Chapter 7 - Insult to the skies
The Human
Once the smoke from the blast cleared, no one moved. I stood there, staring at everything at once; the mugger looked scared at what he'd just done, and Matthew was looking down at where he'd been hit. My ears felt like someone had just exploded some gunpowder right in front of my face.
"You shot me!" my friend accused the man. "Why would you do that?" He then appeared to faint, grunted, "Umph!", and collapsed face-first on the ground, eyes closed. The mugger, in fear of the noise getting him caught I suppose, fled the scene. Matt was still on the ground, not moving. I got closer to him, in a panic, and saw that his eyes remained closed, and he didn't appear to be breathing. I was about to check his pulse when I realised that I had no idea how to check a pulse. And that he didn't have blood, let alone a pulse.
"Matthew?" I asked worriedly.
"Is he gone?" he asked from the ground. So he was alive?
"Yes", I replied, uncertain of what was going on.
Then, Matt's eyes shot open, his breathing resumed normally, and he sat up, as if unharmed. "Good. I would've hated to have to take action. Mark my words, Ethan; all muggers don't want to kill you, they only want your money. Make them think they've done anymore, and they flee like rabbits. Rabbits that look, think and act like humans, that is."
I just stood there like an idiot as he got up and brushed himself off. "You got shot", I stammered.
"Oh yes, but I thinned out the slime through my body where the gun seemed to be pointing. So the bullet met very little resistance and passed straight through."
"Doesn't it hurt?"
He looked at me. "You do remember I was skewered on a sword last time, right?" Oh, now I remembered, so I just nodded. "I'll explain it sometime. However, that doesn't mean I am uninjured. We'd best get back to the school, and see what we can do about this." He looked down, and me also, and I saw that he had his hands cupped around his stomach (or, where a human's stomach would be). There were dark purple stains on his clothes and hands.
"What a cliché", I said thoughtfully. "An alien with purple blood."
"Hey, don't bag purple blood, you red-blooded miscreant", he joked to me.
And so, our banter went on like this, all the way back to the car, despite the fact that an alien had just been shot standing right next to me. Of course, he drove back, without so much as a wince.
The Cyborg
Preliminary estimates were promising; I had garnered most of my new allies' loyalties, and have decided that, given a choice, there is a high probability that they would assist me. It wasn't easy with some of the slugs, other than matthew of course. His time on this planet has severely affected him, that was certain. The only uncertainty, apart from time, was if the others fully understood the extensive impact that isolation has had.
As I pondered this, the slug called boy entered the room. "Greetings, phil", he told me.
Greetings. Such a pointless waste of energy and the most valuable of commodities, time. The human race would be much more efficient if it simply assumed greetings upon all meetings, and proceeded to more important matters. However, I was on their world, not they on mine, and so I should abide by their rules, their ridiculous nature irrelevant. "Greetings, boy", I mimicked his words. I tried to appear as similar to them as possible.
Boy looked around the room, as if he couldn't decide what to say. I considered providing a prompt for whatever reason had brought him to me, but decided that that was unnecessary. Some part of my processes also wondered if any of the Slugs put as much effort into the concept of conversation as I, but that was satisfied by boy's obvious inability to speak. "So... what you do you think... about all of this...?"
I shook my head at him, using the human gesture for 'no'. Slugs as well as humans tended to utilize non-verbal contact, so perhaps this was the best choice to use. "What I think about all of this", and here I paused to allow him to perceive the full width of this query, "has an extremely high number of possible answers, due to the nature of the query, 'all of this'. As 'all of this' could possibly refer to anything at all, I am unable to determine which of the possible questions you may have been trying to ask has the highest probability of being asked, and therefore an assumption by me as to the answer of your query is, while possible, unreliable. I can, however, provide you with a list of my estimates for which question you may have asked, and its corresponding answer, although this will be an exhaustive list, and most likely unnecessary. I suggest that you further refine your query to prevent this dilemma."
Boy looked at me wildly, seemingly with no idea of what I had just communicated. Such a waste of time. "It's called a question, not a query", he said simply. Perhaps not a total waste then. Interesting; a question. A sentence or word expressed so as to elicit information. It was accurate. The slug continued, "And what I meant was, what do you think about this whole defence? Do you think we have a chance?"
I considered;
Now that boy's... question was properly phrased, it eliminated the majority of the possibilities, and I was able to produce a satisfactory answer. As to the 1st question, I was still unsure what the slug could mean by what I think about the whole defence. That has a large number of possible meanings, and therefore a larger number of plausible answers. Based on that fact the I'd already explained this concept, I deduced that this must be one of those annoying tendencies of organics, to ask questions that they know others do not know the answer to. I therefore decided to skip this question.
Upon considering the latter request, I devoted a significant proportion of my processes to ponder an answer. A chance of successfully defending the earth from the Cyborg ship. Obviously there was a chance, no matter how small, so this question was also invalid. I was about to reply with my deductions, but decided that some kind of answer was appropriate. So I devoted all of my processes to this query. This question. Much more than I had when the human had asked me. As with all questions and queries, this one involved many variables; the nature of the Cyborg ship, the ability of the slugs to defend earth, and, of course, the definition of a successfully defended earth. Would a planet bereft of all life qualify as a successful defence? Or a planet bereft of just human life? Surely matthew would not classify such an outcome a victory; such was his pathetic attachment to the native species here. Nevertheless, this question warrants an answer.
Does the newly-designated Rabadootime actually reside in the incoming ship? Is he still alive? He was when I was last in the network. Now, however, I have too little information to make a reliable prediction on that matter. Then there's the matter of the slugs; are they powerful enough to prevent this so-called assassin ship from achieving its goal? Matthew can easily take on several Cyborgs; that was confirmed by his previous presentation. Boy is capable enough; he has to be, for him to have survived 5 slug cycles. Obviously ethan will be useless in combat, and I have no information to base a diagnoses as to how effective the others are.
So many variables to a seemingly simple question. An answer cannot possibly be fabricated from the uncertainties contained within that 'Do you think we have a chance?' The best thing to do would be to give a conservative answer, and reply 'No'. So I had no choice but to communicate to boy, "I believe that we do have a chance. We have many advantages that they do not, nor do they even have knowledge of. The surprise of so many slugs, of me, your cannon in the planet's orbit and intimate knowledge of the area; you can see that there is a significant probability of a success on our part."
