The Biofab War (16 page)

Bob wasn’t long alone with his memories before Detrelna called, “We’re in space. Please begin.”

“Beginning now.” He sank into one of the comfortable chairs. The helmet settled over his head.

Hail, comrade,
came a single gentle whisper that was also many.
Welcome to our sepulcher. Long have we waited. What service may the penitent perform for Emperor and Empire?

The Empire is dust,
thought Bob.
You may, however, save humanity from that which would destroy it—a humanity you betrayed.

Surely a noble task, comrade,
came the ghostly chorus.
We would know more, but sense that time is precious. Open your mind to us, so we may know all.

Thank you, no. You’ve a durable reputation for malevolence.

One of which we’re proud, comrade

There was a fierce buzzing, as of angry bees in conclave, then the attack Bob had expected struck—sharp stingers probed his mind’s defenses, trying to win through. But the needles of raw mental energy couldn’t penetrate, deflected by his shield. Oblivious to the hatred tearing at him, Bob was calmly reviewing Descartes’s proofs for the existence of God.

“Tight little coffin,” said John, looking about the tiny cell into which the Terrans were crammed deep within
Nasqa
. The gray of the surrounding walls was broken only by the slight shimmer of the force field securing the doorway. A small oval-shaped hole in the corner of the floor was the only amenity. “They were expecting us,” said Zahava after a moment’s glum silence.

“How?” asked John, tentatively feeling the force field with his fingertips. The shimmer became a blur and he could move his hand no further. Giving up, he turned back to his companions.

“Maybe we triggered their intruder alert system after all,” suggested Sutherland.

“They’d have cut us down as we arrived,” John said. “No. Zahava’s right—it was a trap, carefully laid.
Nasqa
’s crew had some lead time.”

“Well, what now?” asked Bakunin. “They’re probably going to interrogate us as they did your late President.”

“We’ve got to escape,” said Zahava.

“Surely, André,” Sutherland said, eyeing the Russian with a certain satisfaction, “your people must have a technique for breaking out of jail? Or do you only concern yourselves with keeping people in them?”

“And a cheap shot, too, after all we’ve been through.”

Their conversation was ended by the arrival of two warriors and a transmute. The doorway barrier vanished.

Come with us.
The Scotar pointed their blasters at John, their leader motioning him away from the others with a flick of his pistol.

Silent until now, Greg elbowed his way past John. “We’re all idiots,” he said irritably, stepping in front of the leveled weapons. “We forgot about the warsuits—and so did they!”

With a shout, he threw himself on the aliens, dragging them down even as they fired.

“Take ‘em!” barked John.

It was short and messy, the humans kicking and gouging for the eyes, the insectoids fighting back with tentacles and mandibles, Zahava ending it with a captured blaster.

The victors stood with a collection of bruises and cuts. All but Greg. The lanky geologist lay unmoving between two of the enemy, dead. Gently turning him, John saw why: most of Greg’s stomach was gone. His warsuit had failed, as he must have known it would, beneath the close fire of several weapons. John gently closed the sightless eyes and stood, face grim and set. “I say we still have time to take the bridge. Agreed?”

From somewhere deep within Descartes, McShane half noticed the mindslaves’ attack waning, the once-sharp buzzing now muted. Distant but distinct, a voice called his name. “Detrelna to McShane. Scotar forward elements are coming within range. See if you can activate the weapons systems. Bridge monitors still show them down.”

With a small mental sigh, Bob carefully shelved Descartes, then called,
Brothers, sister, I call upon you to right ancient wrongs.

The buzzing stopped.

I exhort you by the names of all those whom you condemned to your fate, right the wrong you’ve done. Destroy the enemy now before you.

The whisper that was one-yet-many sounded again. Bob pondered his reply.
Yes, he finally answered. I promise. Help us now and it will be done.

When?

When the enemy is destroyed.

It is agreed.

The battle board came alive, transformed into a three-dimensional projection of the solar system. The advancing Scotar were now well inside Mars’s orbit, deployed in a great wedge pointed straight at Earth.
They are within our range, comrade. You have but to give the command.

He spoke it. “Fire!”

The Terrans had almost reached
Nasqa
’s bridge when the alarm sounded, this time for them.

Not that the four could hear it. A passing group of warriors whirled and fired. Thanks to the warsuits and Zahava’s vigilance, it was the Scotar who died. The firing signaled a desperate running battle to the bridge. John leading, they weaved through a maze of corridors, blasting down the enemy before them, keeping those behind at bay.

A mixed party of warriors and transmutes guarded the bridge, weapons ready. They opened fire as John and Zahava lobbed the small orbs they’d taken from dead Scotar. A pulsating red glow filled the corridor as blaster fire crackled from both sides.

The aliens died, their aim distorted by spectral grenades keyed to their vision. But the bridge was sealed.

Undeterred, John and Zahava busied themselves before the massive doors. Sutherland and Bakunin kept their pursuers back. “Hug the wall!” John ordered. They braced themselves against the bridge bulkhead as Zahava pressed a button on her belt. The huge blast doors didn’t so much blow up as disintegrate in a fierce white heat, frames buckling.

The Terrans charged in and killed the bridge crew.

“Gentlemen, guard our rear,” John asked, and Bakunin and Sutherland ran out again.

Going to the communications console, John tapped withdrawal orders he’d been given into
Nasqa
’s computer, hoping the symbols given him by Detrelna were right. He and Zahava watched as a moment later the Scotar fleet began obediently dispersing.

“Time to leave, I think.” Bill’s voice was tense over the commnet. “Much company.” He and the Russian dived through the doorway, energy bolts rending the air above them. Crouching to either side of the door, they fired back.

