“On what?” Brad muttered. “We don’t have clearance for Bolo technology.”
“Well, no, but we can give him everything in the colony library, everything in Mom’s library archives. We’ve already uploaded some of it, into those new memory crystals we swiped.”
Bradley grinned, clearly remembering the consternation caused by discovery of the theft. The little kids had been blamed for it, after one of the crystals, carefully planted, turned up as “pirates’ treasure.” No one had gotten into serious trouble and Bradley had agreed to pay for the replacements, since he had “encouraged” the kids to play pirate games. The loss had been replaced on the next supply ship—and Gonner had gotten a badly needed memory supplement.
“It couldn’t hurt to try,” Kalima decided.
“All right. You get a copy of your mother’s stuff and I’ll bootleg a copy of the library archives.”
They climbed out of the Bolo, Brad carting Shiva over one arm since the big dog couldn’t negotiate the steep rungs, and jumped down the last rung to land in knee-deep grass. The big dog trotted to one side and sat laughing at their feet. He adored visiting the Bolo with them. He’d kept their secret even from the other dogs.
Kalima paused and gazed across the valley. “Sometimes, you know, I try to imagine what it must have been like, that day. They must’ve known it was hopeless, once Gonner was crippled. He was the last Bolo of the Dinochrome Brigade stationed here. The Deng had already killed the others.”
Brad slipped an arm around her shoulder. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Thank God the Deng were beaten back years ago.”
She shivered and leaned against him. “Yeah.”
“Come on, let’s go. I’ll cook dinner at my place after we finish stealing the archives for Gonner.”
Kalima grinned. Brad had moved out the moment he hit eighteen and had built his own place out at the edge of town, closer to the ruined fortress than anyone else had built. All that was required now for an unnoticed excursion to work on Gonner was a quick exit from Brad’s back door. Then they simply cut through the woods and climbed the ridge.
“It’s a deal.”
They headed back to town, hand in hand.
—12—
The additional data provided by my Commander and Bradley Dault has proven of unique interest. A great deal of this information is medical, giving me great insight into the nature of biological life forms. Commander Tennyson’s parent has acquired considerable skill in genetic manipulation. Dault has provided additional data on surgical skills, including results of his own studies. I note that he bears the same name as the colony surgeon and shares an interest in surgery. I also note that in his personal files he indicates no direct genetic link with this other Dault. Human relationships continue to puzzle me.
I search for possible information to resolve my current disability. I find none which appears viable. Commander Tennyson’s data includes information on techniques attempted approximately fifty years ago which proved of limited success. I study these notes more carefully and extrapolate possibilities. There is a 27.35 percent chance that such a cybernetic interphase linkage might serve as a substitute fire-control center. I have lost that portion of my psychotronic network which monitors and manipulates the primary controls for the Hellbore system and the energy repeater guns. Anti-personnel charges and guns are under my control, but my main weapons systems respond erratically. A secondary brain, under intelligent control and tied into my psychotronic nervous system, would be capable of taking my directions and manually controlling the weapons systems. With proper cybernetic connections, it would be possible for such a system to translate leg and arm movement commands from the brain center into traversing and firing commands for my weapons systems.
I anticipate a 99.85 percent probability that no human volunteer will be found for such an attempt. Nor does the current situation require such measures. I am incapable of fighting, but my sensors monitor the security of this colony. I will know before any human on Donner’s World what dangers may threaten human survival. It is less than my original commission requires; but I am a member of the Dinochrome Brigade. I will serve to the best of my ability. I note the required procedure and file the data for reference. I will speak with my Commander of this when she returns. She will decide the proper course of action for this unit.
—13—
A knock at the outer door interrupted Kalima’s concentration. “It’s open!”
Brad’s voice followed the sound of the squeaking door hinges. “Kalima? Have you seen Shiva?”
She glanced up. “No. He never comes here unless you’re with him. What’s wrong? Has one of the young bitches gone into heat?”
