Berserker Wars (Omnibus)

by Fred Saberhagen

  The others waited, listening.

  Domingo said: “The suggestion seems to be that this life form would be an ED human itself.”

  Back aboard the Pearl, Simeon was saying: “Get them on the radio.”

  “Right. The message?” Spence Benkovic sounded weary to the verge of collapse.

  “If you have to send it in the clear to get through, do it. Tell them our deep detectors have picked up a shape at a range of two hundred million kilometers. Like a jagged birdcage with a skull in it. There’s even a hint of blue flames. Leviathan is here.”

  CHAPTER 21

  When the message from the Pearlcame in, Branwen moved as fast as she could. But from the first step, Domingo was already ahead of her in the mad scramble to regain the launch, and Iskander was right at her side.

  As she passed the memory units that Domingo had begun to disassemble, she hastily grabbed up some of the components he had been testing. Domingo, who a moment ago had been fascinated by the same bits of hardware, had dropped them instantly the moment word came that Old Blue was now actually on the scene, within his reach.

  Iskander too ignored everything else when he heard that. Branwen caught a brief glimpse of Baza’s face inside his helmet and was struck by the strange look he was wearing, wooden and almost lifeless.

  Half a dozen of the small memory units were under Branwen’s left arm as she leaped and ran, shoving pieces of berserker aside, following the captain.

  The captain did not turn back or even look behind him to see if his two crew members were still with him. It occurred to Branwen that Domingo was actually ready to leave them here if they could not keep up with him in his rush to get back to his ship and come to grips with his archenemy.

  The three humans, moving with practiced speed in low gravity, went bounding and plunging back through the passageway they had blasted open.

  They were within meters of regaining the surface when a slab of rock the size of a spaceship came slowly toppling toward them—perhaps the battered berserker brain that ran the base had been able to organize one last attempt upon their lives. But in the low gravity the humans easily avoided the falling mass. Metal and rock jumped and shuddered beneath their feet as it came down.

  Moments later all three were in the clear. Branwen, burdened with her collection of possibly priceless hardware, had trouble keeping up with the two men now, although she considered herself as skillful as anyone at getting around in space armor. Iskander, having raced ahead of her, turned back once, wordlessly, to see that she was not falling hopelessly behind. Domingo did not turn back at all.

  The three of them were running and bounding now across the planetoid’s surface, still radiant with heat. The eerie landscape of the rocky mass surrounded them, marked with long shadows and the stark white light of the small but nearby sun. The sky beyond the sun was mottled white with distant clouds of nebula and devoid of any other stars.

  Now one artificial star had come into being overhead and was brightening quickly. The autopilot had been randomly maneuvering the launch, and now in response to Domingo’s radio command it was bringing the little vessel quickly down to the boarding party.

  There was another movement nearby, this one of almost invisible entities skimming across the planetoid’s airless rocky surface. Branwen had expected that the former prisoner and the original Nebulon rescue party would be long gone by now. But two shimmering shapes, coming almost within reach of the three running, suited humans, appeared as evidence that their new allies had not entirely abandoned the field. She wondered if one of the formless flickerings might be Speaker. Without the Carmpan on hand, there was no way to tell.

  The Spacedwellers moved near the three who ran, as if to keep their heavy partners company. The almost immaterial presences, fading in and out of visibility, were reassuring even though the creatures were unable to communicate more directly.

  The launch was down now, the autopilot opening a hatch as it skimmed the planetoid’s surface just ahead of the three who ran across it. As the ED humans hurled themselves into the vessel, Branwen muttered a private vow that she would seek, as soon as possible, another means of communicating with the Spacedwellers; it was not good to be totally dependent on the Carmpan for all messages, and it was all too easy to foresee times when such dependence might be downright fatal.

  Once the boarders were sealed into the launch, good radio contact with the Pearlwas once more available. Now they could hear Benkovic, back on the ship, still wondering aloud if the Nebulons were somehow responsible for the arrival of Leviathan.

  “If I believed that,” Domingo announced, “I’d see they got a reward. I hope you’re moving the ship our way?”

  “Yes, sir. About twenty seconds to pickup.”

  Meanwhile Domingo, his headlink firmly on, was driving the launch as fast as possible to rejoin the Pearl.

  Branwen, after clamping herself into a combat chair and hooking up her headlink, was trying to catch a glimpse of the famous blue glow through the cleared viewports of the launch. But Leviathan was still too far away to be directly visible in whole or part.

  Fortunately for Domingo and those with him, the Pearlhad already been maneuvered in quite close to the planetoid. And with Benkovic at the helm she now came speeding in even closer to pick up the launch carrying the boarders.

  Leviathan was already opening up with ranging fire, probing at the Pearl‘s defensive shields. Before the pickup could be made, the launch rocked as it was struck by the wavefront of a weapons blast, a surge of particles and electromagnetic waves. In comparison to this, the just-conquered base had been firing popguns. The intensity was such that Branwen could feel the impact of the near miss in her bones, even in her combat chair and in the absence of atmosphere to help transmit a shock.

