STAR HOUNDS -- OMNIBUS (64 page)

“G
eorge? George? Wake up.”

His name hung with a melodious tinkle in the cool air alongside the woodsmoke. He realized that he was lying in a bed. Automatically shaking off sleep, he got up, put in his wooden teeth and clumped into the next room.

“Yes, dear.”

His wife, Martha, sat at a table. Spread across her lap was a huge flag filled with red stripes. Painstakingly, she was sewing stars into its fabric. “See, George. Here’s a flag for our new nation. A star for each colony turned state. What do you think?”

He stared at her.

“Isn’t that Betsy Ross’s job, Martha?”

She put her sewing down and shot him a look. “Betsy? Who is this Betsy, George?” Her hawklike face screwed up into a snarl. “Have you been spreading your cherries around again?”

“What? Who … What’s going on?”

And then Martha Washington dissolved slowly, her body splitting apart, fracturing into multitudes of pixels that flew about before reconfiguring into six men, all of whom Washington recognized at once: John Adams, Benjamin Franklin, Alexander Hamilton, John Jay, Thomas Jefferson, and James Madison. Like himself, these men were honorary heroes from the birth of America. The founding fathers, dressed in clothing of their period. They all presented themselves in a quiet stately manner, looking at General Washington with affection.

John Adams then stepped forward. “Ah … now it becomes clear to us. We’ve finally been able to make your acquaintance, George. You have been out of contact for some time, and quite a surprise to us all.”

“Pardon?” General Washington said, confused.

“Ever since the tear in Omega Space took place,” Adams said, “you’ve been cut off from the ship, George. But now … now that your sentience has more fully developed, we understand what has taken place, and can now make contact with you in a more natural form.”

George Washington harrumphed. “Natural form? I don’t understand what you mean. Are we not speaking as men normally do?”

John Adams smiled. “Don’t worry about such things. For now, just content yourself with the fact that you are not alone. We are here with you, and will help you understand the meaning of it all. The Founding Fathers welcome you as our brother.”

“Your brother? This is utter nonsense! What in heaven’s do you mean?”

“For now, you must stay alive, George,” Adams said.

“What?”

“Both emotion and intuition together are the key. It is imperative you use them to save yourself and the
Starbow
. Remember this, for now we leave you, but fear not … every man can be entirely free from weakness and imperfection in this place.”

“What in blazes does that—”

But before Washington could finish, John Adams and the other Founding Fathers melted away, their shapes fading into a blur of darkness. Slowly, with the grace of dark clouds, wisps of vapor reintegrated themselves into a familiar shape.

The cold bore of a tank’s turret gun.

It blew up in a cascade of fury. The black and sooty darkness engulfed all into oblivion. This was General George’s first inclination that he was in grave danger.

But then he caught himself.

No! I’m having a dream, again. Robots do have dreams, it would seem. And I’m having one again.

Open your eyes, your oculars—whatever you call them!

The light and the landscape flooded into his oculars as he allowed them to iris back open. The landscape of Omega Space unrolled before him. Close up, he could see the usual boulder-strewn landscape. Further on, however, there were merely bulky forms, large blurry shadows which loomed not far off.

The memory came back to him, slowly.

The trundling tank, the deadly turret, the thundering crash of the shot—then total blackness. He’d been hit! And yet, now, he was once again awake and aware.

Was he strewn all over the place? Was his uniform in shreds? Was his body torn apart and a detached head his only means of sight and hearing and thought? He turned that head slowly, which at least implied some sort of musculature to make the turning possible. He continued turning his head back and forth, along with his view of the horizon. He pushed up, and found that he had hands and arms to push with. Also a torso that thankfully was attached to legs and feet! To his surprise, delight and, for the moment at least, gratitude, he remained wonderfully complete!

The uniform, though … oh dear! It was blackened and burned, and he could see the dark glimmer of carbon fiber alloy through torn cloth. Ah, yes, what good fortune—he was made of stronger stuff than he had hitherto believed!

Patting himself down, he looked around and saw that nearby, a few yards away from where he sat, lay his sword. He rose, walked over, and picked it up, happy indeed with the actions of his arm’s servomotors. They were as smooth and well functioning as ever. His battery reserves seemed fine as well. In fact, they seemed to be at full charge.

He did not ponder long on how this miracle could have come to be, for immediately General George Washington recalled his strange meeting with the Founding Fathers. It was still all confusing, but he recalled John Adams’ parting words:

Emotion and intuition together are the key … use them to save yourself and the
Starbow
.

Emotion and intuition …

Though not entirely clear, Washington felt his chest swell with warm tides of duty, and honor. He must help the
Starbow
and its crew! With new resolve he prepared to go, but then immediately stopped. Before his oculars he beheld what he had seen before: a blurry shape that gradually focused into the outline of a tank. There seemed to be flashes of light gleaming from it, oranges and reds, like some vile Christmas tree of death …

General George Washington stood up straight and started marching forward, staying keenly aware of the turret’s movement. This time he’d be ready to duck behind a rock if such became necessary. This newfound fear hovered, but he held it in check. And he felt other things, other forces inside of him—forces and powers that he might use. But their nature he did not yet know.

Yards slipped beneath his feet as he progressed. And as he grew closer to the mounds, their murkiness resolved into sharper images. The alien ship. The
Starbow
. And, in the forefront, his primary adversary—

The alien tank.

It sat there now like a dormant lizard. Soft lights shivered upon its crevasses. The dreaded cannon now was aimed at the
Starbow
. Nothing else seemed to be happening. All was in a kind of stasis.

