A Rage for Revenge

26 Atascadero

There were fourteen domes, two rows of seven out of shelterfoam, and enclosed by the familiar chain link fence. The gate was locked. A sign on the gate said

UNITED STATES ARMY

EMERGENCY SUPPLY DEPOT #CA-145

WARNING: NO TRESPASSING PATROLLED BY ROBOTS

Jason looked at the sign with interest. "What are the robots armed with, Jim?"

"If they're standard, then they'll have modified 280's. They might also have rockets and grenades. If they have a working service bay, they're getting regular maintenance. They could be trouble. "

Jason nodded. He looked to George, "What do you say, George?"

George rumbled, "Jim speaks true."

"All right," Jason made a decision. "Have everybody move back. We'll blow the fence and see who comes running. Let's have Falstaff and Orson be the welcoming committee."

George said, "If the robots have grenades or torches, we could lose them. Or if they've been programmed to aim for the soft spot at the base of the eyestalks."

Jason nodded. He looked at George. "Do you have a better idea?"

"No. I just want you to be aware of the possible consequences."

"Thanks," Jason sounded annoyed. He nodded to Marcie. "Blow up the gate."

She nodded back and began unpacking her explosives.

Jason walked over to the truck with Falstaff and Orson in it. He chirruped, and they poured out of the truck and meatloafed up in front of him. Orrie flowed over too.

"All right, boys," Jason said. He began to talk to them. He used English sentences, interspersed with chirps and signs and gestures. The Chtorrans bobbled their eyes.

Marcie had six gobbets of plastic explosive. She stuck them to the hinges of the gate and its base. She stuck a tiny radio-detonator into each glob. "All right," she waved. "Everybody move back."

George came up carrying two rocket launchers. He handed one to me. "When the robots come, try to take them out before they can do anything to the worms."

"No problem."

George moved off a bit and began setting up. I did likewise. Marcie stepped toward us with a cheery smile. "Everybody ready? Jason?" she called.

Jason nodded, put his hands in his pockets and waited expectantly.

Marcie pulled the detonator out of her pocket and unlocked it. She punched in a code number, then looked around one last time. "You might want to hold your ears," she warned. "Three . . . two . . . one." She pressed the last button.

The gate exploded inward, toppling flat on the ground. Almost immediately, an alarm went off and six flat rolling tanks came bursting out of two nearby domes. Their laser beams whirled and pointed. They focused on Marcie, on George, on me, on the Chtorrans-but they didn't fire. They wouldn't fire unless we entered the fence. We had maybe thirty minutes before the choppers arrived. If that.

We'd picked this base because there was an empty warehouse nearby. We'd be gone in twenty minutes and hidden in the warehouse by the time the choppers were overhead.

If necessary, we could take the choppers out. We had twelve ground-to-air missiles, but we didn't want to use them. It was too dangerous to call that much attention to ourselves.

I targeted on the first robot's treads and launched. The explosion toppled the beast and it was helpless. We could finish that one with the torch.

George launched a grenade at the second robot. The explosion rocked the machine, but it remained upright, its turret swiveled and targeted. It began firing back. Immediately, the four remaining robots also began firing at George. He dove into the ditch, gobbets of earth exploding all around him.

The robot turrets swiveled to focus on me. I didn't wait to see if they would fire or not, I dove after George. I was smart. The ground exploded behind me. Apparently, they'd programmed these monsters to be more aggressive in the past few months. The bastards. We were only trying to liberate some supplies. It wasn't like we wanted to kill someone.

Falstaff and Orson flowed into the camp then. The robots twirled their turrets and opened fire on them. Orson shuddered as the laser beam touched the base of his eyestalks, but he raised up in a challenge and took the burst of machine gun fire in the belly. He came down hard on the robot and toppled it. He rolled away, bleeding profusely. I wasn't worried. He came up charging the next robot. Yay, Orson.

Falstaff went banging headfirst into the same robot. I saw the torch nozzle coming out of its side and screamed. We were going to lose both of our attack-trained worms. Orson hit the robot sideways and the flame missed Falstaff by a hair, scorching across his back. Falstaff leapt and pushed on the robot and it toppled like a fat chess piece. Its turret swiveled back and forth, sending a spume of flame arcing across the compound.

The last two robots were trying to shoot at everything in sight, but they were confused by the flames of their fallen comrade. Apparently, they had infrared detectors. I rose up from the ditch and hurled a grenade. George came up beside me and hurled one as well. We threw ourselves flat-

The blast went over our heads, spattering us with clods and rocks, and when we looked up one of the robots was twirling in a circle, its target beam waving drunkenly. The other one was smoking and still. Falstaff came up and toppled it. He had lost half his tail in the blast. He waved his arms and screamed his rage over the fallen robot.

