Bolo!

“Maybe there does,” Jackson replied, “but not tonight.”

Fragile silence hovered, and Jackson held his breath. Would Shiva actually reject a direct order? Could he reject it? And if he did, what could Jackson possibly “Very well, Commander,” the Bolo said finally, and for the first time its voice sounded like a machine’s.

“It’s moving again,” Lieutenant Janal a

I move steadily forward, for I have no choice. A part of me is shocked that I could so much as contemplate disobeying my Commander, yet desperation rages within me. I have, indeed, killed too many, but I am still Humanity’s defender, and I will destroy any Enemy who threatens my creators, for that is my duty, my reason for being. But the cost of my duty is too high, and not simply for myself. The day will come when Jackson Deveraux and Allen Shattuck look back upon this mission, knowing how vastly superior my firepower was to that which the Enemy possessed, and wonder if, in fact, they did not have a choice. And the tragedy will be that they will be forever unable to answer that question. It will haunt them as the memory of butchered civilians haunts me, and they will tell themselves—as I tell myself—that what is done ca

Melconian. How odd. I do not even think of them as ‘the Enemy’ any longer. Or perhaps it is more accurate to say that I no longer think of them solely as ‘the Enemy.’ Yet unless my Commander relents within the next two-five-point-three-two minutes, how I think of them will not matter in the slightest.

I must obey. I have no choice, no option. Yet as I advance through the darkness, I find myself seeking some way—any way—to create an option. I consider the problem as I would a tactical situation, analyzing and extrapolating and discarding, but for all my efforts, it comes down to a simple proposition. Since I must obey my Commander’s orders, the only way to avoid yet another massacre is to somehow convince him to change those orders.

“We will enter attack range of the Enemy’s LZ in two-four-point-one-five minutes,” Shiva told Jackson. “We are presently under observation by at least two Enemy recon drones, and I detect the approach of Enemy armored vehicles. At present closure rates, they will intercept us in approximately ten-point-eight-five minutes.”

“Can they stop us?” Jackson asked tautly.

“It is unlikely but possible,” Shiva answered. “The situation contains too many unknown variables, such as the maintenance states of the opposing enemy vehicles and their crews’ degree of skill, for statistically meaningful projections. If, however, they should detect the breach in my frontal armor and succeed in registering upon it with a fifteen-centimeter Hellbore or weapon of equivalent yield, they can destroy me.”

“I see.” Jackson licked his lips and wiped his palms on his trousers, then made himself shrug. “Well, all we can do is our best, Shiva.”

“Agreed, Commander. This, however, will be a much more complex tactical environment than the defense of Deveraux Steading. In light of your lack of familiarity with Command Two’s instrumentation, perhaps you would care to activate your crash couch’s neural interface?”

“Neural interface?”

“Yes, Commander. It will link your synapses and mental processes directly to my own Main CPU and gestalt, thus permitting direct exchange of data and orders and responses with much greater clarity and at vastly increased speed.”

“I—” Jackson licked his lips again, staring at the displays. Already dozens of icons were crawling across them, bewildering him with their complexity. He knew Shiva didn’t truly need his input to fight the coming battle. “Commander” or no, Jackson was simply along for the ride, completely dependent upon the Bolo’s skill and power. But at least this “interface” thing might permit him to understand what was happening rather than enduring it in total ignorance.

“All right, Shiva. What do I do?”

“Simply place your head in the contoured rest at the head of the couch. I will activate the interface.”

“But… isn’t there anything I need to do? I mean, how does it—”

“If you wish, I will demonstrate the interface’s function before we reach combat range,” Shiva offered. “There is sufficient time for me to replay one of my previous engagements from Main Memory for you. It will not be quite the same as the simulator training normally used for Bolo commanders, but it will teach you how to use and interpret the data flow and provide a much clearer concept of what is about to happen.”

Had Jackson been even a bit less nervous, he might have noted a subtle emphasis in Shiva’s tone, one which seemed to imply something more than the mere words meant. But he didn’t notice, and he drew a deep breath and leaned back in the couch.

“Okay, Shiva. Let’s do it.”

The interior of Command Two vanished. For an instant which seemed endless, Jackson Deveraux hovered in a blank, gray nothingness—a strange universe in which there were no reference points, no sensations. In some way he knew he would never be able to describe, there was not even the lack of sensation, for that would have been a reference in its own right. It was an alien place, one which should have terrified him, yet it didn’t. Perhaps because it was too alien, too different to be “real” enough to generate fear.

But then, suddenly, he was no longer in the gray place. Yet he wasn’t back on Command Two, either. In fact, he wasn’t even inside Shiva’s hull at all, and it took him a second to realize where he actually was. Or, rather, what he was, for somehow he had become Shiva. The Bolo’s sensors had become his eyes and ears, its tracks had become his legs, its fusion plant his heart, its weapons his arms. He saw everything, understood everything, perceived with a clarity that was almost dreadful. He needed no explanation of the tactical situation, for he shared Shiva’s own awareness of it, and he watched in awe and disbelief as Shiva/Jackson rumbled into the teeth of the Enemy’s fire.

Missiles and shells lashed at their battle screen, particle beams gouged at their armor, but those weapons were far too puny to stop their advance, and the part of the fusion which was Jackson became aware of something else, something unexpected. What he received from his Shiva half was not limited to mere sensory input or tactical data. He felt Shiva’s presence, felt the Bolo’s towering, driving purpose… and its emotions.

For just an instant, that was almost enough to shake Jackson loose from the interface. Emotions. Somehow, despite his knowledge that Shiva was a fully developed intelligence, despite even the pain he’d heard in the Bolo’s voice, it had never registered that Shiva had actual emotions. Deep down inside, Jackson had been too aware that Shiva was a machine to make that leap, yet now he had no choice, for he felt those emotions. More than felt them; he shared them, and their intensity and power hammered over him like a flail.

Shiva/Jackson ground onward, Hellbores and anti-perso