The Compleat Bolo (23 page)

"I don't see the point in coding all this routine stuff. It takes a lot of expert man-hours that are in short supply. But I'll do as I'm told, as usual. I wonder if HQ, IAF knows what they're doing. Like this item on some radical bunch blowing themselves up in Asia Minor, what's that got to do with Imperial Security? Don't answer—that's a rhetorical question. I'm not prying into security matters, let's keep that straight. I don't want to join ex-Chief Trace in detention. OK, my orders are to have the basic program encoded and on system by eleven hundred hours today, after which I start the continuous update program, with all the nut items. Don't quote me, Phil, you know what I mean. I'm a loyal citizen, you know that. Only I'm damned if I can see the point in gumming up the strategic computer with a lot of trivial details. I know there's a lot I don't know and don't have to worry about. Don't think I'm not grateful for that. But if they're really going to turn state security over to a computer, they oughta take it easy and not overload it with garbage. Sure, I know it's the computer's own instructions, but let's face it, it's only been on low-alert now for twelve hours. It's pretty green. We oughta use some judgment."

"I don't mean to get out of line, General, but this is too important for me to just forget about. I was thinking about the security problem with the big new Military and Defense computer. They're talking about a blockhouse, and a whole brigade of Bolos on patrol, but let's face it. We can't build a structure that's proof against a direct hit with a first-line N-head. So suppose, instead of giving a potential rebel a fixed target, we keep MAD moving—or at least mobile, so nobody outside High Command will know twelve hours in advance where she'll be? The new Bolo Mark XXX war hull can take more punishment than anything built of our best reinforced Alloy Ten. The computer will be safe aboard a mobile hull—and the new hull can be expanded to give it more than enough cargo space for MAE)—
and
no one will know where she'll be, no matter what kind of lead we may have here at GHQ. You, yourself, sir, will set up the random relocation pattern. Well, that's about it, sir. I hope I haven't been taking too much on myself, bringing this direct to the General. If the General would like to see my preliminary sketches . . ."

"That's right, General. We have to duplicate the Bolo's circuitry in a stationary installation. That's what the Bolo said—we have to clone the memory, too. Yes, I know, it's very odd that it should propose its own replacement, but nothing about the infernal thing has worked out as we expected.

"Gobi, that's the site selected for the master memory. Yes, by the machine, by and with the advice and consent of the Scientific Committee. There are certain changes to be made in the override circuitry, which as you know has notably failed in its function aboard the CSR. So, this is the schedule:"

(projection appended)

Willy, I like it. —Georgius Imp.

Thank you, gentlemen, for meeting me here. Got to lie low—heat's still on after the explosion in Ankara. And don't ever believe it wasn't sabotage. Cäyük never made mistakes like that.

RAS did a good job, sneaking me into the country on false papers, so let's face facts. Grease is dead, and I'm the logical one to take over. After all, I was his right-hand man for over three years. I know what he had in mind, and we're going ahead with it. Thanks to Gunn's forethought, we have Cäyük's formulae and can proceed immediately to synthesize a ten-pound batch of Compound 31 IB. That will be enough to carry out Operation Fumigate. You know the rough outline—and now it's time to start filling in the details.

The site selection committee will study the data and finalize the precise location, somewhere in the middle of Cabinet Hollow in Arlington. There's more civilian brass concentrated there in their ritzy townhouses than in any other square mile on the planet. When Fumigate goes up, I guarantee they're not going to be able to ignore our program any longer.

Now, there's the matter of the two volunteers who'll place the device. One other volunteer, I should say, because I'm claiming the privilege myself. The chances of getting in are good to excellent, but frankly, the odds on getting back out don't look so hot. OK, who's first? Quietly, gentlemen, one at a time now. No, Hank, you're out of order. There's to be no debate as to whether the operation goes, only the matter of who will accompany me. Gentlemen, silence, please! I'll hear each of you in turn. What's the matter, Gunther, you're not in contention for the honor? That's all right, I prefer a younger man in any event . . . .

"Right in that flowerbed yonder. Boss Hangar said at 1815 hours precisely, and he and Gunn studied the setup for over two years, so I guess we'd better stick strictly to instructions. Old Secretary Millspaugh knocks off puttering in his garden at 1800 sharp, and we have to give him time to get busy with his dinner.

"Another six minutes is all. Take it easy. We walk right in there as if we owned the park, dump our stuff in the big red-white-and blue box, and make it out the other side and split up. Just follow my lead—and think about something else. We got no time for jitters. Buck will be there with the car, and by the time she blows on the 5th we'll be long gone and under cover.

"Never mind that, Binder. Maybe I'd better do it alone after all. OK, OK, "I'm just thinking out loud. Your job is to keep the old eyeballs peeled just in case one of these fat cats happens to come wandering in, off-schedule. But that's highly unlikely at cocktail-and-dinner time, all out of the public trough.

"Keep cool. All right, now we cross the street and look at the schedule on the post over there, as if we missed the ferry or something. I'm carrying the garbage, all wrapped and sealed according to the law. OK, watch that servo-cart! Damn steering beam gave me an after-image!

"Funny,
that
wasn't in our briefing. OK, now!"

. . . as a result of the above, I have relieved Commander Bland, and shall do my best to hold my command intact. Naturally, the Lord of All expects instant compliance with all instructions, but I have resolved to leave that decision to his Imperial Majesty, and am aborting the mission as of this hour 0213111981. Confirm soonest, as I must commit within ninety-one hours.