"Yes. I think you're right." Boy's viewing implements - no, his eyes - seemed to gain the useful organic trait of confidence. He left the room, feeling better about our mission I presumed. It was a lie - I couldn't calculate what our chances were of any kind of victory - but when it comes to wars involving the slugs or even the humans, such lies are sometimes necessary.
The Slug
As Ethan and I stumbled - well, only I stumbled - into the school, I thought about how I was going to justify this
to Boy. He'd been very adamant that I shouldn't leave the safety of the others "just in case". I'd insisted that I'd be fine. Now, as I looked down at my wound, I decided that Boy would not classify this as "fine".
The bleeding had stopped long ago; the hard contraction of slime around either hole has stifled the slime loss. As a matter of fact, the holes themselves were nearly healed as well, and as for interior damage, Slugs don't have that problem as long as our brains aren't damaged. The path traced by the bullet had already been closed in with new slime. Meaning I no longer needed to hobble, so I straightened up and walked normally, which caused Ethan to give me a weird glance as if I'd just been shot in front of him and had already recovered.
Boy met us outside the war room. 'Yo', I told him.
'Yo back to you, whatever that means', he replied.
'It means hello, but in a cool way', Ethan told him. He didn't appear about to divulge what had happened, for which I was thankful. If Boy never found out about what happened, then I would avoid his evil stare. So, that's when Ethan blurted out, 'Matthew got shot. With a gun.'
Boy gave me an evil stare. 'Now, before you go on assuming things, allow me to explain', I protested. 'We were on this alleyway, and this guy was like "Gimme yer money!" and I was like "We don't got no money, fool!" and he was like "I said gimme yer money!" and I was like "Don't threaten me witch ya piece, ay!" and he was like "Ima firing my laser!" then the gun was like BAM, and I was like "urrrghhh", then he was like "Crap, run away!" and I was like "Haha, fooled him", and then we came back.'
If it'd been said with the desired effect of flabbergasting Boy, it certainly worked. He just stood there gawking at me, trying to decide how to respond to that. Eventually he gave a questioning look at Ethan, who shrugged and said, 'That's kinda what happened.'
I gave Boy a smirk, and he stammered, 'Fine', and stalked off. Once he was out of hearing range, I couldn't help myself and just started laughing. Soon, Ethan joined in.
'What on Earth was that?' he managed to ask me.
'It was a description of what happened', I replied. He just shook his head, and headed to the war room. I had a sudden urge to know then what he was thinking; maybe "that Matthew's crazy", or "What do you expect from an insane alien?" or perhaps even "That's the Matthew we all know and love". But since I was never going to find out, I just forgot about it, and starting to follow him.
Suddenly, he whirled around on me. 'How is it that you got shot, with a gun, and not only survived but now appear completely unharmed?'
Ah, good old Ethan. Always willing to learn more about us Slugs. It felt good that he was so interested. But then again, we were aliens.
'Well, it's a combination of things. Like I said, the bullet passed straight through. Concentrated slime at the entry and exit points stopped the bleeding - actually now that I think about it, it shouldn't be bleeding because it's not blood. Perhaps sliming? No, too weird, we'll stick with bleeding - and the path the slug - no, the bullet, let's not confuse ourselves - the path the bullet had made has been filled in with slime already. What else is there to a gunshot wound? I basically have no organs except my brain, so unless that is hit, I can't really be damaged.'
'Cool', Ethan replied uncertainly. I personally wondered if he understood everything I'd just blurted. Even I barely got it. 'Anyway', he continued, 'To the war room!'
The Human
After that colourful conversation with Matt, we met up with Boy in the war room. It was almost dark now, so we weren't going to stay here for much longer. I was still kind of reeling from the fact that Slugs now appeared immune to bullets as well, which made them seem pretty much indestructible. One day, I'd ask Matt how you actually kill a Slug.
Everyone was already in the room. Boy, Phill, William, Frank, Carmen, Rosetta, Jason, even Pauline. We were all congregated together, ready for some final planning. "Ahem", Pauline cleared her throat. She looked at Matthew very pointedly in a way that suggested Boy had ratted us out. "So, can someone explain exactly what we're going to do when those things" - and here she looked rather insultingly at Phill - "get here?"
"Well-" Matthew started to begin, before Carmen interrupted.
"Phill, what is the first thing they will do?"
Phill looked at her. "Cyborg tactics have rarely changed over a great period of time, due to the fact that they often work."
I scoffed. "You Slugs should be taking advantage of that", I mockingly accused them.
"We are about to", Jason said while looking at me, which made me shut up.
Phill continued; "If I was on this assassin ship, as you call it, I'd leave the ship orbiting the other side of Earth's satellite to avoid detection."
"That's where our ship is!" Matthew laughed. I'm not sure why, since it sounded like a bad thing to me, not something to laugh at.
Boy just sighed. "I guess we'll have to move it now."
"Wait, wasn't your ship around Jupiter?" I asked. I was getting confused.
"Our main ship is orbiting your planet Jupiter-", Boy began, but I interrupted.
"It's not our planet."
"What?"
"It's not our planet. Only Earth is ours. And even that is debatable." I eyed Matthew.
He paused. "OK then. Our main ship is orbiting Jupiter, while a smaller scout ship is on the far side of the Moon, while a yet smaller transport ship is", he looked at me. "In your Australian Outback." I had to stifle a laugh that the sunburnt country, the land of sweeping plains, now harboured an alien spacecraft. "So", he continued, "We will have to bring in the medium ship, but the large one will stay-".
"Wait, wait", I interrupted again. "I'm not dealing with the confusion of three different ships. It's time to name them. We'll have the interstellar ship for the large one, the scout ship for the Moon one, and the transport ship for the one already here."
"OK then", he repeated. "I'll go bring in the scout ship and land it here. This area you call a country is quite large and empty."
"Get used to it."
Boy turned and left the room, signalling for Frank and William to follow. We all just stood there, watching them go, as if our lives depended on them. Well, they probably did.
"Anyway", Matthew broke the silence. "Phill, you were saying?"
"I was saying that if I was on this assassin ship, as you call it, I'd leave the ship orbiting the other side of Earth's satellite to avoid detection."
