“They are.”
“You do that uniform proud, sir.”
“Thank you, First Leader.”
“As to the killing resuming, Detrelna,” continued Sutak, “Not if I can help it. We’re standing down. Shall we talk, Lord Kyan?”
“Certainly, First Leader,” said the Heir, failing to hide his relief. “Let’s go aboard Implacable. Captain Lawrona, please see to our dead. Commodore, with us.”
“My Lord,” acknowledged Lawrona, looking sadly about him. “Let’s get to it, Tolei.”
Unbidden, the Imperial Biofabs began helping transport the bodies into Implacable. “Thank you,” said Kiroda to one of them.
“No, thank you, Commander,” she said. “Your need returned us to life.”
“‘Stand down? Truce talks underway?!’ He’s lost his mind,” said Hasi as the order was repeated throughout the Fleet. “The plague’s gone. What good’s magic if not to take advantage of? Fine. We’re six battleglobes to that race-traitor’s one, and that under crewed. A quick conversation will ensure his escorts remain neutral. After we dispose of them, we’ll resume our original mission.”
“And what are we do with all those dead ships of yours?” asked Kyan.
“Salvage most of them,” suggested Sutak. “Aren’t you short of materials and equipment after your war with the Scotar? And we’ve many personnel competent in engineering, medicine, logistics … The list is long and I suspect you need them all.”
“We could use their help, My Lord,” said Detrelna. They sat in his briefing room just off Implacable’s bridge, sipping t’ata the commodore for one had never thought to taste again.
“Commodore,” said Lawrona over the commnet. “Our dead are secured with honor. But there’s a problem with part of the AI fleet.”
Detrelna repeated this last for Sutak. “Hasi,” said the First Leader. “Why are you moving out of position?”
“To kill you, Sutak, and take command of this rout. We need a strong leader loyal to our ideals, not some appeasing traitor. Surrender now, I’ll spare your crew.”
“What about the humans?”
“They’re dead,” said Hasi and was gone.
“Six battleglobes under a fanatical racist are refusing my orders and attacking us,” reported Sutak. “Have you anything to drink besides that steamy herbal brew, Detrelna?”
“Brandy,” said Detrelna. “I wasn’t aware that you drank.”
“Of course—we’re complex. We indulge in human vices.”
Commodore and captain exchanged glances. “Brandy, perhaps?”
“A fermented beverage?”
“Always.”
“Yes, please.”
“Can you stop them?” Kyan asked Sutak.
“Not six of them.”
“With the mindslavers gone, we’ve nothing that can touch your battleglobes,” said Kyan.
Detrelna took a thick blue bottle and glasses from his credenza. “My Lord, First Leader, gentlemen. A toast to the memory of our dead.”
“And to ours,” said Sutak, raising his glass.
“Status of the evacuation?” Laguan asked FleetOps.
“Hopeless for lack of ships,” said Admiral Awal. “We’re moving a few hundred thousand people, selected as best we can. Commandos had to shoot some armed idiots trying to get on the ships. Planetary Guard’s dealing with looters and scattered madness in the streets. Most people have conducted themselves with dignity, even though the police have vanished. Several prominent people said very wounding things to me when told they weren’t on the evacuation rosters. And our senior politicians—well, you’d expect better out of their mouths, given their years and educations.”
“We’re negotiating a truce with the AIs,” said the Grand Admiral.
“What?!”
“Really.”
“Admiral Awal,” said his aide. “Six battleglobes have broken formation. Five are attacking their own flagship, one’s closing on Kronar.”
“Confirmed,” said Line. “I’m initiating countermeasures.”
“And those are what?” said Awal. “Throwing empty blastpaks at them?”
“Throwing the Imperial Biofabs at one of them,” said Laguan. “The AI flagship’s on its own. My Lord Kyan, we have a new issue.”
Kyan jogged beside the biofabs as they raced for the Line’s fighters. “You’re not going with us, My Lord,” said Satur as they rounded the corridor in to the hangar.
“Is that an order, Assault Captain?”
“These are mindlinked fighters, My Lord.”
“I have a mind.”
