“I suppose that was my fault too, is that it? Notice, Major, no one died today. Not yet, anyway.”
“Yes sir, we’ve made excellent strides.”
I grumbled and poked at the computer screen. “Maybe we should at least turn on the active sensor array.”
“Oh—ah, is that a good idea, sir?” said Robinson.
I looked at him. What had so frightened this man? I dialed up the sensor array interface on the computer in front of me. I didn’t look at them, but everyone was staring at me, I could feel their scrutiny.
My hand hovered over the big screen. We had our passive systems on, but we were already blinded by the hull of the Macro ship. Being inside the Macro hold had unsurprisingly shut out emissions around us. But if I turned on our active systems and started pinging everything, that might upset the Macros. That’s what had my staff on edge. I sighed and put my hand back on the black steel border of the big screen.
“One brush with the Macros has turned my entire command staff into a flock of chickens, is that it?” I asked.
“Yes sir,” said Captain Sarin.
I looked at her and chuckled. “At least you have the guts to admit you’re scared… if that makes any sense. These are scary things, these ships, aren’t they? But we have to take decisive action where it is warranted, people.”
“No arguments there, Colonel,” said Robinson. “But we just want to be away from Earth, so only we suffer from any—missteps.”
I nodded, understanding at last. They figured I was going to cause some horrible misunderstanding and somehow sink Cuba, for example, under the waves.
“All right,” I said at last. “We will role-play the part of happy, quiet cargo for a while.”
Everyone breathed a deep, relieved breath.
“But I’m going to discuss one or two things with them first,” I said, ignoring their newly shocked expressions.
“Command module, respond,” I said.
“Responding.”
“Send this transmission to Macro Command: All bricks are loaded. We’re ready for transport.”
For some reason, I’d expected a verbal response. Maybe a welcome aboard, or some other acknowledgement. But the machines said nothing.
“Sir, they are closing the doors!” shouted Captain Sarin. She selected our direct, external cameras and channeled the transmission to the screen we huddled around. She made a swirling motion with one finger, causing the camera to pan rapidly. The dark walls of the Macro hold swept by with sickening speed. Soon, blinding white light flooded the camera. The camera automatically dampened the brilliant image, but it left all of us blinking.
“Take a good look,” I said. “Say good-bye to our world and our star.”
Fixated, we watched as the four great leaves swung shut. The beach looked so inviting. The trees were tossing wildly now, the winds had increased in intensity as dawn shifted into morning. I could tell after a year down here in the islands that a tropical storm would blow up later today. Soon, it would be overcast, and the silver-lined clouds would turn into gray skies. Sandra and I had often enjoyed walking the beach in mild storms. I would miss the drumming sensation of warm rain on my face.
“Command module,” I said, “send this: What are the stellar coordinates of our destination star?”
The speakers were silent. My staff held their breath. We still watched the big doors closing as we waited. Before an answer came, the last brilliant, white cross of sunlight shrunk to nothing. With a deafening clang, the doors shut completely. We all knew we had been entombed.
“Incoming Message: Cargo is not permitted interrogatives.”
I grunted. “What the hell does that mean?”
“I think they mean they don’t want us to ask any questions,” said Captain Sarin.
I glared at her. “I know that. I mean I don’t like the implications of their statement. Some alliance this is. I’m feeling unappreciated.”
The floor rocked a tiny bit. It was an odd sensation, like that of an earthquake. Unsurprisingly, the interior of the hold was pitch-black. There were no windows or lights. Now that the great doors had clanged shut, it was as quiet and cold as a grave.
“I think we’ve lifted off, sir,” said Robinson.
“No kidding. External floods on,” I ordered.
Captain Sarin manipulated a radial menu. I could tell she had dialed down the lights, muting them so as not to upset our hosts. We had flood lights mounted on every brick. On the screen, the big halogen bulbs snapped and we could see again.
“Roll the camera around. Let me see if they have anyone in here with us.”
She rolled the camera in a three hundred sixty degree spin, then I had her check the ceiling.
“Ah, there we go,” I said.
Everyone stared. There, on the roof of the hold, were two worker units. They had the familiar metallic, headless-ant look. They had beam weapons mounted where their heads were supposed to be.
“Workers,” I said thoughtfully. “Outfitted with military kits. That must be some kind of portal behind them. They don’t seem to want us going into the ship.”
“I get that feeling, sir,” said Robinson.
As we watched them, another worker came up from the dark portal between the first two. Then a fourth arrived, and the Macros took up a common diamond formation, all clinging to the ceiling directly overhead.
My command people stared at the Macros intently. I knew none of them had ever been this close to a real live Macro before—if you could call them alive. For some reason, most of the veterans who’d fought with me in the South American Campaign had not volunteered to head out to the stars in the belly of a Macro ship.
I looked at the robot guards thoughtfully. “You know, those are probably the Macro equivalent of shipboard Marines. Even if there are a thousand more of them up forward, we could take this ship easily.”
Robinson appeared nervous again. “But sir, the five cruisers escorting us might object.”
I smiled. “Now we understand the reason for the escorts. Whoever said these machines were dumb?”
-38-
The whole business of not being allowed to ask a question ate at me. Keeping us sealed in a dark hold like mushrooms I could understand. But I needed some information. Even mushrooms are fed horseshit now and then.
I decided to solve the impasse by playing their game. I wouldn’t ask any questions. After all, the Macros never did. Maybe they just didn’t like questions. I would make imperative statements rather than interrogative questions. Just the way they always did.
“Command module, relay this message to Macro Command: In order to achieve maximum effectiveness, Macro Command is required to provide intel on our target enemy.”
“Incoming Message: Enemy species are biotic. Enemy species are space-faring. Enemy species must be eradicated from target system.”
I took a victory lap, eyeing each of my chicken staff in turn. I wanted to say: see, and no one even died yet. I decided not to gloat, however. It was time to mine every detail I could out of the Macros and analyze the information later.
I almost asked a question then. I paused—it was like playing Jeopardy, you had to word things just right. I chose my words with care. “Command module, relay this: In order to adapt our equipment for the coming assault, we need to know gravitational pull of the target—environment.”
“Incoming Message: One point eight one Gs.”
I winced. “A high-gravity world. Robinson, pass that down to supply. We’ll need to get everyone set up with a light kit. Hopefully, it will be enough firepower, or we’ll have to have three-man teams to drag heavy beamers around.”