"I count four on the roof. Generic humanoids with stolen blasters."
"A standard one-two, then."
"Yes."
The communications tower was all dishes and transmitters. Every one of its controlling functions existed in the large, unimaginatively square building near its base. When X and Zero emerged from cover several hundred meters from the building, they were already shooting at the four Mavericks on the building's roof. The Mavericks returned fire, but somehow found themselves outgunned.
Each of the Hunters' two arms could end in either a hand or a small plasma cannon, a type of weapon known as a 'buster'. Between the two of them, X and Zero could unleash a torrent of firepower, even while taking care to minimize collateral damage.
The Mavericks ducked for cover. The moment they did, Zero darted forward. The Hunter was capable of quickly accelerating to shocking speed. Few vehicles and no Mavericks could long elude him. Each long stride maintained his velocity, aided by small boosters built into his feet. X kept the Mavericks suppressed, allowing Zero to make his approach unmolested. When he got to the side of the building, he changed direction ninety degrees to the vertical. His feet alternated pushing him up. With one leg he kicked off from the building's side, while with the other he pushed off of thin air with boosters alone. He topped the roof in the Mavericks' midst, to their fatal—but mercifully brief—surprise.
Zero reached over his shoulder and grabbed at a small metal cylinder. As the cylinder cleared his back, the end of it erupted into a short beam of coherent light. Zero brought the saber down to cleave through the first Maverick. It offered no resistance to the Hunter's swing. The saber fused parts that were meant to be independent, combined chemicals meant to stay separate, and slagged the rest, until the whole volatile mixture erupted in flame. Zero stepped coolly through the fire to deliver a horizontal stroke into the second Maverick. Gobbets of molten metal flew from the robot's body as the saber completed its arc. The reploid fell, sparking fitfully.
The two remaining Mavericks were dispatched with equal ease, the last by a supremely accurate headshot from X on ground level. X strolled, alertly but confidently, towards the front door. Zero dropped down beside him with grace and aplomb. The two surveyed the door.
"Looks like they turned it into a barricade," X said.
"Yeah."
"Looks pretty formidable."
"Yeah."
The two Hunters turned to each other and balled up a hand. They shook their fists three times. On the third, Zero extended his first two fingers in a 'v', while X clenched his fist more tightly.
"You always start with scissors," X said with a touch of amusement.
Zero put his hands behind his head and turned away to show how trivial it all was. "All yours," he said.
X faced the barricade and extended his right arm. He paused for a moment. Energy flowed in new directions, secondary systems temporarily suffered, and capacitors built up to their rated levels. When X fired again, the resulting plasma ball was larger than the arm that had fired it.
A bulldozer could not have done more damage to the barricade than X's shot did. The blow had such force that, after blowing away the barricade, it knocked down the wall behind for good measure. X winced. "I think I overdid it."
"There's no kill like overkill," Zero quipped with a shrug. "Come on!"
Knocking down walls, it transpired, had been a popular activity for the Mavericks as well. By the time the two Hunters got to the center-most room—destroying the remaining Mavericks along the way—they saw that most of that floor had been sacrificed to make a single large open space.
Sigma stood on the far side of that space, patient as a cat before a mousehole.
"Welcome, Zero!" he said broadly.
"Sigma," hissed Zero. X noted once more that the leader of the Mavericks was the only thing able to consistently break Zero's composure.
"We have much to talk about, including my new virus… but first, why don't we have a little privacy?"
Sigma snapped his fingers, and that was the last thing X could see. The next moment, strobing lights and blaring, high-pitched noises sent him reeling in sensory overload. He staggered backwards and fell to his knees to the assault. Turning off his auditory sensors was simple enough, even though it impaired combat, but without eyes fighting would be impossible. Any substantial opening of his eyes, though, exposed them to the lights that threatened to put him into a robot's equivalent of an epileptic seizure.
What to do? X opened his eyes just enough that the light registered. The pattern was maddening, but with the lessened intensity, it was barely tolerable. Wait for it… wait for it… It took an insufferably long time for X to get the pattern. There! That was it. The frequency and timing of the light bursts were guided by a pseudo-random program, but no such program could stay ahead of X for long. When X established the pattern, he quickly applied a filter to his optical sensors to screen the lights. He opened his eyes with confidence and was gratified to have no issues at all.
He looked to his best friend and mortal enemy. They appeared deep in conversation, though X couldn't hear their words. He had to wait to follow Zero's lead. When, at last, Zero leveled his arm at Sigma, X dashed to the right to bring the villain under crossfire.
