“Initialization and start-up sequencing for both units are complete, sir,” he said, stung by Lang’s sarcasm. “Hank reports full combat readiness. They’re studying the tacsit now.”
“Well, tell them to hurry the hell up,” Lang snapped. “If those are Kezdai, we are in deep trouble!”
You’re telling me? Martin thought, face expressionless. At the moment he wasn’t sure what worried him more—the incoming Kezdai invasion fleet, or the incompetence of his own CO.
* * *
It has been 23.93 seconds since we became fully operational, and we are still waiting for definitive input from the command center. Data feeds indicate that numerous incoming space vessels appear to be vectoring for landings on Izra’il; indeed, the first landings have already taken place, on the ice plains east of the Frozen Hell Mountains.
I access the combat record archives within HQ’s data libraries. A span of 95.31 years is long for a human; in Bolo terms, it is an eternity. What wars have been waged, what battles fought, in the intervening near-century?
The Prophet and its coterie of moons is relatively remote from major centers of Concordiat civilization. Closest are Angelrath, Korvan, and Delas, worlds on the rim of humankind’s realm, hence distant from the political and governmental storms that most often lead to war. Beyond the Concordiat frontier in this sector, there is only the unexplored vastness of far-flung suns scattering in toward the Galactic center, and the cold, pale-smeared glow of the Firecracker Nebula.
Interesting. There is a reference in the library to an incursion some months ago by a formerly unknown alien species occupying at least several star systems in the general region of the nebula. They are called “Kezdai,” a militant humanoid species possessed of a warrior ethic and philosophy. According to library records, their recent landing on Delas was repulsed by elements of the 491st Armored Regiment out of Angelrath, including two uprated Mark XXVIII Bolos of the old 39th Terran Lancers.
I note that the drive signatures of the starships vectoring toward Izra’il match those recorded for Kezdai vessels in the last incursion and assume, with 95+ percent certainty, that they are hostiles. I request permission to deploy orbit denial munitions.
* * *
“Sir,” Lieutenant Martin said, “Bolo Hank is requesting weapons free on ODM. He’s confirming those incoming boats as Kezdai.”
“That’s a negative!” Lang snapped. “We could have friendlies coming in on a landing approach vector.”
“Sir, Andrew requests deployment orders.”
“Tell those junk-heap mountains—” Lang stopped himself. “Negative,” he said. “All units hold position.”
Lieutenant Martin turned to face the colonel. “Sir, the inbound targets have been IDed with high probability as hostile. With respect, sir, we should deploy the Bolos before enemy air or space strikes find them in their storage bunkers.”
“Use ’em or lose ’em, eh?” Lang said, grinning. He shook his head. “Obsolete or not, those two clunkers are our only heavy artillery on this rock. I’m not going to deploy them until I’m certain I know what the enemy has in mind. Put them out there too soon and . . . phht!” He snapped his fingers. “They get zapped from space, and we lose our only mobile artillery. No, thank you!”
“If those are troop transports inbound,” Martin reminded him, “then the time and the place to stop them is now, in space, before they hit dirt. They’ll be a hell of a lot harder to run down once they’re loose on the surface.”
“Thank you. Mr. Martin, but I do know something about strategy and tactics. We need to see what the Kedzees are up to. I mean to draw them out.”
Martin and Khalid exchanged glances. Martin couldn’t help but feel sorry for the governor. Izra’il was a hardship posting for Concordiat troops . . . but it was home to Khalid and over seven thousand Izra’ilian colonists. Lang’s experiments in tactics would be conducted in the backyards of Khalid and his neighbors.
What was Lang playing at?
His communication board chirped, a call from Bolo Hank. He inserted an earpiece and opened the channel. “Bolo tactical, Code seven-seven-three,” he said. “Lieutenant Martin.”
“My Commander,” a voice said in his ear. “This is Bolo of the Line HNK 0808-50 and Bolo of the Line NDR 0831-57.” The voice was deep and rich, with a trace of an accent Martin couldn’t place, flat vowels and a hint of old-fashioned formality. The language had shifted somewhat in the three centuries since Hank and Andrew had been programmed. “We are fully charged, powered-up, and ready in all respects for combat. Our expendable munitions lockers are full. Hellbores charged and ready. Sensors operational, and tracking probable hostiles. Request permission to engage the enemy.”
