After shooting a quick look at the Fontaine family, the marine sergeant gave Solomon a long look before he came to attention and snapped a perfect parade-ground salute. “Beast mode. Aye, aye, sir,” he rumbled. “This should be… interesting, and it’s almost as good as ‘fix bayonets.’” Grinning, he moved to his troops as Solomon turned to the members of his family to give them all the grim news.
When Solomon was finished, he turned to Jean-Philippe. “We’re almost out of charge for our weapons, Jean-Philippe.”
The Frenchman’s skin was the color of chalk. “Then we will die together, mon ami,” he said in a resonant voice while striking a stoic pose.
Solomon shook his head, frowning. “Who said anything about dying? I was just going to warn you that things are about to get very… odd. All of us from the Lost Horizon will be transforming into… ahh…” His frown deepened. “There’s no easy way to put this, Jean-Philippe. We’ll all be turning into beasts, but you won’t be in any danger yourselves, unless you try to shoot us. We may be able to turn the tide of battle as beasts.”
The Frenchman looked confused. “Qu'est-ce que c'est ‘beast’?”
“Well—”
Three different voices shouted “Breach in the fence!!” at exactly the same time, from three different directions. Solomon raised his weapon and began squeezing off shots with the regularity of a metronome. Someone’s gun began to beep empty, then Solomon’s followed suit. One of the marines potted the last robot on the wire, but Solomon could see another wave breaking from the tree line, advancing toward the compound in leaping bounds.
“Sergeant,” he said, loudly enough to be heard over the occasional hiss-crack of the few remaining energy weapons. “It’s time.”
The marine staff sergeant gave him a long look and a short nod before turning to his troops, waving his arms and speaking with a low intensity that Solomon couldn’t hear.
Solomon turned toward the rest. “Fontaine family, to me!” he called out then waited until they had all formed a small cluster around him. Every face was pale and scared. “When I say ‘go,’ we will all change into the beast you saw me change into a few times before. Try to remember who you are and what you are about. Also, remember that although incredibly strong, you are not invulnerable or immortal. I do not want to have to bury another one of you. If you get injured, withdraw.”
Hepzibah gave him a weak little smile. “Will you follow your own advice, Solomon?”
He snorted. “That doesn’t apply to the hired help,” he said with a grin.
“You are so full of shit, Solomon. You take care of yourself, big brother.”
Solomon suddenly felt an overwhelming affection for his newly discovered family and hated himself for having to put them into harm’s way. He glanced at the sergeant, who was watching him for direction. Beyond the sergeant, the line of silver robot shapes was quickly drawing closer. He nodded.
“Now!” the staff sergeant bellowed.
The world turned red for Solomon, and his senses ratcheted up tenfold. He just restrained himself from howling, but he was sure that he heard a wolflike growl from one of the marines. The claws on his black gnarled hands were every bit of fifteen centimeters long, and his muscles hummed with strength. “Fontaines, with me!” he called over his shoulder in a snarling voice.
After taking three quick steps, he bounded over the fence in a single spring. Through his feet, he sensed the slight tremor as six other forms dropped to the ground beside him. His black brows furrowed as he turned to look at the last of the six. “Bridgit?” he growled.
The form, only vaguely recognizable as a female, smiled, and Solomon felt himself involuntarily stepping back from what looked to be a grin of pure evil.
“Fine. If you wish to come with us, I want you to look after the family, as best as you can.”
There was a growl of protest from the youngest member, Tristan, Solomon guessed, which he promptly ignored. Bridget nodded slowly. Already, he noticed that the marines were slashing and tearing their way through the incoming wave of leaping animal-shaped robots.
“Let’s go get them!” he shouted, waving his hand and pointing an extended claw at the oncoming horde of silver machines.
