Bloodhype (27 page)

“Do not blame the Passed, Highness. They were outclassed. We all were.”

“Perhaps. One thing worries me, though, Commander. It is not to be anticipated that the humanx will react with welcomes and hosannas to the appearance of an AAnn battle fleet in one of their frontier systems. Not to mention a subsequent request for said fleet to use nuclear engines on the territory.”

“Logical,” Parquit replied. He winced. The pain in his left leg was worse. “Yet I believe they’d eventually be thankful. Not that we can expect a lower species to act in a civilized fashion. That is not the important thing. What I must impress upon you, Highness, is that the destruction of this creature supercedes everything else. There is a belief that it is somehow capable of traversing interstellar and possibly even intergalactic space. It grows daily in power. It must be destroyed now, here, before it can manifest abilities we cannot begin to comprehend . . . You may have noticed in the reports how it ignores the fury of a full laser with seemingly no ill effects. It is apparently also immune now to enormous electrical impulses and various other destructive energies.”

“It was right that you contacted me,” said the Prince. “Instructions will be relayed to the Eighth battle fleet to proceed at maximum displacement to Repler. I place my good hand, the Baron Riidi WW, in command. An attempt will be made by shuttle to remove you and the other survivors from the station.”

“We are grateful, Highness.”

“It is not a matter of gratefulness,” the Prince replied sternly. “You and the others are all who remain who have observed the creature first hand. I expect it to be destroyed on the planet. Yet I must consider all possibilities, including the impossible. If feasible, your knowledge should be saved.”

“It is so recognized, Highness. It is not to be inferred that I slavishly offer thanks. I shall be grateful because I should be most amused to hear the humanx not only agree to, but request, bombardment by ships of the Emperor of one of their own planets.”

“I had not considered so,” said the Prince. “The Axis of the Universe is Irony. Clean killing, Commander.”

“Clean killing, Highness.”

The Vom had arrived in the waters outside Repler City. It floated near the surface like a thick oil slick, roiling, folding in and out upon itself, feeding on the small lives of the bottom and the larger silver swimmers. In the several hours since it had made a cursory inspection of the water-front, more out of curiosity than purpose, it had been fired on by a multitude of exotic weaponry of different types and theoretically murderous capabilities. Peot’s fears had not been realized, and in some ways it was worse because of that. The monster had ignored the efforts of the humanx defenders. It could take them when it wished and made the fact obvious. It was depressing.

The harborfront had been sealed off by police when the creature had appeared. The majority of the citizenry was aware only that something unusual was taking place at the harbor. A minor disturbance, perhaps a devil-fish attack. Nothing to get excited about. Go about your business, citizens.

It could not be concealed for long, however, that there was no devil-fish smashing insanely into boats and rafts and that the nuisance was in fact anything but minor. At that point Orvenalix, peaceforcer Mailloux, and the Governor would have the additional burden of a general panic on their hands.

Although it was a frightening thing to observe the monster’s complete indifference to repeated assault, Orvenalix was prepared for it. Porsupah told him such would likely be the result.

What did disturb him was a related incident with more sinister implications.

While the creature was prowling half-submerged about the docks, a single shuttle was launched on its way skyward. The craft had managed to gain only a few hundred meters when it had abruptly wavered, veered crazily, and crashed into the shallow water north of the shuttle-port. All inquiries from the port controller had been greeted with deathly silence.

When the full report was presented, Orvenalix ordered all shuttles grounded and those in orbit to remain there. This despite the howls and threats of merchants and citizens alike. Sure, a crash was unusual, but hardly unique. But if he’d merely lost control of his ship, the shuttle pilot should have been shouting non-stop for aid, instructions and suggestions. Or at least cursing respectably. There’d been not a squeak. The implication was obvious.

The Vom’s second attempt at mental control after eons had proven as exhilarating as the first. Some slight hesitation in special cells, some difficulty in these first attempts would have been excusable. There had been none. The Vom was confident now. With a little more strength, it felt capable of assuming control of every intelligent mind on the planet.

But that would be unwise. No point unless—no,
until
it conquered a single other mind. One not of this planet. It was a reckoning long overdue, although the Vom would never interpret it in such terms.

