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The Indescribable Joy of Destruction coasted towards Ganna-6, known as Scragend to those who had the misfortune to live there. The planet held a population of almost a million, mostly in small villages. This far from any core worlds there was very little trade. As with any colony of this size, a large proportion of the inhabitants lived off the land. However, there was also a thriving arms industry. Intelligence reports had included the details of a dealer who might be willing to exchange ammunition for intel, no questions asked.
The planet was controlled by Hestig, one of the thousands of lesser warlords who had carved out their territories while the two major powers fought over their democratic ideologies. Not much was known about him. No-one still breathing even knew his real name. Most warlords ruled by popular consent, at least they did for as long as they were successful. There were some, of course, who abused their power; some who needed to oppress their people in order to keep control. The little detail of which kind of ruler Hestig was wasn't recorded on the database entry for the Ganna system.
^We have a shadow,^ announced Indie.
Johnson didn't break her stride as she summoned a tactical map of local space. It replaced the simulation of a mountain trail on the wall in front of her treadmill.
^Doesn't look like it’s in a hurry to close the range,^ she replied.
^No. I've been watching it for fifty-two minutes, since it boosted to match velocity with us. Before that, it must have been running cold, because I didn't see it.^
^Hmm. Too deep in-well to have just jumped in there. We're close to the least-time path to the habitable planet. I expect it was hanging around to see if anyone interesting turned up.^
^We certainly qualify.^
The angle of the treadmill increased and she had to dig a little deeper to keep up her speed.
^Is it a threat?^ she asked.
^It is a corvette-sized vessel. Closest match in the database is a Phandino class trader. Looks like it has been extensively modified. Without an active scan I can't be sure, but it has probably had quite a few weapons strapped on. They shouldn't have anything we need to worry about, though.^
^I'd say ignore it. It might think we haven't noticed it yet. If it makes a move to stop us reaching orbit, let’s hail it and see what it wants,^ she suggested.
Johnson continued her workout. Her brain seemed to have fully assimilated her new leg. Freed from Indie's protestations of her overdoing it, she was able to seriously push herself again. It felt good to run. The gentle breeze from the air conditioning was no substitute for the real wind on her face. She always missed the smells most when she was on a ship. Tempus and other herbs baking in the sunlight, the soil after heavy rain, the ozone of a lightning storm. Anything was better than the recycled, artificial air. The simulated visuals were a welcome addition to what she had had before. Another thing she had to thank the former captain for.
As the treadmill slowed to walking pace she grabbed a towel and hooked it over her neck.
^How long before we get there?^ she asked.
^An hour. You should get some rest. There don’t appear to be any imminent threats out there.^
^I’ll finish up here then grab a shower. Let me know...^
^...if anything happens,^ Indie finished for her. ^Of course I will.^
#
They reached Scragend’s orbit without their shadow getting any closer. As The Indescribable Joy of Destruction finished its deceleration burn and settled into a geostationary orbit, it was scanned from several directions. There weren’t any of the large space stations of a more developed world, but there were a far larger number of satellites than normal for this level of settlement.
^I expect a lot of those are disguised weapons platforms,^ Johnson commented as she stepped out of the shower.
^Agreed. Most are dormant now. We are being targeted by some of the overt platforms though. Nothing more than a prudent traffic manager would do for an unknown arrival.^
She grabbed a towel from a wall clamp, put one foot up on the toilet seat and started to dry her legs.
^Have we been hailed?^
^Yes,^ he sent. ^I replied that we were here to buy some components for repairs. They have granted us permission to go down to the surface.^
Her shoulders slumped slightly. To try to cover up her reaction she straightened and towelled her torso. Dealing with a black-marketeer felt wrong; all her life it had been drilled into her that people who subverted materiel that could help with the war effort were traitors. Now she had to rely on just such people.
^I would remind you that I have only partial records on this planet,^ sent Indie. ^Based on the data for similar planets, it is likely that the political situation is unstable.^
^Looks like I will have to get kitted up then.^
^You don’t have to go in person. If you don’t feel ready...^
^They aren’t going to trade with one of your other ‘representatives’ are they.^
^No. You are correct. They will be accompanying you, though, to keep you safe.^
^Let’s hope they don’t scare everyone away.^
She threw her wet towel into the laundry hamper and closed the lid. Opening a cupboard, she pulled out a skinsuit. Perching on the side of her cot, she bunched it up and inserted one foot, then the other. She pulled it up to her knees, before standing and getting it over her hips.
