Enemy, yet why else has Colonel Sanders suddenly appeared on Santa Cruz at this precise moment? And impossible as it seems, it is infinitely more probable than that Paul would mutiny.
I begin to reply hotly, then stop. Paul has consistently concealed my true abilities from Central. Thus Colonel Sanders cannot realize how radically I differ from a standard Mark XXIII, and this is not the time to inform him. I shall 'play dumb' as long as possible.
'Captain Merrit is my designated Commander, Colonel. I cannot disregard his orders without express command code authorization. Please supply command code.'
'I can't!' Sanders half-screamed. 'Merrit changed the code without informing Central! I'm trying to find it, but-'
'I cannot disregard Captain Merrit's orders without express command code authorization,' Nike returned in her most emotionless tone.
The skimmer has finally overtaken the Wolverines. Its power is failing quickly, and Colonel Sanders' presence changes my original assumptions radically. I reverse my tracks and move suddenly backward, threading my way through the Wolverines, which scatter like quail at my approach.
The skimmer staggers, then plummets downward in a barely controlled crash landing. It slams through heavy undergrowth for over a hundred meters before it careens to a stop, and I swerve towards it. I come to a halt 20.25 meters from it, but the canopy does not open. My optical heads show me Paul's body slumped in the flight couch. His tunic is soaked in blood.
'Paul!'
The agonized cry over the com hit Consuela Gonzalez like a hammer. She'd felt a moment of terror as the Bolo suddenly reversed course to sweep through her entire battalion, yet the smoke-streaming fifteen-thousand-ton leviathan had threaded its way among the tanks with flawless precision, and now that heartbroken wail struck an even deeper fear into the colonel. She'd never served with a Bolo, yet she knew no Bolo should ever sound like that, and she keyed her mike.
'NKE?' There was no answer, and she tried again. 'NKE, this is Gonzalez! Come in!'
'Colonel.' The Bolo's voice was ragged, and Gonzalez could feel the huge machine's struggle to make it firm. 'Colonel, my Commander is wounded. I... require your assistance.'
'On my way, NKE!' Gonzalez replied without even thinking about it, and her command tank pivoted to race towards the smoking skimmer. The five-hundred-ton vehicle skidded to a stop on locked tracks, and Gonzalez popped her hatch before it reached a complete halt. She leapt down the handholds and ran the last few yards to the skimmer. The canopy resisted stubbornly for several seconds, then the emergency bolts blew and she ripped it away and gasped as she saw the blood pooled on the cockpit floor.
'He's hurt badly, NKE,' she reported over her helmet boom mike. 'He's lost a lot of blood-too much, maybe!'
'Can you get him into my fighting compartment?' The Bolo's voice was pleading, and Gonzalez grimaced.
'I don't know, NKE. He's hurt bad. It might kill-'
'N-N-N-Nike!' Merrit whispered. His eyes opened a narrow slit. 'Got... got to reach...'
His thready voice died, and Gonzalez sighed. 'All right, Paul,' she said softly, without keying her mike. 'If it means that much to both of you.'
***
I watch Colonel Gonzalez struggle to lift Paul from the skimmer. The rest of her crew clamber quickly down the hull of their tank and run to her assistance. Between them, they are able to lift him clear. They are as gentle as they can be, yet he screams in pain, and answering anguish twists within me.
But he is conscious. Barely, perhaps, yet conscious, and I see him beckoning weakly towards me. One of Colonel Gonzalez' crewmen seems to argue, but the colonel cuts him off quickly, and they carry Paul towards me.
I open my fighting compartment hatch and deploy my missile-loading waldoes to assist. I lock them into the form of a ramp, and Colonel Gonzalez inches up it backwards, supporting Paul's head and shoulders while the rest of her crew takes most of his weight. My audio pickups relay their gasps of effort and the groans of pain he cannot suppress, yet between them, they get him safely into my compartment.
Colonel Gonzalez lays him in the crash couch and deploys the shock frame. The medical remotes in the shock frame go instantly to work, and fresh grief twists me as I interpret their data.
Paul is dying. His spleen and liver have been effectively destroyed by a penetrating trauma. His small intestine has been perforated in many places, and blood loss has already reached catastrophic levels. I do not understand how he has clung to consciousness this long, but absent the services of a fully equipped hospital trauma unit within the next fifteen minutes, he will die, and the nearest trauma unit is in Ciudad Bolivar.
My medical remotes do what they can. I cannot stop the bleeding, but I administer painkillers and blood expanders. Without more whole blood, I cannot keep pace with the blood loss, but I can ease his pain and slow the inevitable, and his eyelids flutter open.
***
'N-Nike?' Merrit whispered.
'Paul.' For the first time, Nike replied with his name, not his rank, and bloodless pale lips smiled weakly.
'I... Oh, God, honey... I blew it. Sanders... went rogue. H-He's got the depot. I-'
'I understand, Paul,' the Bolo said gently. Then, more sharply, 'Colonel Gonzalez?'
'Yes, NK-Nike?' The colonel's voice was soft with wonder, as if she could not quite believe what reason told her she must be hearing.
'Please return to your vehicle, Colonel. My Commander and I will lead you to Ciudad Bolivar.'
'I-' Gonzalez bit her lip, then ducked her head in a curiously formal bow. 'Of course, Nike.'
'Thank you, Colonel.'
Gonzalez and her crewmen vanished through the hatch, and Merrit stirred weakly in the couch.
'Sanders has... at least one more... man.' The words came slowly, painfully, but with steady, dogged precision. 'New command code's in... my private files. If he looks... there, he can-'
'While you live, you are my Commander, Paul,' Nike replied quietly as her hatch closed. She watched Gonzalez and her people return to their vehicle, then reversed course once more. She accelerated quickly to over seventy kph, the maximum speed the Wolverines could manage even down the broad avenue her passage cleared, and Merrit stroked his couch arm with a weak hand.
'Not going... to live much... longer, love,' he whispered. 'Sorry. So... sorry. Should have told... Central whole story. Gotten someone... out here sooner, and-' A ragged cough cut him off in a spasm of agony, but his eyes fell to the main tactical screen with its display of what was happening at the capital, and he gasped.
'Bastard! Oh... bastard!' he coughed as understanding struck.
'We will deal with them, Paul,' Nike told him with a new, sudden serenity.
'Promise,' Merrit whispered. 'P-Promise me, Nike.'
'I promise, Paul,' the huge Bolo said quietly, and he nodded weakly. The painkillers were doing their job at last, and he sighed in relief, but his curiously distant thoughts were clear. There was no longer any fear in them-not for himself. Only for Nike. Fear and grief for her.
'I know you will, love,' he said, and his voice was impossibly clear and strong. He smiled again-an achingly tender smile-and stroked the couch arm once more. 'I know you will. I only wish I could be with you when you do.'
He smiled one last time, then exhaled in a long, final sigh, and his lax head rolled with Nike's motion.
'You are with me, Paul,' her soprano voice said softly. 'You will always be with me.'
