by Chris Bunch
There was a faint crackle on a speaker.
‘You are received,’ a voice answered. ‘Welcome back. We feared you had gone beyond, had met the real death when you ordered us to flee and you remained behind to fight those you said were the Chitet.’
‘I live,’ Wolfe said, and fatigue showed in his voice. ‘But Taen met his doom at their hands.’
‘That we knew,’ the voice said, and Wolfe recognized it as that of Jadera, the Al’ar who was the head of the tiny handful of aliens who’d chosen not to make the Crossing with the rest of their race, but remained behind as Guardians to hold off the ‘virus’ that had driven them from their own universe into Man’s. ‘We felt him pass, feared you had gone with him, for we are not able to sense your life as we could an Al’ar’s.’
‘He died well,’ Joshua said, ‘as the warrior he was.’
‘Of course,’ Jadera said. ‘There could be no other possibility . . . Or for us. The time is very close now. Our mutual enemy has gained a foothold in this galaxy, and is ready to transfer its center, its nucleus, here. We were preparing for an attack, knowing that we could not succeed without the Great Lumina, which I sense you have.’
‘I do.’
‘And do you know how to use it?’
‘I am learning.’
‘Enter your home, then, One Who Fights From Shadows, and we shall ready ourselves for the last battle.’
A radar screen flickered, showing movement on the ground below. Wolfe zoomed a forward screen to its highest magnification and saw a rocky hillside yawning open - the entry port to an underground Al’ar hangar.
Once before, Joshua had eaten Al’ar foods in this shadowy great cavern, with light-sculptures flaming on the walls. But then it had been as much of a banquet as the Al’ar were capable of, welcoming Taen. But if they weren’t capable of much celebration, Joshua thought, their mourning was equally nonexistent. Half a dozen times the half dome on the table in front of him opened, and he took the plate it held and ate. Jadera sat across from him equally absorbed in his meal.
Finally replete, Joshua made no move to accept the next plate offered. Jadera did the same. They sat in silence for a time, as was the Al’ar custom.
‘I have a question,’ Joshua said. ‘When an Al’ar dies, like Taen did, does his - spirit, I suppose it should be called, make the Crossing?’
‘A good question,’ Jadera answered. ‘I do not know. That was the hope of some of our more romantic brothers.’
‘Utterly impossible,’ an Al’ar at a nearby table said. ‘No one who died in our previous galaxy appeared in this one. Dead is dead.’
Joshua half smiled. He recognized the alien, Cerigo, who had lost his broodmate and offspring during the war and carried his hatred for Man close, like a favorite garment.
‘I thank you for honoring me with your presence, Cerigo. Last time, you refused to eat with me.’
‘I would do the same this time,’ Cerigo said. ‘But we shall fight together soon, and only a worm allows enmity to one who will share the blooding.’
‘Thank you.’
Cerigo made a noise Wolfe took to be an acknowledgment.
‘Cerigo reminds me of an admiral I served under,’ Wolfe said. ‘He always spoke in an animal-growl, too. But very few of us could fight as hard as he did.’
‘Cerigo was a great ship leader once,’ Jadera said. ‘An admiral, in charge of what you call a battleship. He was one of our best commanders.’
‘Not good enough,’ Cerigo said. ‘For I did not kill enough Men for it to matter.’
‘Cerigo has been selected to be in command of our attack,’ Jadera said.
‘Good,’ Wolfe said. ‘A man who hates well generally fights well, as long as he does not allow his animal side to rule.’
‘There is no worry of that,’ Jadera said. ‘Cerigo is far too experienced a warrior to succumb to any . . . what you call emotion,’ he finished, then changed the subject. ‘None of us have seen the Overlord Stone for a great time,’ he said. ‘Some of us have never witnessed it at all. Would that be possible?’
‘You hardly need ask permission of me,’ Joshua said, ‘for it is your property.’
‘No longer,’ Jadera said. ‘We discussed the matter while you were gone, and agreed that if you succeeded in returning alive with it, you would probably be the most capable to use it against the invader.’
‘You assume much of my capabilities,’ Wolfe said.
