Every one of them had to be destroyed.
Clanker 33418 turned to the robot on his left, lifted his visor slightly, and sent a red beam into the smaller 'bot's viz lens. That robot shuddered a bit, then turned and transferred the same red beam to the robot on the right. This robot sent it on to two more. And they sent it to two more, and two more, over and over and over again, until in a chain reaction of red beams, the entire army of robots had been given their final orders.
With no ceremony, no hesitation, they began marching down into the canyon.
Pater Tomm and the poof popped in where 33418 had been standing moments before.
The battle below was just beginning. The robots were wading into the terrified soldiers, most of whom were too afraid to even raise their weapons and fire. Now the soldiers were being crushed, trampled, shot, electrocuted, and disintegrated in a disturbingly methodical manner. If for some reason one of the robots was hit just right by blaster fire and disabled, it took just a few seconds for it to rebuild itself and come back to life again. The robots had been designed for eternal combat. There was no stopping them. The BMK soldiers never had a chance.
Looking down on the bloodbath, the poof became quickly disgusted.
"To be involved in such an enterprise goes against my privilege as an eternal soul," she said. "And it is your fault, Father. I broke just about all the rules of Nature getting these gas cans here for you. And now they are participating in a slaughter."
"Think of it as a cleansing," Tomm told her. "Or the misery the people of this Galaxy will not have to endure now that these dark souls are being dispatched. 1 gave them their chance. I warned them of our secret weapon."
He took a drink from his flask. It contained only coffee, his new jones.
"Some things are just necessary, my child," he concluded.
The poof put her hands on her hips and began to glow red. She was wearing her jester's costume today.
"First of all, you can spare the 'child,' stuff from now on," she hissed at him. "I'm older than you by at least a couple eons."
Tomm just smiled. "Don't be so sure of that," he told her. "I stopped counting long ago."
They watched in silence for a few moments as the ring of robots closed in tighter around the shrinking mass of helpless soldiers. The physical aspect of the battle was overwhelming, with thousands of men and robots moving at once. The screams were bone-chilling, the crunch of robot steel against flesh and bone unnerving. Most of the BMK officers had fled to the center of the crowd, prolonging their lives by just a few more minutes but giving them witness to the slow horror that would eventually reach them, too. Some took their own lives instead; some shot comrades and then themselves. Some even dug holes in the ground and stuck their heads into them, one last act of madness.
The canyon's dusty surface was now soaked with blood.
"This deed will soon be done," the poof said. "But the demons we have let out of the bottle here will be impossible to stuff back in."
"Why are you so sure that they are demons?" Tomm asked her. "Maybe it's a squadron of angels that has been released. Or shouldn't I use that term, considering present company?"
"Don't be so dramatic, Father," the poof told him. "You can't possibly disagree that all of history is a painful march, good or bad, on both sides. It is. Believe me, I should know."
She began to cry softly. "That canyon is filled with a bit of history now. And something has been started here that won't stop. It's necessary, I suppose, for the people of this planet, of this system. Certainly they've been wronged. But what is to come will not be a peaceful enterprise."
Tomm just shook his head as the killing below approached its peak.
"I guess you're right." He sighed heavily.
"I'm always right," she said. "Just remember that."
It took more than an hour for it to be finally over.
Hunter wanted no part in watching it. He'd had enough of the killing, enough of all the death.
He set down on top of the devastated piece of high ground that was once Fire Rock Ridge, so weary he could barely climb out of his cockpit. He'd hadn't stopped driving bombing missions on Planet America or Planet France for nearly a week. Now all he wanted was a drink and to go to sleep.
He crawled underneath his aircraft into the shade, out of the bright, warm sun. He retrieved a flask from his boot pocket; it was filled with Seagram's. He uncorked it and downed the entire container in one long, noisy gulp. He felt the warm liquor burn its way down his throat, into his stomach, and then to all parts of his tired body. He'd been waiting for this moment for what seemed like forever. He lay back on the hard ground and started to close his eyes.
That's when he saw a small party of soldiers waving to him from the next peak over.
They were carrying a green flag.
It took Hunter twenty minutes to drunkenly climb up to the peak, his arms and legs weary, his throat dry. With the pint of whiskey still speeding its way through his veins, everything that happened next appeared to him in a kind of dreamy slow motion.
At the top of the peak, he found Deaux with three of his security men waiting for him. None of the guards appeared armed. Hunter had left his weapons back with his plane.
"So you're the devil who's been flying that infernal machine," Deaux said to him. "Interesting concept — a small aircraft with the power of a starcruiser."
Hunter boozily waved him off. He wished the others were here. But no matter. If this was a surrender party, he wanted to get on with it.
"Make your proposal quickly," Hunter said to Deaux. "For I am honor bound to offer you your lives once you've surrendered."
Like the mythical battle on Myx, it was time for the winning side to be magnanimous.
But Deaux had other ideas. It took Hunter a few moments to realize the BMK commander had pulled out a hand weapon. The three security guards saw what happened and quickly blinked out. Even they wanted no part of breaking such a longstanding rule.
So now it was just Hunter and the chubby little man with a very big ray gun.
"This is not how these things are supposed to go," Hunter told Deaux calmly.
"I just wanted my good name in the history books," Deaux babbled, aiming the ray gun right at Hunter's forehead. "And to get paid, of course. That's all. However, you just didn't beat me on Ae battlefield, you embarrassed me. Made me look foolish. Now, that won't get me into the annals of time, nor will it get me my just reward. But killing you? The demon pilot. Here and now? That will accomplish both things."
Before Hunter could even move, Deaux pulled the trigger— but nothing happened. He'd forgotten to unlock the firing mechanism again. But he quickly rectified his mistake.
He aimed the gun once again at Hunter and started to pull the trigger a second time.
Suddenly there was a flash, and a moment later, Deaux was minus his head. What remained of it was floating away in a cloud of subatomic ash. His body stayed upright for a moment, but then it fell over in one great heap.
Hunter staggered back a few steps. He was astonished. Someone had just saved his life. But who?
He turned around to find an ancient man in an ancient space combat uniform, holding two huge smoking ray guns and a cracked smile.
It was his savior. The Great Klaaz.
Hunter couldn't believe it.
"Brother Klaaz!" he roared. "How…?"
Klaaz put his guns back into his holsters. "Let's just say a poof told me how to get here," he cackled.