by B. V. Larson
More and more ships appeared at the ring. They were pouring through now. The clicker Jasmine had set up flickered into the two hundreds…then hit three hundred.
Something on the screen began to blink. I frowned, while Sandra worked her console and pressed her headset to her ear.
“Kyle, it’s Major Sloan requesting an urgent channel.”
“Put him through on speaker,” I said.
“Colonel? Sir, it’s the Centaurs. They’re losing it.”
“What are you talking about, Major Sloan? I gave you orders. They were not to move until I gave the word.”
“I know sir, I told them that. They gave me some speech about honor and took off. They’re deploying from the transports. They’ve got those skateboards on their feet, and they’re heading out into space.”
I cursed for a few precious seconds. “How many of them have gone AWOL?”
“Uh,” Sloan hesitated for a long second. “As far as I can tell, Colonel—all of them. They’re all attacking the Macro fleet.”
“Damn it!” I shouted.
-35-
“Open the primary command channel. Get Welter on the line. Commander Welter are you listening in? We have a situation.”
“Yes sir, I heard Major Sloan. I request permission to fire my railgun batteries. All of them are still tracking targets and their barrels are loaded.”
“No, hold your fire. I want you to talk to your laser crews. Get them to aim at the Centaurs. You will not fire yet, however. You will hold your fire until I get back to you.”
There was a moment of silence. “You’re ordering me to shoot our own allied troops in the back?”
“No, I have not given you any such order, Commander Welter. I’m ordering you to target units that are disobeying orders. I’m going to talk to them first, before shooting. We have some time, as they won’t reach the enemy ships for another sixteen minutes.”
Jasmine raised her hand. I looked at her. “I’m updating that estimate now,” she said, tapping at her screen. “The Macros have their course laid in and are accelerating. They are moving toward our line and will pass us at a high speed. The attacking Centaurs will collide with them in eleven minutes, sir.”
“Try to retrieve them, Sloan,” I said. “And connect me with their command council. Now.”
There was a delay in making the connection, and I felt every second of it in pound in my mind like a headache. How could those damned space goats be so stupid? They were undisciplined, barbaric troops. I recalled tales of old battles, especially those in medieval times, when kings had lost control of their knights and they’d run off to get themselves killed. In modern battles, Centaurs were my knights. They definitely had minds of their own.
“Maybe we should take advantage of this situation, Colonel,” Miklos said. “The Macros could be hit all at once by our Centaur troops. Our forces will be in there before they can react to shoot them down. Thousands of flying bombs crashing into their ships at once.”
I drew my lips into a tight line. “I know what you’re saying, and I’m tempted,” I said. “But look at the Macro line. They’re still streaming in through the ring. There are too many ships, and they’re in too close. Sure, we’d blow the hell out of a lot of them in that opening surprise attack. But the battle station is out of position now, as are the gunships. We’ve lost that period of time where we can concentrate all our fire into their teeth.”
Miklos shrugged. “I agree. But if we’re going to end up fighting them, we might as well take whatever advantage we can get.”
“I’ll take it under advisement. Sandra, are the Centaurs ready to talk to me yet?”
“They are on the channel, sir.”
“Hello and greetings from every patch of blue sky, waving green blade of grass and ruffling scrap of fur,” I said loudly, and not without bitterness.
As usual, my sarcasm was lost upon the Centaurs. “Thank you for saluting us on this day of glory and blood,” they said.
“Brave herds,” I said. “You’re bravery is unquestionable and legendary. Today, however, is not the day for fighting. I would ask that you obey your commanders and return to your berths within the transport ships.”
“The enemy is at hand. They have taken the field under the light of our sun, and it would be dishonorable not to gallop out to meet them. Can you not feel the blood raging in your heart and mind? Do you not hate these invaders as we do?”
“Yes,” I said, “of course we do. But we seek to attack when the advantage is ours. Victory in battle goes to the most cunning, to the clearest of mind.”
There was a pause. I got the feeling they were passing this concept around. In the end, they rejected it. “You speak with the sound of droppings striking lifeless stones. We’re stunned to hear your words, and request clarification. It cannot be that dishonor has gripped your brave heart. If you fear, think of the wind, for the wind has no fear, and is everlasting.”
I made a growling, groaning sound of frustration. I wanted to grab my own head with my hands, but I knew my hair would get caught in the joints of my gauntlets and be pulled out. I did it anyway as I tried to think a way out of this situation. As I’d expected, a hundred or so hairs were ripped out. They clung to my gauntlets as I pulled them away and looked at them. What was I going to do?
The trouble was, the Centaurs were right, we were double-dealing the Macros. The Blues had fooled them into thinking we were harmless, and they were operating on that piece of data. We hadn’t let the Centaurs in on that detail, because I knew they wouldn’t like any kind of subterfuge or trickery. Any of them would sooner die than participate in such shenanigans. The fault was mine, as I’d not let them in on the deal.
