The Sacrifice of the Knight Bolo -
A story based upon the Bolo Combat Units of Keith Laumer
*discontinuity*
I return to Full Battle Reflex enveloped in a fog of radioactive particles that used to be my combat drop platform and hyperspace drive. My thought processes are disjointed and almost immediately fall to Combat Mode after 15.76 milliseconds. I run a preliminary diagnostic that takes 27.89 milliseconds to complete, far too long for even subnormal performance for a Bolo Mk. XXXII. It is far easier to review the list of available than disabled systems: my Commander is dead, killed by my 17.425 second engagement with the Ixtal cruiser that has additionally possibly damaged me beyond the capacity for self-repair and dropped me out of hyperspace in an unknown sector. The destruction of my hyperspace drive has left me with a dangerous amount of velocity entering this unknown solar system, I compute my probability of surviving impact with a celestial body is insignificant even provided I can find a solid planet on which to extract resources with which to carry out my self-repairs.
It is growing exceedingly difficult to maintain rational thought processes with this degree of damage, I issue commands to the self repair systems and retreat to my Survival Module to wait.
*discontinuity*
The self-test I run when the repair systems wake me completes in 17.2 milliseconds, a significant improvement but still below minimum recoverable performance for a Bolo MK. XXXII Combat Unit of the Dinochrome Brigade. I review my primary objectives: My escort of the convoy was indeterminate, my recoverable records of the engagement suggest a 89.5 percent chance that the Ixtal cruiser and destroyer that ambushed the convoy were destroyed entirely, and a 99.67 percent chance they were rendered incapable of threatening the remaining vessels. The remains of my Commander are intermingled with his command chair, shredded by a deep penetrating Hellbore strike that rendered 34.7 percent of my cognitive framework inoperable. Due to the short span of the engagement, I still retain 27.6 percent of long-range missile weaponry despite the near total destruction of both primary Hellbore units and 87.5 percent destruction of secondary Hellbore and ancillary offensive weapons. Screening and contragravity units have taken severe damage but are approximately 16.52 percent repairable. Primary priority must be shifted to my one mostly-repairable fusion plant and self-repair systems. I prioritize systems before returning to my Survival Module in mourning for my lost Commander.
*discontinuity*
My self-test completes in 12.5 milliseconds. Repairs have almost completed to their maximum available ability without external resources. Repair systems have begun salvaging usable parts and synthesizing replacements for the secondary fusion plant. The solar system I have entered bears no signs of civilization, negative subspace and radio signals, negative hyperspace tracks, negative artificial radioactivity. The probability of finding a civilized society are negligible, I calculate the odds of me being able to return to service are almost below calculable limits. The damage to my cognitive circuitry is still too extreme to maintain awareness for extended periods. I issue directions to the self-repair units and sensors despite a growing sense of futility, and return to sleep again.
*discontinuity*
Power flows through my circuity, my secondary fusion unit is operating at 12.7 percent, within 2.7 hours it should be up to 74.6 percent. Self-repair of the contragravity units is going slowly, I am barely up to 0.04 percent of capacity but it is sufficient to stabilize and alter my trajectory in a minor fashion. Sporadic neutrino emissions have been detected from the fourth planet of this system. If this is a civilization, it is my duty to make contact and attempt to finish repairs so I may return to combat operability. I direct self-repair systems to the contragravity and shield systems exclusively before returning to sleep with a growing sense of hope.
*discontinuity*
I drift alone through a sea of stars, paralyzed and unable to even trigger a self-diagnostic. Somewhere ahead I see a dark shape moving against the stars, only able to detect its presence by occlusion of detected stellar bodies. I attempt to calculate the size of the organism by triangulation and receive multiple false signals, it seems to vary in size between a small planet and a human. I can see it moving as if it knows I am here, searching for me. This places me on the horns of a dilemma; If the creature is friendly, I could return to service with its assistance. If it were hostile, I could possibly lead it back to humanity as another Enemy. I set the failsafes on my fusion plant, if I fail to reset them every 4.5 hours, it will overload and yield an internal explosion sufficient to reduce my framework to glowing radioactive vapor that should be unable to be tracked back to the Concordat. The creature passes in front of me like a sensor ghost, I am unable to gain its attention.
