Lauderdale knew they had to be kept out of Fort Apache while the demon was settling in, prepping for the Big Push. This was the crux of the ritual. Nothing must bar the Way of Joseph in the next three hours.
They were haring off in opposite directions. The bigscreen fragmented into the viewpoints of each android, and Nathan Stack was in each of them, discharging his shotgun. One of the viewpoints blanked.
'Shouldn't we bring in Stack?' suggested Finney. 'For interrogation? We still don't know what happened to Tyree.'
Lauderdale could see the idea of interrogation appealed to Rintoon. Maybe the Colonel would get to use his whips and ropes after all.
Another android went down. That wasn't supposed to happen. They were armoured against everything up to and including heavy artillery. That was the problem with giving the things free will, Lauderdale supposed. They were free to screw up.
'Interrogation,' said Rintoon, rolling the word around his mouth. Finney was being too clever, playing to the Colonel's lapses. It was time she was out of the picture, Lauderdale thought. 'Yes, interrogation…'
'Sir,' said Lauderdale, 'shouldn't we put it through the computer. We're in a combat situation.'
'Good thinking, man. Do it, Finney. Call up Stack's stats.'
Lauderdale hoped he could trust the demon in the machine.
'I don't see…'
'Do it, woman.'
Finney tapped keys, and Stack's stats appeared on the screen. Mugshot, personal history, service record. It held still for an instant, then shimmered and was replaced by an urgent override.
The demon came through. NATHAN STACK HAS BEEN POSITIVELY IDENTIFIED AS A SERIAL KILLER, RESPONSIBLE FOR POSS. 159 MURDERS OVER LAST TEN YEARS IN FIVE STATES. SUBJECT IS HIGHLY DANGEROUS, PROFICIENT IN ALL WEAPONS SKILLS, HAS GENIUS LEVEL INTELLIGENCE, AND SHOULD BE TERMINATED ON SIGHT. DO NOT, REPEAT
Finney was shaking her head in disbelief.
'It can't do this,' she said.
'It seems conclusive to me. Lauderdale, have your androids execute the computer's directives.'
'You don't understand, Colonel. It's just a machine. It's only a smart filing cabinet. It can't give you information without someone putting it in tbere. I have no record of this amendment to Stack's stats. It didn't come from outside the system…'
'You're gibbering, woman.'
'No, this isn't possible, sir. The system appears to have…to have
Lauderdale was using the remote guidance facility to lock the androids onto Stack's heat patterns. Once that was in their tiny minds, they would implacably pursue him until he was dead.
'I may not be a brain like you, Captain Finney,' Rintoon said, 'but I am given to understand that systems don't tell lies. Is that or is that not the case?'
'Sir…usually, but…'
'Fine. That's it then. 'We'll finish the sumpsucker now, save the country the cost of a trial.'
'Think about it, sir. Stack's been Cav for fifteen years. He hasn't had enough leave days to zap about the country committing 159 murders. And look at that remark there. 'Genius level intelligence.' You can't believe our psych profiles wouldn't have shown that up. The guy is just a Trooper, for freak's sake!'
'I will not tolerate that kind of language, Finney. Colonel Vladek W. Rintoon runs a tight ship, a clean ship. An officer must conduct herself with honour, dignity and cheerfulness at all times. An officer must be obedient, resourceful, well-turned-out, vigilant, aware…'
Rintoon's tunic buttons were done up wrongly.
Lauderdale knew he would have to end this charade soon, and take command. He could keep the fort's personnel busy while the demon did its work in the depths.
Finney stood up and turned her terminal off.
'I resign my commission,' she said, walking for the door.
'This is mutiny, woman, mutiny. I could have you shot down like a dog.'
The automatic doors opened for Finney's cardkey.
'…like a dog!'
Finney looked around.
'Anyone else had enough?' she said.
Lieutenant Colosanto got up, her eyes cried out, and went to the Captain. A couple of techies darted out into the corridor. Finney looked at the door guard, who stepped aside for her, and followed.
There were alarms sounding all over the fort.
'This is desertion,' Rintoon screamed, 'DESERTION!'
The doors closed.
Rintoon wheeled around, looking for someone to tie up and whip, interrogate or shoot down like a dog. Lieutenant Lenihan was clearing his console. He froze as the Colonel bore down on him.
'It's the end of my shift, sir. I have to stand down. I've been on duty for over thirty-eight hours.'
Rintoon grunted, and clenched his fists.
'It's regs, sir,' said Lenihan. 'I'm not allowed to stay at the console longer than that. I could freak up, and get us all killed. I have to have downtime now. It's in the book.'
Lenihan backed towards the door, and fumbled with his cardkey. Rintoon had his sidearm out…
Good, let the Colonel take care of spilling the blood…
Rintoon fired at the Lieutenant, and missed. The doors opened, and Lenihan was running down the corridor.
Lauderdale took a console, and finished feeding Stack's patterns to the androids.
'Desertion, mutiny,' muttered Rintoon. Lauderdale ignored the mad old man. 'Desertion, mutiny, treachery, betrayal…'
Behind him, Rintoon slumped in a chair, burbling to himself.
Lauderdale got on with his business.
III
Chantal knew London Bridge was too obvious, too easy. The fort would have it completely covered. It was probably mined, too. So she headed through the ghost town for the Colorado basin. She ran past the dilapidated row of Olde Englishe Pubbes, dodging mortar fire from the battlements. A red phone box up ahead exploded, and she had to roll behind a Hyde Park Bench to avoid the flying fragments of glass and metal.
She had never been to London, funnily enough. Unless she was careful in the next few hours, she would never get the chance.
A drone made a pass, its beam strafing a row of statues. Noel Coward came apart at the waist. David Niven got it at chest-height. Charlie Chaplin's bowler-hatted head rolled. Mary Poppins' umbrella melted. Sherlock Holmes' deerstalker was sheared off just above his beaklike nose. Queen Victoria was not amused. And a chirpy Pearly King grinned at it all.
From what she had heard, London was a drab, gray place these days, full of people complaining about rationing and the queues. Maybe she would give it a miss.
She assumed a position, up on one knee, and followed the drone with her gunsight.
She potted it with her first shot. It cracked apart like a clay pigeon.
All the commotion flushed a sandrat out of his hidey-hole. He had been inside one of the pubs. Still clutching a bottleneck, and wrapped from head to foot in Royal Family commemorative towels, he ran out of The Stoat and
