The Darkness of God: Book Three of the Shadow Warrior Trilogy (26 page)

Joshua sat thinking.

“Do you have a better plan?”
Jadera asked.

“I do not,”
he said.

“We should begin our strike from where the Lumina was positioned, in its satellite,”
Jadera said.
“Perhaps, even though the Al’ar are gone, such positioning may increase its power.”

“Very well,” Joshua said in Terran, and rose.
“Let us go to war.”

“You may or may not be pleased, Admiral Hastings,” Cisco said, “that I specifically requested the
Andrea Doria
and its battlefleet for this mission.”

“I’ll be honest,” the officer said. “I’m not. I’m not sure, with everything else going wrong around us, this is the most important mission my ships and men should be used for. We’ve pulled back from who knows how many worlds in the past few months. Others have evidently fallen into chaos, anarchy. Entire sectors aren’t reporting. We’ve lost at least sixteen fleets …”

“Eighteen,” Cisco corrected. “That’s confirmed. More likely twenty-three.”

“To what? To something nobody can even see?”

“That’s also been corrected,” Cisco said. “Although the information won’t make you feel any better.”

“What the
hell
are we fighting?”

Cisco motioned him to a corner of the bridge, away from the other officers. “You don’t have the proper clearance,” he said. “No one else aboard the
Andrea Doria
does either, but I was advised by my superior I should inform you of the Federation’s current explanation for these events, so you’ll understand the importance of your orders. It appears our universe has been invaded by some sort of single-cell — although ‘cell’ is not the right word — being, an entity that’s capable of making interstellar flights, jumping from star to star.”

“That’s impossible!”

“It certainly is,” Cisco agreed. “And I’ll give you an even less possible truth: This being, this alien, appears to be able to alter the very nature of matter, to make it disassemble itself, then reassemble in the form of the alien’s structure.”

Hastings looked at Cisco. “That violates every single principle I have ever learned,” he said. “This alien is capable of altering string, of altering its vibrations, its resonance, into — into what?”

“Into its own form of matter,” Cisco said. “Into itself. Not matter, not antimatter.”

“So everything will become part of it eventually? Stars, planets, space, people?”

“If that theory’s correct,” Cisco said, “yes. Maybe not people, though. I assume you’ve heard the stories of the ‘burning disease'?”

“I have, and they’re as utterly unbelievable as what you just told me. Preposterous!”

Cisco didn’t reply.

Hastings’ shoulders slumped. “I’m not a fool, Cisco. Obviously there’s
something
out there, something utterly unknown that’s slowly destroying everything. So how do we fight it?”

“No one knows yet,” Cisco said. “The Federation has anyone and everyone working on every possible solution.”

“With obviously nothing but theory so far?”

“As far as I know,” Cisco said. “Needless to say, none of this is to be discussed with anyone until I personally advise you differently.”

“I wouldn’t anyway,” Hastings said. “I don’t need to be in command of sailors who think me mad.” He took a deep breath. “But how is destroying this Chitet fleet going to solve matters?”

“First, the Federation hardly needs traitors among its own,” Cisco said. “Second, the Chitet have attempted to league themselves with other aliens in the past. The Al’ar. Now we’ve gotten word that they’ve assembled their warships and moved them into the Al’ar Worlds.”

“Why?”

“We don’t know,” Cisco said. “But we know where they are. We have a highly placed source within the cult, someone who recently recognized his patriotism.” Cisco’s lips twisted into a smile. “Or else no longer wanted to back a loser.”

“I have the coordinates but little else,” Hastings said. “What are your orders, once we emerge from N-space, assuming the Chitet are there?”

“We can expect around a hundred ships,” Cisco said. “All Al’ar War vintage, but well reconditioned. None bigger than the battlecruiser you drove away when we recovered Joshua Wolfe from them. They’re to be given one chance to surrender, and if they do not accept, they’re to be destroyed in detail. The Chitet must
never
be allowed to work against Man again.”

Hastings nodded, managed a smile. “At least it’ll be good to have a nice, simple battle to fight,” he said, “instead of nothing but confusion.”