*discontinuity*
I return to operation with a self-test that completes in 12.1 milliseconds. Until my cognitive circuitry is repaired, I am afraid that will be as good as it gets. A review of sensor data shows no creatures out in space around me, no organism either planet-sized or smaller. I would mark it as a malfunction of my cybernetic circuitry except the failsafes of my fusion plant are activated, and my internal logs show they were activated while I was in my Survival Center. This is quite serious, if I am experiencing malfunctions of this magnitude perhaps it would be better to just trigger the failsafe and reduce any probability of my damaged circuitry causing me to act in a manner that could be a threat to the Concordat. The fourth planet is growing closer, I have approximately 14.5 hours before I either impact with the surface or fly by. I change my course to pass nearby, If indeed there is a civilization on the surface, I would be a threat both from my radioactive hull and live fusion plant. I direct all of the repair nanobots to contragravity and maximize their production. Degradation of my cognitive abilities is growing, the amount of time I spend out of the Survival Module must be carefully rationed if I am to reach a stable position to complete repairs. I maximize decceleration and return to...is this what humans think of as sleep? My Survival Center envelops me.
*discontinuity*
I sit on my treads in a huge building, paralyzed yet again. I sense a problem with my perceptions; passive sensors indicate I am within a structure sized far in excess of any Concordat structure even with pressurized feroconcrete and monofilliment support structures. The walls of this structure show only simple stonework with some metallic support, passive echolocation show multiple voids in the structure, including a series of crystalline chambers approximately 178.6 meters below.
WHO ART THOU? WE SENSE YOU IN MY STARS, BUT WE CAN NOT SEE YOU.
I compute the probability of this being a ruse by the Enemy as low enough to warrant a response.
“This is Unit GNY of the Line, 457th Division. Identify yourself.”
*discontinuity*
I awaken to the results of my self-test, secondary contragravity units have come online in sufficient quantities to enable a decision to be made. Approximately 1204.7 seconds of cognitive thought are still available to me before I must go into shutdown mode, the probability that this unit can make a soft landing on this planet is now 78.7 percent, with a 94 percent chance of surviving the landing intact even if the landing goes wrong. I divert power to the contragravity units and calculate an approximate landing spot. Neutrino emissions from the planet seem concentrated in one central location on the primary landmass, if the primitive inhabitants of this planet are to provide assistance it would be best if I were to impact in the vicinity. I set my target as the large water body next to the neutrino emissions so that I can decontaminate my warhull using the surrounding water before emerging to meet the natives. I estimate the decontamination process will take approximately 4.57 of this planet’s years before my hull will be safe for normal humans without protective gear. With the target set, I maintain braking and return to my Survival Center until I enter atmosphere.
*discontinuity*
It is almost familiar to find myself on the surface of this green planet unable to move, my tracks are sunk up to the bogie wheels deep in the rich dark soil and my warhull is surrounded by lush vegetation. Sensors reveal small creatures scurrying about, including a rather strange looking quadruped standing less than a hundred meters in front of me. Signs of intelligence are obvious: its four limbs all end in metal shoes of some sort, and a metal object of some sort sits on its head, as well as a cloth covering across its chest with a symbol of a planetary body inscribed on it. It takes an abnormally long time to respond to my presence, it looks at me with oversized eyes and I hear a voice.
YOU ARE A MACHINE?
“I am a Bolo Unit GNY of the Line, 457th Division. We protect the Concordat.”
WE CAN SEE YOU FALL FROM THE SKY. ARE YOU DAMAGED? CAN WE ASSIST YOU?
I make a calculation. The creature appears quite intelligent and is conversing with this unit without any...the language I am hearing is Concordat standard, but it is not being transmitted. It is appearing directly inside my cognitive matrix. I immediately implement intrusion security protocols, sealing all classified information behind walls of encryption, but I detect widescale previous activity within my historical databases.
WE APOLOGIZE FOR THE INTRUSION. WE ARE CONCERNED.
“My trajectory is targeted on the large water mass near the major concentration of neutrino emissions in the central portion of your major continent. I am severely damaged, but should be able to land safely. It is important that you remain at a distance for five of your years until I have finished decontamination. At present my hull is radioactive and would kill unprotected creatures at many multiples of my hull dist--”
*discontinuity*
Alarms flood my awareness. Four contragravity units have failed catastrophically, reducing my deceleration. I consult my sensor records and revise my impact location, I no longer have the delta-v to avoid impact with this planet, and only a .145 percent chance of surviving the impact. Worse, the sensor data that I am retrieving as I enter the upper atmosphere shows a large number of the dominant quadruped life forms grouped in cities and towns all across my reentry path. I switch modes; survival is now secondary to minimizing fatalities to the local population, I have become resigned to my destruction. I eject three sensor pods into low orbit and scan my sensor records to locate a proper tomb for my destruction that will contain the radiation of my shattered hull. One location in the southern section of the continent appears to be as optimal as any, I change course as I blaze a trail through the atmosphere of this planet. Power must be diverted to my minimal shielding to prevent radioactive debris from falling in my wake. I have only 4.54 minutes before impact, I retreat to my Survival Center to engage in the only form of communication I can.
