by B. V. Larson
Possibly, they had never intended anything like this. Maybe they’d released these metal demons upon the universe without realizing what would happen. Like a kid who releases his first scripted internet-worm and watches in horror as it eats his parent’s laptop.
I didn’t care how the Blues had done it, not right then. I didn’t even care if they completely understood what they had done. But I did want to know why they had done it. Why had they lit a match and started a wildfire in this part of my galaxy?
I watched the forward wall. The march of golden beetles had reached the ceiling now, and one-by-one they slid off into oblivion. Each represented someone I’d come to think of as a friend, a comrade. It was hard to watch them being swallowed up by space. I knew them, many of them. They had all gone through hell. They were tough people—survivors. They’d fought heroically for Earth and won. What was their final reward? To be used as punching-bags for the next race circling another yellowy star out there somewhere?
They didn’t deserve this kind of treatment. Neither did I, and neither had my kids. I wanted, as I sat there, nothing more than to reach down a big hand into the thick atmosphere of the Blues’ home planet. I wanted to haul up one of those freaks, tearing it from the surface of its world. I would watch as it flipped about and slavered on my deck, with organs popping. I wanted to ask one as it died, decompressing in an expanding pool of its own juices, why the hell they had sent out two flavors of robotic nightmare? Why two breeds of robot, one tiny and one huge? Why was one a heartless, microscopic plague and the other a race of marauding, destructive monsters? These creations of theirs had fought a devastating war over my world. They had apparently done so on a dozen other worlds, or perhaps a thousand others—or a million others. Hitler, Stalin, Tamerlane and Mao were all petty criminals next to the murderous monstrosity of the Blues. What madness had possessed them?
But my anger and my demands would have to wait. The Alamo wasn’t answering any more of my questions. Worse, the beer cans were out of reach. I tried to calm myself and think of the here and now. What would I do when I reached Earth and the Alamo put me in front of my people to explain myself?
I forced myself to think. There wasn’t much else to do while I rode back to Earth, a prisoner in my own ship.
Somewhere along the way, a plan began to form in my mind.
-3-
When I came down to Andros, I was worried. Did the ground people know? How much did they know?
We’re screwed. That’s the thought that kept bubbling up in my mind. By we, I meant Star Force. We had a hodge-podge international force of nanotized troops. How loyal would they be without a fleet, without an invading enemy to fight against? Was everything I’d spent so many lives building up about to implode?
Alamo’s big, black hand descended with smooth speed. She dropped me off at the main base, at the command bunker. It was a steel, prefab building. We’d only just gotten a white coat of paint on it to keep the heat down. I knew they’d be in there—Crow’s Generals. I’d only met with them a few times, mostly online, and we’d never liked each other.
Overhead, the Alamo hovered, blotting out the sun from the sky. The men at the door saluted me. I smiled at them and tossed one back. Who knew, maybe it was my last chance to be treated by my marines with full respect. They eyed me and the Alamo with furtive glances. They tried to look calm, but they weren’t. They were good men, but their eyes were filled with concern and curiosity. They’d heard something. Whatever it was they’d heard, it hadn’t been good.
I threw open the command bunker’s double-doors and marched into the cool gloom. Air conditioners thrummed and computers murmured. I blinked, my eyes adjusting to the muted light after the blazing sands outside.
“Colonel Riggs?” said one of them. All three of Crow’s Generals were there. The one that had spoken was General Sokolov. He was a stout man with thick, black eyebrows that needed trimming. His black eyes were small, narrow and annoyed. He’d always been the biggest bastard of the lot. He sounded surprised to see me—and not the happy kind of surprised, either. Maybe he’d been expecting someone else. I decided not to ask him about it.
“None other,” I said. “I’m here on an important mission, men—ah, sirs.”
I approached them. One of those big table-surface computers, this one about the size of a pool table, filled the center of the room at hip-level. They leaned on it, hats tipped back and ties loosened. They looked like they’d been sweating it out, watching our confrontation with the Macro battle fleet. I couldn’t blame them for that.
They stared at me as I walked up. I could tell, just looking at them, that none of them had yet taken the nanite injections. I’d learned to notice tell-tale signs. Our kind didn’t slouch much. Nanite-enhanced troops stood as if our feet glided on air. As if Earth’s gravity had no effect on us—or as if it had only the light tug of the Moon. We didn’t slouch, because we were strong. We didn’t feel weighed down. We could get tired, but that was mostly in the mind. Our brains still needed sleep, dreams and downtime. But our bodies never seemed to run out of gas.
These men looked like they felt the full crushing weight of gravity and their lost power. They looked weak, soft and tired. None of them bothered to salute me. I didn’t bother to salute them, either.
General Sokolov spoke up again. “Do you care to explain yourself, Colonel?”
“That’s why I’m here.”
“Report then, by all means. Start off by telling me where the hell Admiral Crow is.”
I didn’t like his tone, but I tried to keep the flash of anger I felt off my face. It wouldn’t help anything now.
“I don’t know where Crow is. But the Macros have gone. We’ve negotiated a peace.”
