A Forest of Stars - Kevin J. Anderson [132]
Blocky warehouses and manufacturing hangars formed a boundary around the parklike demonstration zone. Closer to the royal viewing stand, two Manta cruisers sat under the bright blue sky, the largest ships the landing field could accommodate.
“Why haven’t they sounded the fanfare yet?” Peter asked.
“Don’t be impatient.” Basil Wenceslas sat smiling beside him in the shade. “Important ceremonies need to proceed at a sedate and respectable pace.”
“On the other hand, if the audience gets too bored, your wonderful show loses all its impact.”
The Chairman frowned at him, then spoke into a small communicator, directing his expediter, Mr. Pellidor, to start the event.
As the music blared, the audience waved their sparklers. Admiral Stromo, acting as marshal for the ceremony and leader of the uniformed EDF drill troops, led a full regiment out of the first Manta and onto the presentation field.
It was like a parade or a folk dance. Peter recognized their precision and knew how many hours the human regiment must have drilled for this flawless performance. The sergeants at arms and flag bearers moved forward like windup robots. During his years as King, he had grown to recognize the importance of showmanship. Displays such as this were designed to impress crowds and foster the impression that any military capable of marching in perfect ranks and executing flawless turns would surely be invincible during a hydrogue attack.
Peter fixed a mask of approval on his face, because he knew the media scans would be watching his every flicker of reaction.
Stromo called his troops to a halt, and they stopped in a moment of thunderous silence. All the uniformed men and women stood at rigid attention like costumed dolls. Basil nudged him, and King Peter began to applaud. The crowds rippled with loud cheers.
“An impressive display,” Basil said, “but the new Soldier compies will take this to a completely higher level.”
“If they perform as expected,” Peter replied. “We haven’t seen them operate on active duty yet.”
“Don’t put a black cloud on this. We need something to show off, after receiving so many bruises from the enemy.”
Peter shrugged. “You’ve told me over and over that it doesn’t matter what I do, as long as I follow the agenda.”
Then, on the far end of the vast field, huge hangar doors opened. The crowd drew a comically simultaneous breath as new military-model robots marched out of the warehouse hangar. They moved in utterly perfect lock-step, like segmented creatures gliding on absolutely precise paths.
Using innovative Klikiss technologies that the cybernetic engineers had learned from the dissection of Jorax, the compy-manufacturing lines had been working overtime to produce the decisive Soldier models. Now seven of the beetlelike robots stood near the factory facility, observing the display. Peter wondered with a twinge of misgiving who had authorized them to be there.
The Soldier compies, larger than traditional Listener or Friendly models, would never be mistaken for cuddly companions. They marched with unrelenting strides, flowing in perfect columns out of the warehouse, before they engaged in a flurry of kaleidoscopic maneuvers without the slightest misstep or hesitation. It was breathtaking.
Peter wondered how Admiral Stromo must feel, standing next to his best troops.
“They still require a human commander,” Basil said, as if sensing the King’s concerns. “Back in the mid-twentieth century, when computers and robotics were first used for automating industries, many workers feared that the evil machines would take over the world, put everyone out of a job.” He smiled with amusement at the childish idea. “In reality, the machines just did the ugly, tedious work better. Like these new compies. When we send our battleships into the