I held my breath. This site is not strategic. Even a Mark XXIV can see that easily. The Bolos will accept direct orders, but they are more than simple weapons. They can learn from mistakes, they can analyze a situation independently and come to a solution. And their programming is entirely tactically based. There is no room for outside consideration.
“What is the significance of this site?” Kenny asked.
Fair enough. Bolos learn, and they are programmed to request information that will make them more effective.
“This is Camelot,” I heard myself say. “Vital psychological advantage. Access your records.”
There was the barest hint of a hesitation, a fraction of a second delay in the answer. “For the honor of the Regiment,” Kenny answered. And I knew we were safe. For a while at least. Until this first wave of the Enemy was dead.
But what could we do with a live Bolo and no ~Enemy to face? That thought scared me more than the imminent arrival of pirates who were already so outgunned that I almost felt sorry for them.
* * *
The pirate ship arrived less than a week after. We all saw the streak across the sky as the entire population of Camelot worked on the harvest. I was in the pear trees with Isabelle and Ricky and Isabelle’s brother Cedrick. The trees were thick with heavy yellow fruit, some of it already falling to the ground for the animals to eat before we could collect it. I looked at all the pears and thought not only of the fresh fruit, which we sold at good profit, but of all the preserves and comfits, the sun-dried pears and the pear jelly candy that Isabelle would make that we could sell come spring, when people were tired of eating winter preserves and desperate for the taste of fruit.
Ricky yelled out first. “It’s a star,” he screamed. “It’s falling, it’s falling.”
We all looked up. Cedrick and Isabelle had never seen a ship land. They had no reason to go Dover Port. I, on the other hand, knew who this was without thinking. Their approach was sloppy, bad angle, and they were burning the hullcoat and leaving a smoky trail through the sky.
I jumped out of the tree from the lowest branch, and gathered up Isabelle, Cedrick and the children. “Stay in the root cellar,” I said, hustling them into the house. “No matter what you hear. This should all be over quickly and no harm done, but stay until I tell you it’s safe anyway. Anything could happen. Nothing in the house is worth your lives.”
Cedrick looked like he was going to protest, but ~Isabelle gave him a sharp look. She took Ricky by the hand and gathered Margaret up to her shoulder. “We won’t move,” she said simply. “We’ll wait. We’ll be fine, I promise. We’ll all be fine.”
Cedrick mumbled something like assent and didn’t look up at all. But I remembered when I was twenty-two, older than Cedrick but still impulsive and romantic and believing in glorious absolutes. I would have resented being locked up with the children at nineteen too. So I took pity on him and handed him the pitchfork. “You can do more good here,” I said vaguely. “Stay with them. If you hear anything strange overhead, help Isabelle keep the kids quiet. It’s up to you to protect them.”
Cedrick’s eyes got quiet and brave. “Oh,” he said softly but distinctly. “Don’t worry, Geoffery. I’ll take care of them for you.”
He didn’t see the look Isabelle passed me over his head, and just as well.
I left the lot in Isabelle’s capable hands and ran down to the Bolo shed. Frederick and Kenny were waiting for me, Frederick pacing madly and Kenny calm, his lights steady and a gentle whir coming from deep inside. The Mark XXIV was in perfect prime. The sound indicated perfect calibration, contentment. Outside his hull gleamed dully and the row of enameled decorations welded to his turret glistened with all the bright heraldry of military reward.
Frederick handed me the speaker. He had made the box a permanent attachment in the shed. “Combat Unit Seven twenty-one. Our Enemy is in sight. Your task is to destroy the Enemy ship and all invaders. Protect Camelot. This is your overall strategic goal. Protect Camelot.”
Then I gave him the coordinates for the field where the pirates had landed before and where I assumed they’d land again. Not that there was any guarantee from their sloppy flying that they would be in the same vicinity. The only reason I assumed they would return to their earlier landing site was that they probably hadn’t bothered with an update on their navigationals.
Frederick and I rode on Kenny’s high fender. There was something comforting about sitting on this mountain of alloy and ordnance that moved at a determined pace toward the Enemy. And there was power, as well. It was impossible not to be aware of the Mark XXIV’s potential, feeling the smooth action of the treads and the whirring of the power concentrated inside.
The pirates had landed back in the same place. They had already disembarked, the leader sitting on the riser leading up to the hatch.
Frederick and I shouted at the people to get away. Some of them heard us and ran for the sides. Others, seeing their comrades bolt, followed. Pandemonium reigned.
Pirates tried to follow, tried to run. Kenny’s anti-personnel projectiles peppered them as they tried to move from front to side. Elegant restraint, I thought, as the Bolo targeted only the Enemy and managed to delicately avoid old Malcolm, who was slowed by ~arthritic knees.
The maypole clad leader stood up. Even through the assault suit his knees were shaking visibly.
“Now let’s not do too much damage to the wheat field here,” I said, thinking of it as a joke.
“Protect Camelot,” Kenny replied in the deep rumble that was the bolo voice. “It is my mission to protect Camelot. I have never failed in my mission.”
“That’s right, Unit Seven twenty-one. You have never failed,” I told him. I had forgotten how literal these units were. And how much they enjoyed the ~reassurance they were achieving their goals.
What I enjoyed was seeing the pirate suffer. For a moment I wondered whether it would be a better idea to let him go, to tell his unsavory cronies not to bother with Camelot. That we were too well defended.
I decided against that. Destroy the Enemy. Destroy them all. We can’t let Command know we have Mark XXIV. They would come and decommission Kenny and we’d be without any protection at all. Besides which, it would be fine if all the greedy thieves and pirates in the whole universe came down here and found themselves facing a Bolo. We could wipe out all the piracy in this sector without thinking about it. The thought pleased me greatly.
“Okay,” I said.
With a precision that was breathtaking in such a great hulk, Combat Unit Seven twenty-one let go with an energy blast that reduced the pirate ship to slag and the maypole to memory. The wheat around the smoking remains wasn’t even singed.
“Objective accomplished,” Kenny said, and there was a shading of satisfaction to his tone.
“Well done,” I said. “Excellently well done. Let’s go home.”
But as we covered the ground back into town, I was still worried. This Bolo had saved us from a real menace. And there was no guarantee that these were the only raiders in the sector. In fact, I would bet half my acres that there were plenty of others who would be only too happy to prey on our prosperity.
But that didn’t make the Bolo any less of a threat to Camelot itself. I had taught Kenny that the new Enemy was human. In time, I thought, he was bound to do something that would hurt us all. He was a Combat Unit, he had no permanent place in Camelot.
As Frederick started the post-operation check, I turned off the box so Kenny couldn’t hear. “What are we going to do with him now?” I asked. “We can’t decommission him. There’s always the possibility of another threat. I’m not going to have my children grow up in fear. But he could be a bigger danger to us than any pirates. You said it would be all right, but not how.”
Frederick smiled broadly. “Why not ask him?” he said, and shrugged. “Ask who he is. I think you’ll find the psychotronic shifts very . . . interesting.
I switched the communications gear back on. “Unit Seven twenty-one, identify yourself,” I ordered.
I knew what he would say. Combat Unit Seven twenty-one of the Dinochrome Brigade, first regiment. Maybe he would give me some of the regimental history, or tune in his music circuits for the regimental hymn. And so I was surprised.