Copernick's Rebellion

by Leo A. Frankowski

  “The Aerial Defense Units will be ready in six months to back up your brothers,” Copernick added.

  “I wish there was something I could do,” Patricia said.

  “I think there is, Patty,” Mona said. “Let’s you and me load Winnie up with food and tree-house seeds and head out to the coast. A lot of people must be in trouble out there.”

  “Not a bad idea,” Copernick said. “But not to the coast. You can have no idea how savage it’s gotten in the cities. I wouldn’t object to your going east.”

  “But the cities are where we could do the most amount of good,” Mona protested.

  “No. You’ll be able to save a given number of lives in whatever direction you go. I will not permit the mother of my children to risk her life unnecessarily.”

  “Oh, all right.” Mona thought that bringing the kids into the argument was remarkably poor form.

  “Well, it’s not all right with me. Just you two girls out there alone?” Guibedo said, ignoring the fact that Mona was stronger than most men, including himself.

  “Oh, Martin,” Patricia said. “We’ll have Winnie, and you know how strong he is.”

  “That walking house trailer is strong, but dumb. Dirk, could you fight in an emergency?”

  “I’m a bit in pain, my lord, but it doesn’t degrade my efficiency.”

  “So you can ride inside and keep an eye on things. And we can keep in touch through you, too.”

  “Oh, I want to go, too!” Liebchen got five cold stares. “Oh, please. Ohura and Colleen can take care of the children now, and Ishtar can watch my babies. Oh, please, please, I won’t get in the way. I promise.”

  Saying no to Liebchen was usually too much trouble to be worth it, and this was no exception. The five of them would leave in the morning.

  The suspension bridges were all down, and steel trusses were getting shaky. Skyscrapers had already started to collapse, their steel frames riddled with larvae holes. It would be a month or so before the larvae would get hard enough up to eat the nails out of houses, but the day would come.

  Long lines of refugees streamed out of the cities. They were pitiful to look at, though most of them were well dressed. Many were hurt, more were sick, and most were hungry. They pushed homemade wooden carts and dragged plastic sleds.

  Behind them and around them the cities were crumbling and burning.

  Claymore was climbing a sheer sandstone cliff. He moved swiftly, deftly finding footholds, his four camel—like legs moving with insect swiftness. His rigid body was a light tan color, to match his background.

  While his forward ganglia controlled his ascent, his central ganglia took command of his eye tentacles—the fixed eyes were sufficient for navigation—and spread them wide for a good view of the human city at his back.

  Even from this height and distance, the city was a shambles. The suspension bridge had already fallen, its center span deep underwater. One of its steel towers was down and the other was leaning drunkenly. A nearby truss bridge still held—and might hold for days yet—but in the end it, too, would be rubble and rust. There was no motor traffic on the bridge. There was none anywhere. The cars and trains and planes were falling apart on their driveways and sidings and runways. On schedule.

  The bridge was dotted with humans. Claymore adjusted his tentacle eyes for telescopic vision, to study them more closely. Well dressed, most of them, but they trudged slowly under heavy burdens. They were dirty and probably thirsty. The water mains had gone out four days before. Getting enough water to live wouldn’t be a serious problem, but the food situation was serious. Trucks had stopped arriving from the countryside a week ago. This troubled him, for ten thousand of these humans were his personal responsibility.

  Nearing the top of the cliff, he scanned out to the west. About half of the power towers had fallen. The lines had been dead for days. As he watched, one more went, slowly crashing into the rustred dust. The center of the city was mostly empty. Two of the tallest buildings had fallen so far, clogging the main intersections. The few people still there moved quickly, furtively watching the remaining buildings. He focused in on one of them. Shabbily dressed and remarkably dirty, this man picked up a brick from a fallen skyscraper and threw it through a large window in a still-standing building. Afraid to go too far inside, he leaned past the broken glass and began filling a canvas bag with the contents of the display window.

