by Ivan Ertlov
That was an announcement. To place the fate of Neoterra in the hands of those who once destroyed the old Earth? Bold, daring, worthy of a great leader - and yet it was out of the question. Not like that, at least not for Frank and not for Dilara either, who shook her head violently.
"Forget it; we have to get Bettsy and Troshk out before anything else. The Protectorate will first assemble a fleet of small ships, then decide on - how many? Eight? Nine? - jumps to the Kundahar wormhole. By then, our friends will be squeezed and executed. No, take one of the fighters, your best pilot at the helm, and have him deliver the message. We attack Hephaestus with everything we have and ..."
She stumbled, her ears went to half-mast, and for a moment, her gaze seemed to drift off into infinite space.
"... what about your faster-than-light communication?"
Mariella shook her head.
"We have nothing that can radio anywhere near the Council homeworlds, just a few basics for the Rim. Well-camouflaged expander-transponders at both ends of the Kundahar wormhole, linked to more near Grarosh and Ylzgrar. That's about it."
"Is the final frequency on which transmission takes place freely selectable?"
"Yes, of course."
A diabolical grin played around Dilara's lips as she sidled around the table, taking up position next to Mariella.
"May I?"
The Professor glanced at Tidam, who just shrugged, then another at Frank before she went to the terminal, entered priority codes, and opened a connection.
Millions of kilometres away, a satellite woke up, processed the received data, finally activated a compact miniature expander. Just strong enough to stabilise the wormhole for a few seconds, at a level where not even an emergency buoy could slip through.
A message, on the other hand ...
Demonstratively, Mariella handed over control to the astrotelepath, who first defined a target frequency and then cleared her throat noisily.
"This is Dilara Kree ... this is the Raging Beauty. We have a Code Orange in the Trubul system. I repeat, rager in distress. Code Orange in the Trubul system, unmapped metal dwarf, approach it carefully via the Kundahar wormhole. Massive military presence, superior space fighters, highest threat level. We begin the battle and await your support."
That was it. No further explanation, no more detailed instructions - and Frank was left with the feeling that none of this was necessary.
Mariella turned to the side, as surprised as she was curious.
"What was that? No one will ever receive that message. No one uses such a low frequency for long-distance communication."
Dilara bared her teeth.
"THAT may be YOUR opinion."
*
With the strange calm with which a soldier condemned to annihilation enters his final battlefield or a man sentenced to death makes his way to the scaffold; Frank opened the weapons box. Dilara had given him the green light and a free hand - in theory, he was allowed to take everything they had in stock, from the machine guns over the twin cannons to Troshk's much-loved, carefully counted, and constantly restocked nuclear grenades.
Theoretically.
Practically, his gaze fell on the box within the box, an elongated polymer crate with Frank painted on its surface in the astonishingly graceful handwriting of the Stormcommander. It was hard not to get emotional - but Frank had other priorities.
Everything in its own time.
The second lid opened silently, lighter and smoother, revealing the contents without a metallic creak that echoed in Yrsha's hold. There it lay, the inevitable Liquidor, the amazingly versatile water pistol with which the Stormcommander occasionally let him go into battle - and much more often just put it on his shoulder. But also a shotgun, under-shaft repeater, with twenty vicious tungsten carbide charges in the tubular magazine. Next to it lay a laser sniper rifle, more than thirty kilometres effective range - and Troshk's old military pistol.
The choice was easy for him.
Back on the bridge, he glanced at Dilara, who had the carbine dangling from a bracket on her pilot's couch, before staring through the window into space - at the small celestial body that was steadily approaching. Okay, actually, it was the other way round - they were approaching Hephaestus, so far undisturbed.
Frank lay down next to Dila, took a deep breath, sent out his thoughts - and initiated a first, superficial connection. No full telepathy, no entanglement, no unwanted exchange of innermost thoughts.
Only the dates and next steps, imminent actions, and manoeuvres synchronised between Yrsha, Dilara, and him.
But they were still talking aloud to each other while the ship kept projecting additional information into the metre-sized hologram that floated under the bridge and allowed Florbsh to share in their knowledge.
Frank could feel exactly how more and more of it was being accumulated, piled up, subjected to thorough analysis. And that was precisely what they were waiting for.
"Yrsha, where are you with the scan?"
"The outer structures are difficult to penetrate, even with my sensors. But first things first - at least for you. I have found the Metaltaster and the Stormcommander, both alive and in this sector of the facility."
Two green lights appeared in the holographic representation of Hephaestus, and Frank's heart was lifted just as much as Dilara's. But the strange wording of this answer had not escaped the astrotelepath either.
"What do you mean for us? What else have you discovered?"
"An accumulation of organic residue here in this fringe area. I believe it is a chemical treatment plant, probably for fertiliser production."
An orange glow at the equator of the artificial celestial body, close to the surface. Florbsh's pseudopod trembled, as did his voice.
