“Maybe we should send in a recon team,” Lisa said.
“I don’t even see a way in. Scott?”
But before the Invid invasion veteran could answer, there was a commotion from farther back in the line. It was Drannin and the other Zentraedi children, followed by Roy and the humans, pushing to get through and head for the miniature hive.
“Roy, wait!” Lisa dodged around Payton, another Zentraedi giant-youngster, to try to stop her son. Just then, knocking small trees aside, Kazianna and a Zentraedi male caught up to head off their kids.
Roy did not push Lisa away, but he writhed in her grasp. “Mommy, please! She’s waiting to talk to us. But we haveta hurry!”
Lang had left his place in line, too, with Louie Nichols and his cyber-whiz disciples in his wake. “I understand your reticence, Admiral, but the lad is right. Right now our chief jeopardy lies in delay.”
“But how do we get—” Rick swallowed the question when he turned back to the mini-hive. There was a dark semicircular opening directly in front of them.
His lips became two thin lines, and he turned back to his little command. “Listen up! We’re going in. Remember your orders, and I want all weapons on safety and either holstered or slung.”
The door was high enough even for Zentraedi. The party filed into the uncomfortably warm darkness under the dome, smelling again the strange aromas and alien odors—some pleasant, others not—of an Invid hive.
It was like being inside a cathedral of dark stained glass. Most of the space enclosed under the dome was occupied by a veined bronze sphere that shone dimly. There was room for even the tallest Zentraedi to stand erect. The contingent from the SDF-3 ranged themselves along the wall, waiting to see what would come next.
Rick felt sweat trickling down his uniform collar and soaking his shirt. He had faced Zentraedi and the Regent, but he had never felt the misgiving he felt there in the shrine of an entity that was close enough to a deity as to make no difference.
The children looked at one another with their lambent eyes, then stepped closer to the sphere, joining hands—the Zentraedi sitting in lotus position so that the humans could reach them. Aurora stood in the middle of their line, a nimbus of whirling scintillas welling up from her.
Without warning, a zigzag bolt of incandescence broke from somewhere overhead to smite the bronze globe, turning it into a ball of deep amber light. Shadows moved within it, and then they saw the face of the Regess, exalted and endowed with a terrible beauty, gazing back at them.
They heard her voice in their minds: AT LAST, THROUGH YOUR EVOLVED CHILDREN, YOU HAVE TOUCHED THE PLANE UPON WHICH WE CAN COMMUNICATE. KNOW THEN THAT THE CUSP IS NEARING IN WHICH ALL THAT EXISTS WILL COME TOGETHER IN THIS, MY CREATION, MY NEWSPACE.
Rick realized that he had been waiting for Aurora to speak; after all, the children were the ones in contact with the higher mental realms where the Regess moved. He saw his mistake: The children might have powers of communication and perception, but they lacked their elders’ experience and training, their grasp of the situation and ability to deal with it. Despite the kids’ astounding powers, the outcome of the crisis would still hinge on the adults’ actions.
He was the leader of the ground unit, and it was his place to speak up, but before he could, Lang’s voice broke the silence.
“Mother of the Invid race! Why have you brought us here? Why is the universe we know being drawn into this one? Haven’t the Shapings been fulfilled?”
Rick saw that Lang was not addressing what was to him a critical point: getting the fold drives back and getting the SDF-3 and Peter Pan out of newspace. But before he could interject that matter, the Regess answered.
KNOW THEN THAT I WHO AM THE REGESS AND ALL OF THE INVID RACE IN ONE ENTITY BROUGHT YOUR VESSEL HERE IN MY TRANSUBSTANTIATION BY MY DOMINION OVER THE PROTOCULTURE. YOUR SDF-3 WAS SELECTED BECAUSE ITS ENGINES WERE BEST SUITED TO SUCH A CONTINUUM FOLD. YOU MADE THE FIRST TINY PUNCTURE THAT HAS BECOME A MIGHTY RIFT IN THE BARRIERS BETWEEN THE REAL UNIVERSE AND NEWSPACE. BUT MORE IMPORTANTLY YOU ARE HERE BECAUSE YOU NUMBER AMONG YOU SO MANY WHO LED THE WAR ON THE INVID AND WHO HAVE STRONG TIES TO THE PROTOCULTURE AND THE SHAPINGS—THE GREAT, INELUCTABLE CYCLE OF COSMIC EVENTS.
Looking about her, Lisa thought how true that was. Oh, a few like Exedore and Cabell were absent, but of the survivors of the Robotech Wars, most of the principals had been snatched in the dimensional fortress or drawn hither in Peter Pan.
And if the Regess could assert her will so thoroughly over events, what hope could mortals have of prevailing against her?
