The Terran Mandate (9 page)

Sacrificial Lamb

Major Walker's maintenance chief stood
at the top of the ladder extending from the roof of his converted troop carrier
which carried the special tools and materials used to maintain the Cats. He
struggled to work a flat box with metal clamps into position where the knee
joint of Walker's Cat was still showing damage. a black coil of cable snaked
down to a yellow metal box sitting on the ground, it's lid tossed to the side.
Major Walker knelt down next to the box to check the readout.

"I don't have a contact light
yet!" he yelled at the chief.

"Working on it, sir!" the
chief yelled back. "Come on you sonofabitch," he muttered to himself.
Struggling to keep his balance as he reached out from the ladder, he grabbed
the repair plate with both hands and shoved it as hard as he could against the
steel struts that made up the interior of the Cat's leg. Finally, the clamps
closed down and latched onto the frame. "Alright, Major, hit it!"

Major Walker checked the readout to
confirm the clamp was in place and then pushed several buttons nestled under
thick rubber covers to activate the repair sequence. The repair plate sparked
and hummed as a stream of microscopic particles suspended in a stream of
hyper-cooled nitrogen flowed through the tubing. Each particle contained its
own microprocessor, embedded instructions for its portion of the repair process
and a map of the assembly where it was supposed to attach itself for the
repair. As one bot completed its repair, the next in line would move in to
continue the process for its assigned section. In this manner, millions of the
bots could assemble themselves to repair any part of the Cat's assemblies.

"I don't have a latcher!"
Walker yelled. The problem was the first bot needed to identify a point on the
existing structure to latch on and begin the repair process. This depended
entirely on the precision with which the repair plate was attached.

"Hold on!" the chief yelled.
He swung out from the ladder to plant his boot squarely on the plate, jamming
it into place. The steel latches reset themselves and rewarded him with a
resonant clang as the plate aligned itself with the existing structure.

"Yeah, alright, there it
goes!" Major Walker yelled.

"Coming down!" his chief
called back.

As the maintenance chief climbed down
the ladder, Walker saw a pair of Marines walking from the headquarters building
in the center of the compound. They walked deliberately, but in no real hurry
as the chief hopped off the ladder and stood next to Major Walker.

"The box says it's going to be about
30 minutes," Walker said.

"She'll be able to walk right after
this one."

"I don't like how much patch weld
we used for this. How many patches does that make - ten?"

"Whoever hit you had a magic
bullet, sir. It wounded her pretty deep."

The Marines were close enough that
Walker could see their eyes. They were stern, official.

"What's this all about?" the
chief asked.

"Invitation to dinner?" Walker
mumbled.

"Makes sense. The only way to get
somebody to eat the chow they put out tonight would be at gun point."

When they were 20 feet away, Walker
called out, "That's far enough fellas." He jammed a thumb towards the
maintenance carrier. "Classified and all that." They didn't stop.

When they were close enough to salute
but didn't do so, Major Walker took a half step back and quickly surveyed the
first Marine, seeing he wore a side arm and handcuffs but was not carrying a
weapon.

"Major Walker, the Commanding
General would like a word," the first Marine said.

"Then tell him to send Marines who
know when to salute an officer," Walker said. As he spoke, the chief
quietly stepped back to the maintenance carrier.

"I'm sorry, sir," the Marine
said as he grabbed Walker's arm. The second Marine placed his hand on his own
side arm, but did not draw it from its holster. Walker jerked his arm away,
took a full step back and put his hand up, trying to stop the Marine from
moving any closer.

"Whoa!  Hold on there,
Marine."

The Marine latched back onto Walker's
arm and started to twist it behind his back. "I'm sorry, sir. General's
orders." As the Marine reached for his cuffs, Walker lunged forward,
smashing the Marine's nose with his forehead. The Marine stumbled back,
covering his face with his hands.

The second Marine whipped his side arm
from its holster, leveling it at Walker's chest. Reaching up with his other
hand, he tapped his headset and said, "We may need some help out
here." He took a step forward, holding his side arm at arm's length and
said, "Please sir, I need you to get on your knees."

Walker kept his eyes glued to the
Marine's side arm as it bobbed slightly in his hand. Before the Marine knew
what was happening, Walker stepped up, slapped his arm to the side with one
hand and jammed the palm of his other hand into the Marine's nose. The Marine
dropped his side arm and stumbled back, covering his face with his hands.
"You should have saluted, dumbass." While the second Marine struggled
to stay on his feet, Walker saw four more Marines bolt from the headquarters
building at a dead run with rifles in their hands.

The first Marine let his hands down to
reveal blood trickling down his face. He reached for his own side arm, but
before he could raise it, the chief flung a wrench as long his arm that knocked
the Marine out cold.

"Sir, you need to leave," he
said.

"The patch isn't ready."

"She'll walk funny, but she'll
walk."

"Alright chief. You too. Take the
carrier straight to the rendezvous."

"I'll be right behind you,
sir."

"You better be ahead of me."

As they both turned to run, the chief
lurched forward and fell face-first to the ground. Walker reached down to help
him, but the chief didn't stand up as he tugged at his arm. He knelt down and
rolled the chief over to see a patch of blood seeping out in a wide circle over
his shoulder.

"They shot me," the chief said,
surprised.

Rounds pecked the dirt around them as
Walker tugged at the chief's arm, trying to pull him to his feet.

"Screw it, sir, I can't move. You
gotta' go."

"Negative, get on your fucking feet
Marine."

"I can't sir." The chief
looked down at his own belly where a second swath of blood was soaking through
his utility blouse. He smiled a toothy grin. "I can't feel a thing.
Go."

Walker looked up to see the Marines
fanning out into a firing line and getting ready to kneel. They wouldn't miss
after that. Turning back to the chief, he said, "Watch this."