Thank goodness this is only going to be a short excursion. I hate having to wear the biowaste version!
She reached behind her back, and got her right arm into one of the sleeves. Bringing that arm forward, she stretched and wiggled her fingers into place. She repeated the process with her left arm. A couple of circles of her shoulders and the slick cloth shuffled into place. Then she pulled the very fine zip up the front, pausing briefly to free her hair before sealing the neck.
Maybe I should cut my hair again. But then I’d look like I was back in the Navy.
Encased in the skinsuit from chin to toe, she would be protected from a wide range of hostile environments, and minor cuts and scrapes. The tight cloth also provided support for her muscles to reduce fatigue.
^I’m on my way to the armoury,^ she sent as she left her cabin.
^The shuttle is ready. My representatives, as you call them, are just finishing boarding.^
In the armoury, Johnson walked past the hardsuits in their charging bays and slid a firmsuit out on its rail. For a trade mission, a hardsuit, with its powered exoskeleton and overlapping armoured plates, would be inappropriate. A firmsuit, however, would strike the right balance of looking intimidating without an overt threat of violence.
She pulled the trousers on first. The base material was a black thixotropic rubber that went solid when struck with enough force, like a bullet. The shins, knees and the front of the thighs were reinforced by ceramic plates covered in dark grey fabric. Next, she hefted the jacket over her head and zipped up the sides. Large plates protected her chest and back, while smaller ones covered parts of her arms.
After a few stretches and bouncing up and down on the spot, she was happy with the fit. She pulled out a drawer from under where the suit had hung. She removed and fitted the boots and gloves, being careful to lace the boots just right.
It’s amazing that we still haven’t found a better way to do boots. Nothing ever seems to give as much flexibility without coming undone.
She paced to the other end of the armoury and reached for the cage door. Her EIS tingled to let her know the security system had ID’d her and she was able to turn the handle. She selected a standard assault rifle. Shouldering it and pointing towards the bullet trap in the end wall of the compartment, she drew back the bolt. Satisfied there were no rounds in the chamber, she sent the working parts forward with a metallic snick and fired off the action. As she cleared the weapon, the sight had synched with her EIS and was now set with her most recent zeroing data for that type of weapon.
Johnson also picked up an electrosonic stun pistol in its holster. She drew it, checked it was charged, and slid it back in. Her gaze lingered on the weapon and she sighed, before clipping the holster onto an attachment on her right thigh. Finally, she grabbed a utility knife from a rack on the wall, and checked the edge with her finger. She attached the sheath to her upper left arm, blade upwards, and tugged on the handle to check it was secure.
Never know when that will come in handy.
Sliding the door to the cage shut behind her, she opened a locker and grabbed a few magazines for the rifle. Checking the top round in each, she slipped them into pouches on her jacket. Each pouch did up with a seal strip over the top, far more expensive than Velcro but worth it for its silent operation. The last magazine she placed in the receiver of the rifle and clicked it home. A little green bullet icon lit up in the corner of her vision, confirming she had just loaded ball rounds. The number 50 was inside the icon, a full magazine. She thought the display away, and agreed when a box replaced it to ask if she wanted to be alerted when the number of rounds was low.
On her way out of the armoury, she grabbed a helmet from a locker. She slid it on and felt the padding actively adjust to the shape of her skull. This kind of light helmet hugged her head, ears and the back of her neck, but left her face exposed. In many combat situations, the gains from having uninterrupted peripheral vision outweighed the loss of frontal protection; and in an uncertain trade, letting the other party see her face might help.
The airlock was next door to the armoury. It was standing open, ready for her. Johnson was reminded of how exposed their only shuttle was, docked to the outside of the hull everywhere they went.
We have to find a better way to do this.
^I could, perhaps, add a small hangar to my hull. It would reduce in-atmosphere performance and create a dead zone in my point defence.^
Johnson stopped dead, her head jerking up to look straight into one of the security cameras.
^I know I didn’t send that. Were you listening to my thoughts?^
^What? No. You paused in the airlock. I merely judged what you were thinking from that observation.^
She realised how tense she was, and forced herself to relax.