Matthew waited, but Phill didn't continue. "Well?" When the Cyborg looked at him questioningly, he said, frustrated, "Are you going to continue?"
"Of course."
Another silence. This was starting to get on my nerves too, so before Matt could get too frustrated, I said, "Please continue, Phill."
"Of course", he repeated. "So, with the main ship on the other side of Luna, a small scout ship is likely to be brought in. Remember, they don't want Matthew to know that they are here just yet, and bombarding this whole stretch of land is too inaccurate for a single kill. They will obviously want to kill him before moving on to attack the humans."
"So, we'll hit that ship with the gun we have in space?" Pauline asked, getting strangely animated. I didn't know she relished the idea of a kill-or-be-killed war.
"No", Phill said firmly. "We need to get them to utilize their main ship, and we'll hit that with the... LOC. Destroying a simple scout ship isn't worth giving them the knowledge of our advantage. How much ammunition does this cannon have?"
Matthew answered. "I'm not sure, but standard packages contain one to two blasts. They are quite big and unstable, and so difficult to transport, and their short range and huge fuel consumption makes them not useful for most encounters."
"What's the difference between the LOC and normal space weapons?" I asked.
"I'll tell you some time", Matthew promised me.
"Let's assume one blast", Phill continued, turning to face everyone. "We need to save that for when it can be used most effectively. On the main ship."
"OK, so let me run through this
", Rosetta said. I was surprised that any of the other Slugs spoke at all. They were always silent, standing together holding hands. Perhaps they'd decided that they could trust Phill now that he was giving us all this useful information. Unless it was false information. Then we'd really be screwed. "Our interstellar, scout and transport ships are all hidden. The Cyborgs dock their main assassin ship behind Earth's Moon, and send a scout ship out, holding an unknown amount of Cyborgs, presumably to investigate the school where the last Cyborg was killed. We must do something to that ship, but make it look like Matthew alone did it, so they still do not suspect us. They will then send their main ship, at which point we will blast it with the LOC. Correct?"
"Correct", Matt answered her.
"So the question remains", Jason added solemnly. "How are we going to make it look like Matthew defeated an entire scout ship full of trained Cyborgs by himself?"
"We could just jump them all, and not give them a chance to communicate back to the main ship", I suggested.
"Probability of success with such a strategy is too low", Phill informed me. "They can send signals almost instantly to their scout ship, then have them amplified to the assassin ship."
"So, they need their scout ship to communicate with the main ship?" Pauline asked. Phill nodded, a very human gesture for him. "So", Pauline continued, "We need to take out that ship first."
"Without the Cyborgs knowing", I added.
There was a silence as we all thought about how impossible this sounded. At least, I did.
"It can be done", Matt said adamantly.
"You know what we could really use?" I asked. "An EMP."
"Ahh, not yet", Matthew told me sadly. "We're not in a position to ask the humans for aid yet."
"What is an EMP?" Carmen asked.
"Why can't we ask the humans for aid?" I asked.
Pauline answered Carmen's question. "It's an electro-magnetic pulse. It disables electronics."
"Like Cyborgs?" she asked.
"Not sure", Matt replied this time. "But, either way, we can't get one. Remember, we're not exactly on trading terms with Earth yet. Once we prove ourselves their best allies in this endeavour, then we'll have access to all the technology we need."
"Great", I answered.
"On the contrary, it is not great", Phill corrected me. "Although, perhaps it is great for them." I marked how he used the term 'them'. It seemed to be a good sign, assuming that I was interpreting robot psychology correctly.
The rest of the week, our days continued on like that. We would hang out at the war room all day, discussing battle plans and guessing at what the Cyborgs would do. It was quite exhausting.
That Saturday, due to the school being full (both Matthew and I had now stopped attending it on weekends, him because he probably wasn't staying here much longer and me because I figured hanging with aliens was more important than learning about triangles), Matt decided that he'd take us to his home to discuss defence strategies. I'd never been to his home before, so I was kind of excited to see where he'd slept for the past two decades.
All of us went with him, even Pauline. We all first met up outside my 'home' first, and then started to walk to his. Pauline seemed confused that 'outside my place' was outside a hard-waste tip. She probably didn't know that I actually lived there, and I had no inclination to tell her.
"How long will this take?" I asked Matt.
"Only about forty to fifty minutes", he assured me, as if that wasn't a long way to walk.
"Forty to fifty minutes!" I exclaimed. "You walk up and down this way every day?"
"Yeah", he shrugged. "It gives me time to think."
I couldn't say anything to that, since my thinking time consisted of lying on a mattress staring at the sky, hoping that it wouldn't rain.
A lot of the travel time was in silence, with each of us idly passing the time. It was the clouds for me. Eventually, after a decent amount of no one speaking, Pauline asked of no one in particular, "So how exactly does the LOC work?"
I looked at her, and saw her staring up at the clouds as well, but following her sight-line showed me she was actually examining the faint shape of the Moon. Although the LOC wasn't actually on the Moon, Matt had originally intended it to be, so I guess that's what sparked her question.
"It fires a large blast capable of decimating almost anything it meets", Phill replied. Pauline waited for him to continue, but I knew he wouldn't. He probably did it on purpose just to annoy us.
"And?" I prompted. "How does it work?"
The Cyborg didn't reply, but Boy did. "As I said before, the LOC fires much faster than ordinary weapons, which use the same propulsion as our ships. This is because a usual ship encounter involves distances so great that any amount of speed is mostly negligible."
"In other words, the LOC is designed only for planetary attacks or attacks around a planet", Matthew input.
"Wait, hold on a second", I said while dredging up my memory. "Before you called it the LOC, Boy said it was a space-cannon. But now you say it wasn't designed to be used in space. So it's not a space-cannon!"
"A planetary attack still counts as being used in space", Phill informed me, rather unhelpfully.
"Well, I had named it space-cannon", Matt answered me. "And I'd told Boy this before he brought it up, as I told him a host of other names that I'd created. It was only when he said that they had one that I rechristened it."
"Oh", I replied.
"So how does it work?" Pauline repeated.
"Well", Boy continued, "it uses a combustion system for its speed. Much like the burning of fossil fuels that you use, although we use a specially-fabricated fuel with a much higher energy output. This gives it a great speed - only useful for short-range encounters - but also means that it takes a large proportion of fuel to be used. So we can't fire it many times, because we don't bring that much fuel with us, and the fuel we do bring is used for other purposes."
