by B. V. Larson
Barrera was right, of course. If this thing was about to turn into a shootout, I didn’t want my command staff caught in the middle of it. I should pull out of the module and move to a safer location. I thought of Sandra, sitting in my office nearby with no clue what was going on, no inkling of the weighty decisions I was making.
I thought next of Kennedy and Kruschev during the Cuban Missile Crisis of the sixties. I’m sure they had felt pressure like this. Here I was with my finger on the button, and I had no idea what the other side was really thinking, what they might be up to. I was sure of one thing, however: the Macros weren’t freaking out inside like I was right now. Being a machine-based intelligence had its advantages.
“Command module, transmit this: Macro Command, measure the combined mass of all the bricks stacked in front of you. There are nearly five hundred of them. Their combined weight exceeds the promised cargo weight.”
Nothing came back for several seconds. I had them thinking, conferring. Perhaps they were doing as I asked, scanning the units.
“Incoming Message: Contextual definition required for the term: brick.”
“Certainly. This command module transmitting to you now is one ‘brick’. We have broken up the cargo into four hundred and sixty-six bricks of identical size and configuration for easy loading and transportation. These bricks are stacked all around us.”
Another silence stretched. People’s eyes wandered fearfully over the ceiling and walls. Were we about to be blasted into subatomic particles?
“Incoming Message: Terms met. Load the cargo.”
Whoops went up from the stunned staff around me.
Robinson stared at me. “That’s all it was?” he asked, incredulous. “They were only measuring this one brick?”
I nodded. “Looks that way. The Macros have always been literal-minded in my experience. They are rogue robots, after all, following some program laid down by their creators perhaps centuries ago. They aren’t very flexible in their thinking. Maybe when they load a transport, they always do it with a single, massive pallet.”
“Sir, the whole front of the transport is opening up,” said Captain Sarin. She sounded choked up. She cleared her throat.
“Display it,” I said.
The screen swam and refocused. The dawn light had grown brighter and turned the pink skies orange. I could see the base, the palms and the wind whipping up the beach. The ship was huge, and the cargo doors appeared to be on a commensurate scale. One end of the cylinder now aimed toward our base as it hovered over the sea. The doors consisted of four triangular leaves that opened flat end of the cylinder. The leaves unfolded slowly. The bottom triangle crashed down into the seabed and became a ramp, sinking into the beach like a dragon’s heavy tongue. The side doors swung wide with tremendous groaning sounds on hinges each of which was as big as one of our bricks. The top triangular door lifted up to block out the sky overhead. Inside this yawning maw the ship was dark and empty.
“We can get aboard now, sir,” said someone.
For the first time since I’d stepped into the command center today, I grinned.
“Relay a stand-down order to everyone,” I barked. “Let’s not blow this because one jumpy pilot takes an early shot. Get Crow’s Fleet down on the ground again. Put the beam turrets back on standby and get the hovertanks that aren’t coming with us back into their garages.”
Everyone reacted with great energy. The loading process began in earnest.
It took even longer than I had imagined. We, as the command module, were one of the last bricks to be loaded aboard the Macro transport. I wasn’t sure if I would be able to communicate with the base once I was inside the massive ship, so I had the trundling worker-machines with their whipping black arms pick us up last.
During the intervening hours, several people contacted me with final well-wishes and instructions. Sandra had been putting them on hold while I pondered starting a new interplanetary war, but now that we were loading they became insistent. She relayed them to me on a private com-link channel one at a time. The first in line was Crow himself.
“I’m sorry to see you go, mate,” he said. “I honestly didn’t know if they would actually come and take you.”
“Keep building ships, Crow,” I said, “and keep training new pilots. I hope to see the skies dark with Star Force ships when I get back. After you have about two hundred of these light craft, start building-”
“Yeah, yeah,” said Crow. “I’ll have a nice row of destroyers waiting for you when you get back, I’d wager. No worries.”
Our destroyer class, long ago scripted, required ten times the mass, time and effort to build as the one-manned workhorses we’d been using up until now. They would not look much larger than our puffed-up little frigates, but would have ten times the firepower and double the effective range due to their larger beam-cannon mounts. A crew of six would operate them, mostly working as gunners to prioritize multiple targets.
“I’ve got plenty of worries,” I told Crow.
Crow chuckled harshly. “I can understand that. But she’ll be right. We’ll keep building troops and ships in your absence.”
“Wish me luck, at least.”
“Luck, mate. Crow out.”
I didn’t get to take the com-link from my ear. Sandra had Kerr on the line.
“Why General,” I said, “I didn’t know you cared.”
“Stay out of trouble out there, Riggs.”
I snorted. Then the snort turned into a full-blown gust of laughter. I looked at the screen, where a steady line of trundling robots hovered along in teams of two, carrying bricks full of equipment and humanity aboard the alien transport. In order to keep from flipping over, the hovering bases of the worker units had to tuck themselves underneath the bricks. Their long arms reached up to the carrying handles on top. Cable-like fingers gripped the handles and held the bricks aloft, swaying and creaking.