  Claymore focused closer, curious as to what this human was risking his life to get. Baubles! Crystallized carbon, gold, and silver. Crystallized aluminum oxide with a small percentage of chromium or magnesium. The stuff seemed to have no useful purpose except personal adornment. This human had collected more of it than he could carry. Strange. Contrasurvival.

  A block over, another human, a female, was filling a plastic case with green paper certificates. Weird. But there was nothing in Claymore’s directives against it, so he scanned on.

  He reached the top of the cliff and had to use his humanoid hands to make it over the lip. From there he turned back to “face” the crumbling city. Not that he had a face, or even a head. His body turned a brownish green to match the grass below his feet.

  Scanning to the north, he saw a large group of humans crossing a shaky bridge to an island in the river. Trouble. As soon as transmission space was available, he thought to those below.

  Claymore here. Is anyone near the island two miles due north of the city?

  Jarid here, Claymore. I am. What can I do for you?

  Claymore here. There are approximately twenty-three hundred humans crossing over to that island. The bridge leaving it is down, but they can’t see that from where they’re at. When the bridge they’re using goes they’ll be stranded. We’ll probably lose half of them.

  Jarid here. I’ll get on it. Where are you calling from?

  Claymore here. I’m on top of the sandstone cliffs south of the city.

  Jarid here. I see you now. I suggest you stay there and direct us down here. We have only eighty-two LDUs here to take care of almost two million people. I wish we had some observation birds.

  Claymore stifled a sob.

  Claymore here. Will do. There are some strange things going on in the city.

  Jarid here. Like what?

  Claymore here. Humans in the city are foraging for baubles rather than food.

  Jarid here. So? It’s what they usually do. Where have you been? The subject was discussed a week ago.

  Claymore here. I just came out of shock. I lost my bird a month ago bringing down a bomber. But I’m functional now.

  Jarid here. Sorry. I didn’t realize you were a Beta unit. From your name, I mean.

  Claymore here. A claymore was a mine as well as a sword. I’m functionally an Alpha now. I’ll get used to it.

  Jarid here. I’m sure you will. We’re a tough species. To fill you in on your earlier question, the consensus is that humans were never programmed to handle their present problems. The result is a clinging to obsolete value systems and generally aberrant behavior. Jarid out.

  The above conversation took less than a second.

  Claymore continued his scanning, occasionally making suggestions to other LDUs below. There were minor outbreaks and riots among the humans, but at least the LDUs didn’t have to face metallic weapons anymore.

  Claymore! Gamma 5723 here. Go directly south at top speed. I’ll explain when you’re on your way.

  Gamma units were somewhat telepathic with humans, that is, they could hear humans think, although they generally couldn’t talk to them. A recent development, they were few in number and so they generally concentrated on major emergencies. When a Gamma made a suggestion, an Alpha moved fast.

  Claymore here. I’m on my way. What’s up?

  Gamma 5723 here. Go one mile due south, then right, onto a gravel road. In approximately one mile you will come to a stone cabin on your right. There you will find six adult human males and one adult human female. The males are presently sequentially raping the female.<
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  Claymore here. Rape? Oh, yes, One of the humans’ bisexual reproduction customs. Considered improper in most human cultures. But why trouble me with it? Rape is not on the forbidden list of human activities.

  Gamma 5723 here. I’m not concerned with the rape. That’s been going on for hours. The house is the property of the female, and its construction is such that it will probably survive the present emergency. Furthermore, it contains a large supply of dehydrated camper’s food in plastic packages. The males have decided to kill the female to more easily take her property. Also, the males are presently despoiling some of the food supply.

  Claymore here. Murder and destroying food are certainly forbidden activities for humans. But their actions are so irrational! Why destroy part of a food supply that is necessary to your own survival? And why go through the bother of impregnating a female of your own species when you are going to terminate her before she can possibly reproduce?

  Gamma 5723 here. It has been some time since I heard of a human being accused of rationality.

  Claymore here. But it’s countersurvival.

