“We had to get away, Fitzpatrick,” Shelia broke in, her forehead furrowing. “They didn’t give us any other choice. Look what happened to Bill Stanna. They killed him!”
“Bill wasn’t exactly the brightest star in the cluster. Roamers didn’t kill him. He died because he didn’t make a few simple plans.” She made a disgusted noise, but he continued. “Somebody’s got to speak up and balance your sensational stories, Shelia.” He smiled at her surprised expression. “I’ve decided to start giving prominent public speeches to describe my true experiences among the Roamers. Much of the continuing conflict is being caused by intentional misrepresentations of the facts.” He looked at Yamane. “Kiro, I’d like to have you give your perspective, too. I can book you along with me.”
Yamane looked away. “I’m sorry, Patrick. I’ve been asked to document what I learned about the Soldier compies so it can be used to improve them. That has to take priority.”
Shelia started laughing. “And if you want me to sing the praises of your Roamer girlfriend, you’ve got to be out of your mind!”
He felt his face burning, though he’d known this wouldn’t be simple. “I’ll do it myself, then. My parents are both ambassadors, my grandmother’s a former Chairman—”
Maureen was abruptly there. “Don’t count on any of that to give you a soapbox for painting pretty pictures of the Hansa’s enemies. Come, Patrick, we have to mingle.” The old Battleaxe deftly broke him away from his companions, then whispered harshly in his ear, “You clearly need some intensive counseling. You’re maladjusted and oppositional.”
“I’m thinking for myself, Grandmother. Is that such a bad thing?”
“Yes—when you don’t think correctly. Have you ever heard of Stockholm syndrome? You’re exhibiting classic signs. You were held prisoner by the Roamers, and now look at your sympathy for them! It’s unnatural. I’m afraid we’ll have to keep you quiet here until you recover.” She patted him on the shoulder. “I’ll spare no expense to get my old Patrick back again.”
She marched him up to General Lanyan. The man had gained weight, and it showed, especially around his eyes, but he still exuded power and command. “General Lanyan, my grandson has been so looking forward to seeing you!”
Patrick did not contradict her. It wasn’t worth the effort. At one time, he had taken great pride in serving as adjutant to the commander of the Earth Defense Forces, and it had never occurred to him to be offended by anything the General asked him to do.
Lanyan grasped Patrick’s hand and shook it vigorously. “Commander Fitzpatrick, I miss the days when you were my adjutant. I shouldn’t be saying this, but I regret giving you command of your own Manta. If you hadn’t been lost at Osquivel, I’d still have you serving me in your former capacity. In fact, young man, as soon as you’re pronounced fit for duty, you’ll be back at my side helping me out with all those difficult bureaucratic things.”
“I’m sorry, General, but I’ve already submitted my resignation from the EDF. I will be occupying my time and energy with other matters.”
Lanyan was taken aback. “You’ve only been home four days—hardly enough time to rest and recover, much less make a decision with such long-term consequences. Think about it some more, and we’ll talk when you’re ready.”
Knowing he might not get another chance like this, Patrick blurted, “Sir, do you recall a Roamer cargo ship that we intercepted while on patrol?”
The General’s face maintained a perfectly flat expression. “No, Mr. Fitzpatrick. I’m afraid I don’t remember that at all.”
“Really? We seized the ship in open space, boarded her, and took the ekti cargo. The captain’s name was Raven Kamarov, from a prominent Roamer clan.” He narrowed his eyes. “You gave me orders to destroy the vessel.”
A curtain of ice seemed to drop across Lanyan’s face. “No, Mr. Fitzpatrick. I have no recollection of that whatsoever. And neither do you.”
Patrick felt his anger building. He wanted to raise his voice, put the General on the spot in front of these people, but before he could say anything an officer burst into the room. “General Lanyan, you are needed immediately!”
With barely a blink of his eyes, Lanyan became suddenly alert and focused. “What is it?”