“POCSYM, standby to pull us out,” John ordered.

“Acknowledged.”

He ran to the command console, pressed an isolated button and pointed at Zahava, standing by the first officer’s station. She carefully typed a few characters, using keys never meant for human digits, then nodded at John.

A great bolt of raw red energy tore through the navigation console, ochre flame and blue sparks exploding in its wake.

“Heavy weapons!” Zahava turned toward the door as a solid wave of Scotar swarmed the bridge, overrunning Sutherland and Bakunin.

“Now, POCSYM!” shouted John, blasting two warriors and grappling with another.

Battered, singed and exhausted, four Terrans stood on
Implacable’s
bridge.

A
 transparent blister atop the great ship,
Revenge’s
bridge was the size of
Implacable’s
hangar deck. Detrelna found its cavernous, many-tiered vastness even eerier than the still, dead corridors he’d just traversed taking McShane to the mindslaves.

Only ten of
Implacable’s
crew could be spared to man the mindslaver and they were scattered, effectively swallowed within the gloom of the huge bridge.

Despite having done it before, the captain took the command chair, center of the fifth and highest level, with great reluctance. T’Nil had sat in that chair, and S’Tar and Q’Nor—the legendary Emperors of the Second Dynasty, men whose sagas were forever part of the Empire’s rich tapestry. “You may lift ship, POCSYM,” he said quietly.

After fifty centuries, T’Nil’s
Revenge
was space-borne again.

“All systems except weapons are operational,” said Kiroda from the station beside the captain’s. “We don’t have the maneuverability we would with a full crew, but we can move.”

“She doesn’t need to be anything but an orbital fort,” said Detrelna. “Is that
Implacable
?” he asked, looking up to his right. A silver ship made tiny by distance hung there.

“Sure is,” confirmed the young officer. “I’d know that old hulk anywhere.” His eyes returned to his console. It was a marvel, infinitely more sophisticated than anything aboard
Implacable
.

“Speak with respect, sir,” said Detrelna softly, still looking up. “She’s the best ever made without brainstrip technology. She’s fast and she’s clean—unlike this wondrous horror.” He dropped his gaze, gesturing about the shadowy bridge.

The two men retreated into silence.

It only seems a long time, Detrelna reassured himself, watching the Scotar fleet on his screen. It really hadn’t been that long since the assault team left—untrained friends sent against the mother ship of a cruel and crafty foe. Nor that long since he’d sent McShane alone into that metallic shaft of a room, an old man pitted against millennia of intelligent, festering malevolence.

It has been a long time, fat man,
sneered a voice deep within him.
Too long. They’re dead and you’ve lost. You should have run while you could, but no, the hero of T’Qar doesn’t run. He—
As he squelched the voice, everything broke.

“
Nasqa
party returned. Mission accomplished,” reported an elated Lawrona from
Implacable
.

A dot in the center of the enemy fleet projection winked out. A new and distant sun flared briefly in the direction of the now-scattering Scotar. “
Nasqa
has self-destructed,” reported Lawrona.

“Hang on to your chinstraps up there,” said a tired voice on the commnet—McShane’s voice.

“We’ve lost the helm, Captain.” Alarmed, Kiroda pressed a series of unresponsive controls.

“Shield’s up,” called a familiar voice. “Weapons systems arming.”

“What’s the effective range of an Imperial mindslaver, Mr. Kiroda?” asked the captain, unperturbed.

“No idea, sir.” The Tactics Officer gave up on the console, turning to face Detrelna. “
The Annals
tiptoe around a lot of this.”

“I think we’re about to find out.” He looked up at the waves of sleek deadly missiles pouring away from them.

You must help us.
The sibilant whisper came again into Bob’s mind. But it’s never really left, he thought tiredly.

How?

Join your mind with ours. The enemy is many. Only with your help can we prevail.

Hesitantly, Bob sent out a tentative tendril of thought.

Something dark and strong coiled around it, pulling the rest of him into a swirling vortex of white-hot hate. Before he could feel more than a twinge of terror, the vortex coalesced into a surging river of incandescence. The river became thousands of raging streams, each pushing a small, cold point of light toward a larger one. Bob was one with the streams. A lifetime’s hostility sublimated to the dictates of civilization was being called forth.

Seen from
Revenge
, the new suns lived just long enough to become a great fireball, then died. The mindslaves had kept their word.

“Gods of our fathers!” exclaimed Lawrona from
Implacable’s
command chair as an ensign deactivated series after series of dead sensors. “What was in those warheads?” he asked over the commnet.

“Maybe we could pry one open,” suggested Kiroda, looking out through
Revenge’s
again transparent dome. It had opaqued in instant response to the blinding light, clearing just as quickly once the danger passed.

“Maybe we won’t,” grumbled Detrelna.

“Did you track those missiles, Lawrona?” he asked. “The detectors here are still a mystery.”

“We couldn’t, Captain. They vanished a few seconds after launch.”

“Check your hyperspace scans.”

“They went into hyperdrive!” came the startled response. “But hyper drives aren’t that small—why, even the Imperials—”

Kiroda broke in excitedly. “The mindslaves! It must be! Somehow they can hurl weapons through hyperspace and drop them on target. But those detonations? What’s in those warheads?”

“Minute quantities of matter/antimatter, held in stasis.” POCSYM spoke for the first time in hours. “The stasis field is released when the weapons arrive on target. You’ve just seen the result.”

A low, keening moan interrupted them.

The captain rose. “Professor, can you hear me?” he called anxiously.

Another moan was the only response.

“Kiroda, you have the con. Medtech Qinil with me.” Detrelna made for the door. A slight figure detached itself from a chair two tiers down, scrambling up an access ladder to join him, medkit strapped to his back.