"Get 'em."

Walker forced himself to stand up and
run towards his Cat, bounding onto the ladder extended from the cockpit. He
moved as fast as he could to present a moving target, but braced for an incoming
shot. He knew they would be ready to shoot before he got to the top. As he
passed the halfway point on the ladder, he felt a burning bite in his left leg.
Grimacing with pain, he crawled up the rest of the ladder, dragging his left
leg like a dead piece of wood. Reaching the cockpit, he heaved himself in and
sprawled across the pilot's seat and the consoles next to it. As rounds smacked
against the front canopy, he reached down and pulled his leg in.

Propping himself up on one elbow, he
stepped into the right foot well and screamed in pain as he jammed his left
foot in the other. He sat up, grunting, and felt sweat dripping from his
forehead. The Cat was partially powered for the maintenance they had been
conducting, but most of his systems were powered down and he didn't have time
for a checklist. He quickly prioritized the tasks he needed to accomplish
before he found himself staring down the barrel of a 120 mm tank cannon.
"Maneuver" he said through clenched teeth. He reached up to the overhead
panel and thumbed the APU switch. Panting from the pain searing his left leg,
he watched the EGT meter fill up from red to green as the small turbine engine
spooled up. Releasing the switch, he flipped up a red cover over the starter
switch for the main turbine engine. The faint sound of rounds plinking against
metal rang outside the canopy. He leaned over and saw the weld patch spark as
rounds impacted its surface. "Nice try boys," he grunted. He turned
his attention to the engine display on the center console as the main turbine
came to life. As soon as it gained enough power, he pulled all four switches
for the hydraulic system. The turbine whined under the strain as pumps
activated, flooding the lines and pistons that drove the main mechanical drives
of the Cat. He jerked back on the left control handle, manually forcing the
left leg of his Cat to take a step back. Without the stabilizers on line, the
cockpit lurched to one side as the Cat took a drunken step back with the faint
sound of metal scraping from the incomplete repair. Next, he flipped two
switches on the overhead panel to activate the main generators that provided
the electrical power for the stabilizers, computers, and most importantly, the
heavy servos that controlled his weapons.

Just as the generators came to life, he
saw a second detail of Marines running up with an anti-armor missile launcher.
"Don't do it," he hissed. He tapped the side of his head and realized
he didn't have his headset on. He looked down at the carrier, where he had left
it while he was helping the chief with his work. "Fire," he whispered
to himself, moving onto the next step in his ad hoc checklist. The gyros for
the weapons guidance system took 15 minutes to spool up. He didn't have time
for that. He reached up and flipped a switch to activate the weapons control
system. The display in front of him flickered to life, screaming at him with
the banner: NOT READY. He jammed a button along the side of the display and the
banner changed to MANUAL. He ran his fingers along the bottom and selected the
button for the machine guns. READY FOR ARM. He grabbed the weapons control
stick, flipped up the red cover and jammed the arm switch forward. One machine
gun on either side of his canopy swung down and he heard the whir of feeders stuffing 
belts of .50 caliber steel slugs into their feed trays. ARMED.

The weapons reticle filled with a red X
as it floated across the canopy in a repeating box pattern. Beyond that, he saw
the missile detail preparing to load their first round. He squeezed the trigger
and a flurry of bullets flew from his guns, spattering the ground between him
and the detail. The Marine loading the missile launcher stopped while the rest
of the detail went to ground. "That's right," he said. The loader
looked him straight in the eye and smiled as he resumed loading the missile.
Walker squeezed the trigger again and watched to see where the first rounds
impacted, then pulled back on the control to walk the stream of bullets up to
the launcher. Sparks flew off the launcher as his rounds landed home and then
he watched in horror as the loader was tossed back in pieces. He let go of the
trigger and started to hyperventilate. "You can question an order that is
immoral or otherwise unlawful," he yelled.

His vision began to blur and he looked
down at his left leg, now slick with blood. He reached over his shoulder,
ripped a small red box off the bulkhead and dropped it in his lap. He snapped
open the plastic cover to rummage through its contents, until he found a
compress patch. Holding the spongy patch in his mouth, he grabbed his leg with
both hands and pulled it up so there were a few inches between his leg and his
pilot's seat. Grunting in pain, his hand shook as he pulled the patch from his
mouth and unrolled it around what looked like the bloodiest part of his leg.
Sucking in his breath in tight gasps, he put his finger through a plastic ring
fastened to the patch and yanked it free. The patch fattened up as a small
canister injected a stiff foam gel into the padding so it tightened around his
leg. "Alright," he said in between pants. "Alright."

Peering back through the canopy, he saw
another Marine pick up the missile. "Well now they're just pissed
off," he said. He reached down to the console next to his right hand and
flipped a switch to turn on the cabin microphone. He dialed in the frequency
for the main command net and pressed the mic button. "Two Bravo Delta
-" He let off the mic button as a bolt of pain surged through his leg. He
took deep breaths through his nose, waiting for the pain to pass. He keyed the
microphone again. "Two Bravo Delta, all nets. You guys down there need to
rethink this thing. You tell General Lane I'm not granting you permission to
arrest me tonight. So just stand down and I'll be on my way." He let go of
the mic button and saw the Marines in the first detail look at each other.

His cabin speaker crackled. "Sorry
Major. Orders."

Walker closed his eyes and gritted his
teeth. "Fucking orders," he said to himself. He moved his hand to the
right control lever and yanked it back. The Cat's leg moved smoothly back and
the gyros, now on line, held his cockpit steady. The reticle was still dancing
in front of him with its red X. He pressed another button along the bottom of
the weapons display and the heavy barrels of the plasma cannons swung down and
locked into place with a loud clunk. He pressed another button to select arm
coupling so both weapons would fire at the same time.