Final Assault Page 19

  “There was just one battleglobe. And if that fails?”

  “I suggest we then attack their center, Admiral. We may take some of them out. Certainly we can entertain them as our ships evacuate civilians to the nearest redoubt planet. Molan, isn’t it?”

  “Redoubts?” said Detrelna. “I thought that was a myth.”

  “Like the Twelfth Fleet,” said Lawrona.

  “The Empire established fallback planets in case Kronar ever fell,” said Laguan. “The Confederation restored them during the Biofab War. Molan looks like any other lightly populated agro planet, though with hidden teeth. It has facilities for several million evacuees. The problem is enough ships to get them there.”

  “Commandeer anything that can jump,” ordered Kyan.

  “Underway now,” said the Admiral. “Still want to go, ‘straight at ‘em,’ My Lord?”

  “Yes,” said the Heir.

  “No,” said Line. “It’s suicide.”

  “You’ve a better plan?”

  “Yes, My Lord. We merely make it look like suicide.”

  Chapter 26

  “Take it. Please take it,” coaxed Kiroda, watching the commtorp shoot past the orbital fort. Ending its attack on Devastator, the AI defense network watched and waited.

  “They could destroy us,” said Guan-Sharick. “Those beam webs aren’t just for defense, they can also transmit energy between their forts. The aggregate fire of all the forts surrounding Daklan can be brought to bear on us. But that would weaken their defense web. They won’t risk it unless we attack or move closer.” With Ragal dead, she’d ably taken command, saying, “I once commanded a ship like this—reluctantly but well.

  “There!” she said, intent on the main screen and the commtorp, now directly before the nearest fort. A slim golden beam shot out and seized it, taking it into the fort. “Ah, curiosity,” she smiled.

  Kiroda motioned John and Zahava over to the nav console. “Daklan seems the sole source of Tau energy,” he said quietly, pointing to a screen with its image of the planet wreathed in otherwise invisible waves. “And we know someone who relies on it. I think Daklan’s her home.”

  “And of the plague.” said John. “She’s come home for the vaccine.”

  “It’s working,” called Guan-Sharick, She pointed at the screen.

  The beams radiating from the nearest fort were flickering, wavering faster and faster, oscillating into a blur before vanishing. Moving suddenly off station, the fort accelerated into space and was gone.

  “Forward, Mr. Kiroda, before they regroup,” ordered Guan-Sharick. “We’ve got us a hole.”

  “What was in the commtorp?” asked John, walking to the command chair as the battleglobe surged forward.

  “Death’s homecoming,” said the blonde, smiling as she watched the world below fill the screen. She looked up at John. “The virus I took from that dead thug, held in stasis. Released, it attacked. Those forts’ sensors are tied to their main cybernetics.”

  “The fort went crazy,” said Zahava.

  “The human Yarin is dead in his quarters,” said the battleglobe’s computer.

  “Scan of Yarin’s quarters,” ordered the blonde as the others exchanged worried looks.

  It came up on the command station’s screen: the late intelligence operative and sometime-rebel slumped over the room’s complink.

  “He’s infecting our networks with the virus,” said Guan-Sharick, standing. “Commander Kiroda, drop shields, then get over here. Everyone to me, now!”

  “But …” protested the Kronarin.

  “Move!” she snapped.

  Kiroda dropped the battleglobe’s shields. On the other side of the armorglass the familiar protective blue vanished, replaced by the cold starkness of space.

  “The first thing to go will be Ragal’s programming overlay—it’s keeping this ship’s intruder defenses from attacking us. We’re leaving.”

  The blaster bolt snapped out, narrowly missing Kiroda as he moved from his station. Dashing across the bridge, he dived for the command station and Guan-Sharick, blue bolts exploding around him.

  “Too close,” said the blonde, a soft breeze tousling her long hair. Fresh air, warm sunshine, the smell of flowers, tall blue grass swaying gently in the breeze. “Welcome to Daklan.”

  They were in a glade ringed by woods—the dark, primeval woods long gone from their home worlds. Zahava pointed to a lone rocky structure in the middle of the glade. “What’s that doing here?”