Marcie screamed. "Orson!"

Orson was aflame. He'd been torched. He writhed across the ground, enveloped in fire. He screamed and shrieked in agony. "Falstaff! Watch out!"

The robot that was still upright was laboriously trying to target on him now. Apparently, its gyros had been damaged by the blast but its weaponry was still working. Given enough time, it would lock onto him. It wheeled in his direction jerkily.

Someone was firing at it-Marcie! George hurled a grenade. I threw myself flat. There was another blast.

And then it was over. The robot was still.

Falstaff chirped at it, plowed over and toppled it. Then he whirled around and raced toward Orson, still writhing-skidding to a halt halfway there. The heat of the flames held him back. He hesitated, tried to reach Orson again, then backed away. And then he screamed. He raised up and wailed. It was the most incredible sound of anguish I had ever heard from any living creature. I had never known before this that a worm could mourn a companion. Falstaff came down on the ground and beat himself on it. He raged. He raced back and forth from one robot to the next, charging at them, beating on them, rolling them across the compound like toys.

"Don't go in there-" George grabbed my arm. Marcie was standing now. So was Jason.

Jason stepped forward. "We may have to kill him."

"No . . ." I put my hands to my mouth.

"Orrie!" Jason pointed.

Orrie started for Falstaff, then hesitated. He looked back toward Jason questioningly. Jason pointed again. Orrie didn't look happy. He moved toward Falstaff.

Falstaff saw him and raised up in a challenge. "Chtorrrrr!" he screamed. "CHTORRRRRRRRR!"

Orrie raised up in front of him and hurled the challenge back. He screamed even louder. All his purple fur stood out from his body as if he were electrified. His eyes bulged from his skin. "CHTORRRRRRRRRR!"

Falstaff clacked his mandibles at Orrie and then, still raging, he threw himself flat on the ground before the other Chtorran. He made a sound that was neither a scream nor a sob nor a whimper, but had the feeling of all three at once.

Orrie came back down to the ground in front of Falstaff. He flowed forward. He rolled up and over Falstaff, and then the two of them were rolling together across the ground, writhing as if they were wrestling or copulating or fighting-then they stopped and held for a long moment. The tension in the two bodies was incredible.

And then-abruptly-they relaxed and a moment later, parted.

Falstaff chirped softly, almost lovingly at Orrie. Orrie chirped back at him.

"Good," said Jason. "Let's go. The clock is running."

We charged for the compound. My job was to find the main dome, access the computer-I would use Colonel Buffoon's code, Marcie had taught it to me-and dump onto disk the latest maps of California and the locations of all safe enclaves not presently claimed.

Falstaff came charging with me. "You okay, boy?"

The worm chirruped at me as happily as if he'd just opened a bus full of Boy Scouts. I shrugged and kept going.

The main dome was locked. No problem. I pointed at the wall. Falstaff flowed up to it and began munching; within seconds he had chewed open a hole large enough for both of us. Shelterfoam was good, but it had its limits.

Falstaff backed away from the hole and I dove in. He followed. "Lights," I commanded, and they came on brightly. I'd forgotten. There were three desks and terminals. They smelled military. I'd forgotten so much.

The wall facing me was twelve feet high. It was a mural of the Constitution of the United States. I was frozen facing it. I could hear my own voice reminding me: "I vow to uphold the Constitution of the United States of America." I'd made that commitment before I'd made my commitment to Jason.

Which commitment counted for more? I took a step toward the wall.

No.

I wasn't in the army any more. That commitment had been made before I'd been awakened, before my transformation. It didn't count.

Or did it?

I turned away and sat down at a terminal with my back to the mural. I logged in, punched in the code of a dead man, and accessed the central banks. This probably wasn't going to work, but I had a whole list of identities to try: people who'd disappeared recently in this region. I hadn't asked about that. I presumed they'd failed the "Live or Die?" test.

Colonel Buffoon first. The terminal hesitated. SORRY. ACCOUNT INACTIVE. PLEASE CONTACT SYSOP.

Next, I tried the code for Colonel Buffoon's aide-de-camp: SORRY, etc.

Uh-oh. This might turn into a problem.

On impulse, I entered my own code. This time the hesitation was longer. Abruptly: CALL HOME. UNCLE IRA MISSES YOU. And then, just as abruptly, the screen cleared again. "What the hell?"

Falstaff Chtrpled. "Never mind," I said.

I had an idea. I punched in Duke's code; the one he'd given me a year ago. The terminal hiccuped and reported: READY.

I blinked. Oh, really? The army still thought Duke was alive? Never mind. I'd figure it out later. I slid a blank memory-card into the reader and started typing out a long list of dump commands.

