Simultaneously the havoc launchers on the machines spat out their loads of missiles. They popped from their tubes like celebratory fireworks. Dozens of closely spaced explosions engulfed the creature in fire. The dathrates were weakened just enough that the missiles punched through to the insubstantial flesh beneath, and detonated the gaseous physiology of the beast. It wallowed in the sky ablaze end to end, setting fire to dozens of the lesser creatures before it fell. With a gasp that brought him close to vomiting, Cawl severed his connection, setting the automata loose to hunt down the remaining aliens under their own power.

He slumped over his desk. Displays flickered out. He had the horrible idea the burning he smelled was coming from inside his own skull.

Groggily, he lifted his head. Behind the two skitarii pointing their weapons at his head was a ring of horrified flesh and mechanical faces. Cawl grinned at them. There was blood in the back of his throat. He could taste it.

Aspertia Sigma-Sigma rattled forwards, sinuous and sinister, pushing her minions out of the way.

'Belisarius Cawl, tech acolytum rho grade, speak now or be destroyed. What you have done goes against all fifteen minor laws of the operations of robotics, and is open blasphemy against one of the major commandments of machine intelligence interface, to whit, thou shalt not presume to usurp the Machine-God in the programming of his most holy vessels.' She bent down. She was so long the movement brought her mirror mask to the side of his face.

'In short,' she hissed, directly into his ear. 'We do not reprogramme our automata on the fly, tech acolytum! Why did you do it? Your answer had better be sufficiently impressive, or I will perform the sentence of lobotomisation and internment in a servitor chassis myself, this instant.'

'Because… because…' Cawl said. The heat in his brain addled his thoughts. 'Because it was efficient,' he managed. 'And because I won.'

'Kill him!' said one of his colleagues. 'Kill him now for his transgression against the holy machine!'

The domina swivelled her mirror mask face to look upon the speaker. He cringed fearfully.

'That is not your decision to make, Hanlo Toe Zero-Nine. I will not deactivate this one.' She peered at Cawl for a long time. 'You and I are going to have a little talk, I think, Belisarius Cawl.'

Servomotors whirring, she reared up. 'Take him to the repair bay! Have him tended to, then deliver him to my quarters.'

By the time a pair of servitors came to drag him away, Cawl was unconscious.

Six

Six

The Fugitive King