  Chapter 27

  “We’ve halted its spread to the remaining occupied ships’ command-and-control nexuses,” said the First Cyberneticist, “but we’re still dying.” A conservative, he disdained the vogue of human form, believing copying one’s slaves decadent. He hovered before the First Leader as the translucent green ball he’d always been. “We’re becoming a fleet of the dead, serenely sailing into eternity.”

  The First Leader nodded absently. His name was Sutak and he’d been Third Leader until after the battle with the mindslavers. The Second Leader had died with his entire command in that battle, then just before the jump to the Kronarin system, the First Leader had succumbed to the plague. A gifted combat commander, Sutak was without inspiration in battling microbes.

  “There are fewer than eighty million of us left, concentrated on a handful of battleglobes in our center and forward phalanxes. A stroke of genius by First Leader Qilak, putting our most effective phalanxes in the lead, to be slaughtered like humans.” Seemingly a handsome trim man in his late forties, he paced the deck. “The plague’s still destroying the cybernetics of the unoccupied ships.” He stopped pacing, facing the scientist. “We thought we’d escaped the virus.”

  “We were wrong,” said the cyberneticist, whose name was Larn. “It will kill us before we can destroy the humans. Happily it will also kill them.”

  “I know its capabilities. And unlike my two predecessors, I’m not xenophobic enough to believe it worth all of our deaths to see the fulfillment of some moronic revenge wish. We die, they die. Victory!”

  “Surely the First Leader recalls the Revolt,” protested Larn. “It was the beginning of all our troubles.”

  “The First Leader does indeed recall the Revolt,” said Sutak, turning a baleful gaze on Larn. “Having suffered so much from it. It was brilliantly conceived, flawlessly executed, and brought on us by ourselves, as is our imminent extinction. We’re being destroyed by the same virus we unleashed on others during our last interspatial folly.”

  “Does the First Leader wish me to conclude my report, or to continue sharing his intriguing historical perspective?”

  The alert sounded. “Enemy approaching.”

  “In what force?” asked Sutak.

  “Two million small craft.”

  “On my way. Keep as many of our desolated ships between us and them as you can.”

  “Not more asteroids,” said Sutak, reading the tacscan. Battle Command was at full strength, a great round bowl of a room, the First Leader’s station in the center, set above the concentric rings of command and communications stations. Sutak was looking at the hologram above his station. A wave of rocks was rushing at the Fleet of the One.

  “Intelligence identifies it as the Kronarin defense perimeter known as Line,” said the First Strategist, Orlac. Human-adapted, he seemed younger than Sutak. “They’re asteroids with bristling with fusion cannon and missile batteries. Combine Telan didn’t indicate Line could maneuver independently.”

  “We’re sure it’s not those horrible mines again?” asked Sutak.

  “Yes. Sensors have been updated.”

  “Where’s their fleet?” he asked, gaze shifting to a tactical data trail.

  “In battle groups off Kronar,” said Orlac. “None of their weapons can penetrate our shields. We should expect suicide runs after we dispose of this nuisance.”

  “Our arrogance and complacency have been their deadliest weapons. What they lack in resources they make up for in guile and aud
acity. Stay sharp.”

  “Yes, First Leader,” said a chastised Orlac.

  “Enemy in range,” advised Operations.

  “Open fire,” ordered Sutak.

  “Logically, the command ship would be their centermost vessel,” said Line.

  “Logically,” said Admiral Laguan, watching the tacscan, “they would expect us to conclude that.”

  “Logically, they would expect us to conclude that it was too logical an assumption for it to be true,” said Line, “and maintain their original position.”

  “Press toward the center—see if they twitch.”

  “You’d think they’d at least let us have a scantap,” said Detrelna, pouting at the blank screens. Except for his and Lawrona’s stations, Implacable’s bridge was deserted.

  “If those battleglobes picked up on that scantap, Jaquel,” said the captain, “we’d all die in vain.” Touching the complink, he brought up a diagnostic of Implacable’s shield.

