"I agree," Kal said, "but the planetary governor is legitimately concerned about the civilians trapped in the southern continent."

"And he has good cause to be," Kiel said. "If the governor had begun evacuations when he should have, those people would at least be safe in a refugee camp somewhere in the north."

Kiel stood and paced behind his command chair. "You can't have a planetary invasion and expect business as usual. This is a war, d.a.m.n it, and it's going to get a little more than 'inconvenient' before it's all over."

"Then I a.s.sume your meeting with the governor did not go well," Kal said.

"I honestly don't know," Kiel said. "This war has more challenges behind the front lines than in front of them. I've got a planetary governor who wants to play amateur general, yet is afraid to move, a planetary militia that is loosely organized and contentious, and a green regimental commander who thinks this war is just a practice run."

"And I take it," Kal said, "your request for fleet support has again been turned down."

Kiel dropped into his command chair and watched on the screens as Kal covered ground quickly, always moving, always turning, never giving the enemy much of a target.

"I'm afraid that when this goes down, and it will, we'll have to handle it ourselves. I just hope we're not all tripping over each other when it happens."

Four.

Time on board the Cannon Beach seemed to drag more and more for Orren as each hour, each day went by. They had joined up with a number of other ships headed for Delas and were getting closer, but as far as Orren was concerned, it felt as if they were never going to get there. He was like a kid on a long trip, wanting to ask the Cannon Beach captain if they were there yet. Somehow during each meal with the captain, Orren managed to restrain himself. But only barely.

During the time waiting, he had continued to wear his command headset, talking and working with Ziggy so that the two of them were completely familiar with each other. And he spent most of each day in the command compartment of Ziggy.

After the first day Ziggy had almost felt like a friend. And by the second day Orren was convinced the Bolo was going to turn out to be his best friend. The two just got along on many different levels.

Orren had also made another friend. Master Sergeant Blonk. The man was rough, foul-mouthed at times, and cynical. But Orren could tell that under that surface there lived a giant heart of gold and a man who really cared about other men.

Orren had bought the sergeant the promised drink after their run-in near Ziggy. That first drink had then turned into a few more. Each day the two met at the ship's small recreation room and sat, drank, and talked. Most days, Orren got Blonk to tell him war stories, about what it was like, as Blonk put it, in the "real world."

With just one day left before reaching Delas, Orren decided to ask the old sergeant another question about his past. "You ever get any medals?"

Around them the small recreation room was empty. Blonk was stretched out on the couch, his feet on a small coffee table, his drink resting on his flat stomach.

Orren was across from him, his feet also up on the small table, his drink cooling his head. His command headset was pushed back and hung around his neck.

"You know," Blonk said, seeming to ignore Orren's question, "what the real difference between a Bolo and a man is?"

"Well, I can think of a few million real differences," Orren said, "but why don't you tell me what the difference is."

"A Bolo is wired for heroism, and humans aren't."

"I'll buy that," Orren said. "That's their job."

"Exactly," Blonk said, pointing a finger at Orren. "But for humans, there are only two kinds of heroes: Dead ones, and the kind that got a medal for basically saving their own a.s.s. And I don't consider the second type real heroes."

"Well, you're not dead," Orren said, "so have you saved your a.s.s at some point in the past?"

Blonk laughed. "More times than I care to think about. I got plenty of scars, plenty of stories, and a box full of medals and ribbons to go with them."

"So you're a hero by other people's definitions" Orren said, "Just like a Bolo. Hardwired in."

"Not even close," Blonk said. "Not by a long stretch. Fighting for your life doesn't make you a hero, son. It just makes you smart is all."

"So what does make you a hero?" Orren asked. "Trying to protect your buddies?"

"Nah," Blonk said, sipping his drink.

"How about doing what you're told?" Orren asked. "Following orders? Doesn't that make you a hero?

"Son, that's all I've ever done," Blonk said, "and I tell you I ain't no hero. Take my advice and just stay alive. There are plenty enough dead heroes to go around."

Orren laughed. "I'm planning on staying alive for as long as I can. Help win this war."

The old sergeant snorted and took a long gulp from his drink. "You just go out there and do the best you can do. Think about the big picture too much, you go crazy. That's the general's job. You worry about it when you get those stars, if you ever do, and not a minute sooner."

"And until then I worry about staying alive. Right?"

The sergeant raised his gla.s.s in a toast motion and smiled at Orren. "You learn quick, kid. Now just don't forget."

"You did what?" Major Veck shouted at the command center of his Bolo. He was shouting at Rover and he knew it. And at the moment he didn't care. The d.a.m.n hunk of machinery needed to be shouted at.

"As I stated before," Rover said, "at fourteen-twenty-three hours, six point two five seconds I detected an anomalous ground vibration not consistent with indigenous life-forms. I then . . ."

"Stop!" Veck shouted, cutting the Bolo off. "I'll tell you want you did. You engaged the enemy and let your commander sleep through it!"

"It was a routine encounter," Rover said.

"There are no routine encounters with the enemy!" Veck said. "How can anything be routine when it comes to a fight?"

"The small party of Kezdai infantry posed no threat to our systems, or any Bolo in any fashion. It was easily eliminated. The situation did not seem to warrant waking you, Commander."

"I will be the one to determine the threat level of a situation," Veck shouted. "Not you."

The Bolo said nothing, so Veck went on with his rage.

"From now on, you aren't to so much as open a gun-port without alerting me first. Is that clearly understood?"

"Yes."

The Bolo said nothing more, so Veck said nothing more. He just sat there at his command chair inside Rover and stared at the screens.

