"Here."
The Captain pressed on before his superior could recover.
"We've been using drones from Revenge for picket duty, searching for any concentrations of S'Cotar that might have escaped."
"I know," said L'Guan, his voice made too loud by the sudden silencing of the klaxon. "So?"
"They have sophisticated detectors, sir. The asteroid belt shows signs of extensive mining, over a long time and only recently abandoned."
"Mined for how long, Captain?"
"At least several centuries. Many of the larger asteroids are hollow, and life readings indicate the presence of vast numbers of S'Cotar. We also have grave suspicions, as yet unconfirmed, about five of the satellites of Saturn.
"Happily, we seem to have accounted for all but a handful of their ships."
Chapter 20
"No!" cried Zahava. "Admiral, your weapons could alter the moon's orbit. Do that and you'd kill millions on Earth. Tidal waves, earthquakes—the whole isostatic condition of the planet would be disrupted!"
L'Guan had been about to order heavy bombardment of the fragile lunar surface.
"She's right," said McShane earnestly. "Earth and moon dance a delicate ballet, sir. To tamper with one is to tamper with the other." L'Guan looked at him solemnly. "You see, gravity, Admiral, is the stuff that holds all of this to—"
D'Trelna loudly cleared his throat. "The Admiral is a master astrophysicist."
L'Guan held up his hand. "POCSYM is in league with our deadliest enemies. It isn't necessary for me to solve the mystery of it, merely to resolve it. Now. The only other option I have is ground assault on a hardened fortress, an action that would cost the lives of many of my men and probably not succeed. And if we don't take that fortress out, no matter what the cost, then Terra has an enemy camped on her doorstep. And K'Ronar has one at her back."
He slapped the table. "We have to do it now!"
"Sir, there is another possibility," Harrison said, glancing at D'Trelna. "We'd like your permission to try an appeal to logic and first principles." D'Trelna nodded. "If that fails, then ring down the heavens."
* * * *
"Good morning, POCSYM," said John.
"Good morning, gentlemen." The rich voice echoed through the machine's great central chamber.
John and the Captain stood on a small service catwalk spanning POCSYM's main shaft. Miles below and above, disappearing into a fine pinpoint of light, the endless array of equipment encircled the brilliantly lit tunnel. Small maintenance robots went silently about their housekeeping chores. A dry, warm breeze caressed the men's faces.
"You asked, literally, to see me, gentlemen. This will have to do—I'm not very compact. How may I help you?"
As John leaned against the rail, D'Trelna unfolded a paper, cleared his throat and began reading. "By order of Grand Admiral L'Guan and subject to confirmation by the Confederation Council, be it known that Planetary Operations Control System, Mode Six, programmed by Imperial Colonial Command on K'Ronar, Imperium 2028, and now operating at"—here followed a long series of star coordinates—"and known by the acronym 'POCSYM Six,' is granted sentient being status within the definition of sentience as promulgated by the Seventh Confederation Council.
"If you accept, POCSYM," added the Captain, "this automatically confers citizenship, retroactive to Compact that established the Confederation. Do you accept?" He returned the paper to his pocket.
"Yes, thank you, Captain. A very touching gesture. Please extend my deep appreciation to the Admiral.''
Not pausing, D'Trelna took another document from his tunic. "Citizen POCSYM Six," he intoned, "be advised that I am a sworn officer of the K'Ronarin Confederation, and that I hold a warrant for your arrest issued under Fleet Articles of War.
"Do you submit yourself to arrest, Citizen POCSYM Six?''
"That was very clever, Captain," said POCSYM after a moment. "I sense Mr. Harrison's fine Medician hand in this. By accepting citizenship, I granted your Confederation jurisdiction over me.
"Is this a test of my loyalty, my logic, my sanity, perhaps? Do you hope to sway me from my purpose by sweet reason?"
"Do you submit yourself to arrest?" repeated D'Trelna.
"What are the charges? Littering?"
"High treason. Lending aid and comfort to the enemy."
There was a long silence. Then a different voice. Dry, crisp, efficient.
"You've gone far, Captain. My compliments. But not quite far enough. You see, I am the enemy."
A S'Cotar stood on the catwalk.