"OK", I answered. Pauline didn't say anything, so she must've been satisfied.
We were silent for another ten minutes or so before we came across Matthew's home. And, I know I'm supposed to be really accepting of others' homes and all, seeing as how I live in a tip, but I really couldn't imagine living here.
It was in the corner of a large park area, in a treed section, and wedged in between two thick trunks. And it consisted entirely of a sheet of some metal - aluminium I guessed - as a roof and some dangling fabric as walls. A square of wool constituted a floor, with another equally-sized, but much thicker, square for a blanket. And that was it. The whole area couldn't have been more than two-by-two metres in area, and only about two metres high as well.
After dumbly staring at it for a while, I stammered, "This is it? You've lived here for twenty years?"
Matt smiled at my hypocrisy before answering, "Yes and no. I can't make it too big or extravagant or those damn council guys will be after me. Apparently this is public property. Bah! Nevertheless, every few years I do get caught and have to move somewhere else. I've been here for three years and a few months now."
"What do you do here all day?" Pauline asked in amazement. I wondered what she would think of my home.
"I only really sleep here", Matthew shrugged. "The rest of the day I'm with Ethan."
There was another awkward silence before Frank suggested, "The plan?"
"Ah, yes", Matt agreed, and directed us to an area where we could openly discuss without getting cramped. We were running out of time.
Over the next few days, including the next day (a weekend which we spent at Matt's home again), we further refined our battle plan, or, as Phill preferred it, defence plan. Boy and the others managed to hide the two Slug ships somewhere in the Outback, for which I was the only one worried that we'd never be able to find them again. Apparently, they had some kind of locater device in typical alien fashion. My money was still on shortly hearing a new Dreamtime story involving 'the giant bugs from the sky'.
Phill was now completely
integrated within our group; no one scrupled to discuss plans and secrets in front of him, and even Pauline seemed to have lost her fear. It appeared that despite former grievances, feuds and bad blood - or bad slime and metal - the Cyborg was now one of us. And I suspected that was exactly what he wanted.
So, the plan changed to keeping a team waiting by the Cyborg ship. When the time came, they'd jump in and try to disable as much of the Cyborgs as they could before they could get a signal out. Phill wasn't happy with this, but Matt told him we didn't really have any choice. We all hoped he was right. Afterwards, our group, excluding Pauline and I, would ambush and take down whatever Cyborgs had been in that ship. Hopefully, afterwards, we might even be able to commandeer their craft; although no one had specifically said so, I imagine that Phill would know how to operate it.
Eventually, according to plan, the assassin ship will come to investigate why they'd received no signal from the scouting party. As soon as they got in range, we'd blast the crapper out of them with the LOC. According to William, this should force them to land on Earth due to damage. I was a bit sceptical that they would land in an obvious trap, but he insisted the blast would leave them no choice. In either case, when they did eventually land, as they had to eventually (that is, if they didn't all just conveniently die from the blast), we'd attack them again. Well not Pauline or me, but the Slugs plus Phill would.
At least, that was if everything went according to plan. As Phill loved to remind us, there were too many variables to accurately predict what exactly would happen, and indeed the outcome of the battle. It had been three and a half weeks since the Slugs first came to rescue Matthew, and the Cyborgs were not far behind them. They would arrive any day now. I asked Boy if the Slug ships had some kind of advanced space-scanners or something, and he said they did, but they would be ineffective if the Cyborg ships were stealthed. After explaining that Matthew had already explained why they weren't stealth ships, I asked him how this stealth worked. Unfortunately, he said he'd explain it 'some other time'.
Eventually, to prove Matt right, the Slugs' ships picked up the incoming ships on their radar, or whatever it was. I asked Matt about the stealth (as we still had a few hours before they landed), and he said he'd explain it 'some other time'. Great.
On that day, D-Day as I affectionately called it, we were gathered in the war room for a 'final briefing'. It was a Tuesday, thankfully, so no students were around. Breakfast of porridge was long since finished.
"Well", Carmen said. "I think that we are ready."
"Agreed", Matthew agreed. "We're as ready as we'll ever be."
After a small silence when everyone considered how ready we really were, I decided to ask another question I'd been pondering. "So, how, exactly, do you kill a Cyborg?"
Matthew's face brightened up while Phill's decidedly didn't. The latter asked back, "Why do you need to know?"
"Well, I'm curious."
"Don't you often say, curiosity kills the cat?"
"I've never said that before, and curiosity is often a good thing. And besides, why don't you want me to know, huh?"
He paused, before apparently deciding that the truth was the best course, as most of us probably already knew. "The less races who know how to kill Cyborgs, the higher the probability of survival."
"Don't worry, Phill", Matt told him. "Ethan and Pauline won't tell anyone. Won't you?"
"No", Pauline and I answered simultaneously.
Matthew took Phill's silence for an OK, so he proceeded to explain. "It's pretty simple, actually. All Cyborgs have a... kind of like a Central Processing Unit." He paused. "Exactly like a Central Processing Unit. A CPU which controls all of their functions. Pretty much, take out this CPU and their bodies are a hunk of metal. If you recall on that Sunday, I tore the head off that Cyborg, which contained its CPU. Without this unit, the rest of its body received no signals to do anything, rendering it effectively dead. Keep in mind, however, that this CPU can be located anywhere on a Cyborg body."
"Uh-huh", I replied, deep in thought. I abruptly decided that now was the time to voice an idea I'd had, now that I'd gathered all my evidence. "You know, you Slugs and Cyborgs are actually quite similar."
This was met with a sharp gasp from Boy, a bemused smile from Matthew, a curious look from Pauline, the usual neutral look from Phill and looks from the other five Slugs that told me they loathed my very existence. "How... Impossible!" Boy gasped yet again.
"Completely untrue", Frank told me, sure of his statement.
I waited for someone else to add their quip, but when no one did, I started to explain. "Well, look at it objectively. Cyborgs have a CPU which is their kill-zone. Take that out and they're dead. Take out a Slug's brain - an organic CPU - and they're dead. Both Slugs and Cyborgs can effectively become any shape they want to, only Slugs can change theirs. Plus, Slugs can coat themselves in metal."