“Are we ready to lift?” Joshua asked.

“All systems go,”
the
Grayle
reported.

“Did you miss me?”

There was a silence. Joshua was about to withdraw his question, then:
“By ‘miss,’ analysis indicates that I am supposed to provide an emotional response, that is, your absence created a negative condition in me. Further consideration suggests you are intending what is listed in my files as a ‘jest’ or ‘joke.’ However, I do admit a preference for being used, for being active, rather than being in a state of nonbeing, such as I have been since landing on this planet.”

“Well dip me in a bucket,” Joshua said in some amazement. “Cormac ought to change his name to Viktor. Okay, Monster. Take it on out of here.”

“Understood.”

The
Grayle
came clear of the hangar floor, and the door opened. The ship moved slowly out over the wasteland, then climbed for open space.

“Lifting clear,”
Joshua reported.
“Time until entering N-space, approximately twelve ship-minutes.”

“You are heard,”
Cerigo’s voice came over a speaker.
“We will lift in approximately five of your minutes, enter N-space approximately fifteen of your minutes afterward. We will therefore emerge at the desired point in exactly eight of those minutes after you. Is that correct?”

“Correct This is the
Grayle,
clear.”

• • •

The contact alarm gonged as Federation ships came out of N-space. Michele Strozzi heard someone swear, ignored it. “We were betrayed,” he said calmly to his admiral, Ignatieff.

“Yes, sir. Should we attempt to withdraw?”

“No,” Strozzi decided. “They’ll pursue us, and we do not need to have an enemy at our back. Eventually we’ll have to confront the Federation, to make them realize we’re right in what we’re doing. How many of them are there?”

Ignatieff asked an electronics officer and relayed the answer: “About 160, sir.”

“They outnumber us,” Strozzi said. “But the Federation’s ships are mostly manned with recruits, and ours with veterans. They’ve been subject to peacetime economics; we’ve kept our men fully trained. Admiral Ignatieff, destroy this Federation fleet. Perhaps this is our beginning, even though it was not in my projection of coming events.”

“Yes, sir.”

• • •

The Federation ships came out of N-space in battle order, a huge crescent, sweeping toward the Chitet fleet.

“As I promised you, Admiral,” Cisco said. “The Chitet. Do you wish the honors?”

Hastings took the mike his aide held out. “This is the Federation battleship
Andrea Doria,
“ he said. “I order all vessels not under Federation command to immediately signal blue-white-blue as a signal of surrender. You have five minutes to comply, or you will be attacked.”

“Captain,” a weapons officer reported, “one of the ships has launched missiles. I’ve activated countermeasures.”

“There’s your answer,” Cisco said.

“Very well,” Hastings said, switching to another frequency. “All ships. This is the
Andrea Doria.
Authentication Witnal. Attack!”

• • •

Missiles spat from the Chitet ships at the oncoming Federation fleet, and countermissiles flashed back. Explosions dotted space and quickly vanished. Other, greater blasts came as the Federation took hits, and ships pinwheeled out of formation or drove “down” or “up” in senseless directions.

The Chitet launched a second wave of missiles as they closed on the Federation.

• • •

Too many Federation weapons crews were inexperienced, but there were still veterans of the Al’ar War among them.

Aboard one Federation ship a warrant officer in his sixties pushed a lieutenant out of his way and crouched over a launch station, cursing as his prosthetic leg creaked.

“Target acquired,” he said, his voice level. “Launching — One launched — Two launched … Now, goddammit, lieutenant, watch how I’m trying to spoof ‘em. The first one goes for the incoming missile … closing … Got the son of a bitch! The second goes right on through the debris, uses the crap to mask itself against their countermeasures — don’t go to autopilot but keep the controls and you ride it right on into the …”

• • •

The Federation missile smashed into the bow of the
Udayana,
into its electronics bays, and explosions tore at the battlecruiser, ripping the bridge decking three floors above like an ancient tin can.

Michele Strozzi was sent spinning into a control panel, blood spattering the screens beside him. He sprawled motionless for an instant, then stumbled to his feet. He saw Admiral Ignatieff’s head lying next to him, looked for his body, saw nothing.