AS ONCE UPON EARTH I SOUGHT TO FIND, THROUGH EXPERIMENTS IN MY GENESIS PITS, THE IDEAL FORM THAT MY RACE WOULD ASSUME FOR ITS EXISTENCE ON THAT PLANET, SO I HAVE BROUGHT YOU HERE FOR MY STUDY. BY SIFTING THROUGH YOUR PSYCHES AND WHAT SOME OF YOU CALL YOUR SOULS, I WILL DECIDE THE NEW MENTAL AND EMOTIONAL CLIMATE OF THIS CREATION OF MINE, THIS MALLEABLE DOMAIN, THIS NEWSPACE.
Lang seemed to have assumed the role of speaker, and he showed a pronounced vexation when Louie Nichols butted in.
“Hey, retro back a second! You mated with the Protoculture, you went through your transcendence. What more d’ you want?”
TRANSUBSTANTIATION IS A MOCKERY, A PRISON! I WAS DRIVEN TO SEEK IT BY YOU HUMANS! THE SHAPINGS ARE A HOLLOW JOKE, A CELL WITH NO EXIT
The Karbarrans were growling as if they might utter some defiant roar, and so Rick hastened to say, “But what do you want?”
A harsh beam of light sprang from some unseen source to pin Rem squarely. It was not a weapon, and yet he cried out, throwing an arm across his face.
I WISH ONLY A RETURN TO THAT STATE MY INVID AND I ENJOYED WHEN ZOR CAME LIKE A THIEF IN THE NIGHT. I WISH OPTERA TO BE AS IT WAS AGAIN AND FOR THE INVID TO REVERT TO THE FORM WE KNEW THEN
“Then why don’t you do it?” Louie shouted. “You have total control over newspace.”
BUT NOT CONTROL OF THE SHAPINGS! AND BECAUSE THE INVID LEFT THEIR FORMER STATE BEHIND TO WAGE WAR AND STRIVE AGAINST THE SHAPINGS, CLOSING CERTAIN CONFIGURATIONS BEHIND THEM, A REVERSION TO OUR ORIGINAL STATE IS THE ONE THING I CANNOT DO, EVEN HERE.
NEITHER DO I WISH TO LIVE IN THE CHAOTIC NOT-LAWS THAT ARE THE NATURAL STATE OF NEWSPACE. THEREFORE, I WILL PERMIT THE REAL UNIVERSE TO BLEED INTO THIS SPACETIME, AND WHEN ALL MY RAW MATERIALS ARE AT HAND, I SHALL REFASHION ALL THE COSMOS IN THE IMAGE I DEEM FIT.
“No!” With help from Minmei, Rem was struggling to rise. “It’s not their fault! You can’t banish away their entire existence!”
AND WAS IT MY FAULT WHEN THE FIRST OF YOUR BLOOD, ZOR, CAME LIKE A POISONOUS VIPER TO OPTERA? WAS IT MY FAULT THAT YOUR ROBOTECH MASTERS DECREED THE RAZING OF OPTERA? THE UNIVERSE CARES NOTHING FOR JUSTICE … NOR DO THE SHAPINGS.
It was Learna, mate to Kami and at one with the hin, who spoke then. She stood erect, and even though she was of smaller stature than anyone else there but the children, her foxlike appearance gave her a certain nobility that struck the others with an undeniable poignancy.
“Then why spare us? Why not obliterate us and make a clean beginning?”
No one else had been brave enough to call out the question. The Regess hesitated long seconds before replying.
BECAUSE I NEED TO STUDY YOU. I MUST DECIDE WHETHER THERE SHALL BE IN THIS NEWSPACE THE ONLY THING YOU MORTAL RACES HAVE DEVELOPED THAT IS OF ANY SIGNIFICANCE: LOVE.
“In spite of what it did to her,” Lisa heard Rick murmur; she had been thinking the same thing.
Louie Nichols’s voice cracked. “ ‘Only’?” he cried. “What about intelligence?”
A MERE COPING MECHANISM. AN INEVITABLE OUTGROWTH OF EVOLUTION.
“Art, literature,” Rick heard Dr. Penn say.
CONCEITS, DEVISED TO FILL THE WAIT BETWEEN SUCCESSIVE FEEDINGS AND SLEEPS.
“Music—” Bowie started to protest, but the word was drowned out.
ENOUGH! YOU ARE NOT HERE TO IMPORTUNE ME!
“Yeah, here it comes,” Dana heard Louie Nichols mutter. Louder, he added, “Wh
y’d you have the kids bring us here?”