“My Lord …”
“They’re not designed exclusively for telepaths, Satur, though being telepathic surely helps. I am flying. I see no finesse in this. The AIs are too contemptuous of us to launch fighters. They may not even fire, they’re so confident of their impregnable shields.”
“Let’s hope they stay that way.” They stood between their two craft, helmets under their arms as Satur’s comrades hurried past. “So, said Satur, donning his helmet. “If we win, what then?”
“I’ll honor our agreement, of course—your lives will be you own.”
“I meant, My Lord, will it be the same old Empire?”
“Gods forbid—no! We’ll be a constitutional monarchy—and even if we weren’t, the psychodrama of Empire and Destiny is history. If we win, we learn from our mistakes and go forward together—men, biofabs, machines, and those who are something of each. Emperors started this long madness, Satur, and an emperor will end it—a very different emperor.”
“May it be so. Some will oppose you—they’ll say we can never live together in peace and cooperation.”
“Some will. Today let’s begin proving them wrong, man and biofab.” He held out his hand.
Satur gave him quizzical look and then took his hand. “Man and biofab.”
“You must launch now, My Lord Kyan,” said Line as the Heir slid into the cockpit, the canopy hissing shut behind him. The fighter came alive, Kyan’s helmet synching with it.
“Acknowledged, Line.” Fighter, are you ready? he thought, wondering if they could mindlink, Unenhanced as he was.
Imperial Guard Fighter Green 7 ready to launch, My Lord.
It was neither the cold dead whisper of the mindslavers nor Line’s superior baritone, just a pleasant clear voice reminding Kyan of Galy, a favorite if firm aunt. “Call me Kyan. May I call you Galy?”
Of course, Kyan.
“All fighters prepare to launch. Follow my lead. Sutar’s my wingman. Launch, Galy.”
Galy swung out of her berth, accelerated down the hangar’s flashing center strip, out the asteroid’s dark womb and into the endless star-tossed night.
“Something odd,” said the Watch Officer, bringing up a scan. FleetOps, recovered from the Combine attack, was operating just below manic.
“What now?” asked a very tired Admiral Awal.
“Sensors near jump point N27 are inoperable.” N27 was the closet jump point to Kronar.
“All of them?”
“Yes, sir. None are transmitting. Before all this we’d have had the picket ships deployed. And of course Line. But Line’s dispersement puts it out of sensor range of N27.”
“So we may have more visitors?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Odd. Someone’s not already at our end-of-the-world party? Nothing on scan?”
“Everything’s normal between here and the outer system.”
“There’s no more normal. Who’s available to respond?”
“No one. Evacuation’s tied up everything. All reserve units surviving Combine Telan’s attack have upship and are committed. Many fleet units are outsystem convoying to the Redoubts.”
“Issue a ‘Warn-and-Watch’ all ships, all stations. Give them what we have. Advise the Grand Admiral and Line. Bring up Sutak’s battleglobe and his attackers on main scan, Commander, and those resurrected Imperial fighters that just launched.” The Twelfth Fleet, the plague, Im
perial Biofabs. What’s next out of the crypt? he wondered, turning his attention to tacscans and reports.
“An astounding ship, First Leader—incredible,” said Detrelna, looking around Destiny’s bridge. And thank the gods so many of you are dead, he added silently.
“They’re not just war vessels, Commodore. This is a colonization fleet on a one-way voyage. We’ve everything to build our cities, reproduce ourselves. A battleglobe can quickly become the hub of an expanding colony.”
Built on our bones. “Implacable will engage the enemy if you wish, First Leader.”
“Thank you, Commodore, but battle’s imminent, your ship under crewed and no match for one of ours. You’re welcome to stay on the bridge.”
“Lifepods?”
Sutak smiled. “Don’t want to stay for the show, Detrelna?”
“We’ll stay for the show,” said John.
“It’s not the show, it’s the climax that concerns us,” said Lawrona.
“It’ll be memorable.”
“No doubt,” said Kiroda.
“This is the Fleet of the One, Commodore, or what remains of it. We don’t do lifepods,” said Sutak. He shrugged. “A cultural eccentricity.”
“Coming into range now,” reported Tactics. The five enemy battleglobes grew in the holovid, breaking from each other, closing on separate attack vectors to maximize damage to Destiny.
