by David Weber
***
If she'd had even a moment longer, Megaira might have stopped the shield before it activated, but she didn't have a moment. There was barely time to snatch Tisiphone out of the dreadnought's circuitry before the shield chopped off her access, and even that delay was nearly fatal.
She'd cut her margin too close. HMS Issus opened fire with every weapon, and Megaira was locked into too many tasks at once. Her defenses were far below par. She was too close for SLAMs, but at least six sublight missiles and three energy torpedoes went home against her battle screen.
The alpha-synth writhed at the heart of a manmade star. Screen generators screamed in agony, local failures pierced her defenses, and elation filled Issus' captain. Nothing short of a battleship could survive that concentrated blow!
A battleship... or an alpha-synth. Megaira staggered out of the holocaust, blistered and broken, trailing vaporized alloy and atmosphere. A third of her weapons were twisted ruin, but she was alive. Alive and deadly, no longer distracted, as she turned upon her foe.
Her holo projector was gone, and the battlecruiser's captain had one instant to gawk in disbelief as Megaira stood revealed. Then answering fire slammed back. A direct hit wiped away Issus' bridge. More fire ripped past her weakened defenses, and panic flashed through Howell's squadron. Their flagship had been driven behind her shield. Cannae and her escorts had been destroyed. Issus was a shattered, dying wreck... and now they knew their enemy. Knew they faced an alpha-synth which had carved its way through the very heart of their battleline.
Only the battlecruiser Verdun stood in her path, and Verdun refused to face her. She spun away, interposing her own Fasset drive, and Megaira screamed past at thirty-six percent of light-speed.
Chapter Sixty-Three
The lethal chaos receded astern, and Alicia cursed herself viciously. Monkoto had planned for her to play the part of a battlecruiser, slightly damaged in the inevitable engagement with Howell's screen, and she'd blown it. Howell had killed her SLAM drones-exactly as intended-but she could carry the same word in person... unless he stopped her. Yet thanks to Megaira's damage, he knew what she was. Dreadnoughts were built for speed as well as power; Procyon might have overhauled a battlecruiser with battle damage, but nothing he had could hope to overtake an alpha-synth. So he wouldn't even try, and -
Her head jerked up as Megaira's drive died. The ship sped onward, but she was no longer accelerating, and Alicia's mouth twisted bitterly.
"Nice try, but you don't really think you can trick them with a fake drive failure, do you?"
Who the fuck is faking? Megaira snarled back. I just lost the entire after quadrant of the drive fan!
"You what?"
I said somebody threw a goddamned wrench into the works! The AI snapped as diagnostic programs danced. Shit! The bastards took out both Alpha runs to the upper node generators!
Can they be repaired? Tisiphone demanded quickly.
Sure-if you can think of some way to keep those creeps from killing us while I do it! The alpha-synth's point defense stations took out the first spattering of incoming missiles even as her maintenance remotes leapt into action. In the meantime, no drive means no evasion and no nice SLAM-eater. If those battlecruisers get their shit together, we're dead.
Alicia gripped the arms of her command chair, face white, monitoring remotes that ripped out huge chunks of broken hull and buckled frame members to get at the damaged control runs. There was no time for neatness; Megaira was inflicting fresh and grievous wounds upon herself as she raced to make repairs which should have taken a shipyard days.
More missiles sizzled in from Verdun-but only missiles. She must have exhausted her SLAMs against Megaira's mad charge, yet her two surviving sisters hadn't, and they were closing fast. One would reach firing range within fifty minutes; the other in an hour; and Procyon still had SLAMs in plenty once she came out from behind her shield.
***
James Howell sat grimly silent as damage control labored. Commander Rahman had replaced the shrieking, drooling Rendlemann, but Procyon no longer had a cyber-synth. No one knew how it had been done, but her AI was gone, and massive damage to the manual backups left the big dreadnought defenseless. There wouldn't even be battle screen until damage control could route around the wrecked subsystems, and even if they replaced them all, Procyon would be at little more than half normal capability without her AI.
Which meant he dared not drop his mauled flagship's shield despite a desperate temptation to do just that. Verdun and Issus had almost certainly killed those madmen, assuming they hadn't destroyed themselves against the shield. But if they had somehow survived and fled, his people might need Procyon's SLAM batteries to stop them-except that if they'd survived and hadn't fled, a single missile salvo would rip his crippled ship apart. And so he sat still, watching his crew wrestle furiously with their repairs, and waited.
***
"Why the hell aren't they coming after us?" Alicia worried, watching lightning glare as Megaira's point defense dealt with incoming missiles.
Little One, Tisiphone observed with massive restraint, I see missiles enough, and two of their battlecruisers are pursuing us.
"Not them-Procyon. Why doesn't she drop her shield and fry us?"
You're complaining? Megaira flung half a dozen missiles back at Verdun. They had little chance of penetrating the battlecruiser's point defense at this range, but they might make her a bit more cautious. Alley, I gave that cyber-synth piece of crap a terminal migraine. Unless I miss my guess, they're scraping fried molycircs off the deck plates and wondering what the hell hit them.
