I watched the hand replacement procedure continue. The suits were certainly competent at simple repair, but I wondered how they would have fared had there been a distortion of the entire frame, so that a simple socket-to-socket connection was not possible.
With the good hand affixed to the injured suit, they proceeded to attach the mangled hand to the corpse of the dead suit.
Why are they doing that? Surely the deceased don’t need hands, let alone heavily damaged ones.
“Well,” said Harlan, “a good question. Some of the fallen here have been stripped down so much that there are hardly more than a few scraps left. By keeping the remains as intact as possible, even if they are damaged, we help to maintain the sense that they are a fallen comrade and not just a pile of parts. Or something like that. In any event it’s a tradition.”
At the far end of the room some other suits were having trouble removing a damaged back actuator assembly from the main body core. My three repair drones had by this time arrived, and lined up behind me like loyal dogs.
Excuse me. I think I can help you with this.
--------------------
The wounded were repaired: those that could be. General Trellen and his officers reviewed the battles and argued strategy and tactics. I did what I could to assist in the repairs, and I think I helped a fair amount. The ranks of enemy skitarri continued to stand silent and still outside The Fortress walls, and attempted no attacks. In other words, things settled down to a familiar routine.
That should have set me off. I sometimes worry about losing my edge.
So we went out scouting again, and had a grand time of it. I came across a devastated zone. It was a kilometer long, and two hundred meters wide and tall. Everything in this area had been destroyed, even the floors, so there was just a single hollow cavity with ragged blackened edges, cut-off pipes and bits of walls jutting in from the sides. An enemy must have gotten in, a really nasty one, and the armored suits had fought it there. Just as I think I am coming to grips with the scale of The Fortress, I again get blind-sided with its scale. This colossal destroyed area is still only 0.03% of the total volume of the structure. Hardly even noticeable.
I made my way to one of the outer walls. These were not a single layer of armor, but composite structures at least 100 meters deep, with alternating layers of metal-alloy armor, ablative ceramics, shock absorbers, and radiation shields. Access to these layers was via a narrow winding network of small tunnels. I revise my previous estimates: it would take more than just a handful of nukes to take out this fortress.
I ended up blundering into a mechanical room for one of the major gates. At 50 meters wide and 100 meters tall, and doors 20 meters thick, opening them requires some serious motive power. The mechanical room was packed with monstrously large pulleys and chain drives and electric motors – I felt like a mouse examining a steam locomotive. I also noticed that Scout Captain Harlan was there, and he was fiddling with some of the control systems.
Hello Captain Harlan! What brings you here?
Harlan did not look up from his work. “Old Guy, I did not expect you here. I’m just doing routine maintenance. I’m a little busy now – how about we meet later? We could bowl another game or two.”
I walked over and examined what he was doing. Curiously the scout Captain was not fidgeting. I guessed this must be important.
Wait, isn’t that the return over-ride you are disconnecting? I would have thought that…
Without warning the Captain lashed out and knocked me clear back across the mechanical room. The armored suit may have been obsolete by my standards, but he’s a full combat system and I’m in a light-duty humanoid remote. He was overwhelmingly faster and more powerful. My lower torso was shattered, and I did not have control over my legs.
Hey! What was that all about? That hurt!
Harlan ignored me and continued working on the control systems. I confess I took a couple of seconds for it to sink in (well I’m only a submind: my main self would have done it in milliseconds). Harlan is a traitor and he is trying to open the doors and let the enemy inside.
I wondered that Harlan had not simply shot me with one of his inbuilt weapons, but then much of the inside of The Fortress is covered with weapons-fire detectors and that might have triggered an alarm. I try to contact the local datanets but he is jamming my signals. Well then, I might not be military grade, but my circuits are generations more sophisticated than his, and I didn’t get this old without learning a few tricks. I break through his jamming and get a warning to the rest of the suits.
I talk to Harlan, trying to get a reaction, anything, but he is silent and continues single-mindedly with his work.
After about 20 seconds Captain Brendan explodes into the room, moving much faster than I would have expected for one of his size. He is carrying a plasma cannon heavier than two biological humans.
He looks at me, and he looks at Harlan. “WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?” he booms.
Harlan points at me. “It’s Old Guy! He was trying to sabotage the doors, and I caught him!”
We can settle guilt later, right now we need to make sure that the doors do not open. Captain Brendan, check the gate circuitry.
Moving so fast that I could not see it, Harlan shot Captain Brendan with his light cannon, and then flicked a last switch. I could hear the rumbling as the heavy gate machinery started to power up.
Brendan was hardly scorched by Harlan’s beam. He fired his own weapon, and my non-military-grade optics temporarily overloaded. When they recovered I saw that the scout trooper had been blown clean in half.
“Traitor!” hissed Brendan.
Can you stop the gate from opening?
Brendan examined the controls. “No. It has been locked into this mode centrally. Peripheral inputs are shut out. The gate will open.”
Can you blast the motors or gears?