  The Carmpan was murmuring something hopeful on the radio, in the intervals between the brisk comments of the two pilots of the swiftly approaching vehicles. Just at the awkward moment of retrieval of the launch, as Branwen understood Fourth Adventurer’s commentary, the Nebulons would be busy creating a valuable distraction. They feinted an attack on Leviathan, which provided enough of a diversion to enable the ED humans to get back aboard their ship.

  Branwen was the first out of the launch into the ship’s ventral bay, and from there went scrambling immediately toward her battle station. There seemed to be no good place to put down the memory units she had brought along, and so she kept them with her.

  Domingo arrived at his own combat station just in time to take over the helm from Spence before the real in-earnest action started.

  As the captain made the headlink connection to his helmet, the ship was already in swift motion, and the space around her flamed with combat. Leviathan’s weapons were very much heavier than those the berserker station had used to defend itself, and, according to all early indications, they were also better aimed and synchronized.

  Now the whole ED human component of the crew were crouching at their stations, doing their best to draw upon the energies of spacetime, channeling power approaching that of suns. Mindlink networking shared out pictures of the interlocking systems in operation among the human minds; operating this ship meant, among other things, playing an intricate game as a member of a skilled team.

  The Carmpan reported that the Nebulons were now ready to make another effort at attacking. Word had spread somehow among their people of the new allies who rode within a heavy metal casing and effectively fought the dead-metal killers; reinforcements were pouring in to the swarm of Spacedwellers, and Speaker reported new hope among them of being able to overcome what they considered their ancient enemy.

  “And mine, too. Mine first of all. But I’ll take all the help that I can get.”

  The Pearlwithstood the enemy’s first ranging fire and the jolts of even heavier weapons that followed almost immediately. But Branwen had the gut feeling that the defenses were not holding with any great margin of safety; she could tell because just now sustaining them was her assig
nment. She heard and saw and felt the weapons of the human ship strike back, without as yet doing any observable damage.

  The Pearlhad now become a swiftly moving, evasive target. Domingo was maneuvering his ship away from the sun but not yet directly toward his enemy. For a period of minutes he took the Pearldancing in and out of the maze of planetoids and dust rings. Clever enemy missiles pursued her on her twisting course, and she dodged them, but her object was not to get away. The captain was stalking Old Blue now, even as the great berserker was stalking him.

  Again, on the captain’s order, the Pearlstruck back. This time with full power.

  When the haze of ionization spread around Old Blue by the latest bombardment had partially cleared, it could be seen that the enemy too remained essentially undamaged. Against this tough opponent, the new missiles, the new beams, were not performing as well as had been hoped and expected.

  It was at moments like this that Branwen Galway felt most intensely alive; they were what kept her coming back into space.

  But now there ensued a brief lull in the actual fighting. Evasive action continued. Briefly the instruments on the humans’ ship lost track of Leviathan.

  Had the enemy fled the system? No, now the bizarre birdcage shape, licked with blue fire, was back again. Domingo made a sound of relief and satisfaction. Once more the humans’ computers worked to lock Old Blue in their sights.

  “It’s playing ‘possum,” Simeon said. “Wants us to come after it. It’s afraid we’ll get away otherwise. If it just chases us we might be too small and fast for it to catch.”

  “It’s not afraid of anything,” said Benkovic.

  Neither was the captain, evidently. Domingo was sliding toward his enemy again, having got the angle of approach he wanted, one that would allow him to maneuver his ship in and out of relative concealment.

  The dead shape of a battered planetoid now loomed up close to the Pearl, coming between the combatants and cutting off their direct view of each other. Which way to dodge around the obstacle?

  Just when everyone aboard Domingo’s ship was most intent on which way the captain would turn next, distraction came. Another shape was showing on the remote detectors, that of a machine or ship coming through the clouds at the edge of the cleared space, almost behind the Pearlas she faced her known enemy. Did it mean berserker reinforcements?

  That possibility hadn’t really occurred to Branwen until now. She knew that Leviathan, due to some trick of programming or randomly selected tactics, generally fought alone as a solitary rogue rather than attacking in concert with other death machines.

  The range was too great for the IFF transponder to be useful, but a closer look at the ominous new shape proved it to be that of a Space Force ship.

  The captain muttered grimly: “Gennadius. For once he’s on hand when I can use him. With his whole fleet, I hope.”

  Eagerly the Pearl‘s instruments probed the nebula in the area surrounding the new arrival. But there was no fleet to be seen there, only the one ship. A steadier look confirmed that it was indeed Gennadius’s cruiser.

  Where was Leviathan now? Still out of line-of-sight …

  Gennadius had good detectors too, and was already trying to establish tightbeam communications. Some of the beam from the Space Force cruiser managed to get through this space still ringing with weaponry.

  In an encoded message the commander promised aid to the embattled Pearl.Gennadius assured her captain and crew that he too was skilled at trailing and tracking. He had had no success in reassembling his scattered fleet or even in making contact with any of its other components. Instead, after the storm had passed, Gennadius had followed the one trail that he had been able to find, and that trail had led him here to the Sirian Pearl.And to the enemy.

  Simeon found himself breathing more easily. Now, with two first-class fighting ships and three themes of humanity working together, Leviathan’s enemies appeared to have a good chance of winning in this particular fight. He could sense how morale aboard the Pearl, which had been numbed and wavering, went up slightly.

