by Jack Yeovil
"You mean this thing is alive?"
"You ever doubted it, signor?”
Stack thought he heard a smug tone in Federico's generated voice, as if he were a preening matador showing off in front of a rival suitor to impress a melting young damsel. "Your car has a crush on you, Sister." Three drones in formation hovered above the car, locking on. Lights flashed around their rims. Stack knew they were warming up for a particle beam thrust. "Ciao, dumb boulders!" shouted the car as it exploded them one by one. "This is too easy. They're only using American technology."
Stack was irritated, but he couldn't bring himself to hope that the car would be shown up by good old yankee knowhow.
Across the bridge, the fort's gates opened.
"Here come the heavies," said Stack. "Sit tight."
Three US Cav cruisers drove out, accompanied by a cyke-mounted squad. Stack took manual control of the lase, and sighted on the lead cruiser. This was one thing he was better at than any goddamn computer.
"Hold your fire" Chantal said. "We don't know how possessed the people in those things are."
Stack's thumb stiffened above the FIRE control.
The cruisers and the cykes advanced to the bridge. Then, suddenly, three of the motorsickles and one of the cruisers peeled off and drove at random across a rocky patch of desert towards the interstate, away from Federico.
"They're making a break for it," Chantal said. "There's still some resistance."
The remaining personnel sat in or on their machines and did nothing. Federico got a hold on their frequency, and piped in their intercom charter. Several voices, human and otherwise, were raised at once.
"Repeat: Open fire. The deserters are classed as hostile, and must be removed from the field of battle.."
"…hey, those are our guys…"
"…the girlie in the car was with us yesterday, and we just shot at her…"
"…I never shot at no one…"
"Repeat, obey orders or you will be classed as deserters. And deserters are classed as hostile…"
"…freak, Jennifer, I'm gonna do it…"
"…Bradley, don't you touch that lase. We're just getting out of here. Rintoon's loco, and Lauderdale is worse. We'll send help back."
"He's right, they're Maniak subversives. You know that."
"You have thirty seconds to comply with orders. Then, your systems will cease to respond to your control and the remote will take over."
"…let me outta this thing…"
"…if you can hear us, lady in the snazz car, pax pax pax, we're gettin' out. We ain't got nothin' against you…"
"…Jennifer, it's been a bad day, don't push me…"
One of the cruiser crews got out of their machine, and walked away. The deserters were nearly at the interstate.
The two Troopers shouted at each other, kicking the sand in waves across the road. One of the cyke Troopers dismounted and joined in the rap session. After a discussion, two of them put their hands in the air and waved at Federico. The other stamped back to the cruiser in disgust. He bent down to get behind the wheel and the roofgun chattered. He went down at once, and the other Troopers scattered. The lase beamed out, and the deserting cruiser exploded as it reached the interstate. One of the motorsickles skidded into the sand, partially burying itself .Criss-cross beams struck at the weaving human forms, knocking them flat in the sand. There wasn't any blood. Lases cauterise as they pierce.
One of the cykes made a dash across we bridge towards Federico, and nearly made it. The lase caught its gastank and it exploded, catapulting its rider up out of the blossom of flame. The asexual figure flailed in the air, struck the parapet of the bridge and fell like a broken doll to the Colorado bed.
The massacre was over in two minutes. Stack and Chantal were innocent bystanders, just out of range.
"The human element has been purged," a mechanical voice said over the air. "The action will continue."
"Thank you," said a whiny human voice, "my cadre is in place. They will be deployed now. This will be ended soon."
"Freak," said Stack, "that's Lieutenant Lauderdale."
Chantal frowned. "I know him. He was my liason. He's a bureacrat, isn't he? Not a battlefield officer?"
"He's only asslicker-general when they won't let him play with his toys. Looks like he just got the box down from his playroom."
Stack took the wheel. Federico let him drive. He did a three-point turn and took evasive action.
"Stack, what's up?"
"Lauderdale runs the androids."
"That's bad?"
