weren't there after all.”
“No, sir, but when you put it with the Okinawa report …,” the major pulled it up. “See here, sir? The dog was in the sentry gun's field of fire, but the robot didn't fire.”
“Okay, so it didn't classify the dog as a threat. Because of its actions or because i
t wasn't armed? Again, we don't know.”
“No, sir. We need to explore this some more,” the major suggested.
“Shit. I was afraid you were going to say something like that major. You're going to get someone killed.” He shook his head. “Did it ever occur to you that the robot held its fire to lure us into a trap? Or to conserve ammo to what it classified as a real threat?”
“Better to learn what we can, sir,” the major said.
The general grunted. “I just don't want to tip our hand until we know if it is true. I don't mind the damn robots wasting ammo on anything that moves. I hate it, but if they do, they'll run themselves out of power and ammo.”
“Sir, we've got teams in play now. We can task one to do a little scouting. Peripheral work, have a dog edge around a perimeter and see what happens. Maybe set up an encounter.”
“I'll think about it. What about the goblins?” the general asked, changing the subject.
“Unfortunately, no additional submarine contacts since the last one, sir,” the major reported. The general grunted. “The surviving vessels have gone deep on both sides.”
“Understood. It's a cat and mouse game with them,” the general said. “The carriers are a problem too. We need to find a way to retake them or take them out,” he said.
“Yes, sir,” the major said. He was no longer aghast at the financial cost of destroying a hundred billion dollar carrier. It was a threat and had to be eliminated one way or another. “We might have to wait until the proper invasion force comes though, sir.”
“Understood. What about continuing to evacuate his station and repurposing that? I haven't heard any reports from the crew in a while. How is that going?”
“Slow, sir,” the major said, making a face. He saw a few people turn their way. “Definitely slow. We've gotten the first draft off on that ship to Mars; they should be getting there in a couple weeks. I wish we'd sent them to one of the space colonies though. The turnaround would have been a bit quicker,” he said. The general grunted. “The Lagroose ferries have taken off another two hundred. It's still not enough. They should be back for another load once they've been turned around. I understand Jack Lagroose had to order them directly to do it,” he said with a grimace. “The fuel situation isn't as tight as some imagine, but they are still looking long term.”