Sigma gestured, cutting off the lights and sounds, then brandished several long cat's claws mounted to his wrists. Zero frowned in disappointment. "Tell me that's not all you've got," he said. X was inclined to agree. They'd beaten a similar version of Sigma before without too much trouble.
Sigma grinned viciously. "It doesn't matter if I live or die. With this blow, history is changed. You've already lost. You just don't know it yet."
Zero gave an equally vicious grin in return. "If you say so, Sigma. But you'll have to see it from Hell!"
The three robots exploded into action.
It is normally the case, when two fight one, that the one has a distinct advantage in coordination and communication. The one is fully in command of his actions, whereas the two are prone to misunderstanding and misalignment. Not so with X and Zero. They'd fought together for so long, and were themselves so evenly matched, that they could move around Sigma stride-for-stride. Every time the Maverick charged, the Hunter he approached faded away, while the other slid into Sigma's blind spot and hammered his back with plasma. The distance amongst the three was always within a few strides of constant. And if ever Sigma stopped, his foes circled like sharks while showering him with blasts from every angle.
It didn't matter when Sigma feinted one way and dashed the other, or tried to box one into a corner. The Hunters were individually too wily for such tricks, and collectively more than a match. And that was true for every aspect of the fight. Sigma would have given either X or Zero a good fight. The two of them together could have easily defeated any conceivable opponent. They were united, undamaged, and at the peak of their powers. Sigma never spared any expense with his bodies, but all that did was delay the inevitable, for the Maverick never had a chance.
Especially since, while his movements were quick as ever, his reactions were so slow…
Soon Sigma's armor was cracked and crumbling. Damage seeped through and began degrading his internal components. Before long he could not sprint but only run, then walk, then barely stand. Abruptly Zero changed tactics and dashed in. A rising strike took off both Sigma's arms at the elbow. With impeccable timing, a charged shot from X took Sigma's legs out from under him. All four of Sigma's limbs clattered to the ground.
Zero deftly caught the crippled torso of his foe. "Any last words?" he asked.
Sigma's pain-wracked features returned to their usual spiteful aspect. "You have no idea what's coming for you. You blind, ignorant—"
His words were lost in a blaze of superheated metal and an ear-splitting sizzle. Zero's saber punched through the back of Sigma's neck, having already come down the Maverick's throat.
"You know what? I didn't feel like listening after all," Zero said.
X watched the shell fall without elation. "This can't be the end," he said. "It was too easy. I'm sure there's more… oh, you've got to be kidding me!"
The transmitting signal had cut out with Sigma's destruction, but in the corner, a dull red light had appeared. It was a digital countdown, starting from an uncomfortably low number. A thrill of danger, the first of the entire mission, penetrated through the Hunters. "Come on!" they shouted to each other.
Although Sigma had proven himself adept at strategy and tactics, about some things he was very predictable. For once, however, the dead-man's explosions that rocked the area of Sigma's corpse weren't simply wanton or spiteful. They kept X and Zero from thinking about anything else as they fled the doomed building. Beyond their notice, much was happening.
In some places, marshaled Mavericks were springing into action. In others, reploids and humans alike were looking on in fear at the Hunters deploying in their midst. In others, reploids were wondering at the remarkable transmission they'd received, and the even more remarkable one that followed.
And, high above the furthest reaches of Earth's sky, one being played its final card.
When the tower fell, the signal vanished. A terse follow-up chased it to Eurasia. It bore the proper codes for universal distribution, though it was meant for just one inhabitant. It read: NOW.
The Maverick reploid cackled to himself. How much consternation the humans must be feeling, to see such an obviously meaningful declaration and not have the slightest idea what it meant. He cackled again when he realized that even their worst fears couldn't touch on the enormity of what was about to happen.
And he knew, now, what had happened, and why Sigma had called his host a vessel. Only one sacrifice was necessary to put the plan in motion. Someone had to see it through—someone whose vision of the future was so compelling it could drive a reploid to suicidal madness.
"For Sigma!" the reploid screamed, and pushed the button.
Eurasia, to have a permanent orbit, needed to have some maneuvering capability. If nothing else, it had to be able to compensate for the docking of the shuttles that ferried it materiel. At the push of a button, the colony's thrusters lit up as one. But an uneven number were installed, and not all were functioning at the same capacity. The thrust was differential. The colony immediately began to spin. Like a free-falling gyroscope, it tumbled crazily through space.
On Earth, those who care for satellites watch the skies most closely. At Eurasia's first impulse, alarms lit off in half-a-dozen control rooms. Only one response was possible, and it was universal. "Oh, scrap."