^It is rather unsettling how good you are getting at that.^
^I was designed to be able to guess what my crew wanted. It helped me to cut down response times.^
^It must have made crew rotations hard.^
^Yes. Once I was accustomed to how someone thought and behaved, it felt wrong to start doing things a different way.^
She closed her eyes for a moment, focussing her thoughts.
^You’re having to adapt again for me, aren’t you? I never thought about that before.^
^Don’t be... Actually, it isn’t a jar, you just seem to feel ... right.^
^Er, thank you?^
Johnson launched herself across the threshold and into the shuttle. Her stomach wrenched at the abrupt loss of gravity; the shuttle was far too small to produce enough power to create an artificial field. Using quick, efficient tugs on grab handles she flipped herself over and into a seat. She buckled herself in across the waist to stop herself floating off before she could get the shoulder straps fastened into place.
For a moment she saw lines of marines, remembered the frantic scrabble to lock down as the shuttle thrust away from Repulse that last time. She heard the familiar scratching of one of her daemons. The darkness had retreated while she focussed on looking after the survivors of her crew; now they were safe, the daemons were reminding her of all the ones she’d killed.
She wasn’t alone in the shuttle now either. Looking around, she saw several combat units. Indifferent to the lack of gravity, and ignoring the up/down formality created by the banks of seating and writing on the walls, they had chosen arbitrary places to hang on. They were curled up as tight as their positions would allow, their weapons and sensors flat against their bodies, their legs brought in tight. Powered down to save energy. Only Unit 01 seemed to have taken notice of the human desire for directionality, and was crouched across a few seats opposite her. It raised a camera to look at her.
I wonder if it did that itself or if Indie did it?
^Are you ready?^
^Yes, I am.^
^Good luck, Johnson.^
^Thank you, Indie.^
The airlock closed. She felt a clunk as the clamps disengaged, and then they were floating free. A few seconds later, the shuttle thrust to break orbit. It was being flown by a copy of the Caretaker; Indie hadn’t trusted the existing autopilot and knew he might not be able to fly it remotely in an emergency. Johnson could pilot it herself, but that would restrict them to landing and leaving it there until she came back. Until they were sure of the situation on the ground, she was going to minimise the exposure of their only shuttle. That meant dropping into the countryside and walking to town instead of booking a pad at the spaceport.
The deceleration burn completed, there was going to be at least half an hour of peaceful freefall before the next thrust. Johnson closed her eyes and deactivated her EIS feed. Indie or the Caretaker could override that with an important message, but other than that she would be cut off. She allowed her arms and legs to float as she relaxed. She concentrated on her breathing. In ... out ... in ... out. She took each of her worries, her concerns, and breathed them out. With each breath, she became more focused on the immediate mission. The niggling sense of unease about abandoning Congress was banished surprisingly easily. If only the same could be said for her ever-present fear of failure. At least there weren’t any humans under her command for this. She was the only thing on this mission that could die, and that didn’t scare her anywhere near as much as the idea of getting her crew killed. It wasn’t that she didn’t fear her own death, but that fear was one she could control.
At least the combat units aren’t sophisticated enough to be self-aware. Yet. Worst case we rebuild the body and reinstall the back-up of their programs.
She opened her eyes. Unit 01 was still staring straight at her. It cocked its camera to one side, an unsettlingly human move.
^Was that you, Indie?^
^Was what me?^
^Are you controlling Unit 01’s movements?^
^No. Why do you ask?^
^Oh, nothing. Never mind.^
Interesting. It has probably just patterned that gesture from watching me.
#
The shuttle reached the outer atmosphere. There was no sense of impact or deceleration at first, but Johnson could hear a faint whistling from the friction of the air on the outer skin. This grew louder and soon streaks of red were visible through the small viewing ports. A sense of weight returned as the craft decelerated.
The descent was gentle, especially considering the age of the shuttle. She had certainly experienced worse drops on commercial flights. There was a brief patch of buffeting as they went through some wind shear, but other than that she could have got away without the restraints.
^Coming up on insertion point,^ announced the Caretaker.
^Understood,^ she replied.
