As the other fighters closed, the Hailstorm opened up with its hundred fifty laser turrets. Another six banshees saw their end.
Bax panicked. "Withdraw!"
Strapping herself into her chair, she yelled,. "Take us out of here! All ships proceed to the Retreat!"
Harris said, "Wow, that has to hurt."
"You people are dooming all Humans. The Burrell and the Frizoid will come."
"I think we have the same chance with or without you in charge. If anything, we can now build a fleet without being impeded by greed. And I don't know what you have planned at the Retreat, but it will soon be in our hands as well."
The Fargo jumped as soon as it reached free space. The Hailstorm didn't immediately follow.
"Looks like your friends decided not to come."
Harris leaned back in his chair, cinching his fingers behind his head. "They'll be here soon enough. Probably just gonna bring the next hundred Banshees with them."
Bax returned an uneasy look. "You think you've bested me? We aren't finished yet."
The Fargo and her escorts turned into fireballs as they descended through the atmosphere at the Retreat, coming to a stop on the Tarmac outside Dome One.
Six armed bots approached as Bax stepped through the hatch.
Her arms were taken by two of the six. Her two personal bots stepped forward. A short firefight ensued, the opposing sides obliterating each other. When the smoke cleared, Bax was crouched on the tarmac, bleeding from several small shrapnel wounds to her arms.
A grinning Croft emerged with another dozen bots, hustling out to take control of their captive.
"What is this?" Bax scoffed.
"This is your arrest for treason."
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about you disabling all conversation recording on your bots, and then ordering that to happen among them all. It made me suspicious, and I took action. Funny that I should hear a recording of you planning to arrest me. And all this time I thought we were a team."
"We were, until you decided you wanted to be the clown prince of opulence instead of emperor of all Humans. When you said you were no longer interested in conquest beyond this sector I knew you had fallen under the spell of greed. That was confirmed when you diverted resources from our ship manufacturing."
Croft protested, placing his hands on his hips. "I did no such thing."
"Precious metals for your palace. Those were taken from the production line stock."
"I gave no such orders. In fact, I specifically called for zero impact from any of my requests."
Harris chuckled as two bots took hold of his arms.
Bax gave him an angry stare. "You did this?"
Harris shook his head. "No, but I'd say it was a brilliant move on someone's part."
Croft pointed. "Why is he here and not chained up?"
"He's been advising me."
"I see. So you're taking up with a Bio now?"
"Me? No, that would be gross. You're the one bringing in your own harem."
"Bio-lover."
Harris laughed. A punch to his gut by one of the bots followed. "Silence!"
Bax slowly stood. "Doesn't matter anyway. The Hailstorm is coming, and our Banshees aren't powerful enough to take it on."
"Eighty Banshees should be more than enough."
"We no longer have eighty. We have my eight plus the two you have here."
"How's that possible?"
"They had a new missile with a laser cannon. Took out sixty-six with one strike. And the Hailstorm is now covered in laser cannons. Must be a hundred turrets scattered across its hull."
Harris smirked. "A hundred fifty."
Another punch was delivered, doubling the Biomarine over.
Bax said, "Look, we need to prepare for an assault. Let's put our petty squabbles to the side for the moment. Those issues will still be issues when we're done."
Croft waved. "Release her. And bring him to the brig for lockup."
Bax shook her head. "No. Keep him with us. We might want leverage if they somehow break through. The bots can keep him restrained."
Croft scowled at the heavy gravity outside the dome. "Let's get inside. Ridiculous to stay standing out here."
The group moved in and up to an office that was under construction. The two floors above had been torn down to remake the space. A holo-image adorned one wall, showing a throne surrounded by marble pillars and stuffed exotic animals.
Harris said, "Those supposed to be scary?"
Croft pointed. "Shut him up. Give him a muzzle if he can't control himself."
Two punches to his gut followed. Harris held up a hand of surrender.
Bax looked around the room. "Put him in that chair. And make certain he's secured properly."
One of the bots said, "Emperor, we have an approaching ship."
"They won't get past these rail cannons."
Bax looked at the display, which was changing to show the approaching vessel. "The Hailstorm."
"They can't get close."
"Don't underestimate these people. War is their business. The defenses here were designed by them."
Bax opened a comm. "I want four Banshees out beyond railgun range. Settle into the terrain, turn on your interference generators, and turn off everything else but visual sensors. If that ship comes within range... blast it."
Four ships zipped out across the landscape, disappearing over the horizon.
Bax looked up at one of the bots. "I'm bleeding. How about tending to my wounds."
Croft smirked. "Scars, a just deserve for your treacherous actions."
"What happened to you? I thought you were an idealist. Turns out you're nothing better than the stooge emperor you replaced."
"While a powerful fleet is in our long-term interests, we have no immediate need."
"Why would you say that?"
"I've been in contact with the Burrell at Gondol. The terraforming station there is almost fully back online, by the way. Anyway, I was informed that the Burrell would not be sending another fleet. At least not anytime soon."
"And you believe them?"