Jadera made no response.
Wolfe opened the case that sat at his feet and lifted the Lumina out.
Around him other Guardians stirred, and lifted their grasping organs.
Wolfe felt their power, took it into him, let the Lumina lift from the floor, float in the room’s center, its kaleidoscope colors flaming.
He looked around, at the corpse-white long faces, their attention fixed on the Lumina.
‘Will this tool, this weapon, suffice?’ he asked.
Jadera turned to him. ‘We do not know. But we have other devices prepared which might help. Come.’
Wolfe couldn’t see the far walls or the roof of the hangar. But it seemed small, barely large enough to house the monstrous battleship that loomed over their heads.
Its fuselage was a flattened cylinder, reminding Joshua of a shark. It had two thick ‘wings,’ one curving forward, the other aft. At the tip of each wing were weapons stations, and other podlike stations were studded irregularly along the ship’s body. It was commanded from another pod, located just under the shark’s chin, where a remora might hang. Its stern bristled with ungainly antennae for the ship’s sensing and ECM capabilities.
The ship was a mile long, perhaps longer, greater from wingtip to wingtip.
‘I never - thank the Powers Beyond Myself -’ Joshua said, ‘saw or even heard of anything like this during the war.’
‘It was still in final testing when the war ended,’ Cerigo said. ‘Our Command On High was trying to determine where its deployment would be most effective. It was intended to be able to deal with an entire Federation battlefleet by itself, needing escorts only for its antimissile screen.’
‘Taking this ship out against the invader is very noble,’ Wolfe said carefully, making sure he would give no offense.
‘But one single ship cannot ever succeed in a mission, and all aboard it will be doomed, without coming close to accomplishing their task.’
He remembered history, remembered a doomed great ocean-ship called the Yamato.
‘We realize that,’ Cerigo said. ‘However, the final reports from those who stayed behind in our home universe suggested that fusion weapons appeared to set this - this entity, whatever it is, back. These we could deploy successfully. We also have a sunray, such as you used against us from your planetary fortresses. The ship is also armed with countermissiles, in the unlikely event it encounters any Federation ships before it reaches the target zone. Perhaps not enough, but there was no other option, besides curling in our burrows waiting to be spaded out and skinned. The Al’ar were never burrowing worms.’
‘All this is meaningless noise,’ Jadera said, ‘since you have recovered the Mother Lumina. Now we are capable of fighting on an equal plane, or so I believe.’
‘I feel,’ Wolfe said, ‘like an aborigine who s just been given a machine gun without an instruction manual and told to take care of those bastards who’re wiping him out.’
‘Not a bad comparison,’ Jadera said, also in Terran, then reverted to Al’ar. ‘Do you actually think we know anything ourselves?’
The Lumina floated in the middle of the room. Joshua sat cross-legged underneath it. Al’ar, either in the flesh or in projection, were clustered around him. Occasionally one or another would wink out as other duties called.
‘Our strategy,’ Jadera said, ‘will be to fight from the great ship, which we have named the Crossing. We have other ships - three for each Al’ar - which have been roboticized, so in fact we have a fleet of more than 160 craft, including the Nyarlot. Eac
h is capable of launching missiles into the invader when we close. We suggest that you attempt to strike the invader with the Lumina’s force. Perhaps you may hurt it, more likely you might be able to force it back, through the rift into the universe it came from, once the Al’ar home.’
Joshua sat thinking.
‘Do you have a better plan?’ Jadera asked.
‘I do not,’ he said.
‘We should begin our strike from where the Lumina was positioned, in its satellite,’ Jadera said. ‘Perhaps, even though the Al’ar are gone, such positioning may increase its power.’
‘Very well,’ Joshua said in Terran, and rose. ‘Let us go to war.’
TWENTY
‘You may or may not be pleased, Admiral Hastings,’ Cisco said, ‘that I specifically requested the Andrea Doria and its battlefleet for this mission.’
