On every target world, there were three main factories under domes-at least, that’s what we could see. There might be more domes hidden in the seas or underground.
I tapped the closest of the six planets on the screen. “That’s got to be it, Marvin. The closest one. It’s cold, but habitable. It also happens to be the original homeworld of the Centaurs. Might as well give them what they really want. We’ll have to do a set of bombing runs on each of the enemy domes, eliminating their production capacity before they can turn it against us. We’ll have to use tactical nuclear bombardment. If we hit them all from space at the same time, they should fall, overwhelmed.”
“I disagree,” Marvin said, focusing a squad of cameras on me and the display.
I glanced at him. “Talk to me.”
“We need the domes-or more specifically, we need the large factories inside.”
“What for? We can’t use them.”
“Oh yes, I believe we can.”
“How?”
“I’ve studied recordings of your prior engagements with these systems. No attempt was made to capture these large scale production systems and turn them into assets. Star Force objectives might have been met more easily if this had been done.”
I blinked at him. “What? You mean we can take them over?”
“You’ve done just that with many factories of Nano origin. The process is not that dissimilar in the case of the larger production systems.”
“But we can’t talk to them. All they ever did was blow up in our faces.”
Marvin twisted some of his tentacles and adjusted the image displayed on the screen. Stock footage of our original campaign against the Macros in South America loaded and began to play. “It was a simple matter of miscommunication,” he said. “These systems do not speak the same language as the Nano ships-but it is similar. Really, it is a more primitive version of the same binary protocol. An earlier version, if you will.”
I stared at him. “You can talk to them? You can change their programming before they blow themselves up?”
“Yes.”
“But we’d have to get you down there, into one of those domes, right?”
“Yes. The domes prevent all transmission from external sources.”
I nodded, remembering. When we’d faced these Macro factories, hiding under clam-shell-like force fields, we’d only been able to get inside with footmen. No form of energy was able to penetrate. Only direct hits from nuclear weapons could break down the force domes themselves. Once that was done, of course, the factory inside was invariably destroyed. But if we could sneak Marvin inside, he thought he could reprogram the machines and make them ours.
The thought was magical and soon consumed my mind. Whole new possibilities opened up. With even one such super-factory, I’d be able to produce huge amounts of whatever source materials I wanted-the more I thought about it, the bigger my eyes and my ideas became.
“We’re going to do it, Marvin,” I said, turning to him. I wondered if my eyes shone with yellow greed. “We’ll do it-or we’ll die trying.”
“That is a logical assumption,” he said.
— 7
Within a few days, we’d moved my force of destroyers to hover over the target, a mountainous world dotted by snow-capped peaks and winding emerald valleys. There was a Centaur satellite here-a big one. I wasn’t surprised about that, after all, this was their home planet. It made sense there would be a large population stationed nearby.
I confirmed through a number of overly-long conversations with the Centaurs that their factories were churning out heavy-weapons kits. Their lighter lasers weren’t sufficient for the task of taking out the big machines. Following our designs for the basic infantry kit, I had them producing as many as possible with their factories. I’d cut the design down from the equipment our men usually carried, but the energy output was comparable. They had a heavy pack, which I’d elongated and based on a harness system that was designed for their four-legged bodies. Each kit was equipped with a nanite-cloth helmet that was completely opaque except for the specialized goggles built to fit over wide-set eyes. The helmet only protected their vision, not much else. It was equipped with a radio system however, so they could receive remote commands. The only other part of the system that mattered in combat was the projector itself, which they cradled in their stubby forearms. Connected by a thick, black nanite cable to the pack on their backs, the troopers were ready to go.
Only, they weren’t. We tested them in person, and immediately found a critical problem. The individual Centaur soldiers weren’t strong enough to carry the newer, heavier packs and projectors. The systems weighed in around eight hundred pounds, and even their sturdiest rams had trouble walking with them. Smaller individuals buckled and staggered, toppling over.
Frowning, I got out the com box and had Marvin translate my speech to the Centaurs in the staging area we’d set up inside their satellite. “Honorable people of the wind,” I began. It was always good to start things off by praising them. “We have a problem. Your warriors are not strong enough to carry the heavy weapons systems they need to destroy the machines.”
“Our hearts are prideful and true. The rivers of our world may not lift a stone, but they will wear it down to nothing given enough years.”
“That’s great,” I said, not having much of a clue what they were talking about. “But we need to kill Macros, and as-designed these systems will not work. Fortunately, I have a solution. It will require that we alter the people of your herds. They will have to undergo nanite injections to improve their strength.”
The Centaurs made many oddly-worded inquiries as to the nature of these alterations and injections. As I explained them further, they became incensed.
“Our people may subject themselves to allowing machines to squat upon our backs. We may even allow machines to transport us to our battles. But we will never conjoin with them! There is no greater dishonor imaginable! To become one with the machine is to join the enemy!”
I grimaced. I thought about telling them that we’d done it, and that was how we were able to carry this equipment ourselves. I decided against mentioning these facts as I felt sharing that information might very well backfire. Who knew how they might react? They might rethink our entire tenuous alliance.
“Sir,” Miklos said, standing nearby.
I turned to him irritably.
“I might have a solution. They say they are willing to be harnessed to carry the weapons. Perhaps we can build even larger projectors and have them drag the units on carts.”
I considered the idea, but I didn’t really like it. They wouldn’t be able to move as fast that way. One of the big advantages of these Centaur troops was their natural agility on mountainous terrain. If they were dragging a cart behind them in teams, bumping along over the rocks, we’d be greatly slowed down.
“I’ve got another idea,” I said. “We’ll put a repeller dish on every pack, countering that single crushing weight.”
Miklos nodded. “That should work.”
“It will work,” I said, “but it will cost us production materials and time. We’ll end up being able to field less troops per hour. But it can’t be helped, I suppose.”
I relayed the plans to the Centaurs and after a few suspicious questions, they agreed with the plan. After all, it only involved altering the kit slightly, not the soldiers themselves.
My next difficulty turned out to be more serious. The Centaurs were claustrophobic. This was something I’d known from the start, but I’d hoped that if they were willing to close their eyes and take a five minute drop-ship ride down to the planetary surface, we shouldn’t have much trouble. I was quite wrong on that point.
Experimentally, we loaded up a squad of veterans into one of my deployable drop-ship containers. These were not all that different in design from their original configuration. Back on Earth, we’d filled oblong structures