The hardened claws, Solomon found, slashed machined steel with little resistance, while a punch or kick served to stave in a metallic head or pelvis. One on one, or even as much as three on one, he found that he was more than a match for the robotic creatures. When the odds became five or six on one, things became a little more problematic. At one point, Solomon found himself crawling from beneath a pile of a dozen squirming machines to run for his life. With the creatures following him in a long drawn-out line, Solomon was able to disassemble the attackers one or two at a time. He sat down on the ripped carapace of a metal armadillo to catch his breath, noting with some surprise that the surviving two or three dozen robots were fleeing back into the woods, the marines and members of his own family in hot pursuit. Pushing himself to his feet with a sigh, he began to run after them. In the back of his mind, he realized that the sun had risen to slightly before noon in the planet’s twenty-seven-hour day.
The sun had just set behind the jagged peaks of the distant mountains, sending purple fingers of shadow probing into the valley, when Solomon finally dragged himself out of the woods to stand looking at the compound, still several hundred meters away. After hours in the darkness or near darkness, the lights of the compound were nearly blinding. “C’mon,” he said to his marine companion as he struggled to keep the man on his feet. “We’re almost there.”
The man lifted his head, peering with his one good eye, and sighed. “I never thought I’d see that place again.”
“Yeah.” Solomon thought of the last battle with the robots in their deep cave, twenty miles from the compound. Fully one hundred functional robots had been waiting for the band of fighters, but the robots never counted on the ferocity of the marines or Fontaines.
Solomon took more of the other man’s weight as they hobbled across the empty field. Despite the benefits of the Kiniseri Construct, the marine was beginning to weaken from his multiple wounds and loss of blood. At the end of the battle, every member of the little band had been wounded to a greater or lesser degree—even Elora, who had a deep gash in her shoulder. The soldier that Solomon was supporting was the most seriously wounded of the little group, and Solomon was adamant that he would see the man safely back to the compound himself, while the staff sergeant and the others saw to their injured comrades and two fallen marines. Elora and Hepzibah pulled a crude litter in which Tristan rode, with a roughly splinted broken leg and a disgusted look on his face. Brigit, her arm in a sling, walked as a guard at their side. Solomon shook his head to clear the spots of fatigue forming before his eyes. Frowning, he shook his head again, and the spots resolved into a half dozen people walking across the field from the compound to meet him. One pair appeared to have a stretcher.
He turned to his companion. “Well, my friend, it appears that we are about to have assistance,” Solomon said in a dry croaking voice.
“‘Bout bloody time,” the marine grouched, not lifting his head.
Solomon snorted a laugh as he studied the approaching people. Not beasts. The small raiding party had discovered that after a few hours of maintaining the beast form during battle, it became harder and harder to function. Toward the end of the fight, the raiders had shifted back to human form. Solomon held on until the last of the machines were destroyed and the power source that they had used to create more of their kind was set to overload. From the visible damage to the mountain and the landslides, Solomon estimated the resulting blast in the range of three kilotons.
He looked up into Hepzibah’s frowning face. “I told you I’d make it.”
She shook her head, handing him a liter bottle of water. If he’d possessed the strength, he would have kissed her, but instead, he drank the bottle in a single long pull and handed her back the empty. “Thank you.”
He
watched the marines gently load the injured soldier onto the stretcher. The night sky was rapidly turning from indigo, to deep, almost black, navy blue. Breath puffed from the stretcher-bearers in white clouds, and the smells of battle and spilled blood were already fading. Somewhere, a night bird called, and Solomon was struck by the sudden thought that this would be a good world to call his home. Arms snaked around his waist, and he was amazed at how good the simple contact felt. His knees, for some strange reason, felt very wobbly.
“Do you need a stretcher?” Hepzibah asked.
“I don’t think so.” He blinked away a sudden dizziness. For the first time, he noticed the two shuttles, dark humps in the dim field. “Just get me to the pinnace, and I’ll go back to the ship.”
Hepzibah sighed. “I don’t think so, brother. I need to patch you up first and remove that steel rod protruding from your back.”
“What rod?” Solomon craned his neck, trying to look at his own back. Pain lanced through his left shoulder at the unusual motion.
