Metal Swarm

by Kevin J. Anderson

  Willis was sitting back in a deck chair, watching Dooley’s overloaded ship lumber into the sky when Conrad Brindle contacted her on the command channel, interrupting her peaceful state of mind. “Admiral, I have welcome news. General Lanyan just arrived—with your Juggernaut.”

  “The Jupiter? Here?” She sat up straight, and the chair creaked a complaint. “What does the General want? Why weren’t we informed he was coming?”

  “He wants to speak with you, but he doesn’t sound too pleased.”

  “He can tell me what’s chafing his crotch when he gets here.” She went into the raft-base’s communications shack. A bank of monitor screens displayed transmissions from surveillance satellites in orbit. The ten Mantas continued to patrol around Rhejak, primarily for show. On the screens she saw the Juggernaut cruise in at top speed, like a whale being chased by harpooners. “Yes, indeed, something is chafing the General,” she muttered to herself.

  The trajectory of Dooley’s cargo ship changed as it reached the edge of the atmosphere. The Roamer pilot transmitted wildly. “What’s that Juggernaut doing here? Did you Eddy bastards trick me?”

  “It’s a new arrival, son. He’s my commanding officer.”

  “Roamer vessel, stand down and prepare to be boarded,” came a curt transmission. “Your cargo is forfeit, and you’ll be placed in custody.”

  “What the hell?” Willis turned to her fresh-faced comm officer. “Get me Lanyan on the horn right now.”

  Gaunt Dooley, already frightened, changed course erratically and accelerated in the opposite direction from the ten Mantas on-station. Already at full speed, the Jupiter streaked right past the Mantas toward the small Roamer ship. “Leave me alone!” Dooley transmitted, his voice cracking. “By the Guiding Star, I’ve got authorization. I—”

  Without any warning, the Jupiter opened fire. Willis watched the blip on the trajectory screen wink out as multiple jazers vaporized the cargo ship. For a full five seconds, she couldn’t find words. Finally she hammered the Transmit button and yelled into the pickup. “General, what the hell are you doing? That was a civilian operating with my explicit permission!”

  Lanyan’s smug face crystallized on the screen. “Good thing I was here to intercept. That man was clearly a Roamer agent—an enemy combatant.”

  “Enemy combatant? He was a trader carrying a load of cargo! I watched the kid load the damn thing myself.” She felt sick.

  “Did it slip your mind that we’re at war with the Roamers? My orders come directly from Chairman Wenceslas—as do yours. I’m transmitting a vidloop summary of my recent mission to a rebel colony world named Usk. The Hansa’s position has changed from one of leniency to one of unification, which will be rigorously enforced, if necessary.”

  “I don’t recall the Chairman ever having a policy of leniency,” Willis said.

  But Lanyan had already begun broadcasting images from the Usk pogrom, which conveyed far more threat than any lecture could. She saw the EDF soldiers, the swooping Remoras, the burning fields and orchards, slaughtered sheep and cattle, colonist families murdered as they tried to flee their homes. The young comm officer beside her turned greenish and vomited on the floor.

  “Amen to that,” Willis said. “But please clean it up.”

  Lanyan’s face returned to the screen, smiling now. “We sent that on an open channel, Admiral. Make sure that everyone has an opportunity to view it before I arrive. The Chairman believes we may be required to make a similar example of Rhejak. He was not amused by the bill you sent for materials you were ordered to acquire on behalf of the Earth Defense Forces. I could cite numerous irregularities sufficiently serious to relieve you of command.”

  “The hell you could,” she said under her breath, but maintained a stony expression.

  Lanyan continued. “I’m on my way down there right now. Round up any ringleaders on Rhejak. Let me see the head of the Company Works, the planetary spokesman, if they have one, and anyone else you feel is important enough to take responsibility.”

  She couldn’t contain her objections any longer. “General Lanyan, this is not proper. These people legitimately formed a new government. You have no authority here.”

  “Ten Mantas and one Juggernaut give us all the authority we need. Begin making your contacts, Admiral. When I arrive, we’ll have ourselves a town meeting.”