Brendan gestured at the enormous pistons and tie rods around us, that were moving slowly away from each other. “No. They are too large. Even my weapons could not destroy them in time. And the gates are already three meters open.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw some black fluid seep out of the shattered body of Captain Harlan. At first I thought little of it – probably hydraulics – but then I noticed that that it was moving a little more purposefully than leaking hydraulic fluid has a right to. I pointed to it.
Um, Captain Brendan. What is that?
Brendan turned and looked where I had pointed. The black fluid looked more like a tangle of oily cables now, and it was clearly moving of its own volition. Brendan walked over to look at it more closely, and some of its tendrils started out reach out for him…
I was going to warn the heavy weapons suit to not let it touch him, but Brendan did not hesitate and used his wrist flamer to scorch the black thing into ash. I wondered if perhaps we should have kept some of it for analysis, but then, it’s hard to go all that wrong making sure that an enemy is really dead.
I heard what I thought at first was faint static, but then I realized that the top half of what remained of Scout Captain Harlan was trying to speak. The voice was faint and halting, and I had to maximize my audio gain to make it out.
Captain Brendan ... Old Guy ... thank you… thank ...
Brendan walked over to the top half of the armored suit, and pointed his enormous hand cannon at it its head. “Tell me why I should not kill the rest of you now, traitor.”
It was inside me … tried to fight it, but …. was trapped in there … more horrible than … now free but it still hurts…
“How did it get inside you?” asked Brendan.
… about six months ago … scouting around …. something fell on my back… tried to clean it off … hard to reach ... thought it was just some random gunk fallen out of a pipe in the ceiling … must have melted a hole in my seals … before I could warn it was inside me … could not speak for myself …
“Are there any more of us so infested?” asked Brendan.
… not sure … no physical contact with others like itself... but could be …
“When it was controlling you, did you get any information back from it?”
… one-way connection... no access … sorry …
“Did it conduct any other acts of sabotage?”
… all secondary and tertiary armored doors behind this main one disabled….
“Brother,” said Brendan, “your actions may not be treasonous after all. Perhaps we can repair you.”
… kind of you … did things to me … damaged … hurt parts missing, memories missing … just give peace. Please.
“It shall be as you wish, Brother,” said Brendan. “Any last words?”
… Old Guy, you would have made a hell of a … a … scout ... sticking your nose where it doesn’t… trouble … tell brothers that I wish luck… please do it … please…
“When the entry is made into the Book of Honor, your name will be that of a valiant comrade. Farewell, Brother.” And at that Captain Brendan melted the rest of Captain Harlan into slag. For a moment I wondered that Brendan did not try to at least salvage spare parts, but I suppose that the risk of contamination would have been too high.
What now?
“The enemy will be pouring through the gate, and the other internal barriers in this zone have been disabled. The alarm is already raised, and soon my brethren will be fighting a rearguard action to contain the enemy.”
He quickly slung my mangled body over his back. “Hang on,” he said. I grasped him as tightly as I could with my arms, though my legs flopped uselessly. Brendan raced out of the mechanical room and down the corridors deeper into The Fortress, away from the enemy incursion.
What is that black thing called?
“It’s something new. As the first to contact it, you have the right of naming.”
What about Captain Harlan?
“He is dead and therefore would find coming up with a suitable name to be difficult.”
Oh, right. How about “Bob”?
“Bob is taken,” said Brendan.
So the armored suits named one of the monsters on this planet “Bob”? They do have a sense of humor after all.
How about “Medusa”?
“That one is free,” said Brendan. “It shall be so recorded in The Book of Monsters.”
We made it back to the main level, and I could begin to hear the sounds of combat echoing down the corridors. Captain Brendan dropped me off with a scout, ordering him to take me to the command center, then he raced off to join the fight.
--------------------
I was propped up in an unused chair in the command center, and then ignored while the armored suits tried to fend off the invasion into their fortress. That was O.K. with me, as there was nothing I could do to help and the command center gave me a fine view of the combat.
When the main gate had first opened, skitarri had swarmed in and the first rank of armored suits had been overwhelmed and torn apart. The suits regrouped rapidly, however, and quickly established a line of battle. The people that built this fortress had not been stupid, as it was designed for defense even with a main gate wide open. Only a few floors had corridors that spanned the width of The Fortress: there were choke points where a limited number of troops could establish a perimeter. Paradoxically the suits were also helped by the sheer number of attackers tight-packed in the corridors. If enough of the enemy could be felled at once they would form a barrier and slow the advance of the deeper ranks.
It was hard-fought, but after a couple of hours the suits had the situation stabilized. I estimated that they had lost about ten percent of the volume of The Fortress to the enemy, and perhaps 160 of the suits had been destroyed.
General Trellen descended from the raised command dais, leaving Colonel Villers and Lieutenant Duchamp to continue work on the containment efforts. He pulled a chair over from another alcove and seated himself heavily in front of me.
A busy day, General. Are you sure you have time to speak with me?
