The Killer probe had finished surveying the third moon of the sixth planet. It found nothing, but Sion’s hidden probes had been watching it continuously.
The Killer probe was patchwork gray, large, and ungainly. It lacked symmetry, it lacked balance, and it looked as though it had been thrown together from parts that had themselves been recycled.
“This probe is a curious sight, Sion. This looks nothing like the planetary probe we saw earlier in the ruins. The materials are different, the construction techniques are different, the esthetics, if this thing can be said to have esthetics, are different.”
Most of this probe seems to be made of the same substance, but all its parts are different shades. They range from nearly white to deep black with no apparent rhyme or reason.
The main members of the probe are functional, but most have been reworked leaving vestigial remnants—beams sprout out of other beams that wander off to nowhere; pipes and fittings, no longer connected to anything, dangle.
This probe is composed mostly of rock—fused space rock, Bradley. Ugh, it looks like it’s gone ten rounds with Entropy.
“Apparently it doesn’t believe in tidying up.”
Neither do I. But I certainly do better at it than this thing.
“Is this the result of spending forever in low gravity?”
Low gravity would allow this, but there’s something more. The being must have no sense of appearance, as we recognize the meaning. … Wait! Here we go!
The Killer probe was lifting off when it was yanked to an abrupt halt by a tractor beam. Small pieces went flying every which way as it crunched heavily back to the surface and was held fast.
A squat tank-like vehicle of Sion’s rumbled out from beneath the pile of snow where it had hidden. The Killer probe opened fire with its missiles and beams. As each weapon turned to fire, it was disabled by a blast of pin-point accuracy from one of a dozen hidden weapons that surrounded the probe. After two seconds, the Killer probe was disarmed, but otherwise functional.
The tank-like robot advanced. It stopped for a moment next to the probe, then drove right on top of it. It shouldered by antenna masts, rolled over hissing pipes, snapped through writhing cables, and crumpled quacking ducts until it stopped in front of a big hatch. With a prehensile arm, the tank reached into itself and pulled out a small packet.
“Transmit this to your tribune,” the triumphant tank trumpeted.
The probe hatch opened a crack; a little hand darted out and grabbed the packet.