"We have sixteen hours," Douglas said. "Maybe a little more, maybe a little less. The uneven way Eurasia's tumbling makes it hard to know for sure. But sixteen hours, plus or minus one, before impact is pretty reliable."
"If it hits," Lifesaver said, "it will cause devastation on a global scale. A water impact would create a monstrous tsunami that would level every coastal community on the same ocean. A land impact would more than just pulverize anything beneath it. The dust kicked up by the collision would greatly reduce incoming sunlight, dropping temperatures worldwide. The effect on agriculture and solar power generation alike would be catastrophic. And don't even ask about a polar impact."
"So how do we stop it?" said Signas.
"There's only one way. Nuke it."
Douglas' answer was so flippant Signas found himself waiting for the rest of it. When none came, he had to ask. "What do you mean, nuke it?"
"I mean hit it with a nuclear bomb," Douglas said patiently.
"But no nuclear bombs have existed for almost 75 years!"
"Maybe, but the know-how can't be un-learned. The general's data package listed a number of components we could use, held by Space Command directly or by proxy. It makes me wonder if this was their backup plan all along…"
Signas scowled. He knew the history of war and conflict of every kind. For him, nuclear weapons conjured up such portentous phrases as 'balance of terror' and 'mutually assured destruction' and 'Pyongyang-for-Seoul'. He did not care to be the one to exhume such heinous memories. The notion that Space Command might have been skirting the intent of the law while following its letter just made things worse.
"That's not the worst part, of course," said Douglas.
"What could be worse?" asked a startled Alia.
"This act will seal off the planet for the foreseeable future. Space will be lost to us."
"I don't understand."
"As of yesterday, Space Command was tracking 20,000 pieces of space debris—some no larger than your finger, but all moving so fast as to be a mortal threat to a satellite. Eurasia's fall has already doubled the debris count. Destroy Eurasia in orbit and you're looking at millions of bits and pieces traveling at tens of thousands of k-p-h. Nothing will be able to enter orbit and survive."
"So that's what Denisovich meant," Signas said, mostly to himself. "The fortitude to make sacrifices…" The others looked at him expectantly. The weight of the decision held him for a moment. He'd told Denisovich he was ready to save the world, but actually doing it was another creature altogether. Still, there was only one choice. It wouldn't go away if he ignored it and time was of the essence. Some people will say that they were born to make decisions, but Signas actually was created to make decisions. He shouldered the yoke.
"We'll do it," he said. "Technology may make space safe for us in the future, but nothing can bring back the people who'll die if Eurasia hits Earth. We'll follow the general's plan."
Douglas nodded. "Well, there's not much time. The good news is that with Denisovich's list, we know most of what we need, and where to get it. We won't have to do a whole lot of fabrication; most of it's just assembly work, which is far easier. The bad news is that we're not authorized to get any of it. Even if we had Space Command's blessing, a lot of these components weren't even directly held by Space Command. We can't legitimately explain why we need them."
"I'll see what I can do about that," said Signas. "Once we build it, I suppose we can use our own shuttle to get the nuke into space."
"We'll have to—I don't think we can count on the Mavericks leaving any intact at Space Command. The thing is, that means we'll have to do some pretty heavy-duty modifications to the shuttle."
"Which means more parts we'll have to cannibalize or appropriate," Signas said, rubbing his temples in a learned gesture of duress.
"Exactly. Alia? Bring up the graphics I sent you."
One of the screens changed images to show an overhead map of the area within 100 kilometers. A series of colored dots indicated the locations of the needed materials. "These are the closest sources I've been able to find for what we need. Again, though, with all the chaos out there, I don't know how we're going to get it all. I know the last time I tried to order screwdrivers through the regular supply chain, it took three months and they gave me all the wrong sizes."
Signas grit his teeth. He couldn't avoid this any longer. "Alia, patch the minister of the Office of Reploid Relations directly to me."
"Connecting now."
"Lifesaver!" shouted X as he and Zero entered. "What do you think about the virus?"
"What virus?" said the flat-footed medic.
"Sigma's virus! Remember how that Maverick transmission wasn't anything useful? When we silenced the tower, a second transmission started playing from a bunch of other towers, on every circuit and frequency. If you access it, a short message tells you to use it in case the government declares war on reploids. As far as Zero and I can tell, it interacts with the first file. It probably turns it into an executable program."
"A two-step virus?" exclaimed Lifesaver.
"Maybe. We'd both quarantined the first message, so the second couldn't touch it when we got it. But there's no telling how many reploids have both parts, or how many of those have used it."