"How many intelligent life forms do you think the Empire found in our galaxy, gentlemen?" POCSYM continued, ignoring the alien.
"None that I'm aware of," replied an impassive D'Trelna. "And we've found only the S'Cotar."
Warily eyeing the transmute, John shifted away from the railing, ready for action.
"More precisely, Captain, the S'Cotar found you, didn't they, ten Earth years ago?
"But yes, we, the Empire of which I am the last survivor, also found no others. The galaxy is empty, save for hundreds of ruined worlds, thousands of cities, all slag-heaps, their radioactivity long dissipated. Many worlds bring forth intelligent life. Few races, though, survive their adolescence—nuclear fission is a deadly toy. K'Ronar, with its atomics restricted to a small technoaristocracy, was a survivor. We found only the remains of others, long dead. We were alone."
"Aren't you forgetting someone, POCSYM?" asked John. "What about Terra?"
"I thought it clear, Mr. Harrison. You're undoubtedly of K'Ronarin stock. Early in the Empire's bloody history, more than one wave of refugees fled into uncharted space. Few were ever heard from again. By the time the first Imperial scouts reached this sector, the colonists had sunk to barbarism. We put you back on the road to civilization and your birthright, the universe. You're as much K'Ronarin and owe as much to the Empire as does the Captain."
"How is this relevant to your dramatic statement of a moment ago?" asked D'Trelna.
"The Empire did not discover the S'Cotar. Through me, it created them."
"Biofabs!"
"Ah, you've been doing your homework. Good. Yes, the S'Cotar are my biological fabrications."
"Biofab research has been proscribed since the Second Interregnum, ending the Biofab Wars," said D'Trelna. "That was an Imperial edict, POCSYM, which you've chosen to ignore. Why?"
"Captain, I can only exercise free will within the bounds of my master program. One of its principal tenets was the construction and deployment of these biofabs, the S'Cotar."
"Biofabs are clones, aren't they?" asked Harrison.
No, said a cold whisper in their heads. We are as unique as you. POCSYM created one thousand three hundred and eighty-nine original and distinct S'Cotar two centuries ago. They then bred their own larvae. A society planned to the last detail awaited them. No thrashing about, no civil wars. We are one.
"God," said John in disgust.
"You've met Gaun-Sharick, I believe," said POCSYM. "Gaun has, among other things, headed my efforts to keep the Terrans from stumbling over the old temple-transporter sites, with occasionally unpleasant consequences.
"Gaun, perhaps our guests find your physiognomy distressing."
Cindy stood there, wearing a yellow halter top, faded denim cutoffs and a pair of sandals. ''Better?'' it asked with a freckle-faced smile and a toss of the head. The long flaxen hair swished back over a bare, tanned shoulder.
"Worse," gritted John.
Fred Langston took Cindy's place with the same slight ripple that had heralded the girl-form's appearance. It puffed a meerschaum pipe, hands in the tweed jacket pockets, Gucci-shod feet crossed as it leaned insouciantly against the railing.
"Why?" demanded D'Trelna.
"Why what, Captain?" asked POCSYM, puzzled.
"Why this entire exercise, POCSYM!" D'Trelna's face grew dark with rage. "Why create these monstrosities—telepathic monstrosities at that?" He stabbed a finger at the Lang-ston-thing. "Why
have them descend on us, kill millions of our people, and alter our very way of life?"
"For your own good, that's why," said the unperturbed voice. "As our—the Empire's—scouts probed deeper into the galaxy, they encountered the remains of a once-great interstellar culture, the Trelanquawelakin.... Call them the Trel.
"The Trel's planets were lifeless, devoid even of microbes. In the watery tombs that had been the Trel's cities, the Empire found evidence of a cataclysmic war of extermination.
"Somehow breaching the very fabric of space and time, vast armadas of ships had surged into our universe from another dimension. Without attempting contact, they began to methodically slaughter the peaceful, whalelike Trel, the only interstellar race of that time.
"Recovering from their initial shock, the Trel rallied and in battle near Cygnus—F18789105 Red to you, Captain—they routed the invaders, expelling them from our universe and sealing the breach. The primordial energies unleashed in that conflict rendered many of the nearby stars forever dark, a condition noted millions of years later by the Terrans, who dubbed the region the Coalsack.
