weight would require a refitting.
He smoked his last cigarette for the day and then made his way to the third section briefing room.
There were twelve warriors in his section. Except for microscopic differences in their builds, there was little, if anything, to distinguish one from the other. They had no contact with anything as personalized as officers. Each warrior was a separate unit. The centralization of authority was complete. There was only the loudspeaker to command. For a time the warriors had been allowed to designate the voice as "The General," but it was soon discovered that they felt a particular loyalty to the name. The word was dropped. To designate authority, a warrior used the word: "Authority." This word also served as his official concept of politics. With all the strength of the fortress in the warriors, this was to be desired.
Simultaneously, the speaker and the large television screen below it came to life.

The scene showed one of the fortress's carefully tilled roughage farms being looted by a large body of the natives--the enemy that was determined to erase the last remnant of an empire that once held the entire solar system in its grasp. That meant nothing to Jord. It was the faces--the faces that were, relatively, not even faces at all. Yet there were points of similarity within the gulf of difference--and the faces. Faces without masks!
The voice called "Authority" was expressionless and precise.
"As you can see, a large and heavily armed contingent of the enemy has breached the dome of number seven surface-farm."
The scout obligingly swiveled his television optic to show the fused gap in the huge plastic dome through which the natives were hauling incendiary materials to destroy the crop. The motionless bulk of a warrior lay close beside the opening. He had been downed by artillery, while above the force-field the ever present aircraft of the natives circled watchfully. Somewhere, the ancient generators had shorted long enough for the raiders to slip through.
"A detachment has already been sent out," the voice continued. "The natives are to be forced back beyond the northern defense perimeter. Intelligence estimates eight hundred of the enemy and thirty field-pieces. The fortress depends on you. You will not fail the fortress."
On that note, the loudspeaker was silent.
"It seems to me," the warrior on Jord's right murmured as they moved towards the opening bulkhead at the far side of the room, "that we almost always fail." He wasn't contradicting, only remarking.
Jord nodded. One warrior lost today, two last week, one the week before, and more before that. He saw the leviathans, 140 tons of machinery with great gaping holes in their bodies, saw the wires and 

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