Final Assault Part 3

"Own," said the captain, putting away his notes. "What happened to the lights?" he asked as they settled with a whining of ngravs. Facility 38 was never busy, but before the war the entryway had always been brightly lit. Now only a solitary light shone, far in the distance near the lift.

'Some crazy idea during the war," said the cabbie, gunning L'Wrona's chit through the meter. The fare duly processed, the pa.s.senger bubble swung open. "Cut all the rooftop lights in case of a S'Cotar raid-as if anything could get past Line." He handed back the chit. "Safe trip, Captain."

"Thank you. Good night." - It started to rain as L'Wrona began the long walk across the rooftop-rain from the violent sort of fast-moving storm that swept in from the desert. Lightning and thunder flashed and boomed around L'Wrona as he hurried through the sudden sheets of rain, using the brief illumination of the lightning to search the shadows. The rooftop to either side was a maze of ventilator shafts and instrument arrays vaguely perceptible as low, hazy humps.

This place is a Tugayee's delight, thought the captain, jogging for the lift.

The next lightning bolt was seconded by a much smaller but well-aimed bolt that snapped just over L'Wrona's head, sending him diving for the cover of an instrument pod as two more weapons flashed, fusion bolts knifing through where the captain had just been.

Two ahead, one to the left, he recalled, low-crawling from the pod to a ventilator shaft. Listening intently, he first heard only the sound of his own breathing and the dying thunder as the storm moved back out into the desert. Then he heard the birdcalls-low but distinct, one chirp answering another from three different directions.

Tugayee, thought L'Wrona. a.s.sa.s.sins' guild journeymen, trained from birth and screened through long years of deadly a.s.signments.

A capable officer and a crack shot, L'Wrona was no match for three of the Confederation's most adept killers. He realized that, even as the chirps ended and the Tugayee closed in, his position fixed.

Hunching cold and frightened on the rooftop, L'Wrona did something no margrave had done for centuries: pressed the hidden switch beneath his sidearm's grips and pulled forward the trigger guard. The coat of arms set in the grips-crossed sword over s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p, rampant-glowed softly in response.

"Torgan," said L'Wrona softly, weapon to his mouth. said L'Wrona softly, weapon to his mouth. "Astan holga shakar." "Astan holga shakar."

Responding to the old High K'Ronarin, the weapon rose, hovered over the ventilator for a second like a scenting hound, then was gone, leaving L'Wrona pressed against the shaft, armed only with a boot knife and a deep faith in the lost technology that had forged his pistol.

Two blasters fired almost together, somewhere off in the darkness, then a brief silence followed by the shrill and explosion of one more shot, this time nearer.

Something dark dropped from the top of the ventilator housing, landing a few feet in front of L'Wrona-a slight figure swathed in black from head to toe, only a pair of wary eyes exposed. "Drop the blade," she said with a slight flick of her blaster. It was an M59A-a section leader's model, L'Wrona noted, dropping his knife-a top line infantry weapon supposedly in the hands of only the Fleet Commando.

"I don't know how," said the m.u.f.fled voice, "but you got S'Ti and M'Tra-so you'll go slow, from the bottom up."

She twisted the M59A's muzzle, converting the device from a weapon to a precision cutting torch.

"Who hired you?" said L'Wrona as the Tugayee aimed the weapon at his groin.

Before she could do or say anything, the captain's blaster appeared around the corner of an instrument cl.u.s.ter and blew the top half of the a.s.sa.s.sin's head away, returning to his grip as she fell.

The heraldic device in the grips blinked twice-all clear-then, after a brief pause, the trigger guard closed.

L'Wrona took a deep breath and looked up. The storm was gone, the air smelled sweet and new and he could see the stars. Turning, he walked quickly to the lift.

4.

Two SMALL SPECKS SMALL SPECKS of brightness against a great black sphere, of brightness against a great black sphere, Repulse Repulse and and Dawn Dawn matched speed with the AI battleglobe, maintaining position between it and Terra. matched speed with the AI battleglobe, maintaining position between it and Terra.

"Big," said Captain P'Qal, looking at the image of the battleglobe filling his main screen.

