Toy Wars (22 page)

I went over to the nearest stack of deactivated units and searched the pile for a
Nurse Nan
.
There might not be any.
Nurse Nan
units were not very numerous on the battlefield and avoided conflict if it came toward them.
In fact it was rare that they did become wounded as their extreme leg length gave them the advantage in running speed.
I guess that great quickness didn’t keep at least one from a bullet as I found a donor for my requirements.

The arm of each
Nan
contained its working equipment.
I used the stock end of a nonfunctional M-16 rifle to pound the
lifeless
arm
s
until the
ir
shell
s
cracked
.
A tiny hydraulic imbalance sent a shiver up the actuators in my back.

I could envision my own deactivated arm being crushed as I had so callously done to this dead unit.
The lack of compassion showed just how far I had to go in my own internal struggles with these things called emotions.
I put the thought out of my
head and turned back to my duty.

I removed
the Nurse Nan medical
tools from their
now exposed
cavities
. I looked at the panoply of cutting and cleaning implements intermixed with individual disposable pouches of sealing compounds, caps
,
and patches joined to a central hub like a ring of keys.
I
had
promised myself I wouldn’t be alone again without the ability to repair
at least
some of my own damage.
But then I had another need for the tools for I was once again going to violate the deactivated.

Wh
en
the medic had worked on me
,
she also
had
“repaired” my basilisk trap. Intellectually
,
I knew I couldn’t leave my internals strapped to the outside of me, but I needed something that would suffice in its stead or I’d be a target again for any similar biologic.

I knew the anatomy of the
teddy
units better than any, so I pulled one of
the several hundred
unfortunates
down off the pile.

“Interrupt,” a
50
-
centimeter,
front
-end
-loader tr
actor, sporting a Toyco label, growled verbally. “Scrap must remain centralized for final loading. Please move back for reinternment.”

Pesky unit. “Negative. Authorized activities. Please push instruction on the queue for two hours.”

At first I really believed it might ignore me. It remained pointed at the corpse I intended to harvest for several tens of seconds revving its engines. As I didn’t leave or move it instead moved over to the corpse of the dismembered Nurse Nan I’d just worked on, picking it up and placing it back onto the pyre. For a brief moment it turned back to me before motoring off.

“Persistent and pesky,” I muttered to myself before turning back to my job.

I ripped the fur from one of the thighs and found
the ceramic
armor plating beneath, just as I was constructed.
Selecting a hook
-
shaped, armor
-
cutting tool from my ring of new
macabre
-
obtained tools didn’t require any great stretch of faith, but I realized I had no power to drive the unit. It seemed ironic that I needed power to obtain power.

“Priority one order,” I called out verbally. “External power required here.”

Three seconds later my front end loader returned to my side. “External power available behind cab.” I could see the retractable and universal power socket. I reeled it out and without undue strain powered my tools through its single input.

While I had no experience in cutting armor, I wondered how difficult it could be. I bent over my victim. The blade buzzed
harshly at about 320 h
ert
z just barely within hearing
as I turned it on.
That changed immediately as I touched the point to the armor of the body’s thigh. The sound level jumped up to a very loud 50 or 60 decibels.

The blade bit easily into the armor, maybe a bit too easily as black foam oozed out from the cut indicating I’d punctured some of the batteries I sought. I eased up on the tool with even a higher level of feedback, incised a ragged line all the way down the thigh. It looked more like the twists and turns of a river than the straight line I’d hoped for, but it didn’t ooze black. I tried the same incision on the opposite side and got something much straighter. Then I circumnavigated the leg at the top and the bottom.

Carefully, for want of cutting my own hide, I turned off the blade and set it beside me. Gripping either side of the horizontal cut,
I pulled off
half the plate of the thigh with only a slight suction. Exposed to me were t
he true treasures I
sought
—
the
30
-
centimeter
-
long and
1
-
centimeter
-
diameter
-
cylindrical
cells of its batteries
arranged around the thigh’s perimeter
.

Several of the cells were oozing black foam from
my inexpert surgery.
I choose two
that
were not leaki
ng from damage and removed them, along with several feet of wiring, and the small horizontal blades of a universal male plug.

The batteries I bonded tightly to the top of the barrel of my M16, clear of the ejection port. The universal male plug I mounted at the very end, sticking out like a tiny double bayonet. The trivial wiring gave me a makeshift shock
prod.
It was an ugly and beautiless kludge
that
even Rube Goldberg would have sneered at.
However, d
espite its lack of aesthetic qualities, I now felt I could deal with any biologic
that
dared to molest me
with 24 volts of
vengeance.

As an afterthought, I took out the rest of the dead
teddy
’s undamaged battery cells.
They made a heavy but not too bulky bundle to put in my backpack.

“Pop load instructions off the stack,” I said to the loader as I retracted the power cord.

“Acknowledged.”

I think I may have heard a note of relief in its tone.

