If the next nearest star's a thousand light years off, you're not gonna be anxious to go calling on your neighbors. You'll stay at home and contemplate your navel instead." He shrugged heavily. "Besides, most stars out there are poor in heavy elements. Not that many solid planets to begin with, y'know? And even terrestrial planets out there are probably pretty poor in easily extracted iron or copper or any of the other metals you need to develop a technic civilization. So any intelligent species out there is gonna be stuck in the Stone Age, right?"
Donal didn't argue the point, but he was far from convinced. He'd learned long ago that it was risky trying to rationalize the psychologies—or the likely attitudes and actions—of non-humans. If nothing else, they didn't think like humans, which made them unpredictable.
"In any case," Colonel Wood concluded with another shrug, "it's not up to us to worry about it, right? We sit here, we follow orders, and we wait for our twenty years to be up so we can get the hell out of this stinkin' outfit and back to a civilian job that makes some kind of sense."
The colonel swung his chair away, appearing to lose himself in a glum and somewhat bleary contemplation of the slow-rotating map of the cluster still displayed on his wallvid. The interview clearly at an end, Donal turned to leave.
As he touched the door switch, however, he glanced back once more in time to see Wood pulling a bottle out of one of his desk drawers, unscrewing the lid, and knocking back a hefty chug of the dark amber liquid inside.
It was, Donal thought, a less than auspicious start to his new posting.
Chapter Three
The maintenance team tasked with completing the checks on my port-side suspension have evidently decided to take an extended break. Six of them are seated in a circle beneath the overhang by my aft port-side drive wheel and are engaged in a strangely ritualized series of social behaviors centered on the element of chance as applied to fifty-two small cardboard rectangles printed with various numerals, symbols, and icons. The rest are standing around the six, watching and exchanging pointed comments among themselves.
Bolo 96875 has explained at length to me the nature of "games," as enjoyed by humans, but I confess that I do not as yet understand the interest humans have in the subject. The concept is similar in some respects to various simulations—"war games," in fact—designed to test battle plans, tactics, and strategies on various levels. Indeed, the ancient human game "chess" is a useful tool in sharpening strategic understanding, and I have enjoyed playing it with several humans and with Unit 96875 in the past. What this wild shuffling and collecting of pasteboard cards can have to do with combat tactics or strategy, however, I have not yet discerned, despite many seconds of thought dedicated to the problem.
In any case, the game carried out beside my stripped-down wheel train seems to have been enjoined purely for the recreational diversion of Tech Master Sergeant Blandings and his men, not in preparation for any military endeavor. I cannot ignore the fact, however, that the completion of my repairs and my return to full combat capability must have an extremely low priority among the humans charged with maintaining my efficiency at peak levels. This affects me in a manner that humans might think of as emotional, though it does not and cannot reduce my efficiency as would almost certainly be the case with humans.
I wonder why they bother to maintain me at full awareness levels. Sometimes, I believe that the fact that I have not been set to autonomous standby reserve power levels has left me with too much time to think. . . .
A door at the end of the vehicle bay opens; through Security Camera 16, I can see that it is Lieutenant Ragnor, arrived, no doubt, to inspect his new command.
I doubt very much that he will be pleased with what he finds here.
Donal was not at all pleased
Donal didn't argue the point, but he was far from convinced. He'd learned long ago that it was risky trying to rationalize the psychologies—or the likely attitudes and actions—of non-humans. If nothing else, they didn't think like humans, which made them unpredictable.
"In any case," Colonel Wood concluded with another shrug, "it's not up to us to worry about it, right? We sit here, we follow orders, and we wait for our twenty years to be up so we can get the hell out of this stinkin' outfit and back to a civilian job that makes some kind of sense."
The colonel swung his chair away, appearing to lose himself in a glum and somewhat bleary contemplation of the slow-rotating map of the cluster still displayed on his wallvid. The interview clearly at an end, Donal turned to leave.
As he touched the door switch, however, he glanced back once more in time to see Wood pulling a bottle out of one of his desk drawers, unscrewing the lid, and knocking back a hefty chug of the dark amber liquid inside.
It was, Donal thought, a less than auspicious start to his new posting.
Chapter Three
The maintenance team tasked with completing the checks on my port-side suspension have evidently decided to take an extended break. Six of them are seated in a circle beneath the overhang by my aft port-side drive wheel and are engaged in a strangely ritualized series of social behaviors centered on the element of chance as applied to fifty-two small cardboard rectangles printed with various numerals, symbols, and icons. The rest are standing around the six, watching and exchanging pointed comments among themselves.
Bolo 96875 has explained at length to me the nature of "games," as enjoyed by humans, but I confess that I do not as yet understand the interest humans have in the subject. The concept is similar in some respects to various simulations—"war games," in fact—designed to test battle plans, tactics, and strategies on various levels. Indeed, the ancient human game "chess" is a useful tool in sharpening strategic understanding, and I have enjoyed playing it with several humans and with Unit 96875 in the past. What this wild shuffling and collecting of pasteboard cards can have to do with combat tactics or strategy, however, I have not yet discerned, despite many seconds of thought dedicated to the problem.
In any case, the game carried out beside my stripped-down wheel train seems to have been enjoined purely for the recreational diversion of Tech Master Sergeant Blandings and his men, not in preparation for any military endeavor. I cannot ignore the fact, however, that the completion of my repairs and my return to full combat capability must have an extremely low priority among the humans charged with maintaining my efficiency at peak levels. This affects me in a manner that humans might think of as emotional, though it does not and cannot reduce my efficiency as would almost certainly be the case with humans.
I wonder why they bother to maintain me at full awareness levels. Sometimes, I believe that the fact that I have not been set to autonomous standby reserve power levels has left me with too much time to think. . . .
A door at the end of the vehicle bay opens; through Security Camera 16, I can see that it is Lieutenant Ragnor, arrived, no doubt, to inspect his new command.
I doubt very much that he will be pleased with what he finds here.
Donal was not at all pleased
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