The reader light blinked on. The card was recording. This would take a minute.

I turned around and looked at the wall. We the people of the United States . . . It was an agreement.

I remembered Whitlaw. "You don't get to vote on this agreement. You already did." I never understood what he meant. Until now. This was the agreement here-whether I acknowledged it or not.

I'd broken this agreement. I'd promised to uphold it.

My mind said, "Jason forced you to break the agreement. You don't owe him anything."

And I replied; "But I can't use the breaking of one agreement to justify breaking another one. Jason loves me!"

My eye fell on Article XIII. Neither slavery nor involuntary servitude . . . shall exist within the United States. . . .

But I'd made my own choice. I wanted to serve Jason.

Or did I?

I knew how we all supported each other. You didn't get a choice. You got pushed to the extraordinary level whether you wanted to be there or not.

I looked at Falstaff. He goggled his eyes at me. He didn't understand. He saw marks on the wall.

I couldn't help myself. I moved to the wall and touched it. This meant something.

I knew something about this wall. My fingers moved across it, touching here, here, and here . . .

The wall slid sideways, revealing a narrow passage.

Falstaff chirped curiously. He didn't know that this passage wasn't supposed to be here.

I stepped into the passage. The wall closed behind me.

I heard Faistaff's surprised chirp. I heard him slide up to the wall, snuffling through his mouth. "Chirrup?" he asked.

The domes were decoys. The real base was hidden underground.

If I could find the main control, I could open the hidden ramp. We could move the trucks and the Chtorrans down here, and when the choppers came, they'd see only the evidence of a hit-and-run raid.

I climbed down the ladder to the underground level. The lights came on as I dropped the last few feet. The room was large and high-ceilinged. This was no tiny base. This was a major supply depot for the area.

There were tanks and Jeeps and trucks, at least a dozen of each. There were six choppers. There were large containers of fuel against one wall. There were row after row after row of shelves, filled with weapons and ammunition and food and clothing and blankets and medical supplies and tents and canteens and missiles and silverware and knives and bandages and. . . .

You could outfit a small city with the supplies in this base. We were rich.

This was exactly what Jason was looking for.

Above me, I could hear his voice, "Jim?" He had entered the dome. He was calling me. "Jim?"

I hesitated at the base of the ladder. Where was my loyalty anyway? What was my life about?

I could feel the indecision like a physical thing in my body-a brick in my throat.

I ran for the main console and punched it to life-tried to punch it to life. The terminal asked, "Authorization code, please?"

"Uh-" I punched in Colonel Buffoon's number.

"Sorry, invalid code. Authorization code, please?"

Through a speaker, I could hear the sounds of the camp above. I could hear Jason's voice calling, "Jim! Come on, Jim! The clock is running out! We've got to go!" He was using the bullhorn. "Come on, you slimy motherfucker!"

I punched in Duke's number. The terminal rejected it.

I tried my own Special Forces code. I didn't expect it to work, and it didn't.

All I had to do was get that door open. But why?

Why did I want that door open?

For Jason, of course.

But why?

I had another notion. A stupid one, but I tried it anyway. I typed, "Uncle Ira."

The terminal flashed. "Authorization accepted." All I had to do now was open the ramp.

I thought of puppies. And Jessie's baby. And my ape mind. And Jason had said that we were the food of the gods.

I didn't want to be food. I wanted to survive.

I could hear Jason talking to me. "Don't buy into your programming-that's what keeps you from being a god."

"Oh, God-" I choked on my words and collapsed in front of the console, crying. "Why me?" I curled up in a ball, sobbing hysterically. "No-goddammit. No, no, no, no, no!"

"Jim! If you don't come out, you'll regret it bitterly! Jim! If you can hear me, come out now! Jim! You have thirty seconds, or I'll have Falstaff rip your arms off!"

"You bastard! You lying bastard!" I stood up and faced the console. I picked up the microphone and punched for Oakland Air Base. "This is Major Duke Anderson," I said. "Priority message. Supply depot CA-145 has been attacked by renegades. Their main base of operations is . . ." I hesitated only a second, then gave the exact aerial-coordinates. I described the camp in detail, and its armaments. I knew how long it would take the trucks to get back there. "Recommend an air strike at eighteen-thirty hours tonight!"

"Who is this?" a harsh male voice cut in. "How do you know this?"

I cut the connection.

I heard the sound of trucks above.

I waited. A few moments more and I heard choppers.

I wondered if they'd gotten away.

It didn't matter.

I sat down in the chair and stared at the console. I reached out and switched it off.

I'd betrayed my country, and I'd betrayed my family. Who else was left for me to betray?

All I wanted now was to sit here and die. I wouldn't, of course.

I'd been too well trained. But that was what I wanted.