The man quickly approached and lowered his voice, though not enough. “It’s the Soldier compies, sir. They seem to be causing some trouble.” He glanced around the room and recognized Yamane among the guests. “Dr. Yamane! We will need your expertise as well. We have transport prepared. Will you both please come with me?”
As the other attendees began to mutter, a smiling Maureen Fitzpatrick raised her hands and glossed over the interruption. “Duty calls! That’s what happens when you’re in command of the Earth Defense Forces. Nothing to be concerned about.”
The General skewered Patrick with one last glare, then hurried after the officer, dragging Yamane with him.
23
ENGINEERING SPECIALIST SWENDSEN
Pulling up in front of the cordoned-off hydrogue derelict, a squad of crack commandos boiled out of a military transport, every one of them bristling with weapons. The lead silver beret bellowed for Swendsen.
The tall Swede ducked his head and came out, blinking in the sunlight. “Yes?” He held out his hand to the foremost commando as if he were meeting a friend at a cocktail party. “Can I help you?”
The private was square-jawed and clean-shaven; his skin glistened with either lotions or sweat. His nametag read ELMAN, K. “Sir, you’re ordered to come with us to the compy production facility. You have work to do.”
Swendsen’s brow furrowed. “I’m very sorry, but I have research here.”
“Dr. Swendsen, you have the authorization codes and vital information we need for our mission. This is an emergency, sir.”
There had been no trouble at the factory for months, not even any unscheduled maintenance. “What’s going on?”
The silver berets hustled Swendsen toward the military transport. “Soldier compies have gone crazy across the EDF. King Peter has ordered the factory shut down before anything goes wrong there.” The Engineering Specialist was still thinking of questions as the transport’s door slammed.
The immense manufacturing facility was the largest center of its kind, designed for assembling everyday compies such as the Friendly, Listener, Analytical, and Governess models. Since the hydrogue war, most lines had been retooled to produce sophisticated Soldier compies. Preoccupied with the derelict, Swendsen hadn’t even visited the facility in days, but the automated lines hummed along with perfect efficiency. He was quite proud of that.
“Oh, perhaps some small flaw crept into the base programming modules. I’ll take a few representative specimens and deconstruct what went wrong.” He smiled at the hard-eyed silver berets, but received no response. “I have good people I can put to work on it. I’ll reassign them from the derelict.”
Just that morning his team had uncovered key clues about how the hydrogue engines worked, but he would have to take care of this mess at the factory before he could get back to the interesting work. King Peter had always been a little paranoid about Soldier-model compies.
When the fast transport skidded to an abrupt landing, four batwing hatches swung upward, two on each side of the vehicle. Alert commandos burst out with dizzying speed; Swendsen joined them with much less grace. Three other transports clustered in a delivery zone outside the manufacturing center. A large tent dome had been erected as a command post.
The escort hustled Swendsen into the tent dome to a table where the operation commander, a sergeant whose engraved nametag gave his last name as Paxton, pored over factory blueprints projected on a flat filmscreen. He looked up at the Engineering Specialist, unimpressed. “You must be the civilian responsible for this facility. We need your assistance.”
“Of course, Mr. Sergeant, I mean, Sergeant Paxton. That’s why I’m here.”
Paxton pointed to the diagram, where crosshatches marked off half the
building. “We have no recon in these areas. Can’t get a response from any workers inside.” He scrolled down with his finger, found the numbers he was looking for. “According to records, a hundred and twenty-eight humans are stationed inside.”
“Hmm, that sounds about right. We wanted someone there to monitor the lines and issue daily reports. There’s still some prejudice against complete automation.” Swendsen smiled and shrugged.
“The King ordered us to neutralize these Soldier compies. You’ve heard what they’ve done aboard our EDF ships?”
The engineer forced a nervous laugh. “Yes, about that—there must be some mistake. I’m sure the reports were exaggerated.”
“According to our intel, Dr. Swendsen, a rebellion flared up simultaneously on all ten grids. Soldier compies have already taken over numerous capital ships. Entire crews were killed, tens of thousands of good EDF soldiers.” Paxton looked at Swendsen, his eyes locking on the engineer. “My team and I intend to get inside that facility and shut down all operations before the same thing happens here.”
