Final Assault

by Stephen Ames Berry

  “Ease off, Poqal,” said Sarel.

  “Believing this,” continued the captain, “and, for various reasons, I do, why should I give you the portal device? My duty is to send this prize ship to Kronar.” He punched up a t’ata and took another sweetcake from the platter on Ragal’s desk. “With an AI invasion coming through that Rift in the Ghost Quadrant, Fleet needs this battleglobe—it needs to clone it. Why are you shaking your head, Ragal?”

  “There’s not enough time, materials or expertise to build a single battleglobe, Captain,” said the AI. “The weapons systems aren’t miniaturized marvels—they’re huge and hugely expensive brutes. To be effective they have to be many and mounted on something this big and powerful. Only other battleglobes or mindslavers stand a chance against the Fleet of the One.”

  “What a hideous name,” said Satat.

  “It should be called the Fleet of Fear and Hate,” said Sarel. “Our fascistic brethren grew and prospered at fearsome cost. All their slaves hate them and from records on this ship, many of our brethren hate each other. The conservatives hate the liberals, the liberals the conservatives, both hate and fear their slaves. Ragal believes our imperium’s a rotten fruit, ready to fall. One ship—this ship—can spark a revolt that will burn out the bad and maybe spare some of the good.”

  “There’s good?” said the Satat.

  “We’re AIs,” said Sarel.

  Poqal had been sipping his t’ata as he listened. “You haven’t been home for a very long time, any of you.” He set down his cup. “Yet you’re so sure of yourselves. The most recent arrivals from your universe have been the AI infiltrators who became Combine Telan and they’re not talking with you. You’ve some way of independently confirming the intelligence you found on this ship.”

  “We’ve reason to be sure of ourselves and our mission,” said Sarel.

  “So you can’t save us from fire and blood without the portal device—if you can save us at all. Now my other objection—there’s only one extant alternative-reality linkage device, an Imperial relic, possibly a prototype. You’d have to take it with you, or you couldn’t access your home universe from the intervening reality. With you goes vital new war tech–this battleglobe. I’ve no authority to gamble it on your success.”

  “New war tech it would take years to adapt,” said Kiroda. “There’s no more time—the Fleet of the One is coming and straight for Kronar.”

  “If I release the device and the battleglobe to you, you may bring the AI empire down. Before then, I’ll be tried and shot. If I do my duty, the AI fleet will exterminate us.”

  “I’m glad I’m not you,” said Ragal. “Your decision?”

  “Continue your mission,” sighed the captain. “Any hope you’ll return before my court-martial?

  “We’ll try.”

  “I’ll have Syatan release the device to you.”

  “You may have lost your mind, Captain. But I haven’t lost mine,” said Syatan, his image sharp in the commscreen. “I’m not releasing that device to anyone but an authorized Fleet detachment—preferably of flotilla strength. An AI battleglobe with AIs on it doesn’t qualify.”

  Poqal’s face reddened dangerously as he leaned closer to the pickup. “Don’t give me any of your Academy crap about authorizations and illegal orders, Captain. We have no way to contact Fleet. As insystem commander, I’ve made the best decision possible with the available information and have given you a direct order. They may court-martial me for it, but I sure as hell will see you shot for disobeying a direct order in a war zone.” He leaned back, a short, fat man out of breath.

  “I am making for jump point, Captain Poqal,” said Syatan icily, features pale but composed. “I will report your dereliction of duty to FleetOps—and my reaction to it. We’ll see who makes the death walk.”

  The screen went blank.

  “Get him back, Captain,” said Ragal. “We’re not going anywhere without that device.”

  Poqal searched the unfamiliar console for the retransmit key.

  “Don’t bother,” said Sarel, turning from the complink. “I was afraid of this. Devastator carried a full liaison packet, with all the data Combine Telan had sent home over the years—sabotage plans, strategy, agents. According to that data, the real Syatan was killed and a combat droid substituted during his plebe year. Gentlemen, our enemies have the portal device.”

