Confessions of a Sentient War Engine (An Old Guy/Cybertank Adventure Book 4)

by Timothy J. Gawne

  “But you invade our system and fortify an outer planet that should rightfully belong to us!”

  Excuse me, you we weren’t doing anything on that world, and we asked your permission, politely, in advance. I still don’t see the problem.

  King Peter cocked his head like he was listening to someone that we couldn’t hear. “Yes, yes, of course. We will handle that.” He returned to addressing us. “The great God Nyarl-Yakub is a God of war and demands sacrifices and conquest. We will deal with your other cybertanks on that outer planet soon enough. For now, you, Old Guy, I know that your main self lies to the east of this castle. You, my elite Vampire Guard, are assigned to kill him. Go now and do not return until you have achieved your mission.”

  Six of the vampires whose garments were especially heavy on the black mail and spiky bits nodded, then disappeared from the courtroom. Shit, even we cybertanks haven’t figured out teleportation yet, they really do seem to have blundered into something new.

  --------------------

  Now while all of this was going on my main hull was out in the relatively barren land outside of the Terran ecology. I was driving around for the sheer joy of it: nothing much to damage out here with just rocks and lichens. I was also doing what a cybertank normally does when it touches down on a new world, which is to establish a defense grid, and send out scouts, and embed sleeper mines in the rocks, and start building new weapons from the local resources, and things like that. It’s a neurosis of ours, we just can’t help it.

  I was in constant contact with my android back in King Peter’s castle, so I was not surprised when six rather garishly gothic-dressed vampire-knight creatures suddenly materialized, hovering in the air not a kilometer from my position. I don’t believe in magic – at least not in this dimension. There is a rather obvious logical connection here. The Yllg have got here first and are having another go at causing us grief. And even if there was such a thing as magic, it would still be just another part of reality: another set of rules to figure out, to eventually end up in the physics texts. Magic, as such, is therefore impossible.

  Still, I am impressed. The biological humans figured out how to teleport before they left us, and the Yllg were able to bestow that ability on a biological human, but teleportation is not something that we cybertanks have gotten the knack of.

  So these six vampire-knight-people were hovering there all malevolent and fierce looking with their armor covered with spiky bits and their long black capes fluttering in the air.

  Hello there! You must be the ones that King Peter sent out to kill me. How about we just have a picnic and tell each other old stories? I can get us some really fresh blood, and I have a stock of very, very old and fine whiskey that I would be willing to share.

  Unfortunately these “vampire knights” seemed determined to live up to their names. “We are the vampire knights, and our Lord King Peter has bade us to destroy you. In the name of the great unholy god Nyarl-Yakub, your doom is upon you!”

  The leader of these knights raised a hand and black lighting of the same style that had destroyed Zippo burst forth. I had anticipated the move, of course (vampires are biological and thus quite slow by my standards) so I have pre-positioned a light combat unit to intercept. I was a little surprised when my combat unit was as thoroughly destroyed as Zippo. This black lightning packs a punch.

  I shot the leader in the stomach with a solid slug from a railgun, but with the velocity dialed way down. It should have doubled him up in pain but he just grunted. I tried a higher velocity aimed at a leg; the limb tore off, but then regrew right before my sensors. That’s impressive. I hit him with a full salvo at maximum force. His body is shredded into meat – and then knits back together whole and undamaged. Well, this combat just got a bit more interesting.

  The six attack with me with their black lighting. I expend a dozen remotes blocking them, but one strike gets through to my main hull. It carves a deep scar up my left frontal glacis. The damage is minor, but this was only one strike. These seemingly comic-opera ”vampire knights” can dish out some real damage. Unless I can change the rules I will eventually lose by attrition.

  I target one of these flying undead with my main plasma cannon and he is vaporized entirely. The only way that you can tell that he was ever there is the slightly different color of the plasma beam, after the point of impact, due to the trace elements in his body. Regenerate that, you undead loser!

  His compatriots appear somewhat shaken by this, but then the erstwhile-evaporated vampire pops up, good as new and twice as tacky.

