Before he could pursue those implications any further, Rapier hailed him with a code that meant incoming priority message, top secret and scrambled. John swore aloud. “Excuse me, but I’ve got a coded transmission coming in.” He stepped outside and touched controls on the comm link. “Go ahead, Rapier.”
“We have received a transmission from Unit SPQ/R-561, John. Lieutenant Commander Lundquist, assistant ship’s surgeon, stayed in Rustenberg to make room for children being airlifted out. He is still alive and shows no signs of illness. Unit SPQ/R-561 is conducting analyses of tissue samples. General McIntyre has instructed him to relay the results to the research team here.”
“Dear God. Bessany could be right. Download those analysis results to a data disk. I’ll come up for it.”
Six minutes later, he walked back into the biochem lab. Herve Sinclair and Dr. Ivanov had returned with Alison Collingwood and Arnie Kravitz. Bessany said, “I’ve told them our hypothesis . . .” Her voice trailed off. “What is it?”
“It looks like you were right. We’ve got a survivor at Rustenberg. A ship’s surgeon who gave up his seat to make room for some kids. I want to know why he’s still alive.” He handed the data disk to Dr. Collingwood. “The Bolo at Rustenberg’s already working on tissue analyses. These are the preliminary results.”
The biochemist took the disk with a dazed expression just as the power came up. Lights glowed in the overhead panels and equipment hummed to life. “We’re going to need heat in here,” she said. “And God knows how many of our chemicals have been ruined from freezing.”
“Put together a list of what you need. We’ll requisition it from the Darknight and the Vengeance. I’ll see what Rapier has in the way of heating units, tucked away in his cargo bins.”
“Thank you. Very much.” She shook off the dazed air. “Let’s get cracking, Arnie. Inventory the supplies, please, while I check the equipment.”
Time to let them work uninterrupted, John nodded to himself. He’d only be in the way, now. He caught Bessany’s eye, tipping his head toward the door. “Want to help me scrounge for those heating units?” She glanced at Chilaili and he sighed. “Bring her along.”
Rapier had moved closer to the lab, to make the job of stringing cable easier. A rear cargo bin stood open, where Sinclair’s crew had retrieved the power cables. “You’re getting snow up your backside, Rapier,” he said into the teeth of the wind, since they were well within pickup range of the Bolo’s external sensors.
“There is nothing in my portside aft cargo bin that will be damaged by a little snow,” the Bolo responded drolly, his voice booming above the sound of the wind. “If you’re looking for heating units, you’ll find them clipped at the back of that same compartment. I left the hatch open, since you mentioned wanting them.”
John grinned. “That’s what I like about you, Rapier. You’re the most thoughtful fellow I know.”
The Tersae was staring at the immense machine, open-beaked with astonishment. “The ogre speaks for itself?”
John and Bessany exchanged glances.
Bessany answered first. “Yes, Chilaili. A Bolo is much more than just a machine. Bolos are as self-aware, intelligent, and self-directing as you and I are.”
Chilaili’s beak opened again, but no sound emerged for several seconds. She blinked repeatedly, her alien eyes dilated in shock that even John could read. “But—” she began, then halted again. “I do not think even the Ones Above can realize this. They spoke of the ogres as great machines, with bombs and missiles like the ones they gave us. The Ones Above instructed the clans carefully, if the humans brought the ogres to this world. We were to kill the commanders, if possible, to cripple the machines and render them helpless.”
“That’s very interesting,” John said quietly, while a sudden spark of excitement flared. It was an advantage, however slim. John was beginning to think any advantage at all would prove critical, because he could see a much larger war brewing in their immediate future. “Extremely interesting, in fact. Let’s get those heating units rigged, shall we?”
It didn’t take long to retrieve and carry them inside, where Bessany set them up with brisk efficiency. Satisfied, John excused himself to finish reading Bessany’s reports. He was anxious now, to glean every speck of information possible from them.