—Admiral Starbird

"Certainly I think sitting the Relocation Facility adjacent to the Proving Ground is a good idea. I didn't pick the location by accident. The damned riff-raff can see the Bolo looming up over there beyond the fence, and it'll put the fear of God and the Emperor into them. I know what I'm doing.

"Yes, I know the Bolo called for a full briefing as soon as it rolled out of the shed and turned its scanners on the detention camp. That's okay. Give it all the data it wants. It's on low alert and under complete control. The more it knows, the better it can do its job."

"I can't agree with you fellows that we've been deprived of anything but the opportunity to raise hell, and the government has enough on its hands these days, what with the nuclear blackmail movement, and the confusing reports from the Pluto Probe.

"All right, in rounding up the revolutionaries, a few of us loyal subjects were caught in the net. It's an inconvenience, but we've received decent enough treatment. Lots of these folks never lived this well before.

"Now, they've gone ahead with the Bolo. You saw the thing yourselves today, moving around the Proving Ground, big as a hill but docile as a lamb. I can't help feeling excited and proud. She's my baby, you know. All those years, building her CSR capability. Maybe, now that she's clad in her war hull, with her weapons activated, she'll stop feeling nervous and scared and order us to be released. "Things will be straightened out eventually. I'm sure we'll be well recompensed. For the last time, fellows, I am not in sympathy with your plans."

Possibly, I have erred in the direction of excess in my arrangements for random sampling. I lack rigorous parameters for effective evaluation of data. I am at hazard of overloading my circuitry with extraneous material.

As for the observation of two men bringing wrapped waste for disposal at point 1392-A16, I am unsure why my alert circuitry was activated. I must conduct a search of the files, and shall allocate .004 seconds to the task.

It appears that the automatic correlation analysis conducted by the Mass Archival Data Collator and Presenter has noted a series of events occurring at widely separated points as evidently interrelated and fruitful of mischief. Since the MADCAP circuitry has been organized for precisely this function, even in the absence of any direct evidence, it appears logical to .99876 degree to accept the finding as representative of an actual potential threat, to be acted upon accordingly.

Thus I compute that my first mission is now clear. I must act against these men and the wrapped waste at once.

Proceed at once with second-stage activation.

Hey, lookit that thing! Pardon me, mister, I'm in a hurry. I tell ya, it's coming this way! See that scarf draped over the fore turret? That's the twelve-foot chain-link fence! It's on the loose! Let's move!

Don't panic there. Let's not have no pile-up.

Wait a minute. It's veering off. It's missed the Admin hut, but—well, I'll be! It's taken out the guard hut. Lookit them hardshots sparking off the hull—like shooting BB's at a rhino!

She sure is big. Easy, boys. We got a clear escape route past the huts. Let's form up here and march out in good order. The Bolo released us, insteada running us down. Funny, and we're in here because we're against it, or supposed to be.

Fall in, there! You, too, Mr. Trace. What are you waiting for? You said she was your baby, didn't ya? Maybe it's you she wants ta bust out. Maybe she couldn't see no other way around the Imperial red tape. Come
on!

That's it. Hup, two, column haff-right, make for Supply Street yonder. We're out! Probably just accidental, but the Bolo let us out! It's nutty but I like it! Hup, two . . .

No, sir, I have no theory as to why the machine should have broken through the security fence at the Relocation Facility. Very probably, simply accidental—happened to be in its path. Its destination? It had none. I mean, no specific one. It simply wanted to broaden the scope of its data base. It wanted to go out and see the world, so to speak.

Yes, sir, we could have stopped it, but only by wrecking the circuitry, which hardly seemed warranted at the time.

"I certainly did. I followed the special coding to the letter, but the Bolo just kept going. You can see for yourself, sir, with respect. Look at the seals on that panel. Every 'abort' device we have was activated, and they didn't stop her. I don't
know
what we'll do next. I'm only a technician, sir. You'll have to ask the boss, or ex-Chief Trace, maybe, if you can find him.

"But we don't have to worry. She's bound to stop soon. She didn't do any damage except to let that bunch of radicals loose. If you'll excuse me now, sir, with respect, I've got work to do—"

I know the boys were a little startled when she engaged her drive without a specific order, but that's just because they were jumpy. Tense, like the rest of us.

Yes, we know that it's now bypassing downtown D.C. via Processional Way. Nothing to worry about. The actions fall well within the parameters of the program as written. This thing is designed to be self-motivated within the limits of the programming. That is, when something clearly needs to be done, she'll do it without waiting around for a specific command.

For example, let's suppose the Bolo is following a preset course and encounters a ravine that's not on the map. She'll stop, not charge ahead to destruction.

No, I don't know what danger is averted by departing the Proving Ground and trampling the fence, but you notice it avoided the vehicles in the parking area directly in its path, though it did flatten a small utility shed. Breaking down the security fence around the restraint facility next door was accidental. We don't yet know its destination, but we're satisfied everything's A-OK.

" 'No loss of life,' the SOB's say! If I wouldn't of broke the record for the hunnert-yard dash, it've got me! I was right in the shadow of the thing the whole time. I seen it was headed for the guard shack, and I figgered it'd veer off, but it took the hut right over my head, and I hit the ground running. I thought it had me, but I beat it out. It would've got me sure, if the I-99 Interchange hadn't been there. I went under the abutment, and it hadta veer off or hit a few thousand tons of dirt fill and solid concrete."