  Brute force does not appear to be working for me just yet. I shift into full reverse, and shoot off flares and chaff and dazzle-pods. It’s a good thing that I can drive as fast in reverse as I can forwards, because I usually end up doing that a lot in combat.

  I do have a major edge here: I can think much faster than anything biological, and I have vast analytic tools and sensor networks and databases. I just need to solve the puzzle before this black lightning of theirs wears down my defenses.

  But, win lose or draw, I am still going to have some fun here. Often when we are fighting in an atmosphere we will play combat music through our external hull-mounted speakers. We do it to pump ourselves up and it makes the whole experience a lot more fun, and generally increases the ratings of the recordings. Typically we play high-energy stuff like Wagner, or The Rolling Stones, or Astringent and the Nebulizers. But this time I decide to play something annoying.

  Now what would really piss off a flying vampire knight? Possibly “I Know What Guys Like,” by The Waitresses. Nah, they might enjoy that one. I could play “The Monster Mash,” by Bobby “Boris” Picket, that would make fun of their pretensions. Then in a moment of inspiration it hits me. I’m going to play “It’s a Small World,” by the Walt Disney Company.

  Way back on old Terra there was a corporation that ran amusement parks for humans. One ”amusement” consisted of traveling along a winding canal in a small boat, while animated dolls representing the different cultures of the world sang the song “It’s a Small World,” in syrupy little voices, over and over and over again. And again. And again. People would leave the ride shaken, and it would often take weeks for them to stop humming the tune to themselves. Eventually the playing of the song “It’s a Small World” was banned in the 24th century Strategic Weapons Limitations Conference as a crime against humanity.

  Well the vampires are not – precisely – human beings, so I claim fair right to use this most dreaded of sonic weapons on a technicality. I activate my external speakers and at maximum volume play:

  “It’s a small world, after all! It’s a small world, after all! It’s a small world, after all! It’s a small, small, world!” The sound is so loud that it blows out their eardrums, and vibrates their eyes so hard that they can hardly see. They adapt to the sound level and their eardrums regrow, but they still have to listen to me playing this song. Over and over again. I continue to beat a tactical retreat. They adapt to each of my tricks, but that’s OK, I have a LOT of tricks. I project that I have at least two hours if not longer. That’s a lot of time for something like me that thinks in nanoseconds.

  I see the effect of the song start to take hold; some of them start to hum along yet they are working hard to resist. Take that, vile and ugly-dressed bloodsuckers! I haven’t had this much fun in combat since I can remember. Now if I can only figure out where these vampire knight things are getting their energy from, and what’s letting them adapt and regenerate so quickly…

  I wish that I had the aid of my fellow cybertanks on the outer planet, especially Goat with his advanced sensoria, but they are two light-hours away and unlikely to be able to even offer me advice before the show here is over. On the other hand, Fanboy happens to be zipping through the neighborhood so I call him up.

  Hey Fanboy, notice anything strange going on here? Any chance you could lend a hand?

  The reply comes back in less than a minute – he really is close, astro
nomically speaking. “Yes Old Guy, my android already sent me the details and I’ve been watching your combat from afar. Kind of an unusual mess that you’ve gotten yourself into, even for you, wouldn’t you say?”

  Yes I would say. Any chance that you could divert and lend a hand?

  “Perhaps. I’m calculating trajectories now. Possibly I could be a ‘deus ex machina’, like that time I flew by overhead just in time to help you out with that neoliberal cybertank way back when.”

  That would be much appreciated. But does it really count as a deus ex machina if we are both machines?

  “Absolutely. Anyhow, feed me all your sensor data and I’ll scan from long-range, and let’s see if we can determine where these clods are getting their power from.”

  Doesn’t it seem like quite a coincidence that you just happened to be doing a close fly-by of the planet that I am on, exactly when I need your help, a second time?

  “When you consider that we have known each other for thousands of years, and that you are always getting into trouble and needing help, the odds of this happening twice are substantial. But don’t get used to it, it won’t happen a third time.”