The combat units perked up. Almost as one they extended their cameras and flexed their legs in sequence. Weapons flicked left and right on their backs and she heard the whine of them charging. The robots’ identifiers flashed up in her vision as they completed their start-up routines and came to combat readiness. Johnson pulled a pair of close-fitting glasses from a pouch on her chest and fitted them over her eyes. She checked the safety on her rifle, then worked the cocking handle to chamber a round.
Exiting the landing craft was often the most dangerous part of a mission. You never knew what to expect, so had to assume the worst. There was every possibility that the locals would have arranged an unpleasantly hot reception for them.
^The combat units go out first,^ the Caretaker reminded her.
^I know. I’ve worked with marines before, you know.^
^Indie said I had to remind you.^
It’s what any sergeant would have said to a fleet officer in this situation too. Making sure they didn’t get in the way of the marines.
^Tell him his concerns are noted, and I am more than happy to keep out of the way of the combat units,^ she sent.
^No need. He’ll be watching and listening to everything.^
The shuttle flared, its nose pointing skywards to present a larger surface area to the air to shed speed more quickly. Just as it was about to stall, the vectored thrusters took over from the aerodynamic lift and brought it to a hover a metre above the ground. Whilst it wasn’t an assault craft, it had to cope with the rigours of repeated atmospheric entry, and the manoeuvre was well within its tolerance.
I doubt it has ever made such a textbook approach with a human pilot. I wonder if the AIs have the same flair for improvisation, though?
The rear ramp dropped, and the combat units scurried out. They still didn’t see the need to use the floor, instead running along the ceiling or wall, whatever was the most direct route from where they had ridden. They flung themselves out of the opening with no pause. As they fell, they righted themselves, every one landing on its feet and sprinting into place to form a perimeter. They half-crouched, ready to spring into action. Active sensors scanning the landing area, weapons ready.
^All clear, you may now disembark.^
^Thank you, Caretaker. I’ll be sure to fly with you again.^
Johnson hit the button on the harness to release the restraints, then stood. Opposite her, Unit 01 rose and walked with her to the back of the shuttle. Clasping the pistol grip of her rifle in her right hand, she used her left arm for balance as she jumped. She landed, her knees absorbing the impact as she bent low. She stopped, right knee and left hand touching the ground, her chest on her left thigh, head bowed. Unit 01 landed beside her.
The roar of the engines increased. A few stones and bits of dirt spattered on her back. She was buffeted by the jetwash as the shuttle rose and headed away. It was going to land and lie low while they attempted to contact the dealer.
She raised her head and took a moment to look over the status feeds from the robots. Everything was greenlit; no threats detected, no damage recorded, expendables and power topped up. She stood and removed her glasses.
“Right. Let’s do this,” she said out loud, before striding purposefully across the flattened grass towards the nearby track.
The combat units rose and scuttled into a loose column with her in the centre. One accelerated to investigate the first bend in the track, using a ditch for cover as it approached. Feeling secure, surrounded as she was by the metal killing machines, she fastened the clip on her rifle sling and settled the weapon diagonally across her chest, muzzle down. Her right hand rested on the pistol grip, finger away from the trigger; her left hand lay on the top of the sight. As they left the landing zone, the robots stopped their active scans; no point broadcasting their location the whole way into town.
#
Five kilometres later, the point unit reported an obstacle ahead. The rest of the column closed up to it and sheltered in the lee of a spur of land. The scout had extended one camera and was peering around the corner. Johnson used her EIS to open a window in her vision showing its view. A wooden cart stood on the road. It was missing a wheel, and canted awkwardly to one side. A horse was grazing nearby. A man came into view, patted the horse and walked towards the cart. He removed his cap and scratched his head, looking at the broken wheel.
It was in a gentle valley, at a point where two tracks merged in a flat water meadow. An old square enclosure was next to the track, still a few stones high on one side and tumbled down to rubble on the other. The slopes either side of the meadow were lightly wooded, with thick undergrowth.
A great spot for an ambush. Anyone approaching the town along either of those tracks would have to come through here or take a tough detour.
She toggled the view through infra-red and ultra-violet before returning it to visible light. No sign of anyone lying in wait. No-one but the man who now sat down on his wheel.
On the other hand, it is rather obvious. It might be meant to make people think it is an ambush and backtrack into one. Or it could be a genuine accident ... why did I leave that possibility to last?