I was waiting for a harsh rebuke from someone, when Matt said quietly, "You forgot the most important one. We both live and breathe war for reasons no one can remember." I nodded, pleased that he saw things my way.
Boy huffed in defeat. "I suppose you're right, but there are still major differences between us."
After a pause, Phill said, "Some can remember why we live and breath war."
Matthew stared at him, astonished. "What did you say?"
"Some can remember why we live and breathe war."
"Do you remember why?" I asked him.
"Not I. But..." he paused here, and looked at each of us individually. "It is probably the highest of Cyborg treason to either assist the Slugs or to give them vital information. In fact, there are no actual rules to stop treason, as no Cyborg would ever contemplate such a thing; indeed, it has never been done. Ever, by anyone. Me, however..." He smiled before continuing. "One of our most defended planets, PD-0034:N, contains a vast store of information. Every Cyborg that ever lived sends uninterrupted updates to this database, meaning that it contains all the information from all available senses that every Cyborg has ever known. Inspired by Matthew's naming tendencies, I have decided to call it the Cyborg Archives.
"The Archives are not accessible to most Cyborgs, but all Cyborgs connected to the network upload to it. So, if I was connected to the network now, the Cyborgs would know all of our plans." This was met with some sharp glances, before he added, "So it is good for you that I am not connected. It's from these Archives that all Cyborgs know that the Slug-Cyborg war has been raging for twelve thousand, four hundred and seventy-six Earth years, and it is contained in these Archives, somewhere, why the war began. If there is a reason, or even no reason at all for our conflicts, it is stored in the Archives."
While everyone considered this, I muttered, "A massive database containing everything everybody ever knew or ever thought for twelve thousand years. Such a storage area must be billions of terabytes! Or trillions of... What's after terabyte?"
"Petabyte", Jason answered.
"Trillions of petabytes", I continued to mutter. It was hard to imagine.
"It does not contain what Cyborgs thought, only what they interpreted through their senses", Phill corrected me. I didn't answer.
"What is the physical size of these Archives?" Matthew asked. Probably planning to nuke the whole planet.
"The entire planet is dedicated to the Archives", Phill said as an answer.
"Would you mind if we decided to destroy the whole planet?" Matt asked, confirming what was just a joke suspicion.
Phill considered this for a second. "I'm not sure", he conceded. "But you would need a vast armada to even attempt such a feat. PD-0034:N is one of our most heavily defended planets, as I've said. It would be near impossible to assault without taking a large percentage of casualties."
"How about we focus on one suicide attempt at a time?" Boy suggested.
Matthew smiled. "I suppose you're right. This is D-Day."
"D-Day?" William asked.
"Something to do with Normandy", I answered him.
"It means the day we get invaded."
"Yes, and not the spaceship Normandy, that's something completely different", Matthew added. As often happens, I appeared to be the only person to understand him, with the possible exception of Pauline. She didn't exactly seem like a gaming kind of person, though. "Well, I suppose we'd all better get ready. Boy, what's the ETA on the Cyborgs?"
Boy stared at him blankly until Phill explained, "Estimated Time of Arrival." I was surprised he knew when all he knew of humans was what he got from a radio.
Now that Boy understood, he consulted some device he had, purple once again. Purple blood, purple devices; I wouldn't be surprised if their ships were decked out in the same colour. "Approximately thirty minutes", Boy replied.
"Who says 'thirty minutes'?" I asked. "Say half-an-hour."
Boy looked at me and asked, "What's the difference?" I had no answer, so I kept quiet.
"Well, let's get sorted", Matt began. "Boy, you're in charge of one team and I've got the other. William and Frank, you're with Boy, and Carmen and Jason, you're with me and Phill." He looked at Rosetta. "How'd you like to sit this one out and stay with Ethan and Pauline?"
She looked at me, and back to Matthew. "I don't like it, as it would deprive me of my Honour, but they will stay safe. My hope is that I can sacrifice myself while keeping them alive." Matthew nodded grimly, but as for me, I still wasn't used to this whole approach to dying. Nor did I think I'd ever be used to it.
"Well then", Matthew announced. "Let's get ready for war!"
"Defence", Phill reminded him.
So there we were, half-an-hour later; Pauline, Rosetta and I all standing around my 'home'. They all tried to pretend they didn't notice what a crappy place it was, but I could tell. So I decided to lighten things up. "So, what do you think of my mansion?" I asked light-heartedly.
"It's..." Pauline struggled for words. "Cosy."
"It's a faded mattress and an old cardboard box", Rosetta said bluntly.
"And the water tank. But, yeah, pretty much", I conceded. "But it's my home."
"What do you use for blankets?" Pauline asked, horrified that I lived in such conditions.
"Well, there's a tattered blanket I keep under the mattress, and there's always newspapers around..." I was beginning to realise how pathetic my existence was. How could I not want to escape this and go to Slugenis with Matthew? Then a bad thought struck me: what if he was only friends with me so he wouldn't get bored? Once he was done here, he didn't need me anymore, probably wouldn't want me to go with him. I resolved then that I'd go to Slugenis only if he offered.
"Well, I'm sure your circumstances will improve once all this is over", Pauline said confidently, eyeing me meaningfully. She still hadn't given up on what she wanted.
"Of course", I replied.
Rosetta was out in the dark, and had no idea of the secret conversation we were having. "The Cyborg ship is almost here", she informed us, looking at her purple device. "Our ships have them scanned."
"Can't they scan our ships?" I asked.
"All of our ships are on a planet full of radiation-emitting technology", she replied. "What is there to scan?" Well, I supposed that that made sense.
For a while, we all just stood there, saying nothing. Pauline and I must have felt pretty awkward, but I'm not sure how Rosetta felt. It appeared to me that Matthew and Boy were the only ones who appeared to have any emotions. Although, now that I thought about it, awkwardness wasn't really an emotion.
"Sooo..." I began.
"So what?" Rosetta asked.
"Well..." I started, trying to think of something to talk about. Anything was better than just standing there silently. "Do you think this plan will work?"
"The plan may work."
"But do you think it will work?"
"How would I know that?"
I was getting frustrated, as the Slugs (and Phill) often made me, so Pauline interjected, "I think that the plan will work. It sounds good to me."
