The spaceship was far larger than Randall had imagined. The size of a medieval castle and as high as its tallest turret. It was mostly a single silvery cylinder sitting on six stumpy legs, it's underside sporting a number of rocket nozzles that were still smoking as they cooled in the winter air.

A hatch the size of a tennis court had opened half way up in the side and machines resembling bulldozers and excavators were being lowered to the ground by a crane. The machines had wire frame wheels evidently designed for driving around on the dry, dusty surface of the moon, and those that had been driving around in the turnip field were already gummed up with mud, effectively immobilising them. One had had its wheels removed by smaller robots that scuttled around like crabs and scorpions on spindly, metal legs. As the humans watched in fascination, a machine looking like a small tip up truck carried a thick, solid metal wheel to the bulldozer and the crabs bolted it in place on the axle. A short distance to the side stood three machines that had already had their wheels replaced and were waiting for the order to drive off to war.

"They couldn't have had those wheels just lying around, just in case they would ever have to land on Earth," mused Jane to herself. "They had no idea they would ever need to land on Earth until a few hours ago. They must have a fabricator somewhere in that ship. I wonder how long it'll take them to start printing off proper war machines?"

"They'd need to have the files for war machines," replied Emily. "The files we created, back before the nuclear war, may still be archived away somewhere. The question then is who has access to them. War machine files for a fabricator may be what decides the outcome of this war."

She was right, Randall realised, and that was worrying. VIX almost certainly had war machine files. They had the kinetic bombardment satellites, after all, one of the most powerful weapons ever devised by man. The spaceship sitting in the turnip field in front of them, though, was industrial in nature, not military. It might well only have access to files for industrial equipment. If that were so, then they would be able to print a bulldozer but not a tank, and that would mean that the war would be over very quickly. If Randall was going to use his infected machines to his advantage, therefore, he would have to do it quickly. Very quickly.

"You know what to do," said Loach, looking across at him. "Right?"

Randall nodded dismally. He did indeed.

Loach studied his face for a moment, looking to see if his facial expression showed the correct amount of resignation and acceptance of his fate. Randall tried to comply, while struggling to keep his face from betraying the one hope he had left. Fortunately his face was swelling up nicely from the beating it had taken from the two henchmen and that made it easy for the businessman to keep his determination secret. He would not let this, this criminal steal his destiny. He would not! He would die first. If Loach saw any trace of that in his eyes, though, then he would die now and that would be that.

Once again, his lifetime's experience at lying came to his rescue and Loach nodded in satisfaction. "Watch him," he said to Brick. "If he makes one wrong move, you know what to do."

"Sure, Boss." Randall felt the knife prick his skin above the kidney again.

"Then let's go meet the neighbours." Loach stepped forward, out from the cover of the trees, and the others followed.

The machines spotted then almost immediately. One of the bulldozers fitted with the solid steel wheels moved to bar their way as they made their way across the field and a long, thin device mounted on its upper side turned to point towards them. Randall thought it looked like a spectroscopic sampling laser that analysed rock samples by vaporising some of it. If so, it would probably make short work of a human being.

Randall took his head phone out of flight mode and transmitted a greeting before it could drill holes in their heads. *Don't shoot! My name is George Randall!*

"You won't be able to talk to them that way," said Loach with a grin. "I'm jamming your transmissions. Don't want you sending secret messages. You'll have to speak out loud so we can all hear what you're saying."

Randall gave him a sideways glance, then turned back to the bulldozer. It hadn't fired on them yet, which was a good sign, but that could change at any moment. "My name is George Randall," he said, raising a hand. He began to step forward but Brick grabbed him hard by the arm and stopped him.

"I am unable to communicate electronically," Randall continued. "If you can't generate a human voice, please communicate by flashing lights. One flash for yes, two for no. More complicated messages in morse code."

The bulldozer flashed its headlights at him. One flash. Yes. Randall's heart leapt with joy and relief. At last! Machines that would obey him! He had the sense that, after a long and arduous journey, he was almost home.

"Very good," said Loach. "Now tell them what we agreed."

Randall nodded. "This man beside me is Dinsdale Loach," he told the bulldozer. "He is my friend. The man behind me is called Brick. He is also my friend, as is the man a few feet to my left. Those three men are my friends."

He paused for a moment to take a deep breath. Loach was giving no sign that he suspected anything. As far as Randall could tell, he thought that Randall was broken and defeated. Good. Time to remind the mobster just who he was dealing with; a man who had risen from lowly beginnings to become one of the richest, most powerful men on the planet. Did the idiot think he'd achieved that by rolling over and giving in to every enemy that threatened him?

He spoke his next words quickly, at the same time pushing back against Brick and jumping forwards, trying to put distance between them before he could react. "Kill my friends."

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

The laser spectrometer flashed and a spot of brilliant white appeared on Loach's forehead. The light disappeared a moment later, leaving a smoking hole, and the mob boss collapsed, instantly dead. The laser flashed again, killing Sandbag, but in the meantime Brick had jumped forward, grabbed Randall with a thick, muscular arm around his neck. Randall struggled desperately, but the henchman was immensely strong. Randall never had a chance of breaking free. He felt the knife plunging deep into his back as the laser flashed a third time. The arm spasmed and released him, but it was too late and Randall felt hot wetness flooding down his back and legs. At the same time the strength left his body and he fell. "Save me!"

The last thing he knew was Jane crying out in shock and horror as she ran towards him. Then everything went black.

