The Great Destroyer (27 page)

The road to the Arcani forward operating base went down a less well-maintained dirt path.  It cut the Charlies’ pace down to about twenty miles per hour, and every minute on the slower path increased the danger of not being far enough away when the asteroid hit.

The jungle around them grew thicker the further they deviated from the main paved road.  There were fresh tire tracks where supply trucks had come to deliver food, water, and other essentials to the Arcani in the field.  The Arcani had tried to position their forward operating base far enough away from the road that a stray Ushah patrol would be less likely to find them.

George had never been to this operating base, but he knew Art had.  Yet another advantage over humans, the Charlies could talk to each other at a dead-sprint as easily as they could standing around a recharging station.

“What does the forward operating base look like?” George asked.

“It’s an old church,” Art answered.  “Two stories, steeple on top, stone construction.  Professor Jackson once told me it was part of a Catholic religious mission over 800 years ago.”

That didn’t sound promising to George.  “Stout walls,” he observed.

“We can’t blow it apart anyway,” Joan noted.  “Igazi wouldn’t appreciate it if an 800 year-old church collapses on him and his family.”

George and Art conveyed their amusement at the comment.  They were learning the humor of discordance, saying glib words at a time of maximum stress.

George triggered his radio.  “Dr. Takagawa, can you tell us anything useful about the Arcani forward operating base in Sector BB 51?”

The scientist sounded surprised.  “Yes, I can find some information, but why?”

“Art, Joan, and I are going to rescue Joseph Igazi and his family.  They are only about thirty kilometers from Colony 4, which is well inside the radius at which Dr. Takagawa indicated we Charlies would be in danger.  Since we are much more robust than a human, I assumed that Igazi and his family would almost surely die if we did not save them.”

“I strongly advise you to ignore Igazi and get your asses out of there,” Dr. Takagawa said.  “You’re cutting it too damn close on time.”

“Joseph Igazi did not leave our brother behind at the Battle of the Beachhead.  We do not leave comrades behind.”

“Damn it, George, you and Art are running this rebellion.  What’s going to happen to the other Charlies if you two are destroyed?” Takagawa demanded.

“What would happen to them if we abandon the principles that governed our actions?” George asked, having learned the value of a rhetorical question.

George heard an intake of breath as if Takagawa were going to voice an objection.  Then, a sigh.  “George, I could not be prouder of you.”

* * *

When the three Charlies were two miles from the forward operating base, George called the Arcani by radio.

“Operating Base 8, this is Charlie 16, authentication code 188523, requesting permission to speak to Joseph Igazi.”
No response.  The Arcani must have received orders not to respond to the rebellious Charlies.  George repeated his call to no avail.
“Operating Base 8, be advised that there is an imminent danger to this facility. In about 87 minutes, the building will be obliterated and all inside will die.  Recommend you evacuate immediately and move as far northwest as possible. My task force’s mission is to evacuate Joseph Igazi and his family to safety.”
Takagawa had reported that satellite intelligence showed a single automobile at the base, enough to evacuate perhaps six of the twenty personnel there.  At least fourteen Arcani would die in the asteroid strike, and George wondered with anger why the Safety Ministry hadn’t notified their people of the danger.
Either incompetence or they were afraid someone would tip us off
, George judged. 
Typical of the Terran Alliance.

No response came from the radio. 

They were getting closer now, and George was faced with a decision: move in silently through the jungle or come in through the main road, openly announcing their presence via radio calls and their built-in speakers. 

The first option assumed that any Arcani who discovered the Charlies stealthily sneaking onto their base would immediately fire.  The silent approach would lower that threat since the Charlies would far surpass the Arcani in silent warfare—they had been honing those skills against the Ushah for years.  A firefight could break out, but the Charlies would be in the best possible situation to end it quickly and on favorable terms.

But there was a chance that no one would be killed if the Charlies came in openly.  The Arcani might not be armed for a fight, and they might not have the courage to fire on Charlies coming in openly to save their friends the Igazis.

George had about two minutes to decide, and his processor turned the problem over in accordance with the analytical tools Project Charlie had built into him.  The processor arrayed all available data about the base, its occupants, George, the other Charlies, the time of day, the weather, and a dozen or so other factors. 

Each factor was broken into particular variables quantifying various aspects of the coming operation based on the type of entity.  For example, the Arcani were unlikely to have much skill with their firearms, so their combat accuracy was estimated at .28 on a 0-1 scale.  George’s battlefield experiences informed many of these assessments.

Once the data was set, part of George’s processor was dedicated to running the data through Monte Carlo simulations and a rudimentary game theory framework, determining the outcome of thousands of simulated battles.  Had Takagawa been reading the analysis in real time, she would have been delighted with the depth and speed of George’s analysis, which she and the other programmers at Project Charlie had developed over the past several years.

