Part 12 (1/2)

Perfect teeth, thought D'Trelna wildly, putting a burst into the sergeant-thing's chest, tumbling it to the deck.

”Pretty good, Commodore, for a command officer.”

Breathing hard, D'Trelna turned to see all the components dispatched and S'Til kneeling, cleaning her knife on the uniformed haunch of one of her attackers. ”Did you ever pull ground combat?” she asked, rising and slipping the blade back into her boot sheath.

”Not in the service of Fleet and Republic, my child,” said D'Trelna.

”Casualties?” he asked L'Wrona. The captain was handing over his empties for reloading.

”None,” he said, taking a fresh magazine from a private and snapping it into his machine pistol. ”Only about twelve of them reached our position.”

”G.o.ds of my fathers.” The commodore slumped against the shuttle, closing his eyes. ”What are they?”

”Were they,” corrected L'Wrona, peering at the shrinking portion of corridor still lit by the dying hover-flare. Gray-uniformed bodies heaped its length. ”Imperial Marines, brainstripped millennia ago, bodies preserved for later use.”

D'Trelna opened his eyes. ”Individually controlled, but from some distance,” he said, glancing toward the NCO he'd stopped. ”That's your ancestor's command, isn't it, H'Nar?”

”That's the logical conclusion,” said the captain uneasily. ”Uniforms, weapons, insignia-all from that period. If so, they'll be back-an Imperial Marine brigade numbered four to five thousand troopers. a.s.suming even half of them survived their attack on this s.h.i.+p, then this”-his hand swept the carnage-”was just a reconnaissance in force-about one company.” Eyes narrowing, he peered down the corridor to their left, from where the attack had come, then down the corridor to their front. Following his gaze, D'Trelna saw shadows flitting along the flare's shrinking periphery-shadows creeping in behind the dying light.

”S'Til,” he called, ”they're ma.s.sing in the front and left corridors.”

”Rear and left corridors, too,” came the lieutenant's voice from the other side of the shuttle. ”General a.s.sault this time. And we're out of flares.”

”Should she be shouting that?” asked the commodore.

”Plenty of flares left, J'Quel,” said L'Wrona softly. ”Deploy!” he called. ”Three to each corridor.”

”We can stop thousands of those things?” said D'Trelna as commandos hurried from the shuttle, olive-drab ammunition boxes slung between them. ”With twelve antiques?”

”No, of course not,” said L'Wrona. ”But they'll come in faster if they think we're out of flares. That way, we kill more of them.”

The long and brutal war, the endless, often meaningless combat, the destruction of his home world-all had slowly eroded the captain's perspective. Recently the commodore found he could almost always rely on L'Wrona's striving to maximize enemy casualties, whether in the interests of the mission or not. D'Trelna sought to remind him of that now.

”I doubt we're really killing them, H'Nar. Life left those bodies before they were dead-like a soulwraith fleeing the dawn.” He jabbed a finger at the captain. ”Our mission is the commwand. We need to take the bridge, not die stupidly-or worse.” He had a sudden vision of himself, L'Wrona and the commandos, shrieking wildly, joining the marines in a wild a.s.sault on some future intruders, twelve more brainstrips added to Alpha Prime's Alpha Prime's defenses. defenses.

S'Til appeared, holding two bayonet-fixed M16's, a third slung over her shoulder. She gave one each to commodore and captain. ”For the cut and slice work,” she said.

Slinging the Uzi over his back, D'Trelna wished he'd awaken in Implacable's Implacable's big, soft flag chair, a warm cup of t'ata in hand instead of the heavy slug thrower. big, soft flag chair, a warm cup of t'ata in hand instead of the heavy slug thrower.

”Get those flares up,” said L'Wrona. A fading twilight circled them, with visibility down to about a hundred meters.

Nodding, the commando lieutenant raised the stubby flare gun and fired four quick rounds, sending new flares streaking to join the old ones. The K'Ronarins s.h.i.+elded their eyes as the harsh light returned, pus.h.i.+ng the darkness back another hundred meters.

The gray host waited silently, bayonets gleaming in the new light, their ranks disappearing back into the darkness.

They watched each other for a moment, contemporary and ancient K'Ronarins, staring across millennia of blood and torment. Then the order was issued. Four horns sounded: two high, ringing notes, repeating twice, holding the last note for a moment.

