"This is true, sir. Also, we would like to see to it that our dead receive a suitable burial."
"Yes, I quite agree," I said. "And after that, there are many of the enemy dead who deserve a decent burial as well. At least, their bodies should be returned to Earth."
"I suppose that you will be wishing the return of your drone now, sir. You will see that it is in excellent shape."
"You admire this thing so much? Then please accept it as my gift, for your outstanding victory against the Evil Intelligence. Your illustrious ancestors will be forever proud of you, and your noble descendants will brag about you for a thousand years!"
"Thank you, sir. I accept your magnificent gift with honor."
I suddenly found myself back in the CCC.
"Trouble, boss!" Conan said, "Abdul has been spreading his men out through the counterweights, and they report two enemy armies, Mark XIX tanks, maybe twenty thousand of them. They are coming over the rear surface of the station at us. They don't have any sort of rockets on their butts, though."
Now I knew why the automatic medical center computer had been so loquacious. He'd been stalling so that this counterattack would have time to sneak up on us!
I went into combat mode, and patched up to Abdul. "Are you ready to talk to me now?"
"Only to bid you good-bye, young man. I am presently facing an enemy that outnumbers my forces by at least four to one. I see no possibility of successfully defending this station, and therefore I must destroy it, even though you and your men are still in it. I will regret your deaths."
"If you do that, you will die as well. Without the station, you will not only not have any transmitters to get you away from here, but you and your men will be in the full glare of the sun. Under those conditions, your coolant bottles will be exhausted in about a day, and then you will all slowly bake to death."
"If such is the will of Allah, then so be it."
"Well then, if you are intent on suicide, couldn't you at least do something useful with your lives? Delay the enemy for an hour, if you can. Right now, my CCC is downloading the position, speed, and direction of every robot ship in Human Space, and sending the information back to New Kashubia. With that data, the expansion of Human Space can continue. Without it, our descendants will be stalled for at least fifty years."
"A meaningful death is always to be desired, and dying in honorable combat is preferable to baking to death in the sun. Very well, young man, we will try."
"The illustrious blood of your ancestors runs strong in you, sir! But if I might make another suggestion, sir? Since the enemy has not been equipped with any sort of rocket propulsion, might it not suffice, for the time being, to simply cut off those portions of the station where the enemy is? Then you could destroy those sections at your leisure."
"That might be possible, yes. I will discuss it with my staff."
"Your wisdom is famous, sir! This plan of yours might also permit you and many or even all of your heroic men to return home through some of the transporters in the central section of the station, for the greater glory of God," I said.
"Yes, yes, I can see that!"
"Your ideas are indeed brilliant, sir. But I must return to my men, to make preparations."
"Yes, of course. You are dismissed, Derdowski."
Back in the CCC, I thought, "Holy Shit! Two—count 'em, two!—suicidal crazy people in under ten minutes! There's got to be a better way to make a living!"
The professor was still busy, but our metal ladies got on the horn and called all of our men in from wherever they were, and crowded them in, and around, and over, and under the control center.
About the time we had them huddled up, and the CCC had finished its job, we felt the explosions, and the station started to rock. Those were thermonuclear bombs! I'd assumed that with five thousand rail guns at his disposal, Abdul would have been able to slice up the whole station like so much soft cheese, but some crazy person at headquarters had trusted that suicidal maniac with dozens, maybe hundreds of nukes!
Farming. There was a whole lot to be said for becoming a gentleman farmer.
It was three weeks before we could finally leave the ragged remnants of the once great Solar Station.
It turned out that the forces in the counterattack had been sent up from Earth on apparently forged orders.
Earth surrendered without having any of its cities destroyed. The peace treaty required free trade, and the setting up of a United Planets organization, with a centralized military organization that amounted to being a renamed Kashubian Expeditionary Force. Earth got only one vote in the new congress, but taxes were to be determined by population size.
That can happen to you when you lose a war.
The new president of New Kashubia, my uncle Wlodzimierz, had a prominent part in the negotiations.
The fact that the whole war was started by an errant automatic medical center computer stayed a military secret, but everybody in the know agreed that the programming of those things needed a serious looking into.
New Kashubia was paid very well, supplying armaments to the new Human Army, selling supplies for the continuing expansion of Human Space, and for its various other commercial endeavors.
In the remains of the station, we managed to get eleven accelerators and their transmitters going that could handle our tanks and trucks. We sent Abdul and his men home first, mostly because I wanted that crazy person as far away from me as possible.
Word came up from Earth that some twelve thousand Gurkhas had volunteered to join my forces. By their own system of reckoning, my men would soon be seeing a lot of promotions.
And maybe I'd finally be a real general.
Sir Rodney said, "That was quite a story, Rupert. It is so glorious, and so terrible, to think that our beloved ancient masters fought so hard to kill each other."
"Yes, sir, and more than a bit ironic, considering that while we are basically still carnivores, we became so peaceful under their tutelage," Rupert said.
Sir Percival said, "I expect it was a matter of our doing what they told us, and not what they did."
"I suppose so, Percival. We were always obedient to their wishes, and I think that they would have wanted us to be more peaceful than they were. We lost so much of their culture in The Tragedy, and these records help fill in our knowledge of the Humans. I'm eager to see more of them."
"It's quite a story, sir. Please realize that you've only seen a small part of the records that I've recovered. Do you want me to show you the rest?" Rupert asked, his tail wagging submissively.
"Yes, but not today. It is so violent that I don't think that I could take any more of this today. But one last thing before we go. I think that you were quite right about the popularity that this data will attain. I'd wager that you have the material here for dozens of historical entertainment shows. Your researches were funded by the institute. Would you have any objections to assigning your commercial interests in it to the institute?"
Rupert's tail dropped to the floor. "Normally not, sir, but I have a growing family, with all of the expenses that this entails, and my salary is stretched a bit thin," Rupert said.
Sir Rodney said, "Well, then, what would you say to a half ownership, with the institute assisting in the legal and financial aspects of the project."
"Well, sir . . ."
Sir Percival added, "Also, I think that it would be quite possible to get your name on Her Majesty's next Birthday List, for your scientific accomplishments, of course. How does 'Sir Rupert' sound to you?"
"It sounds very good indeed, sir, and my wives would love being 'ladies.' Also, I think that a one-half interest would be quite generous," he said, wagging his tail eagerly.