"Good", I replied. "What are we supposed to do anyway? Just stand here and wait the whole time? Who knows how long it is going to take?"
"We will wait until someone informs us of what is happening", Rosetta told me assertively.
"That could be hours", Pauline complained. "Perhaps even a day or two, we don't know. I think we should perhaps go and see ourselves what is happening."
"Matthew told me to 'sit this one out' ", the Slug reminded us.
"Actually", I corrected her, thoughtfully. "Matthew told you to stay with Pauline and myself. Therefore, as long as we all stayed together, we would be obeying his command."
"Now that I think about it", Pauline added, rather devilishly. "If Ethan and I were to go and see what's happening, for you to stay here and leave us alone would definitely be disobeying his command. Therefore, you have to follow us."
"Matthew is no longer in a position to give commands, and so I may disobey them if I like. Boy is the leader of this expedition, which was supposed to be a simple rescue. However, if you tried to go without my permission, I could easily restrain both of you by force."
Pauline looked thoughtful for a moment, before replying, "And what would Matthew say once he learns that you forcefully handled Ethan?"
Now, this felt like using Matt's friendship of me to achieve our own ends, and I didn't really like it. So I told Pauline, "I don't think I like that idea."
Rosetta, however, got the wrong impression of what I said, and the wrong impression of who I was talking to, and said back to me, "Fine, then. We will go a little closer and see if we can see anything. If, however, we get caught, I will say that I was forced against my will."
"Very well", Pauline replied.
And so we made our way back towards the school, the way that I took every morning. There was silence during the travelling, so I contended myself with looking at the clouds while Pauline appearing to be brooding, probably hatching some other devious plans to manipulate Rosetta, who herself appeared to be lost in an oblivion. Whether this was because she was truly thinking nothing or because Slugs expressions don't show what they're thinking, I wasn't sure, although I guessed at the latter.
When we finally got to what I believed a good vantage point, up on a small hill overlooking the school, nothing happened. Pauline checked her watch and informed us that it'd been thirty-five minutes since Boy had told us we had thirty minutes - or half-an-hour. So we bunkered down - that is, sat down - and got ready for the spectacle.
After a few seconds of silence, I asked Rosetta, "What does a Cyborg ship look like, anyway?"
She replied, "Cyborg ships are generally made up of compartments; a sequence of rectangular prism structures, all configured together to provide the most efficient ship for whatever its purpose may be. The scout ship that we are expecting is likely to be two prisms, one larger and longer than the other to serve as storage and engine space, and the other smaller to accommodate the Cyborgs themselves."
I tried to piece this together in my mind, but could only imagine Borg cubes. "All I can imagine is two boxes welded together", Pauline confessed.
"It looks like we'll just have to wait and see", I said back. Pauline nodded while Rosetta continued to appear to ignore us. She was intently watching the sky, scanning for any sign of danger. I tried to do the same, but was caught up in the splendour of the clouds again. Some part of me was worried that collections of moisture could distract me from an imminent alien invasion, but the majority of me wasn't too fussed about it and told the minority to go away.
So there we were, three random people sitting on a hill looking up at the sky; Rosetta looking for alien ships, me looking at clouds and Pauline probably dreaming of how she could get to Slugenis. At the moment, only two of us got what we were looking for. I saw my clouds, and Rosetta - along with Pauline and I - saw the Cyborg ship.
It was simultaneously simple and difficult to describe. In essence, it was two boxes welded together. In a greater sort of essence, it was a functional ship, cl
early designed by people who didn't know what aesthetics were. The main two boxes, one larger than the other just as Rosetta predicted, just floated down from the sky, flaunting their victory over gravity. Their victory over Earth.
The first thing I thought was, 'Damn, those things are ugly', and it was true, at least visually; they really were just two metal boxes spewing flames out beneath them. I was expecting some sleek aerodynamic alien craft - although aerodynamics aren't exactly required in space - painted dark blue with jets of red flame shooting out the back. Instead I got that, an ugly abomination yet a beauty of functionality and efficiency.
While I processed all of this, Pauling gave a sharp gasp, while Rosetta did, quite predictably, nothing. Somehow, amidst all of this, I privately imagined her internally cringing with fear. Onto important matters, however, the scout ship just hung there, floating over the school, its thruster-thingies still blasting downwards. Not that my sense of distance was anything reliable, but I predicted it could only be about a kilometre high. Despite all of my envisioning of hordes of Cyborg assassins pouring out of it, it didn't really do anything. The ship hovered there for a minute or two, an insult to the skies, before it decided to do something.
Slowly, ever so slowly, as if it knew I was watching and was deliberately trying to freak me out by shattering all my illusions about alien invasions, it lowered itself, the jets getting less and less powerful. It seemed to serve no purpose for it to descend so slowly, at least, no purpose obvious to me. Eventually, however, it touched down with a slight thud.
The Cyborg
Approximately 30 minutes after boy had given his approximation of 30 minutes to the Cyborg arrival, matthew, carmen, jason and I were waiting. We were inside the school's library, patiently awaiting the arrival of the Cyborg scout ship. Matthew and I were the only ones with a proper sight-line to the sky above the expected landing zone, but carmen and jason were in contact with their informal leader. So, we all effectively had sight-lines.
I had no way of calculating any plausible possibilities of what the slugs could be thinking; perhaps going over details of our plan, perhaps wondering if Rabadootime is in fact here, perhaps discussing what to do with me if I survived this. As I had every intention of surviving, this caused me concern. I could only trust to the probabilities that they trusted me enough to allow me to do as I asked. I would soon find out.
As we all waited, watching, matthew asked me, "I assume we're going to see a standard Cyborg scout ship?"
"I believe you assume correctly", I answered, not commenting on the fact that we had discussed this issue at a previous time. "There is no reason that our scout ships will have changed."
"How about cause they're ugly?" he asked in a joking manner.
The very concept of making something not ugly was baffling. Why waste time, resources and efficiency to make a ship... good looking? Especially a war ship? Such a waste, for as long as visuals continue to hold no advantage to anything, they will not be implemented in Cyborg ships. I chose to simply reply with, "Ugliness is perceptive."
Matthew shook his head. "What you should have said is, beauty is in the eye of the beholder."
I wasn't certain what he meant by that, so decided not to respond. After a moment of silence, jason choose to break it. "Matthew", he began. "You told me recently about a new battle strategy the humans have taught you. Something called, 'playing dead'?"
