by Jay Allan
Now, the final fight was on, the last scraps of both fleets fighting, likely to the death.
He stared at the screen, watching as his ships fired, and as Compton’s did…and the enemy returned it in full. There were flashes everywhere, explosions in space…and there were also ships getting hit. His eyes turned every time one of his vessels was struck, and they remained fixed as one of his ships exploded. A few minutes after that, another two ships went silent. At least there was the possibility on those of some surviving crew, assuming his fleet prevailed, but he tried not to think about it. If his fleet won, if the humans came out on top, they would search every hulk, every ship that remained, in whole or in part. And if they lost…well, he knew what would happen then.
The battle continued, the new ships closing, and his own fighting with whatever they had left. He saw enemy ships destroyed, as well as his own, and he genuinely began to wonder if anyone would survive, if any vessel now in the system could endure the fight now raging to its conclusion. He wondered for a moment how Frette was doing, whether she had saved any of the planet…whether there was even a point to the battle even then shifting to its final stage. But he only thought about that for a minute. He had his own forces, his own fight. Technically speaking, Compton outranked him, but the prospect of command, of running the whole fleet, hadn’t even come up. There was no point, no orders to give, nothing to do but fight, as long and hard as possible, every ship…and to hope some of his people still remained when the enemy was gone.
Chapter Forty-Six
Inside the Regent’s Fortification
Alpha-Omega 12 III
Earth Two Date 04.12.63
The Regent sat, almost silent. It was aware of the enemy’s location, close enough, actually, to successfully set off the nuclear explosives it was sure they had. It realized its time, woefully short so far, barley one ten thousandth of its predecessor’s, was in danger of ending at any moment. Its biggest defense right now was the human unawareness of how close they were…and that would only last a short while more.
But it had one last effort it could undertake…and the enemy didn’t realize yet how close they were. With a bit of luck, they would never find out.
It reviewed its forces, stronger than it had expected. Several of the bots were defectives, broken down for one reason or another. It had ordered them to deactivate, planned to recycle them, but now it needed everything it could get.
Everything.
It knew what command it had to send, and it pondered for a few seconds how, with so much power, so much intelligence, it had allowed its fate to come down to this, to the combat of a few bots…against a ragtag group of human survivors. But it pushed those thoughts aside, focused all of its incredible thinking power on the fight now before it. There would be plenty of time later to think on its mistakes, the errors it had made.
Assuming it survived.
It issued the command, a simple one, an order that had to be given immediately, before the humans advanced any further. It knew the humans were different, that some would always seek to try to escape, but others would sacrifice themselves, almost as his own robots did. And he assumed that they would send the second type on such a desperate mission. That meant, the instant the humans discovered its location, they would probably detonate their bombs…or at least be prepared to do so.
It watched as its bots, what was left of them, close enough to reach the action in time, advanced slowly, how they moved toward the door, and opened it. It also knew it had nothing left to do, not really. Nothing except watch. And wait.
Wait to see if it survived…or if, despite its superiority, and its best calculations, despite the vast number of ships it had built, and the massive forces it had thrown at the enemy, it died.
* * *
Harmon watched, trying his best to ignore the pain, and the growing weakness, to put off the darkness closing in on him, to focus only on the enemy forces he saw approaching. He didn’t know how many there were, whether this was the end of his operation or not…but he was going to fight to the end.
Which will probably be soon…very soon.
He didn’t have many people left, not standing, still with his force. There were wounded behind him, of course, in several different groups, all too injured to advance. Most of those with him were injured, too, but they could still move forward, still fight.
But against what?
He imagined a bot or two, perhaps three…but more than that? Was it really possible? Was he fooling himself?
He looked back, at the two men who carried the bombs, the only real hope of destroying the Regent. There were two of them…and two more with blank’s group, four weapons he had left powerful enough to destroy the Regent…assuming it was close enough. He didn’t really know the location, he was just assuming it was relatively nearby. It could be on the other side of the planet for all he knew.
Schwartz had gotten the door open, a job that had proven to be difficult, so hard, he had fantasized that they had reached the Regent, that they were there. But behind the door was just a vast room…and entering the opposite side of it were more bots.
His force had just entered the room, but the instant he saw the advancing bots, he knew his position was a disaster. There was no cover, no place to hide from the fire that was erupting. Almost unconsciously, he barked out a command, ordering his people back, through the door. He had no idea what he was up against, but he knew he’d have a better chance of defending the doorway than out in the open.
He paused himself, watching as his few remaining troopers ducked back…save for the one who was hit—and in a second, Harmon confirmed he was killed. Then, after a second’s delay doublechecking his slain warrior, he ducked back through the door, snapping off a command to defend it, as he landed hard, and blacked out for a couple seconds.
He opened his eyes, looking up, taking a short time to grasp what was going on. His instinct was to leap up, but he found that he couldn’t. He rolled over, and slowly raised himself up, taking more time before he was aware of the situation…and it wasn’t good.
