Bolos: Old Guard Part 23

I filter noise from the signal, enhance, amplify, filter again. The resulting output is unrecognizable.

I dwell on the problem for 0.6931 seconds.

A legitimate command code would contain a constantly repeating mask of code bits. If I a.s.sume these are part of the incoming data-stream, they may provide a key to extracting the rest of the signal from the noise, rather the way a reference laser was used to reconstruct some primitive holograms. The effort requires diversion of five percent of the capabilities of my hyper-heuristic processing nodes. This is of no consequence, as I have nothing else for them to do at present.

It is a voice message on automated loop, the sort of loop that would be generated by a command headset whose voice recognition circuitry detected a distress message.

An a.n.a.lysis of the transmission confirms, with a confidence of 89.9343 percent that it is my Commander's voice. The first entire word I recognize is my Commander's unofficial designation for me, "Ziggy," a further a.s.surance that the transmission is genuine.

But then the words that follow fill me with distress.

"Hurt bad. Need you to come."

The distant world I presume to be Delas again spins through my field of vision.

The message repeats, again and again. "Need you to come."

Four.

General Kiel and Lieutenant Veck leaned over a holographic map of the northern battlefield, replaying a recent engagement.

"This is a new strategy the Kezdai are using," Kiel said, pointing at the strange formation on the map. "The DDF call it a 'snake pit.' "

"Weird," Veck said.

"See how this is shaped?" Kiel asked. "The Kezdai position a group of their Toro tanks in a ring facing outward. With the Toros' ma.s.sive guns and thick forward armor protecting their vulnerable flanks, it's a formidable emplacement."

"I'll bet ammo carriers or cached ammo stockpiles are inside the ring," Veck said, "waiting to reload the Toros, compensating for their limited five-shot magazine capacity."

"Exactly," Kiel said. "In some ways, a pit is almost the equivalent of a Bolo in terms of firepower and armor, but it lacks the Bolo's mobility."

"So exactly how are these snake pits being used?" Veck asked.

"Skillful tactics on the part of the Kezdai are being used to drive DDF forces into them," Kiel said. "It's playing h.e.l.l with the DDF conventional forces. Usually, a Bolo has to be called in to wipe out the pit, and those are spread pretty thin at the moment."

Veck nodded and stepped back. "Speaking of that, don't you think I should get back to Rover?"

Kiel tapped his command earpiece and smiled. "The Concordiat put a lot of time and thought into that link between commander and Bolo. You need to start understanding how to use it effectively."

Veck nodded, but clearly didn't like the idea. He was more of a hands-on type of guy. Even with the understanding of the Bolo that the neural link had given him, he still liked being physically present.

"Trust the Bolo, son," Kiel said, clearly catching Veck's feelings. "They're good soldiers, good soldiers. Never met one that wasn't, because that's what they're built to be. But us humans, we have to learn it the hard way."

"Yeah, I'm learning that," Veck said, half smiling.

"Actually," General Kiel said, "I've ordered all the officers of the 1198th back behind the lines. I want them sleeping in real bunks, getting proper food, maybe even getting to an officers' club when there is a lull in the fighting. They can rotate back to their units when the time is right. Until then-" he tapped his earpiece again "-the Bolos can cover what needs to be covered."

"But I don't-" Veck stopped his protest.

Kiel laughed. "Now you're learning. From here on out, the 1198th is doing things my way."

"Meaning that my way was wrong," Veck said.

"No, not really," Kiel said. "Maybe in another place and time, your method would be right. But now, you are correct, it's wrong."

Veck nodded. He felt as if the general had just slugged him in the stomach. Why hadn't he gotten on that transport after all and taken his chances? Would have been easier.

"But, Lieutenant," Keil said, "that doesn't mean you don't have good ideas. You do. And you're smart and creative. And you're willing to learn, even if it is the hard way sometimes. That's why I want you at my side."

"Thanks," Veck said.

"And you thought," Kiel said, "I was just keeping an eye on you."

"Yes, sir," Veck said. "I did."

Keil chuckled. "Smart boy."

For the past day Jask had tried to keep Orren's fever under control. He had managed to get a little seyzarr broth into him, but the man needed more help than Jask could provide. The problem was, Jask couldn't figure out a way to get it for him.

Jask had considered going into Rockgate for help, but the man more than likely would be dead by the time he got back. He had thought about sending Bessy, but somebody at Rockgate would probably have tried to figure out some way to steal his Bolo.

So instead he had just put wet rags on the man's forehead. He would have to hope that what he could do was enough.

On the second morning, as Jask put a damp rag on the man's forehead, he awoke.

"Can I have a sip of water?" the man asked, his voice so hoa.r.s.e it sounded like it hurt him to speak.

Jask helped him drink until the man choked. Then he said, "Can I have my earpiece?"

"That thing doesn't work," Jask said. "I tried it. You was talking to somebody yesterday, but it was just the fever."

The man shook his head. "Not the fever."

Jask gave him the headset, but reaching for it nearly caused the man to pa.s.s out. He rested for a minute, then took a deep breath, put on the headset, and started to talk.