  After another half-garbled three-way conference call, including Speaker, straining electronic communications to the limit and calling upon the Carmpan’s mental ability, the two ships closed on the foe from opposite sides as the Nebulons simultaneously began an infiltration of the defensive fields of Old Blue.

  “Here we go.” Captain Domingo said it unnecessarily.

  Simeon, before focusing the total abilities of his mind on tactics and fire control, took a last look at the intercom image of Branwen. If he had been expecting to get a look from her in return, he was disappointed. She was already concentrating utterly on her instruments.

  Old Blue maneuvered as if it were trying to shake free of the double attack but failed to do so. Fighting ships screamed toward the death machine from two sides. But did they have it trapped, or did it have them? The Pearl‘s shields were taking hits at a rate that made Simeon wonder if the enemy might have received reinforcement, too. But evidently not. Leviathan must have been keeping some of its heavy weaponry in reserve through the first exchanges of blows, probably trying to get its smaller opponent to come closer or to put too much reliance on its shields.

  The Pearlshuddered, diving into an inferno, being blasted helplessly away from her intended course. The sound and vibration inside the hull were overwhelming. How much of this could any shields withstand? Or any human crew? The great damned berserker was stronger than Domingo had predicted or expected; it was stronger than both human ships together. It seemed plain now that if the Pearlhad been alone when it faced the full charge of Leviathan, the human ship would have been lost.

  But Domingo’s crew still functioned, and his ship hit back, hard.

  The Space Force ship was somewhere—yes, there—still surviving, still fighting.

  The battle raged.

  Branwen Galway’s job now, through her mindlink, was to try to keep the shields functioning, summoning up and channeling power into them.

  Simeon Chakuchin’s mind hurled missiles, on the captain’s order or sometimes at his own discretion. There had been nearly a hundred heavy missiles aboard when the fight started, but they were going fast.

  Spence was aiming and pulsing beams, and the Carmpan was handling his own special brand of communications. Domingo drove his ship, while Iskander functioned as general flight engineer, ready to handle damage control or fill in for another crew member as needed.

  For just a moment, as he sent an outgoing salvo of missiles passing through the Pearl‘s shields, Simeon thought he could touch Branwen’s mind directly; but the impression slipped away before it could distract him seriously. He got on with the job on which both their lives and more depended.

  The dodging and maneuvering in and out among the complex belts of the planetoids, the exchanges of unimaginable violence between ships and machine, went on. Had minutes or hours passed since the fight began? Time had disappeared. For Domingo’s mentally and physically battered crew, no other world but this existed.

  Simeon could believe that he had always lived in this world of combat, than which there was no other; and yet it was an unreal universe, stretching beyond the door of death, filled with vivid mental visions in which imagination beckoned through the mindlink to disaster. This world tottered at every second on the brink of annihilation. The mind tried to fight free of it and could not, and drifted at the entrance to the harbor of insanity.

  Pyrotechnics had completely taken over the space around the ship.

  Dozens of the small rocky bodies populating this space were struck accidentally by heavy weapons and blew up, shattered or turned into fiery blobs, lighting up the dustclouds nearby like so many miniature suns. Domingo, issuing precise orders, blasted some small planetoids, creating screens of covering plasma behind which he stalked his enemy.

  The speeds of the ships and machine engaged made the thinly scattered material of this space appear on instruments like a dense cloud of rocks and gravel.
Collision with a particle of more than microscopic size could mean the end. Human nerves and senses, woefully too slow to compete in this game directly, entrusted the ship’s computer with course calculation, a fraction of a second at a time.

  Violence shocked Simeon out of a near-hypnotic mental state. Death’s bony fingers brushed him hard before they slipped away. For a moment he thought that the fight was lost, and he was dead. Alarms were sounding everywhere. When he could think again he knew that the Pearlhad taken an internal shockwave. It most probably had been induced deliberately by the berserker, with simultaneous weapon detonations at the opposite ends of the ship’s defensive shields. The shock had been almost completely damped by the defenses, but still the interior impact was beyond anything that the crew had endured yet.

  The captain was calling around the intercom, station by station. Everyone except Galway answered.

  Benkovic’s voice came, saying he was on his way to help her. It was necessary for someone to get her headlink disconnected quickly, as a dazed, half-conscious mind hooked into the system could well mean disaster. Simeon was immobilized for the moment by his job, still throwing a pattern of missiles. There were now no more than forty remaining in his magazines.

  Domingo steered his ship into concealment within an orbital belt of dust, and again the fight was temporarily broken off.

  Through a fog of pain and bewilderment, Branwen saw Benkovic come into her combat station. She heard him say something about helping her to her berth.

  He disconnected her headlink and assisted her through the short tunnel. As he put her down in her berth, she briefly lost consciousness again.

  When awareness returned, her helmet had been taken off, her armor opened. She could feel Benkovic’s hand inside her clothing, first on her breast, then moving down her ribs, her belly … his hand was bare but he was still wearing his combat helmet, and it was difficult to see his face … she groaned something, and fought herself free.