Nor were its thoughts operating on a simplistic level anymore. Soon it would reach the point where it would not have to worry about anything at all.

But for now it could not pierce the Guardian’s veil.

Something different should be tried. Possibly piecemeal destruction of this population center, while wasteful, could provoke the Guardian to some response. The Vom began to consider how it might go about destroying the city.

“Everything that can be done has been done,” said Peot, staring at his ancient resting place. Mal, Kitten, and Philip stood around the towering alien.

“The Vom is now contemplating the reduction of selected portions of your central metropolitan center. This will be done in hope of forcing me to respond. It will not take place, as I plan to reveal myself to it momentarily. I regret that I have no way of predicting the eventual outcome, nor even the length of the conflict. The Machine assays anywhere from 60 to 40% chance of success. Every minute, the odds increase in the monster’s favor.” The alien shrugged in very human-like fashion, although it may have meant something else entirely. Or perhaps nothing at all.

“To those of your kind who still place hope in the imagined power of your tiny ships . . .” Mal jerked as he realized that the alien had been reading his thoughts again, “ . . . I can only hope they are prepared to implement my final suggestion, should my own attempts end in failure. The Vom has already matured to the point where most energies are no longer a threat to it. Only by striking directly at its mind is there a chance. All, of course, is conjecture. Things may have changed. Yes, things may have changed . . . After all, the Vom itself is an indication of that.”

“That’s the first time I’ve heard you display anything remotely like sarcasm,” said Kitten.

“You may be right. Final-sealing on my capsule must be concluded from outside. Young Philip has the instructions and knows what last needs be done. He has been invaluable.”

“I’ve been called lots of things, but never that,” grinned the youngster.

Peot entered the capsule, turning in the single couch-like affair to face outwards. The same straps and tubing and holds they had seen on his body when the container first opened were reattached. A few shining new devices and link-ups of familiar materials and unfamiliar construct had been added.

With Philip’s help the alien began re-emplanting tubes and lines into its own body. Finished, the youth stepped back. The massive door began to swing slowly, ponderously shut. There was no click or snap. At that point Philip moved about the scaffolding which clung web-like to the capsule. He did things to hidden switches and controls, each recessed into its own concealing panel.

He climbed down from the spidery framework.

“Is that all?” asked Kitten.

The young engineer nodded. “A small light has been installed—up there.” He pointed to the top of the capsule. A tiny, clear glow shone brightly, sharp against the dark metal.

“It’s white now. When he makes contact with the Vom—joins battle, if you will—the light should go to yellow. If he wins it will begin to flash red.”

“And if he loses?” asked Mal.

“Then the light will go out.”

“I hope it’s fast,” the ship-captain grunted. “Being tied down like this is costing me a small fortune commissionwise. And I can’t leave because that crazy over-bug has grounded all shuttles until this idiocy is resolved.”

“If friend Peot doesn’t win,” Kitten shot back, “you’ll lose a damn sight more than commissions!”

“I just don’t like sitting.” The massive hands clasped, unclasped. Knuckles popped like wood.

“Swell. I’ve got an idea. It might help.”

“Anything that’ll speed this up one way or another, I’m game.”

“Ha! I’ll hold you to that! First thing, we’ve got to find a decent ship. I’m sure Kingsley’s got something better tied up than that toy we drifted in on. Then we go back to the reptiles’ enclave.”

“What the hell do you want to go back there for?”

“I’ve fond memories of the place . . .”

“Bulls . . .”

“ . . . and I want to look for something. Backing out?”

“Oh, Deity!” The captain turned away.

“Philip? You’re more than welcome.”

“No thanks.” He was staring at the silent capsule. “If you can do without me I think I’d best stay around here. In case
he
needs me.”

“Alright awready. Do we talk or go?” Mal asked irritably.

“Keep your plane oriented. We go.”

“Would it be too much to ask what we’re going
for?”

“Tell you when we get there.”

“In that case, I propose a temporary delay.”

“For?”

“Dinner for two.”

“Why Captain! How startlingly romantic of you! I thought you swore true to your cardmeter.”