"It was a pyrrhic victory for the Trel. Greatly weakened, their numbers depleted, they fell easy prey to the drone biophage ships scattered in their wake by the retreating foe.
"Dying, the Trel left a full account of their struggle for any race that might succeed them. An account and a warning: the breach could be reopened in about five million years.
"The Trel believed their nameless killers' mastery of trans-dimensional travel included also the dimension of time. The Enemy need only jump forward to the seal's dissolution and come through again."
Harrison was intrigued, despite his mistrust. "But the energy required for a time jump must be huge."
"True. Considering the Trel's figures—a billion ships, the smallest the size of this satellite—a time jump would drain the Enemy's galaxy, leave it a dry husk of black holes."
"They'd have to win through or die," said D'Trelna. "They couldn't retreat this time."
"The Enemy may not actually die, as we understand the term, Captain. The Trel finally captured a small enemy scout ship, enmeshing it in a webbed damper field. The two crewmen were inorganic: artificially created, silicon-based life forms."
"Robots."
"At what point, Mr. Harrison, does a machine become human? Where lies the threshold?
"These were highly individuated life forms, that much was apparent from their appearance. Alas, when the Trel turned the damper off, their captives blew themselves up. Took some of the Trel with them.
"That's all we know of the Enemy. If those machines were the Enemy, of course, and not just its servants.
"My task, given me by the greatest social engineers in the Empire, was to prepare humanity to withstand that invasion. As part of my charge was Terra and its people, I was established here. But I've watched the remains of the Empire over the centuries. You degenerated into a selfish rabble, concerned only with your own bellies, no more than a small police force for protection and possessed of the grand delusion that the universe would leave you alone.
"Well, it took me a long time, but I finally crafted the perfect enemy for you: merciless, hostile, utterly alien.
"I thought for a while, after you found they couldn't be bought off, that the S'Cotar would send you the way of the Trel. I was wrong. You rallied, counterattacked, forged an alliance. You were magnificent, more than fulfilling my fondest hopes. Well done."
"Would you really have let your biofabs destroy us, POCSYM?" asked D'Trelna.
"Yes. Such were my orders, Captain. If you couldn't survive the S'Cotar, what chance would you have against the Enemy?"
"This is all hypothetical, POCSYM," said John. "You have no evidence that the Trel were right. How could you—"
"Your pardon, sir. The breach reopened about one hundred and fifty Terran years ago. Two years ago, before they were detected and destroyed with alarming ease, my pickets signaled the advance of a vast armada through the breach. An armada of the sort described by the Trel. Their vanguard should be upon your outposts, Captain, in less than a year."
"Why should we believe you, POCSYM?" challenged the K'Ronarin. "You're the one who's been the father of lies. Why shouldn't we just put an end to this now?"
"If by 'putting an end' you mean to me, Captain, it will take far more than the ships now in bombardment orbit overhead. Contrary to an old Terran fable, the moon is not made of green cheese. It's made of shipbuster missiles, fusion batteries and half a million S'Cotar warriors.
"Have no fear, though. I'm forbidden to harm you."
D’Trelna gave a short, bitter laugh. "You kill millions of my people, then blandly tell me you're forbidden to harm us! My God! What warped minds must have programmed you!"
"Not warped. Just ordinary men, like you, trying to do their duty as they perceived it. Men who made a far greater sacrifice for their ideals than either of you will ever make.
"Enough. Your actions have proved my mission a success. You represent an armed, unified, vigilant humanity, the goal of my creators. Captain, I acknowledge your authority and submit to your arrest. Further, as a symbol of my good faith and proof of my ultimate veracity, I'll now destroy the S'Cotar."
Langston's image vanished. Treachery! hissed the mind-whisper. Gaun-Sharick stood before them again, antennae swinging in agitation. You promised us the galaxy if we would but defeat these soft things!
"It seems they're not so soft, Gaun. As for the galaxy—it was never mine to give. You had to take it. Yet with all the advantages I granted you, you failed. You're now only a dangerous encumbrance.