“So I understand. What are the terms?” he asked, putting his butt against the pool table computer and crossing his arms.
“The Macros will be back in one year. We’re to give them tribute.”
“Tribute?” asked the General, with a sneering sound to his voice. I could tell already, he was gearing up to chew me out. I was the moron who had screwed the big, galactic pooch in the sky, and he was going to point it out to the world. I could see it in his eyes.
Sokolov took three steps closer to me. I tried not to twitch. If I did that, I might accidentally reach out and kill him.
“Here’s the deal—” I began, but he cut me off.
“Colonel? Have you been consuming alcohol?”
I glanced at him. I looked guilty for a second, and he smirked. I hated him even more than usual.
“I had a few beers after the Macros retreated.”
Sokolov nodded, as if confirming a natural suspicion. He waved thick fingers in my direction. “Continue. Let’s hear about this tribute. What did you promise these monsters to appease them?”
I blinked, then went on. I glanced at the other two Generals. They both wore stern expressions, but it seemed to me that they wanted to smile. They thought General Sokolov was toying with me, and they were enjoying it. They didn’t like me—the upstart, amateur-hour Colonel. Maybe, in their fantasies, now that Crow was gone, they were in command. Perhaps they believed they would soon be rid of me as well. That thought, and the surprises I knew they had coming in their immediate futures, relaxed me.
I smiled back at General Sokolov. “Let me show you something, sir,” I said, calling him ‘sir’ for the first time. “I think I can make our new political realities abundantly clear to you.”
I walked away slowly toward the door and the front window. The window was big and clean. It consisted of a single sheet of glass that looked out upon the white sands, green trees and sparkling blue Caribbean.
Sokolov hesitated, but followed me after a moment. I pointed upward at the Alamo, which still hovered, waiting overhead.
“You see that, sir? That’s the last ship we have in the fleet. The rest have gone.”
“Gone where?”
“They’re leaving the Solar System, along with our pilots. We’v
e ended the war with the Macros, at least for now. Unfortunately, our success ended our arrangements with the Nanos. They were only here until we won or lost. Now that the war against Earth has halted, they’ve decided to pull out and head for the next world.”
The General frowned, nodding his head. “We’d kind of figured that out. What about this tribute? What did you give away?”
“Us,” I said.
“What?”
“You and me. Marines full of nanites and carrying heavy beamers. They want to pick up sixty-five thousand tons of troops and gear one year from now. They’ll be back to collect.”
Sokolov’s jaw dropped. It sagged even lower as he searched my face and realized I was serious.
“You promised them thousands of tons… of troops?”
“Well, most of that weight will be supplies, including air and water, etc.”
“I don’t care about that!” he boomed. “How could you unilaterally promise them troops?”
“We were the only thing the Macros wanted. We were the only thing this star system has that’s better than just raw materials. We’re better, in fact, than their own ground forces, pound-for-pound.”
Sokolov stared, getting his mind wrapped around the idea. I took the time to step back from the window. I took one step. Then a second.
Another of the Generals spoke up then, from behind me. “You can’t do that! You can’t just promise an enemy we’ll give them our troops!”
I shrugged. “Why not? Think of them as mercenaries. That’s what we’ve just become. The best around, apparently. Check your Swiss history. They kept their independence for many centuries in just such a fashion.”
“You, sir,” said General Sokolov, lifting a single, accusatory finger that shook with rage. “You are what Americans would call a ‘fuck-up’. I knew it the moment I laid eyes on you. In a single day, you lost our fleet, our Admiral and—and your bloody mind. You are relieved of duty, until such time as we can convene a Court Martial. I have never—”
That was all the time Sokolov was given to sputter and shout at me. His face was red, enraged. His eyes were all but popping out of their sockets and his bushy, black brows were squished together into a furry mass on his forehead. I’ll always remember him that way.
The Alamo used the window. I knew she would—she’d always seemed to prefer windows, even though I’m sure her hand could’ve smashed right through the roof like tissue paper. Maybe she liked using windows for our sake—so her chosen specimen didn’t get too damaged on the way back out.
Whatever the reason, the Alamo smashed in the big window and reached inside with her three-fingered hand of black, snaking cables. She grabbed the first thing she could. That happened to be General Sokolov, naturally. After all, I’d left him standing there.
I think she’d been planning to grab me. If she had wanted just anyone, I supposed the easiest thing would have been to snatch up one of the marines that stood posted outside the door. That would have set Earth’s forces back by one enhanced marine, but maybe she didn’t care or hadn’t thought about that. I knew that all she wanted was a fresh meat-bag for testing purposes on her new mission.
In any case, she reached inside and grabbed the good General Sokolov around his puffy midsection. Like a groping cat’s paw that’s snagged prey, the hand snatched him back out the window. He vanished mid-sentence. I didn’t mind that part, not having been too keen on hearing the rest of his little tirade.
I stepped forward, placed my thick-skinned hands on the smashed-out glass shards, and leaned out to watch. The look on Sokolov’s face was one I’d seen too many times. Shock, horror, disbelief. Eyes bulging, mouth gaping open like a beached fish. He wasn’t screaming, or shouting. Instead, he was making a moaning sound, as if he was trying out for the part of a haunted-house ghost.
Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy, I thought to myself. It wasn’t a polite thought, I know. It’s just what came to my mind. Sometimes, my dark side comes out in moments like this.
As Sokolov rose up higher, his face, gazing down into mine, took on an even more pitiful cast. I grunted and felt a bite of remorse. Sometimes, it sucks to have a conscience. I hopped out the window after him. My boots crunched on broken glass.
“What should we do, Colonel?” asked the guards. Their beamers were out. I wondered if they might be able to cut that arm off. Maybe, I thought, but it would leave everyone in the vicinity blinded by the intense beams, including me.
“I’ll handle it,” I said. I stepped out onto the white sands and tilted my head back. I stood in the deep shade cast by the Alamo’s black, ovoid hull. I cupped my hands and shouted up at Sokolov.
“Don’t eat too much!” I shouted. “You might be flying for a very long time!”
That’s all the advice I had time to give him. His hands made grasping motions in the air and then he vanished into the Alamo’s maw like a mouse sucked up by a vacuum. Maybe he’d gotten the message, maybe not. I shrugged. At least I’d tried.
Call it my good deed for the day.
-4-
I walked back inside. Warm, humid air blew in the smashed-out window behind me. The air from outside met the cool, dry air-conditioned air inside and fought a battle around me. It felt like the tropical warmth was winning.
I eyed the generals, and they eyed me back. There was a new light in their expressions. I thought it was fear.
“Gentlemen,” I said loudly. “Things are going to be different around here. Very different. We have no fleet. That was the last ship to leave Earth, except for one other I saw come back with me. Any word on who that might be?”
They exchanged glances, then went back to staring at me as if I were a zoo exhibit that had gotten loose somehow. One of the men, the taller one, was named Robinson. He had his hand on the butt of his pistol. He didn’t bother to draw it, and he wasn’t gripping it exactly, just resting his hand there. The other guy’s name was Barrera. He was shorter, broader, and meaner-looking. He had both hands on that pool-table computer of his, leaning over it tensely.
Barrera spoke first, “How are things going to be different?” he asked.
“First off, I’m a colonel. Since a colonel can’t properly order generals around, I’m busting you two down to the rank of major. We’ll all have to earn our promotions after that.”
They stared, dumbfounded. Robinson was goaded into speaking. “Riggs, have you gone mad? Did you just assassinate General Sokolov?”
“Assassinate? That’s a very strong term. I watched an unfortunate casualty occur right before my eyes. It’s part of war.”
“We’re at peace now. I thought you negotiated that,” said Barrera.
His eyes were wary, but not exactly outraged. Of the two, I thought he would be the easier to work with. His mind was more flexible.
“Our new political realities require constant, realistic appraisals of events,” I said. “The Nano ships are no longer under my control. They are no longer part of Star Force. In fact, they should be considered neutral and possibly hostile.”
They stared at me. I think my words were finally beginning to sink into their minds. Without a fleet, we weren’t a real force at all.
“Now, the question is where this leaves us.”
“I think we are up the proverbial creek, sans paddle,” said Robinson.
I nodded. “You are finally catching on, Major. Let’s see what we have left in the way of assets—”
“Our good will with the world will be worth zilch,” said Barrera, talking almost to himself. “They will recall their troops. Our marines and funding will dry up. Why should they put up with us if the war is on hold and we have no fleet?”
“They never really accepted us anyway,” continued Robinson. “I’d say they are talking about how they will dismantle us up in Washington right now.”
I nodded to Robinson and crossed my arms. “Yes, they will try to pull the plug. But they still need us, and they will be cautious at first, unsure as to our strength. They’ll
worry that the fleet will come back somehow.”
“What do you think we should do?” asked Barrera.
I was liking him more by the second. I could tell right off, he was going to make Lieutenant Colonel before Robinson. “We have to have a fleet. Without it, the established governments will fall on us like vultures.”
Robinson shrugged. “What fleet? You said there is one other ship. What are we going to do, parade it around and pretend the rest are on a deep-space mission?”
“We build new ships,” I said, “real fast. Major Barrera, would you be so good as to hold down the fort here? Shut down all extraneous communications. Order an alert, pulling men back into base and arm them all. Collect all cell phones and tablets. Let’s keep our men ready and keep others from giving them ideas. You talk to the Pentagon and our own staffers. Do your best to hint we are in fine shape, and have many surprises in store.”
Barrera nodded. “I’ll do what I can.”
“Robinson, I want you to come with me.”
“Where?” he asked.
Robinson was talking to my back. I’d already marched off, moving toward the door. I crashed it open and looked at the two marines who snapped their eyes toward me. I had a new purpose gripping my mind now, and I was through screwing around.
“You men, were either of you down in Argentina with me when we destroyed the Macro domes?”
One man nodded.
“Were you in my unit?”
“No sir, I was with the second battalion.”
I squinted up at the sun. “There’s liable to be some fireworks here soon. Can I count on you two to back me?”