“Of course, of course. This really is very troubling. I can grant you the authority to—”
Paxton gave him a withering look. “King Peter issued our orders. We don’t need authority from you—just your assistance.”
“Well . . . you can have that, too.”
Paxton indicated sections of the blueprint. “These wings here and here are component warehouses. Interior surveillance cameras show only shelves of parts waiting for assembly. No activity.”
“Correct. We subcontract some of the work. Components are fabricated in satellite facilities and brought here for final assembly.”
The sergeant drew his finger down the diagram; two more silver berets bent closer to see, adjusting an overhead light to eliminate their shadows. “These areas here seem to be the most secure.”
“Cold clean-room chambers for module imprinting,” Swendsen said.
“We already signaled for evacuation, and all the workers from that zone successfully escaped.” The sergeant shook his head. “But we’ve heard nothing from the rest of the people still in the center. They’re either being held as hostages, or, more likely, they’ve been killed.”
“Soldier compies don’t kill humans,” Swendsen said.
“And the Earth is flat,” Private Elman grumbled from behind him.
Paxton dragged their attention back to the diagram. “Near the end is the programming complex, with central upload banks for ‘finishing’ the compies.”
Swendsen added, “The Klikiss modules are already implanted, but the programming center gives them an overlay of functional systems, interactive programming beyond the embedded instruction sets.” He gave a nervous little laugh. “We like to say that’s where they get their marching orders.”
Several facility alarms began to sound. Paxton looked through an opening in the tent dome. Four more troop transports and armored equipment carriers settled down in the now-vacant landing fields and shipping lots. “Dr. Swendsen, tell us what we’re up against.”
“The automated lines are very efficient.” Swendsen scratched his upper lip. “They can produce four hundred compies a day, ready to be deployed aboard EDF ships.”
Paxton frowned. “That’s what I was afraid of. How many completed compies were in the storage bay at last count?”
“I’m not actually in charge of inventory. Deactivated compies stand in ranks until we transport them away. Quite a lot of them can fit—”
“How many?” Paxton repeated.
“Several thousand, I think. Depends on when the last shipment went out. I’ve been busy over at the hydrogue derelict, you know.”
Paxton addressed his team. “Let’s get in there before their Trojan horse programming switches on like it did aboard the EDF ships.”
Elman snorted. “Sounds like we may already be too late.”
The silver berets double-timed out of the tent, bustling Swendsen along with them. Paxton kept up the conversation, not even short of breath. “Just to be clear, Dr. Swendsen—once we get inside, you can use your managerial overrides to shut down the systems, correct?”
“Sure. It’ll be tedious to manually deactivate any functional compies individually, but the ones in the waiting area should just be standing there. Nothing to worry about.”
“Right. Nothing to worry about. Let’s get inside.”
The thirty commandos carried electronic pulse projectors and heavy-caliber launchers whose sharp bullets had a lubricant sheath that could penetrate even the armored exoskeletons of Soldier compies.
“Is all this really necessary?” Swendsen said. “They’re just compies. I’m sure it’s only a glitch.”
“A pretty deadly glitch,” a commando muttered, not breaking her stride.
Paxton gave him a scowl. “Yes, sir. It’s absolutely necessary.”
The tall metal doors were sealed. Swendsen stood in front of the locks, baffled. “Access to these bays isn’t supposed to be blocked. Odd. Someone’s barricaded them from the inside.”
Elman said, “Maybe the clankers are having a private party in there.”
Sealed doors did not hinder the commandos. A demolitions crew ran forward, planted foam explosives around the jamb, then blew the entry barrier. Even as the segmented metal gate tumbled inward, the silver berets were already running, weapons extended. They charged into the factory, shining lights and pointing launchers while several of them protectively surrounded Swendsen.