  Terminating the transmission, Willis shouted aloud, not caring who might hear. “This is bullshit!” She turned to the sick-looking ensign. “Transmit on a tight channel to my Mantas. Tell Lieutenant Commander Brindle to run a battle stations drill. Let him think we’re just keeping things snappy for the General.”

  “What are you going to do, Admiral?”

  “I haven’t a clue, but I want to be ready for anything. Escort Hakim Allahu and Drew Vardian over here as the General requested—then bring out all of our soldiers so we can form a welcoming committee.” Still weaving, the young ensign turned to rush off, but Willis called him back. “Clean up that puke first.”

  120 TASIA TAMBLYN

  They had retrieved enough standard fuel from Davlin’s cache, and the desperate Roamer refugees had salvaged the Osquivel, declaring it ready for takeoff. There was no reason to wait. No long goodbyes. No sentimental send-offs. Just leave. Now.

  Over the past two days, Tasia had worked with Robb, Nikko, and Davlin to seal the ruptured fuel tank, using brute force to hammer and patch it into spaceworthy condition. They had to get the hell off of Llaro before Klikiss from the newly expanded subhive tracked down their crash site.

  The refugees back at the bluffs were anxious to go. They knew their supplies could not last long, and with over seventy of them crowded in the primitive caves and overhangs, conditions were deteriorating rapidly. Tasia was sure that somebody would make a mistake soon, and the Klikiss patrols would spot them.

  Out at the isolated arroyo, Davlin Lotze used a makeshift hand pump to transfer the fuel from the barrels into the engine reservoirs; he even siphoned off the last fumes that remained in the lone EDF Remora. Altogether, they had enough to take off and get the refugees away from Llaro.

  Nikko ran around the outside hull to check the Osquivel’s numerous seals one last time, while Robb climbed into the cockpit to do his final diagnostics. DD and Orli, who rarely left the Friendly compy’s side, followed him in. Tasia sat in the seat beside Robb as he sent a test burst through the engines; they responded with an extremely loud and gratifying roar. Pebbles and dust sprayed from the exhaust cylinders, and the ship lurched and jerked, like an impatient animal, anxious to bound away.

  Covered with dust, Nikko dove inside, grinning. “It works! It works!”

  “Seal the damn hatch so we can test the pressurization,” Tasia said. “Once we hit orbit, you don’t want to be using tape and putty to fill pinholes.”

  “I can help run diagnostics,” DD said. “Please tell me how I can be of assistance.” The Friendly compy had been invaluable in reprogramming the engine control systems.

  “I’ll just stay here out of the way.” Orli’s bright eyes watched everything.

  The readings spun upward and held. Hull sensors verified that the seal integrity remained uncompromised. Tasia clapped her hand on Nikko’s shoulder, then threw her arms around Robb. “Bull’s-eye!”

  “Are we ready to go?” Orli asked, sitting up straight. “Davlin told the people it would be another day, or probably two.”

  Davlin gave her a calm smile. “I didn’t want to give them false hope. This way they won’t be disappointed.”

  Robb shut down the systems, not wanting to waste fuel. “I’m convinced. Let’s get back to the caves and tell everyone to head out.”

  “We could just fly there,” Nikko said.

  Tasia frowned at him. “It’ll be quite a trick to land a ship this big anywhere near the bluffs—not that we couldn’t do it, mind you—but the Osquivel is barely holding together as it is. Takeoffs and landings can be rough on a ship. How much do you want to increase our risk
factor?”

  “Not by much.” Nikko sounded concerned.

  “It’ll take us only half an hour to jog back to camp,” Orli said.

  “Or run,” Davlin said. “Let’s go.”

  They traveled under the cover of night, their eyes adjusted to the stars and shadows. DD marched ahead, leading the way, and Orli, who already carried her meager possessions with her in a backpack, trotted after him.

  “I do not wish to leave Margaret Colicos behind.” DD sounded forlorn. “She is with the Klikiss.”

  “We don’t even know if she’s still alive, DD.”

  “Perhaps one day we can come back and check.”

  “Sure,” Tasia said from behind them. “One day. We’ll bring along a whole friggin’ military assault force.”

  “That might work,” Nikko said.