"Big?" said S'Tat, looking at the captain. "It's a monster! Give me ten of those things and I'll break through Line and storm K'Ronar."

"Why hasn't it fired yet?" said Captain S'Yatan, face small but distinct in P'Qal's commscreen.

"Maybe they don't have anything small enough to stop us with," said P'Qal wryly.

"Let's play this out, Number One," he continued, turning to the first officer. "By the book. Challenge and stand by all weapons."

S'Tat nodded and turned to her console. "Confederation cruiser Repulse Repulse to unknown vessel. Identify and prepare to be boarded." to unknown vessel. Identify and prepare to be boarded."

Silence, then a burst of static as the main screen flickered. The image of the battleglobe vanished, replaced by that of a smiling young man in brown K'Ronarin duty uniform, commander's pips on his collar. "You did say board, Commander?"

"Identify," said S'Tat tightly.

The man shrugged. "Sure. Commander T'Lei K'Raoda, attached AI battleglobe Devastator Devastator under the command of Colonel R'Gal, K'Ronarin Fleet Counterintelligence Corps, with other indigenous personnel as prize crew." under the command of Colonel R'Gal, K'Ronarin Fleet Counterintelligence Corps, with other indigenous personnel as prize crew."

P'Qal was out of the command chair, staring incredulously at the screen. "You're telling us you took that mother, Commander? Captured that thing?"

"Yes, sir."

"And your previous s.h.i.+p?" said the captain.

"L'Aal-cla.s.s cruiser Implacable Implacable under Captain His Excellency H'Nar L'Wrona." under Captain His Excellency H'Nar L'Wrona."

P'Qal sat back down. "What the seven h.e.l.ls is going on here, K'Raoda? Implacable'^ Implacable'^ corsair-listed-shoot-without-challenge. And where's your commodore, D'Trelna, who now owes me 432,581 credits, including accrued interest, from a b'kana game on S'Htar?" corsair-listed-shoot-without-challenge. And where's your commodore, D'Trelna, who now owes me 432,581 credits, including accrued interest, from a b'kana game on S'Htar?"

"You know the commodore, sir?" said K'Raoda.

P'Qal nodded. "s.h.i.+pped together as merchanteers for a few years. And we were in the same reserve unit on S'Htar, before the war."

"What about our skipcomm relay?" said S'Tat. "Taking a little target practice with your new toy?"

"We thought it best to talk with you before you sounded invasion alert," said K'Raoda. "Both the AIs and Fleet are after us."

"We are Fleet," grumbled P'Qal.

"I know, sir. Please come aboard." K'Raoda glanced offscan. "Vector in on homer frequency AAlRed. You can land on n-gravs right next to the operations tower."

"We'll be logging that as a boarding, of course," said P'Qal.

"Of course, sir," said K'Raoda. "You'll be just in time for dinner."

S'Rel spoke into his communicator. "R'Gal is on board?"

"In command," said the voice. "It's a battleglobe, all right-Devastator-Binor's flags.h.i.+p."

"His no longer, it seems," said S'Rel. "Get us a shuttle up there. Now. I'm at CIA headquarters. Have New York clear it through Was.h.i.+ngton-set down on the roof. And bring everyone in our unit. I think we may be going home."

Pocketing his communicator, S'Rel turned to find Sutherland staring at him across the desk. "Just what are you, S'Rel?" said the CIA director quietly, fingertips templed before his chin. "AI battleglobes have been seen only once in this galactic epoch-a mercifully brief appearance. Almost nothing's known about them, yet one shows up after lunch on a warm August day and you're familiar with its command history."

"Fleet doesn't tell all its secrets, Bill," said S'Rel with a shrug. "No government does, as you well know."

"Bulls.h.i.+t, buddy," said Sutherland, standing. "While you were supervising the cleanup of our Amazon village, I took two squads on a last sweep of the area. Just for the h.e.l.l of it, I decided to have another look at that anaconda. And guess what? It must have just been killed before I shot it-crushed. What I saw and reacted to were its death throes."

"So?" said the K'Ronarin.

"So what are you, S'Rel?" continued Sutherland calmly. "Not human, certainly. Not a S'Cotar or the alarms would be ringing. That leaves only one known possibility."

