Final Assault (3 page)

The return fire was just as accurate as the S'Cotars' but deadly. Unprotected by warsuits, the bugs died, the few survivors scattering for the swamps as the humans charged.

"Shit," said Sutherland, the target between his sights suddenly shrouded in black mists —the wind had shifted inland, bringing the smoke from the village in over the clearing.

"They can't get far," said S'Rel, kicking the firelight's first casualty. "Their transmute's dead." The corpse was thinner, taller than the rest, a six-legged horror that lay face down in the mud, tentacles still clutching a blastrifle. Like the dead warriors behind it, it had mandibles. Unlike theirs, its weren't serrated— they were long, thin, hiding the almost microscopic probes that slid out from them and into the brains of its victims, slowly absorbing their memories, their personas, until the transmute could perfectly assume their lives.

Telepathic, telekinetic, and dead, thought

Sutherland, looking down at the S'Cotar. Thank God.

"Bill, take your Rangers through the village, then circle into the swamp from the east," said S'Rel as the air cleared. "I'll take my group and go straight in from here. We should catch any survivors between us."

As Sutherland went looking for the Ranger commander, S'Rel spoke into his communicator. A moment later the shuttles rose, moving slowly at treetop level into the swamp.

Three hours and they'd killed three S'Cotar —and almost lost S'Rel.

"What was that reptile again?" asked S'Rel, turning from the window.

"An anaconda," said Sutherland. "Largest snake on the planet."

Hearing splashing and a muted cry for help, Sutherland had hurried through the brackish, waist-deep water, blastrifle above his head. The sounds of the struggle stopped for an instant, then resumed, louder than before, as he penetrated the thick mangrove swamp, emerging into a shallower area where the trees were fewer.

Eyes bulging, face contorted, the K'Ron-arin was up to his waist in the muddy water, his free hand just keeping the tree-thick, olive-colored coils of the great snake from making the final turn around his neck.

Cursing, Sutherland twisted the M32's muzzle down to minimum aperture, set the selector switch to continual fire, and moved toward the struggle, water, mud and tangled roots tugging at him, slowing his pace to a frustrating, dreamlike crawl. By the time he'd covered the final yards to the roiling brown water, S'Rel had disappeared beneath the surface.

Placing the rifle's muzzle inches from the glistening, mottled-brown skin, Sutherland had pulled the trigger, sending a thin red beam knifing through the snake. Ignoring the shudder that suddenly rippled down the long yards of flesh, Sutherland passed the beam through the rest of that thigh-thick braid of muscle.

The thrashing ceased as the anaconda's body fell into two dead halves.

Dropping the rifle, Sutherland seized S'Rel's hand, pulling the. K'Ronarin from under the water, gasping for air, still wrapped in dead serpent's coils. The anaconda's head hung down S'Rel's back, mouth open, tongue protruding.

T don't believe you got all the S'Cotar, S'Rel," said Sutherland, looking up at the Watcher. "I think you're leaving because it's politically expedient—declaring a victory and going home."

Sighing, S'Rel sank into one of the red leather armchairs fronting the director's desk and leaned forward earnestly, hands on his knees. "Here's how it looks from FleetOps,

Bill. We fought the S'Cotar for ten years, lost millions of people, scores of planets. We were about to lose it all when D'Trelna and
Implacable
stumbled onto your planet and found . . ."

"And found the S'Cotar were organic manufactures—biofabs," said Sutherland. "Created beneath our moon by a possibly demented cyborg programmed thousands of years ago by your equally demented Empire."

"Yes," nodded S'Rel, "but don't forget why. To toughen us as a people, prepare us to face an invasion from another reality—an invasion of artificial intelligences—AIs—that happened once before, a million years ago, and was repulsed by the Trel."

"Even though defeated," said Sutherland, pointing a finger at the Watcher, "those machines killed the Trel and every living thing on all their worlds. And they'd have killed us, too, this last time, if D'Trelna hadn't stopped them at Terra Two."