Orren and Blonk had climbed up on Ziggy's flank where they could get a clear view through one of the cargo bay ports as the convoy dropped into regular s.p.a.ce just inside the Delas system. Orren could see the other convoy ships around and ahead of them. For the last few minutes they'd been sitting there talking, with Ziggy adding a line or two every so often from the external speakers.

"Well, this is it," Blonk said, staring through the port at the blackness of s.p.a.ce.

"What is it?" Orren asked.

"If there's going to be trouble," Blonk said, "we're going to have it on approach."

"Because we don't have fleet support?" Orren asked.

"Exactly," Blonk said. "We're sitting ducks out here."

"My understanding of the situation is that the Kezdai have had no interest in running a blockade of the planet," Ziggy said. "And have not attacked civilian vessels."

"Good to know," Blonk said to Ziggy. "As long as they don't know you're on board this freighter."

"Let's just hope they don't," Orren said. "Besides, once we get close to planetary orbit we'll be protected by the Mark x.x.xIVs."

"Umm, Orren," Ziggy said. "I don't think you should have said that."

Blonk was laughing so hard, he almost fell off Ziggy.

Orren had no clue just what Ziggy was talking about, or why Blonk was laughing so hard.

"Ziggy, what did I say?"

"I would rather not repeat it, Orren," Ziggy said.

Finally Blonk calmed his laughing enough to explain. "You just let slip the specific range and capabilities of your h.e.l.lrails. You know the old saying about loose lips sinking ships, don't you?"

Orren could feel his face turn red as Blonk went back to laughing.

"Ziggy, just pretend you didn't hear me say that," Orren said. "All right?"

"As you wish," Ziggy said.

"And as for you?" Orren said, turning to the laughing old sergeant.

"Mum's the word from me, kid," Blonk said. "Unless of course they torture me. Then there are no guarantees."

"Great, just great," Orren said.

Blonk patted him on the back. "What do you say we go back and pack our gear. We have a few hours at least until orbital insertion. We can be back here by that point."

"What happens then?" Orren asked.

Blonk patted Orren on the back. "That's when things really are going to get interesting."

"Been through it before, huh?" Orren asked.

Blonk nodded, all the laughter gone from his face. "More times than I care to think about."

Increasingly I find my processors bogged down in recursive thinking. I have repeatedly reviewed all my actions since arriving on Delas and can find no serious flaw in my logic, judgment or execution of command protocol. Yet the paradox presented by these actions and Major Veck's reactions to them require me to review them yet again.

The repeated examination of this material increasingly hampers my efficiency and is causing me distress, yet I must have answers. I have become aware of an emotion which should not be known to a Bolo: doubt.

For the past ten-point-oh-seven seconds I have been considering the direct neural interface with which I am equipped. Application of this interface in the field is left up to individual commanders, and Major Veck has never availed himself with the use of mine. I wonder if use of the interface could clarify my understanding of his actions, and relieve my dilemma? I am not sure, but the idea has certain appeal.

Yet the idea also causes me concern. Several of my caution routines show distress when a.n.a.lyzing the possibility, as though sharing of Major's Veck's thoughts and emotions might somehow be harmful to me. In any case, it is not my decision. The interface can only be initiated by the human commander, and in such a case, I would be powerless to resist it. I must put my faith in my Commander, my regiment, and the designers and programmers who made me.

My internal sensors show Major Veck studying a strategic display of the southern continent on which a combat simulation is currently running. I note that while each of these has explored a different scenario, none have represented the Kezdai offensive that I increasingly see as the most likely occurrence.

Major Veck has not asked my opinion on this matter, and given his past responses to initiative on my part, I have not volunteered it. But the locations of our Bolos have been manipulated in subtle ways, perhaps to concentrate us for an attack, perhaps to distract us from various locations for some purpose. Though I have not mentioned this theory to Major Veck, I have quietly put all my pa.s.sive sensors on a high state of alert. The diversion of power is minimal, and does not require command authorization.

An autonomous attention circuit monitoring my long-range sensors crosses an attention threshold.

I shift my concentration to the sensor inputs.

A disturbance in the subs.p.a.ce flux is consistent with a number of large ships entering the system. I send a challenge pulse through my main transmitter. There is a 5.00213 second delay before receiving a coded reply. The ships are Concordiat registered freighters and light escort ships, not a threat.

I am about to return my attention to other matters when there is a second subs.p.a.ce disturbance. . . .

"Incoming enemy ships," Rover said. "More than can be easily tracked."

"You're kidding?" Veck said.

"I do not kid," Rover said.

Suddenly all h.e.l.l broke loose. Veck's command board lit up with enemy forces seeming to all move at once. He could see on his screen all the ships appearing in the system above the planet. All the other Bolos in his unit were now also calling in attacks by Kezdai forces.

"Taking evasive action," Rover announced to Veck as the screens lit up with spearfall bombardment. "Suggest we initiate h.e.l.lrail firing sequence."

"Do it," Veck shouted.

On his screens Veck could see that all his units were being forced into defensive positions almost instantly. The skies were filling up with Kezdai ships, too many to shoot and defend against at the same time.

The first h.e.l.lrail shot rocked Rover as it headed for an enemy ship.

"Reports coming in that the local forces are taking heavy casualties and falling back," Rover said.

Veck could see that one of his Bolos, SVA "Shiva," commanded by Lieutenant Amad, was moving in beside the retreating force.

"Give them cover, Amad," Veck relayed to him.

"Doing my best, sir," Amad's voice came back strong.

There was almost more going on than Veck could take in at once. They were getting hit and hit hard. It was exactly as General Kiel's Bolo had predicted. Only worse.