  --------------------

  As my main hull was dueling with the six flying vampire knights out on the moss-covered plains, back in the castle the vampires were having a ceremony to worship this so-called god Nyarl-Yacub. There was a massive altar behind King Peter’s throne (shaped like a giant skull, of course) And there was much drinking of blood and burning of candles and chanting – lots and lots of chanting. The vampires were really into it, but Fanboy, Olga, and myself were finding it quite tedious and getting more than a little bored.

  That’s when Fanboy suddenly announced in a loud voice, “Hey, sorry to interrupt, I know how cool this must all be to you, but you have a chance to see something truly amazing in about five minutes. You see, I’ve figured it out. Nyarl-Yakub is a front for a hostile alien species that we call the “Yllg.” They are using you as pawns in their battles against us. They are beaming power to you from a base that they have hollowed out in the middle of that moon which you call Phobos” I am going to attack it with my zero-point energy cannon and, by great good fortune, you will be able to watch from outside as the moon passes over. It should be a really good show.”

  There was considerable consternation. King Peter suggested that this was all a cheap ruse, others suggested that it would do no harm to prove Fanboy wrong. Ultimately we all spilled out into the courtyard just in time to see the moon Phobos start to rise over the horizon.

  “I’m going to use my zero-point energy cannon,” said Fanboy. “Of course, it’s really just a big plasma cannon, but it is really big: over a kilometer long and the barrel is ten meters in diameter. I’m going to fire at a range of over 250,000 kilometers – that’s the longest engagement range for a beam weapon in active combat on record. Isn’t that cool? It’s so strong that the beam is self-focusing. Firing zero point energy cannon on my mark! Three – two – one-- mark!”

  Beam weapons are normally invisible in space, but Fanboy’s giant plasma cannon was so powerful that you could see a faint violet line etched across the sky where trace gas molecules were excited to florescence. The point where the line intersected with the moon, however, flashed a painfully actinic bright. As gasses vaporized off the small moon the near part of the plasma beam grew bright, like a glowing spear. I could barely make out small dark chunks slowly moving out from the point of impact, but that was an illusion of range, they must be small mountains flying away from the impact point at kilometers a second. Shadows rippled across the surface of the moon as the shock waves made the rock ring like a bell.

  I noticed that all the vampires - other than Olga - twitched when this happened. The vampire knights fighting my main hull all dropped a centimeter before recovering. So, the Yllg systems buried in the moon had clearly been affected, but were just as clearly still functional.

  “Well,” said Fanboy, “That was fun, but 200 kilometers of rock is a lot even for my zero-point energy cannon. I guess that I will have to use my main weapon after all.”

  Your main weapon? Didn’t you just fire it?

  “No,” said Fanboy. “All that talk about me being a poorly conceived design was misdirection. I am a purpose-built doomsday machine. With enough fuel and range, I can accelerate across interstellar space and hit an enemy planet with enough kinetic energy to destabilize the crust. Even a dug-in technological civilization would be wiped out. A pity that I didn’t know my target ahead of time, I could have completely vaporized a small moon like this one. But I think that I still have enough kinetic energy for the task at hand.”

  “But,” said Olga, “why not just put ion engines onto a planetoid? Why make you self-aware?”

  Fanboy smiled. “If you put engines on a planetoid you telegraph your moves in advance. With me you might not realize what you are up against until it is too late (OH SHIT, HE’S NOT SLOWING DOWN HE’S STILL ACCELERATING!). Also I need weapons, and intelligence, to be able to defend myself in the phase when my mass could still be deflected. And finally, even if all you do is accelerate it takes a long time to travel between the stars, and the political situation could have changed. Any moral doomsday machine would need to be able to evaluate the situation and decide if the enemy still needed to be destroyed.”

  Fanboy held Olga close to him and turned so that his body shielded her from the moon. He put his hands over her eyes and announced, “Attention: the next strike will be really bright. You should all look away now.”

  “You don’t have to do this,” said Olga.