"What organic residues?"
A brief silence, a moment of reverent restraint and further proof that Yrsha was far more than a sophisticated machine. The regret was abundantly clear in her voice when she raised it after all.
"These are the mortal remains of more than nine hundred beings, of which just under seven hundred are almost certainly human. All in various stages of decomposition and processing."
Dilara growled angrily.
"So much for the miners being on their way home. They just killed them!"
Frank nodded silently. What could he say? Nothing that made the situation more bearable, and another thought crept into his consciousness — that of the people who were missing from this line-up.
They might have been prisoners, doing forced labour somewhere for the armament of New Earth. But it was much more likely that they had actually joined Freezemayer, united in hatred of all NHS in this universe. And if so, had they at least condoned the murder of their colleagues? Or perhaps even supported it?
Yrsha jerked him rudely out of his gloomy thoughts.
"And there is something else. I have analysed the superstructure inside Hephaestus and am sending you the data in the projection. I'm still not quite sure what it is, but looking at the antimatter conduction and structure, I have a hunch."
A red dot appeared, only two kilometres from the position of their captured comrades, and next to it numbers lit up, which, together with the schematic representation of the facility, corroborated Frank's original suspicions.
He closed his eyes. It was time to share his actual plan with the others.
"All right, Yrsha, we'll fly as close as we can, and then you translocate me right there - and Dilara to our friends."
"I'll go with you there, Dila."
Surprised, Frank widened his eyes, raised his head, and looked at Florbsh, whose voice left no doubt that he was serious.
"What? I'm a Durash; I can get in anywhere. If you need someone to free prisoners, I'm the logical choice."
But you're a lawyer — and accountant, an employee, not one of my friends - yet.
All this went through Frank's mind, and yet he remained silent, nodding only curtly. Florbsh was right, and every little factor that increas
ed their chances of success was welcome to him. Especially since they did not seem particularly rosy.
"I remind you again that my place-to-place transporter is not certified for, and has never been tested with, living creatures."
Dilara snorted indignantly.
"If you can send a Schnitzel from A to B, you can send Frank and me, too. Theoretically, it should work, right?"
"Theoretically? Yes, and I will also theoretically be able to get you back if you put a transponder on you, the Metaltaster and the Stormcommander. Theoretically, I can also defend myself alone or fly evasive manoeuvres until you are ready to be brought back. For three hours, four minutes, and ten seconds."
The astrotelepath nodded grimly.
"If you survive that long."
"Exactly. With my main weapon deactivated, our opponents are not only equal but far superior to me."
Frank practised purposeful optimism.
"Maybe we don't need all that, maybe our bluff will work long enough, our element of surprise will last. Then we have much better cards."
They were still ten, maybe fifteen minutes flight time away from the star forge when he activated the radio.
"Prospect freighter Yrsha to Hephaestus, come in."
A short silence, a crackle on the line, finally the voice of an astonishingly good-humoured air traffic controller.
"Yrsha, this is Hephaestus. We were wondering why you were approaching. How can we help you?"
That sounded promising, and Dilara nodded encouragingly to Frank.
"Unfortunately, we have to end our colleagues' inspection early; the Professor and the mayor have asked us to fly an urgent message to the Splinter City."
This time the silence lasted longer but did not change the tone of the jovial chit-chat that followed.
"All right, I'll let them know and make the necessary arrangements. Take the docking entrance in Sector G south of the equator; that's the quickest way to handle you. Hephaestus out."
"What on earth was that? It didn't take much for him to invite us to dinner!"
"I don't know, Dila, I don't know."
He really didn't, but he had hope. A last, abstruse, insane hope that the whole conspiracy was just a figment of Freezemayer and Gonzales' imagination. A crazy idea planned and simulated in the computer but never implemented in reality — no other parties involved, no hostiles, Troshk and Bettsy not in danger.
That was the hope.
It died not last, but first, as he stared at the hologram above his head - and then out into space. More than two hundred fighter pilots shot into space from the bays of the star forge, and three massive destroyers followed them.
Enemies inbound!
The fog is breaking,
The sky is bright,
And Aeolus loosens
The fearful band.
The winds are whispering,
The skipper stirs.
Hurry up! Hurry!
The wave is parting,
The distance approaches;
Already I see the land.
- Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
11.
Hephaestus
What is the difference between a fighter and an interceptor? The fighter tries to destroy the enemy spacecraft, the interceptor tries to keep it from its actual target. It's often the same thing - but not always.
Troshk's instruction creeps out of Frank's memory into the here and now, into his consciousness, by no means useless, but with an important realisation.
The enemy is superior, but he has other goals.
And misjudged the situation, at least regarding one point.
Yrsha is not alone!
Within a few seconds, the policemen and women in the fighters behind her drop back from the radar shadow, break up their formation flown at a distance of a few metres, go on the attack.