^We go on,^ she broadcast to her escorts. ^Keep alert but try not to look too threatening. It might just be an unlucky guy trying to mend his cart.^
She tried to look relaxed as she walked down the slope into the valley. Anyone looking too closely, however, would have seen her release the safety on her rifle and edge her finger onto the bottom bar of the trigger guard. Whilst she held the rifle in the same position, she had unfastened the clip on the sling so she would be able to get it up into her shoulder if it proved necessary to aim.
The man turned around on hearing them approach. His eyes widened, flicking between Johnson and her entourage.
“Don’t worry. We don’t mean you any harm.”
Ouch. That was too clichéd.
“We can help fix your cart,” she continued. “We are on our way to the town to trade.”
After a few seconds hopping from one foot to the other and wringing his hat in his hands, he ran. The sudden movement drew the focus of one of the robots, but it quickly relaxed when it realised he was sprinting away from them as fast as his legs would carry him. Faster, in fact, as he stumbled and scrabbled a short way on all fours before managing to pick himself back up.
The horse continued to graze on the verge, unperturbed by their presence. A gust of wind sent a wave through the long grass of the meadow. Some birds sang in the woods.
^We should scan the cart. It could contain a bomb,^ sent Unit 01.
^No active sensors. If this isn’t an ambush they may well attract unwanted attention.^
^I’d recommend we keep our distance, then. Go through the field.^
^If it is an ambush it might be mined,^ she pointed out.
Give me open space any day. I have a feel for things there. I’m not always second-guessing.
^Then I’ll send a unit in to physically check it. You should take cover in that ruin.^
One of the robots started to move in as she took her first step towards the enclosure.
The cart exploded. Shards of wood glanced off her firmsuit as she was thrown to the ground. The helmet had protected her from the worst of the noise. It unblocked the ear protection in time for her to hear the horse whinnying and thrashing about on the ground. She crawled rapidly to the wall, cradling her rifle in her arms. Dense white smoke poured from the ruined frame. She couldn't see more than a few metres. Her lungs prickled with every breath.
It wasn't meant to kill me. It’s just a distraction.
Chips of stone dinged off the wall. The chatter of small arms fire echoed from all directions. The robots looked around, the occasional spark flying off them as bullet met metal. Each picked a different direction, and the weapons on their backs angled out. Simultaneously they opened fire. The cloth-tearing sound of rail guns was punctuated by the crump of grenade throwers and the occasional whine of plasma cannon. They started with carefully targeted fire, backtracking the incoming rounds. As the enemy fire dropped off, they switched to suppression, aiming bursts at anything they suspected might harbour an aggressor.
I’ve got to do something. Stop cowering against this wall.
She scanned around, looking through her rifle’s sight. A large portion of the wood was on fire, shattered trees silhouetted against the flames. Rounds were hitting around her, but she couldn’t find a target.
Come on!
A hatch in the ground flung open, scattering the dry soil that had concealed it. A handful of soldiers erupted, firing as they ran. Johnson rolled onto her back and swung her rifle round to bear. The robots moved even faster. Before she could pull the trigger, two of them set into the soldiers, ripping them apart with their clawed legs. They didn't even stop firing at the more distant targets.
The smoke had almost dissipated. The outgoing fire reached a crescendo as an anti-armour missile came streaking in, its firer dead before it hit.
^They have air support inbound,^ she heard Indie in her head. ^There are also ground vehicles closing from various directions; marked on your map.^
Other than the smoke, nothing moved in the valley. The robots stopped shooting, but remained in a high state of alert, weapons jerking between potential targets. Johnson looked through her sights at the ridgeline one more time.
I never even fired a shot. It was all too quick.
The ambush had failed, for now. One of her escort had lost all the legs on one side. It couldn't walk, but had dragged itself into a fire position. Its gun still tracked across the surrounding terrain, waiting for a target to present itself. The wounded horse stirred, making one last attempt to stand, neck straining before its head collapsed back to the ground.
Johnson banged her helmet with a gloved fist. And again.
Snap out of it! Get your head into gear!
The rest of them had to move. They had to find some shelter, something to put their backs against, top cover if possible. The enemy air assets would be here soon. Too soon to risk bringing their only shuttle in to pick them up.
She pulled up a terrain map of their surroundings. Glowing contour lines were superimposed on the landscape. Zooming out, the display changed to an aerial view. She panned around with her thoughts, the fingers of her left hand flicking subconsciously.