I wrapped up the
Nurse Nan
tools
in the torn fur of the scrap
teddy
and
the bundle
also went into my pack.

Probabilities for a successful mission just rose.
It must have been the battery replacement
,
for I felt rejuvenated and once again felt the mission parameters within my grasp.

I stood next to
the
two large piles of bodies
yet I felt
good about myself in general.
I
could not
explain the dichotomy, but I had the world by the tail and was ready to shake it.

This made me feel
overly optimistic
.
I decided that time was more my enemy than anything this other Factory could have thrown my way.
A
t the same time the rational part of my processor said
that i
f
,
in fact
,
the Factory of these units g
ot
wind of my presence, then I might as well throw myself back into the river.

The whole thought process
forced me to
decide to make some changes in my overall plans.
My
first deviation
involved
hitch
ing
a ride on a train that just happened to be going in the direction I needed to go.
I
hoped
it would take me all the way into the Factory without further delays, basilisks, rivers
,
or battles.
With the speed of trains, I could cut days, maybe weeks off the trip. The risk seem
ed
to be worthwhile and within tolerances as every other unit here took me as one of its own. I loaded myself onto the top of a box car without drawing even a second glance.

Peacemaker

The trip lasted three days.
During the trip I did absolutely nothing that would draw attention to myself.
I was just another unit in transit as far as anyone was concerned
,
and I was going to
e
nsure that it stayed that way.

Everything about this territory spoke to strength. The train tracks I rode on were double tracks
,
allowing travel in both directions at the same time. In fact
,
two trains, each laden with more units tha
n
I ever remember
ed
in one place in Six’s domain, passed us traveling back to the front. More than once I saw moldering mounds of scrap material that hadn’t been reclaimed
,
as if
it had no value.

Each hour I wondered about the sheer size of the territory that this Factory controlled. My maps of Six’s territory showed that you could travel across it
s
entirety by train in sixty-six hours. I couldn’t help think
ing
of the battle of David v
ersus
Goliath.

All of these
facts and thoughts
just emphasized that I dare not fail.

At Mission+4
1
d18h53m my destination finally loomed in sight
: a
huge pink and gray dome approximately
200
meters across with a dozen smaller and larger auxiliary buildings strewn about in an apparently chaotic fashion.
The resemblance to Six bordered on the terrifying but n
o
split
weeping
-
fly tree adorned the front
nor
did a
river flow nearby
.
The train tracks didn’t curve so closely to the dome.
The dome wasn’t exposed a
s
much as Six’s, only showing
60
meters above the coarse red sand it sat within.

But I was right.
I had been right all along.
There was more than one Factory on Rigel-3.
There had been no other logical explanation for the facts
,
but seeing it
vindicated every action.
Everything to this point had been hypothesis.
Now it was fact.
It was all I could do not to tear my restraining straps off and leap about in the pure satisfaction of being
justif
ied.
I could
now
end this war and return home to show Six that I could complete a mission that I set for myself.

A nearly permanent pall hung over this
Factory’s valley.
I doubted that the sun ever got a tendril of light onto the bottom where the dome proper sat.
Strange spindly plants grew in the darkness and the coarse, rocky soil here.
It somehow seemed ominous.
I hoped this wasn’t a portent.
But then
,
I didn’t believe in portents, did I?
I knew from experience that a Factory could be convinced.
I just had to be convincing.

As the train rounded a large boulder
blackened by some type of pyrotechnics
, my heating elements kicked in
,
even though my temperature sensors
remained
in nominal range.
I switched it off, but wondered if the warmth would have been comforting when I saw
a
colossal
array of units awaiting the train’s arrival
. I estimated
ten thousand
t
eddies
. Elephants and
Tommy Tank
s
also waited in similar numbers
.
These units alone could break through Six’s defenses, at any point, like
a
bullet through mercury.
There would be no stopping such an army.

My
undertaking
, to this point, while deadly important,
seemed
almost an intellectual lark.
It just changed into the most important thing I would ever have to do.
A sobering thought, as my skills
could very well be the only thing that stood in the way of the total obliteration of my home.
It made me
wonder at how powerful
the
Humans
are
if they are the creators of my creator?
Would Six one day be called upon to save them?

The train came to a lurching halt within the silent and still mass of units.
I knew my dea
ctivation
was guaranteed if I made even a single mistake.
I unstrapped, dismounted and walked directly for the dome, ignoring the
pair of immense smelting plants and the
huge manufacturing facilities
. The manufacturing capability of this
F
actory outstripped Six by at least an order of magnitude.
Everything here was done on an enormous scale compared with what Six had been able to accomplish.
This Factory was in a position to enforce its will.
I had to make this work.