"I've been monitoring their comms, so yes. I believe them. Their last communiqué stated the Frizoid were again on the move and there would be no relief fleet coming. They can't afford to free up the resources without putting colonies in jeopardy. After a thorough questioning of every member of their team, the truth emerged. These Frizoid campaigns easily last from three to five standard years. Twenty years is not uncommon. We have time."
"And this prevents the Frizoid from coming, how?"
"I had contact with their ambassador."
"When did this happen?"
"During your fight with the Burrell, the ambassador left with the impression that they had fled and our forty thousand ship fleet was still intact. Without committing a sizable fleet to a campaign out here, the Frizoid won't be coming. And given their renewed fight with the Burrell… well, I think we’re secure for the time being. Of course our first order of business will be to regain control of Domicile. Control that you lost."
"I didn't lose anything. They had the firepower needed to defeat us. Had you been there, we would have lost just as badly, if not worse."
"Regardless, we are secure here. Can the same be said about our facility at New Earth?"
"I sent a comm. All ships and bots are to be moved here immediately. If everything was on schedule before the message came in, we should have another dozen Banshees coming to us. I believe that will give us enough power to take on the Hailstorm."
The image on the display wall changed.
"Emperor, we have new ships coming in... they appear to be ours. Fourteen Banshees and two transports."
Bax said, "Hailstorm isn't attacking. It's letting them through."
Croft smiled. "Excellent. We now have our full force here with us."
Bax slowly shook her head. "This was a mistake."
"Why?"
"Domicile
will be releasing more than a hundred Banshees tomorrow. Had we left a presence there, we could have taken control. As it is now, we have to fight our way past that ship in order to make it there."
"You just said we have the means."
"I hope we do, but the battlefield can change your fortune in an instant. We lose this fight and we're finished."
"We have the rail cannons, our bot army, and unlimited food. We can outlast whatever they throw at us."
"Is that your idea of victory now? Not dying?"
"It would be more of a stalemate, true. But an acceptable outcome given the choices."
Bax sighed. "Well, you showed you were greedy before, now you're a greedy moron. Being trapped here with you is just about the last option on my list of desires. Dying is just below that."
Croft looked at his partner for several seconds. "Arrest her. Bind her and put her over there with the stump."
Two bots stepped forward, taking her arms. "You just made an enemy, Max."
"Enemies die. Keep talking and I'll accept your decided designation and have my AI associates carry out the deed."
Bax opened her mouth, to which Harris cut in with a whisper: "Don't... silence. Live to fight another day."
— Chapter 26 —
* * *
The transports landed with the seventy-odd thousand bots streaming out and surrounding the domes. Eighteen Banshees hovered in place just above Dome One. Harris and Bax stared intently at the wall display as the Hailstorm remained in high orbit.
Croft stood with his arms crossed. "Why are they waiting?"
He turned, walking over to just in front of Harris. "What are they doing?"
Harris chuckled. "I have no idea. You not feeling good about your chances?"
"I've been over the defenses of this facility. They are more than adequate to fend off that ship."
"What about a thousand ships? Or ten thousand? You do realize Domicile can now build those things non-stop, right? And Midelon can provide them with all the processor cores they need. I'm going to go out on a limb here and suggest you cut a deal."
"A deal?"
"Sure. It's a standoff at the moment, so you at least have a small amount of leverage. I would bet they would be willing to allow you to flee on one of those transports."
"I can't fly one of those."
"Fine. They might even allow you to take a bot with you to fly it. Or better yet, take the Fargo. Anyone can fly one of those. You won't even need bots."
"Why would they allow me to do that?"
"To avoid conflict. You promise to just go away and not bother us anymore and I would bet they could be convinced to give you full immunity. Might even let you have your pick of the truce worlds to settle on as a private citizen... with enough credits for you to live out your life comfortably."
Croft rubbed his chin for most of a minute in thought. "I don't believe they would keep their word."
"Then you stay here until you die. And that might be only a month from now given the ramp-up in ship construction they have going on."
Bax asked, "And where does that leave me?"
"Oh, I'm sorry, Empress. Were you wanting a deal too? You don't seem to be in a very good bargaining position right now. I don't know what I could get them to offer you. Maybe something like being a bathroom attendant on a luxury shuttle? You would have to learn how to be polite though. You have that in you?"
Bax scowled. "You're getting too much pleasure out of this."
"Well, I have taken a few beatings from your bots, so there might be a little enjoyment to be had. Regardless, if you want a deal, I am almost certain I could swing it."
"Emperor, the Hailstorm is moving."
Croft turned toward the wall. "Where's it going?"
"Around the planet, Your Highness."
"Sensors detect heat. It's dropping through the atmosphere."
"We have the rail cannons ready?"
"On automatic and loaded. They will begin to fire when the ship or ground forces are within range."
Harris said, "Once they open up, any negotiation is off. Just open a comm and I can get you out of this."
Croft paced for several seconds. "No. I will remain. The Hailstorm will be defeated and we will return to Domicile. The die has been cast."
Croft's focus was returned to the display. "Where are they?"
"Off the sensors, Sire."
"Well, send up a Banshee. Are they unloading troops or ships? The Hailstorm, she can carry Banshees, correct?"