"Or, if it is a virus, what it does," added Zero.
X nodded. "We have samples for you. You should probably send them to Dr. Cain, quick as you can."
"And we'll need to terminate the signals." Zero was always quick to focus on such things.
"There's no time for that," said Signas, re-entering the conversation. "We're under 16 hours until Eurasia hits Earth and ends civilization as we know it."
"Huh?" X looked up at the screens. He found the one showing the colony's trajectory. "Oh, rust me," he breathed.
"We have a plan to stop it, but it means we won't be able to do much else. Stopping that transmission, whatever it is, will have to wait. This has to take priority. Douglas has given us his shopping list. X, Zero, each of you will take a heavy loader team and half the list. Get what we need and get back. Use whatever means you need to."
X frowned. "What do you mean, "whatever means"?"
Signas huffed impatiently. "Alia, report fail-safe protocols for critical infrastructure."
"In the event of a state of emergency, all critical infrastructure is to enter lockdown and prohibit entry to all personnel. Only a properly coded contravening order directly from the government can override this lockdown. Defensive protocols are authorized."
"It's the government's response to how the Mavericks have been able to seize important things like power plants and waterworks in the past," Signas amplified. "The trouble is that without communications, they won't be able to send the stand-down order. And, since what we're building is technically—make that really—illegal, we won't be able to reason with them effectively."
Zero scowled. "Then how do we get them to give us what we need?"
"Excuse me, Alia," Signas said. The surprised coordinator stepped out of his way. Soon Signas had put a new video on the main screen. It was the minister of the Office of Reploid Relations—the Hunters recognized him immediately. "On behalf of the entire government—" a seal appeared in the corner with a complicated spread of numbers verifying the authenticity of this claim—"I hereby declare martial law for sectors A-6 to L-12. All citizens and reploids are to clear the streets immediately. All citizens and reploids are to cooperate with the Maverick Hunters in resolving this crisis. Any citizen in defiance may be detained indefinitely—habeas corpus is hereby suspended for the duration. Any reploid in defiance shall be summarily declared Maverick, and will be terminated accordingly."
It was too much. First the rebellion, then the colony, and now martial law—it was more than most robots could think about at one time. When the speech-writers had written the government's declaration, they'd selected the word "terminated" as an attention-getter. It worked.
The Hunters stood motionless as they tried to make sense of the new development. One robot, however, already knew exactly what he thought about it.
"No," said Zero in a voice like escaping steam. "This isn't right." He stepped forward and glared at the picture of the minister, which remained in place on the screen.
"It's so callous," X said uncomfortably.
"It's so wrong!" Zero shouted. "The label of 'Maverick' was never supposed to be used this way!"
"Now a lot of reploids will be pushed, like it or not, into Sigma's camp," X said gloomily. "The government has eliminated the middle ground. It almost makes Sigma seem like the reasonable one."
"I know this is an extreme measure, but this is an extreme situation," Signas said.
"It's a stupid situation," Zero said, not allowing Signas to say any more in defense of the government. "We're doing exactly what Sigma wants us to do! How many reploids are right now opening those messages because of this? How many will I have to kill because of human stupidity?"
Signas would not be shouted down. "Ask that question of the one who's dropping a colony on Earth! I don't want this power, Zero, I don't want this authority, it repulses me. But it's the only tool I have to stop this calamity!"
Zero was not affected by these words. If anything, they fueled the flame of his anger. "And now I'm expected to kill reploids who are just doing their jobs! On behalf of the government who ordered them to do it that way!"
"What, you don't think we'll be able to get through to them?" X asked.
"No, and you know exactly why," Zero raged.
X closed his eyes and let his shoulders slump. "Because we're acting like Mavericks. What lawful end could be served by storming critical infrastructure? Then there's the virus—just knowing a virus is out there makes us suspect. And on top of that, we're building an illegal weapon."
"Don't get me started about the nuke. It's bad enough that we've forced ourselves into this position. It's pathetic that things have gotten so bad the government had to establish lockdown procedures like this. Humans and reploids don't trust each other, and now some will have to die so others may live. We're locked into a gross injustice because… because humans and reploids just can't live side-by-side!"
Zero's declaration reverberated in the small room. Zero turned this way and that like a cornered dog, daring any of the others to speak. X looked at his friend as if his words had caused him physical pain. "Zero," he protested.
"Not now, X! We are living the antithesis of your dream! I don't want to hear about it any longer! You're always talking about how we're the good guys, and we have to be the good guys to keep from creating new Mavericks. Well, good guys don't do bad things. You can't tell me we have to do this and then insist that we're the good guys!"