The last time he’d been inside the facility, Swendsen had remarked how brightly lit even the cavernous open bays appeared. Many of the lights had now faltered, leaving the bays in shadow.
The strangest revelation, though, was that the huge warehouse where all the completed compies stood ready for deployment—was empty. Swendsen couldn’t understand it. “But . . . there should be thousands of deactivated compies just waiting here.”
“I guess they’re not deactivated anymore,” Private Elman said.
“Defensive positions, everyone!” the sergeant barked. “They could be lying in ambush.”
The commandos moved through the empty warehouse toward the assembly lines. Up ahead, the construction din of hisses, clangs, and ratcheting belts merged in a furious symphony of hammering metal, fusing parts, and interlocking components.
“Sounds like it’s still cranking out compies,” Paxton said. “Mr. Swendsen, do your stuff.”
“That’s Dr. Swendsen. I’m—”
“I don’t care if you’re a grandmother—move!”
Near the head of the assembly line, spotlights shone upon three mangled human bodies dangling by chains high above the assembly belts to keep them out of the way. “There’s a few of your workers,” Paxton said in a flat voice. “Still think this is a minor glitch?”
Swendsen stared aghast, watching blood drip down from torn skin. “I . . . I’m on my way.”
As the team ran past the assembly lines, Soldier compies emerged like army ants from production stations, storage areas, offices, and monitoring enclosures.
“Oh, goody—we found the missing clankers,” Elman groaned. “We’re not going to start pushing deactivation buttons one by one, are we, Sergeant?”
“Not a chance. Open fire.”
As the compies came forward, silver berets fired small artillery shells and electronic scramblers. The approaching compies toppled as jacketed projectiles struck their body cores. Some circuit-scrambled compies pitched forward into one of the production lines, jamming the gears and rolling belts.
“Swendsen! Tell me where you need to go!” Private Elman shouted. “Me and my weapons will escort you.”
Flinching from all the noise, the engineer snapped his attention back to the mission. He pointed a trembling finger. “That control tower. From there, I can deactivate the whole assembly facility . . . I think.”
Half-completed Soldier compies rolled down the lines, torsos with heads attached and skeletal arms, not yet covered with armor polymer
skin. As the humans continued shooting at the converging compies, the incomplete machines lurched up, optical sensors glowing. Legless compies reached out for the silver berets. Metallic arms grabbed four soldiers by the throats. Other silver berets opened fire, knocking the half-assembled horrors away. More enemy machines dropped from the assembly line, dodging the gunfire and crawling across the floor like bizarre paraplegic crabs.
Five compies emerged from under a low support bridge and snatched a female silver beret by the legs. She turned her weapon toward the floor and kept shooting, but the compies swarmed over her like insects. She went down.
In a daze Swendsen was barely able to keep moving as Elman pushed him toward the control tower, but now the engineer was having second thoughts. Even if he shut down the actual machinery, he couldn’t do anything about the Soldier compies that were already activated.
Paxton yelled into his collar microphone, transmitting outside. “We need reinforcements! Blockade the doors with heavy armored machinery so the damned clankers don’t get out.”
“Then how are we going to get out?” Swendsen asked.
“We’re not even all the way in yet.” Elman shot two Soldier compies rising up in front of them.
A hundred more military robots emerged from other sections of the facility. The new compies surrounded the control tower in an impenetrable barricade, standing there as if daring the humans to come closer.
“This is like one of those old shambling zombie vidloops,” Elman cried, “only with robots.”
Looking at the sea of angry compies, Swendsen paused. “We’ll never get through that. There’s only thirty of us.”
“Only twenty left by now. But who’s counting?”
Compies closed in from the sides and the rear, while the silver berets fired and fired. One man drained his energy-pulse charge, tossed the weapon aside, and pulled out a smaller projectile gun. “Running low on ammunition, Sergeant!”
“Same here!”
Paxton made a snap assessment. “We’re not going to make it through. Not this time. Better fall back and try again with bigger guns and more personnel.”
Of Fire and Night Page 10