  Gamma 5723 here. Very. Especially when you’ll be there in three minutes. I’m afraid you’ll have to go in alone. None of our brothers are near enough to help in time.

  Claymore here. What would I need with help? I mean, if there are only six of them…

  Gamma 5723 here. Unfortunately, one of them has a weapon, a semiautomatic thirty-caliber carbine.

  Claymore here. Oh. That does complicate things. I thought that we had disposed of all of their iron and aluminum artifacts.

  Gamma 5723 here. We pretty much have. But in this instance the human deduced what was happening. He sealed the weapon in an airtight plastic bag before it could become contaminated. The weapon is operational. The human plans to fire it through the bag and then reseal it. He has fifteen rounds in the clip.

  Claymore here. Which means I’m up against an intelligent armed human, despite his irrationalities.

  Gamma 5723 here. Good luck. Gamma 5723 out.

  By this time, Claymore was fifty yards from the cliff and accelerating. He was on a partially wooded plateau, with short flat sections cut by deep fissures, some of them over forty feet wide. Most of these he could jump, but he had to circle some of them. On one occasion he had to climb a hundred yards down and up again just to travel eighty feet forward. It was maddeningly slow, and it took him more than six minutes to travel the two miles to the cabin. Most of the way he had to wind through forests, and he was hoping for good cover for his approach to the cabin.

  No such luck. The cabin was in the center of an abandoned farm, with at least four hundred yards of open field in every direction. Claymore thrust his eye tentacles out through the foliage to survey his objective. It was a small building, perhaps two thousand square feet, and ancient, with stone walls and wooden window frames. The roof beams were heavy logs and—yes— pegged together. Aside from the door hinges, this would be one of the few buildings to remain intact. Certainly something a human would covet.

  A human male was standing on the roof, his legs wide, turning occasionally to survey the terrain. He was holding the carbine.

  Nothing for it but a direct frontal attack, into superior firepower. Had Claymore understood swearing, he would have done so. As it was, he picked up a half-dozen throwing-size rocks and launched himself at his opponent.

  He went straight toward his opponent at first, carefully controlling his body color to match his background, watching his footfalls to make the least possible noise while moving at the highest possible speed, close to sixty mph. With luck, he would be close before he was noticed. Possibly the human had never seen an LDU before and would hesitate to fire. Also, heading straight in, he presented the least possible frontal area to his opponent’s gunfire. On the other hand, if he did take a hit, it would tear through six feet of his flesh. A single round could conceivably take out half of his ganglia, lungs, or hearts.

  Claymore was halfway there when the human saw him and brought up his weapon. The LDU sidestepped rapidly, then shifted into a fast form of broken field running. The human fired at one hundred yards, and the bullet narrowly missed the LDU’s left forward fixed eye. It streaked across his back not quite breaking the skin, but knocking the wind out of his left lung. The pain was incredible. Claymore stumbled and almost fell. But his right lung was still sucking it in in front and blowing it out behind. He kept running. The brass cartridge ejected into the plastic bag and the carbine was ready to fire again. The human was a hunter and took careful aim.

  Claymore. Gamma 5723 here. Immediate attack is no longer necessary. The human female just died. You might as well wait until reinforcements arrive.

  Claymore here. Now you tell me. I am in the midst of a solo frontal assault. At this point retreating would be more dangerous than pressing forward.

  Gamma 5723 here. I got involved with a situation in Utah. I’ll apologize if I get you killed.

  Claymore here. Apologize now.

  Gamma 5723 here. Okay. I apologize.

  Claymore here. It’s all right. Claymore out.

  The next round missed him. He was fifty yards from the cabin now and zigzagging rapidly.

  Claymore was working his way towards the woodpile, from which he could easily vault to the roof. He threw one of his rocks at the human just as the rifle was firing again. This time the human did not miss. The slug tore through Claymore’s right arm between the elbow and shoulder, shattering the bone. The thrown rock missed the man but barely touched the plastic bag as the cartridge was ejecting. The spent brass bounced back toward the chamber, jamming the bolt temporarily. One bit of good luck, anyway.

