Final Assault

by Stephen Ames Berry

  “S’Gala, is that you?” came the Hammer’s angry voice.

  “Lord High Admiral S’Gala, Imperial Battle Command,” said the computer, its voice replacing R’Tak’s for an instant.

  “Affirmative, R’Tak,” said Awal, affecting a High Kronarin accent

  “What the hell happened?”

  “Line failed us. You see the result.”

  On the flagship, R’Tak frowned as a security alert blinked on his screen: NOT S’GALA. UNKNOWN.

  “S’Lak,” he said to his captain. “Hostiles have taken Battle Command. Blow it away. Comm Officer, get me the Emperor.”

  “Line, please,” pleaded Admiral Laguan.

  “Patience,” said Line.

  Detrelna picked up the suddenly beeping communit and listened. “An Admiral Lord R’Tak demands to speak with the Emperor.”

  “The Bloody Hammer himself. It worked. The Twelfth Fleet’s back,” said Captain Sakur.

  Detrelna pressed the commkey, listened for second. “His Grace is gone. May I take a message?” He winced at the squeal of a disconnect. “Rude. Whatever happens, it’s out of our hands. You’re not dead,” he said to Sakur as Lawrona finished dressing the Guard officer’s wound.

  “Not yet.” Sakur slipped his good arm back into his tunic.

  “Interesting. The radiation from the blaster hit,” said Line. “It’s the only variable. I’ll beam him to Medical. Advise when you’re ready to return.”

  “Now,” said Detrelna.

  An instant later the last citadel held only the dead.

  “S’Lak.” Receiving no answer, Admiral R’Tak turned to see Captain S’Lak and her bridge crew fading, disappearing even as he stood, reaching out to a diaphanous ship and crew that vanished with him.

  Chapter 24

  The warning sounded across Devastator’s bridge: “By Order of the Fleet of the One, this system is under interdict. Withdraw or be destroyed. Repeat: This system is under interdict …”

  “Get us out of here, please,” pleaded Yarin. He turned to Guan-Sharick. “You seem to be in charge—do something.”

  A planet appeared on the main screen, a cloud-wreathed world of blue seas and brown continents. It wasn’t the planet that held everyone’s attention, but the energy web laced about it, a yellow lattice of death stretching between the orbital forts surrounding the planet.

  “What would you have me do, Yarin?” asked the blonde. “Argue with million-year-old automatic defenses? If we pass between those energy lines, we’ll be vaporized. If we stay here, those forts will fire.” A close scan of a fort replaced the planet on the screen. Black, unlit, it sat behind the faint blue shimmer of its shield, bristling with weapons batteries, an ancient killer that had destroyed everything ever sent against it.

  “This is a battleglobe!” said Yarin. “Fight!”

  “You killed most of our crew, idiot,” said Kiroda.

  “Yarin!”

  The group on the command tier turned in time to see Ulka crumple to the deck, hand clutching his throat.

  “Don’t touch him!” Guan-Sharick flitted from the command tier to reappear kneeling beside the Qalian. The red-bearded rebel was thrashing about, fighting for air, tongue protruding, eyes bulging. A final convulsion tore a death rattle from the giant’s throat—he jerked once and lay still.

  “Stay back!” ordered the transmute. She needn’t have bothered—Yarin’s shipmates hung well away. She pointed to the dead man’s swollen tongue, black and covered with sores. “Plague, Yarin,” she said, taking a syringe from her belt pouch. “The Crippler. Have your men isolate themselves in their quarters.” She inserted an auto-syringe into Ulka’s jugular, drawing a blood sample. “Let’s be sure.”

  Pale-faced, Yarin started to translate. He got as far as “plague” when the Qalians turned and bolted from the bridge.

  “Where are they going?” said John, pointing after the running Qalians.

  “To their ships,” said Yarin. “Running for their lives.”

  “They’re already dead,” said Kiroda. “And they’ll spread that virus everywhere. They have to be stopped.” He reached for the gunnery controls.

  “Wait, Commander.” Guan-Sharick stood. Taking a med analyzer from her pouch, she placed it atop a console and injected the blood sample. “Don’t bother,” she said, reading the results. “It’s too late.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Yarin. He stood with the others, away from the dead man.

