“If you must move,” the Bolo’s voice said, “do so quietly. The enemy is near, scanning the debris for survivors. There have been a number of patrols since the attack.”
“How long was I unconscious?”
“Twelve hours, fourteen minutes, and either nineteen or thirty-eight seconds, depending on your definition of conscious.”
Tyrus considered for a moment, and decided that lying on the floor for a while longer was a pretty damned good idea. He felt nauseous, weak, from even trying to move. “What am I supposed to call you?”
“I am Bolo Mark XXIV, designation DRK. I believe that my previous commanders used to refer to me as ‘Dirk.'”
He suddenly remembered that Dirk had already given his name, before the attack. He wondered how much damage the bump on the head had done, and why Dirk didn’t seem to remember it either.
“Okay, Dirk, I’m in pretty bad shape. How about you?”
“I have been seriously sabotaged in a means I do not yet understand. My weapons systems have largely been removed or disabled, my sensors and battle screens extensively modified from their original configurations, new equipment of unknown purpose welded to my hull, and most seriously, my psychotronics and memory have been seriously compromised. I attempted to engage Full Combat Reflex Mode during the attack, and internal feedback nearly destroyed my higher mental functions. It appears that I will require orders from a human commander before taking direct combat action.”
“They probably hardwired some sort of inhibitor into your combat reflex circuits. They were as worried about your going berserk as I was. Dirk, you haven’t exactly been sabotaged, though the word ‘butchery’ might apply. You’ve been turned into a mining machine.”
The machine was uncharacteristically silent for a time.
“That is illogical.”
“Damn straight, but they did it anyway.”
More silence.
“That at least clarifies my situation. It explains why my sensors have been modified to detect seismic disturbances and mineral concentrations rather than targeting data, why my screens have been optimized for low-velocity kinetic impacts, and why my combat communications array has been replaced with one for civilian wavelengths. I will need to analyze my new capabilities, and attempt to compensate for my loss of combat readiness.”
“You mean, you think you can still fight?”
“I can move. I have awareness. I have power. With your help, I will fight to the best of my capabilities.”
“Listen, Dirk, I’d love to help out and all, but my soldiering days are over. I just want to find my family.”
“Your family were in the colony outside the hangar?”
“Yes.”
“Then they are no longer there, or they are dead. I cannot determine which.”
That was the thing he’d been trying not to think about. He vaguely remembered seeing the colony in flames, the apartments exploding. But there could be survivors out there somewhere, and he’d seen an air shuttle getting away. There was hope. There had to be hope. There were so many things he had yet to say. He had to apologize for bringing them to this place, for failing to have the simple courage to say “no” to his superiors when the time was right. The last time with his wife, they had been fighting. It couldn’t end like that.
There had to be hope.
Besides, this crippled Bolo freely admitted that its sensors weren’t working right. “Dirk, how can you be so sure that there are no survivors out there? Do you have visual?”
“Negative. When the explosion went off, a section of the hillside above the hangar collapsed. We are buried under eight to ten meters of loose rock.”
That stopped him for a moment. “Then how do you know anything about what is happening outside?”
“I seem to be equipped with a suite of sensitive seismic detectors. I can detect any surface movements in the area. The patrols I have detected are too heavy, their stride wrong, for them to be human. I have detected no movement, either by foot or vehicle, that I can identify as potentially human. In fact, I have detected no vehicles at all.”
That didn’t make sense either. An attacking force should have lots of vehicles. All those alien soldiers he’d seen certainly hadn’t walked here through a thousand kilometers of jungle.
Feeling a little better, he pulled himself up to a sitting position. His arm hurt, his head throbbed, there were little dark flecks in his vision when he moved, but he thought he would live. “You don’t seem concerned that we’re buried. Can you get us out?”
“Affirmative. Despite the so-called ‘butchery’ of my systems, I am still a Bolo of the Line. When you are ready, I can begin extracting us from the rubble.”
He sighed. Despite Dirk’s claim, he wouldn’t be satisfied until they made a visual inspection of the colony. Failing that, the shuttle had been headed north. There was another colony off that way if he remembered correctly. He might find his family there, and this Bolo was his best chance of making the trip. “Start digging.”
“I would recommend that you strap yourself into my command crash couch first. It is also equipped with a field autodoc that can treat your injuries. Can you climb up to my control room?”
He looked at the ladder. “I think so. Which way?”
“Up the ladder, right at the horizontal passage, around my main turret bearing, through the fore circuitry room, right on until the end of the passage.” He started climbing the ladder, careful not to hit his bump on the low, metal ceiling. “I should warn you,” said Dirk, “that as soon as I bring my systems up to full power, there is a good possibility we will be detected.”
“We’ll deal with it when we have to. See what you can do about getting us some functioning weapons, and I’ll have a quick look at your circuitry room as I pass through.”
“I will begin bringing power systems on-line.”
“Not while I’m touching an exposed buss bar, please.” He reached the central passage and started crawling forward. “Get ready to dig us out. I want to see some sunlight.”
Around him the massive mining machine came to life.
Chapter Three
The heat smothered them like a blanket, making the already thick atmosphere blur any long range visuals. The shimmering of the air, combined with the black and white markings of the aliens’ fur, worked like a natural camouflage, letting them blend with the shadows at the edge of the jungle. Acting Militia Commander Jerry Donning let go of the binocs with disgust, letting them drop back into place on his vest. He could do better without them. He knew the aliens were out there. They had attacked twice already since the fall of the Odinberg Colony. There was no doubt they were coming again.
He stood on the top of a slight rise just to the south of the northern colony, staring into the scattered jungle below them. He felt lost, outmanned, outgunned and underqualified. It had only been a month since the first shipments of pulse rifles, body armor, and light weaponry had come in, along with orders from company headquarters, “able-bodied adults, especially those with military experience, are urged to form a militia for emergency defense.”
“Urged” was just the company’s way of saying “must,” and so processing foreman Jerry Donning, who had once done a tour with the New Brazil Marines suddenly found himself prime officer material, in fact, found himself in charge of the colony’s defenses. Never mind that in his three terrestrial years in the service he’d never gotten within a parsec of combat, never fired a shot outside a range or a training simulation. But there he was, in charge.
He’d figured it would be easy. Round up some volunteers, go shoot some daybats at the jungle’s edge, lob off some practice mortar rounds at rock formations. Hell, it would be fun. It wasn’t like they’d ever have to fire a shot in anger.
Then it happened. A hundred and eighty clicks to the south, the remains of the southern colony probably still smoldered, every man, woman, and child dead, or so it seemed. They’d sent out a flyer when the distress call had come in, and it had reported no sign of life, just before it too was taken down by a missile.
The Concordiat promised that help was on the way, but he had no idea when it was getting here. Not soon enough, that was for sure. He swatted away a hovering blood-bee that was going for his nose, and growled at nothing in particular.
Hell, if he was the best they had, then he’d have to do. He wasn’t going to let what happened to the Odinberg Colony happen here. He had plasma cannons in fortifications, turret-mounted antimissile auto-batteries, over a hundred handheld missile launchers and mortars in ready positions, and the entire hillside in front of him had been mined. Sure, his men were undertrained, but they were learning fast. God knows, the aliens were giving them plenty of targets to practice on. If they were going to try to attack this front again, and all sensors showed they were massing to do just that, they were going to pay a very heavy price.