“Not just yet, Hank.” He hesitated, studying Colonel Lang who was talking quietly with Khalid. “We’ve got . . . we’ve got a situation here in the command center. My CO wants to . . . draw out the enemy, get him to commit himself.”
“I see. May I suggest, my Commander, that the two of us be positioned in a more central location, from which we can be speedily deployed to any threatened quarter? It seems needlessly wasteful to leave Bolo assets in lightly armored storage bunkers.”
“I agree. Hold tight, and I’ll see what I can do. But . . . no promises.”
“I understand, my Commander.”
The Bolo might understand, but Martin was damned if he did.
* * *
I wonder when the order to engage will come.
I feel Andrew’s presence within my thoughts as our QDC link firms up. The test series for the new Bolo comm system was completed nearly three centuries ago, and though the tests were deemed inconclusive, the equipment was never deactivated or removed. This has proven to be an excellent stroke of good fortune to both Andrew and myself, allowing us an open and completely secure communications channel at a much deeper level than that provided by more traditional systems.
“Kezdai forces,” Andrew says, sorting through the incoming flood of tactical information. “Do we have a primary tacop deployment option?”
“Negative. According to the combat archives, the Kezdai were formidable opponents, if somewhat rigid and inflexible. The assumption is that they will have noted the presence of two uprated Mark XXVIIIs on Delas and evolved both weapons and tactics necessary for countering a Bolo defense.”
“Perhaps doctrinal rigidity prevents them from making major changes in their tactical deployment.”
“We cannot count on that. If they have experienced success enough to maintain an essentially warrior-oriented culture, they must have flexibility enough to meet new threats and technologies.”
“Perhaps we should game scenarios of historical interest,” Andrew suggests.
“We have little information on Kezdai potential,” I reply, “but it would be a reasonable use of time.” Seconds were dragging past, ponderous as human days, without immediate response from HQ.
“Initiating,” Andrew said, and a battlefield unfolds within my mind.
* * *
“What’s this?” Colonel Lang demanded, pointing at a bank of monitors and readouts suddenly active. Several screens showed rapidly shifting, flickering views that might have represented soldiers . . . but in the uniforms and carrying weapons a millennium out of date. “What’s going on?”
Lieutenant Martin gave the monitor array an amused glance. “They’re playing games.”
“What?” The word rebuked. “What are you talking about?”
“That’s the Bolo QDC console, sir,” Martin explained. “It’s essentially a private communications channel. They use it during downtime, to hone their tactical and strategic faculties. Don’t try to make sense of it. It goes too fast. But it can be interesting to play the scenarios back later, at a speed the human mind can grasp.”
“That QD . . . what? What is that?”
“Quantum Determinacy Communications, sir. These two combat units were fitted with a prototype quantum communications system . . . oh, must’ve been three or four hundred years ago.”
“Ah,” Lang said. “Of course. . . .”
Amused by Lang’s pretense, Martin pushed ahead. “The concept of quantum-dynamic ansibles has been floating around for centuries, of course. The idea predates human spaceflight.”
“A quantum communications system?” Khalid asked. “You mean where quantum particles are paired off, and their spins change at the same time?”
Martin nodded, impressed at the governor’s knowledge of historiotechnic trivia. “Exactly.” He touched his forefingers together, then spread them apart. “Generate two quantum particles—a photon, say—in the same subatomic event. They will be identical in every respect, including such characteristics as what we call spin. Move them apart. Change the one from spin up to spin down . . . and the second particle’s spin will change at the same instant, even if the two are separated by thousands of light years. It’s one of the fundamentals of quantum physics, and the basis for communications devices that can’t be tapped, jammed, or interfered with in any way. No carrier wave, you understand. No signal to block or intercept. What happens in one unit simply . . . happens in the other, at the same instant. Physicists still don’t really understand why the universe seems to work that way.”