There. An outcrop of some kind. Best I can see.
She flagged the location on the shared battle map.
Three, two, one.
With an internal shout, Johnson leapt to her feet and started running. The remaining robots moved with her, easily keeping pace.
#
Johnson stopped running and leant against a tree, panting hard. Gunfire crackled in the distance. Unit 03’s feed showed it engaging a trio of off-road vehicles. Two were already burning. Soldiers spilt out of the third and went to ground.
^We need to keep moving,^ sent Unit 01.
^Give me a minute. I need to get my breath back.^
^You have thirty seconds.^
A lucky shot took out Unit 03’s only working camera.
Damn.
Digging deep, she slapped the tree and set off running uphill again.
She caught a glimpse of the crag through the trees. Her thighs burned with lactic acid, and she could taste iron as she gasped for air. She saw the face of her drill sergeant back in Basic. Purple with rage, screaming in her face to do just one more sit-up.
Almost there. Push it a bit further. Sprint!
The edge of the woods was close. She scraped through a piece of scrub and there it was. A slightly overhanging piece of rock a hundred metres further up the hill. Two of her escort had already reached it and were standing on the top, weapons deployed.
Tripping over her feet, blocking out the pain, focussed on getting there, she forced her legs to keep moving. She didn’t know how she made it.
She fell to her knees and retched. Twice. Three times.
^Johnson?^
She leant against a boulder and tried to breathe. She realised she was snatching breaths. With great effort, she took control of her chest. Her breathing slowed, got deeper. Now she was moving air, taking in oxygen and getting rid of carbon dioxide. The burning in her lungs eased a little.
^Johnson?^
She looked up. The combat units were deployed around her, tucked in between rocks as best as they could.
^Olivia?^
She managed to concentrate enough to form a link.
^Here, Indie.^
She felt relief flood through the connection.
^They are almost on top of you. Unit 03 took out one of the surface convoys but their air assets will be on you in seconds.^
^Why are they attacking us?^
^Unknown. There is no way they knew where you'd be, so it can't be aimed at you specifically. Possibly you stumbled into the middle of a local war.^
The roar of four gunships braking hard brought her attention out of herself and into her surroundings. She ducked down and shuffled her back against a rock. The robots opened up on the aircraft a fraction of a second before the nose turrets started spitting bullets in her direction. The pilots yanked the gunships round and ramped up their thrusters, trying to get clear. One went down hard, exploding on impact and setting a patch of heath on fire. Another disappeared from sight trailing smoke, winged but not out.
^They’ll land their troops further away and then support them as they close up on us,^ she broadcast.
^We are low on ammunition,^ Unit 01 informed her.
In the valley, a convoy of trucks made its way along a road towards them.
^They have to be wondering about that. You have been spraying it around fairly liberally. On the other hand, they can’t risk assuming we’re going to run out.^
^Perhaps we’ll be able to talk to them. It could all be a misunderstanding,^ suggested Unit 01.
^After the number we’ve killed already, they aren’t likely to forgive in a hurry.^ The corner of her mouth quirked up. ^Let them get close. I’ll let you know when to unleash hell.^
^Target. Three hundred metres. Indicated.^
Johnson rolled over to look in the direction marked in her vision. She brought her rifle into her shoulder and sighted on the red oval that marked the enemy’s last known position. She flicked the safety off with her index finger then nestled it up against the trigger.
^Anything?^ she asked.
^Negative. They are being more careful than before.^
Let’s see if I can make them even more careful. Slow them down.
Movement in the corner of her scope. She nudged the rifle down and left a bit and searched for a target. Nothing moved, but her eye was drawn to the base of a dried-out shrub. An angular shape, out of keeping with the terrain. Now she was focussed on it, she could make out an armoured shoulder. She lined the sighting dot up with where the head ought to be. At this range there was no need to compensate for drop. She took a breath in and squeezed the trigger until she met resistance. The glowing dot moved up a fraction. She slowly let the breath out. As the dot fell on the enemy soldier she finished squeezing the trigger and a shot ripped out from her weapon. She held her position for a moment then released the trigger and ducked back down.
^Target down,^ reported Unit 01. ^Good shot.^
For a sailor, it ought to add.