“Concentrate fire on Avenger,” ordered Sutak. “Kill Hasi, we cut off this mutiny’s head.”
Standing between Detrelna and John, Kiroda had a vivid flashback to Ragal’s head flying amid cheers.
Destiny opened fire, beams the size of Implacable tearing at Avenger’s shield, Hasi’s ship easily deflecting the attack. From all around her more beams tore at Sutak’s flagship, alarms blaring as the First Leader watched his shield’s integrity tumble. A distant explosion rumbled through the battleglobe followed by another, closer one as the shield weakened under the perfectly orchestrated fire.
“That sixth battleglobe’s headed for Kronar,” said Lawrona to Detrelna, watching the deployments on the holovid. “We haven’t anything to stop it.”
“We can’t even crew Implacable,” said Detrelna, gripping a railing in white-knuckled frustration. “All hopes of colonizing are gone. They’ll drop a planetbuster, won’t they, Sutak?”
Distracted, the first leader nodded. “Then they’ll head outsystem. They couldn’t kill mankind, but they’ll destroy the first planet you called home. I’m sorry, gentlemen. Helm, take us right at our esteemed Second Leader’s ship. His shields can’t stop a battleglobe.”
“You’ll break up on those shields,” said Lawrona.
“And Avenger on ours. The rest will leave the system, towing our fleet of the dead. Full speed at target.”
The bridge exploded.
“Be nice to have Syal’s Twelfth back—briefly,” said Admiral Laguan, watching the hopeless fight shaping up on Line’s battle board.
“The Bloody Hammer and his mindslavers could only be pulled once from history’s hat,” said Line. “Thankfully.”
“FleetOps, vengeful battleglobe headed your way,” advised Admiral Laguan as the tacscan firmed up. “He may have a little something for you.”
“That would be a planetbuster,” said Admiral Awal. “We’ve seen him.” He watched as the distance between Kronar and the battleglobe shrank. “Planetary Guard sounded Bombardment Alert. I cancelled it. Shattering a planet’s core isn’t bombardment, its extinction. Everyone might as well watch their extinction in comfort.”
“Bandits are in place,” reported the Watch Officer.
“Bandit Chief, who has the package?” asked Line.
“Bandit Chief has the package,” Kyan advised. Several hundred Imperial fighters were holding station beside him, halfway between Kronar and the AI fleet, in the path of the oncoming battleglobe. The fighters’ tacscans reflected a miniature of the enemy vessel, a hazy obsidian faintly visible beneath the blue translucence of its shield. It was closing fast.
“All right, let’s dance for them, then kill them,” said Satur.
“We’ve all come too far to go back,” said Kyan to the biofabs, hoping they took his meaning. They did. “Victory or Death!” they chorused over the commnet. Victory or Death! whispered in his mind.
“Life over Death! Forward!” Life over Death! came the affirmation.
“We’re coming into range, Captain,” reported Olat. As Hasi’s most trusted officer, Olat and his New Dawn had been selected to deliver Kronar’s death. Despite his sharing Hasi’s xenophobia, or perhaps because of it, he’d taken human form, but as a combat droid of the same deadly series as Ragal and the Combine Telan AIs. This enabled him to sit as he did in the captain’s chair, watching the blue-brown world grow in the holovid.
“We’ve only one chance,” Olat reminded his command crew. “It’s vital we engage any remaining Kronarin defenses until the weapon safely penetrates. Their defense grid, Line, is down in the target sector. We need to clear a path through hostile fire so the weapon can enter their atmosphere, then jump before it detonates. The Kronarins will be expecting the planetbuster used by their Empire. It tore through a planet’s crust and shattered its core. Ours is a more elegant weapon and need only enter Kronar’s thermosphere.”
The AI weapon was a quantum singularity bomb that exploited Trel research to create a massive localized space-time distortion. It would be brief, violent and if the AIs had miscalculated, wipe out not just Kronar but its moons and any lingering ships—or battleglobes. Olat was eager to see the weapon away and his ship gone.
“Enemy force approaching,” reported Tactics.