“Such a thought at such a moment. I’m in deep here, Kerr. I’m in so deep, I’m never going to dig myself out of this monumental pile of trouble. Not this time.”
“What I mean is, don’t bring it back home this time,” Kerr said.
My laughter stopped. “I get it. You are slapping me for China again. Listen, if France takes a shot at these ships as we leave orbit, I’m not going to be able to do anything about what happens afterward.”
“No offense meant, Riggs. But you do tend to get ideas. Try not to get any on this trip. And have a good time.”
“Sage advice, sir.”
I couldn’t press the disconnect button fast enough on that one. I had to ease up so I didn’t break it.
Next in line was Barrera. As the link clicked in my ear, I heard loud rumbling sounds outside the module. Metallic clattering and rasping came from the roof. The hands were wrapping themselves around the carrying handles of our module.
“Talk fast,” I said.
“Everything is in place, sir.”
The floor heaved up under me. Everyone in the command post reached for the cable loops on the walls. The robot arms rippled and lifted. For a moment or two, we swung in the air as the two worker units automatically sought a good balancing stance underneath us. I felt like a rat in a cage.
“Mind the store for me, Barrera. When I get back, I want to see a Star Force Fleet-and Star Force Marines.”
“I’ll do my best, sir,” he said evenly.
We disconnected. I noted that he was the only one who’d never wished me well. I wondered if that was due to an overabundance of confidence in my abilities, or simply a character flaw. I suspected the latter. Barrera was all business.
— 37-
We had some difficulty with the natural contour of the Macro ship’s hull. The transport ship’s ‘floor’ was curved, not flat. The entire ship reminded me of a giant jar with a top that opened in flaps. We had suspected such an internal structure having observed these ships on several occasions. We had magnetic clamps installed on every module. Each brick clung to the
floor-which was made of a ferrous alloy. Tubes extended between the bricks interconnecting them. We’d planned for all of this ahead of time, as we couldn’t be sure the Macros would bother to pressurize the interior of their cargo hold while traveling. With the bricks interconnected like a miniature city, an individual could travel to any brick without having to exit into the hold itself. They would have to go through a lot of airlocks to do it, however. We’d designed every brick to maintain its own integrity. If a brick caught fire or lost pressure, the damage could not easily spread to the rest of the pile.
We were finally aboard and our command module was stacked atop the heaping pile of bricks. The modules were stacked three to five units high. The entire pile was ten modules wide and sixteen deep.
“What’s the first order of business, sir?” asked Major Robinson.
I thought about it. We had a very long list indeed. We’d been flexible in our planning for this stage of the operation. We hadn’t known how smoothly the loading process was going to go. We had tried to build the bricks to be compatible with the Macro ships, but until we tried it, we couldn’t be sure. Now I was sure, and it was time to move on to bigger things.
“I think we’re in good shape. I’m going to contact the Macros and try to get some information out of them.”
My command staff blinked at me. They looked apprehensive. I frowned, feeling a moment of irritation.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to upset them,” I said.
“Ah…” said Major Robinson, his mouth hung open for several seconds.
I could tell right away he was choosing his words, trying to say something annoying without annoying me. I knew he was going to fail at it.
“Just talk, Major,” I said.
“Sir, maybe we should wait until we are underway before we contact them. I’ve had a prior discussion-”
“With who?”
His eyes slid around to some of the command staff, who tapped at reports and screens, looking busy. “With others, sir,” he said. “Anyway, as your exec, I think we should wait until we are out of the system. We nearly had an incident before we even loaded the bricks-”
“I suppose that was my fault too, is that it? Notice, Major, no one died today. Not yet, anyway.”
“Yes sir, we’ve made excellent strides.”
I grumbled and poked at the computer screen. “Maybe we should at least turn on the active sensor array.”
“Oh-ah, is that a good idea, sir?” said Robinson.
I looked at him. What had so frightened this man? I dialed up the sensor array interface on the computer in front of me. I didn’t look at them, but everyone was staring at me, I could feel their scrutiny.
My hand hovered over the big screen. We had our passive systems on, but we were already blinded by the hull of the Macro ship. Being inside the Macro hold had unsurprisingly shut out emissions around us. But if I turned on our active systems and started pinging everything, that might upset the Macros. That’s what had my staff on edge. I sighed and put my hand back on the black steel border of the big screen.
“One brush with the Macros has turned my entire command staff into a flock of chickens, is that it?” I asked.
“Yes sir,” said Captain Sarin.
I looked at her and chuckled. “At least you have the guts to admit you’re scared… if that makes any sense. These are scary things, these ships, aren’t they? But we have to take decisive action where it is warranted, people.”
“No arguments there, Colonel,” said Robinson. “But we just want to be away from Earth, so only we suffer from any-missteps.”
I nodded, understanding at last. They figured I was going to cause some horrible misunderstanding and somehow sink Cuba, for example, under the waves.
“All right,” I said at last. “We will role-play the part of happy, quiet cargo for a while.”
Everyone breathed a deep, relieved breath.
“But I’m going to discuss one or two things with them first,” I said, ignoring their newly shocked expressions.