"Ahh, yes, playing dead", matthew seemed to say to himself. "A strategy so simple, you wouldn't believe we hadn't thought of it before."
"So, what does it entail?" I asked politely. Perhaps the knowledge of new slug battle tactics would earn my place back with the Cyborgs in the event that this defence failed. Not that I wished for that to happen.
Matthew looked at me in a way that suggested he knew what I was thinking, but I ignored it. "Playing dead", he said, "is basically like this: you're in a fight, and the enemy gets off a blow that they believe should kill you. However, you are not dead. So, you pretend to be dead - playing dead - to make the enemy believe that they've won and relax their guard. Then, when the moment is right, you strike out decisively!"
This seemed a viable strategy, perhaps one that would work. However, no Cyborg would know when to 'strike out decisively', as we cannot accurately predict when slugs are relaxing. In the other instance, I do not believe that slugs would actively use this strategy as it would seem dishonourable to do so; such was the flaws of their honour system. Therefore, my conclusion was that matthew would be the only one to use this 'playing dead' tactic, and further increase his renown and reputation. If he and Rabadootime ever got into a single battle, it would be interesting to see who remains as the victor. If I were there, who would I help?
While I considered all of this, carmen shook her head. "I don't know", she said slowly. Such a waste of time to speak slowly. "It seems a bit dishonourable to me. Like I am killing a Cyborg in a... a cheating way. A way that ensures my survival over theirs, when I should be dead." My ability to predict slug reactions was improving; that should soon be useful.
"Dishonourable?" matthew asked. "You greater serve the empire by taking out a Cyborg before you die. Furthermore, not to act to save one's life when one has the power and ability to do so is a great dishonourable act. So my only conclusion is that, if circumstances demand it, the most honourable thing to do is to play dead."
Jason simply answered with "Perhaps..." and carmen made no further response.
Matthew returned to watching the window, and it appeared that I was the only one to get valuable information out of the exchange. So we stood, watching out the window for another few minutes. "How long has it been since boy's estimation?" I questioned to the group.
Matthew consulted a small device he had recently attached to his wrist. "It has been 37 minutes" he informed us gravely. Minutes; another measurement of time. In either case, the Cyborgs were due very soon. Matthew looked out another window to the war room. "I hope boy and the others are alright", he muttered. As I had no idea if they were alright, and no idea of if they would be alright, I preliminarily decided it was best not to reply. After further consideration, however, I decided that were he to worry about boy and the others' safety, matthew's effectiveness would decrease. So I attempted to reassure him with, "They are fine. Do not worry about them."
Carmen and jason gave me a startled look, while matthew smiled at me appreciatively. "You know, Phil", he told me. "You really are changing you know. For the better though. Soon you will see the wonder of being organic; or, at least, thinking like one." Now this greatly confused me. All I did was to ensure he was focused and ready for our defence, yet he answered as if I had become a slug. Putting it down to one of matthew's eccentricities, I thought no further on it.
Just then, the Cyborg ship was scouted. Strangely, carmen and jason's body language suggested that they saw it first, although they had seen it out of matthew's eyes through their connection with him. It occurred to me that this must be what irony is. "The Cyborg ship", I told them. "Exactly as they were 20 earth-years ago. As I said, no reason to change them."
"If it ain't broke, don't fix it", matthew breathed. He was still in the habit of repeating human sayings and expecting others to know what he meant. I, of course, knew most of them as they were often said in the radio I listened to for so long, but I doubted the other slugs did.
Meanwhile, the scout ship continued to hover in the sky, oblivious to our thoughts. Scanning for slug ships, I surmised. Luckily the Cyborgs' ship was extremely powered down, excluding external thrusters, and their energy output would hopefully be mistaken as a human one. That the ship remained perfectly still was surprising. It requires a great amount of energy to keep a ship suspended like that. It almost seemed a threat to the skies, to the earth. "Something is not right", I ventured.
"What?", jason answered.
"Where I about to enter a planet to search for a single slug, I would not spend so much power to hover so motionless. To do so is a blatant expe
nse of energy, and therefore a clear threat to whoever is watching."
"Perhaps they mean only to threaten the humans", carmen input.
"Perhaps, or perhaps not", matthew mused. "In either case, however, the plan will not change. We will just have to hope for the best."
I had no response to that, so I said none. Slowly, the ship began to descend. Once again, something was wrong; it dropped altitude so slowly; this was a waste of fuel in any other circumstance, as well as a waste of time, but in this case a cautious move. "See how slowly they descend", I whispered to the others. "A clear sign of caution."
Before they could respond, it occurred to me that that was the first time I had whispered. Perhaps I was becoming more... organic. "Or they just want to be sure that this is the correct landing site", matthew offered.
"Unlikely", I simply replied with.
Matthew hesitated a moment before speaking. "Look, if we read too much into everything that they do, if we assume that they know everything, then our caution will be our downfall. We must hope that they remain oblivious to our plot, but be prepared for the worst. To act on the assumption of the worst however, as I just said, could very well prove to be our undoing."
Now it hit me that matthew was becoming more Cyborg. To put one's feelings aside and think objectively for the sake of the task and to foresee the effect that feelings may have; that does not seem an organic trait at all. "Very well", I answered. Yet I continued to stay wary of the Cyborgs' knowledge.
Eventually, after its inevitable decline, the Cyborg scout ship landed in the school with a thud.
The Slug
About half-an-hour after Boy's prediction of half-an-hour, Phill, Carmen, Jason and I were waiting for the Cyborg ship inside the library. Phill and I could directly see the expected LZ, but as I held Carmen's hand and she Jason's, they could see too.
As we waited, the three of us were going over minute details of the plan. How we planned to coordinate to take down the scout Cyborgs as quickly as possible, how to disable the ship's communications as fast as possible and so on. I read from Jason that he was a bit wary of Phill being a Cyborg, and the implications of that, but he overall felt that Phill was loyal to us. The machine had done well.
As we discussed - well, thought - all this, I realised that our plan revolved around the Cyborg ship being what we expected it to be. So with this in mind, I asked Phill, 'I assume we're going to see a standard Cyborg scout ship?'
'I believe you assume correctly', he answered. 'There is no reason that our scout ships will have changed.'
