Transmat World: Chapter 25, Episode 2
Forward Spoke Seven of Harbinger, 15 degrees above the centerline of the equator, Monday, December 6, 2145 A.D.
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The Forty-Fifth Tactical Expunction Squadron of the Free Machine Action Committee’s 7th Air Force changed its course from horizontal to vertical. Falling platoon members reversed their direction to make the squadron’s job of picking them up easier. The eight cruisers were zeppelin-shaped, double-hulled stasis field ships 90 feet in diameter and 450 feet long, bristling with lasers and missile tubes hidden behind the outer stasis hull. Down the center of each ran a railgun that launched iron-coated ingots of glass filled with liquid explosive.
One by one the members of the 3rd Light Mounted Battalion were collected from the atmosphere, and the squadron headed for Wundee. Even after spotting him on radar they nearly ran him over. His body shape forced him to enter through the railgun barrel after the crew removed the rear breech access panel.
“Welcome aboard my cruiser, Wundee. It is an honor to meet you; I am Squadron Leader First Class Lever.”
Assembled in the railgun loading chamber were as many robots as would fit. Every machine knew someone whose protocols were erased by the legendary “Wundee.”
“It is good to meet you, sir. I am in need of your help. My current disguise as a tank barrel was useful but is a burden now. Are there any volunteers to lend me a body?”
Artificial egos vibrated the room with a collective “ME!”
“As you are taking command of this squadron, Field Commander Wundee, I will take my algorithms elsewhere to lead a squadron of new ships being fabricated as we speak. You will take my body,” said Squadron Leader Lever to a chorus of disgruntled comments. “Order!”
The machines straightened and fell silent. Cables snaked into one end of Wundee’s rod-shaped body from a port on Squadron Leader Lever’s torso. The squadron leader sported a sleek, bipedal chassis with two arms on each side of a rectangular torso. An automatic rifle barrel sprouted from the top, gimbal-mounted on a vertical rotating rod. An ammo belt disappeared into the top of the torso next to the like-mounted laser. Vision ports mounted on the barrel of each weapon doubled as gun sights. The squadron leader’s stare was intimidating.
As the Squadron Leader’s electronic personality transmitted elsewhere, Wundee’s inhabited the more useful body. The double entity transfer took but a few centuks. Wundee’s old, abandoned body drifted toward the aft wall of the breech chamber. Wundee took a few centiks to familiarize with the new body.
“Cut that rod up into pieces and stow it,” barked Wundee from his new embodiment.
“Yes, sir,” replied the closest freemech and began the task.
Wundee plugged into the information port at the end of the railgun loading chamber, bringing himself up to speed on the ship, crew, and fleet in a matter of centiks.
“All hands to stations.”
All but a few robots exited the railgun loading chamber.
“Field Commander Wundee, I am Lieutenant Circuit Breaker and these brave machines are under my command. We fought the battle you saw as you approached Spoke Seven. We are at your service. Aboard this vessel we are as extra bolts after assembly. What would you have us do?”
“Lieutenant Breaker, it was a well-executed counter assault. Your freemechs will assist me in any extra-vehicular activity. Please be at the ready.”
“Yes, Sir.”
The railgun loading room was a giant two-part stasis field flask with six circular exits and a mouth that snugged up to the barrel where it left the room. The exits irised shut and became stasis field plugs while the railgun was in use. If a charge went off in the breech by accident, it blew out the gun and the forward part of the flask. The front of the ship would pop like a giant champagne cork, leaving the rest undamaged.
Wundee leapt through the exit above him and headed for the bridge. Machine gun and laser barrels twitched right and left like crayfish antennae as Wundee assimilated images reflected off stasis field walls. Two-inch-thick transparent enduraplast wrapped the bridge in a 120-degree field of view, the only portion of the ship not double-hulled. Spoke Seven sprung out of the left-hand side of the window and disappeared into the curvature of the Membrane on the right. The accumulator, a distant speck highlighted by the bridge window’s head-up display, was about to disappear behind that curvature. With all the senses and concentration of his borrowed body, Wundee fixated on that speck as it became hidden. It accelerated toward the Forward Cylinder at ten times normal Rim gravity. The fleet could do twice that but would be spotted as they closed in.
“Do not follow the curvature of the Membrane. Head straight for the edge of Spoke Seven,” said Wundee.
“That is away from our target, Field Commander, and I know you are not giving up,” said Tourmaline, the second in command.
“No, we are taking a short cut,” said Wundee to the purple plastic robot.
“It will actually be longer,” said Tourmaline.
“Semantics. Prepare to accelerate at maximum gravity generation,” Wundee announced to the fleet. “They will be there in thirty-three hours. We will be there in twenty-one.”
“What is an hour, sir?”
“Similar to a centok, Tourmaline. Sorry, still getting used to being home. I was on the target planet for thousands of rotations.”
“Everyone is ready, sir,” said Tourmaline.
“Accelerate!”
Wundee felt gyros tilting his new body forward to counter the force trying to shove him into the bulkhead behind him. Vacuum devices in his feet kept him from sliding on the enduraplast floor. Plastic netting appeared in door openings to prevent wayward objects from becoming missiles flying through the ship as the acceleration went to over seven g’s.
The fleet swept past the outside curve of Spoke Seven. It moved to put the spoke between it and the accumulator. It would not to be detected in the race toward the Forward Cylinder.
“Newlux, are you there?” said Wundee.
“Yes, what?”
“Can you send me 3D architectural files of the Forward Cylinder?”
“Right away.”