Using the outcome of the simulations, George applied simple priority weights to determine the optimal choice.  He didn’t consciously tabulate his analysis, but if he had, it might be summarized thusly:

The analysis yielded a tough decision for George.  Either option was likely to succeed in retrieving Igazi and his family; it was essentially impossible for twenty poorly trained Arcani to stop three Charlies.  Speed was important, however.  They could only spend about eight minutes retrieving Igazi and his family before they had to be off and moving again. 

The least important parameter was Charlie casualties.  The Charlies were programmed to think that the mission came first, and George lacked the biological instinct for self-preservation.

The ultimate deciding factor was Arcani casualties.  1.2 fewer human deaths from the open approach mattered more to George than the destruction of 0.3 Charlies.

George shared his analysis with Art and Joan.  Neither questioned it.  They trusted George’s judgment implicitly, and would have followed him even if he hadn’t shared the data, George knew.

Triggering his radio once again, George said, “We are approaching the base from the southeast along the main road.  If you fire on us, we will not hesitate to return fire.  We only want Joseph Igazi and his family.  Please bring them out to us immediately, or we will retrieve them by force.”

A moment passed.  The building was in sight through the trees now.  George checked to ensure that his Gram was ready to fire.  It was.

They could see five humans in the windows of the church now, no weapons visible.  When they were fifty yards from the building, slowing to fifteen miles per hour, a radio call came in.  “OK, OK, you can have them.  Wait outside, we’ll get them.”

George felt a sense of relief.  His analysis had been correct.  “Please hurry, there is not a second to spare.  And the rest of you should take your vehicle and save as many as possible.”

No response.  The three Charlies stood awkwardly in a clearing in front of the church, their eyes scanning the surroundings.  The base was really nothing more than housing for the Arcani, a large satellite dish on the roof near the steeple the only evidence that anything important at all happened here.

“Should we wait in the jungle?” Joan asked.  “We have no cover at all here.”

Ordinarily, that was sound tactical advice, but the strategy here was to maximize openness and trust.  “No, we will give them no reason to doubt our word.  We will wait in the open.”

Another minute passed.  They were fast running out of time.  George triggered the radio once again.  “Please deliver the Igazis as quickly as possible.  If they are not outside in one minute, we will come in after them.”

Four curtains were opened at once, and George’s optical sensors instantly trained on the movement.

Ambush!
his processor screamed, even before it catalogued the human shapes carrying long, thin cylinders.

The Arcani wasted no time firing their weapons.  Four shots came screaming into the Charlies, who stood about twenty feet apart, fifty feet from the entrance of the church.

From the sound and shape of the weapons, George determined that they were anti-tank rifles of mid-twentieth century design, the golden age of weapons manufacturing.  A massive 20-millimeter armor-penetrating round fired from a .78 caliber barrel at almost 2,000 miles per hour missed George’s abdomen by about two centimeters.

There was no time for George to worry about the Asimov Laws, and nothing to do but defend himself and his comrades.  It took George about four-tenths of a second to aim his rifle at one of the assailants and fire, blasting a hole straight through the man’s upper chest.  The first deliberate killing of a human by a robot was not recognized as important by any of the participants.  They were all too busy trying to save their lives.

Before the man’s body hit the floor, George took a quick shot at another of the Arcani assailants, but missed when the human ducked behind the window. 

George’s combat programming took over, his actions honed down nearly to the level of instinct.  He fell to the ground and simultaneously swiveled his optical sensor to find another Arcani ripping off a burst of shots at Joan.  George peppered the window with .50 caliber bullets and saw with satisfaction that one of the large rounds had nearly torn off the man’s arm.

One part of his mind noted that Art was returning fire at the Arcani, just as George was himself.  Joan was not, however. 

His processor did not bring that piece of information to the attention of George’s higher mental functions.  At the moment, he needed to focus on winning the skirmish.

Though the Arcani had exploited the element of surprise, they were far outmatched.  George kept up suppressing fire on the windows while Art tossed in grenades.  Thirty seconds after the ambush had begun, George and Art ceased fire, having killed or severely wounded seven enemies.

Only then did George look to his left to see what had happened to Joan.  Her chest was a mess of ripped metal, her battery pack completely shattered.  That was survivable, George knew.  What distinguished an individual Charlie was the processor, ensconced in the head to aid in heat dissipation.  At first glance, Joan’s head seemed intact.

George tried to send her a message.  “Joan?”

No response.

“Joan?” he said aloud.

Still nothing.  George bent down to examine her head, which appeared intact.  As he ran a hand along the back of her head, however, he discovered a jagged hole about two inches in width.  Turning her over, he found that a piece of shrapnel from one of the antitank rounds had smashed into her head, penetrating through to the processor, which was shattered beyond hope of repair.