All nine rush towards the enemy, and Frank accelerates.
However, the tenth has reached the Kundahar wormhole, tunnelling into the Rim, carrying the message towards the Protectorate.
They have achieved the first objective of the war even before the weapons come to life.
But now, all hell breaks loose!
With fervour, Yrsha and Dila chase plasma fire towards the enemies, scoring their first hits.
The enemy fires back!
Its superiority is no longer two hundred, now only twentyfold, but it is enough to turn space in front of Yrsha and her companions into a beacon of focused light, a death zone of thousands of laser salvos.
Frank accelerates, lets the ship rotate around its own axis, swerves to the left and right, up and down.
They get three or four hits, right in the bow.
Superficial damage, if any, Yrsha's armour reflects and radiates, swallowing the rest with flying colours.
One fighter perishes in plasma fire, two others turn away smoking, a fourth tries to flip on its back to accelerate away from them.
He is fast, incredibly fast.
But not as fast as Yrsha's salvo. The enemy's tail perishes in a fireball, the hull follows in a tremendous secondary detonation, and through its scattering remains two policemen thrust, throwing themselves on their equal fellows.
Equal?
That is an illusion.
The New Earth police officers fly and fight with heart and mind, courage and bravery. But they are civilians, trained on gliders and simulators, hopelessly inferior to soldiers steeled in dozens of acts of piracy.
Two die in the first moments of the battle, a third staggers towards Hephaestus with his right wing shot off before he is vaporised in the metre-thick laser beam of a destroyer.
Frank forces Yrsha into a barrel roll, lunges towards the wall of enemies that they are mentally erecting between the star forge and the attackers.
The fighters' laser beams, attacking mercilessly from the flanks, bore into the side, eating away more and more of the precious armour.
Frank and Dilara groan, share Yrsha's pain, now finally unite to form the triad.
A jolt goes through the prospector ship, superhuman piloting becomes divine, and merciless precision takes out two more enemies.
Frank swings to the right, dodges three opponents who want to heckle them, dives away downwards - and stares into the turrets of one of the destroyers that appears in front of him out of nowhere.
"FOR THE NEW EARTH!"
The radio message echoes in their ears, booms over Yrsha's bridge, and horrified, they witness a policewoman throwing herself into the destroyer, sacrificing her life.
But not in vain!
The enemy's silhouette glows briefly as the fighter bores into its hull; glistening light from within illuminates the space around ...
... and then, the destroyer is destroyed, detonates in the cold darkness of space.
Yrsha and three of her companions push through the gap, racing towards Hephaestus.
The enemies react, play out their superior speed, sit to their side, and begin the barrage.
The police officers throw themselves at them, engage them in fights, buy Yrsha precious seconds.
And then, all of a sudden, Hephaestus fills the window in front of them, in all its dark, metallic presence.
Simple defensive batteries open fire, and primitive space-space missiles fly towards them, fodder for Yrsha's guns, no real threat.
This comes from behind, two, three hits in the stern, the secondary starboard nozzle fails.
The ship screams, and with her, Frank and Dilara in shared agony, unified pain.
But they achieve their goal.
Transport distance!
*
The reality around Frank is frayed, becomes a milky-glass image, frozen in space and time. The bridge on which he is lying just now looks like a painting, a still life of the great old painters - and dissolves.
Metal and polymer, glass and synthetic foam, hologram and matter disintegrate into individual pixels, vague echoes of past photons.
A black void, still dense in its su
rreal substance.
Cold.
Darkness.
A stab in Frank's spine, a surge of searing pain that shoots from there into his toes, is thrown back, races through his body, and explodes in his skull.
He sinks to his knees and only then realises that he is standing.
Noisily, he vomits his guts out, manages with difficulty to not topple forward, to not land in his own filth.
His upper body swings back, and so does his head, staring upwards at the ceiling of the enormous dome under which he has materialised.
The echo is impressive, and it attracts the attention of two guards, hastily turning shadows that slowly take on contour.
Frank doesn't wait to see the details.
He jerks his right hand upwards and shoots.
*
An air of regret, compassion and guilt spread through him as he stepped over the bodies of the two soldiers, caught a glimpse of their staring eyes and mouths still wide open in shock and surprise.
Maybe they didn't know what was going on, maybe they weren't conspirators, maybe they just thought they were serving the defence of their new home — the first home for humans after millennia of paternalism, domination, and exploitation.
No, that was impossible.
For they guarded that part of the facility that Mariella had not been able to associate with any technology she knew, the monstrous superstructures strung together in a ring several kilometres in diameter, forming a circle of death. Dozens of the massive antenna arrays were aligned so that their beams would focus just below the dome, and this seemed to have an airlock, a metal iris that could open at any time, ready ...
... yes, what for?
Frank shivered, and his teeth clashed hard as suspicion and conjecture were pulverised, giving way to a cruel realisation, confirming to him what he had already feared.