"Ziggy, do you hear me? It's Lieutenant Orren, Ziggy. You've got to come. I'm too sick. Talk to the boy. Let the boy talk you in."

Lieutenant Orren's eyes closed for a while. Jask figured he'd pa.s.sed out, but then Orren's eyes opened again, as though he was listening to something.

"Command override," Orren said. "Code alpha-bravo-tango-sierra-bravo-delta-five." Remembering the code seemed a great effort, and Orren's eyes closed again.

This time he fell asleep.

Hesitantly Jask took the headset and held it to his ear. Jask was sure that Lieutenant Orren was just talking to the fever. He listened to the silence for a moment, then shrugged. "There's nothing to hear."

Then there was a crackle.

"Unit R-0012-ZGY of the Dinochrome Brigade requesting Situation Update and new orders."

This time Jask actually did drop the headset.

When Vatsha entered her brother's dining chamber, the platters of raw grazer-flesh sat untouched on the low table. Rejad stood in front of a huge holotank that had been lowered from the ceiling.

"You summoned me, brother?"

He did not turn.

"If you persist on staring at a holo all the time, you will ruin your eyes. It would be sad to see you trying to find your concubines with a cane."

Finally he turned and stepped away from the screen, the hem of his white and gold day-robe dragging across the floor as he walked. "Then I should be blind already, sister. A battle commander's work is never done." He gestured broadly at the tank. "Do you know what that is?"

She looked at the tank. Maps floated, globes, representations of orbital trajectories, table after table of statistics, all floating, illuminated in yellow, red, blue and green. It looked like the games of Conquest that she and Rejad had played as children, only infinitely more complex. "I would say it is a battle simulation of some sort."

"It is victory, sister, the victory that should have belonged to the Kezdai after our last great battle with the Humans. Only the intrusion of that one s.h.i.+p, insignificant as it was, turned the day. One s.h.i.+p. I have run the simulation many times, adjusting variables. It is that s.h.i.+p that saves them. This is what bothers me."

"But brother, there are no other s.h.i.+ps. The humans have launched no fleet against us. They are visited by freighters and puny convoy defenders that run when threatened. All their s.h.i.+ps are cataloged and known to us, even the s.h.i.+p that turned the battle was known to us upon its arrival."

Rejad's hood flared nervously. He stabbed a fingertip into a slab of grazer-flesh, examined the wet pinkness of it, sniffed its salty musk, then tossed it back onto the platter. "The problem is, we do not know where those freighters came from, or who has supplied these hairy monkeys with the weapons that have stymied us so. What lies beyond their jump-points could be a vast and powerful empire. Clearly they do not much favor these pathetic creatures, or we never would have been allowed to get a toehold at all, but neither have they left them defenseless. Each time I run this simulation, it becomes more imperative that we not wait for the other two new s.h.i.+ps."

Vatsha tried not to show her concern. Do not wreck this for us, brother. "You have a plan, then?"

"The huge mobile armored units the Humans call 'Bolo' have been a great problem, but if nothing else, the last attack revealed to us their number and maximum rates of fire against s.p.a.ce targets. It was just barely enough to overwhelm the Blade of Kevv and its kaleidoscope device. But they will not surprise us again, and we may yet surprise them. Can the kaleidoscope system on Blade of Kevv be modified to create more sensor echoes?"

Vatsha felt a flash of annoyance. That had been in her summary report on the building of the s.h.i.+p, if only Rejad had bothered to read it. "It can be done, my brother. Doubling the power will square the number of images. They will have a hundred and forty-four targets instead of twelve. The problem is that the kaleidoscope already draws much power. While the kaleidoscope is active, the s.h.i.+p's main batteries will not be able to fire. Moreover, once the conversion is made, it is not easily undone. Once the kaleidoscope is off, it will require some time to restore weapons, and we can not simply drop kaleidoscope back to lower power without a refit."

"That will not matter. Our batteries are ineffective against the Bolos anyway. What we need is concentrated and well-directed spearfall. That is what has proven to damage the great machines. But they are agile, and difficult to hit. See that the conversion is done before Blade of Kevv leaves port. Remove the main batteries if you must. Just be sure it is equipped for a ma.s.sive and sustained rain of spearfall. We will not bring the s.h.i.+p back here until we are ready for the offensive."

Vatsha ducked her head and clicked her beak to show agreement. "I will begin at once." But she could only think that the fool was taking her balanced and elegant Blade of Kevv design and turning it into a patchwork.

Despite overwhelming odds I have established a link with my Commander, only to learn that he is incapacitated. I have been given proper command codes to allow communication and command by an unknown third party identified as "the boy." I search my fragmented memories and find multiple related cultural references including a familiar honorific, a kind of hamburger sandwich, an ancient steam locomotive, and an ancient racial slur. None seem appropriate to the situation, and I suspect that the usage may be the obvious one, based on my relatively intact linguistic database, a young human male.

This is confirmed when "the boy" speaks into the command link. My audiometrics routines are degraded, but I estimate his age in the range from seven to twelve standard years. A human in this age range is unlikely to possess proper military training.

What purpose did Lieutenant Orren have in mind when a.s.signing command to this child? Could it be the result of delirium or reduced capacity?