  Before they could reach the sandstone bluffs, Tasia thought she heard a flutter and hum, followed by a clicking sound in the darkness ahead. She didn’t like it.

  DD paused. “Excuse me, but I detect movement ahead of us. Large shapes are approaching. Many life forms. Perhaps they are indigenous animals.”

  “Not very likely.” Tasia instinctively moved closer to Robb.

  Davlin’s face seemed to be a mask made of carved wood. They all heard thrumming and buzzing too distinct to be ignored. In his hand he produced a flare grenade; Tasia didn’t ask where he had gotten it. “Let’s see what we’ve got. Stand ready.” He looked around, assessing all the worried expressions.

  “Stand ready with what?” Tasia asked. Nikko picked up two sharp rocks, and Orli did the same. Robb balled his fists.

  Davlin tossed the grenade, counted out loud to five. Tasia flinched as a cascade of brilliant light gushed into the air. Blinking in the glare, she saw a dozen Klikiss scouts and warriors, along with some oddly pale humanlike hybrids. New hybrids.

  Undeterred by the flare grenade, the Klikiss surged forward. Davlin, who had one of the few EDF weapons, shot until the charge pack was empty, blasting bugs, splattering gore. Their squeals were deafening. The attacking insects ignored their fallen comrades and closed in, driven by the intent mind of the subhive’s new-generation breedex.

  Robb stood back-to-back with Tasia. “I’m ready to fight with bare hands and fingernails if I have to.”

  “My brave hero. I’d rather go with a happily-ever-after scenario, though.”

  DD remained beside Orli as if he meant to protect her. Remembering how she had stopped the Klikiss scout that had attacked their small party of escapees, she swung the pack off her back. If she could only get her synthesizer strips.

  One of the Klikiss warriors extended a tube weapon and sprayed a stream of grayish-white fluid, splattering Orli before she could free her small keyboard. It targeted her on purpose, as if the breedex remembered exactly who she was. A cascade of hardening resin crusted her hands and arms. She squirmed, and another spurt from the web guns covered her mouth and neck.

  The Klikiss shot their web guns to entangle and capture, rather than kill the small group. Within minutes the creatures had rounded up the humans, immobilizing them with the constraining resin. Tasia couldn’t move against the gobs of hardening slime, could barely breathe. Armored limbs grasped her, dragged her away from Robb. She hated the fact that she wouldn’t have a chance to go down fighting—or tell the other refugees how close they were to being home free. So close.

  121 CHAIRMAN BASIL WENCESLAS

  No matter how meticulous he was, Basil never succeeded in predicting all the ways that people would rebuff him. In cracking down on the illegal disseminators of Peter’s stupid condemnation, he had arrested seventeen ringleaders already. He issued statements along with manufactured proof to refute the childish lies and accusations. But soon another group picked up and distributed the declaration and Patrick Fitzpatrick’s confession. The malcontents began to add horrific images from Usk and—more maddening than anything else!—they doctored and falsified the files so that Basil’s actions seemed like a bad thing. He didn’t find that amusing whatsoever.

  Now Basil had heard—from an independent trader proudly crowing news as he rushed to Earth—the dramatic announcement of an alliance between Mage-Imperator Jora’h and King Peter. With that single statement, the Ildiran leader had made the abortive Confederation seem more legitimate than ever. Basil saw red for five full minutes and was unsure what he did or said during that time. He knew only that when he came back to himself, his temples were throbbing and his skull felt as if it might split.

  He blinked his eyes and saw Deputy Cain sitting across from him in his office, wisely saying nothing. Basil waited for the deputy to mention something about his shocking outburst. He almost wanted the pale man to question him or make a comment, just so he could explode again. But Cain remained silent and patient, as if Basil had merely sneezed and needed a moment to recover himself.

  The Chairman took a deep breath and realized that his throat felt raw. He wondered what he had shouted. He honestly couldn’t remember. Now his voice rasped as he spoke. “Send in Admiral—” He paused, his brow furrowed. “Which admirals can I still rely on?”

  “Admirals Pike and San Luis were dispatched to two more breakaway colonies. Admiral Willis is on Rhejak. Admiral Diente, however, is easily recalled from the asteroid belt shipyards.”