'How about cause they're ugly?' I jokingly asked. Perhaps some messing around would lighten everyone's spirits.
The idea didn't seem to work, however, when Phill answered, 'Ugliness is perceptive.'
I shook my head. 'What you should have said is, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.' That was, after all, the correct saying.
He didn't reply to that, so I hoped that I hadn't just confused him more. So we all just stood there awkwardly, not really doing anything, just watching. I caught my thoughts drifting to Boy and the other Slugs. Hopefully they weren't as bored as us. Ethan, Pauline and Rosetta ought to have a lot to talk about, so they should be alright. I internally chuckled at the kind of questions the brain of Ethan would be throwing at her right now.
Eventually, Jason decided to break the silence. 'Matthew', he began. 'You told me recently about a new battle strategy the humans have taught you. Something called, "playing dead"?'
'Ahh, yes, playing dead', I said, almost to myself. I had an idea that no Slug would ever accept this strategy without a lot of convincing, but I would have a crack at it anyway. Talking out loud for Phill's benefit, I continued, 'A strategy so simple, you wouldn't believe we hadn't thought of it before.'
'So, what does it entail?' the Cyborg asked, rather politely.
He appeared to be interested, but I wasn't sure why. I doubted it was genuine curiosity, so perhaps he intended to use it should he ever get into a losing fight. I can't imagine his opinion on using Slug battle tactics in a fight against his old kin. 'Playing dead', I explained, 'is basically like this: you're in a fight, and the enemy gets off a blow that they believe should kill you. However, you are not dead. So, you pretend to be dead - playing dead - to make the enemy believe that they've won and relax their guard. Then, when the moment is right, you strike out decisively!'
After I'd finished, Carmen shook her head - just as I suspected. 'I don't know', she began. 'It seems a bit disHonourable to me. Like I am killing a Cyborg in a... a cheating way. A way that ensures my survival over theirs, when I should be dead.'
A "cheating way" didn't describe the revulsion to the idea that I felt riding her brain waves into me. She tried to hide it, of course, but if she was thinking it she couldn't hide it from me. Jason felt the same, although I felt I could sway him. So I tried. 'DisHonourable? You greater serve the Empire by taking out a Cyborg before you die. Furthermore, not to act to save one's life when one has the power and ability to do so is a great disHonourable act. So my only conclusion is that, if circumstances demand it, the most Honourable thing to do is to play dead.'
Jason responded with 'Perhaps...' and Carmen didn't respond at all. Of course, I didn't need a response to get a response. Jason could see the benefits of such a tactic, and how it actually does serve the Empire. Carmen resolutely decided not to play dead, but I also felt a twinkle of doubt from her. So perhaps all hope for her was not yet lost. Well, I suppose that "all hope is not yet lost" is the best I could get for now.
I began watching the window again, as there was nothing else to do. After a couple of minutes, Phill inquired, 'How long has it been since Boy's estimation?'
I checked the watch I had just put on before. I never liked watches; they always restricted my hand movement. 'It has been thirty-seven minutes', I told them, trying to keep the worry out of my voice. I appeared to be the only Slug who had trouble controlling the emotion in their voice. Thinking about other Slugs made me think of Boy again, and I looked towards the war room where he was. I found myself muttering, 'I hope Boy and the others are alright.'
Phill greatly surprised me, and caused Jason and Carmen to startle, when he said soothingly, 'They are fine. Do not worry about them.'
I couldn't help smiling, both at him and at how he has changed. 'You know, Phill', I told him. 'You really are changing you know. For the better though. Soon you will see the wonder of being organic; or, at least, thinking like one.' Now this brought on an idea, a truly wonderful idea. The idea being, Phill, the Cyborg, returning to Slugenis with us! Surely he has nowhere else to go, and I could think of no reason not to do it - apart from, of course, my entire race craving his extinction. So, that will definitely take a great amount of convincing. I would have to think on it later, although my mind was pretty much already made up.
That was when Carmen and Jason saw the Cyborg ship. Before I did. This was such a strange and humorous event that, despite the circumstances, I resolved that I just had to tell Ethan about it. Jason and Carmen saw the scout ship out of my eyes before I did, and I only saw it when I saw it in their brain, as they saw it through my eyes. Jeez.
'The Cyborg ship', Phill said, breaking me out of his reverie. 'Exactly as they were twenty earth-years ago. As I said, no reason to change them.' I thought I almost detected a bit of smugness from a Cyborg there; with each passing statement from him, it became clearer and clearer that I wasn't the only insane alien on Earth.
'If it ain't broke, don't fix it', I said to myself.
The ship, now in plain sight, wasn't really moving. It just hovered there, a plague upon the skies, the flames from whatever fuel it was igniting blasting out to hold its position. 'Something is not right', Phill stated.
'What?', Jason asked.
'Were I about to enter a planet to search for a single Slug, I would not spend so much power to hover so motionless. To do so is a blatant expense of energy, and therefore a clear threat to whoever is watching
.'
'Perhaps they mean only to threaten the humans', Carmen suggested.
'Perhaps, or perhaps not', I mused out loud. 'In either case, however, the plan will not change. We will just have to hope for the best.'
No one had any reply to that. Slowly, the ship began to descend. Now I began to notice it, the caution that they were expressing. As if they knew we were down here, waiting for them. 'See how slowly they descend', Phill whispered. 'A clear sign of caution.' Great minds think alike, I thought funnily.
But I couldn't jump to conclusions. 'Or they just want to be sure that this is the correct landing site', I offered. It seemed plausible.
'Unlikely', Phill simply replied. Still seemed plausible to me.
Then the danger became apparent to me. If we sat here, figuratively speaking of course, dreading and believing the worst, then that belief could get us killed. We mustn't simply assume that they know everything, although we must still be prepared for it. 'Look', I said. 'If we read too much into everything that they do, if we assume that they know everything, then our caution will be our downfall. We must hope that they remain oblivious to our plot, but be prepared for the worst. To act on the assumption of the worst however, as I just said, could very well prove to be our undoing.'
They thought on that for a bit before Phill replied with, 'Very well.'
After we were done talking and discussing, the ship decided to land, as if it waited for us to finish so we could watch it defile the planet. It got closer to the ground than I would've believed possible from our angle, then it hit the ground with a thud.