"Yes, Your Highness."
Croft began to pace nervously as a lone Banshee rocketed upward. Seconds later, the data came in. The Hailstorm was coming fast, hugging the terrain.
"All ships, prepare to defend!"
"Cannons are actively searching, Sire. Our interference signal is impeding detection."
"Turn it off!"
A blip appeared on the nav display.
Harris raised an eyebrow. "Coming in awfully fast. No turning back now."
The restrained Bio squinted in anticipation of the flurry of tungsten pellets that would be going the Hailstorm's way. But the dome's defensive weapons did not fire. Instead, the Banshees scattered and began firing as the Hailstorm's laser cannons blasted out pulses of energy."
The automated Banshees circled back as they fired, a dozen glowing red through their centers as the pulses impacted their hulls. Debris flew from the Hailstorm's armor plating as hypervelocity pellets ripped into her. The attacking ship turned skyward, its weapons continuing to fire as whole sections of her hull disintegrated into smoke and flame.
As Harris, Croft, and Bax watched, six additional Banshees crashed hard into the ground. The Hailstorm slowed to a halt before rolling over and heading back toward the remaining four fighters.
Croft stumbled and fell to the floor, his eyes remained glued to the display.
Harris nodded. "Here we go."
But the Hailstorm didn't fire. It roared past the Banshees, spewing flames and smoke, disintegrating as it plowed hard into the ground, creating a deep impact crater.
Harris' mouth dropped open. Croft grinned and pushed himself up.
Bax's scoff turned into a wry smile. "Hmm. Scratch one slug and friends. Croft! Get on your feet! Order those four Banshees to Domicile! We're taking control back! And get over here and untie me!"
Croft took two steps and stopped. "Mmm. No, Baxter Rumford, I think we're finished. You've showed yourself to be most untrustworthy. Your red carpet walk of victory has just been canceled. But thank you for playing."
The sole ruler of the Maxter Empire began to giggle and then to laugh uncontrollably.
Harris whispered, "I think he might have surpassed his suspense limit."
"Doesn't matter. We're as good as dead. Only reason he'll be keeping us around will be to either toy with us or torture us until he's had his fill."
"Well, until he makes the decision to off us, we're still in this fight."
"Banshees," Croft said, "head to Domicile. Reassert control. Comm me with status. And have two thirds of the bots board one of those transports. They should be back on New Earth working on hulls for us."
Croft turned to face Harris. "The Hailstorm... why did these cannons not fire?"
Harris shrugged. "Probably because the ship belonged to the colonel. I would bet the cannons were programmed to ignore it."
Croft looked at the bot sitting at a console. "I thought you said you checked for that?"
"It is not in the programming, Your Highness. Perhaps it has been hard coded into each of the weapons."
"Send a bot to check."
Harris said, "The Domers will fight your four Banshees."
"And they will lose. Just as before, there are no ground weapons with sufficient power to damage those hulls. Any attempt at resistance will be met with deadly force. A high price will be paid and to no avail. Tomorrow, those new Banshees will be mine."
Croft turned. "Oh, bot, have a team go out and search the wreckage of the Ha
ilstorm. It came from Midelon. Perhaps the parts required for a return to there survived. Try to recover the transponder." Croft led the bot from the room.
Harris frowned. "Wasn't thinking of that. He makes it to Midelon and he really does assert full control."
"He's an idiot. He'll end up getting the entire Human race killed. And you don't seem distraught over losing your friends out there. Why?"
"Bios don't mourn their losses. We remember their contributions and move forward with the hope we can make their sacrifice to have not been in vain."
"Now that's some wiring I can understand. We all die. Why wail over those who had their time here and are gone? Won't bring them back."
"True. But I was only referring to Bios. It was part of our training because there were often people dying around you, people you knew and cared deeply for. Doesn't do you much good on the battlefield to break down and sob while plasma rounds are flying over your head. For regulars, however, it serves a useful purpose. It's their way of saying goodbye."
Bax rocked back and forth in her chair. "How do we get ourselves free?"
A bot approached. "Any attempt at escape will be met with your termination."
Bax huffed. "The Emperor wouldn't like that."
"Those are the Emperor's direct orders."
"Yeah? Well... piss off."
Harris chuckled. "You've always been able to make friends easy, haven't you?"
"I just say it like it is."
Croft returned several minutes later. "The Banshees are in Domicile space. A comm was placed to the governor and the situation explained. We have full cooperation. In ten minutes, the new ship production at the Hosh-Morgan plant will be secure. It appears we are back on top."
Croft pulled a chair over, taking a seat in front of Bax. "Miss Rumford, I've reconsidered. I'd still like you to be a part of this, albeit in a somewhat reduced role, but still an important one."
"Spell it out."
"I would like you to be my chief of defense. You and the Fargo would once again lead the fleet."
"You would trust me with that?"
Croft smirked. "Not in the manner you are referring to, no. The bots will all answer to me first. They will not accept commands that would endanger me in any way. And should such commands be given, you will be arrested and terminated on the spot."
ARMS Helm's End: (Book 7) Page 23