"It's FleetOps opinion," said S'Rel, "that the end of the Terra Two incursion marked the end of any threat from the AIs. Our priority now is to purge our planets of any remaining S'Cotar and get on with the rebuilding of broken worlds and shattered lives."

"FleetOps is wrong," said the CIA director. "The Trel warned that the rift they sealed to the AI universe was opening now. The Terra

Stephen Ames Berry-Two invasion was a fluke, maybe even a feint. The Fleet of the One is coming, S'Rel, through that rift, perhaps even right now. And what are you people doing?" His voice rose angrily. "You're doling out tea and comfort and congratulating each other on having survived the big green bugs when you should be mobilizing every ship that can mount a fusion battery!"

"Finished?" said the K'Ronarin as Sutherland caught his breath.

"What about D'Trelna?"

S'Rel shrugged. "He was sent to check out the Trel's invasion warning—into Quadrant Blue Nine, from which no ship has returned since the Fall. He hasn't been heard from. I doubt he ever will be."

There was a faint chirp, repeated three times. Frowning, the K'Ronarin took the slim communicator from his shirt pocket. "S'Rel," he said.

"Alert condition one," said a flat voice in K'Ronarin. "An AI battleglobe has just entered the Terran system."

"Close the portal!" said S'Rel.

"It didn't come from the portal," said the voice. "It came from our space."

The battle klaxon brought
Repulse's
Captain P'Qal from bed to bridge in record time, pausing only for a quick commlink call.

"Status?" he said, taking the command chair, eyes on the big board. Behind him the armored doors slid shut with a faint hiss.

"Target appeared at jump point a few moments ago," said S'Jat in her usual low, soft voice. She nodded at the board. "As you can see, it's headed insystem at just below light speed, and on present course, will reach here in nineteen point five t'lars."

"And pass right through," said P'Qal brusqely. The emergency wasn't improving his notoriously short temper. "She's not decelerating."

"As the captain will note," said S'Jat, unruffled, "what little data we have on AI battleglobes indicates that they can decelerate almost instantaneously."

"Absurd," said the captain. "A violation of every principle of astrogation and related physics."

"Perhaps we don't know everything about astrogation and physics," suggested the first officer.

They stared at each other, the short, bald man and the tall, thin brunette. "I'm not going to debate epistemology with you," said P'Qal. "I always lose." His eyes shifted to the tacscan data threading across the board. "Almost the size of Terra's moon," he said. "Highly manueverable, fusion batteries half the size of this ship, first-class shielding." He looked up. "Suicide to take her on, Number One."

"Terra has no defenses," she said mildly. "You've alerted them?" She nodded. "Through our New York embassy."

"And FleetOps?"

"Knows nothing. The battleglobe took out our skipcomm relay the instant she entered the system."

"I see," he said, eyes going back to the board. The large red blip had passed Saturn. "Where in all the hells did it come from?"

S'Jat shrugged. "The implications aren't pleasant."

P'Qal touched the commlink in his chairarm. "Get me
Dawn
—Captain S'Yatan. Battle priority alpha." He glanced again at the tacscan—the battleglobe was almost at Mars and showed no sign of slowing.

"Captain S'Yatan, sir," said the comm officer.

"Close the portal," P'Qal ordered the man whose image appeared in his commscreen.

"Already done," said the younger man. "But where did it come from?"

"Let's go ask her," said P'Qal. "Man your battlestations and follow us."

1.
Artificial intelligences (AIs) exist. We have fought and defeated one of their advance units. More are coming.

2.
These AIs are, as suspected, from a parallel reality where organic, carbon-based life is subservient to silicon-based life.

3.
In a revolt against the AI Empire —called the Revolt by all sides—humans, a few hundred AIs and members of at least one other species escaped to this reality, moving uptime 900,000 years. Arriving 100,000 of our years ago, these revolutionaries founded our civilization, their humans intermarrying with humans indigenous to our galaxy. We are their descendants.