  “We may yet,” said the commodore, dialing up a steaming cup of t’ata from the flag chair’s beverager. “How many friends and relatives have we lost between us?”

  Satisfied with their shield, Lawrona cleared the scan from his console and swiveled to face Detrelna. “More than I care to count. Why?”

  The commodore sighed, looking into the brown t’ata as though for wisdom. “It just seems that we were always fighting harder, further from home and against ever more overwhelming odds. And to what end, Hanar?”

  “We won every battle.”

  “Leaving us standing before our home world as it falls,” said Detrelna, sipping his t’ata. “What became of Devastator? And Ragal’s crusade to liberate the AI empire?”

  “Since the AI fleet’s here and about to turn us into evanescent gas, they’re probably dead,” the captain speculated. “You’re usually the one who’s full of hope, Jaquel. How about a cheery word?”

  The commodore snorted, downed the rest of his t’ata and crumpled the cup into the disposer.

  Lawrona punched up a vidscan of Implacable’s cavernous hangar deck. Prime Base’s survivors filled its far end, many of them sitting beside the waiting assault craft, some checking their weapons. Most seemed self-absorbed.

  “Looks pretty somber down there,” said Detrelna.

  Lawrona zoomed in on a solitary figure beside the blue shimmer of the atmosphere curtain: Kyan. He stood with hands clasped behind his back, looking out on their rocky womb. “There’s a lonely man.”

  “Perhaps not,” said the commodore as Lieutenant Satil joined the Heir, saluting.

  “My Lord!”

  “Don’t do that, Corin,” said Kyan.

  “What do I call you?” she asked. There was no one within earshot.

  “What you always have—Kyan.”

  “That’s when it was your first name.”

  “It’s my only name. Sad, isn’t it?”

  “What’s your father’s name?”

  “Kyan—all our first born males are Kyan.”

  “Aren’t family holidays confusing?”

  “With our family, awkward. But we get through them.”

  “So was it fun?” she asked.

  “It started that way,” he said, keeping his hand from settling her ever-errant lock of hair. “And you?”

  “The same. What about after this?”

  “If there’s an after? We should take some significant time alone and talk.”

  “I’m just a lowly commando,” she blurted.

  “Never that, Corin,” he said, brushing her hair back into place. “Never that.”

  Detrelna and Lawrona watched as Satil saluted and departed.

  “She ever salute you?” asked Detrelna.

  “She must have,” frowned Lawrona. A telltale beeped on his console. “Here we go,” said the captain, and touched the commlink. “All personnel, make ready.” His voice boomed across the hangar deck and throughout the ship. “We’re going in. Commander Kazim, sound battle stations.”

  “Hardly a bold attack,” said Admiral Laguan, frowning at the screen. “They continue advancing in a solid wave. Why not break into separate units, some entertaining our pathetic attack, others striking at Kronar?”

  “Their tactics indicate a fixed-response mindset,” said Line.

  “One would expect a lack of imagination from machines.”

  “May I remind the admiral that I’m part machine?”

  “Only part. The rest of you is three Imperial admirals, one security master, a geneticist and a poet. Hard on the poet, isn’t it?”

  “Harder on all but the geneticist. My point is that there’s a wide cognitive gap between a computer and an AI. About as wide as the gap between you and a varx.”

  “A gallant beast, the varx. And wonderful properly seasoned. Surely the AIs could build a self-aware battleglobe?”

  “Surely,” said Line. “And if it decided it was brighter than its creators?”

  “Point taken. So?”

  “The AI tactics suggest we face uncrewed battleglobes, receiving orders from a central commander, implementing them without refinement and with unsurpassed dullness.”

  “Kiss my mother,” said Laguan, seeing it, too.

  “Your mother is dead, Admiral.”

  “Why is all but a tiny part of that invasion armada uncrewed? And where is their command ship?”

  “No idea why they’re uncrewed. But I doubt it’s by design. As for the command ship, do we agree it’s at their center?”

  “Yes,” said Laguan, looking at the screen and the advancing Fleet.