  The transmute held up the analyzer. “Generic plague bacillus—the one the AIs used on the Trel a million years ago. It mutated and is attacking humans—with one intermediate step.” She looked at Yarin. “You didn’t defeat the AIs did you, Yarin? They’re fleeing—fleeing this invisible killer. Your men caught it during the fighting. The AIs are infested with the plague and it’s everywhere.”

  “They were dying—dying by the millions—no problem mopping up the remains. Then our people started dying—none of mine, though. We were the last to be exposed. We captured some AI medics. They said what you did, that it was a generic war bacillus, designed to adapt to and destroy any sentient life form—silicon, carbon, whatever.”

  “And you didn’t believe them,” she said, slipping the analyzer away.

  Yarin shook his head. “I didn’t want to.”

  Unnoticed, a score of fighter craft flashed through the shield and were gone.

  “It took that disease a million years to attack the AIs?” asked Zahava.

  “It probably lay dormant somewhere, until someone, AI or human, happened upon it,” said Guan-Sharick.

  “And it wasn’t you?”

  “You’d believe me if I said it wasn’t?”

  “None of us would,” said John.

  “The Fleet of the One’s a plague fleet,” said Kiroda, shaking his head. “The AIs will kill us all, but not the way they’d dreamed.”

  “A plague fleet that will spread that invisible killer across your worlds,” said the blonde. “It’s a beast bred for slaughter and survival—it’ll withstand anything from hard vacuum to fusion fire. Even if the ships are destroyed, if a single piece of wreckage with this virus on it lands on some planet, anywhere, it’ll await new victims. It’s patient and diabolical. Ironic that the victor in the long war between man and machine is neither.”

  “Is there a vaccine?” asked John.

  “Down there.” Guan-Sharick pointed toward green world below. “That’s why we’re here. All we have to do is live long enough to fetch it—and that’s not long at all.”

  “Why did the AIs quarantine this planet?” asked Zahava.

  “It’s the birthplace of the plague. The AIs walled it in, set formidable automated defenses and fled. They never knew about the vaccine.”

  “What’s the planet?” asked Kiroda.

  “The Trel called it Daklan—‘Joy in Knowledge.’”

  The orbital forts opened fire.

  Chapter 25

  “Welcome home, My Lord,” said Grand Admiral Laguan, bowing.

  Detrelna and Lawrona stood uncertainly to one side as Natrol, now Kyan, entered Line’s command center.

  “Thank you, Admiral,” said the Heir. “I didn’t intend to leave, though.” He looked at the other two officers. “And thank you, gentlemen. You’re beyond brilliant.”

  Lawrona bowed stiffly. Detrelna nodded.

  “How’s the Imperial officer you saved?”

  “Captain Shakur’s in Line’s sickbay, undergoing full diagnostics,” said Lawrona uneasily. “Physically he seems fine. Otherwise something of a lost soul. My Lord.”

  “Let’s dispense with titles and have a drink,” said Kyan, sinking into one of the room’s padded armchairs.

  “My kind of emperor,” murmured Detrelna, going to a beverager and returning with a tray of four wineglasses and a full decanter. “Though may I remind you, My Lord, that as a Shtarian, I’m an unrepentant republican?” He handed Kyan a glass. “My people were throwing grenades at yours when talk of a confeder
ation was treason.”

  “And I’m sure they threw them well, Commodore. Didn’t poison the wine, did you?”

  “Your health, My Lord,” toasted Detrelna, drinking as the nervous laughter faded.

  “And yours, Commodore. Victory or Death, gentlemen!” toasted the Heir.

  “Victory or Death!” they echoed, emptying their glasses.

  “The commodore touches on a delicate issue,” continued the Heir. “Assuming we win, there’ll be a general election. If a plurality wants a constitutional monarchy, I’ll restore the Throne. If not”—he shrugged—“I’d be happy as chief engineer of some deep space line again—improbable as that would be.”

  “The Grand Admiral and his senior officers are satisfied with your bonafides,” said Detrelna. “Can you convince everyone, though?”

  “Everyone?” laughed Kyan. “Never. And I doubt the mindslavers’ acceptance would carry much weight. But probably enough people could be convinced. Let’s start here. Line, am I the Heir?”

  “You are, My Lord.”

  “How do you know?”

