Chapter 5

Model Army

‘VERY IMPRESSIVE, GENERAL Decimal,’ murmured the Chairman. ‘Very impressive indeed.’

He was standing beside his Chief of Peace on the gallery of the West One Peace Keep’s main control room. A holographic scale model of the battle-zone stretched out below him. At its centre he could clearly see the old Epsilon reactor. The surrounding area was entirely enclosed by a translucent green dome – the containment field. All around its outside stood ranks of miniature white figures, each labelled with a tiny red identity code.

The ring of White Knights had only one gap. Decimal had just explained to his superior that the final unit of androids was making its way into position. In fact, there they were – a perfect block of tiny white troops marching west across the display.

‘Of course, it would have been much simpler just to have blitzed the place,’ observed the Chairman. ‘Taken out the whole site with a Flying Fortress airstrike.’

‘Indeed, sir,’ agreed Decimal. ‘I estimate a single kiloton F-bomb would have left no survivors.’

‘But we can’t have people thinking that the Perfect Corporation governs by brute force, eh? There’s no surer way to create public support for these irritating Skirter fools than by making martyrs of them.’

Skirters weren’t a new problem. Ever since the Chairman had taken control of Nu-Topia, there had been those who opposed him. He had seen to it that most disappeared permanently, or were locked up in one of the Corporation’s underground detention centres. The lucky ones fled the city.

But they tended not to go far. The wastelands that surrounded Nu-Topia were uninhabitable, even for an outlaw. It was a long way to any other settlement and few welcomed outsiders. Most exiles tried to survive on the outskirts, just beyond the Limits. Here, they could scavenge in the Dumps – the mountainous waste heaps that encircled the city.

In the past, the Skirters had lacked the leadership to be any real threat. The White Knights had easily dealt with the occasional badly planned raid. But over the last year, a small, well-organized group of exiles had staged a series of successful attacks on Corporation facilities. They had become a serious thorn in the Chairman’s side.

But not for much longer.

The Chairman looked across the battle-zone model spread before him. The miniature troops looked like so many thousand toy soldiers. But in reality, he knew, each one of them was a remorseless, ultra-efficient killing machine. When they advanced – soon, now – nothing within the field would be left alive.

‘The future looks a little grim for our Skirter friends, wouldn’t you say, General?’ sneered the Chairman.

‘Without a doubt, sir.’ Decimal attempted a smile – an expression which really didn’t suit him. ‘By my calculations our Knights outnumber them by at least eighty to one.’

‘Excellent!’ The Chairman’s cruel grin widened. ‘As you know, my old friend, there’s nothing I dislike more than a fair fight . . .’