Scattered Suns - Kevin J. Anderson [217]
“Del, look at this!” shouted the smelter supervisor. “It’s getting worse every minute.”
On the screen, a single grappler pod flown by a Soldier compy drove like a missile into a partially constructed cargo vessel in spacedock. The framework girders crumbled and flew apart; the grappler pod’s fuel cell exploded despite all the internal safety systems, as if the Soldier compy had intentionally detonated it. Molten metal sprayed into space, splattering into globules from the overloaded Smelter G.
“Evacuate the spacedock,” Del Kellum said. “Get those workers out of there. Our priority is to get our people to safety.”
“Compies are supposed to have human protective programming,” Zhett said. “It’s ingrained in their core. How could it have gone so completely awry?”
“Ask your Eddy friends,” her father said.
Zhett scanned the screens for hot spots of robotic turmoil. “Could be the Eddies got more than they bargained for, Dad. Their own work crews are right in the middle of those battle zones.”
“Like touching an igniter to rocket fuel. It’s gotten out of their control.” Kellum wanted to strangle them all, one by one. “Even though they deserve it, I’m not going to play favorites. Zhett, go make sure the Eddies get out alive, even if it’s just so we can kill them later if we decide to.”
“Sounds good to me.” She sprinted away.
He pushed the smelter supervisor toward the central console. “Take over for a while. I’m going out there myself. Get a grappler pod ready.”
A short while later, when he finally puttered away from the administrative complex, Kellum felt as if he had entered the crossfire. Soldier compies were smashing everything they could, overloading systems, careening stolen vessels into storage asteroids or even unoccupied rocks in Osquivel’s rings. The military robots didn’t seem to have a plan, or even common sense. Kellum wondered how long the Eddies had been planning this strike. They were more insane than their out-of-control compies!
Zhett led several evac shuttles to the primary assembly platform, where the largest group of EDF captives had been assigned. While the Soldier compies continued their rampage on the assembly platform, she and her rescue team signaled for the Eddies to rush to their open ships. “Get your butts out of there!”
One of the frantic refugees was Kiro Yamane, who looked dazed. “It was a simple programming shift. It wasn’t supposed to do all this. I...I never intended to cause so much havoc. The compies are acting on their own—”
“You people disgust me,” Zhett said. “What were you thinking?”
As Kellum raced around his widespread shipyards, connecting the dots from disaster to disaster, he wondered how his clan could ever recover from this. It hadn’t been long since they reassembled everything and got back up to speed after the battle of Osquivel. But this damage was already far worse—and it didn’t look like the bedlam would end anytime soon.
Then, when he didn’t think anything could get worse, Kellum looked beyond the rings to see a cluster of incoming EDF ships on his trajectory scanners. He stared through the windowport of his grappler pod, astonished to discover an escort Manta cruiser and a cluster of smaller diplomatic ships. All of them looked fully armed. Kellum searched in his repertoire for a suitable curse.
An old woman’s scowling face appeared on a transmission screen. Her eyes were hard and sharp, and her voice was as heavy as a blunt club. “This is Maureen Fitzpatrick, former Chairman of the Terran Hanseatic League. Would somebody like to tell me what the hell is going on here?”
Chapter 111—MAUREEN FITZPATRICK
Using clout she had retained from her years as Hansa Chairman, Maureen Fitzpatrick had swiftly put together a fine memorial expedition to Osquivel. She meant to accomplish something for her fallen grandson Patrick...and all of his lost comrades, of course.
Maureen had secured the use of an old-model Manta cruiser that hadn’t yet been decommissioned, though its weapons