  The Kronarins under Ragal and Detrelna had taken Devastator, scanned for holdouts, and then busied themselves with plans and repairs, ignoring the vast reaches of the great ship. Most of Devastator remained unexplored by its new owners.

  There was a place that attracted visitors, though—the observatory. A small domed structure between the operations tower and a ring of missile batteries, it was a sharp contrast to the battleglobe’s endless black and gray

  “So near, yet …” said Zahava, watching the slowly rotating holovid of Earth filling the room’s center. Home was a soft swirl of stratocumuli broken by the blue and brown pastels of a world only a brief shuttle flight away.

  “We’ll get back there,” John said. “After this is over. Go down to the Cape, open up the cottage, drink beer …”

  “‘… put our feet up on the rail, watch the sunset over Nantucket Sound, and belch contentedly,’” she finished.

  He laughed. “Said that a little too much, have I?”

  “Not that much.”

  They were an odd contrast, she a dark-skinned, lissome Sephardic Jew with a faint Israeli accent, he a sandy-haired WASP of medium build and a barely discernible New England accent. Ex-Mossad and ex-CIA, they’d wed after the Biofab War, then shipped out aboard Implacable into Quadrant Blue 9, battling corsairs, mindslavers, AIs, and helping take Devastator from her AI crew. They were on board for what they knew would be their last mission.

  “You really think we’ll get out of this alive?” asked Zahava.

  “Talk that defeatist crap you won’t,” said a new voice, echoing through the dome. “Bill!” they both said, hurrying to greet Sutherland. The CIA Director returned Zahava’s kiss and shook John’s hand.

  “What are you doing aboard this monstrosity?” said John.

  Sutherland shrugged. “Sarel invited me as a symbol of solidarity. This war’s beyond any Earth government’s influence—we’re but pygmies. Kronar goes down, we all die.” He glanced up at the holovid. “I mostly came to say good-bye to two old friends and to wish you Godspeed.”

  “How’s McShane?” asked Zahava.

  “Same irascible old coot. I got a postcard from him last month. Bought a big sailing ketch, hired a crew and took the kids and grandkids off to the South Pacific.” Bob McShane, a retired professor, had been with John, Zahava and Sutherland since Implacable first reached Terra, playing a pivotal role in the Biofab War and the battle for Terra Two. “So how’d you acquire this little alien craft?”

  “Ask Zahava,” said John. “She took it. I just wandered around lost, playing tag with some AI security blades.”

  Sutherland looked at Zahava.

  “We stormed it,” said the Israeli. “One assault team infiltrated and took out the shield. My team took their bridge as Implacable came in and it was over.”

  Sutherland snapped his fingers. “Just like that?”

  “Not really.”

  The long-barreled blasters came out of their holsters as Guan-Sharick appeared behind them. The blonde ignored the guns, looking at Sutherland. “They came under fierce fire and nerve gas attack. Zahava’s assault force sustained over seventy percent casualties, John and Lawrona’s ninety percent. Ragal was badly wounded. And still they were lucky.”

  “Long time,” said Sutherland. “I’d hoped you were dead.”

  “I’m on the side of the angels, haven’t you heard? I always have been.”

  “And I’m a Trotskyite,” said Sutherland.

  “Perhaps someday you’ll believe it. What I did on Terra was necessary,” said the transmute. “What I did to galactic humanity by instigating th
e Biofab War was necessary—a vital conditioning exercise.”

  “You killed a lot of people,” said John. “Everyone wants a piece of you.”

  The blonde looked at him, a beautiful young face with sad old eyes. “Nothing can be done to me that hasn’t already been done, Harrison. I don’t expect to survive this mad crusade. Neither should you. Syatan, the captain of the Victory Day, is an AI infiltrator. He’s making off with the portal device and will reach jump point before we can overtake him. I can transport the two of you and myself to his ship. Like that,” added the transmute, snapping her fingers.

  Sutherland was alone in the observatory.

  Chapter 9

  “Weapons systems work flawlessly,” said The Shatina as a fusion beam shattered another small asteroid.