“What enemy force?” Olat asked. “They’re broken—they have no force.” He saw it then, the targets marked as hostile. He looked at the ID tags. “Fighters? They’re attacking a battleglobe with fighters?”
“And quickly, too,” said Tactics. “Coming within cannon range. Countermeasures?”
“Heavy laughter,” said the AI commander. “Open fire. Plow through them. Fighters.” Prudence gave him pause. “I’m not getting a weapons’ read on those fighters.”
“An odd shield matrix, Captain. We can’t scan through it.”
“How odd?” he asked, more puzzled than concerned. On the scan, battleglobe and fighters were very close.
“Kronarin Empire—their Confederation pressed many Imperial vessels into service. But this configuration’s unknown.”
“Comm chatter?”
“None.”
“Strange. Why the silence? They know we’ve made them. And that we’ve never broken an Imperial-level encryption.” Olat dismissed his own concerns with a wave of his hand. “A small mystery. Kill them.”
They’re about to fire, Satur warned Kyan.
Execute, said Kyan, Galy relaying his thoughts.
Break. Execute, ordered Satur.
The fighters broke into attack vectors, the battleglobe’s fusion fire lancing after them.
“Jaquel!”
It was a distant but familiar voice—whose he couldn’t recall. There was pain in his shoulder—that was from those AI blades. And his head hurt.
“Jaquel, can you hear me?”
He opened his eyes. Long face, blue eyes, jet black hair, face lined with concern. Silver spaceship-and-sun on the collar. Captain. Lawrona. Of course—the battleglobe, the explosion. “Hanar,” he said as many hands, Terran and Kronarin, helped him to his feet. “Why are we still alive?” Looking at what remained of Avenger’s bridge, he gingerly touched the welt on his head from where it had struck the railing.
The front half of the great sweep of armorglass that had curved around the bridge and served as holovid panel was gone, the deck outside and far below still a red molten gap from the fusion beam that had won through a brief soft spot in the shield. Detrelna felt the warm breeze rippling across the bridge, tinged with the stench of burning chemicals and scorched metals.
Outside, the atmosphere curtain softened the vie
w of space and the fusion beams dancing across a weakened shield glowing sullen umbra. “They missed our primary atmosphere emitters,” said Sutak. “We’d have survived a bit longer than you. Not that it much matters now,” he added, pointing through the shattered glass toward the horizon and the battleglobe looming larger every second. Visible to either side and above, more distant battleglobes added their fire, keeping pace with the charging ship as it closed on Avenger. “Hasi isn’t running,” said Sutak. “Give him that. He’s hoping we’ll be hulled before we can ram him. Bad call—he should’ve run.”
“How long?” asked John, watching the nearing battleglobe, mesmerized.
“A few moments. Sorry it can’t be more colorful—our fusion generators are offline. We can’t return fire, and missiles this close …” Sutak gave a very human shrug. “I can promise you a very spectacular climax when we collide.”
“I had so hoped to be home for the holidays,” sighed Detrelna. “I’ve never seen my grandchildren, you know. Many adventures, my friends,” he said, turning to John and Zahava. “Sorry to have brought you to this.”
“What? And miss the greatest adventure in human history?” said John with a grin. “Never.”
“What a ride,” said Zahava as the enemy battleglobes filled the horizon, hurling fire at them.
“You’ve destroyed three out of several hundred?” said Olat, returning from overseeing the singularity bomb’s preparation. “Impressive.”
“They’re like wraiths,” said Tactics. “They don’t return fire, they weave in between the fusion beams, like some mad suicide run. Then they’re gone—vanished. Then reappear to do it again. It’s as though they’re reading Central Gunnery’s mind,” he said, referring to the ship’s intelligent weapons’ array.
“We’re approaching optimum launch point for the weapon, Captain,” reported Ordnance.
“Launch on my command. Kronarin defenses, Tactics?”
“None, as you’d hoped. Our insertion point’s over undefended empty desert. Their Line’s recalling its assets from the battle, but too late. We’re unopposed.”
“Excellent. We’ll launch at optimum,” he said, sparing a glance from the tacscan and those weird fighters to see Kronar almost at perigee before them, filling the armorglass.
Final Assault Page 22