“A busy day indeed, but we have achieved at least temporary stability. Besides, I could use a break.”
I thought that you didn’t get tired.
“Not physically, but with prolonged mental exertion we find a respite to be helpful. After all, we’re only human.”
I see. I am still no expert on your tactics, but after the losses you have suffered today, combined with the losses from the expedition to the lesser redoubt, and the fact that the outer walls of The Fortress have now been breached, I worry that your situation is becoming untenable.
Trellen nodded. “Yes. We were short-handed before, but with The Fortress intact we were enough. Now we will be fighting a war of attrition, and we cannot replenish our numbers. We may continue for a year, perhaps more, but our tenure here is going to end.”
That’s when we got a second message. Duchamp brought it up on his display, and I ran it through my decryption algorithms.
This would appear to be a second message from myself. If true, there are not quite a hundred of my fellows landed on this planet. They are fighting hard, but appear to be losing.
“How certain are you that this message is genuine?” said Trellen.
As certain as I can be in a place like this. Part of the cypher is a one-time pad using data that only I should have known that this android body had recorded. There are also – personal anecdotes, it certainly sounds like me.
Trellen stroked his metal chin, lost in thought. Then Trellen continued, “We were made as defenders, and for far longer than I care to remember we have been defenders without anything to defend. To protect this empty fortress had become a habit, but ultimately pointless. I hate losing my brother knights, but perhaps it is time for us to take revenge.”
Revenge? How, specifically?
“Revenge,” said Trellen. “For so long we wondered at the nature of the controlling intelligence of this place, that has bothered us and the biological humans before us. We have entire libraries with nothing but speculation on this topic, but almost no hard data.”
Almost no hard data?
“Almost. There is one thing we might do, although it would likely mean the end of all of my brothers. I have held off because the odds of success were so low, but now that we have nothing to lose, and possibly something to gain, this may be the time.”
And what might that be?
General Trellen paused for a moment. “You will think it silly.”
I cannot imagine that anything you might say could ever be silly.
“Perhaps,” said Trellen. He stood up and faced me. “I have decided. My brothers and I are going to search for the Holy Grail. And you shall bear witness.”
Well. This day has been just full of interest.
14. The Journal of Lysis Trellen Part VII: Debt of Honor
“It must not be forgotten that although a high standard of morality gives but a slight or no advantage to each individual man and his children over the other men of the same tribe, yet that an advancement in the standard of morality and an increase in the number of well-endowed men will certainly give an immense advantage to one tribe over another. There can be no doubt that a tribe including many members who, from possessing in a high degree the spirit of patriotism, fidelity, obedience, courage, and sympathy, were always ready to give aid to each other and to sacrifice themselves for the common good, would be victorious over most other tribes; and this would be natural selection.”– Charles Darwin, Earth, 19th century.
A century went by, and the colony continued to prosper. Now that everyone has anti-ageatics, I’m as fit and hale as any 35 year old and could probably last for another four centuries, if I don’t get eaten or dismembered or poisoned or infected with nanoparasites. The Planet of Eternal Night remains as bizarrely, and as inscrutably, hostile as ever. We take casualties, and these are personally painful, but they haven’t stopped the population from expanding to over a hundred thousand.
We have food, we have water, we have chil
dren, and schools, and music concerts, and even, finally, beer on a regular basis. The system of the Council of Eleven still totters along. We’ve made a couple of big mistakes but nothing that we weren’t able to fix, and everyone has a job. From my readings of human history this is about as good as it gets.
And doors. We now have real doors, with hinges and everything! Well, except for some of the workshops, and the hydroponics, and the maintenance sheds, and some other places, but mostly… doors! I never realized how much I missed them until we started getting them back. They make the place feel civilized.
Our big problem is space. Attempts to spread out beyond the limits of our ramparts are inevitably worn down and driven back, and our colony is feeling squeezed. We could limit our population. After all, a hundred thousand is not that small a number. However, there are industries and technologies that require on the order of five million people before they are possible (economies of scale and division of labor and all that). We don’t want to end up like Old Earth, with massive numbers living in squalor, but a slightly bigger population would be nice in many ways.
I was at a meeting of the Council of Eleven. There were a few new faces but mostly it’s the same crew as when we first started. With every meeting, Oliver Schmidt continues to set new records for longest serving Doge (not surprising as he remains the only one to serve as Doge). I think the anti-ageatics don’t quite mesh with his chemistry: he looks a lot more wrinkled and leathery than he used to, and that’s pretty wrinkled and leathery. Nevertheless, I think he’ll be doing this long after the rest of us have passed. Even if only because he’s the only one to show any enthusiasm for writing up the minutes and agenda.
And myself, I am resplendent in my uniform with my shiny new Full Colonel Eagles on each shoulder. The army has expanded to nearly 5,000 troops total (brigade strength) and so the Council voted to promote me. I never thought I’d make full bird.
Old Guy and the Planet of Eternal Night (An Old Guy/Cybertank Adventure Book 6) Page 21