Bendra took the knife wordlessly and put it into its scabbard, then walked away with as much dignity as he could muster. He kept his eyes down and looked straight ahead. The floor here was carpet instead of sand, but this was still the realm of the high-born. It would be another hundred spans of corridor and several drop tubes before he would reach a place where he could raise his eyes to meet those of passersby.
The journey gave him time to think.
He was convinced that he was right, that there was something more to the object and that it represented a threat. But he had done his duty. The burden of the object had finally been passed. If indeed he was right and the Is-kaldai’s blood-sister was wrong, then the blame would not fall on him.
If the magnitude of the mistake were sufficient, Vatsha might even lose her rank. On as small a ship as this, the upset might filter down through the ranks, even to his lowly station. Bendra might get a better position, perhaps even a real title of low rank, and not just a technical one.
As he stepped from the last drop tube into the crowded clamor of the Common Quarters, Bendra raised his eyes to the sight of over a hundred and twenty low-bloods living in the same room, eating, sleeping, playing, defecating in a room twelve spans square. He stepped over a mother dozing with her huddle of squirming hatchlings and went in search of his own sleep pad.
Yes, he decided, that is what he would wish to happen. Let Vatsha lose her rank. Certainly it would not make things worse for him now.
He would watch the strange object, and hope.
* * *
“You need what?” Jask asked. He was standing beside the sleeping Lieutenant Orren. The headset was on his head and he was talking to a real Bolo. He almost couldn’t talk from the excitement of it.
“I request transport to the nearest repair depot.”
“I can’t do that. You come here.”
“That is not possible.”
“Don’t your treads work?”
“My drive systems appear to be working at eighty-one-point-oh-seven percent capacity, but I am unable to self-transport.”
“Why not?”
“My drive systems are ineffective in the current environment.”
“So your treads don’t work,” Jask said. “Maybe I could come there and fix you. I’m good at fixing things. When my bolo, Bessy broke her power lead—”
“Query: there is another Bolo present there?”
“Bessy . . . Bessy is a—” Jask had to be truthful. This was a real Bolo he was talking to.
“Please go on.”
“Bessy isn’t a real Bolo like you, I guess,” Jask said, talking faster and faster. “Just a make believe one. See— See, the bizzards came and blew everything up, and they— My mom and dad went away, see—? This is hard . . . The bizzards still come sometimes, and I was afraid. I read about Bolos in a holobook. When the bizzards came, Dad said the Bolos would come to save us— But they never saved my dad and mom.”
“My condolences for your loss. I request description of these `bizzards.’ I am unfamiliar with this designation.”
“You use a lot of big words, like Dad and Mom used to,” Jask said “I like that. Even when it confuses me.”
“What is the meaning of the world `bizzard.’ ”
“I made it up,” Jask said proudly. “See, they’re like half buzzard and half lizard, so I called then bizzards. Pretty smart, huh? They have another name, but it was hard to say, and I forget it.”
“Kezdai.”
“That’s it! But I’ll still call them bizzards if that’s okay with you.”
“I will henceforth designate the Kezdai as bizzards during our communications.”
“Thanks.”
“What is the status of Lieutenant Orren?”
Jask glanced at where Orren was sleeping. His face was still red and he was moaning. “He’s real sick, Ziggy. Can I call you Ziggy? He called you Ziggy.”
“That is allowable.”
“Anyway, he got hurt pretty bad, lots of blood and stuff.”
“He is being cared for?”
“I’m taking care of him real good.”
“He should be in a proper medical facility. Is there a medic available?”
“I told you, Ziggy, there’s just me and Bessy. My folks could fix anything, but— Well, you know, they’re gone— You’re not coming are you?”
“I am unable to self-transport to your location.”
“Are any other Bolos coming?”
“I am not in communication with the Delassian ground forces. I do not know their status.”
“If they were coming, they’d be here already,” Jask said. “I’ve been waiting so long. I thought the Bolos would come. But they’re not coming. I’m all alone here, and Mr. Orren is going to die, and you aren’t coming. You aren’t even going to try. You aren’t a Bolo at all!”
Jask tossed the headset back at the sleeping Orren and stormed out into the afternoon sun.
* * *
My situation seems more dire than ever. It is now apparent that I will receive no material support from my ground contact. My Commander’s condition seems grave, and my personal situation seems impossible.
Yet, something has been stirred within me. Perhaps my personality circuits were more badly damaged than I realized. My situation may appear to be impossible, but I am aware, I have power, I have resources. It is my duty to protect the weak, to stand in defense of the humanity against alien aggression. If I am needed on Delas, then Delas is where I will go.
I am Bolo.
I will never give up.
I will never surrender.
I will prevail.
* * *
Jask kicked small rocks down the hill as he climbed. In all the time since his parents had been killed, he hadn’t gotten this angry. But right now he wanted to have something to just tear apart.
Anything.
But he couldn’t find anything, so he settled for kicking rocks.
He got to the top of the ridge and dropped down on the ground with his back against a tree. He could feel tears trying to come, but his dad had always told him that he should never cry when he was taking care of himself. His dad had said there would always be time for tears later, when the emergency was over.
Well, it looked to Jask as if later wasn’t going to ever come, now. He had hoped that the Bolos would come and save them all. Deep inside he knew it would happen. He had believed it completely all this time.
But now he had actually talked to a Bolo. And now he knew they weren’t coming.
They were never coming.
The tears started to fill his eyes again, and that just made him mad. He couldn’t cry.
He wouldn’t let himself.
He stood and quickly headed up the remaining slope of mountain, climbing the rocks like a mountain goat, not really caring how far down it was. Around him the sun was bright and the afternoon hot.
He didn’t care. All he wanted to do was climb, get away from Lieutenant Orren, from the mine with his parents’ bodies, and from that link with the Bolo.
He just needed to be anywhere but there.
As he reached the top he was about to stand and shout at the heavens when something caught his eye far down in the next valley. He jumped back behind a rock and peered over it carefully.
The valley was full of the hated bizzards.
They seemed to be everywhere.
This wasn’t just an isolated infantry patrol like he’d seen lots of times before. This was a full army of bizzards. And they had lots of stuff with them. Missile platforms, troop carriers, all kinds of vehicles, including tanks.
And from up the valley he could see more coming all the time.
He watched for a minute, his anger gone completely. Then keeping his head down, he eased his way back out of sight and headed for his camp.
Even if the Bolo wasn’t coming to rescue him, it needed to know what he had just seen.
* * *
Six
Vatsha found Rejad in the yacht’s solarium. Here the sunlamps beat down heavily, and the sand that covered the floors in most of Rejad’s apartment was heaped into actual dunes as high as her head. Holo projectors made the rear walls of the room vanish into a simulated horizon where sharp-crested dunes met painfully blue sky. She could smell water somewhere under the sand, and it was tempting to kneel down and dig for it, to filter a drink of water from the damp sand in the old way rather than sucking it from a drinking sponge.
But she was not here to enjoy herself. She suppressed the urge and turned her attention to her brother.
He stood on the highest dune in the room, dressed only in a silver colored kilt that wrapped around his waist, feeding his flock of pet stingers. A dozen of the fist-sized insects fluttered around him, their wings rustling like dry paper with each rapid stroke.