“The rod that appears to be driven into your left shoulder blade,” Hepzibah said in a voice like dust. “And then there’s the gash in your thigh that will need at least twenty stitches.” She crossed her arms. “Do you want me to go on?”
“Ahhh, no,” he replied.
Chapter 10
REST & RECUPERATION
From the number of shattered remains discovered on the field around the camp and scattered through the woods, Solomon and Jean-Philippe had come up with the truly astounding number of forces they had been up against.
“Twenty-five hundred Bleeth robots?” Solomon had asked in awe. He’d initially guessed at five hundred.
Jean-Philippe had paused, looking up from his keyboard. “Oui, mon ami. And that may be low. We don’t know how many were destroyed in the destruction of the robot burrow.” Both Solomon and Jean-Philippe still hesitated to call it a camp. “Only time and vigilance will tell us if we are truly safe.” The men turned as one to stare out of the window toward the distant forest.
The woods were unusually quiet as Solomon and the rest of the five-man patrol stepped from beneath the shelter of the dark trees and into the brighter light of the wide valley. Thin white feathers of cloud were streaking across the Prussian-blue sky from the west, and the cool air had that dusty dry smell of snow in the not too distant future. After a week of regular patrols, the marines had yet to discover any surviving robots.
Solomon shot a quick glance at Elora, who was striding along beside him, her eyes sweeping the shady spaces beneath the trees. Since he’d left his sick bed three days earlier, she hadn’t left his side. Perhaps it was an inherent ability in the Kiniseri Construct, or perhaps it was something else, but even without looking at her, Solomon could feel Elora at his side, like a bright shadow in his mind, dispelling his shadows. He’d come to the reluctant conclusion that it felt rather… nice.
“Are you up for a little jaunt?” he asked her, trying to stifle his grin.
Her returning look was wary. “What are you up to, Solomon?” Her voice was low, meant for his ears only, and slightly husky.
“I’d like to take the Lost Horizon out on a sweep of the system, Elora, or had you forgotten about the Bleeth ship we found here on our arrival? If we don’t destroy any ships that have been left here, as soon as we’re gone, they will simply land a few more robots and start the whole cycle over again.” His brows furrowed. “I really don’t want to go through that again when we return.”
She shuddered. “Neither do I. When do we leave?” Her quick capitulation told Solomon that the thought had been on her mind, too.
“As soon as we get back and get the rest of the family together. After that, we’ll head out to the Diadem to pick up another drop shuttle. I plan to leave this shuttle here for planetary defense.”
“And… when do we leave for Mars?” She came so close that their shoulders brushed.
“It shouldn’t take too long to track down a Bleeth ship, so I would guess a week to ten days.” He gave her a knowing smile. “Miss your father?” he asked softly.
Her returning grin was crooked. “Although Giuseppe’s not my real father, yes I miss him very much,” she admitted.
“You realize that thirty years will have passed on Earth and Mars since we left. Giuseppe may not even be alive, but Xane should be.”
She looked at the ground. “I need to know, Solomon.”
“I know you do.”
The patrol stepped out of the woods, unconsciously speeding up as they headed for the compound. He wondered in a small part of his mind if Addy was still alive… and if she remembered him at all.
With her muted and mottled olive coloring, the Lost Horizon disappeared in the dark places between the stars, and Solomon was forced to find the huge ship by instruments alone.
“Pinnace to Lost Horizon,” he called, when they were finally close enough. “We’re ready for pickup.”
Gibbs’s voice was steady and comforting. “Lost Horizon to Pinnace. Grappling in three… two… one…” The small vessel shuddered briefly. “Welcome back, Captain,” Gibbs said as the hangar lights blazed on before them.
“Thank you, Gibbs.” It felt like a homecoming. “Warm up the systems and prepare for departure.”
“Yes, Captain. Can I ask our destination?” The AI’s voice was unperturbed.
“Do a quick sweep of this system for other Bleeth ships and then set course for the Diadem, Gibbs. We ran into a small problem on Shangri-La—a whole lot of small problems in fact—and we will have to leave our drop shuttle there for planetary defense.” He let out a weary sigh. “I’ll need to pick up another from someplace.”
