picked the one that was inside the tool-head perimeter.
Yeah, that meant we had enemy troops on three sides, and T-12’s main dome on the other, but it also meant that about a third of the strikers couldn’t fire without hitting the dome-a dome built to withstand normal wear and tear, but not the rigors of combat.
So, while they spent time trying to readjust their lines of fire, we leapfrogged towards the dome. It was a standard tactic drilled into us from our first days in the crotch. The evolution begins with the formation of dispersed square-dispersed to lessen the casualties caused by modern weapons, and square because squared-off corners place attackers in a crossfire. During large unit actions, such a square might be spread out over five or ten square miles and would have been impossible were it not for the battle sims that allowed each trooper to monitor his or her position relative to everyone else’s.
Then, while the even-numbered troopers provided covering fire, the odd-numbered troopers executed a two- mile jump. Once on the ground, it was their turn to provide covering fire, and so forth, until the entire unit had reached its objective. So that’s how we leapfrogged our way to the dome. Yeah, we lost four troopers, all caught at or near the apex of their jumps, but most of them made it.
The domies did what they could, and sent volunteers out to stop us, but they were like sheep to the slaughter. We went through them like a knife through warm butter, forced the lock, and made our way inside. And that’s when things went black, when the memories disappeared, when the door slammed shut. The nothingness was so sudden, so complete, that it seemed as if I had died in the dome, except that Wamba continued to talk. But what about the darkness? Then I realized that my eyes were closed. I opened them. Light flooded in. I blinked. Wamba smiled and nodded sympathetically.
“You remembered, didn’t you? But the memory ended at the lock. And that makes sense, because that’s where the tool heads cleaned our clocks.”
Machinery whirred, and Wamba shook his head. “It was my fault. I assumed we had neutralized the majority of their forces. That the worst we’d encounter were some poorly trained nerds. What I didn’t know was that a team of commandos had been sent to stiffen T- 12” security and help the tech types evacuate. The only reason they were inside rather than outside was the shortage of battle suits. So they waited until all of us were inside, secured the lock, and let us have it. You charged them, and killed some too, before a man in an exoskeleton pulled you down.”
Wamba shrugged philosophically. “I got mine about thirty seconds later. You can see what it did to me.”
Thoughts burbled through my mind like coffee in an old-fashioned percolator. I felt my hand touch the top of my head and couldn’t remember telling it to do so. The metal felt cold. “So, I was hit in the head?”
Wamba frowned. “No, that’s the weird part. The guy in the exoskeleton peeled you like an orange. I was kinda busy at the time, but it seems to me that you eeled your way out of the battle suit, stood up, and took a slug in the chest. The skull plate doesn’t make sense.”
I opened my shirt and looked down at the patch of scar tissue on the right side of my chest. It was the size of an antique quarter, slightly puckered, and rougher than the surrounding skin. I had spent hours staring at it. wondering what had happened to me, but blocked by the darkness that still obliterated my memories.
I looked at Sasha and had one of those sudden flashes of intuition that come from time to time. None of this was new to her. She had known from the start. I didn’t know how I knew it, or why I knew it, but I did. I could see it in her carefully neutral expression, feel it in the way she looked at me, and hear it in her voice. It was as if she already knew what had happened but wondered about the details. Her voice was filled with wonder. “But how? How could he survive?”
A robot scampered into Wamba’s lap. He stroked it like the cat it resembled. “He survived the same way I did. The tool heads were assholes, but there were compassionate assholes, and had some damned good doctors. I spent the next three years in their hospitals and always assumed Maxon had as well.”
Three years? Had I been in their hands that long? The information had been available to me all along, buried in the records I couldn’t read, and obscured by the darkness that shrouded my thoughts. And what about the metal plate? Where had it come from? And who was responsible? My thoughts whirled and emptiness filled my stomach. All my assumptions, all my beliefs about who and what I was had been torn apart. I wanted answers, and Sasha was the logical place to start. But I had questioned her to no avail. No, it would take time and patience, but it was a long way to Europa Station, and my opportunity would come. I broke the growing silence. “Thanks, Major. You opened some important doors for me.”
Wamba smiled and I realized what a handsome man he had been. “You’re welcome, and it’s ‘Colonel.’ A silly distinction unless you earned it the way I did.” He gestured to his surroundings. “That and my kingdom are all I have left.”
I nodded and glanced at Sasha. She used her one remaining eye to gesture towards the entryway. I took the hint. “Well, thanks again. We’ve got a long way to go, so…”
Wamba held up a hand in protest. “You must accept a gift.
Something to remind you of me and help along the way.” He clapped his hands. “Joy! Where are you? Come to Poppa!”
A small door opened towards the front of his undercarriage. A flash of ebony caught my eye as something twirled its way into the light and struck a dancer’s pose. She-for there was no doubt about her sex-was the only android in the room that had been fashioned from black metal. She was perfectly formed and stood twelve inches tall. Her face bore the slightly mischievous expression of an elf come to life. A mane of black hair cascaded down around shapely shoulders and was captured in a pink ribbon. The rest of her obviously female body was smooth and shiny, with no sign of the sensors, joints, and drive units common to less sophisticated androids.
No, this was a work of art, and it showed in the way Wamba looked at her. There was pride in his eyes, and love as well, for this was his finest creation. A surrogate daughter? Lover? It made little difference. Whatever the android was to Wamba, she seemed to know how much he admired her and drank it in.
Music came from somewhere and Joy began to move, running at first, then launching herself into a dizzying series of forward flips, twisting in mid-air, touching the ground, and going airborne again. There were cartwheels, somersaults, and dance steps, all in time with the music, all done with amazing perfection, until one last run in which she executed a series of backward flips, stumbled, and landed on her ass. Mars gravity reduced the impact, but feedback circuits fed her the robotic equivalent of pain. Her disappointment was clear to see. But she picked herself up, bowed in our direction, and scrambled onto Wamba’s lap. The mechanical cat hissed its disapproval, jumped to the floor, and stalked away.
“So,” Wamba inquired eagerly, “what do you think?”
“I think she’s marvelous,” I said honestly. “Absolutely incredible.”
“She’s beautiful,” Sasha added sincerely. “Like a doll come to life.”
The subject of all this praise beamed with obvious pleasure, and so did Wamba. “Thank you. I was an engineer prior to the war and have lots of spare time.” He gestured towards the robots that continued to glide, roll, crawl and hop all over the room. “Joy is different from the rest. Do you know why?”
I took a shot. “She has feelings?”
Wamba shook his head. “No, not in the actual sense anyway, although I’ll be damned if I could tell you how the simulated emotions she feels are any different from the supposedly real ones that we experience.”
I was still working on that when Sasha spoke.
“The difference is that Joy can make mistakes.”
Wamba pointed a finger in Sasha’s direction. “Bingo. And that’s one of the things that makes humans unique, isn’t it? The capacity to make mistakes.”
I thought about T-12, of what had happened there, and knew which mistake Wamba meant. He nodded agreeably, stroked the android’s back, and looked down into her liquid brown eyes. “Go with Maxon, Joy. Make him happy and do what you can to keep him alive.”
Something passed between them at that moment-something that looked a lot like love, but couldn’t have been, since robots don’t feel.
Joy climbed up to Wamba’s shoulder, kissed his cheek, and slid back down. She jumped to the floor, dodged a mechanical dog, and ran in my direction. I felt my trousers slip half an inch downwards as she grabbed a pants leg and pulled herself upwards. Tiny hands fumbled with my jacket pocket, released the snap, and held the flap up. Long black legs flashed as she climbed inside. I looked at Wamba. “I could never accept such a gift, Colonel. Call her back.”