‘I’ll be honest,’ the officer said. ‘I’m not. I’m not sure, with everything else going wrong around us, this is the most important mission my ships and men should be used for. We’ve pulled back from who knows how many worlds in the past few months. Others have evidently fallen into chaos, anarchy. Entire sectors aren’t reporting. We’ve lost at least sixteen fleets . . .’
‘Eighteen,’ Cisco corrected. ‘That’s confirmed. More likely twenty-three.’
‘To what? To something nobody can even see?’
‘That’s also been corrected,’ Cisco said. ‘Although the information won’t make you feel any better.’
‘What the hell are we fighting?’
Cisco motioned him to a corner of the bridge, away from the other officers. ‘You don’t have the proper clearance,’ he said. ‘No one else aboard the Andrea Doria does either, but I was advised by my superior I should inform you of the Federation’s current explanation for these events, so you’ll understand the importance of your orders. It appears our universe has been invaded by some sort of single-cell - although “cell” is not the right word - being, an entity that’s capable of making interstellar flights, jumping from star to star.’
‘That’s impossible!’
‘It certainly is,’ Cisco agreed. ‘And I’ll give you an even less possible truth: This being, this alien, appears to be able to alter the very nature of matter, to make it disassemble itself, then reassemble in the form of the alien’s structure.’
Hastings looked at Cisco. ‘That violates every single principle I have ever learned,’ he said. ‘This alien is capable of altering string, of altering its vibrations, its resonance, into - into what?’
‘Into its own form of matter,’ Cisco said. ‘Into itself. Not matter, not antimatter.’
‘So everything will become part of it eventually? Stars, planets, space, people?’
‘If that theory’s correct,’ Cisco said, ‘yes. Maybe not people, though. I assume you’ve heard the stories of the “burning disease”?’
‘I have, and they’re as utterly unbelievable as what you just told me. Preposterous!’
Cisco didn’t reply.
Hastings’ shoulders slumped. ‘I’m not a fool, Cisco. Obviously there’s something out there, something utterly unknown that’s slowly destroying everything. So how do we fight it?’
‘No one knows yet,’ Cisco said. ‘The Federation has anyone and everyone working on every possible solution.’
‘With obviously nothing but theory so far?’
‘As far as I know,’ Cisco said. ‘Needless to say, none of this is to be discussed with anyone until I personally advise you differently.’
‘I wouldn’t anyway,’ Hastings said. ‘I don’t need to be in command of sailors who think me mad.’ He took a deep breath. ‘But how is destroying this Chitet fleet going to solve matters?’
‘First, the Federation hardly needs traitors among its own,’ Cisco said. ‘Second, the Chitet have attempted to league themselves with other aliens in the past. The Al’ar. Now we’ve gotten word that they’ve assembled their warships and moved them into the Al’ar Worlds.’
‘Why?’
‘We don’t know,’ Cisco said. ‘But we know where they are. We have a highly placed source within the cult, someone who recently recognized his patriotism.’ Cisco’s lips twisted into a smile. ‘Or else no longer wanted to back a loser.’
‘I have the coordinates but little else,’ Hastings said. ‘What are your orders, once we emerge from N-space, assuming the Chitet are there?’
‘We can expect around a hundred ships,’ Cisco said. ‘All Al’ar War vintage, but well reconditioned. None bigger than the battlecruiser you drove away when we recovered Joshua Wolfe from them. They’re to be given one chance to surrender, and if they do not accept, they’re to be destroyed in detail. The Chitet must never be allowed to work against Man again.’
Hastings nodded, managed a smile. ‘At least it’ll be good to have a nice, simple battle to fight,’ he said, ‘instead of nothing but confusion.’
TWENTY-ONE
‘Are we ready to lift?’ Joshua asked.
‘All systems go,’ the Grayle reported.
‘Did you miss me?’
There was a silence. Joshua was about to withdraw his question, then: ‘By “miss,” analysis indicates that I am supposed to provide an emotional response, that is, your absence created a negative condition in me. Further consideration suggests you are intending what is listed in my files as a “jest” or “joke.” However, I do admit a preference for being used, for being active, rather than being in a state of nonbeing, such as I have been since landing on this planet.’
