“Of course,” Nankool replied kindly. “Thank you for your hospitality.”
Antonio departed a few minutes later—with most of his senior offi?cials in tow. Given all the time they had spent together on Jericho, there was a special bond between Nankool and Vanderveen. A relationship the diplomat sought to downplay for the most part—but allowed her to address the president directly when she chose to do so. “So what do you think?” the foreign service offi?cer inquired, as she appeared at Nankool’s elbow.
“I think the bugs are going to be sorry,” the president of the Confederacy of Sentient Beings said grimly, as he popped a ripe olive into his mouth. “Very sorry indeed.”
PLANET ADOBE, THE CONFEDERACY OF SENTIENT BEINGS
The robot army attacked at night, when their sensors would give them a signifi?cant advantage over the Legion’s bio bods, at least half of whom would probably be asleep. And, because Major Liam Quinlan had placed Alpha Company, 2nd Battalion, 1st REC along the front edge of the desert escarpment, they were the ones who took the brunt of the assault as the oncoming horde sought to break through the defenders and reach the power plant beyond. There were three types of robots, starting with skeletal androids, who stood six feet tall and carried assault weapons. Then came so-called rollers, which traveled on four fat tires but were equipped with six, and built in such a manner that they could perform somersaults and keep on going. Behind them were the aptly named slabs, which were low, heavily armed tanklike vehicles, specifi?cally designed to engage the Legion’s quads, who were armed with machine guns, energy cannons, and missiles. They unleashed a barrage of fi?re that swept across the top of the escarpment as hundreds of robots rushed forward to close with the enemy.
Santana heard the explosions, rolled off his air mattress, and was exiting the command bunker when a simulated rocket landed not ten feet away. There was a fl?ash of light, followed by a loud bang, and something analogous to a mild electric shock as the indicator light attached to his body armor went from green to red. As that took place Santana’s name vanished off the ITC, and First Lieutenant Lucy Amoyo was put in command.
All of which was readily apparent to General Mortimer Kobbi, who was seated in the command quad fi?ve miles to the rear, watching to see how the battalion would deal with the unexpected onslaught. It was disappointing to lose Santana early on, but that was often the way of things, and having served with the cavalry offi?cer on Savas, the general was already acquainted with the young man’s capabilities. So it was with considerable interest that Kobbi watched Amoyo rally the badly mauled company as the fi?rst wave of androids boiled up over the escarpment, a development Kobbi could monitor by listening to the company push and switching between the various video feeds that continued to pour in from bio bods and cyborgs alike.
Meanwhile Santana, who was no longer allowed to interact with his subordinates, went in search of a place to sit and watch the action without getting in the way. Having found a fl?at rock, and placed his back against a boulder, Santana alternated between scanning the highly codifi?ed data available on his helmet’s HUD and the fi? reworks going off all around him. A line of simulated explosions rippled along the face of the escarpment as Dietrich triggered the mines placed there the evening before, and static rattled through the cavalry offi?cer’s helmet speakers as electronic counter measures (ECM) took roughly 10 percent of the aggressor bots off-line.
Dozens of robots had been neutralized by that time and would remain right where they were until reactivated at the end of the exercise. But there were more of them, and Alpha Company was soon forced to fall back, as a tidal wave of androids and rollers came up over the ten-foot-high embankment. The battle was very realistic. So much so that Santana felt a moment of fear as a squad of robots stalked past him, their heads swiveling back and forth, their weapons at port arms. His heat signature was clear to see, but so was his indicator light, so the hostiles left Santana alone as a fl?are went off high above them. The eerie light threw harsh shadows toward the west, as the survivors of Alpha Company were forced to fall back on the rest of the battalion, and the fake power plant beyond.
Which raised a rather interesting question. . . . Where was the normally assertive Major Quinlan? Because so far, in spite of repeated calls from Amoyo, there had been no contact with Bat HQ other than with the CO’s radio tech (RT), who was busy routing everything to Captain Mitch Mays of Bravo Company because the XO had theoretically been
“killed” by an infi?ltrator.
It was a question that was of interest to General Kobbi as well, since Quinlan was still “alive” according to the ITC, but literally missing in action. There was a pause in the fi?ghting as Mays allowed the surviving members of Alpha Company to pass through his lines, followed by eerie screams as a fl?ight of unseen fl?y-forms swept in to provide close air support. Thunder rolled across the arid landscape as electronic “bombs” fell on the horde, fl?ashed as they went off, and left dozens of machines motionless on the battlefi?eld. That was when Quinlan’s voice was fi?nally heard. It sounded thick, as if the offi?cer had just awoken, and was a bit disoriented. “This is Zulu Six. . . . Alpha, no Bravo Company, will pull back to the defensive wall and hold. Over.”
“No!” Santana said out loud. “There’s no way through the wall! The robots will crush Bravo Company against it!”
Of course Captain Mays was no fool, and could see the same thing, since the very real steel wall that protected the fake power plant was twelve feet high, and the only entrance to the enclosure was on the southern rather than the northern perimeter. So the offi?cer objected, was immediately put down, and forced to obey Quinlan’s orders. With predictable results. Half an hour later, just as the sun started to peek up over the eastern horizon, the last member of the 2nd Battalion, 1st REC was offi?cially killed. His name was Liam Quinlan—and his promotion to lieutenant colonel came through later that same day.
PLANET JERICHO, THE RAMANTHIAN EMPIRE
As the imperial battleship Merciless and her escorts dropped into orbit around the Planet Jericho, the Queen was in the control room to witness the event. Not because the regent hadn’t seen a ship make planet fall before, but because the world below was of particular interest to her. Viewed from space, it was a beautiful planet, one of a number of such worlds granted to the empire in partial restitution for damage suffered during the Hudathan wars. It was a Hive-normal planet, which meant it was Earth-normal, too, and had been home to an advanced civilization long before her race had risen to sentience. Evidence of that could still be seen in the ruins scattered about the world’s emerald green surface. But that was ancient and therefore boring history as far as the royal was concerned. Because her purpose in visiting Jericho was to assess the condition of the Ramanthian nymphs that had been hatched there over the last few months, thousands of whom had been left to fend for themselves in the wake of a commando-style raid by Confederacy forces. It was a calamity that she, as their moral, if not actual, parent, was obliged to mitigate.
Five hours later the Queen shuffl?ed down a ramp and onto the surface of Jericho. The airstrip, which had only recently been carved out of the forest some twenty miles west of what had been Jericho Prime, was protected by guard towers and an electrifi?ed fence. The air immediately around the royal yacht was heavy with the acrid stench of ozone, and a series of loud pings was heard, as hot metal started to cool. Moments later an entire fi?le of heavily armed Ramanthian troopers moved in to protect the royal, not from alien soldiers, but an equally potent threat.
The offi?cer in charge of the so-called reorientation center had been a largely unknown military functionary prior