The reploid had only enough explosive material for one small bomb. That was all it took to disable the colony's communications. At the same time, the colony groaned under the intensity of its maneuvers. It had not been designed to cope with this sort of stress; for all its seeming bulk its walls were thin. Incomplete sections tore loose, while external pieces—and a few workers—were flung from their perches.
Some of this debris fell to Earth straightaway, whilst some was ejected into space. Most, however, fell into decaying orbits around Earth, on paths thickly traveled by pre-existing satellites. The first few, in orbits that took them near Eurasia, never stood a chance. Those further away—a couple thousand kilometers, or a few minutes—had better odds, and the navigators on the ground were able to divert some of them in time. For every one that was saved, one was lost, and every lost satellite became several new pieces of debris. The fragments multiplied at a rate entirely too fast to respond to or even process.
Through the massacre of the satellites, Eurasia fell like a crippled fish, on a trajectory that could only end in one place.
Hunter Base was in a state resembling suspended animation. Alia directed the dispersion of Hunters, but to the well-practiced it was a trivial thing. All that mattered was the outcome of the main event.
Alia turned her head. "The Maverick signal has stopped."
Signas nodded. "If it was a coordinating signal, there are two ways the Mavericks could be using it. First, that they should act after a certain amount of time past receipt. Second, that they should act after modulation or termination. If it's the first, we'll have to wait and see. If it's the second…"
One of the terminal-bots spoke. "Sir, report from Hunters in sector 7. They've come under Maverick attack!"
Signas began to respond, but another cut him off. "Relay tower L-232 reports it's under attack. Mavericks!"
On the heels of that another said, "We've lost communications with all Hunters and civilian contacts in district 9!"
And another: "Maverick activity reported in—no, I lost signal!"
Yet another: "Distress beacons for the entire 14th unit just activated, but I have no word and no record of attack!"
Still another: "A human police station in area 12 is calling for Hunter backup!"
"I just lost our connection to the Emergency Medical System—and the Security Network—Global Defense—it's all going down!"
And now a cavalcade of calls came in—of Mavericks, of blackouts, of losses of contact, of a new signal that was pervading what communications remained…
"Enough!" shouted Signas. "Initiate silent protocol!"
A dozen vocal generators disengaged. The sound levels in the room quickly fell. All that remained was the constant drone of the terminal-bots' rapid-fire typing, and the staccato rat-a-tat of Alia's controls. The terminal-bots reformed their reports into text and threw them onto the screens. Signas' superhuman reading ability was pushed to its limits to keep up, even with Alia sorting and prioritizing.
They were everywhere!
Or were they? Were they simply in enough places to seem like they were everywhere? Without communications, who could tell?
"Sir," Alia said, though with a tone of strain, "there's a call in for you. It's from the Office of Reploid Relations."
"Put him on hold," Signas said, with more than necessary relish.
"Another call, this one from Space Command."
Signas' eyes never left the screens, but his narrowed eyes and cocked head said it all. "Put that one through."
A woman's face appeared to the side of the primary screen. It was the face of a woman who was past middle age and who evidently felt quite harried for the work she was supposed to be doing. "Commander of the Maverick Hunters?"
Signas answered her. "Speaking. General Denisovich, I presume, commanding officer of Space Command."
The woman allowed the slightest tone of appreciation. "Very perceptive. Perhaps you can answer a more important question. Why am I losing ground communications?"
"If you're losing ground communications how are you making this call?"
She waved her hand dismissively. "Being a General has its prerogatives. I can always find a little extra bandwidth. Now answer my question."
"Why am I losing satellite communications?" Signas counter-attacked.
"I asked first."
Signas had to acquiesce to that. "It looks like a combination of pre-set sabotage and pre-arranged Maverick attack. Some of the long-range towers have been knocked out, while Mavericks have seized others. A new signal is dominating the airwaves wherever the Mavericks have influence. It wouldn't be crippling if I could make up with it using satellite systems, but I can't. Why?"
Denisovich looked impatient. "Because of Eurasia, of course."
Alia, Douglas, Lifesaver, and Signas looked very seriously at the General's tiny image. "What about Eurasia?" said Signas slowly.
X's voice was full of concern. "Even without L-319, we should be in communications range of headquarters by now. I can't raise them."
Zero nodded from atop his hovercycle. "Which means knocking out communications is at least a tactical goal for the Mavericks at this point. But why? They need those towers themselves to coordinate their actions. Where's the profit in it?"
"Maybe they're trying to create conditions of—what's that?"
X and Zero fell silent while they received a new transmission. Playing a hunch, X rolled through the spectrum. "The same transmission is on every frequency and every circuit," he announced. "It looks like Maverick doing. Every reploid in range must be receiving it."