  “Bring him back then, without any fanfare.”

  Cain was obviously struggling to react normally after the outburst he must have witnessed. “What do you have in mind, sir?”

  Basil listened carefully, trying to find any implied criticism in the deputy’s voice. He trusted Eldred Cain less and less. So few people he could rely upon! Not even Sarein, though he had done his best to maintain a hold on her. He couldn’t imagine how he had ever found the skinny Theron woman attractive. Now she seemed clingy, frightened, even shrill. The last time they had made love, he had lain awake afterward, worried that she might slip a dagger into his back during the night.

  “Mr. Chairman?”

  Basil’s nostrils flared as he came back to the important matter at hand. “It’s the Mage-Imperator, Mr. Cain. Instead of coming to me, the Chairman of the Terran Hanseatic League, he went to Peter on his ‘embassy to humanity.’ He chose Theroc, not Earth. That is an insult we cannot ignore. We must demonstrate to the Ildiran Empire that we are the true government. With the Mage-Imperator’s support we can consolidate the Hansa again and make it strong.”

  “Mr. Chairman, Ildirans don’t understand human politics. The Mage-Imperator probably isn’t aware of how our circles of power have changed, and was simply misinformed. I doubt he meant any slight.”

  “Then we shall inform him properly. We’ll give him a chance to apologize for his lack of foresight. I intend to make him our guest here on Earth. We’ll find special quarters for him.”

  Cain began to rise from his chair, but seemed to think better of it. “What are you saying? How will you get the Mage-Imperator to come here?”

  “We will invite him—by military force if necessary. According to reports, he is traveling with only a single warliner. As soon as he leaves Theroc, we can escort his ship to Earth. I’ll deploy one of our remaining Juggernauts. That is why I need Admiral Diente.”

  Now Cain looked appalled. “You’re talking about kidnapping the Mage-Imperator? Are you trying to start a war with the Ildiran Empire?”

  “Don’t be so melodramatic.”

  “Honestly, Mr. Chairman, I am not. I’m absolutely certain that—”

  Basil cut him off. He was getting tired of Cain’s disapproving looks and comments. “I have considered the consequences and made my decision. The Solar Navy was severely damaged—probably more so than our Earth Defense Forces—and you know how the Ildirans are. Once we have the Mage-Imperator, they won’t be able to function for themselves. A bunch of sheep without a shepherd. We have the military strength, and we’ll soon have the bargaining chip we need.”

  Cain stared bleakly out the window, as if imagining the whole Pa
lace District in flames. “I would beg you to reconsider, sir, but it wouldn’t do any good. Would it?”

  Basil gave him an icy glare. “My primary grudge is not with Jora’h, but with Peter—constantly provoking me, trying to make me look like a fool. But I’ll be happy to deal with the Mage-Imperator as well, if he forces me to do so.”

  The deputy stood. “You are stepping off a cliff, Mr. Chairman. I hope you understand that.”

  “We’ll see who’s right, Mr. Cain.”

  “Alas, sir, we will.” He turned to go. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have preparations to make.” Cain was sweating. Basil didn’t know what sort of preparations the man was talking about, nor did he care. He began to formulate the exact orders he would give Admiral Diente, and how he could make sure the man would not disappoint him, as so many others had.

  He touched his deskscreen, called up Diente’s file, and tracked down the location of all of his family members. Two daughters, a son, five grandchildren. That should be sufficient collateral. Yes, Diente would do as he was told.

  122 CESCA PERONI

  Inside the water-bubble ship, she and Jess communed with another pool of wentals they had scooped up from a diffuse nebula. Cesca still couldn’t grasp the scope of how many of the water elementals had been ripped apart in the ancient war, but her senses were becoming attuned, strengthened, extended.

  Suddenly she felt shock and turmoil among the wentals, as if someone had struck a loud gong. An agonized cry resonated through the fabric of the universe.

  Jess grabbed her as they drifted in the contained water of their ship. “I don’t know what it is. The other nebula wentals . . . something awful, flames—” They both experienced a horrific mental scream. Wentals murdered! And they knew it was the faeros.