  As the LDU bounded to the top of the woodpile, his right lateral tentacles extended and pulled his wounded arm to his side. At the same time, he dropped the rocks in his left hand and extended his dagger-claw. This razor sharp knife-shaped claw was normally sheathed in his forearm, out of the way. Extended, it went a foot past his knuckles.

  The human was clearing his weapon, tearing the plastic bag in the process, as Claymore landed on the roof. The carbine was coming down fast, but the LDU was faster. He got his dagger-claw between the man’s arms and made an efficient upward thrust two inches behind and under the man’s chin. It went up through the base of the brain. Death was instantaneous.

  The weapon fired once more as it hit the roof, sending a round into the house below. A human screamed in pain.

  Claymore disengaged himself from the corpse and picked up the carbine. He was familiar with the theory of firearms, but he had never actually fired one. He tried to hold it as he had seen the human do, but with only one arm and a vastly different anatomy, it was impractical. He held it in his left hand like a pistol and fired a tentative round into the roof.

  “Damn it, Jim! Cut that out,” sounded from below.

  No. The rifle was completely unsuitable for use by a one-armed LDU in close combat. Still, he had to disable it, and he might as well do that by expending the ammunition. Claymore emptied the clip into the roof at random places. There were cries of anger, but no more cries of pain were heard. His arm was beginning to throb, although his left lung had started working again. He considered calling for help and letting somebody else do the mop-up.

  “Now what the hell are you up to?” A man came out of the house angry, then started up in disbelief. In one hand he carried a long shiny knife. Titanium. This group had apparently foraged rationally.

  Claymore was still holding the empty rifle, and saw no reason to miss a chance at an opponent. He threw the rifle down hard, striking the man in the forehead with the butt, caving in his skull.

  Another human ran from the house, ignored his fallen comrade, and picked up the carbine. He tore a clip of ammunition from a plastic bag. This was a possibility that Claymore hadn’t considered, but there was nothing to do now but rush him, broken arm or no. He leaped from the roof as the man was turning to look up, landing with both front feet on the man’s head. Cla
ymore weighed three hundred pounds, and the man’s neck snapped easily. Three down. Maybe four. He picked up the carbine as the last three humans boiled out of the house, swinging clubs.

  Claymore turned to meet them with his good arm holding the carbine by the barrel. Fighting with his dagger-claw would have been more efficient, but he was reluctant to let go of the weapon again. It was loaded and with only one hand, he couldn’t remove the clip. He decided to use it as a club.

  The men fought well as a team, trying to encircle him, and Claymore had to retreat. The man with the bleeding leg stumbled a bit and the LDU was on him, ducking a downward blow, and following with a roundhouse swing that connected with the man’s neck. Four.

  He ran over the downed man and swung around wide to catch the next human in line alone. Ducking under a lateral swing, he rammed the carbine butt into the man’s solar plexus, and followed with a down stroke to the head. Five.

  Claymore discarded the carbine now that there was no one behind him to pick it up. He attacked the last man. Seeing his five comrades die within a minute was too much for the fellow. He dropped his club and fled. The LDU was on him in three paces and, with a single hack, severed the man’s neck bones and spinal cord. All.

  Claymore walked back to the house, his right arm throbbing and bleeding slowly. As he passed each man, he slit each throat to be sure of a clean kill.

  He found what was left of the human female in the bedroom.

  Claymore. Gamma 5723 here. How did it go?

  Claymore here. Mission accomplished. All six males are deleted. The female took a long time dying. I wish you had called me sooner.

  Gamma 5723 here. I wish I could be everywhere, or that there were more of me. When I contacted this group two hours ago, it didn’t look too serious. I didn’t check up on them again until ten minutes ago. I wish I could tell her I was sorry.

  Claymore here. And why did they use such an inefficient method of killing her?

  Gamma 5723 here. Someday, Claymore, we’ll sit around the barracks and have a long talk. Right now I have work to do. Gamma 5723 out.