  “You bear the Imperial gene found only in the first born male of the Imperial House.”

  “How is this gene acquired?” asked Detrelna. “We’ve had scores of dynasties. What limits it to the first born male of a reigning House?”

  “It’s acquired during conception,” said Line.

  “Really?” Detrelna refilled their glasses. “May we know more?”

  “In time,” said Line.

  “If I’m a fraud, Commodore, I die.”

  “The Altar?” asked the commodore. “You’ll honor that tradition?”

  Kyan shrugged. “If I don’t offer the Proof, I won’t be accepted. That relic’s in stasis, awaiting just the right touch.”

  “If you’ve the wrong touch, My Lord …”

  “I won’t, Jaquel. Come see.”

  “Kronar’s been secured, My Lord, and the Twelfth Fleet dissolved,” reported Laguan.

  “Dissolved?”

  “That jump anomaly did more than suspend them in time. Be grateful—we were spared thousands of reborn Imperial mindslavers under the command of Lord Bloody Hammer.”

  “Syal’s Hammer.” Kyan shook his head. “Where’s the AI fleet now?”

  “One jump away,” said the admiral.

  “And our forces?”

  “Ready, such as they are. The ships answering the Rally have regrouped. With the death of Admiral Ital, all Fleet units are now the command of Admiral, formerly Commodore, Awal.”

  “Let’s take the battle as far from the planet as possible,” said Kyan. His gaze shifted to Lawrona. “Implacable’s ready for action, Captain?”

  “She is, My Lord.”

  “Let’s take her back to what’s left of Prime Base, crew her, and have her lead our attack.”

  There was an uneasy silence after Kyan finished, broken by Line’s almost petulant voice. “You won’t be directing the battle from here, My Lord?”

  “In reasonable safety and complete comfort?” He shook his head. “I’m a combat officer, Line. If this is humanity’s last hour, I’m going out with my ship and my friends, all guns firing. Admiral Laguan’s a brilliant tactician—I’m a simple one: ‘strait at ‘em.” His looked at them. “Suggestions otherwise?” Nodding, he broke the silence. “So, that’s it then. Gentlemen.”

  Detrelna and Lawrona stood. “A privilege to serve with you, My Lord,” said Lawrona.

  “I’m going to inspect Implacable’s engines,” said Detrelna. “Between you and that corsair witch, they’re probably scrap.”

  “Lawrona and I will go with you,” said Kyan. “You try pushing that grand old bucket with some sadistic nymphomaniac goading you,” he said as the three left.

  “‘Goading,’ My Lord?” asked Lawrona as the door hissed shut after them.

  “Thank the gods! A sense of humor,” said Laguan.

  “Kyan?” asked Line.

  “No. Lawrona. Known him since he was born. I went to school with his mother. He’s always seemed such a wooden soldier. He grew up in the gilded loneliness of their country estate, no friends worthy of him, said his father. And those deemed worthy Lawrona couldn’t stand. Books and music were his solace. His father was very much the opposite—a blustering, womanizing martinet. Thought he’d have a stroke when Lawrona briefly dropped out of the Academy.”

  “Not unheard of.”

  “For our old blood-and-guts aristocracy it is. Understandable, though—Lawrona’s best friend at school, young Stanin, was killed hunting with Lawrona’s family and their retinue. It set young Hanar back.”

  “And his father?”

  “To be kind, on his best day my late cousin the Margrave was a sadistic, cold-hearted son-of-a-bitch and a waste of human flesh.”

  “You two weren’t close.”

  “Shall we get to it, Line?”

  “Certainly, Admiral.”

  “Your Emperor has returned, Line. Let’s get underway. Now can we get to it?”

  “Yes. I will deploy. Boring old Line has a few surprises for our visitors. And everyone else.”

  “Really?”

  “Let’s speak with Admiral Awal. And then our Heir. I’ve resources he needs to know of. And a better plan than his desperate cavalry charge.”

  The fires were mostly beaten down. The air reeked of burned flesh and smoldering synthetics. Like a promise of doom, a stark red sunset could be glimpsed through thick columns of smoke.

  Implacable came in silently over the ruins of Prime Base, settling atop what had been a green quadrangle, now just blackened stubble.

