Jepp boarded the Sheen shuttle, followed by his robots, each one of which progressed by its own means of propulsion, which meant that Alpha walked. Henry rolled, and Sam scampered about. The human had been given grudging use of smaller ships in the past, but this felt different, as if the Hoon actually wanted him to go. Form has a tendency to follow function—so the control room looked like what it was. The presence of two pedestal style chairs confirmed the fact that the ship’s architects, whoever they might be, liked to sit down once in awhile.
There was a view screen, a stripped-down control panel, and a joystick. Did that mean the creators had a preference for simplicity? Or that the controls were regarded as little more than an emergency backup?
Jepp favored the second theory but had no way to know if he was correct. The ex-prospector sat down, wished the chair was more comfortable, and felt the ship lift off. It hovered for a moment, scooted out through the enormous hatch, and fell into orbit. The sight of Long Jump brought a lump to his throat. It looked like a chocolate ball dusted with powdered sugar. There were people down there, lots of them, and he hungered for the sound of their voices Could the ship patch him through? There was only one way to find out. “Contact the surface,” Jepp ordered, “and tell them I wish to speak with Neptune Small.”
Three minutes passed while the robots communicated with the ship and the ship communicated with someone on Long Jump’s surface.
Then, much to the human’s amazement. Alpha touched a section of the control panel, waited for a small cover to whir out of the way, and removed a curvilinear tube. “Here, you can speak into this.”
Jepp recognized the device as some sort of handset and heard a voice issue from a hole. “Jepp? Is that you?”
The sound of the merchant’s voice was enough to trigger unpleasant memories. The prospector remembered what it had been like to wait for hours while Small sat in his office. And then, he was very, very lucky, to be given five minutes in which to make his case. Why the existing loan should be extended, why he would strike it rich, why Small should be patient. And how, when the whole humiliating ritual was over. Small would part with a tiny fraction of the money he’d made during the last five minutes, and Jepp would slink away. But not this time Jepp thought to himself. “Yes,” Jepp said out loud. “It certainly is. How do you like my fleet?”
Small, who had taken the precaution of draping a handkerchief over McGurk’s less than sanitary corn set, gave a grunt of derision. “I don’t know who owns those ships . .. but it certainty isn’t you.”
“Oh really?” Jepp replied, eyeing the huge doughnut-shaped space hab that had appeared on the shuttle’s viewscreen. “How’s that refueling station doing? You know, the one that charges twice the going rate, just for being out on the Rim?”
Small felt something gnaw at his gut. He made it to his feet, grabbed the cane, and walked toward the door. Maybe the folks down at the corn center could tell him what the hell was going on. “Now Jorley ... there’s no reason to get all excited . .. let’s talk.”
A mob had formed in front of the corn center but parted to let Small through. Voices babbled and questions flew, but the merchant ignored them. People scattered as Small barged into the main office and eyed the wall screen. There were ships all right, lots of them, more than he could count. And there, right between some red deltas was his pride and joy, the largely automated refueling station he called “Halo.”
The computer-generated likeness of the station was gold and glistened in the sun. Then, as if by magic, the Halo was gone. Small yelled “No!” but it was too late. Instructions had gone to the Hoon, weapons had been fired, and the hab ceased to exist.
Jepp tried to remember how many people lived on board but wasn’t sure. He should have checked first—should have known the answer. What was wrong with him anyway? Would he go to hell? No, not so long as he furthered God’s plan. His voice was filled with steel. “Prepare to receive God’s servants. Make them welcome or suffer my wrath.”
Small started to reply, started to ask “What servants?” but realized the connection had been severed. All other air traffic was turned away as a procession of shimmery shuttles landed at Fortuna’s much-abused spaceport. Neptune Small, his flunkies, a crowd of townspeople, and spaceport staff all watched in amazement as dozens of smooth- faced robots filed out of the alien spaceships and made their way into the slums that bordered the port.
Many feared that the machines would suddenly turn violent, but there was no sign that any of them bore weapons, and none of the robots did anything to offend. What they did do, however, was take up positions on street corners, enter bars, and invade houses of prostitution. There were objections, of course, along with various attempts to eject them, but to no avail. Even after being physically accosted and thrown out into the streets, the robots simply picked themselves up and marched back in. Eventually, after the bouncers tired of trying to stop them, the machines were allowed to stay. That’s when they launched their carefully prepared sermons. Long rambling affairs that borrowed from a number of sects, denominations, and traditions, but were faithful to none. It was only after walking around for a bit and sampling a number of presentations that Small realized the robots were speaking in unison!
Jepp, self-styled messiah that he was, had constructed the perfect cult. Each and every member thought the same thoughts, had the same beliefs, and babbled the same nonsense. Including the need to eradicate the Thraki. Whoever they might be.
People listened at first, curious as to what the silvery machines had to say, but soon grew bored and drifted away.
Three of the robots were machine-napped but set free the moment that the orbital barrage began. The buildings were chosen at random and destroyed one at a time till the Sheen were released. Small lost two properties during the attack, and his peers lost structures as well. Finally, at their urging, the businessman was forced to go looking for Jepp. The self-styled messiah was easy to locate. Every streetcomer robot seemed to know exactly where their