Now, thought L'Wrona as the last note faded. ”Fire!” he cried as the gray waves surged forward with a roar.

”Problems?” asked T'Lan, mockingly polite, watching the components falling beneath a hail of gunfire. ”I thought you were going to turn the damper field off after your first debacle.”

”Interference again,” said the dry whisper. ”Somehow the secondary transponders are being suppressed. But not by conventional means.”

”Show me the suppression aura,” he said. It came up on a telltale, a rotating blue-red matrix blocking all commands to the damper field nodules. ”S'Cotar,” announced the AI. ”It s.n.a.t.c.hed the Terran away, now it's helping the K'Ronarins.”

”But why, T'Lan? They're enemies.”

”I don't know,” said the AI. It culled through millennia of memories-wars and battles, plots and intrigues, random data-nowhere was there a hint of why an alien species, defeated, virtually exterminated, would suddenly help its enemies against a foe. It bothered T'Lan. ”I don't know,” he repeated. ”Give me a skipcomm channel to S'Hlu.”

Futile, thought D'Trelna. He emptied his M16 in five long bursts and slammed in another magazine. Much too close, five components fell. Others took their place. The intersection rang to the sound of the bayonet cry. Futile and stupid to die like this, thought the commodore.

D'Trelna, said a cold whisper inside his head. said a cold whisper inside his head. Do exactly as I say, now, and some of you may live. Do exactly as I say, now, and some of you may live.

”J'Quel!” shouted L'Wrona above the screaming and the gunfire. The commodore was disappearing into the shuttle, the door cranking shut behind him.

”Captain!”

L'Wrona turned back to the a.s.sault. He and S'Til stood alone against a thousand shrieking demons. ”Run!” he cried.

They made their final stand at the shuttle, back to back against the forward port landing strut, weapons at a.s.sault arms.

Silently, the components surrounded the shuttle, a watchful gray wall of blank faces. It was as if they'd expended the small allotment of emotion spared them by the R'Actolians and now stood awaiting recall.

The four corners of h.e.l.l, indeed, thought L'Wrona, hands slippery with sweat. If the dead could walk, that's how they'd look. Soulwraiths, like J'Quel said. And what did D'Trelna think he was doing in there? Not like him to run.

”Captain,” whispered S'Til, ”they don't take us. Agreed?”

”Agreed,” whispered L'Wrona. ”Ammunition?”

”Three rounds, no more.”

”I'm empty,” he said. ”Make sure you destroy our brains.”

”And the commodore?”

Before L'Wrona could answer, the gray wall parted. A man strode into the circle-a strongly-built man with aquiline features and the gold comets of an Imperial admiral. He stopped at the point of L'Wrona's bayonet. ”You've damaged us, Captain,” he said. It was a cold, cultured voice, speaking High K'Ronarin with the accent of the Court-an accent the centuries had relegated to history tapes. ”Many of us will never again experience their own bodies. My word to you, Captain-your brainpods will be part of the injured group. You'll suffer the wrath of those you've deprived and serve this s.h.i.+p forever.”

As the component spoke, L'Wrona's gaze s.h.i.+fted from the green eyes to the faint scar that circled the cranium, a scar almost invisible in the dying light of the flares. ”We are blood, Admiral K'Yal, you and I,” said L'Wrona softly, in U'Trian. ”By Tower and Oath, kinsman, I--”

”Tower and Oath, is it?” smiled the component in the same dialect. The smile vanished. ”Your ancestor died long ago, my lord Captain-moments after entering Alpha Prime. Alpha Prime. His consciousness is now part of a greater cause than any he served while whole. And as for you, sir- you're meat. Just as are any who see this slaver. Meat for harvesting. His consciousness is now part of a greater cause than any he served while whole. And as for you, sir- you're meat. Just as are any who see this slaver. Meat for harvesting.

”You'll find, Captain,” he said in a softer tone, ”that the old verities slowly fade here, carried away by the long wash of the centuries. Others more enduring will replace them.” He turned to the waiting circle. ”Take them to processing.”

”Good-bye, Captain,” said S'Til as she pivoted, raising the rifle.

The lights came on, bringing with them the faint whine of the shuttle's cannon tracking down, locking on the ma.s.sed components.