MY EXPANDED SENSES INFORM ME THAT THE REAWAKENED HAYDON, IN COLLABORATION WITH THE ROBOTECH ELDERS, EVEN NOW LAUNCHES AN ATTACK ON TIROL IN AN EFFORT TO RECOVER THE FACSIMILE PROTOCULTURE MATRIX. SHOULD HAYDON WIN, HE WILL ENTER NEWSPACE BY MEANS OF THE SHIPS BUILT BY HIS ARTIFICIAL PLANET AND HIS ARTIFICIAL RACE.
WITH THE POWER OF THE MATRIX AT HIS DISPOSAL, HE MAY BE IMPOSSIBLE TO STOP. HE WOULD CONTROL THIS PLACE THEN, AND HAYDON WILL HAVE LITTLE TOLERANCE FOR THE CONVENTIONAL SPACETIME BODIES, LAWS, AND ENTITIES THAT HE HAS BEEN TRYING SO LONG TO PUT BEHIND HIM.
“Why are you telling us this?” Lisa demanded.
TO PREPARE YOU FOR WHAT IS TO COME. IF AND WHEN I MUST COME TO GRIPS WITH HAYDON, IT WILL BE A BATTLE OF MENTAL FORCE AND PSI-ENERGIES—OF IMAGES AND POSSIBILITIES. SINCE I HAVE BEEN MONITORING YOUR PSYCHES, THE THINGS I HAVE SEEN WITHIN YOU WILL BE IMPORTANT WEAPONS. YOU ARE ABOUT TO BE CAUGHT UP IN AN APOCALYPSE.
“No!” That was Minmei, tears in her voice, she and Rem supporting each other and looking as if they were at the end of their strength.
“You can’t! We—we have innocent children with us. At least spare them!”
WAR SPARES NO ONE; YOU KNOW THAT AS WELL AS I.
There were roars from the Karbarrans, baying from the Garudans, Gnea’s angry Valkyrie war cry, and more, all mixed in a general howl of outrage. The Regess took no notice, however.
Her voice thundered in their heads. PREPARE YOURSELVES.
Within the blazing sphere, her countenance faded out, replaced by brighter and brighter glory. Once more they had to shield their eyes.
… RESIGN YOURSELVES.
When they opened their eyes again, the hive was gone and they were standing in a field of waving grass under the calm sky of Omphalos.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-TWO
You humans should cavil less about our tempers. I have observed your own behavior. With better fangs and claws, you might go far.
Lron, as quoted in Noki Rammas’s Karbarra
The Local Group captains, following Hodel’s example, had spoken boldly and resolutely in exhorting their crews. When they initiated their attack on the hulking worldlet-size Robotech warrior, though, it was with considerable caution.
The first strike brought improvised strategic missiles to bear: subluminal spacecraft packed with thermonuclear explosives set to run by remote control. Drones and robot probes went in ahead of them, firing with hastily installed weapons, to draw fire and test the megacosm-mecha’s defenses.
The remotes’ visual pickups gave their controllers a strange view of a reconfigured Haydon IV, which looked less and less like a humanoid figure as the kamikaze sortie closed on it. Hodel found himself expecting the action to start once the remotes flew in between the extended arms; physically impossible as it was for structures that size to move with any speed, he could not help feeling that one of them would lash out at any moment to swipe the jury-rigged ships out of existence.
That did not happen, though, and Hodel dismissed the notion as the natural expectation of the Karbarrans, whose bearish fighting style relied so much on their awesomely powerful arms. He bent closer to peer over a remote operator’s shoulder and follow the attack.
That particular ship was a Tirolian courier craft, small but very fast and agile. It dove in at Haydon IV as the planet’s plasma guns started firing at extreme range. As the intel staffs had projected, there was no repeat of the Awareness’s taking over of automated systemry. Because of damage suffered in Louie Nichols’s cyber-burn or the battle near Ranaath’s Star, or perhaps even as a result of this final mechamorphosis, Haydon IV’s guiding AI seemed no longer capable of that sort of hostile action.
The courier was preceded by probes that had been mounted with additional booster thrusters for the suicide mission. The long-range flaring of the plasma batteries hosed annihilation discs across the night of space, their accuracy not very impressive at that range.
The probes and drones bore in, their onboard computers and sensors augmenting the guidance from their shipboard operators.
“Clumsy,” Hodel said in a low guttural voice, meaning Haydon IV’s defensive fire. “Slow.”
He looked over to Ntor. “It’s been weakened. We’ve got them now.”
She growled loyally. “Aye, sir. But—” Her sense of duty made her add, “I still detect subsurface activity. There appear to be immense servos, energized and functional.”
“Do they have mechamorphosis capability?”
Ntor wuffed to herself, studying her instruments. “Negative, from what I can see.”
Hodel flipped a fearsome paw. “Then servos will do them no good. I’m more concerned about those sphere ships; keep a careful watch.”