4.
The AIs who came here still live among us, in human guise.

5.
The AI Empire still exists. In a million years it has forgotten nothing and learned nothing. And it has found the means to come after us—one million battleglobes strong. Nothing we have can stand against it.

6.
The AI Empire has succeeded in planting a fifth column among us. It is one of our principal industrial arms, Combine T'Lan. As of this communique, we have beaten off one of Combine T'Lan's task forces.

7. As my and Commodore DTrelna's commands have been declared corsair by FleetOps—one may guess at whose instigation—we have decided to become corsairs, in a limited sense. I have agreed to a limited raid on Combine T'Lan's headquarters—my ships will protect
Implacable
as she sends in assault boats. It is unlikely that any of my command will survive the action.

Admiral Second S'Gan, loc. sit. (Final skipcomm received.)

3

"So,
you slime
have co-opted the Tower garrison," said D'Trelna, looking around the room.

It was a small room, built to inspire fear: thick-mortared walls of ancient, hand-dressed stone, set deep beneath the Tower—an old Imperial interrogation cell furnished only with the traditional scarred gray table and folding chair.

"The Commandant of the Tower is sensitive to political winds, Commodore," said the man behind the table. "A talent you lack."

"You're Councilor D'Assan," said D'Trelna. "Of the Imperial Party."

The younger man nodded. "Actually, I'm Council Chair this term."

"And you had me arrested—illegally,"

D'Trelna snapped, feeling himself flush with anger.

D'Assan waved a well-manicured hand. "As Council Chair, I can hold almost anyone, pending investigation. Fleet Security actually made the arrest—your ship is corsair-listed, Commodore. You didn't think you were just going to flit in, have a drink with the lads and muster out, did you?"

"I'm a Fleet officer," said D'Trelna. "That's for Fleet to decide."

D'Assan held up a hand. "Soon, Commodore, soon. But first, I wanted us to have a quiet talk, just us two, all alone in this rocky womb, safe from spy beams and snooper probes."

D'Trelna nodded curtly. "Fine. What did you want to say, Councilor?"

"That you are a fool," said D'Assan mildly. "That you've been deceived by a very charming fellow named R'Gal into believing that our society is infiltrated by AIs seeking to destroy us. In fact, it is the AIs who've made us what we are—literally."

"Scum . . .!" growled D'Trelna, stepping toward the table, hands raised. "You know!"

"Please don't make me use this," said D'Assan, a palm-sized needier suddenly appearing in his hand. "You've no idea the number of reports your great mound of a body would require."

The commodore paused in mid-stride, fists clenched at his side. "You're one of them—a machine, a combat droid from Combine T'Lan."

D'Assan shook his head, "No. Just a man, trying to do something right for his people in the brief time I have, as a councilor and a man."

"Pretty," said D'Trelna. "You should be a politician."

"Back up, please, Commodore," said D'Assan, flicking the needier. He set the weapon on the table top as D'Trelna complied.

"Let me tell you something, Councilor . . ." began the commodore.

"No, sir," interrupted D'Assan. "Let me tell you what you're going to tell me, then I'll tell you why it's wrong." He swept on before D'Trelna could speak.

"You're going to tell me that you took your ship into Blue Nine, the Ghost Quadrant, and there battled machines and monsters and ancient nightmares out of our past, and against terrifying odds, you fought free and have come to warn us all." He nodded. "You're a brave and resourceful commander. My compliments, sir."

"Go to hell."

"Hell is precisely where your warning would take us, D'Trelna," said D'Assan with a wry smile. "Artificial intelligences—AIs —built this civilization, working from within, guiding us through the long rise to the stars, helping us win the war against the S'Cotar . . ."

"Blood and steel won that war, D'Assan," said D'Trelna.

". . . and now you'd expose the presence of this helping hand to mass hysteria and mob violence—undo a millennia-old friend who's given everything and asked nothing in return."