A Forest of Stars - Kevin J. Anderson [92]
Sarein maintained an intent expression. “Discuss it with them if you like, but remember that you are Father Reynald. You must make these decisions.”
He hesitated, then sighed. “Yes, I knew you were going to say that.”
45
KING PETER
Every minute of the day, whenever anyone could see him, he had to look like a King. No exceptions, no reprieve. Peter sat on his throne, his expression calm and knowledgeable, his eyes interested. The people turned to him for comfort, honesty, and strength. A King must have integrity above all else.
No matter what Basil Wenceslas might believe.
Though the Chairman had gone to Theroc with Ambassador Sarein, Peter still did not have the freedom to think his own thoughts or speak his mind. He was both King and prisoner, even if no one else in the Hansa knew it.
Admiral Lev Stromo, the commander and representative for the Earth Defense Forces in Grid 0, had come to the WhisperPalace, accompanied by the engineering specialist Lars Rurik Swendsen. With General Lanyan off on maneuvers and Basil on Theroc, Stromo did not seem to know whom to see. The Admiral knew Peter wasn’t supposed to decide any important matters.
Engineer Swendsen, though, intended to meet with someone in charge, and he had the brash enthusiasm to seek an audience with the King. The blond engineer never once imagined that Peter might not be authorized to make his own decisions.
The two men marched across the red-carpeted entry platform down the mirror corridor and into the Throne Hall. The royal guards and court heralds announced their arrival, though Peter recognized both Stromo and Swendsen on sight. Peter fixed the Grid 0 liaison officer with a gimlet stare, which Stromo matched in intensity. Both of them knew what a farce this meeting was.
The engineer bustled forward, carrying the components of a projection apparatus in his arms. “King Peter, I’m happy to report on the new techniques and breakthroughs derived from disassembling the Klikiss robot. Our research has been well worth the effort.”
Peter raised his eyebrows. “By whose standard?”
Swendsen seemed oblivious to Peter’s caution. “By any standard, Your Highness.” He projected a complex jumble of images that showed compy-manufacturing platforms, assembly lines, and robotic fabrication facilities. The engineering specialist spoke so quickly that his words raced ahead of the parade of captured scenes.
“Sire, the analysis has given us an insight into some remarkable robotic systems. We’re working like crazy to retool and modify our production lines, but I think you’ll agree it has all paid off. We’re converting our facilities to produce a new model of compy—one that’s far more efficient and able to assume actual combat responsibilities. These compies will be capable of making command decisions instead of just obeying explicit instructions. They can follow attack and surveillance routines, fight the enemy with autonomy. In short, they’re perfect soldiers—and a vast improvement over our current compies.”
OX, only four feet high but sturdily built, stood beside the King’s throne. Peter glanced at the Teacher compy, then frowned skeptically at the engineering specialist. “Compies like OX have served us well for several centuries. I’d advise you not to make such claims unless you can back them up.”
“We can back them up, Your Highness,” Admiral Stromo said. “With Klikiss-inspired modifications, these military models have a much greater reliability and general goal orientation. They will be relentless in accomplishing complex tasks—no longer just competent computerized companions. Not toys, but real soldiers.”
“It’s true,” said Lars Swendsen. “These Soldier compies are skilled enough to take the place of…” He paused, dithering. “Well, who knows how many nonessential human beings are in the EDF?”
“Therefore,” Stromo joined in, “we can reduce the number of potential casualties in the next hydrogue engagement. You won’t need to unfurl nearly as many memorial banners as you did after the Dasra incident.