"Let me put it this way, during the Joint Action against the Maniax, the Exalted Bullmoose, who once officially endorsed cannibalism, issued a press release complaining that their use was inhumane."
"That's bad."
A row of robotic figures marched out of the fort, into the desert. They moved in unison, implacable like animated chessmen. From this distance, they looked like the Academy Award statuettes. They didn't have big swords like the Oscars, but Stack knew their gleaming bodies were packed with every other kind of weapon the military could dream up. Squadron leader androids were constructed around a football-sized nuclear device that could be detonated from a distance. The UN had been trying to get the damn things on the table at the Geneva Strategic Arms Limitation Talks for years, and just now Stack was wishing that the Prezz had unilaterally junked the whole program even if it did give the CAC conventional superiority on the other side of the Rio Grande Wall.
A hidden block rose from the road in front of Federico. Stack let the car slow down.
"We're dead," he said. "There aren't enough rocks here. The sand is too soft. Federico would sink and gum up within ten yards of the road."
"I concur with the Trooper," Federico said. "I will deploy my defenses, but it is inadvisable that you remain."
Federico raised his doors. Stack and Chantal got out. Stack pulled his shotgun and a sackful of shells after him. Chantal had her SIG out.
The sun glinted on the advancing column of robot soldiers.
"Ciao, Federico," she said. "I'll be back."
"Goodbye, sorella."
"You go left and I'll go right," Stack said, his eye on the column, "and we'll meet at the Fort."
"A good plan," she said.
"Chantal…?"
"What?"
He kissed her, awkwardly.
"That was for luck."
She kissed him back. It was a smooth contact.
"So was that."
Then she was gone, darting towards the bridge and the androids.
He pumped one into the chamber, and waited.
"Come and get me, you freakin' metalhead scuzzballs!"
II
"That's the Juillerat woman," said Lauderdale, tapping the freezeframe of the action replay beamed in from the androids, "but who's the Trooper?"
"Stack," said Captain Finney. "Trooper Nathan Stack."
"He's listed as missing, isn't he?"
"Yes, he was with Tyree."
"How did he hook up with Juillerat?"
"It doesn't matter," snapped Colonel Rintoon, "they're both Maniax, obviously. They'll be destroyed, defeated, terminated, wiped out, exterminated, demobilized, killed…"
"Sir, yessir," said Lauderdale.
How had the Swiss woman and the Trooper got together? What could they have learned out in the sand? Lauderdale knew they had to be kept out of Fort Apache while the demon was settling in, prepping for the Big Push. This was the crux of the ritual. Nothing must bar the Way of Joseph in the next three hours.
They were haring off in opposite directions. The bigscreen fragmented into the viewpoints of each android, and Nathan Stack was in each of them, discharging his shotgun. One of the viewpoints blanked.
"Shouldn't we bring in Stack?" suggested Finney. "For interrogation? We still don't know what happened to Tyree."
Lauderdale could see the idea of interrogation appealed to Rintoon. Maybe the Colonel would get to use his whips and ropes after all.<
br />
Another android went down. That wasn't supposed to happen. They were armoured against everything up to and including heavy artillery. That was the problem with giving the things free will, Lauderdale supposed. They were free to screw up.
"Interrogation," said Rintoon, rolling the word around his mouth. Finney was being too clever, playing to the Colonel's lapses. It was time she was out of the picture, Lauderdale thought. "Yes, interrogation…"
"Sir," said Lauderdale, "shouldn't we put it through the computer. We're in a combat situation."
"Good thinking, man. Do it, Finney. Call up Stack's stats."
Lauderdale hoped he could trust the demon in the machine.
"I don't see…"
"Do it, woman."
Finney tapped keys, and Stack's stats appeared on the screen. Mugshot, personal history, service record. It held still for an instant, then shimmered and was replaced by an urgent override.
