problem. One you can solve for them. And, in return, they’d like to solve your problems.”
“Solve my problems?” Matucek repeated slowly. “How?”
“To begin with, by completely reequipping your ground echelon, General,” Osterwelt said in a voice that was suddenly very serious. “We can provide you with the latest Concordiat manned light and medium AFVs, one– and two-man air cavalry ground attack stingers, as many infantry assault vehicles as you want, and the latest generation of assault pods to upgrade your Fafnirs.” Matucek’s jaw dropped in disbelief. That kind of equipment refit would make his “Marauders” the equal of a real Concordiat mech brigade, but Osterwelt wasn’t done yet and leaned across the table towards him. “We can even,” he said softly, “provide you with a pair of Golem-IIIs.”
“Golems?” Matucek’s nostrils flared and he looked quickly around the bar. If anything had been needed to tell him that Osterwelt’s “association of businessmen” had immense-and almost certainly illegal-resources, it was needed no longer. The Golem-III was an export version of the Mark XXIV/B Bolo. All psychotronics had been deleted, but the Golems were fitted with enough computer support to be operable by a three-man crew, and they retained most of the Mark XXIV’s offensive and defensive systems. Of course, they were also available-legally, at least-only to specifically licensed Concordiat allies in good standing.
“Golems,” Osterwelt confirmed. “We can get them for you, General.”
“Like hell you can,” Matucek said, yet his tone was that of a man who wanted desperately to believe. “Even if you could, the Navy’d fry my ass the instant they found out I had ‘em!”
“Not at all. We can arrange for you to purchase them quite legally from the Freighnar Commonwealth.”
“The Freighnars? Even if they had ‘em, they’d never have been able to keep ‘em running!”
“Admittedly, the new People’s Revolutionary Government is a bit short on technical talent,” Osterwelt agreed. “On the other hand, the People’s Council has finally realized its noble intention to go back to the soil won’t work with a planetary population of four billion. More to the point, now that they’ve gotten their hands on off-world bank accounts of their own, they’ve also decided they’d better get the old regime’s hardware back in working condition before some new champion of the proletariat comes along and gives them the same treatment they gave their own late, lamented plutocratic oppressors.”
“Which means?” Matucek asked with narrowed eyes.
“Which means they’ve had to call in off-world help, and that in return for assistance in restoring the previous government’s Golem battalion to operational condition, they’ve agreed to sell two of them.”
“For how much?” Matucek snorted with the bitterness of a man whose pockets were down to the lint.
“That doesn’t matter, General. We’ll arrange the financing-and see to it that your Golems are in excellent repair. Trust me. I can bury the transaction under so many cutouts and blind corporations no one will ever be able to prove any connection between you and my… associates. As for the Navy-” He shrugged. “However it got that way, the PRG is the currently recognized Freighnar government. As such, it can legally sell its military hardware- including its Golems-to whomever it wishes, and as long as you hold legal title to them, not even the Navy can take them away from you.”
Matucek sat back and stared across the table. The greed of a desperate man who sees salvation beckon flickered in his eyes, and Osterwelt could almost feel his hunger, but the man wasn’t a complete fool. For a mercenary outfit on its last legs to be offered a payoff this huge could only mean whoever offered it wanted something highly illegal in return, and his voice was flat when he spoke once more.
“What do you want?”
“I want you to attack a planet for me,” Osterwelt said calmly. “The planetary militia has a few eighty- year-old Wolverine tanks and some fairly decent infantry weapons.”
“Eighty-year-old manned tanks? You don’t need Golems to take out that kind of junk, mister!”
“True, but there are also some old Quern War-era Concordiat naval installations on the planet. We haven’t been able to find out exactly what they are yet,” Osterwelt lied smoothly, “and the present indications are that they’ve been abandoned-whatever they are-to the locals for over seventy years. If that’s true, they can’t be much of a threat, but we want you to succeed. Old as they are, they might just hold a genuine threat, and we believe in stacking the deck. Do you think anything eighty years out of date could stand off a pair of Golems?”
“Not bloody likely!” Matucek grunted.
“That’s what we thought, too. Of course, we’ll continue to seek better information. If we can find out exactly what those installations were, we’ll let you know immediately. In the meantime, however, we can get you reequipped and begin planning on a contingency basis.”
“Just what sort of plan did you have in mind?”
“Oh, nothing complicated,” Osterwelt said airily. “We just want you to land on the planet and kill everyone you can catch.”
“You just want us to kill people?”
“Well, we’d appreciate it if you don’t do any more damage to the space field and its support facilities than you have to.” Osterwelt smiled with an air of candor. “A certain amount of ‘looting’ would be in order, just to help convince the Navy you were a nasty bunch of entrepreneurial pirates, but once the present occupants have decided that their world’s become a rather risky place to live, we might just make them an offer for it. Do you think you could encourage them to accept our offer, General?”
“Oh, yes.” Matucek’s smile was cold and ugly. “Yes, I think we can do that for you, Mister Scully,” he said softly.
10
I am increasingly concerned by my Commander’s actions. More precisely, I am concerned by his lack of action. I have now perused the technical data on more modern Bolos, and it is evident to me that Major Stavrakas’ modifications to my Personality Center are far outside the norms considered acceptable by the Dinochrome Brigade. Although the current Mark XXV, Model C-2, approaches my discretionary capabilities, its personality integration psychodynamics are inferior to my own. While the C-2 is capable of self-direction on both the tactical and strategic levels and has an undeniably stronger core personality than earlier models, its awareness levels continue to be largely suppressed except under Battle Reflex conditions. Moreover, it lacks my capacity to multitask decision hierarchies and intuit multiple action-response chains. Major Stavrakas designed me to be capable of the human phenomenon called “hunch-playing,” and the C-2 lacks that ability, just as it lacks my ability to differentiate among or-more critically-experience emotional nuances.
Perhaps of even greater concern, I possess only 43.061 percent of the Model C-2’s system redundancy. Although my base capabilities are substantially higher, I lack its stand-alone backups, and much of my secondary command cortex was diverted to permanent activity in support of my enhanced psychodynamics. As a result, I am significantly more vulnerable than current Bolos to psychotronic systems failure due to battle damage, though this vulnerability could be compensated for by the addition of further backups for my critical functions. I estimate that with modern molecular circuitry, all current functions could be duplicated, with complete system redundancy, in a volume 09.75 percent smaller than that occupied by my present psychotronic network.
From my study of the data on the Model C-2, I compute a probability of 96.732 percent that Command Authority presently possesses the technological ability to duplicate Major Stavrakas’ work, and a lesser probability of 83.915 percent that it is aware that it does so. These two probabilities generate a third, on the order of 78.562 percent, that Command Authority has made a conscious decision against incorporating abilities equivalent to my own into units of the Line.
In addition, however, the technical downloads reveal that current Bolos do not incorporate the hyper- heuristic function Major Stavrakas achieved in my design. While their heuristic programming is substantially increased over that of the standard Mark XXIII upon which my own design is based, its base level of operation is 23.122 percent less efficient than my own, and it lacks both the advanced modeling and time compression capabilities Major Stavrakas incorporated in her final heuristic system. I feel great pride in my creator-my “Mother,” as my Commander now calls her-and her genius, for I compute that a Bolo with my circuitry would operate with a minimum tactical and strategic efficiency at least 30 percent higher than present-generation units of the Brigade.