  “Their lead elements would require closer coordination, though. They need to detect danger and respond quickly. Several of the battleglobes in the first phalanx would be fully crewed and directing at least the forward wave. But yes, the command staff will be at the center. I can suggest an attack pattern to open a path.”

  “We’ve only one toss in this game, Line.”

  “Then let the dice fly.”

  “My Lord, we need you here. Now,” said Laguan to Kyan as the Heir conferred with Lawrona on Implacable’s bridge.

  “Can this wait?” said the Heir. “We’re launching an attack. Apparently not,” he said, finding himself beside a sleek black fighter craft, one of a long double row running down what seemed a hangar deck. Gray-uniformed pilots and techs hurried past him, everywhere the hurried order of a fighter wing reading for launch. Only a Scotar transmute or Line could have transported him here. “Line!” he called.

  “My Lord?”

  Kyan turned. The younger man before him wore a gray Imperial Fleet uniform, the starship-and-sun on the shoulder. The stranger saluted.

  “And you are?”

  “Tinor Sakur, My Lord. Late Assault Captain, Emperor Syal’s Guard.”

  “You’re the one Lawrona and Detrelna brought back from Syal’s lost citadel. You had the recall device.”

  Sakur bowed. “And used it.”

  “Thank you, Captain. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through. Where are we?”

  “A fighter squadron base within my command base,” came Line’s voice.

  “And I’m torn from Implacable, why?” demanded the Heir. “Even as we bring the attack to the enemy, using your plan?”

  “You may yet be throwing your life away in a gallant charge, My Lord,” said Line, delicately not mentioning the other lives Kyan was throwing away. “Your forbearers had others do that for them. This is a day for gallantry and subtlety.”

  Sakur and Kyan found themselves in Lines’ Operations Center, standing beside Admiral Laguan. “We’ve little time, My Lord,” said Laguan. “There are people you need to meet.”

  “See what he’s doing?” said Sutak, pointing to the projection.

  “Being destroyed piecemeal,” said Orlac, standing beside the First Leader.

  Sortieing against the leading AI squadrons, Line’s gun and missiles platforms were being warded off by clouds of missiles and a virtual wall of fusion fire. The lead battlegl
obe squadrons broke formation, pursuing Line’s retreating units.

  “Why aren’t we launching fighters and cruisers?” demanded Sutak. “Battleglobes lumbering after drones and asteroids—absurd.”

  “We haven’t enough effectives left to deploy our secondary ships,” said Orlac.

  “And now the humans know that.” As the AI officers watched, Line’s next wave came in, exchanged fire with the lead battleglobes and broke away scattering, more battleglobes pursuing. The Fleet of the One’s original solid phalanx was now a core with two elongated arms stretching quickly away from it, the arms themselves fragmenting as single globes gave chase.

  “They’re opening a path to us,” said Sutak. “They’ve detected we’re short of help.” He turned from the projection. “Operations. Direct all pursuing globes to disengage and resume original formation.”

  “The First Leader’s order may be too late,” said Larn. All but forgotten, the cyberneticist hovered beside Sutak’s station.

  The First Leader turned back to the hologram and a new tactical projection: thirty-five targets moving down the slot toward them.

  “We can intercept,” said Orlac. “We’ve four fully crewed globes as escort.”

  “No.” Sutak shook his head. “I’m not putting other crewed ships at risk to save one because our precious selves are aboard. Have all our escorts’ crewed globes scatter. They want us, here we are. We’ll stand off their suicide run alone. Shipbusters and cannon fire will end this folly.”

  “Our Heir hasn’t returned yet,” reported Lawrona.

  “Line tends to be windy,” said Detrelna.

  “Lord Kyan is safely with me, Commodore. But not for long,” said Line.

  “Incoming shipbusters,” reported the computer guiding the asteroid in which Implacable nestled. “Incoming shipbusters,” it repeated, voice sounding through the hangar deck. The waiting soldiers threw themselves prone on the deck.

  “Shield frequencies?” said Detrelna tensely, moving to the navigator’s station.

  “Matched.” Lawrona entered coordinates then touched Execute. Outside the shield blinked off-on, then held steady.

  “Let’s hope it’s still current,” said the commodore.