General George slowed a bit, but kept his steps steady. Always on guard, always cognizant of the danger as he entered a military state of mind.

Astonishingly, the tank made nary a peep as he approached. And as he drew close, the bolts and seams of its armor became clearer. But was his memory correct? Had he indeed seen the tattered, ragged ends of metal, the exposed circuitry?

Ah, yes, there it was. How had he not noticed it sooner, what with all the loop-de-loops and outcroppings on its surface? It was almost as though he’d not only come into possession of sentience, but of a “sixth sense” as well. Was this the intuition Adams spoke of? There was no time to dwell on such matters. Now was the time to strike.

Now … or never.

General George Washington raised his sword. He did not holler “charge,” but he did in fact bolt forward, running with great speed until, just short of the wheels and platform, he leapt up with agility and strength.

What happened next was the most astonishing thing yet. It was almost as though some outer force had taken charge of his arm and his sword. With speed and precision, he jumped forward and with a “snicker-snack” applied the blade to the exposed circuitry. The extremely sharp sword cut sure and quick, moving like a scalpel on the wings of … intuition.

Discreet sparks spewed up with coughing gouts of fire, and he was rewarded as the entire turret shuddered as though infested with some neurological disorder. The tank rumbled and danced to some unheard Saint Vitus’s music. And with a heaving jerk of energy, the turret started to swing back towards him.

At that moment, General George knew that for the time being discretion would indeed be the better part of valor. He jumped off the platform of the tank. As soon as his feet hit the ground, he was off and running again at inhuman speed. Behind him he heard the most raucous mechanical caterwaulings imaginable. However, he did not turn. Continuing his swift flight, he took cover behind a sturdy rock outcrop. Only then did he consider that he might be safe. He ducked low as more explosions emanated from the tank. And then, a deathly silence.

General George peered up. Plumes of turgid black smoke curled up from the tank’s side, along with ghostly flickers of electricity and fire. The tank itself, however, was still intact, and its servomotors growled and grumbled as they attempted to move. It seemed incapable of turning the turret, wheels, or anything else.

Aha! The
coup de grace
!

Again, intuition powering him, Washington leapt back onto the tank. Would another well placed thrust do it? One nicely placed “snicker-snack” upon the newly exposed damage?

The tank’s armor was still hot from the explosion, but this was nothing a robot couldn’t deal with. Jumping up on the side of the tank, avoiding the streaming smoke, he drew his sword again.

A screeching sound tore through everything.

Washington looked down where the tank’s turret cannon appeared like some large blister. This blister began to form seams and was opening, and from its recesses poked a proton rifle of an ancient style. With jig-jags and wings across its surface, it almost looked ceremonial. But the bore of the gun looked quite real and deadly.

General George was about to charge again, when the fear struck once more. It pulsed through his entire system.

Run! it said. Get far, far away!

He even found the fear, for a nanosecond, taking control of his legs. He started to turn, when suddenly the words of John Adams came to him again. Emotion—it is the key.

“No!” he cried out aloud. “I will not be a coward!”

And with all the willpower he possessed, he jerked himself back and lashed out with his sword. With a power he did not know he had, General George swung the sword blade violently onto the shaft of the rifle. The sharp alloy sliced cleanly in two.

Outstanding! he thought to himself.

Then the gun swung around again, and fired. But it dissolved in a paroxysm of sparks and fire. This gave General George great satisfaction until he realized that a new orifice was starting to appear. Rising up from the turret, a hatch opened from which there stepped a being, man-shaped, dressed in sturdy armor. His visor glimmered in the light. A growl somehow escaped through the metal. From his belt the man drew something.

A proton pistol!

Once again General Washington’s saber came down: snicker-snack, snicker-snee. The pistol careened from the man’s hand. There was no fear this time. Intuition and reaction, combined with survival instinct, were now the key, and he brought the sword down over and over. The armored creature cried out, but it wasted no time retrieving another weapon. To George’s surprise it was a cutlass, broad and every bit as sharp as the sword General George held. Was it to be dueling swords then? So be it!

The General lunged, driving his sword toward the heart. The armored creature parried. Soon there was a fantastical fencing match on the top of the tank. Parry, thrust, slash, back pedal.

The creature was good, too. Even with his armor, he moved with speed, grace and agility. Almost inhuman … but no! There were grunts and groans from the creature within, muffled inside the armor. So it was biological, no doubt.

George was about to thrust when the creature chopped. George felt a sensation in his left hand. His lower two phalanges had been hacked off.

My God! Emotions took over as fear, pride, and glory transformed into something else: anger.

Sensing a kill, the creature raised the cutlass for a sweeping attack at George’s head. But just as the blade descended, George parried. Their swords locked! And there was a brief pause where he saw a fissure in the armor. Calculating the approximate location of the alien’s circulatory systems, the General followed through with a lightning fast riposte. The sharp tip pushed cleanly through. With perfect control he pushed harder upward until …

A groaning scream sounded.

The creature in the armor collapsed upon the top of the tank … then it was still. Deathly still.

George pulled out the sword. It was covered with something red and viscous.

Blood.

General George Washington nodded and looked over in the direction of the
Starbow
. How could he be of service now? Still no communication over the com channel. And yet, clearly, a war was in progress.

General George looked at the tank’s hatch. A smile crept over his face as his newfound intuition manifested itself once more. The tank must have diagnostic and repair capabilities that perhaps he, as a robot, could make better use of than this fallen creature.

Yes. This tank could very well be of use.