"In the S'Cotar bodies your researchers dissected, Captain, did you find a small protein chip grafted to the brain?"
"Yes. We thought it had something to do with the telekinetic abilities. The chips dissolved when removed, though."
"They're installed at birth by my servos and govern the telekinetic and telepathic gifts. Those chips make everything possible, including the bit of theater we've been enjoying: the battle on Terra, the wiping out of the biofab fleet.
"As Gaun-Sharick knows, the chips contain a matter/antimatter power source. And, as he also knows, they are my control over the S'Cotar. When they're outsystem, my drone ships pace them, armed with the kill code, ready to bring those dichotomous elements together.
"Most of the biofabs are now insystem, my effective range.
I'll now kill them. Stand clear of Gaun-Sharick. This will be messy."
Langston reappeared, eyebrow raised. Its smile broadened as the seconds passed. "Problem, POCSYM?"
"Captain," said POCSYM urgently, "the biofabs have immobilized my destruct programming and transporter capability."
In a fluid movement of arm and wrist, John drew and fired. The S'Cotar vanished an instant before it would have died. Harrison cursed softly, warily shifting his gaze about the catwalk.
"You must retake my control facility, Captain."
"Why? What have you done for us, POCSYM?" asked the Captain, unmoved.
"You can kill most of the biofabs, Captain. But it will cost you. You'll have to blow them out of the asteroids and moons, fighting against excellent defenses. I doubt, though, if you can take this base—not without extinguishing all life on Terra. This is a Class One Imperial Citadel. The S'Cotar can sit here and blast your fleet to pieces. Only a planetbuster could take this installation out.
"A ground assault is your only hope. With my help, it will work. I've already sealed off a direct route from a surface entrance to Central Control. Restore my destruct capability and this war is over. Also, only I know the location of a Trel stasis cache. You haven't a chance against the Enemy without it."
"Not much choice, is there?" said John.
D'Trelna shook his head. "No. All right, POCSYM. But first transmit the location of this alleged cache to my XO. If it proves a hoax, I'll personally take you apart with a spanner wrench."
"Complying now."
After confirming
L'Wrona's receipt of a series of star coordinates, D'Trelna sketched the situation for Admiral L'Guan.
"You've lost your mind, D'Trelna!" exclaimed the senior officer. "An unknown base swarming with enemy troops—our men would be slaughtered, warsuits or not."
"Admiral, it's our only chance," replied the Captain with equal force. "This installation can stand up to a full fleet bombardment forever. POCSYM's temporarily cut biofab reinforcements off from the control area. We must act now, though."
"Admiral, this is POCSYM. I can give your commandos protection from most ground fire and get them through the shield. But you must seize the moment. The S'Cotar will soon break into the access route."
There was a long pause on the comment, then a sigh. ' 'So be it. I'll dispatch the entire brigade. God help us all, D’Trelna," L'Guan added fervently, "if those boys walk into a trap."
"Thank you, sir."
"You've no transporter capability?"
"No."
"Very well. You'll have to come out with commandos. Rendezvous with them at POCSYM's Central Control. Good luck."
D'Trelna pulled his blaster. "We're going to need more than luck," he said, smiling lopsidedly at John. "POCSYM, show us the way to your control facility."
Chapter 21
L'Guan turned to Captain S'Nar. "Signal Commander L'Wrona 'Away All Boats,' please, Captain. And stand by gunnery crews." His outer calm was in sharp contrast to his feelings. L'Guan hated sending men off to their deaths.
For political expediency, he was an Imperial—"Restore the Empire, restore our strength!" Secretly he loathed the movement and its leaders: jowly councilors, fascistic brother officers, unctuous politicos.
The Admiral had become a soldier because he was poor, and the only way up for a poor boy with smarts had been the Fleet. He'd worked hard, done well and risen slowly; they all had risen slowly till the S'Cotar came. When the war started, he'd been a commander with five ships that should have been scrap centuries before. Carefully hoarding his resources, L'Guan had distinguished himself in those first days by fighting sparingly, retreating slowly and buying time. Others—classmates, many—had died gallantly, throwing their lives away in suicide runs on the vastly superior S'Cotar fleets. Some few had broken and run.
The Biofab War Page 14