‘Well dip me in a bucket,’ Joshua said in some amazement. ‘Cormac ought to change his name to Viktor. Okay, Monster. Take it on out of here.’
‘Understood.’
The Grayle came clear of the hangar floor, and the door opened. The ship moved slowly out over the wasteland, then climbed for open space.
‘Lifting clear,’ Joshua reported. ‘Time until entering N-space, approximately twelve ship-minutes.’
‘You are heard,’ Cerigo’s voice came over a speaker. ‘We will lift in approximately five of your minutes, enter N-space approximately fifteen of your minutes afterward. We will therefore emerge at the desired point in exactly eight of those minutes after you. Is that correct?’
‘Correct. This is the Grayle, clear.’
The contact alarm gonged as Federation ships came out of N-space. Michele Strozzi heard someone swear, ignored it. ‘We were betrayed,’ he said calmly to his admiral, Ignatieff.
‘Yes, sir. Should we attempt to withdraw?’
‘No,’ Strozzi decided. ‘They’ll pursue us, and we do not need to have an enemy at our back. Eventually we’ll have to confront the Federation, to make them realize we’re right in what we’re doing. How many of them are there?’
Ignatieff asked an electronics officer and relayed the answer: ‘About 160, sir.’
‘They outnumber us,’ Strozzi said. ‘But the Federation’s ships are mostly manned with recruits, and ours with veterans. They’ve been subject to peacetime economics; we’ve kept our men fully trained. Admiral Ignatieff, destroy this Federation fleet. Perhaps this is our beginning, even though it was not in my projection of coming events.’
‘Yes, sir’
The Federation ships came out of N-space in battle order, a huge crescent, sweeping toward the Chitet fleet.
‘As I promised you, Admiral,’ Cisco said. ‘The Chitet. Do you wish the honors?’
Hastings took the mike his aide held out. ‘This is the Federation battleship Andrea Doria,’ he said. ‘I order all vessels not under Federation command to immediately signal blue-white-blue as a signal of surrender. You have five minutes to comply, or you will be attacked.’
‘Captain,’ a weapons officer reported, ‘one of the ships has launched missiles. I’ve activated countermeasures.’
‘There’s your answer,’ Cisco said.
‘Very well,’ Hastings said, switching to another frequency. ‘All ships. This is the Andrea Doria. Authentication Wi
tnal. Attack!’
Missiles spat from the Chitet ships at the oncoming Federation fleet, and countermissiles flashed back. Explosions dotted space and quickly vanished. Other, greater blasts came as the Federation took hits, and ships pinwheeled out of formation or drove ‘down’ or ‘up’ in senseless directions.
The Chitet launched a second wave of missiles as they closed on the Federation.
Too many Federation weapons crews were inexperienced, but there were still veterans of the Al’ar War among them.
Aboard one Federation ship a warrant officer in his sixties pushed a lieutenant out of his way and crouched over a launch station, cursing as his prosthetic leg creaked.
‘Target acquired,’ he said, his voice level. ‘Launching - One launched - Two launched . . . Now, goddammit, Lieutenant, watch how I’m trying to spoof ’em. The first one goes for the incoming missile . . . closing . . . Got the son of a bitch! The second goes right on through the debris, uses the crap to mask itself against their countermeasures - don’t go to autopilot but keep the controls and you ride it right on into the . . .’
The Federation missile smashed into the bow of the Udayana, into its electronics bays, and explosions tore at the battlecruiser, ripping the bridge decking three floors above like an ancient tin can.
Michele Strozzi was sent spinning into a control panel, blood spattering the screens beside him. He sprawled motionless for an instant, then stumbled to his feet. He saw Admiral Ignatieff’s head lying next to him, looked for his body, saw nothing.
An aide was beside him, arm around his shoulders. ‘Sir, lie down,’ she shouted.
He looked at her, opened his mouth to say something reassuring, inspiring. Blood poured out, drenching her tunic, and his eyes went dull and he went down limply.
The aide knelt, keening in loss, and another missile smashed directly into the bridge. The Udayana exploded in a long sheet of flame.