I thought hard for another fifteen seconds. On the big screen, the two lines converged. The column of Macros flowed like a river, pouring out the ring as if from a magic jug that never stopped gushing out more machines. The Centaurs swarmed like blobs of angry bees, roaring at top speed to intercept them. Fortunately, as marines their lasers didn’t have the range to reach thousands of miles across space, or they doubtlessly would have already broken the treaty by singing the nosecones of the approaching horde of ships.
At last, I came up with an idea—an approach. I didn’t like it, as it involved covering an omission with a lie. Weaving webs like that had gotten me into trouble in the past. But this time, I didn’t see any other options.
“Allied herds,” I said over the channel to the Centaurs. “I beg forgiveness, because I have twice committed the crime of vagueness. I have not explained the situation properly to you or the Macros. Here is the situation: the Macros believe we have agreed to a ceasefire. They are acting in good faith on this basis. Notice they have not fired a shot at our ships? This is because they believe they have free passage through our system.”
“Why would they believe such a thing?” Centaur Command asked. “It is not the way of reality. Machine and life are antithetical. The blade cuts flesh, and the flesh melts away the blade in flame. The camera can’t appreciate the warmth of the sun or the freshness—”
“I know,” I said, interrupting for lack of time, “and it greatly discomforts me. It was my intention to warn the machines to stay out of this star system. I told them we would not attack them if they did not attack us—meaning I didn’t want them to fly here and fire upon our ships. But they agreed to the arrangement, and extended the meaning to include safe passage through our territory. They will not fire upon us, as you can see. And it’s my belief that in order to behave honorably, we should not fire upon them.”
They paused again. I checked the clock, which Captain Sarin was tapping at and looking at me. We’d blown four minutes yapping.
“Centaurs,” I said, “I know that you weren’t party to this accidental agreement. But I would ask that you save my honor by abiding by it today. At least until the Macros are out of this system and the arrangement can be canceled. If we fire upon them today, we will have dishonored ourselves.”
“Fur filled w
ith urine and droppings,” said the Centaur voice sadly. “Hot winds full of smoke, from a fire lit by your neighbor out of spite. The champion ram’s young led to an unscalable cliff and urged to climb. Dishonor is a terrible burden, and we would not wish it upon our allies this day.”
I blinked and stared at the console. I muted my microphone, then looked to Sarin and Miklos.
“Does that mean they agree?” Jasmine asked in a hushed voice.
“The Centaurs are definitely all talking,” Sandra said. She monitored every transmission in the region from her station. “They relayed your conversation out there to them.”
“Perhaps it means they agree, you’re dishonored, and they feel bad for you,” Miklos suggested.
“I’m not sure what they mean,” I admitted. “What are they doing? Give me data.”
Jasmine worked her screen with flashing fingers. It was hard to determine the overall behavioral pattern of thousands of flying marines in distant space.
“I think—I think they’re veering off course,” she said at last. “At least, most of them are.”
“Maybe they put it to a vote,” Miklos said, “or let each individual decide what they should do.”
I looked at him, and the data. “Yeah,” I said. “That’s what they did, I think. And it looks like not every Centaur is going to contribute to my honor by letting go of some of his own.”
We kept watching. A few individuals, tiny dots that were single pixels of color on our screens, kept flying toward the Macros.
“We should shoot the down, sir,” Miklos said.
“And dishonor ourselves further in the eyes of our allies?”
“But this is a worst-case scenario,” he said. “We’re about to start a battle without a plan, out of position, and by making only a token attack against the enemy.”
I opened a channel to the battle station. “Welter, prepare to fire all guns. If you see a Macro ship blow up, unload on them all.”
“Roger that, sir.”
I watched the screens quietly. Everyone on the command deck stared until their eyes stung. When the first tiny dots representing Centaurs merged with the big ships, I bared my teeth.
“First strike—no explosion, sir,” Miklos said.
I frowned. “Did the warhead misfire?”
“Unknown.”
Two more Centaurs reached cruisers, and vanished. Then quickly, the number counted up to seven. None of them had exploded.
I leaned back and took a deep breath.
“What the hell are they doing?” Sandra asked me.
“They’re ramming the ships. Tiny little balls of fur and muscle, slamming themselves into the Macro cruisers at thousands of miles per hour. Not enough kinetic force to do any damage. Less than a meteor strike, I’m sure. But they saved their own honor that way, you see? Ours as well.”
“How?” Sandra asked. “I don’t understand these crazy people.”
“If they turned around in the face of the machines, even for a good reason, they would have dishonored themselves. But if they’d set off their warheads and destroyed the ships, they would have dishonored me. They chose to do neither, and to suicide into the enemy. That way no one loses any honor.”
“Crazy mountain goats,” Sandra muttered, watching the screens.
We all sat quietly as the counter ticked up higher and higher. Out of some seventeen thousand Centaur troops, six hundred and twenty-two decided to dash their brains out pointlessly upon the cold, steel prows of the Macro ships. I found it ironic that the machines inside could never comprehend their behavior, and no doubt marked it down as some kind of inexplicable malfunction.
In a way, I guess, they were right.
-36-
The next day was tense, but the tension slowly drained from all of us as the monstrous Macro fleet sailed by and flew deeper into the Eden system. They took their time, cruising by the world of the Blues, patrolling near both Eden-11 and Eden-7 before heading toward some of the outer worlds.