The other Hunters stood stock-still as Zero raved. They'd known him for a long time, and his composure was famous. They'd actually held a contest once to see if any of them could make him mad. They'd ended up with no winner.
To see Zero lose control like this, on top of everything else…
"You don't see the government asking us to kill off humans—we're just supposed to detain them if they get in our way. What's the difference, huh? What's the difference?!"
"Enough." Signas stepped forward. He was larger than Zero and tried to use that size to loom over the smaller robot. "We have no more time for philosophy. I am ready to sacrifice my honor, dignity, and life to save the Earth. You want to save it too, Zero. I know you do, but you hate the price. Well, blame me. I'll take that responsibility. It's my fault for ordering you into this."
"Order?" Zero laughed derisively. It was the sort of laugh that makes the target seem smaller, as if Zero was somehow domineering Signas. "You've never given me an 'order', Signas. And you never will."
He turned and stormed towards the door. X tried to reach out to him, but Zero was moving too quickly. X's hand closed only on air. The red Hunter stopped inside the doorframe. The light from the hallway illuminated his outline but obscured the details of his body. Only one thing could be seen clearly—his face.
Many a time, a calm, cool, efficient Zero had stood in that position. It was a world away from the wild-eyed apparition that appeared there now. He spoke. "I will do what I must to stop Eurasia. And that… is all."
"That's all I could possibly ask for," called Signas after him, but the words never reached their target.
Zero's departure allowed a void to settle into the room. Too many new and unprecedented things were happening for any of the Hunters to be on solid ground. Through the turmoil, X felt something that caused him to put a hand over his chest. It was the burning, again. It was a sensation he hadn't described to many. It was personal, and he had no way of knowing if any others felt it. To him, it was real, and powerful, and compelling.
When his mind was divided, it was the burning in his heart which told him, Act.
"I'd better head out, too," X said. He chased after Zero.
Alia called to him, "I've uploaded all the data I can on the parts you and Zero need to get, as well as their locations and probable guardians. It'll be waiting in your hover-cycle. I'll try and update it as long as you're in communications range."
"Thanks, Alia. I'll mention that to Zero."
Signas managed to regain some of his bearing. "Douglas, you've got a lot of work to do. You'd better get started. Lifesaver, investigate this new virus. Work with Dr. Cain if you must. I need to know what's actually happening out there."
There was a chorus of acknowledgements and a push for the door. Alia waited until she and Signas were alone again with the terminal bots. "Sir, if you'll excuse me breaking decorum, I think you're doing a great job."
Signas actually laughed. "You do?"
"Yes, sir."
"That's more than I would say for myself. Well, I'll forgive you this once. But I forbid you from saying so again for the next… oh, 17 hours or so."
Alia smiled a gallows smile. "I read you loud and clear, sir."
Everywhere, public order was rapidly disintegrating. Paranoia seized control. The communications blackout paralyzed most organs of government that existed, while others found themselves fighting for their lives against small teams of Mavericks. In a few places, the presence of Hunters (when those Hunters were not in active combat) kept things under control. In most places, people headed to their homes and battened down the hatches; they were very much in practice at doing this from the four previous wars.
But in some places, the unresolved problems of reploids and humans boiled over. The blackout was the starting bell; everyone who experienced it knew that it was now open season. Those who were inclined to act beyond the law seized their chance when the law evaporated.
The results were seldom pretty…
15 hours until impact…
Five humans descended upon the restaurant. All of them carried anti-robot pulsers, though one carried his carelessly in the crook of his arm. That, and the way in which the other four deferred to him, marked him as the leader.
The four gathered by the door and looked to the leader for permission. He gave a curt nod. One of the humans gave the door a mighty kick which knocked it in despite the deadbolt. The humans swarmed inside. They moved through the darkened eating area in the direction of the kitchen.
An older, portly, balding man—who you could tell at a glance ran a restaurant because he liked food more than he liked money—emerged from the kitchen to head them off. "Hey, you hooligans, clear out! We're closed!"
"Relax, pops," said the leader. The momentum of the intruders forced the owner, stumbling, backwards. "We're not here for an early lunch. We're here for your bot."
"Now, that's no business of yours," the man said, but he might as well have been trying to stop the tide. Soon his whole attention was devoted to not falling over. They pushed him into the kitchen, where he fell against a counter. "Stay out! I demand you leave the premises at once!"
The voice was meant to be authoritative. A breeze would have slowed the intruders more. "Don't worry, pops, we'll be gone before you know it."