"Yeah, but for how much longer?"
How do I know? Damn it, I've got more to worry about than-
"I know, honey. I know!" Alicia said contritely. "It's just that-"
Just that this waiting wears upon the nerves, Tisiphone finished. Yet think, Little One-none but the truly mad would linger within SLAM range of that dreadnought if they could flee. Hence, they must believe our drive damage genuine, which means we may yet complete our original intent.
Unless they get their act together and kill us, Megaira muttered.
***
The battlecruiser Trafalgar raced towards rendezvous with Verdun. Another twenty minutes. Just twenty, and her SLAMs would have the range.
***
Okay, people, Megaira murmured. Now just pray it holds....
Circuits closed. Power pulsed through jury-rigged shunts and patches, and the alpha-synth began to accelerate once more. At little more than two-thirds power, but to accelerate, and Megaira turned her attention to other wounds. She could do little for slagged down weapons, but her electronic warfare systems' damage was mainly superficial, and it as looked as though she might need them badly. Soon.
***
"Engineering estimates another fifty-five minutes to restore Fasset drive, Sir," Rahman reported, "but we've restored as much basic combat capability as we can without cyber-synth."
"Understood. Stand by to drop the shield."
***
Megaira was back up to.43 C when the OKM shield's impenetrable blot disappeared from Alicia's sensors. She stiffened, checking ranges, then relaxed. The dreadnought was over twenty light-minutes astern, and it was her sublight sensors which had reported the shield's passing. Her gravitics still didn't see a thing, and that meant the dreadnought must have engineering problems of her own. Now if she'd just go on having them long enough....
***
Howell watched his plot replay Issus' destruction from Verdun's sensor records in bitter silence. An alpha-synth. No wonder it had done such a number on them! And it explained the lack of SLAMs, too.
But Issus had gotten a piece of it. A big piece, judging from its subsequent behavior, and he cursed his own caution for not dropping the shield sooner. Yet the critical point was that the alpha-synth's speed had been drastically reduced. Even Procyon could make up velocity on it, now that her drive had been restored, and he had no choice but
to do just that.
Pieces fell into place in his brain as the big ship accelerated in pursuit. That had to be the rogue drop commando-only a madwoman would have come after them alone and launched that insane attack down Procyon's throat-so Fleet didn't know a thing. A part of him was tempted to let DeVries, go, trusting to the Fleet's own shoot on sight order to dispose of her. But mad or not, she had the hard sensor data to prove her story; all she had to do was get into com range of any Fleet base or unit and pass it on.
He could not permit that, and so he dispatched his freighters to the alternate rendezvous and went in pursuit. His cruisers and remaining battlecruisers could have overhauled sooner than Procyon, had he let them. He didn't. Lamed though that ship was, God only knew what it could still do, and Procyon could hang close enough to break into the same wormhole space and close to combat range. She still had the weapons to take even an alpha-synth, and if it took time, time was something he had. On this heading, he'd overtake DeVries eleven light-years short of the nearest inhabited star system.
***
Looks like we're back on track, Megaira said.
The entire squadron was in pursuit, and its faster units were hanging back. They'd managed to pull out of Procyon's SLAM range before she lumbered back to life, but she'd regain it eventually, and Megaira's drive couldn't be interposed against fire from astern. Which might be just as well, given its current fragility.
"What happens when they get the range on us again?"
Depends. We'll be into wormhole space, and I think I'll have most of my EW back on line by then. If I do, they'll have a hard time localizing us. They can't throw the kind of salvos Soisson's forts could, and SLAMs can't go supralight relative to us in wormhole space, either. I'll be able to track 'em and do some fancy footwork, and even that damned dreadnought can't carry a lot of 'em. I expect they'll choose not to waste them and hold off until they can get to missile or even beam range. That's what I'd do.
"I just hope they're as smart as you are, then."
Me too, Megaira snorted, and Alicia nodded and shoved herself up out of her chair. Hey! Where're you going?
"To the head, dummy." Alicia managed a weary smile. "I'm coming off the tick, and I've got an appointment with the john."
Uh, you might want to reconsider that.
"Sorry." Alicia swallowed a surge of nausea. "Already in process."
Damn! Alicia's eyebrows rose, and Megaira sighed. Alley, we took a lot of hits. There's no pressure in the bridge access passage.
"You mean-?"
I mean I'm working on it, the AI apologized, but I need another hour before I can repressurize.
"Oh, crap," Alicia moaned in a stifled tone. " 'Get your tractors ready, then, because-"
Her voice broke off as biology had its way.
***
Half an hour later, a pale-faced Alicia sat huddled in her chair. Her uniform was almost clean-Megaira's tractors had caught most of the vomit and whisked it away-but the stink of fear and sickness clung to her, and she scrubbed her face with the heels of her hands as a new and deeper fear rippled within her. Now that the immediate terror of combat had receded, she had time to think... and to realize fully why she had done what she had.