By this time, the Macros had changed their formation. Rather than a thin column, they flew in a huge diamond, which was made up of hundreds of smaller diamonds. These four-pointed groups were arranged in space so as not to block one another’s field of fire if a fight did break out.
In their wake traveled another group. Like a pack of faithful dogs, the Crustacean troop ships trailed their masters obediently. I looked after them and shook my head. We must have looked like that at one time, like the clueless tools of the machines. I wondered if any other biotics had ever considered us to be as pathetic as the Lobsters looked to me right now.
“So,” Miklos said in the morning. “It appears we have houseguests. What are we going to do while they nose around here? It’s like having a shark in your living room.”
“More like a T-rex,” Sandra said. “Are they just going to fly around until we attack them accidentally? Or are they gathering intel to make the most devastating strike they can when they break their deal?”
Jasmine lifted her hand. She’d never gone off-duty like the rest of us. As far as I could tell, she’d quietly manned her post all night without more than a five minute break now and then.
“What is it, Captain?” I asked.
“They have chosen a new course. I can predict it with ninety-five percent accuracy.”
“Where?”
“The Helios ring. They’re heading to the next system.”
I stood up, spilling my coffee. It fell to the floor, where the nanites in the hull swallowed up the liquid, then soon after the coffee cup itself.
“The Worms,” I said. “Do they know about the deal?”
It was Marvin’s turn to speak up. He’d been absent during the confrontation with the Centaurs and the Macros. But now he was on the bridge and appeared to be planning to make himself a permanent fixture here.
“Colonel Riggs,” he said. “I took the liberty of telling the Worms what the situation was. They indicated they would maintain a neutral stance, and not provoke the Macros.”
I shook my head. “That’s not good enough. The Macros know who they are. They have marked them down for death. They aren’t part of any deal we have with the machines. They are not in this ceasefire.”
Everyone looked at me reluctantly. I could tell right off what they were thinking: let the Worms die. Better them than us.
“Unacceptable,” I said. “It’s one thing to keep the Centaurs in the dark. The purpose of that was to keep them breathing as a species. But this is different.”
“You did more than keep them in the dark,” Miklos commented. “You fed them bullshit with a spoon, sir.”
“Whatever,” I said, “open a channel with the Macros, Sandra. Before they leave the system.”
“Channel open.”
“Macro Command,” I said. “The biotic species known as the Worms are known to us. They have agreed to abide by all agreements we have made with you.”
We waited, but they made no response.
“Did they get that, Sandra? Are you certain?”
She nodded.
“Macro Command: this is Colonel Kyle Riggs of Star Force. We require that you comply with the terms of our agreement. We further require that you acknowledge your compliance.”
“Something is coming in…” Sandra said. “It’s binary.”
Marvin quickly volunteered to interpret. “Incoming message: We will comply with the terms of our agreement.”
I frowned. Did that mean they were going to leave the Worms alone, or were they going to blast them?
“You will not attack the Worms,” I said. “Doing so will violate the terms of our agreement.”
“Incoming message: Referenced biotic species is not included in this subset.”
“Yes, they are,” I said, “we are allied with them. The Blues are allied with them. By inference, you are allied with them.”
“Incoming message: Referenced biotic species is not included in this subset.”
I made a guttural sound of
frustration. I knew the Macros. When they got into one of these moods where they kept repeating themselves, they weren’t going to change their minds.
“We request that you add them to the subset of species included on the no-kill list.”
“Incoming message: Request denied.”
“They will annihilate them, Kyle,” Sandra said.
“I know,” I said, “we got them into this, too. They lost half their fleet fighting for us against Crow’s ships, and now we return the favor by talking the Macros into bypassing us to destroy them.”
“You must save them,” Sandra said. “Lie. Do anything.”
I looked at her and at the others circled around. I nodded. “Sandra, start jamming the ring that leads back to the Thor system. I don’t want the macros to report back anything I’m going to tell them now.”
She went to work on it, and signaled me when it was done.
“Macro Command,” I said, “the biotic species known as the Worms can’t harm you effectively. They can, however, be a valuable ally. I see you have troop ships in your wake. The Worms will provide Worm troops upon your return, when you need fresh troops.”
This was met with stony silence for a time. Finally, I contacted them again.
“Macro Command, we require you to accept or reject the terms of this arrangement.”
“Incoming message: Terms rejected.”
“We require you to tell us why you reject these terms.”
“Incoming message: The biotic homeworld of this species will be unable to support life upon our next visitation. Therefore, the agreement is meaningless.”
I tightened my face and nodded. Their intentions were clear. “The Worms are not a threat. They could be a valuable ally. Do not attack their homeworld, and there will be troops there to pick up upon your next visitation.”
“Incoming message: Terms accepted.”
Everyone cheered me, except Miklos.
“What are you going to tell the Worms, sir?” he asked. “They will never agree to this. They will not serve the Macros.”
“Yeah, well, I bought them some time to defend themselves. Maybe by that time, we can knock these machines down.”