“Romantic, hell. My lower abdomen confesses to feeling decidedly cavernous. The offer to share was meant as a courtesy. No affection implied.”

“Charmingly put. Always face Armageddon on a full stomach. Okay, let’s eat.”

Sealed once more within the capsule which was as familiar to him as his own body, Peot cautiously opened channels to the Machine, kilometers overhead. The computer responded to the linkup with satisfaction. It had not felt comfortable with the Guardian out of phase, although it had bowed to the necessity.

Arranging functions to comply with the reintegrated Guardian, it prepared channels, girded circuits, primed connections. Circuits in the Machine were ultimately compact. Information passed and changes were made by changes in the number of electrons in the shells of certain atoms. An unimaginable amount of highly concentrated energy, generated by a method as yet glimpsed only in theory by mathematicians of a few existing races, was placed at standby.

Borders defining organic from inorganic levels collapsed, blended, became hypothetical. Only the Guardian Machine remained. A decision, so: The haze surrounding Peot’s consciousness, concealing, protecting him, vanished. The universe jumped into focus: fine-grained, high-resolution focus. The Guardian reached out. No longer would a policy of concealment serve. The thing must be done: now.

The Guardian impinged lightning-like on an ocean of alien thought, instantly charting mounts and abysses, analyzed.

Sized up.

Leaving a reserve and a small portion of its consciousness to protect its physical self, the Vom reacted a microsecond later. It was not properly positioned for maximum response. It was, however, no longer a time for probes and feints.

A sledge-hammer force struck the Vom, smashing cells, burning out channels, screaming along unprepared neural highways like sunfire. The vast heaviness recoiled, shook, recovered.

Struck back.

Within the Guardian Machine a few linkages were shut down, organic or inorganic. A few circuits burnt out, organic or inorganic. Overload. Repair procedures took over.

There was no time for subtlety.

Two pebbles on a shore contested for the same resting place in the sand. One thunderhead sought sky-domination over another. Now somewhere one saint ascended, only to be dragged back to earth; now the other. There was to be no instant resolution to the Old Contest. Both sides knew it, neither argued it.

There were—side effects. Energy was expended and brushed aside. It had to go somewhere. It did. Things happened.

The smaller of Repler’s two moons slowed, stopped, began to rotate counter-clockwise.

On Parkman’s Peninsula there was a great field of Dowar flowers. In the space of a heartbeat, they turned brown and died.

In the small village of Goodnight, a tiny herd refused to give milk. Seconds later a shoal of silvery
thrad
beached themselves in a frenzied rush from the sea.

In Formantown, three things dissolved: half a pier, two crystal altarpieces, and four marriages.

On the other side of the planet in the city of Gallagher, hundreds of cats broke into the peaceforcer station and killed a third of the local force before the alarmed cityfolk, the other peaceforcers, and the local veterinarians (there were three) could drive them out.

In Repler City, every inhabitant, from Orvenalix to the Governor to Porsupah, experienced several seconds of vertigo. This continued at irregular intervals. It had a disconcerting effect on the population.

In Haven, all fell into a deep sleep. All except a small monkey-like primate from Carson’s World, name of Ev Taars. A mechanic, Taars continued to work for several minutes, unaware that his six-toed feet floated four millimeters off the ground.

On the other side of the universe, a tiny intelligence suddenly expired violently, screaming. Its companion observed and commenced thoughts that would change the destiny of a hundred worlds.

The operator of the single interspace weapon on board the customs’ korvette panicked and would have started shooting. Fortunately, the tracker had enough presence of mind to cut power to the lethal laser. When the gunner saw what was following behind the ship he’d nearly taken a shot at, he fainted.

The AAnn battle fleet, sixty ships strong, moved with precision into synchronous orbit about Repler. There were few commercial vessels floating in the section of space Baron Riidi WW selected. Those that were there elected to move rapidly elsewhere. The intruders made no hostile gestures. Yet it was apparent to experienced merchantmen that the AAnn warships were not there for pleasure. Formation told them that, formation and the fact that this many AAnn vessels had not been seen together since the last humanx-AAnn conflict.