She'd lost it. She hadn't panicked, hadn't frozen, hadn't tried to run. Instead, she'd done something worse.
She'd gone berserk. She'd forgotten the objective, the plan, the need to survive, even that Megaira would die with her-forgotten everything but the need to kill... and it hadn't been temporary. She'd felt it again the instant tick reaction let her go. Bloodlust trembled within her even now, like black fire awaiting only a puff of air to roar to life once more.
It was madness, and it terrified her, for it was infinitely worse than the madness Tannis had feared, and she had infected Megaira with it. The Fleet had been ordered to kill her; now, she knew, that order was justified. If a drop commando's insanity was to be dreaded, how much more terrible was the madness of an alpha-synth pilot?
No, Little One. Alicia winced, for the soft voice held something she'd never heard from the Fury: sorrow. She gritted her teeth and turned away from it, clutching her self-loathing to her, but Tisiphone refused to be evaded. It is not you who have done this thing. It is I. I have... meddled unforgivably. Do not blame yourself for the wrong I have done.
"It's a bit late for that," Alicia grated.
But it is not your fault. It-
"Do you really think it matters a good goddamn whose fault it is?!" She clenched her fists as barely leashed madness stirred, and tears streaked her face.
Alley-
"Shut up, Megaira! Just shut up!" Alicia hissed. She felt Megaira's hurt and desperate concern, and she shut them out, for Megaira loved her. Megaira would refuse to face the thing she had become. Megaira would protect her, and she was too dangerous to be protected.
Silence hovered in her mind and her breathing was ragged. She still had enough control to end it. She could turn herself in... and if Fleet killed her when she tried, perhaps that would be the best solution of all. Yet how long would that control remain? She could feel her old self dying, tiny bits and pieces eaten away by the corrosion at her core, and the horror of her own demolition filled her.
Little One... Alicia, you must hear me, Tisiphone said at last. Alicia hunched forward, covering her ears with her hands, digging her nails into her temples, but she couldn't shut out the Fury's voice.
I am arrogant, Little One. When first we met, I saw your compassion, your belief in "justice," and I feared them. They were too much a part of you, too likely, I thought, to cloud your judgment when the moment came.
I was wrong. Oh, Alicia- the pain in the Fury's voice was terrible, for she was a being who had never been meant to feel it -I was so wrong! And because I was, I built a weapon of your hate. Not against your foes, but against you, to bend you to my will at need, and in so doing I have hurt one innocent of any wrong. Once that would not have mattered to me. Now it does. You must not hate yourself for what I have done to you.
"It doesn't matter who I hate." Alicia slumped back and opened tear-soaked eyes, and her voice was raw and wounded. "Don't you understand even that? It doesn't matter. All that matters is what I've become!"
The debt is mine, the Fury's voice had hardened, and mine the price to pay. I swear to you, Alicia DeVries, that I will not let you become the thing you fear.
"Can-" Words caught in her throat. She swallowed and tried again, and they came out small and frightened. "Can you stop me? Make me better?"
I do not know, Tisiphone replied unflinchingly. I swear that I will try, but I am less skilled at healing than hurting, and what I have done to you grows stronger with every hour. Already it is more powerful than I believed possible, perhaps powerful enough to destroy us both, yet I have lived long enough-perhaps too long. I will do what I may, and if I fail, her voice turned gentle, we will end together, Little One.
No! Megaira's protest was hot and frightened. You can't just kill her! I won't let you!
"Hush, Megaira," Alicia whispered. Her eyes closed again-not in terror this time but in gratitude-yet she felt her sister-self's pain and made herself speak gently. "She's right. You know she is; you're part of me. Do you think I'd want to live as that?" She shuddered and shook her head. "But I'm so sorry to do this to you, love. You deserve better, unless... Do you think-is our link different enough for you to-?"
I don't know, tears glittered in the AI's soundless voice, and it doesn't matter, because I won't.
"Please, Megaira. Don't do that to me," Alicia begged. "Promise you'll at least try! I don't... I don't think I can bear knowing you won't if I... if I..."
Then you're just going to have to try real hard not to. You're not going anywhere without me-not ever.
"But-"
It is her right, Little One, Tisiphone said quietly. Do not deny her choice or blame her for it. The fault is no more hers than yours.
Alicia bowed her head. The Fury was right, and if she tri
ed to force the AI, she would only twist the time they still had with pain and guilt.
"All right," she whispered. "All right. We've come this far together; we'll go on together."
Megaira's warm silence enfolded her, answering for her, and fragile stillness hovered on the bridge, filled with a strange, bittersweet sense of acceptance. What she was becoming could not be permitted to live, and it would not. That had to be enough, and, somehow, it was.
It was odd, she thought almost dreamily, but she didn't even blame Tisiphone. She would have died long since if not for her, and the Fury's pain was too genuine. If Alicia had become something else, so had Tisiphone, and the bond which had grown between them no longer held room for resentment or hate.