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The War Museum
A humorous take on one of the unanswered questions of the BT Universe
by Mike Miller |
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Lawstwirld, June 11, 3049:
Demi-Precentor Marshall Evans strolled slowly behind the tour guide, looking from side to side at an assortment of propeller- driven conventional aircraft. They looked like nothing more than cropdusters.
The perky blond tour guide, Greg, pointed at the first of the aircraft. "This one, no real model name to it, was the weapon that won the war against the alien horde. Or the first war. Or the first really important battles. Anyway, it's a converted cropduster that could lay down a spray pattern that maintained adequate toxin density for 100 meters to a side. The slipstream kept the worst of the fumes away from the pilots when they made repeat passes. But even so, many of the pilots would suffer sterility and cancer in just a few years. The sprays we were using were much, much more toxic than later chemicals. You know, over two hundred years later, there are still dead zones around the first colony landing sites. The pilots knew what they were getting into, and they flew anyway. They were heroes, those citizen-soldiers."
Marshall nodded understandingly. "When a man is all that stands between spouse and children, any man can be a hero." Marshall frowned. That came out a bit lamely.
Greg, on the other hand, seemed literally almost moved to tears. Marshall had a feeling Greg was going to make a pass at him by the end of the tour. "That's so true." The tour guide sniffed, blinked rapidly a few times, then strode on to the next exhibit. "By the end of the 'Bad Years,' we had analyzed the aliens' biochemistry and developed better spray dispersal systems. In 2860, the garages-turned-aircraft factories were making a half dozen of these 'Deathwind' sprayers a month. Each one could take out a kilometer-wide strip of a horde in one pass. A wing of them could wipe out a horde in one glorious swoop. Plus, they were tough enough to take the abuse the natives dished out in return."
"Those things could attack planes?" Greg nodded vigorously. "Oh, my, yes. They can fly in mating season. Flying into an angry alien horde can cake up propellers and leading edges and just drop a plane right out of the sky. The 'Deathwind' moved the propellers out of the slipstream to avoid caking. 'QuickFry' leading edges would bake the damn things that splattered onto the planes, then flex to pop off the dried guts."
"Damn. And you said mechs were no good?"
"No good and vulnerable. Those big, silly robots ran out of ammo so quick. Their lasers and lightning cannons-"
"Particle projection cannons?"
"Whatever. Those things could only zap small spots. Even their flamethrowers didn't do much good, they couldn't effect a wide enough area. And over here, we have some trid clips of the early colonists encountering the aliens. I hope you're not squeamish...."
Greg's hope came a little belatedly. As they turned the corner into another wing of the museum, the Explorer Corps Demi- Precentor got to see how well humans stood up against natives whether he was squeamish or not. Here, a hunter stepped into a nest of several dozen and was bored, gored, and torn apart. There, a homesteader mother and infant were consumed on their feet in moments as an arm of the alien horde broke into their sod-and-cargo container home. And again: a line of farmers used man-portable flamethrowers, adapted agricultural tools really, to keep the aliens off the improvised walls of their village. But the marauding aliens did fly, and did get behind the walls, and did start devouring the humans one by one. All of these were shown in repeating loops, taken from security or personal computer cameras that lasted moderately longer than the humans. Something the tour guide said came back to Marshall.
"Wait, did you say that battlemechs were vulnerable to these things?"
Again the vigorous, earnest nod. "Oh, my, yes. Let's hurry over to the pre-Landing military wing. I'll show you some of the robots that were used against the aliens. We don't use those big robots anymore, of course, because they're useless for us."
Marshall refrained from correcting the bustling youth's terminology for battlemechs ("robots," indeed) and simply followed. Soon enough, he saw what Greg was talking about. Sprawled in a sitting position against a wall was...what was that? Marshall didn't recognize the mech model immediately. He ticked off feet, arms, cockpit and projecting weapon profiles... a Highlander? Yes, a Highlander. Well, this long-lost colony was settled by Star League expats. A Highlander was an appropriate assault mech for them.
Greg started apologetically. "We wanted it standing like the others, but the museum didn't have the money to replace its leg muscles-"
"Myomers."
"Whatever. And some veterans group kept us from welding its leg joints or welding scaffolding braces to the outside. Desecration of a heroic war machine, the old farts said. So it just sits here and we make the most of it. It gives the kids a thrill to see how such a big, beastly war machine could be brought down by dumb aliens."
Marshall kept searching the mech for obvious damage but could see none. Some caked, flaky stuff...oh, crushed aliens...covered its feet and limbs, but where was the battle damage? There was no obvious bite or claw marks.
"How did the-"
The question was clearly anticipated. "They ate in through the joints' weather seals and apparently thought the plastic muscles were a fine meal," Greg explained. And, sure enough, the weather seals at the Highlander's knees were gone. Bare metal of the knee's yoke joint gleamed weakly. Not a scrap of myomer was to be seen. "They got in through the body and crawled up into the cockpit, where they ate the pilot."
"Mechwarrior."
"Whatever. But now we're doing so much better. The aliens keep adapting to our toxins and bioweapons, but we're always one step ahead. I heard someone found a way to confuse their chemical signals so they attack each other and their eggs - that one'll be used next mating season. I can't wait to see it. All the toxins and bioweapons we've used are in the next hall-"
"No, thank you, Greg. Just one more question. I don't recognize that unit symbol. Is that a bear or badger on the Highlander's shoulder?"
"Yes, I think it's a badger or something like that."
"Ah. I don't recognize it from known Star League Defense Force unit symbols. You said the Republic was founded by Star League expatriates, right?" Marshall wondered if he should get ready to run - had he found a loophole in the Republic's cover story?
"Oh, well, the Republic was actually sort of founded by expatriates from expatriates. After that nasty Amaris man was kicked out of power, a whole big group of us went off into the Periphery. That didn't work out so well. Lots of different cultures, lots of forcibly demobilized soldiers who had to be farmers...Anyway, there was some fighting, and one of the new units formed to put a stop to all that silliness was these Badgers. I think. You should talk to Mary, this is much more her speciality. But after the fighting was done, the winners, the leader...he went overboard. Lots of killing and torturing to make people obey him even when they were ready to obey him, lots of oppression of free speech, and forced destruction of old cultures and ties. Very nasty. The Republic's founders had disagreed with all that, of course, so they left again and settled here."
"huh." Something about a very multi-cultural society didn't really fit any 'big group' of Star League expats Marshall could think of except...naw..."Greg, I need to get back to my dropship and file a report. I really should've brought a tridcam. It is okay to film the museum, correct?"
"Oh, of course," Greg said primly, "Just so long as you don't sell copies of the recording. But you should probably stay in the museum a while, maybe visit the cafeteria-"
'Here comes the pass,' Marshall thought. 'What's a delicate way to say that I don't swing that way?'
"-because the police have seized your dropship and the marines have boarded your jumpship."
"Buh?"
"Oh, yes, we couldn't let you leave. You've been exposed."
"Wuh?"
"Oh, my! Just think: a couple of airborne eggs might've settled on your clothing or in your dropship (they really get everywhere, dry and light little specks), and you've had a shuttle visit your jumpship despite our traffic control's warning."
"Well, it was a medical emergency..."
"Oh, I understand, hun. And you won't be prisoners here, you just can't leave the planet."
"They're just alien cockroaches..."
"Cockroaches that eat those big battle robots. Why, if any of the native insects got loose on another inhabitable planet... Well, the Republic is all that stands between humanity and this alien plague." |
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