S'Rel leaped the desk-an effortless, standing broad jump, done with only a slight flexing of the knees, the landing soft and silent. "An AI, right, Bill?" he said as Sutherland pressed against the gla.s.s wall, face as white as the ceiling tiles.

"G.o.d deliver us from monsters," whispered the CIA director.

Laughing, S'Rel stepped back a pace. "You're a paunchy, middle-aged bureaucrat, Sutherland," he said. "But you have style and you have guts." He held out his hand. "Welcome to the Revolt."

"Well, we've boarded her," said S'Tat as Repulse Repulse settled onto the steel surface of the battleglobe. Two miles long and of proportional length and breadth, the K'Ronarin s.h.i.+p was just another machine on the bleak, airless surface of the machine fortress: fusion batteries with cannon half the cruiser's length, ugly black snouts pointing toward the s.h.i.+mmering blue of the s.h.i.+eld; instrument pods and the domes of missile turrets, the largest of them the height of settled onto the steel surface of the battleglobe. Two miles long and of proportional length and breadth, the K'Ronarin s.h.i.+p was just another machine on the bleak, airless surface of the machine fortress: fusion batteries with cannon half the cruiser's length, ugly black snouts pointing toward the s.h.i.+mmering blue of the s.h.i.+eld; instrument pods and the domes of missile turrets, the largest of them the height of Repulse, Repulse, inters.p.a.cing the fusion batteries in row after serried row all the way to the horizon. inters.p.a.cing the fusion batteries in row after serried row all the way to the horizon.

"Nice place," said Captain P'Qal, watching the outside scan move across the bridge's main screen. "That, I gather, is the operations tower," he said, as the scan stopped, holding on the great black structure dwarfing the hull structures. Square and windowless, it seemed almost to touch the s.h.i.+eld.

"What's that on the top?" said S'Tat, frowning as she zoomed the scan. A stiff duraplast flag leaped into focus-silver and black, with a single golden dagger lying horizontally in its middle. "That looks familiar," she said uncertainly.

"It's the battle flag of our Confederation," said P'Qal. "Find out if they're sending someone to get us, or if we have to walk. And tell S'Yatan to maintain position."

They sent someone to get them: K'Raoda. He arrived in a transit tube that extended its serpentine self from the sheer wall of the tower to the cruiser's emergency bridge access. "Sorry about this," he said, leading P'Qal and S'Yatan through the luminescent green tube. "There're selective atmospheric controls, but they took hits in the fighting -we've been busy repairing the fusion batteries and power leads."

P'Qal shook his head, not sure which had impressed him more about K'Raoda-the boyish features and easy grin or the crimson-hung silver Valor Medal around the Commander's neck. The captain shook his head. "Amazing."

A few moments later they entered the tower and began trudging up a broad circular ramp, pa.s.sing men and women in K'Ronarin uniform who nodded hastily and hurried by, distracted, or ignored the newcomers, intent on battle repairs.

Every level bore signs of recent combat: walls and floors gouged by the black gashes of blaster hits, shattered instrument alcoves, and here and there, missed in the hurried cleanup, the shattered remains of what must have been complex mobile machinery-AIs? wondered P'Qal. He was about to ask when they topped the ramp and reached the heart of the battleglobe, the bridge of the operations tower.

The armored double doors that had once guarded the bridge were all but gone-a perfectly symmetrical hole having devoured most of the battlesteel. "Glad we missed this fight, Number One," said P'Qal as they followed K'Raoda through the blast hole and onto a walkway that circled the bridge.

They stood looking out over a great round room, consoles everywhere, rimmed by armor gla.s.s with a view of the bleak surface of the battleglobe and Repulse, Repulse, nestled between those ma.s.sive fusion batteries. About fifty crew manned the consoles, P'Qal guessed. He leaned over the railing for a better look. nestled between those ma.s.sive fusion batteries. About fifty crew manned the consoles, P'Qal guessed. He leaned over the railing for a better look.

"Wouldn't do that if I were you, Captain," said a new voice. "It's pretty weak in places."