  “Make for final jump point,” said Lawrona. The asteroid belt was a favorite target area, just off the principal ship path from Kronar to Utria. Three jump points—those unseen but well-charted points from which a ship could jump most accurately to another specified point—lay behind them, one ahead. It was here the captain expected trouble—even looked forward to it. After years aboard lumbering dreadnoughts, he was reveling in the instant response his hands brought from the sleek little ship, the almost forgotten thrill of piloting a one-man scout.

  “A ship has just appeared at jump point,” said the ship. “It’s a Nova-class Fleet destroyer.”

  The projection appeared on the tacscan—the red of the destroyer moving toward the green of The Shatina as it approached the pulsing red circle of the jump point.

  “Ship-to-ship hail,” said The Shatina.

  “Accept,” said Lawrona.

  A man’s face appeared in the commscreen, the silver starships of a captain on his collar. He was middle-aged, graying at the temples—and very unhappy. “My Lord,” he said with a nod. “Captain Zathan, commanding Alon’s Hope. We’re ordered to take your ship aboard and return with you in custody to Kronar.”

  Lawrona’s hand tapped the joystick, taking The Shatina off automatic, moving the ship forward at standard. “I invoke the immunity of the Covenant, Captain,” he said. On the tacscan, the distance between the two ships was quickly shrinking.

  “I’m sorry, but they said you’d do that, and that it was a procedural matter best decided by a tribunal. I’m to bring you in.”

  “Dead or alive?”

  Zathan spread his hands helplessly.

  Text threaded beneath captain’s image. His cannon have locked on. Tug your left earlobe when I’m to fire.

  Lawrona kept his left hand on the chairarm. “Zathan. I know that accent. You’re from Utria. The Zathans in Bastik?”

  The captain nodded. He looked quite miserable. “We had friends in common—the Stanins. I was honored to serve under Commodore Stanin the year before he …” he paused.

  “Killed himself. Have you a warrant for my arrest or are we just chatting?”

  “I have verbal orders, My Lord.” Zathan would rather be anywhere else—his family had been liegemen of the margrave’s family since before the Fall.

  “You can only bring me in with an order signed by the Grand Admiral or by writ of the full Council. Do you have either, Captain?”

  “No, Captain.”

  “Then please get out of our way, sir. As first ship insystem, we have prior navigation rights. You’re between us and our jump point.”

  If we jump now, said the ship, deviation will only be .032. We can make it up in a few days.

  “Please cut your engines and prepare to be taken in on tractors, sir,” said Zathan. On the tacscan, what little space remained between the two ships was vanishing. Lawrona could see the destroyer through the armorglass, hull bristling with weapons turrets. Collision was imminent.

  “No, sir.” Pulling up on the stick, Lawrona sent the scout knifing up and over the destroyer’s bridge, down along its hull and off toward jump point, the huge tri-tubed engines shrinking in his rearscan.

  The destroyer commander’s image vanished as the commlink broke. “He switched off,” said the ship as Lawrona moved up to flank speed. “And he’s cancelled weapons’ lock.”

  Reaching jump point, Lawrona engaged the drive, feeling his stomach churn as space twisted in that crazy, familiar way, then it was over—they were in the Utria system. Home.

  Sighing, Lawrona dropped The Shatina’s speed down to standard.

  “How do we log this?” asked Zathan’s first officer.

  The captain shrugged. “Weapons array malfunction.”

  “FleetOps is really hot on him.”

  “You didn’t know Stanin. He was a brilliant officer and a charismatic leader. And a very decent human being. He championed my career and saved my life. I’ll not dishonor his memory by killing his dead son’s closest friend. Besides, what will they do? Assign us as corsair bait to that idiot Wotal’s Red 7 task force? They’ve already done that. My hands are clean. Take us home.”

  “Mines!” warned the ship. “Everywhere!”

  Cursing, Lawrona cut speed and tried to nullify forward thrust as alarms beeped. “Incoming missiles!” said The Shatina. “Move and the mines get us, don’t and the missiles will.”

  “Missiles from where?”