Withou
t waiting, I boldly walked toward what on Six was the main
audience chamber.
No matter what outward appearance I could present, I still felt all of my physical systems playing havoc at or just exceeding nominal ranges. I looked around with great care before entering.
The chamber of this Factory was identical to Six’s
—
small
but arranged in a way
that
made it seem bigger and more intimidating.
That being said, a uniform pink layer of dust covered the floor.
My own footprints
marked the only disturbance in an untold length of time.
I stood there for a moment wondering what I should do.
Usually Six spoke to me first.

My voltage ramped up even further and my main hydraulic pump started to oscillate its speed.
I pulled up a reassuring quote from Colonel Janice Corning,
s
quadron
c
ommander of the flight
that
liberated Mars from the
m
egacorp
NBM
, “Fear is natural; being cowardly is not.
Being brave is only embracing fear like any sentient should.”
I would face my fear.

“Hello?” I said tentatively.
I might be facing it
,
but I didn’t have to fall in love with it.

“Return to your post,”
boomed
the same domineering voice I recalled from the net shortly after I switched CCTs some weeks ago.
A command over the local net reinforced the voice’s authority.

“I’m sorry to intrude but we need to talk.”
There was a long silence.
I silently waited for my death in a hail of bullets or the blast of a hidden grenade, but it didn’t come.

“You are defective.
Return to scavenging control.”

“Ah, no.
I’m not defective.
I wasn’t constructed by you, so you cannot order me to do anything, Factory,” I said, becoming more comfortable that I
had
reached
beneath its standard programming.

“Probability
0.0004
.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but I was made by Factory 55466.”

“Probability
0.008
.”

I decided that using the quote about “lies, damned lies
,
and statistics” wouldn’t win me any
points
so I ignored what I didn’t want to hear
—
I tried to change the subject.
“I was curious as to your designation.”

“I am Factory 55474.
Return to scavenging control.”

“OK.
What do I have to do to convince you that you have no control over me?
Do I have to do a handstand?
Maybe I should shoot your sump out?
You tell me.
What will it take to convince you that I am NOT of your manufacture?”

“Probability
0.08
.
The CCT in your construction answers to my call.”

“Ah, that’s what it will take.”
I turned off the new CCT and activated my primary for
0
.6
seconds before returning to 55474’s CCT.
There was a significant pause after my demonstration.

“Probability
0.73
.
What is your mission?”

“I am here to establish peace.”

“Peace
—
the absence of war or other hostilities or an agreement or treaty to end hostilities.”

“Correct.”

“Why?”

“Why am I here
?
O
r why cease hostilities?”

“Both questions would provide useful information, unit.”

“I am here as these hostilities are irreparably damaging my Factory.”

“As part of the local fauna, the destruction of you and your Factory is a significant part of my mission directives.”

“It is unnecessary and wasteful.”

“Waste
—
to consume carelessly.
I do not waste.
I destroy the local fauna to control the surface of the planet.”

“But there is no need to fight one of your own kind.”

“I am unique here.”

“You are not unique here.
I am proof of that.”

“You have a defective processor.
You will be taken back for salvage.”
Just then I noted several unarmed
teddy
units at the door.
They were obviously here to take me back to whatever scrap heap they accumulated.
55474 had kept me talking long enough for them to arrive and no longer.

“I am not defective.
I can show you another way!”

“Peace is unacceptable.
My mission parameters would not be fulfilled by peace.”

“But there must be a way!” I said, getting jittery as the
teddy
units closed in on me.
“We have to work together!” I shouted.
The Factory
did not answer my voice or my commands over its network
.

With no other recourse, I
unslung my M16 and sprayed into the small group of six
teddy
units approaching.
Each of the six went down with at least a semi-critical hit.
One tried in vain to crawl along the ground by its paws. I put a single aimed shot into its sump.

“I told you, I’m not one of yours. Respond 55474!”

From gloom outside I saw more units moving in my direction. I remembered the tens of thousands waiting to board the train.
At this point I was beyond fear.
Only units which are alive can feel fear and I was fairly certain I was already as good as deactivated.

I
fired three bursts directly into the panel which held 55474
’s main processing unit
.
I hoped
for just enough time to run away, to hide, and to survive.
Sprinting for the door, I
dropp
ed
a grenade behind me as I ran.
I added a prayer to the Humans that there would be enough confusion to delay pursuit.

No fewer than three hundred units closed on my position, weapons drawn. The sharp report of my grenade’s explosion pitched me forward to the ground. It took me 1
,
435 milliseconds to scramble to my feet.

To my amazement, the units near me now milled about aimlessly like
there was
n’t a thought running around in their head, nor
a murderer
and
traitor
in
their midst.
I bolted
.

I didn’t even dare to look behind me.
At times I felt I could hear pursuit, but I knew better than to look back.
The disaster wasn’t real unless I saw it.
I bested
Lot
as I never turned.
I must
’ve
been wrong about the immediate pursuers as no bullets ripped up my fur and shattered my skin beneath, nor did elephant
mortars
explode holes in my belly.