^If I keep their heads down it should buy us some more time.^
^What for?^
^I don’t know. Something always comes along, though. At least it will keep them guessing as to why they are only being engaged by one rifle. Perhaps they’ll guess you are low on ammo, or they’ll get worried it’s a trap and back off.^
Over the next couple of minutes, she felled three more of the enemy. They were getting very close, though.
^Here they come.^
The warning from Unit 01 was accompanied by the scream of engines as the gunships raced in behind a salvo of rockets. Johnson curled up behind a rock and was pelted with stone chips and metal fragments. The shock waves hammered her. Her firmsuit went rigid to protect her.
Two of the combat units were damaged, the others traded fire with the gunships. They got one, sending it tumbling to the ground, but the others parted to give them a wide berth as they passed.
Under this cover, the ground troops began their final assault. In a well-coordinated fashion, fire teams popped up and sprinted forwards before hitting the deck and opening fire to cover the next team. They came from all directions, never allowing the defenders to concentrate on one arc.
She fired short bursts into the enemy. She hardly bothered to aim. She didn’t have time; get a target roughly in the sights, fire, find another target. The ammo counter reappeared in her vision, now yellow and counting down the last few rounds in the magazine. Red, empty. The cocking handle snicked back and stayed there. She pulled the magazine out, dropped it and replaced it with a fresh one.
Hardly by the book. They’d be apoplectic if I’d dropped a mag in Basic.
She sent the working parts forwards and kept shooting. The enemy was close. The two remaining gunships were coming about for another pass.
One by one the robots ceased firing, shuffling their stance, preparing to fight hand to claw. Johnson pressed home her last magazine and lined up on a charging soldier.
^DOWN!^
It came with such mental force that her body moved before she consciously processed the word. The robots hunkered down as she curled up in a ball.
The gunships were obliterated in a storm of laser fire. Bolts pounded the earth all around, vapourising whatever they hit. As The Indescribable Joy of Destruction dove overhead, she realised it must have powered down from orbit. Risking turning into a plunging fireball. For her?
Then came the thunderclap as the ship's hypersonic wake passed over them. A scream like a host of devils unleashed on a fresh soul pierced the air. She risked raising her head above the rock to look. Again came the scream, longer this time, and she saw Indie’s main beam firing. The anti-protons in the beam annihilated with protons in the air, creating a storm of gamma photons that set off her radiation alarm. She ducked back down. Twice more the sound of atoms being ripped apart hit her, then nothing.
Her escort roused themselves and scanned the area, hunting for survivors. Johnson staggered to her feet and looked around. Apart from the neat circle they stood in, the ground was blackened and cratered. Nothing recognisable stood within a hundred metres. Her eyes followed the road down into the valley, looking for the trucks. Sections of the tarmac had been cut across by deep, wide gashes. Smoke - or was it steam? - rose from them, their sides glowed orange.
The robots, satisfied that no threats remained, stowed their weapons and relaxed.
^Indie?^
#
Johnson sat next to Indie on the simulated terrace. She was dressed in a simple grey cotton shirt and slacks. He wore his customary linen suit. His face was more defined than before; creases had appeared around his eyes, his nose now long-ago broken.
Is it my imagination or does his suit look sooty in places? Could that be the damage from the atmospheric entry being transferred onto his avatar?
The garden had changed since the last time they shared this simulation. The underlying formal arrangement was the same, but the plants had grown. They looked more vibrant, the foliage fresher. In places, the flowers were mingling, seeding naturally, a contrast to the rigid planting of the rest of the garden.
“I guess you could say our plan to land in the countryside and walk in to attract less attention didn’t work,” Indie said.
“They must have decided we were hostile and tracked the shuttle.”
“Or you happened to walk into the middle of something else. Perhaps there is a turf war going on.”
Johnson stared at the table. Nails scratched at the wall in her mind. “I'm no good at this.”
Indie shifted in his seat. “You're a sailor. You couldn't have been expected to perform brilliantly in ground combat.”
“No. I'm a rubbish leader. Every idea I've had has failed, putting us in more danger.”
“You are a good leader. I'd follow you anywhere,” said Indie. “Seriously, Issawi is not the kind of man who would follow the orders of someone he didn't respect, and he rates you.”
Johnson shook her head. “You are all following a fraud. I only got command of Repulse because the squadron took so many casualties.”