  Kyan walked down the ramp, Detrelna and Lawrona following. The Heir wore a Fleet officer’s duty uniform without insignia, a standard-issue M11A at his side. Going to where the base’s survivors waited, he climbed a pile of rubble. Black, brown, and gray, commandos, crewmen, Fleet Security, they were drawn up in eight uneven companies, facing Implacable. “Gather round,” he called, gesturing.

  They formed into a semicircle, a thousand dirty, battle-weary faces looking up in quiet speculation. “My name’s Kyan,” he said, voice high and carrying. “Some of you know me as Natrol, Implacable’s engineer. Through no choice of mine, I’m Heir Apparent to the Throne. Like you, I’d rather be about anywhere else.” There was a ragged chorus of laughter.

  “Many of our Assemblymen and Councilors were murdered by Combine Telan when their attack on Kronar began. Our venerable Premier and his Deputy have fled the planet. Things are bad. Look around you. It’s just the start of our extermination.

  “The surviving Assemblymen—human all—have voted to invoke Clause 12 of the Charter—the Anarchy Clause. If the civil government’s destroyed, it permits restoration of the monarchy for six months. After that, popular vote decides if we’re a constitutional monarchy or a republic. If a monarchy, I’m crowned. Otherwise, I’ll get a job.”

  “What if you won’t step down?” called a voice.

  “Why wouldn’t I, Lieutenant?” he said to the commando. The man stood at the back in a torn uniform, a blastrifle over his shoulder. “I didn’t ask for this. I don’t wake up saying ‘I’m the Heir!’ I wake up worrying about old engines, smelling scrubbed air, and fearing monsters and death. I was content being the Heir Unapparent.” He waited for the scattered laughter to end. “I’m here for the reason all of you are—duty—duty and honor and love and the weight of all my dead ancestors pressing down on me. War and treachery and corruption brought us to this. And hate, old and new—ours, theirs.” His hand swept the ruins of Prime Base. “We end this now or Kronar dies and mankind not long after. I am Kyan, Heir to the Sceptered Throne. Follow me who will! Victory or Death!”

  He strode from the mound, the silent formation opening to let him pass. Detrelna and Lawrona fell in behind him. Later, Detrelna was sure it was Botul’s bellow that first called “Victory or Death!” One after another they picked it up, making it a chant—“Victory or Death! Victory or Death!”—that turned to a
roar, laced with cries of “Long live the Emperor!”

  “I’m almost proud to be human,” said Detrelna as every man and woman of the garrison streamed into Implacable. “Satil!” he called, seeing a familiar face. “Here!”

  The commando officer joined them, grinning wearily. “Commodore. Captain,” she said, sketching a salute. Her eyes were bloodshot, her uniform slept in and she smelled badly. She seemed distracted.

  “You disappeared with the rest of the crew when Security took everyone,” said Lawrona. “Were you in the Tower?”

  The lieutenant unslung the rifle from her shoulder, resting its steel-capped butt on the ramp. “Yes, but they separated commandos from crew, Commodore. When the fighting started, a commando major and his men broke us out—just in time for a running battle with some Tugayee. The major and his men were sent elsewhere—wouldn’t take us with them, not even a sister officer. We were holed up in their barracks when the AI ground assault came in.”

  “Anyone else make it?” asked Detrelna, eyeing faces as they trekked past.

  Satil shook her head. “There were eight of us—I’m it. If you don’t mind, sir, I’d like to get a shower and some sleep.”

  They nodded and she was gone.

  “So what of her and our engineer and Heir?” asked Detrelna.

  “She’s asking herself that,” said Lawrona. “I’ve got to see to the quartering of all these people.”

  “The old Marine billets?”

  “It’s always ready, in case we take on troops.”

  “Wherever will some of our crew go now to be alone?”

  “She’s a big ship Jaquel. Lots of places to be alone, I’m sure.”

  You’d know, thought Detrelna.

  “You’re mad, My Lord,” said Admiral Laguan.

  “You used to tell me that,” Detrelna said to Kyan.

  “I didn’t think you’d let ‘daffy’ slip by,” said the Heir. “The AI fleet will soon be here. Line and what ships we have will meet them. Our only chance, our only very desperate chance, is to seize their leaders. Line will identify their command vessel. We’ll board it, storm their bridge and take their commanders. It worked before, with Devastator at Dalin.”