Part 31 (1/2)
”When we discussed that,” said L'Wrona angrily, ”you said they could replace it very quickly.”
The AI held up a hand. ”True,” he said. ”How many of you ....?”
The captain turned and whistled twice. S'Til and two commandos appeared. They carried another trooper between them, his head swathed in bandages.
”That's it?” said the AI.
”They chewed us up, bit by bit, before we lost them,” said John.
”Six of you, to attack Operations?” asked R'Gal, incredulous.
”We're going to attack it and take it,” said L'Wrona with more conviction than he felt.
”And the security posts? You can't storm them with this pathetic force.”
”We were going to face that when we got there,” said John. ”You have a better idea?”
R'Gal nodded. ”Yes. Watch.”
Nothing happened for a moment, then the AI's form began to soften, its contours shrinking into a blue-red blur that quickly reformed into a smaller, more compact shape: a security blade hovered before them, baleful red sensor scan s.h.i.+fting along its deadly front edge.
”Just hope the security posts are as convinced as you,” said R'Gal, staring at the six blasters that pointed at him.
There was a faint sc.r.a.ping sound as the weapons were reholstered.
”My G.o.d!” said John. ”Can you change into any of those?”
”I can change into any of me,” said R'Gal. ”Into any of the various evolutions I've been through, down the centuries.
”Now, please leave the wounded man here, along with one attendant, and all your rifles. Tuck those Ml lA's into your jackets.”
”Detection equipment?” asked John, stuffing the blaster into his belt and refastening the jacket.
”Leave them to me,” said R'Gal. ”Along with all else, until we reach the heart of Operations-then open up.”
”Blades,” hissed S'Til as five of the killers rounded the corner, flying in a tight phalanx.
”Prisoners in custody,” said R'Gal, switching languages.
”You took them by yourself?” said the phalanx leader, stopping in front of R'Gal.
”My comrades were destroyed,” said R'Gal. ”These”- he dipped toward the humans-”are for interrogation. Captain's orders.”
”Well done,” said the true blade. ”We're reporting to the surface-the humans have forced a landing.” With that they turned a tight circle and were gone.
”Deadly, efficient, but not very complex,” sighed R'Gal, turning to the humans. ”Very well, let's go, straight up the corridor to the lift. Keep in front of me, please. Oh, and Captain?”
”What?” said L'Wrona as S'Til detailed a corporal to stay with the wounded trooper.
”Please, try to look defeated.”
22.
L'Kor dived for cover, landing next to Zahava behind the shelter of a gun turret.
”Where is everyone?” said Zahava as the D'Linian low-crawled over to her, rifle atop his arms.
”Four and two squads are on our left,” he said, sitting up to rest against the turret's gray battlesteel. ”I sent a scout to find three through eight. She hasn't reported back.”
Communications were gone, the tac channels a hopeless whine of high-powered jamming.
”And first squad?” said Zahava.
”We're first squad.”
”Where's S'Lat?”
”She's my scout,” said L'Kor.
Zahava rose, risking a look. The fog was just as thick as before, a slimy, yellow cloud hanging between the humans and the Operations tower, its mast light a dimly visible green through the murk.
First had come the fog-actually a highly toxic nerve gas-then the blades had returned, silently hunting amid the thick poison, sensors unimpaired. They'd devastated the humans' advance: swooping, slicing and running, gone before the survivors could shoot. The a.s.sault had wavered, then scattered, breaking for cover. And the blades continued to hunt.
Zahava and L'Kor turned, rifles aiming at something materializing out of the fog. It was S'Lat.
The lieutenant sank down between them. ”We'll all be dead very soon,” she said, shaking her head. ”They're wiping us, one by one.”
Both D'Linians looked at Zahava. ”Retreat?” said the Terran. ”Is that what you're thinking?”
”Yes,” nodded S'Lat. ”Back to the boats.”
”And how are the boats going to get through the s.h.i.+eld?” she asked.
The two looked at each other. ”You're right.” said L'Kor. He stood. ”Can't go back, can't stay here, might as well-”
The blade knifed out of the fog, sliced off L'Kor's head and was gone, a tumbling corpse in its wake. The major's head rolled from its helmet, coming to rest against a sensor pod, the eyes wide, surprised. There was blood everywhere.
”Don't puke!” snapped Zahava, seeing S'Lat's face. ”You'll jam the suit recycler.”
The lieutenant looked away, biting her lip. ”What was he saying?” she asked, after a moment. ”About not staying here?”
”He was saying we have to go forward, or they'll finish us,” said the Terran.
Zahava took her battletorch from her belt, flicked it on and then twisted the forward rim until the beam contracted into a fierce blue globe of light, too bright to look on. Rifle on her hip, torch held high, the Terran stepped from cover and began walking toward the Operations tower.
S'Lat caught up with her a second later, her own torch held high, rifle ready. By the time they'd reached the next turret, more troopers had fallen in beside them, torches alight, rifles ready.