There was a bump as the pinnace settled to the hangar deck, then the engines died into silence.
“A single combat drop shuttle with no missiles is a meager planetary defense,” Gibbs pointed out dryly. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Solomon sagged. “Fine. I’ll be on the bridge momentarily.”
The lights were already on when the bridge staff entered, and Solomon was startled to see that the ship was already underway. Gibbs spoke before Solomon could utter a single word.
“I got us underway, Captain, based on your directions. It really doesn’t matter whether you are physically on the bridge or not. No human actually pilots the ship, after all. Fly-by-wire went out with the old twenty-first-century fighters.”
Solomon sighed. “I understand, Gibbs. What is the status of the Proxima Centauri b system?”
“Unless the Bleeth ship was aware of our presence and is purposely hiding, or is very small, the system appears clear. The first two options appear unlikely, as the original Bleeth ship was orbiting in plain sight and unaware of our approach.”
Solomon nodded in satisfaction. “What is our ETA at Diadem?”
“Three hours, Captain. Areto is aware of our impending arrival.”
A heavy silence descended on the bridge as the light cruiser Diadem finally came into view on the forward screens.
“Holy shit!” someone on the bridge whispered, and Solomon heartily agreed with the sentiment. While the Lost Horizon seemed the lumbering whale-like battlecruiser the color of a mottled green olive, Diadem was a lean and deadly looking barracuda, her repaired and needle-nosed hull the color of glistening blood. Solomon swallowed.
“Are you telling me that that ship belonged to the good guys?” he asked in awe.
“Yes, Captain,” Gibbs replied primly. “The Lost Horizon is probably the oldest of the ships involved in this last conflagration, predating most of the others by many millennia. Diadem, on the other hand, is a relatively newer ship, and incorporates many unique features, including a hull that is capable of changing color on demand. Shall I have Areto change the color?”
Solomon snorted. “Oh, hell no! I love the color, if for nothing more than the shock value. While an enemy gapes at your color scheme, you can get off a quick shot and perhaps win the battle.”
Elora stifled a sma
ll giggle.
“What’s the status of the Diadem, with a primary emphasis on her auxiliaries?”
“Areto informs me that the Diadem is fifty percent operational, Captain. Main drives and navigation have been restored, while life support in the entire vessel seems problematic, with only forty-two percent of the ship habitable. Areto reports that sixty percent of the energy weapons have been recharged, and using scrap from destroyed ships, she has even managed to fabricate and restock sixteen percent of her missile stores.”
“She can actually move?” Solomon asked, shocked. The initial estimate of the repair time had been two months, at the very minimum.
“She can both move and fight, Captain. Of her auxiliaries, the last combat shuttle and two of her fighters are now operational.” Solomon nodded his approval. “I believe that Areto would like to speak with you, Captain.”
Solomon looked at the deadly warship in the view screen with a whimsical grin. “Put her on, Gibbs.”
The screen flickered then cleared to show the hard face of an Amazonian warrior. Her skin was so pale it was nearly translucent, and the planes of her cheekbones were stiff and angular. A straight red braid as thick as his wrists hung down her back, wound with what appeared to be golden twine. Her eyes were as green as Elora’s, while a black sleeveless leather jerkin served to emphasize her wide shoulders and well-muscled arms. What she might have worn below the jerkin was hidden by the screen angle. She was a striking figure, especially when she smiled to show brilliantly white teeth.
“Hello, Captain Draxx. It is a very great pleasure to meet you at last,” she said in a surprisingly deep voice and perfect American English.
Solomon smiled. “Hello, Areto. It’s good to meet you also, and I’d like to say that you have a hell of a good-looking ship there.”
Areto beamed in pleasure. “Thank you, sir. I’d like to point out that I’d have had nothing if you and my brother Gibbs hadn’t saved me.” Her face became serious. “I owe you my life, Captain Draxx.”
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