P'Qal stepped back and turned toward the speaker. Wiry-framed, about forty-five, with a receding hairline and dark, intelligent eyes, a man wearing the insignia of a colonel of Fleet Counterintelligence stepped down from the access ladder to the left of the doorway. "Welcome to Devastator, Devastator, Captain, Commander. My name's R'Gal." Captain, Commander. My name's R'Gal."

P'Qal's communicator beeped. "Yes?" he said, rising from his chair and moving back a few meters.

"There's a Fleet omega-cla.s.s shuttle coming toward you from Terra," reported Captain S'Yatan. "IDs as Emba.s.sy craft."

"We're expecting it," said P'Qal. "Perhaps we can have a real conversation when it gets here-we've been sipping t'ata and listening to Colonel R'Gal's anecdotes since we arrived." He glanced at R'Gal, chatting quietly with S'Tat. High and musical, the laugh rang faintly from the steel walls of R'Gal's quarters.

"Everything all right?" said S'Yatan.

"Knives at our throats and tinglers on our gonads," said P'Qal.

"Very well. Will check back as arranged."

P'Qal pocketed his communicator and returned to his chair. "Shuttle coming in from Terra," he said as R'Gal and S'Tat looked at him. "Maybe then you'll tell us what you're doing here. If not..."

R'Gal held up a hand. "I know. You'll have to arrest us all and take our vessel in tow." He said it straight-faced. "Be a.s.sured, Captain, we're not here to see Ginza at night.

"More t'ata, Commander?"

Designed and built by AIs, the only facilities for humans on board Devastator Devastator were as prisoners, eighteen levels beneath the operations tower. The sleeping quarters were small and the bathrooms smaller. The lavatory sinks had no plugs and gave only reluctantly of a small flow of tepid water, something John cursed each time he tried to shave, as he was doing now. were as prisoners, eighteen levels beneath the operations tower. The sleeping quarters were small and the bathrooms smaller. The lavatory sinks had no plugs and gave only reluctantly of a small flow of tepid water, something John cursed each time he tried to shave, as he was doing now.

"Pssst. Harrison."

But for the invention of the safety razor, John would probably have slit his own throat. The appearance of a six-foot, four legged green insectoid behind one in the bathroom tends to evoke a violent response. As it was, the Terran shrieked and whirled, razor en garde. en garde.

"You look absurd," said Guan-Sharick. "A hairy, towel-clad primate threatening a teleki-netic lifeform with a foam-tipped shaver." The insectoid's form s.h.i.+mmered and vanished, replaced by that of a jumpsuit-clad blonde, seated on the toilet. "That better?" said Guan-Sharick.

John glared at the trans.m.u.te. "I thought you went with Implacable Implacable when we parted, back in the Ghost Quadrant." when we parted, back in the Ghost Quadrant."

"Guess again," said the blonde.

"And why the green bug display? I thought it was finally resolved that you were human?"

"I don't think it was ever said that I was human," said Guan-Sharick. "What was was that I'm not a biofab."

The Terran gestured imperiously with the razor. "Out."

They stepped into the living quarters. Cutting torches and some clever use of available materials had converted five small cells into a reasonably commodious, spa.r.s.ely furnished two-room suite.

"The lovely Zahava not at home?" said the trans.m.u.te, peering through the doorway into the living room.

"No," said John, reaching for his pants. "Do you mind?"

"Idiocy," said the blonde, turning away from him.

"Okay," said Harrison after a moment, tucking in his s.h.i.+rt. "What do you want?"

The blonde turned. "You know we've entered the Terran system?"

"So? We're not landing."

"R'Gal needs the cooperation of the insystem commander to access the portal to the AI universe."

John nodded.

"I'm confident he'll get it, one way or the other," said the trans.m.u.te, sitting down on the double bed. "Then this s.h.i.+p has to go through an intervening universe to reach the AI empire."

"So what?" said the Terran. "It's just a matter of recalibrating the portal device and proceeding on to our objective-isn't it?" he added, as the blonde shook her head.

"At that point, the portal device will have exhausted its potential," said Guan-Sharick.

"It will require recharging from the available resources of that intervening universe. Specifically, at least one ton of plutonium 239."