*discontinuity*
I sit upon the sandy floor of a desert landscape. This strange communication technique has become more familiar to me as I have practiced it. The dark quadruped stands before me, looking at me with its large dark eyes. It casts no shadow in the blazing sunshine.
“Listen quickly. My contragravity units have failed and I am falling. In 4.51 minutes I will impact in this desert in approximately this spot.” I rotate my secondary Hellbore turrets and fire four shots into a nearby sandstone and shale outcropping. As the sound of 1.75 tons of stone being blown to plasma rolls overhead, the quadruped’s eyes become small and terrified: first it looks at the craters blown in the stone, then its eyes return to my warhull and become very focused. “I have only a .012 percent chance of surviving impact, you must keep all your kind away from this location for the next thousand of your years. I will attempt to guide my impact to the soft shale layer under the sandstone to contain the radiation, but there is only a 5.78 percent chance my warhull will remain intact. Do you understand?”
YES
*discontinuity*
I emerge from my Survival Center to find my hull totally encased in a plasma sheath of reentry. Sensor feeds from the orbital pods are intact, and my trajectory is within .006 percent of optimal. I wish my Commander were here with me at the end, the Command Deck is still a shattered wreck and his body will never be recovered. I spend my remaining time mourning his passing while attempting to optimize shielding for impact. I calculate I can improve the probability of my survival 2.56 percent by ejecting my remaining munitions, but I reject that solution. If this society were to find reconstitutable weaponry from my impact, it could have adverse sociological impact on what appears to be a peaceful society. I carefully safe all warheads and flood all internal spaces with hardening foam. I will run the fusion plant until the end, exhausting the fuel in the ready chamber approximately .065 milliseconds before impact. I make a final review of all sensor data with 2.65 minutes until impact and isolate several anomalies. Solar activity in this system’s primary has suddenly jumped several dozen orders of magnitude in a very localized area, and a solar flare seems to have been ejected aimed at nearly the exact location of my impact. The probability of this being a coincidence is literally incalculable. In addition a pair of neutrino sources have flared up in almost the same place as the impact zone of the flare. I have little to do in my remaining minutes, I quickly retreat to my Survival Center.
I sit in the same spot as before, my tracks buried in the same sand, the smoking craters on the valley wall unchanged. Only this time two of the quadrupeds stand in front of my warhull, the original one and a taller one that is almost white. Strangely enough, they both cast shadows in the sunlight, and a ball of fire high in the sky is descending on us.
“You should not be here. The radiation from my hull will kill you as I pass overhead even before the impact. Flee now.”
NO. IT IS NOBLE OF YOU TO SACRIFICE YOURSELF TO SAVE US. IT WOULD BE COWARDLY OF US TO NOT OFFER ASSISTANCE OURSELVES.
“I cannot permit you to kill yourself in a hopeless effort to save me. I will change my trajectory to impact somewhere else so you are not harmed.”
The tall one looks at me with only one eye, the other covered by some form of energy that streams from its back and covers most of its body. I am reminded of Earth legends of Odin, the One-Eyed. It nods at me and turns to the dark one, both of them lean their heads together and touch bony protrusions.
*discontinuity*
Self-diagnosis completed, I now have only 1.27 minutes before impact. I calculate an impact zone that will avoid damaging the two creatures and make the corrections to my contragravity units, only to find their programming is frozen. I throw myself into cracking the faulty programming, it takes 7.65 milliseconds for me to identify the pathway of the intrusion and I pause before clearing it and redirecting my impact zone. At this point in my trajectory I am hundreds of miles away from the creatures, and yet they have the ability to reprogram the subsystems of a Mk. XXXII Bolo Combat Unit. I allow the programming block to remain, I am still operating with insufficient information to determine if these creatures are hostile or friendly. As the atmosphere thickens, I divert more power to the shields. It takes all of my remaining calculating power to divert their protection as plasma trickles into my circuitry. The solar flare grows slightly faster than my targeted impact zone, it appears the plasma of the solar flare will strike the quadrupeds approximately 15.67 seconds before my passage kills them. I wonder what they plan.
The stream of solar plasma lances down into my target zone, I have positioned one of my orbiting sensor pods to maximize observations but I am unsure of its data as it streams to me in realtime. The two quadrupeds not only remain standing under the solar stream, but divert it into the wall of the valley into the soft shale layer, lancing a molten tunnel deep into the rock at the same time my internal sensors begin registering a sharp deceleration of my warhull. I divert shields to intervene between my glowing white-hot radioactive hull and the quadrupeds as I pass overhead and rotate them to full forward as I impact into the hole drilled by the solar flare. It takes approximately 12.79 seconds to reach zero velocity, which in Bolo terms is an eternity to spend thinking. I run a system diagnosis: damage from impact was negligible, shielding held up far better than calculated, and hundreds of yards of molten rock now block the radiation of my hull from the inhabitants of this planet. Secondary fusion plant is 14.25 percent operational, and self-repair systems are operational. Surrounded by rock, they will have adequate raw materials to properly decontaminate the hull and begin rebuilding my critical systems, with an estimated return to functional cognitive ability in just over 287.6 solar years. Far too many variables exist to attempt to plan beyond that stage.