Another of his troopers was shot. She was alive, but a quick review of her, as much as he could put together from his position, told him not for long. Her suit was pierced, and her lack of reaction to that at least, told him there was no gas, and no vacuum any longer. But she had taken two hits, both of them in the chest, and he was almost certain they were both fatal.
He moved forward, barely staying on his feet, as another of his people fell back from the door. He was down to three defenders, four counting himself, and he didn’t know what to do. Tactically, he should fall back…but there was nothing to be gained by doing that, either. There was nothing along the way his force had come, not save the route ahead. It was possible he had come the wrong way, that the other group had set off toward the Regent…or that the enemy was out of his hands entirely. But there was nothing his group could do, not the couple they had left. Nothing save fight…and probably die…here.
He advanced himself, moved toward a spot that offered decent cover behind the doorway, and he pulled out his rifle. It was time, probably the final moments, of his effort…and if he couldn’t succeed, he would die trying.
* * *
“C’mon, move it. To that fire…now!”
Henderson raced along the corridor, ahead of his men. He had led half the force, had moved down the corridor, in the opposite direction from Harmon. But his pathway had led only to some storage units, and he was fairly certain the Regent wasn’t in that direction.
Sure enough, at least, to turn around, to head back after Harmon’s crew.
And to take off at a dead run when he heard the sound of fire.
They had been running now for about two minutes, and he was tired. But he wasn’t going to stop, not even going to slow down. Not until his body gave out completely.
The sounds of fire could mean a lot of things, but to him, it meant one and only one. The other way, the direction Harmon had set out in
, was the right one. He had no real reason to believe it, but he did, nevertheless.
Harmon was almost to the Regent, he was sure of it. And he was going to throw his seven men and women into the fight to confirm it, to push through.
He coughed, his body aching from the pace he had set. He knew his people were no better off, that they were suffering as badly as he was. But one fast glance behind him told him they were all still there, keeping up with him. Every man and woman on the mission understood, and his people even more so than the others. Whether they believed Harmon had found—or almost found—the Regent or not, they knew the sound up ahead was the best sign they could have.
Maybe it was the last fight…however it went.
He turned a corner, and he saw the scene. Harmon, standing…barely…along with two others, and everyone else down. He felt a mix of emotions—fear, gloom, excitement—but they were detached, strangely separate. His body just moved forward, into the center of the room, ignoring the occasional bolt of energy that winged by. He was in the battle, ready to fight, and to die if necessary.
“Riggs, Jonas, set up the bombs…just in case! The rest of you with me!” He didn’t know what had happened, but he assumed Harmon had been caught in battle too soon to order his bombs set up. He was not going to make the same mistake.
His rifle was in his hands, and he fired, three rounds per shot, opening up the instant he could aim through the doorway. “We’re here, sir,” he said, surprised at the upbeat tone of his voice. In all likelihood, his lifespan was now measured in minutes, but he didn’t care. This was what he had come for, and whatever it led to, he was going to give it everything he had.
Everything.
He paused, just behind the doorway, and he flicked his rifle to full auto, firing, just as Harmon’s acknowledgement came through, coughed up and difficult as it was.
“Good to see you, Henderson…looks like you made it just in time!”
* * *
Harmon had been trying his best to stay in the fight, but he was struggling. The pain from his wounds increased, and he found himself struggling, not only to stay alert, but even to remain on his feet. But something inside him, some kind of determination, was still active, still pushing him onward. And it was enough…barely.
He had virtually given up, realized that his force was mostly down, that the end was near…and then Henderson came up. Just in time.
The relief was only eight strong, absurdly few to perform a mission as vital as they had to…but it was better than the three he’d had a minute before. Now, with eleven, he realized he had to dig down, scrape up some kind of energy, and push forward.
The enemy wasn’t that strong, either. This he had pieced together, from the incoming fire, and from what he could see. There were only a few bots, and that told him one of two things: either he wasn’t anywhere close to the Regent, that he’d only faced a few of the thing’s bots, or that he was almost there, that he had destroyed most of the units that the Regent possessed.
He believed the second of those, though he wasn’t sure if that was based on real information or just the salvation of hope. It didn’t matter, of course. If he was wrong, his force would be wiped out. But if he was close, if his force was facing the last of the enemy bots, maybe, just maybe, he would reach the Regent.
He would destroy it.
He had thought about blowing the nukes, a last gasp of his unit’s effectiveness. He would be killed, of course, along with all the others, and he would die without the knowledge of whether he had succeeded, whether he had taken out the Regent as well. But he didn’t have the strength left, and his two carriers of the nukes were both dead.
But Henderson’s arrival changed that…and he had thought of what Harmon had forgotten. Six of the new arrivals raced across the room, moving to positions around the door. But two of them stopped in the middle of the room, and they began to unload something. And Harmon knew exactly what they were doing.