He shook his head. “No. I checked. He left about an hour ago, through the woods, and hasn’t come back. He didn’t come when I called.”
Kalima scooted her keyboard aside and stood up. “That’s odd. Mom! I’m going for a walk!”
“Be careful, dear.”
Kalima rolled her eyes. “Brad’s going along!”
“Hello, Bradley! Have a nice walk!”
“Thank you, Dr. Tennyson.”
He didn’t smile, which thoroughly alarmed Kalima. She whistled and called for Sufi. The dog she’d grown up with bounded into the living room.
“Let’s go for a walk, Sufi.”
Sufi swished her tail and barked once.
They headed for Brad’s house and walked through the deep conifer needles to the back.
“He trotted off that way.” Brad pointed.
“Sufi, Shiva’s missing. Can you find him?”
Sufi barked emphatically and bounded off into the trees. Brad jogged after her and shed his jacket, which he draped over a tree limb at the edge of the yard. Kalima noticed uneasily that he’d thrust a gun into a holster on his belt. She hadn’t noticed, earlier.
“Brad, what gives? There haven’t been any ybin attacks in years.”
“Something’s happened to Shiva,” he said grimly over one shoulder. “Do you really want to go one-on-one against a ybin without a gun?”
“Uh . . . no.”
Two hundred yards into the trees, Sufi halted and sank down onto her belly, growling low in her throat. Brad went to ground behind her. Kalima ate pine needles, then scooted forward cautiously to peer over the dog’s shoulder.
Her breath caught.
Shiva lay about ten yards ahead. The dog’s head was turned away from them, but even from this distance Kalima could tell the animal was dead or critically wounded. Blood had spattered everywhere and soaked into the pine straw under his dark fur.
“What happened?” she whispered.
Brad’s jaw muscles looked like iron. A soft snick reached her ears. He’d drawn the gun and slipped off the safety.
“Stay here. You’re not armed and I am.”
He inched forward. Sufi was still growling.
A flash of sunlight on metal caught Kalima’s attention. Before she could yell a warning, Shiva whined sharply and tried to lunge toward the trees. His back legs didn’t move. Brad yelled something and fired wildly. Kalima heard a scream of metal on metal; then an energy bolt slammed into a tree trunk less than a millimeter from Brad’s ear. He dove behind the tree and fired again. Something slammed solidly into another tree trunk. Shiva was whining hysterically. Sufi snarled low in her throat and lunged out of Kalima’s grip.
“Sufi! Down!”
Another energy beam sliced through the trees. Sufi yelped, but kept going. Brad lunged for the dog and fired again at something Kalima couldn’t quite see. Then Sufi snarled and the sound of bending metal squealed through the trees.
“Got it!” Brad snarled. He lunged to his feet and dove forward. “Mother of—”
Kalima covered the intervening ground in half a heartbeat.
“What—” She broke off with a horrified gasp.
The thing was small, not even as large as Sufi’s torso. Eight mangled, spike-like appendages dangled from it. Two holes through its—body? head?—leaked a thin, foul-smelling fluid. Kalima saw dark, blue-black hair under its body armor. A bulge on one side was completely encased in metal, although two lenses reminded her of goggles. An alien weapon, resembling a long, thin rifle, lay in the pine straw under Sufi’s paw. The dog still snarled over the inert body, fangs bared.
“My God,” she whispered, “it’s a Deng. An advance infantry probe. My God.”
Brad stomped the thing, making certain it was dead, then checked Sufi’s injury. “Spodders are back,” he said, through clenched teeth. “Got Shiva and waited for someone to come looking for him. Sufi’s burned across the shoulder, here; but she’s not critical. Can you walk, girl?”
The dog barked an emphatic affirmative. Brad confiscated the spodder’s weapon and tested it against a nearby tree trunk. Bark sizzled and chipped loose. The burn scar stank. So did Shiva’s blood. Kalima glanced through the gloom in the deep woods, hunting for any hint of Deng activity, any glint of sunlight on metal. The silence, which she had always enjoyed, was suddenly ominous.