"That could be a problem," Jaime said. "I don't know where we're going to find a maintenance depot where we can fix you up."
A floater to Jaime's left crumpled suddenly, its midsection smashed by an unseen blow. A moment later, a hovering aircraft ahead and to the right shuddered, sparks and chunks of metal spitting from its starboard thruster, and a moment later the flying machine burst into flame and spun like a falling leaf into the ground. With a sudden lurch that knocked Jaime against the command seat's back, the Bolo began moving forward. Dust exploded to either side on the display dome as the massive tracks, locked in place for almost a year, began turning.
"Stores of 240cm howitzer rounds and VLS missiles will be difficult to acquire," the Bolo agreed. "I have assigned top priority to rearming my primary weaponry."
"Your primaries! Where in God's name are you going to get Hellbore rounds?"
There was the slightest of pauses as three more black, insect-visaged !*!*! aircraft crumpled, burned,
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William H.Keith, Jr.
and crashed, swatted from the sky by the silent and invisible clouds of hypervelocity flechettes fired from Hector's antipersonnel railguns. "Major Graham," Hector said. "I am now operating under independent Battle Reflex Mode. I have just reviewed your personnel records and deduce that you are neither trained nor authorized to give me orders in combat, and I respectfully submit that I am better able to judge both my immediate material needs and my tactical and strategic requirements. I suggest that you proceed at once to my Primary Memory Core and check on Sergeant Kyle. I can no longer communicate with her, and she may be injured. In any case, I must devote my full attention to the developing situation."
Fear pricked at the back of Jaime's neck, a cold fear born of the realization that he no longer had any control over the huge machine ... if, indeed, he'd ever had any control in the first place. For a long moment, the Battle Center was wrapped in eerie silence, despite the continued destruction outside, and the vibration indicating that Hector was now grinding forward toward the southern slope of Overlook Hill.
"Just one question, Hector."
"Yes?"
"You have full access to your memory now?"
"I do."
"Do you know what the clackers did to you the first time, at Chryse? Do you know how they were able to take you over?"
"Affirmative. I remember in complete detail."
Jaime drew a deep breath. "Can you stop them from doing the same thing to you again?"
"That," the Bolo replied, "is what I am attending to now."
When no further details were forthcoming, Jaime voiced a short, bitter obscenity. He glanced at Shari,
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who was still in the observer's chair, her expression blank. There would be no help from that quarter.
And Alita was apparently in trouble. He found a first aid kit in one of the Battle Center bulkhead lockers, then hurried from the compartment.
Outside, the battle was heating up.
General Spratly heard the commotion and emerged from his hut to see what was happening. A good hour had passed since his fight with Graham; the fires were out, now, and he had little to show for the scuffle besides a very sore jaw.
He'd been inside with his staff, arguing what to do about Graham and his people. They seemed to be out of control, and it was vital to stop them before they did something really stupid. It was amazing that the !*!б! had done nothing about the mob scene here in the camp a while ago.
