Part 32 (1/2)

The twenty-five surviving troopers turned, backs to the black metal of the tower, staring into the thinning fog.

Zahava set the blastpak's timer and stepped away, waving everyone against the tower wall.

It was a precise, almost surgical explosion, punching out all but the doors' far corners.

Zahava leading, the attackers poured into the tower, exchanging fire with the first security post, killing the guards.

With a quick underhand toss, she and S'Lat rolled grenades into the forcefield. Overloaded beyond tolerance by the twin explosions, the field disappeared in a blinding white flash.

Moving at a dead run, the troopers charged up the ramp.

”Hostile vessel approaching,” reported combat control.

”Batteries to open fire,” ordered the captain.

”She's directly over this sector,” said the first AI. ”Those guns are not manned.”

”Rotate the globe, bring other batteries to bear.”

”She's holding synchronous course relative to this sector,” came the reply after a moment, ”and continues to approach at max. She'll break up against the s.h.i.+eld.”

”I no longer trust our s.h.i.+eld,” said the captain. ”Recall gunnery personnel,” he ordered, moving to s.h.i.+eld control.

”Still at full strength?” he asked.

The s.h.i.+eld control AI nodded. ”Yes, sir. Hostile vessel has no chance of penetrating.”

”Sir.” said combat control, ”senior blade reports humans advancing again.”

The captain gave the equivalent of a mental shrug. ”There's no danger from the few that are left. Whoever ordered them in should be shot. Any reports on the saboteurs?”

”Contact lost on level fifty-nine.”

”Have them found-they've already hurt us twice. And give me a twenty-count to hostile vessel's destruction.”

”Yes, sir.”

The captain drifted to the window, watching the point where Implacable Implacable would break up, hoping to see the explosion. would break up, hoping to see the explosion.

”Twenty . . . nineteen ...”

At ”eleven” a security alarm began screeching. The four duty blades rushed for the doorway, only to be blown apart by a fusillade of blaster fire as the commandos charged in.

John and L'Wrona fought their way to the s.h.i.+eld control, gunning down its AI as he opened fire, bolts flas.h.i.+ng from his eyes.

”Pray I remember this, Harrison,” said L'Wrona as John guarded his back. The captain tapped a black b.u.t.ton three times, then pulled a small green lever.

Standing beside N'Trol, a death grip on his chairarm, D'Trelna closed his eyes as they crashed into the s.h.i.+eld.

So this is death, he thought: silence.

Someone nudged him. ”You can open your eyes. Commodore,” said N'Trol. ”Through some miracle their s.h.i.+eld went down.”

D'Trelna opened his and saw for the first time a battleglobe stripped of its covering. ”A world of metal and guns, forged by hate,” he said, recalling R'Gal's description.

He pressed the commkey. ”Gunnery, cover all batteries around that Operations tower.” He read the tacscan. ”Mark four one seven nine. Don't fire unless fired at.”

”Mr. K'Raoda,” he said, turning to the first officer, ”take us in low and fast. Make for that tower.”

”Someone got here before us,” said Zahava, taking off her helmet. Dead AIs were scattered around the shattered security post, remains still smoldering. Slinging her rifle, she drew her M11A. ”And I think I know who.”

”What the h.e.l.l are you doing here?” said John as Zahava and the D'Linians stepped into the Operations center.

Two dead commandos lay in one corner, survival blankets draped over them. AIs were everywhere, bodies broken by blaster fire, smoldering remains filling the air with the acrid stench of scorched metal and burnt synthetics.

”I'm here,” said Zahava, ”because I was needed. Although certainly not to take this bridge.” She slumped into a chair next to John, pistol in her helmet, helmet in her lap.

”You could have been killed,” said John, his temper ebbing.

”I did what-”

”You had to do,” he said, kissing her. ”You're incorrigible.”

”Implacable's here,” said L'Wrona, pointing to the armorgla.s.s. Sliding in on her n-gravs, the big old s.h.i.+p came to a halt just above the tower, two miles of battlesteel blotting out the stars. here,” said L'Wrona, pointing to the armorgla.s.s. Sliding in on her n-gravs, the big old s.h.i.+p came to a halt just above the tower, two miles of battlesteel blotting out the stars.

A chirping came from one of the panels. Frowning, L'Wrona looked for a moment, then pushed a switch. D'Trelna's voice boomed through the room. ”That you, H'Nar?”

”And friends,” said the captain.

”Excellent,” continued the commodore. ”My fellow corsairs, we now own an AI battleglobe.”

23.

”Miracle,” said D'Trelna, shaking his head. He stood looking down at R'Gal. The AI lay on a medcot, eyes closed, apparently asleep.

They'd found what was left of him in the corridor outside Devastator's Devastator's Operations. R'Gal had managed to return to his own structure; still John and the others had barely recognized him-part of his face was blown away, and two gaping holes in his chest emitted a weak, pulsing light. Feeling utterly helpless, John, Zahava and L'Wrona had seen R'Gal conveyed to Operations. R'Gal had managed to return to his own structure; still John and the others had barely recognized him-part of his face was blown away, and two gaping holes in his chest emitted a weak, pulsing light. Feeling utterly helpless, John, Zahava and L'Wrona had seen R'Gal conveyed to Implacable' Implacable''s Sick Bay and delivered into the hands of the taciturn senior medtech.

The commodore turned to the room's third occupant, Medtech Q'Nil. ”You've a miracle, Q'Nil.”

The medtech shrugged. ”Luck, Commodore-and lots of help from engineering. Fortunately, we didn't need to know most of the principles involved in order to effect repairs. And some of R'Gal's systems are self-healing.” He pointed to the face. ”The skin, for example, grew back in one watch after we repaired the lower jaw. He should be coming around any time now-I hope.”

D'Trelna pulled up a straight-backed chair and sat facing Q'Nil and the cot, hands folded over the chairback. ”Are you aware, Mr. Q'Nil, that we have a S'Cotar aboard?”

Q'Nil nodded and picked up R'Gal's medchart. ”Everyone knows it, Commodore,” he said, beginning an entry.

”I've done nothing about it-we've had much larger problems, and every watch since we arrived here's been a fight for survival. Also, R'Gal and, indirectly, Harrison convinced me that our elusive blonde friend ...”