Part 21 (1/2)

”Then you won't be leaving this room,” said the exarch. His right hand held a small pistol, pointed at the AI.

U'Kal smiled. ”You can't hurt me, Y'Gar. I'm command grade and blaster-s.h.i.+elded.”

”Look again,” said the exarch, pointing to the number ”3” etched into the weapon's grips.

The AI blinked. ”Of the Revolt? You?”

Y'Gar nodded.

”Impossible. That was tens of thousands of years ago. Nothing lives that long, not even in suspension.”

”You lived that long,” said the exarch.

”I'm a machine,” said the AI. ”You . . .” He was suddenly staring at a young, blond man, dressed in a white jumpsuit.

The trans.m.u.te stared back at him, amused. ”Familiar?” he asked. ”But how?”

The trans.m.u.te spoke one word, then fired as the AI nodded in comprehension.

When U'Kal's guards entered, a few seconds later, they found their leader immobilized and the exarch gone.

”Who the h.e.l.l are they?” said D'Trelna, leaning over K'Raoda and peering at the tacscan of the s.h.i.+ps...o...b..ting D'Lin. L'Wrona stood on the other side of the first officer.

”They appear to be armed merchantmen, Commodore,” said K'Raoda, making an adjustment. Augmented data trailed across the small screen. ”X'Ankar-cla.s.s-armed to the earlobes with all sorts of illegals. Mark Eighty-eights, s.h.i.+pbusters. Not transmitting IDs.”

”Combine T'Lan, of course,” said R'Gal. The AI stood just behind K'Raoda. ”Waiting for the vanguard of the Fleet of the One.”

”Yes, but why?” said the commodore, turning to R'Gal. ”We faced an AI s.h.i.+p off Terra Two-only a miracle saved us. Why would those s.h.i.+ps need a vanguard? I could understand one or two s.h.i.+ps, bearing intelligence data, but a flotilla?”

”Obviously, there's something on that planet they want,” said L'Wrona. ”A mission-critical-something.”

D'Trelna's fist slammed down on his chairarm. ”Harvesting! They're brainstripping those people! It's got to be.”

”Of course,” said R'Gal. ”D'Lin is the key to everything-the Trel Cache, the rendezvous point for the AIs, and Zahava's destination. Which means ...”

”Guan-Sharick knows all this and set it up,” said the commodore. ”Why send Zahava there?”

”We'll find out soon, I think,” said R'Gal, looking back at the tacscan.

”They've made us,” said K'Raoda. On the main screen, the tacscan showed the Combine s.h.i.+ps breaking orbit, heading out to intercept Implacable. Implacable.

”Hmm. Eighteen of them,” said D'Trelna. ”Not good.”

”Notice how one s.h.i.+p remains on station,” said R'Gal. ”That's their command s.h.i.+p;-probably their processing s.h.i.+p, too. We should take it.”

” 'We'?” said L'Wrona, joining the conversation.

”How many demonstrations of my sincerity and goodwill do you need, Captain?” said R'Gal.

”Later,” said D'Trelna, eyes back on the tacscan. ”R'Gal's right, H'Nar-that's the s.h.i.+p we want. It'll answer a lot of questions.” He looked at the captain. ”Do you tell N'Trol, or do I?”

”You're going to get us all killed!” The monitor captured perfectly the red-flushed tint of N'Trol's face. ”To tight-jump is dangerous enough, but to tight-jump in toward a planetary ma.s.s . . . ! The gravitational distortion alone . . .”

”How long to cycle up?” asked D'Trelna.

Calming, the engineer took a deep breath. ”Not long,” he said. ”I'll set it in myself and give you the count. You'll have to drop s.h.i.+eld.”

”I know,” said D'Trelna. But the comm screen had already flicked off.

The counterattack came at noon-a solid phalanx of AI blades sweeping out of the sun, blasting and slicing their way along the rooftop. Spread in a ragged circle around Major L'Kor, the troopers blasted back, hitting six of the lead machines. Efficient butchers to the end, the little horrors plowed into the roof, exploding in an orange whoos.h.!.+ whoos.h.!.+ of flame, sharp pieces of wreckage slicing into the humans. of flame, sharp pieces of wreckage slicing into the humans.

For Zahava it was all automatic-aim, fire, turn. Aim, fire, turn. Watching the sky, she only looked around her when the firing stopped and the air was empty of gleaming blue blades.

She and Major L'Kor stared numbly at each other across the carnage. The rooftop lay littered with the torn bodies of dead troopers and the smoldering remains of their killers. Blood trickled among the blaster marks scorching the green duraplast, dripping into the rain gutters.

The Terran touched something sticky on her forehead- blood from a shallow gash. ”Are we the only ...” she began.

”Except for S'Lat, who's inside with the children,” nodded the major. His left arm was useless, the triceps neatly sliced and cauterized by a blaster bolt. He was holding one of the two Mil A pistols Zahava had taken from the lifepod.

”Go down with the children,” he said, clumsily trying to change chargpaks. The empty fell to the rooftop.

”a.s.s,” said the Terran. ”Give me that.” She held out a hand for the Mil A. L'Kor grinned weakly, handing it over. Deftly, Zahava took a fresh chargpak from her belt and snapped it into the b.u.t.t, then returned the weapon.

”How many did we get?” she asked.

”Thirty, maybe forty,” said the major. ”I ”I don't think they had many more of them.” He looked at the sky. ”What next?” don't think they had many more of them.” He looked at the sky. ”What next?”

”Shuttles, probably,” said Zahava, reloading her own weapon. ”They underestimated us once-they won't do it again. They'll stand off and blast us. They really want those kids.”

”Well, they're not going to get them,” said L'Kor. Tucking the blaster into his belt, he took a flat, metal device with a single toggle switch in its center. ”Here,” he said, handing it to Zahava. ”When it's inevitable, throw the switch.” He looked up at the sky, eyes carefully avoiding his dead friends.

”Are you certain G'Sol told you nothing about where the tube entrance is?” she asked.

”No,” he said dully. ”My fault. I should have-”

”My, this is a grim sight,” said a new voice. ”Praetorians on the Capitoline, awaiting the End. Perhaps I can be of some help.”

”They're close enough now, H'Nar,” said D'Trelna, watching the board. ”Well past halfway. They'll need to slow, turn, reaccelerate.” He nodded. ”Tell N'Trol.”

In a moment the engineer's voice filled the bridge, counting down slowly from twenty.

”Gunnery,” D'Trelna said into the commnet as the count dropped, ”I want that s.h.i.+p intact. Disable, do not destroy. You got that B'Tul?”

”Acknowledged,” said the master gunner.

Will it ever end? wondered D'Trelna, awaiting the jump- these deathless monsters from the past, some of our own making? Biofabs, mindslavers, AIs. Seven, no, eight years in this great gray coc.o.o.n. Battle after battle, crisis after crisis. Friends dead, family old, children growing up unseen--images flickering in the comm screen and voices broken with distortion, straining to span the abyss.

”Ten,” droned N'Trol.

”Final orders?” requested L'Wrona formally.