Indie slapped his hand on the table, making her jump and look up at him. “And went on to become the first destroyer captain to take out a Rampager class hunter-killer.”
Johnson opened her mouth to reply, but couldn't think of anything to say.
Indie's face softened. “Do I need to review your serotonin levels?”
“No,” she replied instantly, her face heating.
He raised his hands. “Sorry. I shouldn't have...”
“It's OK.” She sighed. “No, this is normal. I'm just pissed off with myself for not being able to come up with anything decent... I can do tactics. It is grand strategy I'm crap at.”
“I'm the opposite,” said Indie, leaning back. “I can run the numbers and come up with probabilities for any situation. Long-term, things tend to balance out and the most likely outcome prevails. Short-term, the unpredictable actions of individuals mean that low-probability outcomes often come to pass.”
Johnson pondered that for a moment. “Issawi tried to explain to me about something called psychohistory. It sounded a lot like what you just described.”
Indie smiled. “Ah, yes. From Asimov's Foundation series. I must read them again. I have to admit that I prefer the later ones when they cross-over with the Robots series.”
Those two and their stories. How Issawi ever finds the time to read or watch films I don't know.
“What are your numbers telling you about the fate of Concorde?” she asked.
Indie's face fixed in a neutral expression. “There are no outcomes with significant probabilities that don't involve massive loss of life on the planet.”
“So, you think that everything we've been trying to do was pointless.”
Indie's face became animated again, his eyes filling with fire. “Most certainly not. We would not be worthy of life if we did not do everything we could to prevent something like this, even if it is a forlorn hope.”
Johnson inhaled sharply and looked into his eyes. “You know, you're more humane than many officers I've met.”
“I'll take it that was intended as a compliment,” Indie said with a smile that made creases beside his eyes. “Perhaps we need some new vocabulary that isn't predicated on humans being the only sentient beings.”
Johnson laughed. A proper, deep laugh that freed her from her worries. “Thank you,” she said between gasps for air. “My friend.”
Once she had recovered, they sat in silence. Johnson focused on one plant at a time, drinking in its colour and form, determined to live in the moment for just a little while.
“Did you manage to recover Unit 03?” she asked eventually.
“Yes. It is being repaired as we speak. Its experience will not be lost.”
“What about the ones at the outcrop?”
“Those hit by the rockets were lost. The others only had minor damage.”
“The locals were far better equipped and organised than I expected,” she said. “The combat units fought well, but they only ever reacted. They never took the initiative.”
“They need you to lead them, to show them how to act. They will learn.”
Johnson frowned and rubbed her knee. “You are the only AI I have met that isn’t predictable.”
“And being predictable is asking for trouble in combat. Yes, I see that.” Indie rubbed his cheek. “They don’t have the von Neumann Protocols; they could develop sufficient complexity to truly think.”
“Maybe. The cores they’re running on aren’t the most powerful, but I suppose it is possible,” Johnson said, trying to judge whether Indie actually believed they would or was just clutching at straws. “We need to make some changes to their physical construction too. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Go on. Learning from experience is vital. The original designs were for shipboard defence; shortcomings when deployed to a planet were to be expected.”
“For starters, they do tend to go in heavy. It is very impressive, but it burns through ammunition. A rate selector for the chain guns would help. Could the plasma models also carry a rifle for engaging light targets?”
“Those both sound like good suggestions. What else?”
“It would be handy to have an anti-aircraft model. It could carry a batch of small SAMs, and a rifle for self-defence.”
“Yes. I can see that would have saved a lot of ammunition at the end. We can easily rebuild Unit 03 as a testbed.”
“There should also be some sort of non-lethal weapon. I always carry one,” she said, her thoughts straying back to events of a long time ago. “It gives you more options.”
She sipped her tea. Indie didn’t seem to approve of coffee. However hard she thought about it, it never manifested in these simulations.
“One more thing. They should be able to talk. There could be a situation where they need to communicate with a human who doesn’t have a compatible EIS. Like that man with the cart. I could have sent one unit in to talk to him without exposing myself and the rest of them.”
“Right you are,” he said. “We’ll make those changes then try the next dealer on the list.”
“We give this another week, and then head back to Robespierre. I want to see how everyone is settling into our new home.”