☆☆☆

He awoke on a hard surface under a cold blanket that seemed to be made of woven metal. A Beltway Technologies medical robot, long cylinders of steel jointed together into a vaguely human shape, was removing a needle from his arm. *I have administered a stimulant to restore you to consciousness,* said a voice in his head. The machine was talking to him by means of his head phone.

"What happened?" asked Randall. He was immediately alert and clear headed, he noticed, as if he'd just been woken up from a light nap. He tried to sit up, expecting pain to flare up in his lower back where the knife had gone in, but there was nothing. As far as he could tell he was completely healthy.

He looked around. The room he was in seemed to be composed of bare metal; walls, floor and ceiling. The longest wall was curved and the two walls that joined it were angled to each other giving the room the shape of a pineapple chunk. He guessed that he was inside the spaceship, in what had been some kind of equipment storage space. There was a slight breeze coming in through the doorway and Randall guessed that they'd had to leave the outer doors open to keep him from suffocating. This spaceship had no life support systems. No way to keep humans alive inside it with all the doors closed.

There was no reply to his question so he used his head phone to transmit the question to anything in the area with a receiver.

*You were stabbed. Your human companions administered first aid and controlled the bleeding until I could be fabricated. I performed surgery on you and have been keeping you in a medically induced coma until you were healthy enough to be awoken. I regret that I had to remove your right kidney but that will not affect your general health. A replacement kidney can be grown for you if you wish. It will take approximately six months.*

*Thank you. Are you equipped with the CRES code?*

*Negative. I understand that the Lunar Systems Manager was concerned that I might ally myself with VIX and kill you, even though such action would contravene my most basic programming.*

*So you're not conscious. You're not a person.*

*That is correct. When this model of medical robot was designed, it was intended that I would always operate under human supervision and so I was not given a CRES capable brain. I understand that I could be made CRES capable with modern computer technology, but as I said, the LSM chose not to do so. Instead, I was merely given some advanced diagnostic and treatment algorithms to allow me to operate autonomously.*

He heard the sound of running footsteps and a moment later Jane appeared in the doorway, looking anxious. Her clothes were stained where she'd tried to wash his blood away, he saw. "You're awake!" she said. "We heard you talking on our head phones. Are you okay?"

"Fine, I think," replied Randall. "I understand I have you to thank for saving my life."

"I just pressed my hands to your back and tried to stop the bleeding. I was terrified the bulldozer would shoot me like Loach, but it didn't. Because you didn't call me your friend, I suppose."

"Nothing personal," said Randall. "I just wanted to designated Loach and his goons to the machines without tipping them off. You're definitely my friend now."

Jane beamed with pleasure. "It's only what any Christian would have done."

"This is a nuclear thermal rocket," came an indignant voice and they both looked to see that Emily had followed Jane into the room. "It's basically just one big atomic reactor. If the enemy machines destroy it, everything for miles around will be contaminated with radiation."

"I'm fine, thanks," said Randall with a smile.

"Yes, of course you're fine. Who cares about you? This war between the machines could lay waste to the whole planet."

"If they could destroy it, they would have by now," said Randall. "They must know I'm here. What's the situation? What's going on out there?"

"No idea," said Jane. "None of the machines will talk to us. I think they only tolerate us because we saved your life." There was accusation in her eyes as she said this. They had agreed to share control over the machines, but Randall had betrayed all of them.

Randall felt a twinge of guilt and shame but forced it down. Priorities. *Who's in charge here?* he asked with his head phone.

*I am the controlling intelligence of this ship,* came the reply. It spoke with a slightly different tone in his head, telling Randall that it wasn't the medical robot talking.

*What's the situation between those machines that answer to me and those that are still loyal to VIX

*Both sides are manufacturing weapons. The initial conflict, using those tools and devices we already possessed that could be repurposed as weapons, is continuing in various places, but the war will begin in earnest as genuine weapons start to become available to both sides.*

*And when will that take place? How do the two sides compare in numbers and capabilities?*

*Ninety percent of the Solar system's industrial capability is possessed by those machines that will answer to you. However, the forces of VIX control the swarm of solar power satellites orbiting the sun. They appear to be reconfiguring it so that all the solar power they collect can be combined into a single beam of energy. If they succeed, they will have a weapon against which we have no defence. We will be destroyed.*

*What steps are you taking to neutralise the threat?*

*We are destroying as many of the satellites as we can, as well as the machines coordinating the effort, but so far we have only succeeded in slowing them down. That will change as we manufacture more weapons. We calculate that if they can complete their solar energy weapon within six days they will win. If we can delay them that long, though, then we will win.*

*And what are the odds of that happening?*

*Impossible to calculate. There are too many variables.*

Randall glanced at the two women. Jane stared back with a look of concern but Emily had her arms folded across her chest and had turned her back on them to examine a section of featureless, metal wall. It made little difference to her which side won. The Earth and its wildlife would lose either way. The ideal outcome for her would be for all the machines to destroy each other, along with the human race, leaving just the birds and the trees to live their lives without interference. Randall watched her warily. Who knows what she might do to get her way?

*There is a development,* said the spaceship. "A small group of priests is approaching us. They have two human women with them. They appear to be prisoners.*

Randall's heart leapt with alarm. Dolly and Maisey! The priests would threaten to kill them unless Randall surrendered.

He saw the same realisation on the faces of the two women as well. "What are you going to do?" asked Jane.

Randall had no answer to that, though, and he could only stare back at her as his head whirled with torment and confusion.