Scattered Suns - Kevin J. Anderson [128]
The machinery received raw material from roving smelters that broke down and converted ring rubble. Fabrication machinery formed girders, hull plates, engine cowlings. The vacuum-injected metals were mixed in molds with ceramic reinforcements to yield precision lightweight components.
Fitzpatrick and his comrades stood on the line, assisting. Soldier compies did the heaviest lifting. Out in the spacedock assembly yards, additional reprogrammed robots worked with Roamer shipbuilders.
The background din of throbbing pumps, hissing exhaust vents, and clanking metal allowed the captive workers to talk in relative privacy. “I think I’ve got a plan,” Kiro Yamane said.
Fitzpatrick leaned closer. “I’ve had about ten of them, but none seemed feasible.”
The cyberneticist continued his pretense of diligent labor. “Yes, but I think I can pull this one off.”
“Listen to him,” said Shelia Andez, her eyes flashing bright. “It’s something the Roachers will never expect—something only Kiro can do.”
Yamane casually continued his assigned mindless work. He glanced at the three nearest military-model compies moving still-hot parts. “I know those Soldier compies backwards and forwards. I’ve walked around inside their brains and designed the overlay of EDF military and tactical programming that goes on top of the basic Klikiss circuits and makes the compies function.”
Fitzpatrick saw where this was going. “I thought the Roamers wiped their memory cores and reprogrammed them all.”
Yamane made a distasteful expression. “Programming in Soldier compies has plenty of complexities and back doors. Given a little time, I’m sure I’ll find a way to reactivate a few routines.”
“And you can trigger these Soldier compies, turn them back into loyal EDF fighters so they’ll help us escape?”
Yamane looked away, frowning. Andez leaned closer to Fitzpatrick, ostensibly to help him guide a curved girder through its finishing bumpers. “Not exactly. He can scramble their new programming, but he can’t restore their obedience routines.”
“What good will that do?”
Yamane explained. “I was placed aboard the Osquivel battle group to study the responses of the new Soldier compies. They know how to be fighters, saboteurs, destroyers. That part is ingrained. I believe I can yank off the governing restrictions the Roamers installed. Once turned loose, they’ll do whatever they’re inspired to do, probably commit sabotage. Certainly they’ll cause chaos in the shipyards.”
“Then they’ll kick some ass! It’ll be quite a sight to see,” Andez said out of the corner of her mouth. “Think about a hundred loose cannons tromping around the Roacher shipyards!”
“I can’t argue with that in principle.” Fitzpatrick tried to quell his immediate misgivings. “But what good will it do us?”
When Andez turned to him, her face lit up. “During the diversion, somebody should be able to escape. This’ll give us the chance we need.”
Fitzpatrick turned back to his work. “There are no interstellar ships available here in the rings. Del Kellum made that plain enough. We’ll never get out of the Osquivel system. What’s the point?”
“I thought you’d be excited.” Andez scowled. “Don’t you want to escape? Or do you like that annoying daughter of Kellum flirting with you all the time?”
Fitzpatrick hoped he wasn’t blushing. “I’m just playing devil’s advocate. After what happened to Bill, we can’t rely on a half-assed plan—like he did. Sorry, but getting in a ship with a fifty-year journey ahead of me doesn’t sound like an adequate strategy.”
Yamane remained calm. “We’ve been watching the activities here very closely, Patrick. Once every five days, a cargo escort descends from the cometary extraction facilities high above the system. It hauls a load of stardrive fuel, which one pilot