  “Two heavily armed commercial vessels.” It all came up on the tacscan—the red of the minefield surrounding the jump point, the incoming red streaks of the two missiles, and standing well outside the minefield, the small, fragile green of the scout.

  “IDs?” said Lawrona, seeing only one way out.

  “Combine Telan.”

  The missiles penetrated the minefield and were destroyed—as planned. A spectacular wave of overlapping orange-red explosions licked toward the scout, racing from mine to mine.

  “Short jump, backside!” snapped Lawrona. The Shatina disappeared as the blast reached her.

  “Yes or no?” asked the man in the commscreen.

  The man wearing the uniform of a Combine merchant captain shrugged. “We think we got him, but the tacscan shows no ship residue. There should be some trace of the drive isotopes.”

  “He may have blind-jumped. If so, he’s as good as dead,” said the other. “Remain on station until you hear from me again, Captain.”

  “Yes, Goodman Telan.”

  As the captain’s image disappeared, Telan, neither good nor a man, turned to the other human-adapted AI, one who passed for his son and heir. “That’s Lawrona’s home system. He probably jumped, but I doubt it was blind. We’ll watch and wait, strike when he shows.”

  The two stood in the underground command center of one of the Federation’s wealthiest industrial combines—a combine created by beings from another reality, intent on infiltrating and ultimately destroying the Confederation. The big room bustled with activity, coordinating far-flung merchant fleets and communications between the Combine and another universe.

  “One of our units has the human’s only portal device,” said the younger Telan.

  “Syatan?” asked Telan Senior, glancing at the status boards. Everything was on schedule—forward battle units of the Fleet of the One were approaching the Rift, about to penetrate the Kronarins’ Quadrant Blue 9—the Ghost Quadrant.

  “Yes.”

  “He’s had it since his ship was assigned to Terra,” said Telan Senior. “His crew’s human and loyal. He can kill them, but he can’t run the ship alone. And there’s always an escort vessel. So?”

  “He’s convinced the crew they’re fleeing an unlawful order, heading back for Kronar. Once out of the Terran system, he’ll kill his crew. One of our ships will meet him.”

  “Having that device, we’ll use it to bring in a second force, augmenting the one coming through the Rift. Nothing can stop us.” A sudden thought gave Telan Senior pause. “What unlawful order was he fleeing?”

  The other AI looked at his senior nervously. “Remember Binor’s advance force? The one we thought the mindslavers wiped out?

  “Thought?”

  “Ragal captured
Binor’s flagship Devastator. It’s at Terra now with Ragal commanding. He was offered the portal device by the insystem Kronarin commander. Fortunately Syatan left with it.”

  “For his sake I hope Binor’s dead. In all our long history no battleglobe’s ever been taken.”

  “There are rumors from home …”

  “I’ve heard them and they’re unconfirmed. But certainly things aren’t well.”

  “What should we report?” asked Telan junior.

  “Nothing until we’ve succeeded. Devastator can hurt us far more back home than here—which is why Ragal’s trying to take it there.”

  The Shatina’s jump drive was a creation of the High Imperial epoch. Unlike contemporary starships, the little scout was capable of low-risk, insystem jumps such as it had just made.

  Lawrona looked down on Utria and the rugged highlands of the Shtul, one of the planet’s three continents and its commercial hub. Before the war, the tacscan would have picked up hundreds of craft coming and going from Utriaport or traversing the planet. Now the tacscan was empty.

  “Set us down beside in the old shlar grove, across the lake from the Hall,” said Lawrona as the ship plunged into the atmosphere, taking a sharp evasive tack against hypothesized missiles.

  Unchallenged and seemingly undetected, the little ship sat down at dusk in the wooded hills nestling L’Yan, ancestral home of the Margraves of Utria. The bright autumn leaves were catching the last rays of sunset when Lawrona clambered down The Shatina’s boarding ladder and onto his home soil for the first time in long years.

  Breathing deeply of the crisp fresh air, he bent and picked up some leaves and dirt, rubbing them between his hands, savoring the pungent smell of home. Gently brushing his hands, he made his way toward the faint track of the old vehicle trail and the nearby village.