I issue commands to the repair nanobots and retreat to my Survival Center.
I appear in exactly the same spot as before, only the wall of the valley is still glowing a deep red as lava continues to ooze from my impact point. The two creatures occupy nearly exactly the same position, a form of energy shield is protecting them from transient radiation and the thermal pulse that still heats the barren valley.
“Thank you. My hull is safely contained and the radiation danger in this valley should be gone within 10.5 of your years. Would you explain why you would expose yourselves to danger such as this for a mere machine?”
The larger creature nodded. “Because you needed it. You were willing to sacrifice your chance of survival in order to save the lives of my subjects. My sister and I could do no less.”
“I am severely damaged and will take just under three hundred years to properly repair by myself. Do you have any technology that would assist me in my repair? I am authorized to trade on a limited basis.”
The tall creature shook its head with a secondary cascade of energy. “No. We are a peaceful and still developing race with little need for technology. We would help you if we could, for my sister tells me you have a noble heart within your metal body. A true knight of ancient days, willing to take great risks to your own life in order to save others. I wish there was something we could do.”
“There is one thing you can do for this unit, and in return I would be willing to offer into a mutual defense treaty between your world and the Concordiat. All I would ask is for you to return to speak with me on occasion.”
I SHALL BE HONORED TO RETURN TO THE GRAVE OF THIS FALLEN KNIGHT, MY SISTER. HIS SACRIFICE SHALL NOT BE IN VAIN.
The dark creature and the light creature both bowed their heads in the direction of my warhull. “It shall be agreed then. If your race does not return to rescue you, how long will you survive being helplessly entombed in the rock?”
“Given power to my internal fusion unit and the raw materials within the rock, this unit should be able to maintain minimal consciousness and monitor external sensors for any intrusion by Enemy forces for slightly over two thousand of your years. Secondary weaponry retained within stasis chambers should be sufficient to successfully defend against any intrusion of under a Category Three scouting fleet, rising to Category Four after two hundred and seventy years when self-repair systems complete available repairs. Engagement of Enemy vessels would require removal of the rock overburden from most of my warhull, which could be accomplished in under 22.5 seconds with secondary direct fire weaponry, but would expose inhabitants of this world to unsafe radiation levels in this vicinity. At any point that time should a Concordiat vessel approach, my circuitry will detect it and transmit a Verbal Status Report, which will include this treaty and any statement you would want to attach.”
“I...see.” The white quadruped appears upset. “And what if we do not wish to be involved in your wars? As we said before, we are a peaceful world.”
I think upon the creatures statement and review historical records. Nearly every race the Concordiat has approached over time has either turned against humanity, or become consumed in warfare. It is a difficult concept to accept, but perhaps this world is better off as it is. There are many parallels in my records: Polynesian culture, American, and Australian aborigines.
“Agreed. In the event a Concordiat vessel encounters your civilization, their cultural influence could destroy your civilization, even without firing a shot. However, in the event Enemies of the Concordiat were to attack, your entire planet would be defenseless.”
“It is our decision to make.” Both of the creatures seem very certain. I relent.
“Very well, in the event my sensors should detect a starfaring race, I shall notify your government first to determine if contact should be made.”
Both creatures nod at my avatar again, I compress my bogie wheels under my tracks in an effort to duplicate their gesture and return to awareness.
*Discontinuity*
I arrange my sensors and program the self-repair systems. I have very little time remaining with full cognizance, but after all is set, I return to my Survival Center to await a signal. I am resigned to my fate; a sleeping knight below the ground, awaiting a command to spring forth and battle with the Enemy.
Luna sighed and turned to her sister. “Celly, it has gone back to sleep. I hope I have not made an awful mistake, even as battered and destroyed as the creature looked, it seems to be quite destructive.”
Princess Celestia shook her head and smiled. “Do not think of our sleeping knight as a destructive weapon of war. Instead consider that even in a war where they battle with machines that deadly, the race that created it still holds true to the concepts of honor and sacrifice, and embodies it into their very weapons.” She bowed her head at the glowing scar across the valley.
“Sleep well, my noble knight. And may your unsleeping eyes about my innocent world keep watch over you, protect you, and guard you lest you need to unsheath your terrible sword in defense of our world.”
In Memory of Keith Laumer, who saw things centuries before their time.
