“Have you considered isolating him?” Mansita Jano said. “It might be a sensible precaution, given the tension he’s under.”
Varosa Uman had been eating a long afternoon meal with Siti. She had been thinking, idly, of the small, easy pleasures that might follow. And found herself sitting in front of a stage crowded with a view of the battle and headshots of Mansita Jano and her most reliable aides.
She could cut Revutev Mavarka’s electronic links any time she wanted to. But it would be an overt act. Some people would even feel it was more drastic than physical restraint.
“He’s an emotional, unstable personality confronted with a powerful challenge,” Mansita Jano said. “He could send a warning message at any time. If they manage to relay it to the backup system they’ve set up, before you can stop them.…”
“He knows what we’ll do to him if he sends a warning,” Varosa Uman said. “He has every reason to think Trans Cultural has made a blunder and the attack is going to fail.”
“He’s an emotional, unpredictable personality, Overseer. I apologize for sounding like a recording, but there are some realities that can’t be overemphasized.”
Siti had positioned himself on her right, out of range of the camera. She glanced at him and he put down his bowl and crossed his wrists in front of his face, as if he was shielding himself from a blow.
Mansita Jano had placed his advice on the record. If his arrangement with Trans Cultural failed—whatever the arrangement was—he would be shielded.
“This attack cannot succeed,” Betzino-Resdell said. “We have repeated our analyses. This attack can only succeed if it contains some element we are not aware of.”
“I’ve come to the same conclusion,” Revutev Mavarka said.
“We are proceeding with our defensive plan. We have made no modifications. We would like more information, if you have any.”
A tactical diagram floated over the image of the advancing hordes. Most of Betzino-Resdell’s defensive forces would mass behind the toxic hedge, in the area the attackers seemed to be threatening. A small mobile reserve would position itself in the center of the base.
“I suggest you concentrate your mobile reserve around the antenna.”
“Why do you advise that?”
“I believe the antenna is their primary objective. They will try to destroy your connection with your orbiter if they break through the hedge.”
“Why will they make the antenna their primary objective? Our plans assume their primary objectives will be our energy transmission network and our primary processing units.”
“Can you defend yourself if you lose contact with your orbiter?”
“Yes.”
Betzino-Resdell had paused before it had answered. It had been a brief pause—an almost undetectable flicker, by the standards of organic personalities—but his brain had learned to recognize the minute signals a machine threw out.
He had been assuming Betzino-Resdell’s operations were still controlled by the orbiter. He had assumed the unit on the ground transmitted information and received instructions when the orbiter passed over. That might have been true in the beginning. By now, Betzino-Resdell could have transmitted complete copies of itself to the ground. The ground copies could be the primaries. The copies on the orbiter could be the backups.
“Are you assuming you can keep operating on the ground if you stop this attack and they destroy the antenna? And build a new antenna in the future?”
“.… Yes.”
“What if that doesn’t work out? Isn’t there some possibility your rival could gain strength and destroy your new antenna before you can finish it?”
“Why are you emphasizing the antenna? Do you have some information we don’t have?”
I have an important message I want to transmit to your home planet. The future of your entire species could depend on it.
“I was thinking about the individuals who sent you. Your explorations won’t be of much value to them if you can’t communicate with your orbiter.”
“Our first priority is the survival of our surface capability. Our simulations indicate we can survive indefinitely and could eventually reestablish contact with our orbiter. Do you have information that indicates we should reassess our priorities?”
Revutev Mavarka tipped back his head. His hands pressed against the thick, deliberately ragged feathers that adorned the sides of his face. He was communicating with the visitor through a voice-only link, as always. He didn’t have to hide his emotions behind the bland mask the serenes offered the world.
“I’ve given you the best advice I can give you at present. I recommend that you place a higher priority on the antenna.”
“He’s still struggling with his conflicts,” Varosa Uman said. “He could have given them a stronger argument.”
She had turned to Siti again. She could still hear the exhortations she was receiving from her aides but she had switched off her own vocal feed.
“Mansita Jano would probably say he’s watching two personalities struggle with their internal conflicts,” Siti said.
Varosa Uman’s display had adapted the same color scheme Revutev Mavarka was watching. The white markers had reached the long slope in front of the ditch. The three columns were converging into a single mass. Winged creatures were fighting over the space above their backs.
“It looks like they’re starting their final assault,” Siti said. “Do you have any idea what kind of fearsome warriors your white markers represent?”
“They seem to be a horde of small four-legged animals native to the visitor’s planet. They breed very fast. And they have sharp teeth and claws.”
“They’re going to bite their way through the hedge? With one of them dying every time they take a bite?”
“That seems to be the plan.”
Revutev Mavarka stepped up to the display and waved his hand over the area covered by the white markers.
“Calculation. Estimate number of organisms designated by white marking.”
A number floated over the display. The horde racing up the slope contained, at most, six thousand four hundred animals.
The three columns had merged into a single dense mass. He could see the entire assault force. The estimate had to be correct.
He activated his connection to Betzino-Resdell. “I have an estimate of six thousand four hundred for the assault force. Does that match your estimate?”
“Yes.”
“Your calculations still indicate the attack will fail?”
“Four thousand will die biting their way through the hedge. The rest will be overwhelmed by our defensive force.”
Machines were only machines. Imagination required conscious, self-aware minds. Adventurous self-aware minds. But they were talking about a straightforward calculation. Trans Cultural had to know its attack couldn’t succeed.
“Can you think of any reason why Trans Cultural has launched this attack at this time?” Revutev Mavarka said. “Is there some factor you haven’t told me about?”
“We have examined all the relevant factors stored in our libraries. We have only detected one anomaly. They are advancing on a wider front than our simulations recommend. Do you know of any reason why they would do
