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Little Lost.Robot. Paul McAuley. ??from Interzone 217. ??It doesn’t have a name, rank, or serial number. There’s nothing like it in the known universe. It’s unique. The sole example of a class defined entirely by what it is and what it does. A superbad big space robot, bigger than an asteroid, smaller than a moon. A self-aware, heavily-armed killer machine on a mission of no return, seeking out the enemy wherever the enemy may be hiding and destroying every last trace of the motherfuckers. It’s a midnight rambler. Sooner or later it’ll be coming to the star next door to you, and it will rock your world. Back at the beginning, most of the jobs were mostly the same. The big space robot would roll in on some warm yellow star buzzing with the irritating mosquito-whine of civilisation and wake up its four subselves. Izzy whizzy, let’s get busy. Let’s get down and dirty. Librarian and Philosopher would map the system and intercept and analyse every byte of captured information and compare it to previous missions; Navigator and Tactician would use the intel to select targets and drop a bunch of rocks on them and spawn a few thousand killer drones to mop up any residual resistance. Resistance is always useless. Sometimes the enemy manages to deflect part of the first wave of rocks. No big deal: the big space robot simply swings around the star and kicks off a bigger and faster second wave. And if rocks won’t do the job, it uses its gravity |
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