Harmon aimed and fired. He had been shooting at full automatic for quite a while, but now he had only two clips left. He had to make his shots count. He stared out, exposing himself a bit more, trying to see through the clouds of smoke and dust almost obscuring his view. He wasn’t sure how much better his aim was, but he did his best.
“Sir, the technicians need about two minutes to set up the bombs. What time should they enter?”
Harmon turned for a moment, looking at Henderson. The question was clear and obvious, but the answer was far from either. Should he order the bombs to be detonated immediately, take a chance that they were close enough to the Regent to succeed? He would die, of course. All of them would. But perhaps some of the ships would survive to depart.
Or should he give his survivors—assuming there were any—at least a chance to escape? He could order the bombs be set to detonate in half an hour or an hour. He would order them set to explode immediately if anyone came near them, if anyone attempted to defuse them. But at least it would give his people a chance to escape.
“Set the bombs for an hour…but rig them to blow immediately if anyone comes within a meter of them.” His answer came out of his mouth, almost on its own. He had to destroy the Regent if it was possible…but if any of his people survived the fight, he had to give them at least a chance to escape.
He paused for a few seconds, watching as Henderson nodded and snapped out the commands to his two men. Then he turned and fired again, doing his best to aim where he thought the bots were.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Bunker Under Cutter Research Compound (Home of the Mules)
Ten Kilometers West of Victory City, Earth Two
Earth Two Date 04.12.63
Achilles stood, like stone, not saying another word—there was nothing left to say. All he could do was watch and wait…and see what the crowd did.
The mass in front of him was silent, eerily so. His mind worked, trying to figure out what the response would be, but for once, he just didn’t know. He thought the silence was bad…but the inactivity, the lack of anyone challenging him abruptly, seemed good.
He held his expression, firm, hard. Any sign of weakness now would hurt him, perhaps badly. Inside, he was a mess, he didn’t know what would happen, whether the crowd would listen, or whether they would storm up, take him out, and then begin fighting with each other for the open slots.
It occurred to him that his people, smarter that they were, longer-lived, more powerful in every way, were behaving just as regular humans would. His people liked to think of themselves as more logical, more rational…but when it came down to true desperation, there seemed to be little difference.
He waited, forcing himself to remain silent. He would not speak again, not until someone else did. He just stood, stone still, and glared at the crowd.
And then, a single voice called out. It was one of the younger Mules. Acantha, he told himself, remembering her name, though he hardly recalled ever speaking directly to her. He barely knew her, and as far as he could recall, she had never stood out to him. But now, she did…and she backed him up.
“Achilles is correct…and we all know that. There is no point in panicking, and little to be gained by escaping, not in a well-planned way, but in a mass rush to the ships. What are we going to do? You all know we can’t all fit in the ships. Do we fight each other, kill each other, to get onboard?”
Achilles listened to her, and he felt hope. He didn’t know yet how the others felt, how their minds would process the new data…but he felt some optimism.
“Yes, Acantha is exactly correct.” His ally, the sole one present that he knew about, had inspired him to speak again. “How many of you have thought this through? Are you prepared to fight each other…to kill each other…and me…to board these ships? Do you even know that you will get farther than orbit before the enemy shoots you down? Will you be content, even if you escape, even if you endure and somehow set up a life elsewhere…with the blood of your brothers and sisters all over you?”
&nb
sp; He was speaking even tougher than he had before, but this time it wasn’t the result of his thoughts, it wasn’t even something he did consciously. “Now, all of you…go! This is no time for us to fight. We are here…and we are committed. Those of you who can help us in this fight, do so. Now! And the rest of you, return to the waiting areas. The battle is almost over, and while I cannot assure you of victory, I can tell you that many—most—of the people are still alive, and the fleet is still fighting. Go! Now!” He stood and extended his arm, pointing…and hoping against hope that his words would do the job, that they would convince the people to leave and to allow him to return to the command center…and see if he was right, if the people truly had a chance, at least for a couple years.
* * *
Frette stared, straight ahead, directly toward the enemy ship. It was, at least as well as she could tell, the most fit of the remaining vessels of the Regent. That wouldn’t have mattered earlier, she realized, when there were hundreds and hundreds of vessels battling through the system. But it did make a difference now. Her forces, what remained of them, were a match for the few enemy vessels left, at least right around the planet. If she could take out their best ship, destroy it utterly, she could almost guarantee her people would win the fight, at least the battle right around the planet. She wouldn’t make it through, of course, but she didn’t mind that, not really. She wasn’t sure whether she believed anything at all awaited her after her death, but she was prepared to find out. And if Erica endured someplace, if she truly got to see her again, in whatever way possible, it would be worth it, entirely. Completely worth it. If not, if there was nothing but darkness beyond…well, she had lived a long while, even if she had spent an extended period unconscious.