The demon came through. NATHAN STACK HAS BEEN POSITIVELY IDENTIFIED AS A SERIAL KILLER, RESPONSIBLE FOR POSS. 159 MURDERS OVER LAST TEN YEARS IN FIVE STATES. SUBJECT IS HIGHLY DANGEROUS, PROFICIENT IN ALL WEAPONS SKILLS, HAS GENIUS LEVEL INTELLIGENCE, AND SHOULD BE TERMINATED ON SIGHT. DO NOT, REPEAT NOT, ATTEMPT TO BRING SUBJECT IN ALIVE.
Finney was shaking her head in disbelief.
"It can't do this," she said.
"It seems conclusive to me. Lauderdale, have your androids execute the computer's directives."
"You don't understand, Colonel. It's just a machine. It's only a smart filing cabinet. It can't give you information without someone putting it in tbere. I have no record of this amendment to Stack's stats. It didn't come from outside the system…"
"You're gibbering, woman."
"No, this isn't possible, sir. The system appears to have…to have made something up."
Lauderdale was using the remote guidance facility to lock the androids onto Stack's heat patterns. Once that was in their tiny minds, they would implacably pursue him until he was dead.
"I may not be a brain like you, Captain Finney," Rintoon said, "but I am given to understand that systems don't tell lies. Is that or is that not the case?"
"Sir…usually, but…"
"Fine. That's it then. "We'll finish the sumpsucker now, save the country the cost of a trial."
"Think about it, sir. Stack's been Cav for fifteen years. He hasn't had enough leave days to zap about the country committing 159 murders. And look at that remark there. "Genius level intelligence." You can't believe our psych profiles wouldn't have shown that up. The guy is just a Trooper, for freak's sake!"
"I will not tolerate that kind of language, Finney. Colonel Vladek W. Rintoon runs a tight ship, a clean ship. An officer must conduct herself with honour, dignity and cheerfulness at all times. An officer must be obedient, resourceful, well-turned-out, vigilant, aware…"
Rintoon's tunic buttons were done up wrongly.
Lauderdale knew he would have to end this charade soon, and take command. He could keep the fort's personnel busy while the demon did its work in the depths.
Finney stood up and turned her terminal off.
"I resign my commission," she said, walking for the door.
"This is mutiny, woman, mutiny. I could have you shot down like a dog."
The automatic doors opened for Finney's cardkey.
"…like a dog!"
Finney looked around.
"Anyone else had enough?" she said.
Lieutenant Colosanto got up, her eyes cried out, and went to the Captain. A couple of techies darted out into the corridor. Finney looked at the door guard, who stepped aside for her, and followed.
There were alarms sounding all over the fort.
"This is desertion," Rintoon screamed, "DESERTION!"
The doors closed.
Rintoon wheeled around, looking for someone to tie up and whip, interrogate or shoot down like a dog. Lieutenant Lenihan was clearing his console. He froze as the Colonel bore down on him.
"It's the end of my shift, sir. I have to stand down. I've been on duty for over thirty-eight hours."
Rintoon grunted, and clenched his fists.
"It's regs, sir," said Lenihan. "I'm not allowed to stay at the console longer than that. I could freak up, and get us all killed. I have to have downtime now. It's in the book."
Lenihan backed towards the door, and fumbled with his cardkey. Rintoon had his sidearm out…
Good, let the Colonel take care of spilling the blood…
Rintoon fired at the Lieutenant, and missed. The doors opened, and Lenihan was running down the corridor.
Lauderdale took a console, and finished feeding Stack's patterns to the androids.
"Desertion, mutiny," muttered Rintoon. Lauderdale ignored the mad old man. "Desertion, mutiny, treachery, betrayal…"
Behind him, Rintoon slumped in a chair, burbling to himself.
Lauderdale got on with his business.
III
Chantal knew London Bridge was too obvious, too easy. The fort would have it completely covered. It was probably mined, too. So she headed through the ghost town for the Colorado basin. She ran past the dilapidated row of Olde Englishe Pubbes, dodging mortar fire from the battlements. A red phone box up ahead exploded, and she had to roll behind a Hyde Park Bench to avoid the flying fragments of glass and metal.
She had never been to London, funnily enough. Unless she was careful in the next few hours, she would never get the chance.