Yet at this point, I have no other avenue open to me. This child is my only hope for rescue, repair, and an eventual arrival on the battlefield.

My first step is to request a recovery s.h.i.+p and transport to a repair depot. I do not know my position, but do know my distance from the planet, based on light-speed delays in the transmission. I also can provide relative angles and movements for the sun and Delas. Hopefully, given this information, my location can be determined and rescue will arrive shortly.

Five.

Bendra shuffled across the sandy floor of the Iskaldai's apartments, the hobbles chaffing at his legs. The high-born guards on either side of him were a head taller and carried ceremonial spears, and wore long blades equipped with venom triggers and shock generators. He tugged at his wrist bindings and felt incredibly naked without his humble blade. Still, this was the only way that someone of his low standing could be allowed in the presence of one so high born.

They halted before a heavy curtain, purple and embroidered with silver thread. One of the guards slipped through the curtain. He emerged a moment later, and Bendra was pushed through. It took him a moment for his eyes to adjust to the relative darkness. The fire-pit in the middle of the room startled him, until he realized that it was only a holographic projection.

At the rear of the room, Sister-of-the-First-Blood Vatsha stood, almost lost behind a huge holographic projection of a s.h.i.+p. The projection was transparent, highlighting the various systems in different colors, making it difficult for him to recognize, but he a.s.sumed it was Blade of Kevv. There were rumors that Vatsha had actually designed the s.h.i.+p, and was not merely supervising its construction.

As he watched, she gestured, and the projection moved, systems internally changing color and configuration in a dance of splendid light and complexity. Vatsha's bright red eyes, a trait she shared with her brother, seemed to follow every movement, every change. It was only Bendra that was invisible to her.

Finally he felt compelled to announce himself. He stepped forward, stumbled on the hobbles, and almost fell. "Blood-of-my-Is-kaldai, I beg audience."

She shot him a glance of annoyance, then returned to her task. "So my Arbiter tells me, low-blood. What matter is it that you should soil my chambers so?"

"I am a monitor for the fleet. I track the battle wreckage and other deep-s.p.a.ce navigation hazards."

"Trash responsible for trash. I should have my Arbiter flogged for this lapse in judgment."

She seemed ready to eject him. He bowed his head in submission. "Please, high-blood, hear me out. I have detected an unusual object that may be of danger to the fleet. So unusual that I can not warn of it through usual protocols. None of my direct superiors will take it upon themselves to break protocol, and to trouble the Is-kaldai would surely mean my death. You are my one hope."

Vatsha stepped through the hologram. She seemed slightly intrigued by the mystery, and slightly amused at his predicament. "Small burdens for small minds. Still, I am in need of a respite. Perhaps your tale will amuse me."

She sat on a pile of cus.h.i.+ons next to a tray of delicacies, many of which Bendra had only seen in holos. She stabbed her fingertip into a dried etsha-fruit and lifted the greenish orb to her beak. It popped when she bit into it, and a trickle of acidic smelling juice ran down her beak. She wiped it away with the back of her forearm.

Bendra described his chance observation of the object's strange behavior. "Now it is emitting an encoded transmission beamed at the Human world."

This raised some small interest in her. She looked up from a platter of crisp-fried grubblings. "Is this transmission broadband data?"

"You suspect a device to spy on the fleet? That is most clever. But no, the transmission is narrowband, and most of this seems to be used in some very complex encoding scheme that is beyond my understanding. It might carry slow-scan data, a few still images, or an audio channel. Not much more."

"And this object, it floats among wreckage you are tracking, but did you observe how it got there? Did it jump into the system, or was it launched from the planet?"

Bendra was slow to answer. He knew she would not like what he had to say. "Neither, high-blood. It is part of the wreckage from the freighter convoy that the Humans fired upon. We have tracked it from the beginning."

Vatsha hissed with a combination of amus.e.m.e.nt and surprise. When she spoke, it was in the tone one might use for a hatchling, or an idiot. "Low-born, these are aliens and it is difficult to ascribe any purpose to what they do, but is it not reasonable that such a limited transmission from a piece of wreckage might be a distress beacon, a salvage beacon, or a navigational warning to steer other s.h.i.+ps away from the wreckage?"

"Perhaps, but I don't think so."

Her tone turned to annoyance. "You think yourself wiser than one of my blood? You imagine things, low-blood. Perhaps your position challenges you too much. I can find one more suited to your talents. Cleaning the waste pits perhaps?" She made a loud clacking with her beak, and the guards appeared from behind the curtains. "This mystery of yours is a minor menace to navigation, nothing more. I should have you flogged for bothering me, but it isn't worth the trouble. Do not speak of this again." She looked at the guards. "Remove him, and throw away this food. I have work to do."

One guard took the half-empty trays while the other pushed him out into the hall. The guard with the trays stopped outside the portal long enough to dump them into a recycle slot. It was another thirty spans down the corridor to the security gate where, finally, the hobbles and wrist restraints were removed. A third guard examined Bendra's surias with amus.e.m.e.nt before returning it to him. "Do not stick yourself, low-born."