The invaders fanned out through the kitchen, though the only other two occupants were visible from the start. The first was a woman quite as old and fat as her husband and co-owner, while the second was none of those things. It was a Model-XX Handyman, which the restaurant owners (in a fit of creativity) had nicknamed Andy. It was skeletally humanoid, with long, dexterous limbs and a plain off-white color scheme (slogan: "Matches any décor!"). Its face had an array of lights to create its mouth and nose rather than the more expensive like-flesh. Although its vocal processors had long-since malfunctioned, it had a variety of beeps and whistles that, along with the lights, meant it was always able to get its point across to the restaurant owners. Now, the lights were illuminated in a long, tight, horizontal line, while the robot's eyes stared unblinkingly at the closest pulser. The only sound it was making was the chattering of its fingers against the glass it had been washing.
"What's this about?" the woman demanded. "Explain yourselves!"
"We're the Neighborhood Safety Committee," the leader said, "and we're taking precautions to protect you and those around you."
"Then you've got no reason to be here," the wife declared. "Andy has been part of our household since the first reploids came out!"
"'Andy'? You named it?" The leader clucked at the wife. "Better not to get so attached. It makes the inevitable betrayal sting that much more."
The owner tried to get to his feet and failed. Instead he called up, "You're out of your minds. Andy's harmless!"
"That's what they want you to think," the leader retorted. "But they don't fool us. They always go mad. This is the fifth war—the fifth time they've gone crazy! And that's not counting the onesie-twosies. Take it from us. There's only one way to be sure."
At that the glass slipped from Andy's hands. He would have been quick enough, normally, to catch it before it hit the ground. He dared not move. So the glass shattered against the tiled floor, and if anything penetrated the thick fear that enveloped his robot brain, it was a touch of regret at the waste, and more than a little sadness that he had disappointed the owner and his wife.
"I'm already sure about Andy," the wife said. "Don't you hurt him!"
"Hurt him?" said the leader with more heat in his voice. "Lady, we're keeping him from hurting you. You should be thanking us. We leave him alone, and one day, he'll poison all your customers, while you and your husband will be the secret ingredients in the house special stew. Don't believe me? We've all seen it." He gestured to his comrades. "Every one of us has had his life torn apart by Mavericks. Why, Julian there lost four sisters on the same day! Trust me on this one, granny. We're doing you a favor."
"I won't let you!" The wife stepped in front of the one called Julian until she was between his pulser and Andy. "I know those weapons. They only hurt robots. They won't work on me!"
Julian swung the butt of the weapon at the woman's head. It connected solidly with a thunk that reverberated in the small room. She fell sideways in a daze. She put a hand to her cut ear. It was bleeding profusely.
"Looks like it works after all," Julian sneered.
"Enough of this," said the leader. "Do it."
Julian stepped over the woman, while a comrade of his closed in on Andy from the opposite direction.
Andy went limp at the first strike. He fell like a marionette whose strings have been cut. The lights on his face burnt out along with his marvelous brain. The humans didn't stop, of course. Two in the chest, one in the head. That was how they did things. If it was massive overkill in this situation, that was no reason to change procedure.
The wife screamed a horrible scream that reached high beyond the male register. She seemed to have lost the need to breathe, as the scream went on and on and on. The husband crawled on hands and knees over to the inert pile of metal that, in his mind, he still called Andy, and which until seconds earlier had helped make the restaurant a life and not just a living. If he failed to cry, it was an anatomical failure, not an emotional one.
The Neighborhood Safety Committee stepped outside. The day was a cool one, and the air felt good after the cramped kitchen. One of them popped a cigarette into his mouth.
"Every time?" said Julian with irritation. "Those things'll kill ya, you know."
"Piss off," said the smoker.
They all stood in quiet after that as they relished the satisfaction of a job well done.
"Well," said the leader languidly, "where to next?"
"I hear there's a barber on Third who keeps a bot in-house."
"A bot with blades near people's necks and faces? Oh, hell no. Alright, boys, break's over."
And so it went. Low-level violence bubbled up in the cities and towns of the blacked-out areas. Pogrom and counter-pogrom swept through as rogue Mavericks and human vigilantes moved to cleanse their respective zones. The weak and isolated swiftly became the doomed and dying. Nor did it end easily there. Realized fears and the need for vengeance swelled the ranks of the violent. The enemy was often the best recruiter.
This didn't happen everywhere, nor with uniform intensity. But in a rapidly growing area, the most militant on both sides made it abundantly clear that the old order could no longer hold.
Every hour it got worse.
Every hour, Eurasia fell.
14 hours to impact…
Next time: Poco a Poco—Following Orders