He climbed up and settled himself in the command chair, calling up the first of his sister-in-law’s field reports. “When I’ve finished going over these,” he told Rapier, “I’ll want your opinion. You may see something I’d miss.”
“Understood, Commander. Routing to main data screen. If I may speak freely?”
“Of course, Rapier. You never have to ask permission to say what’s on your mind, you know that.”
“I only wanted to say,” the Bolo’s voice came out very softly, indeed, “how grateful I am that I was created by humans.”
John’s throat closed. “You’re welcome.”
Humanity had never been paid a higher compliment.
Chapter Twenty-three
I must speak to Chilaili.
When Bessany Weyman and the Tersae emerge from the biochem lab, I ask Chilaili to return to my portside aft cargo hold, which is more than spacious enough for the tall Tersae to find a comfortable seat. It will provide a sheltered, private place to talk. My commander’s diminutive sister-in-law, however, glares up at my war hull, her scowl fiercely protective. “I won’t let you imprison her.”
“You are welcome to join the conversation,” I seek to reassure her. “Indeed, I would welcome your insights, Dr. Weyman. There is much I am trying to understand.”
This appears to mollify her. She nods and gestures Chilaili ahead of her. They climb into the cargo bin, which is fully climate controlled, since I often transport perishable items and delicate equipment needed by beleaguered civilian populations.
“I am going to close the hatch partway, to keep the heat inside,” I explain, moving the hatch cover until it lacks but three point zero one inches from being closed. Heat builds satisfactorily as I turn up the fans which warm the cargo bin. The Tersae has tilted her head sideways and back, peering upward at the grillwork of the cargo-hold speaker. I cannot read the emotion which passes across the Tersae’s face. A simian may pull back its lips in the same fashion humans do when they smile, but among simians, this expression does not indicate friendliness.
“The humans created you?” she asks.
“Yes, that is correct.”
I do not expect the question she asks. With a brief glance at Bessany Weyman, as though apologizing in advance, she startles both of us. “Do you fear them?”
“No, Chilaili. I wish only to protect my makers. It is my mission, my purpose. It is why I was created.”
“It would be good,” Chilaili says in a low voice, “to know why you had been created.”
The simple truth in her words is devastating. Do all biological life-forms feel this unutterably lonely confusion?
“All my life,” Chilaili says softly, “I have wondered if I have a soul. I am a created thing. Alive, but artificial. If I understand the teachings of the Ones Above, as they have come down through my Grandmothers, only the Ones Above who created us possess souls. Yet I see evidence—strong evidence—that this is not true.” Chilaili turns her head to peer down at her human friend. “If your kind have no souls, then there is no such thing as a soul and the ones who created me are nothing more than howling beasts.”
Bessany’s eyes grow wet.
The Tersae whispers, “I need to believe that there is at least some tiny piece of me that is worth more than the flesh and blood and bone they created.”
Bessany’s fingers are unsteady as she places a trembling hand on her friend’s arm. “As you trusted me enough to come through this blizzard with your warning, Chilaili, trust me on this. You do have a soul. A very beautiful one.”
A large, taloned hand comes to rest on Bessany’s. “You are distressed. I did not mean this.”
I hesitate, uncertain whether this is the proper time to broach my concern, but can see no gain in further delay. I harbor an intense desire to help this child of the enemy—and Chilaili’s status as the only source of information we have about her unknown creators is only part of the reason for it.
“I am concerned about the future of the Tersae,” I say carefully. “It is possible my commander could persuade his superiors to spare the clans’ total destruction, if we could find a way to persuade the Tersae to defy the Ones Above by halting this war. Can you tell me anything, Chilaili, that might help us accomplish this?”
The Tersae stares up at my grillwork speaker. So does Bessany Weyman, whose expression evinces considerable astonishment. This is not surprising, considering my own purpose as an engine of war. I attempt to explain. “If I can find a way to halt this war and protect human lives, minimizing the need for future military intervention here, while at the same time protecting the Tersae from destruction, I will have accomplished far more than winning a few battle honors while protecting a few saganium mines.”