But the remotes plunged down toward the immense torso of Haydon IV without meeting opposing vessels. “They couldn’t get ’em powered up,” Hodel concluded.
Prah, Spherisian captain of the Quartzstar, came up on the command net. “Captain, may I suggest that we preserve some of our lead element drones for recon.”
“Agreed,” Hodel said. He had not really expected the decoys to survive the approach, but things were going better than he had hoped.
A half score of the decoys, most of them bulkier mining probes, had been lost to the close-in plasma guns. As many more swooped in to take up strafing attacks on the defensive batteries in twisting, dodging flak-supression runs.
The artifact planet’s guns now divided between the attacking drones and the oncoming remote-controlled vessels, along with the additional drones escorting them. The courier ship began its dive into the guns’ close range. The target zone was crisscrossed by geysers of annihilation discs, one right on top of the next, at such a high rate of fire that they were practically touching.
The probes’ firepower was not sufficient to penetrate the armor of the massive gun turrets, but their attacks helped spoil the plasma cannons’ aim and did do at least some damage to the targeting sensors. Nevertheless, one by one the drones and probes were potted out of the air by the sheer volume of firepower down near the planet’s surface.
But by then the courier was juking its way down through the AA fire, homing in on a large fire-control complex in the general vicinity of the megacosm-mecha’s solar plexus.
On the bridge, Ntor reported, “Sir, we’re detecting a power influx to those servos again.”
Hodel tore himself away from the main action long enough to snap, “Any movement?”
“Not yet, sir.”
“Keep me informed.”
Then he was back watching the main screen as the courier swooped like a hawk at Haydon IV. There was a moment of utter disappointment as a glancing hit by a disc damaged one of the steering thrusters, but the operator had sufficient auxiliaries to compensate.
Spread out back in the courier’s wake, more kamikazes took up their approaches.
Ntor spoke up again. “Sir? Servos activated. The arm booms are moving.”
Hodel checked the readouts. The arms were moving so slowly that they presented no credible threat. Still, moving like that—they reminded him of something, some Robotech legend …
“Missile one: thirty seconds to impact,” someone remarked, and Hodel broke off his musings.
“Make sure surviving drones are clear of ground zero,” Hodel ordered. “Get—uurrrr!—numbers five, seven, eight, and ten on recon sweeps of the far side.”
“Fifteen seconds.”
The courier craft had slipped down under the AA guns’ lowermost angle of fire, too low for most defenses to target. Streaming smoke and flame, it wobbled and rattled across the last miles, the fire-control complex looming up like a Robotech scarp.
“What was that?” Difficult to make out either on visuals or, thanks to the alchemist’s mix of energies down below, by sensor, something seemed to go flashing across the corpusterrain of Haydon IV. Like a skimming blue shadow, it flickered straight for the target area.
The courier’s visual pi
ckup cut out at impact, of course, but other instruments showed the abrupt outwelling of the explosion: the nearly magical appearance of a superfireball that put many watching it in mind of the big bang.
“Damage report!” Hodel was grunting excitedly even while the fireball expanded. If there was anything left of the complex, he would target a second mop-up missile ship at it; if not, he would accelerate the other kamikazes to their assigned targets. The proof that the attack weapons could strike home on Haydon IV had him exulting.
But then came Prah’s voice from Quartzstar. “Attention, Tracialle! Our instruments show failure to impact. Something shielded the target area from the blast.”
“Impossible!” Hodel bellowed so loudly that even his fellow Karbarrans winced.
Ntor spoke up. “Negative, sir. Look.” She had split the main screen. Next to the real-time image of the expanding nuke strike, she was projecting the flicker that had raced across the surface of the megacosm-mecha.
It was a large blue circle, like the image of a spotlight on the surface of Haydon IV. It streaked straight for the impact point, a dot of light some hundred miles across and yet small in comparison to the gargantuan torso.
The Tracialle’s techs were confirming what Quartzstar’s had found: The nuke hit had been deflected. “And see, two more of those strange energy loci,” Ntor added. Hodel yowled angrily at the three blue circles, drifting here and there across the modules of the reconfigured planet like buzzing insects.
Without warning, Exedore appeared on the main screen. “Captain Hodel, I have seen this phenomenon before. It’s a pinpoint barrier system, though how Haydon learned of it, I don’t know. There’s no time to explain; you must withdraw your fleet.”
Hodel’s paw smashed his command chair’s arm. “There are only three of those miserable little dots. We’ll hit them with everything we have, all at once—and wipe them out!”
Waysee, commanding the two-ship Garudan contingent, came up on the net. “There’s no guarantee we’ll be able to concentrate our strike precisely enough.”
End of the Circle Page 28