“Command module, respond,” I said.
“Responding.”
“Send this transmission to Macro Command: All bricks are loaded. We’re ready for transport.”
For some reason, I’d expected a verbal response. Maybe a welcome aboard, or some other acknowledgement. But the machines said nothing.
“Sir, they are closing the doors!” shouted Captain Sarin. She selected our direct, external cameras and channeled the transmission to the screen we huddled around. She made a swirling motion with one finger, causing the camera to pan rapidly. The dark walls of the Macro hold swept by with sickening speed. Soon, blinding white light flooded the camera. The camera automatically dampened the brilliant image, but it left all of us blinking.
“Take a good look,” I said. “Say good-bye to our world and our star.”
Fixated, we watched as the four great leaves swung shut. The beach looked so inviting. The trees were tossing wildly now, the winds had increased in intensity as dawn shifted into morning. I could tell after a year down here in the islands that a tropical storm would blow up later today. Soon, it would be overcast, and the silver-lined clouds would turn into gray skies. Sandra and I had often enjoyed walking the beach in mild storms. I would miss the drumming sensation of warm rain on my face.
“Command module,” I said, “send this: What are the stellar coordinates of our destination star?”
The speakers were silent. My staff held their breath. We still watched the big doors closing as we waited. Before an answer came, the last brilliant, white cross of sunlight shrunk to nothing. With a deafening clang, the doors shut completely. We all knew we had been entombed.
“Incoming Message: Cargo is not permitted interrogatives.”
I grunted. “What the hell does that mean?”
“I think they mean they don’t want us to ask any questions,” said Captain Sarin.
I glared at her. “I know that. I mean I don’t like the implications of their statement. Some alliance this is. I’m feeling unappreciated.”
The floor rocked a tiny bit. It was an odd sensation, like that of an earthquake. Unsurprisingly, the interior of the hold was pitch-black. There were no windows or lights. Now that the great doors had clanged shut, it was as quiet and cold as a grave.
“I think we’ve lifted off, sir,” said Robinson.
“No kidding. External floods on,” I ordered.
Captain Sarin manipulated a radial menu. I could tell she had dialed down the lights, muting them so as not to upset our hosts. We had flood lights mounted on every brick. On the screen, the big halogen bulbs snapped and we could see again.
“Roll the camera around. Let me see if they have anyone in here with us.”
She rolled the camera in a three hundred sixty degree spin, then I had her check the ceiling.
“Ah, there we go,” I said.
Everyone stared. There, on the roof of the hold, were two worker units. They had the familiar metallic, headless-ant look. They had beam weapons mounted where their heads were supposed to be.
“Workers,” I said thoughtfully. “Outfitted with military kits. That must be some kind of portal behind them. They don’t seem to want us going into the ship.”
“I get that feeling, sir,” said Robinson.
As we watched them, another worker came up from the dark portal between the first two. Then a fourth arrived, and the Macros took up a common diamond formation, all clinging to the ceiling directly overhead.
My command people stared at the Macros intently. I knew none of them had ever been this close to a real live Macro before-if you could call them alive. For some reason, most of the veterans who’d fought with me in the South American Campaign had not volunteered to head out to the stars in the belly of a Macro ship.
I looked at the robot guards thoughtfully. “You know, those are probably the Macro equivalent of shipboard Marines. Even if there are a thousand more of them up forward, we could take this
ship easily.”
Robinson appeared nervous again. “But sir, the five cruisers escorting us might object.”
I smiled. “Now we understand the reason for the escorts. Whoever said these machines were dumb?”
— 38-
The whole business of not being allowed to ask a question ate at me. Keeping us sealed in a dark hold like mushrooms I could understand. But I needed some information. Even mushrooms are fed horseshit now and then.
I decided to solve the impasse by playing their game. I wouldn’t ask any questions. After all, the Macros never did. Maybe they just didn’t like questions. I would make imperative statements rather than interrogative questions. Just the way they always did.
“Command module, relay this message to Macro Command: In order to achieve maximum effectiveness, Macro Command is required to provide intel on our target enemy.”
“Incoming Message: Enemy species are biotic. Enemy species are space-faring. Enemy species must be eradicated from target system.”
I took a victory lap, eyeing each of my chicken staff in turn. I wanted to say: see, and no one even died yet. I decided not to gloat, however. It was time to mine every detail I could out of the Macros and analyze the information later.
I almost asked a question then. I paused-it was like playing Jeopardy, you had to word things just right. I chose my words with care. “Command module, relay this: In order to adapt our equipment for the coming assault, we need to know gravitational pull of the target-environment.”
“Incoming Message: One point eight one Gs.”
I winced. “A high-gravity world. Robinson, pass that down to supply. We’ll need to get everyone set up with a light kit. Hopefully, it will be enough firepower, or we’ll have to have three-man teams to drag heavy beamers around.”
“I’m not sure we have a light projector and reactor for every man in the unit, sir,” said Captain Sarin, working with a data cube interface on her section of the big screen.
“Then we’ll make more. That’s why I brought the factories.”