A drone made a pass, its beam strafing a row of statues. Noel Coward came apart at the waist. David Niven got it at chest-height. Charlie Chaplin's bowler-hatted head rolled. Mary Poppins' umbrella melted. Sherlock Holmes' deerstalker was sheared off just above his beaklike nose. Queen Victoria was not amused. And a chirpy Pearly King grinned at it all.
From what she had heard, London was a drab, gray place these days, full of people complaining about rationing and the queues. Maybe she would give it a miss.
She assumed a position, up on one knee, and followed the drone with her gunsight.
She potted it with her first shot. It cracked apart like a clay pigeon.
All the commotion flushed a sandrat out of his hidey-hole. He had been inside one of the pubs. Still clutching a bottleneck, and wrapped from head to foot in Royal Family commemorative towels, he ran out of The Stoat and Compasses and looked around, obviously annoyed.
"Get down," she shouted.
The sandrat's brain must have been completely fried by the sun and his liquid diet, because he gave her the British V for Victory sign and raised the bottle to his lips, dislodging the towel around his mouth so he could take a swig. He had the face of the heir to the throne wrapped over his own.
A shell exploded near the sandrat, and his bottle splintered in his hands. Yellow fluid showered around him. He put his fingers up again, but a piece of shrapnel had gone into his forehead. Prince Andrew's face soaked up the blood, and the sandrat went down. The Stoat and Compasses collapsed on top of him.
Chantal jumped off the quay, and landed like a cat. There were still rowing boats hanging from the mooring rings in the quay wall, thirty feet above the dry riverbed. It would be a dash across the open to the next cover, the other bank, and then a scramble up to the walls of the Fort.
The Colorado basin stank, its mudflats streaked with rainbow-coloured pollution traces. Quite apart from the dead Trooper lying out there, the riverbed had become the repository for all manner of garbage.
Explosive rounds slammed into the crumbling stone and earth wall behind her, and she pushed herself away.
She remembered Mother Kazuko, and concentrated her thoughts within her body. It was a dangerous sprint. The mud was soft, still damp in places, and there were too many half-buried bedsteads, bicycles and prams over which she could easily trip…
…and if she tripped, she wouldn't just have a sprained ankle. She would be dead.
She ran like a dancer, on the points of her toes, hurdling the more obvious obstacles.
>
Her time for the 300 meters wasn't as good as it would have been on a track. But no one was shooting at you at athletics meets.
Her heart hammering, she shot into the loose earth of the riverbank, and pressed herself flat against the gentle slope. She was close to the fort now. None of the major defences were good against her. If they still poured boiling oil or molten lead, she would have a problem.
There was still fire from the battlements, but the angle was too steep. The best the gunners could do was to place their shots twenty yards behind her.
She elbowed herself up the bank, keeping her SIG out of the dirt, pushing with her toes.
She wondered how Stack was doing in the desert.
Finally, she was out of the river, and, after another sprint, had her back to the wall of Fort Apache. She was next to a sign reading PLEASE KEEP OFF THE GRASS that was incongruosly planted in bare sand. The metal was warm, and smooth. She would have to edge her way around until she found a way in.
The cutting lase in Federico would have been useful about now. She would have to prise her way through a batch with her knife. Or hope someone inside wasn't too far gone to give her some assistance.
She trusted that the Lord would see her through. But she was prepared to give the Almighty some help.
Another sign, reading THANK YOU FOR NOT SMOKING, was burning steadily. The melting plastic gave off noxious fumes.
Twenty yards down the wall, an aperture opened.
Chantal, knowing she should favour caution, ran for it, and slipped herself through, into the darkness.
Inside, strong hands grabbed for her.
IV
Stack had been lucky with his first shots, and put a couple of Oscars in the dirt. He had aimed high, and caught their heads just as their durium visors were raising. Where a human being would have eyes, these things had twin lases. Lauderdale would be looking at his prey through the remote cameras in the Oscars' heads. Stack ran across the soft sand towards Lake Havasu. The heavy androids would have to step carefully or sink. That gave him a chance to get to cover.
A high whine started.