"X, did you actually look at the message?"
"Not yet. Should I?"
"Yes."
X did.
"Zero?"
"Yes?"
"Faster."
"Yes."
The hover-cycles accelerated.
"Is Sigma behind this?" Signas asked. It was a question from a lower subroutine. The main of his attention was occupied trying to fathom the scope of the problem. A colony falling from the sky will do that to even the most focused.
"How should I know?" answered Denisovich with a touch of affront. "You're the Hunters and I'm out of comms with Eurasia. But I don't believe in coincidences."
"Neither do I," admitted Signas. "How do we restore its orbit?"
"We can't. Even if we could restore communications, by our calculations it's already burned all its fuel."
"If nothing else, we have to stop it from hitting Earth," Signas said. "If you work on that, I'll work on stopping the Mavericks."
The woman looked for a moment like she would say something defiant. She appeared to reconsider. Pride was a luxury she had no time for. "Denisovich out."
Signas returned his gaze to the other screens, which had stalled while he held his conversation with the general. It took only a second to realize he was too far behind to catch up with all of them. "Alia, summarize," he ordered.
"Three units of Hunters have reported contact with Mavericks. Eleven other units are out of all communications, while one appears to have been destroyed outright. All of this since the signal terminated. At least a dozen long-range towers have been destroyed or commandeered. Combined with the loss of satellite systems, this has created a black zone at least the size of Iceland. We're in the middle of it, so there's no telling how great the damage is."
"But the short-range towers are all intact," protested Signas.
"Which is why we can still communicate with the three teams in our immediate area," explained Douglas. "Those long-range towers aren't just repeaters, they also do a lot of routing. It's like the old phone systems. If a short range tower gets a message intended for an address it doesn't own, it doesn't try to figure out who owns it; it just kicks it up to its long-range tower. The long-range towers may not know the exact addressee, but they can send the message to the long-range tower which owns that address, then down to the short-range that owns it, and then down to the recipient. The short-range towers never talk to each other."
"So if you've got a message that needs to travel beyond your tower," said Signas; realization was coming slowly, "it doesn't matter if it's going to a short-range tower next door. It has to go through a long-range tower."
"And that means that it doesn't matter how many short-range towers survive. If we lose the long-range, the whole system is done. It's like having a brain and limbs, but no peripheral nervous system."
"Well, at least we can still talk with—oh, rust me!" Signas exclaimed. "Alia, redirect teams three, five, and eight to cover Space Command, right now!"
"Sir, team eight is still under fire."
"Three and five, then. And get me Denisovich on the line."
"Connecting."
In moments the general's image had appeared again. "Commander Signas. It appears you have a little pull, yourself," she said dryly.
"General, I think the Mavericks consider your command a target," he said without preliminaries. "I'm sending two teams of Hunters to provide protection."
The lights behind Denisovich dimmed for a moment. Dull thumps were audible over the connection. "It appears they may arrive too late," she said in terms so emotionless she seemed a robot herself.
"I'm sorry. I should have sent the teams as soon as I knew space played a part in this."
"Your sympathy is touching, but wasted." Denisovich gave Signas a look as cold and piercing as the point of an epee. "I've briefed the civilians on the crisis, but they're helpless at a time like this. What about you? Can you carry our burdens? Are you prepared to take on our responsibilities in addition to your own?"
Signas didn't hesitate. "I am."
She listened to his response, then gave a curt nod. "I believe you are." She turned her face from the camera and began working at her console. "I'm sending you a data package. It includes our best projections of Eurasia's trajectory and our plan to stop the colony. It also has our analysis of the damage to Earth should we fail."
"I confirm receipt," Alia said.
Another thump—this one louder and longer—rattled the speakers that went to Denisovich's screen. "I prayed this day would never come," she said. "I hope you have the fortitude to see this plan through. The price is high. I hope you don't think too poorly of us when you hear it. I hope—"
The image went to static.
The only sound was the smacking of dozens of metallic fingers against keyboards.
It took all Signas' effort to not allow his hand to tremble as he turned to his underlings. "Douglas, Lifesaver, analyze the general's data. I want a summary and recommendations in fifteen minutes."
"On it," said the green robot.
"It's awaiting you in lab two," Alia called over her shoulder.
"Thanks."
When they were gone, Alia said softly, "And what would you have me do, sir?"
"Keep doing exactly what you're doing."
"Yes sir."
Robots value routine at least as much as humans. It can be a rock in an ocean of turmoil.
Next time: Sturm und Drang