  “Ah, but I do. This body is in full-link with my main self; you are talking to all of me now. The Yllg realize what’s going on. They have launched thousands of missiles. Too late, but I guess they had to try. I am launching my own interceptors. There are now over 50,000 missiles, decoys, jammers, and sub-munitions in play. 100,000! 200,000! The combat is moving so fast. My only regret, Olga, is that I can’t show you how beautiful this is.”

  There was a bright light in the sky. Even looking away was painful and the exposed skin of the vampires burned. It took a while for the light to dim enough that we could look at it directly. The moon was shattered into fragments, some glowing brighter than the sun. As the wreckage of the moon moved across the sky to the other horizon, it was not clear if the fragments would eventually coalesce into a moon again or spread out into a ring, but the Yllg base had been clearly trashed. The vampires did not instantly regenerate their burned skin, they tried shooting lighting and flying, but all their powers were gone.

  The last time that the Yllg had messed with our biological relatives their powers had been independent. The sole human survivor of that debacle retains the ability to teleport. This time the Yllg had rigged things so that the vampires were totally dependent on them, a clever move, aside from the fact that it had succeeded only in making us very, very angry with them.

  --------------------

  My main self, out battling the vampire knights, was of course following this conversation. Thus it was that when Fanboy destroyed the Yllg base, I was not surprised when the vampires suddenly lost the ability to fly and fell straight down. But the vampires were surprised! They flailed around in terror, trying to use their black lightning and calling out for the stupid god Nyarl-Yakub to save them. I could have let them fall. I could have shot them all in the head. I could have done both, and in either order.

  However the battle is over and I decide to be merciful – but mercy doesn’t mean that you can’t have a little fun on the side. I let them fall a bit, then grabbed them at the last moment with some medium remotes and set them down on the ground. Then I switched my main hull from reverse to forward and drove straight towards them.

  Still disoriented, the vampire knights see me charging at them and they panic and try to run away. They don’t split up, but all run in the same direction. Morons. Vampires are fast, but not even they can match 120 kilometers per hour, and their en
durance is limited, like cats. After just a little while they are exhausted and lying helplessly panting on the ground while they watch me get closer and closer. I am a little scarred, but the damage is superficial. I’m 2,000 tons of metal and as I loom over them they start to realize just how pitifully tiny and weak they are compared to me.

  I stop just before crushing them, and take a fair amount of guilty pleasure in seeing the terror in their eyes. Eventually they catch their breath, and calm down a bit.

  “We surrender,” said one of them.

  Your surrender has no relevance. Go walk home, and next time, think twice before pissing off a cybertank.

  The vampire knights seem almost disappointed that I did not take them prisoner or threaten them, or torture them, or anything – lack of respect and all that - but eventually they stood up and started the long trek back to the castle. I could have flown them there rapidly, but a little walking through the muck will be good for them, build them up some sorely-needed character.

  I do send a light remote to accompany them on their way home. I dial down the volume so that it doesn’t blow their eardrums, but I continue to play “It’s a Small World” the entire distance.

  --------------------

  Back at the vampire castle, the wails and lamentations are dying down and people are starting to realize that everything is over and Nyarl-Yakub was a hoax, and they start wondering what they should be doing next. The ends of battles are so often anticlimactic like this.

  King Peter, however, was still praying to his silly false god: chanting, promising souls, what have you. I slapped him in the face. We were now of equal strength, and I startled him out of his praying.

  It’s over. Give it up.

  “What are you going to do with me?” asked King Peter. “Am I going to be punished?”

  Punish you? Well let’s see. You have been exposed as a gullible fool who allowed himself and his people to be used as pawns against the rest of human civilization. You have made it obvious that you are all pathetic creatures going through the motions of being ”supernatural.” We are going to fortify the planet in the outer system and keep a very sharp eye on you, and this time we will not ask your permission. We will cancel your guest privileges on our data networks for the foreseeable future, and I doubt that you will be invited to any of our parties. Also the back of your neck is badly sunburned. I’d call that punishment enough.