An aide was beside him, arm around his shoulders. “Sir, lie down,” she shouted.

He looked at her, opened his mouth to say something reassuring, inspiring. Blood poured out, drenching her tunic, and his eyes went dull and he went down limply.

The aide knelt, keening in loss, and another missile smashed directly into the bridge. The
Udayana
exploded in a long sheet of flame.

• • •

The Federation forces swept forward, the ships on the ends of the formation following orders, trying to bend the vast C around the Chitet to encircle the fleet. But the center of their pattern was already broken, and the battle center was a swirling catfight.

“All Federation ships,” someone — no one ever admitted to the command — ordered, “break formation and choose your own targets. I say again, go for their throats!”

• • •

The
Grayle
left N-space for Armageddon. Wolfe gaped at the madness, keyed his com.

“Nyarlot, Nyarlot,
this is the One Who Fights From Shadows. There’s some kind of battle going on here.”

“Who is fighting?”

Wolfe took a moment to examine his screens, calm himself. “It appears to be a Federation fleet … I don’t know who they’re against — maybe Chitet? Maybe civil war?”

“What should we do, One Who Fights From Shadows?”

“I don’t know,”
Wolfe said.

“Whose enemy are they?”
Cerigo said.
“Should we stand aside? Will they leave us alone, let us fight our own battle, fight the battle for them as well? Can we explain in time, and would they believe us? Would they join us? We stand by for your will.”

Joshua took a deep breath, gave an order.

• • •

On the bridge of the
Andrea Doria,
the ship’s executive officer glanced at a master screen and screamed in utter horror, seeing something out of a nightmare vanished long years before.

• • •

The Al’ar ships came from nowhere, sweeping forward in a
grasping hand
formation, a phalanx of corpse-white death.

It seemed to some watchers they came slowly, instead of at their light-second-devouring real speed.

At their head was a monstrous winged shark, scimitar-shaped, beyond any memory of the Al’ar terrors. It was flanked by the robot ships, flying in fours, two abreast, two slightly behind the first pair, as the Al’ar held their grasping organs in combat stance.

Shipskins bulged, split, and birthed slender missiles that trembled once and homed in on their targets. Some Federation or Chitet ships had time for countermissile launches, but too many didn’t see the doom from nowhere.

The Al’ar formation lifted “above” the spinning pandemonium, swept past, reversed course, and came back in a second attack.

A Chitet frigate spat four missiles at the
Nyarlot
; five countermissiles launched and closed on the missiles.

There were three explosions, then a fourth, larger one on one of the
Nyarlot
’s fighting pods.

Guardians died, and the ships they controlled veered away from the fight, uncontrolled.

Wolfe
felt
their deaths and flinched. He saw the out-of-control ships and reached for them, as he’d once taken and crushed a missile. The ships were his. Wolfe didn’t notice that the ships broke formation and regrouped — not as the two-two they’d attacked in, but as five fingers, four ships almost parallel, the fifth guarding the rear, human fingers reaching for human throats.

He sent them into the madness, controlling them as they fired their missiles. Federation and Chitet ships were there, past, gone. He came back, dimly aware of the
Nyarlot
somewhere behind, volleying its own killers toward the human ships.

A ship he knew, a ship he’d been aboard, was close to “him,” but he veered his fighting formation away, away from the
Andrea Doria.

Wolfe’s face had a tight, skull-like grin.

• • •

“Whiskey element, engage Chitet vessels at 320-12,” Hastings ordered. “Hotel, please respond to this station. I say again, Hotel, respond if you are still capable. Quebec, regather your elements.” He was as calm as if he were on a peacetime exercise, or moving models on a map.

Cisco stood beside him, trying to stay out of the way, trying to make sense of the madness that englobed them.

Then there was something else on the bridge. It was an Al’ar, an Al’ar nearly fifteen feet high.

Someone shrieked, and a blaster smashed through the Al’ar and blew a hole in the deck above the apparition. The Al’ar stepped forward, and its grasping organ reached. Cisco shrank back, but the organ came on, came on.