Third Player

by Warren James Palmer

  ‘They’re doing what they can,’ came the reply, ‘but the Web-fighters have gained the upper hand again. Don’t ask me how they did it, but those android fighters learned every trick my pilots know, in only a few minutes. Now they've turned the tables on my Snubfighters.’

  ‘We’ve had the same problem,’ Black added, ‘I don’t know what the answer is!’

  ‘I do!’ Polesy said decisively. ‘Tell Moss to move the plan on to level two! Did you get that Black? The troopships are on the ground and the crustaceans are engaging our ground forces. It’s imperative we now move on to the second stage of the plan, before it’s too late.’

  The monitor showed black turning to look at Jennifer and Moss, who was still in the helmsman’s position, guiding Excalibur through the battle-zone. Moss gave a curt nod and Black looked back at Polesy saying, ‘You probably saw that, but we confirm stage two. The Starweb is putting all the operants under severe pressure, the strength of their mental attacks is growing. However, Moss believes he has a measure of their sub-ether transmissions. Hang on Polesy, you should see the effects any moment now!’

  ‘I’m looking forward to it! moon-base out!’ he answered then cut the link.

  He looked toward the holographic battle-status viewer just in time to see three Web-fighters break away from the defending Snubfighters and head for the moon-base. They made several low passes, adding their firepower to that of the cruiser, slicing through more buildings and hangars. One of the oxygen storage tanks was hit, exploding in a flash and rocking the battle-centre. A salvo of missiles were fired at the low-flying intruders and the Web-fighters immediately began taking violent evasive action. One of the machines was hit in the port stub-wing and it dived into the moon’s surface, breaking up on impact. The two other fighters evaded the missiles and looked as if they would get away, but suddenly they rolled onto their backs. Without any attempt to recover from their manoeuvre, the Web-fighters hit the rock and dust of the moon; then exploded in a blaze of pyrotechnics. Stage two of the battle-plan had obviously been implemented.

  A cheer rose from the control centre, but it was short lived. Joy at seeing the tables turned on the Starweb became horror; with the realisation of what was happening above them. The cruiser which was so intent on destroying the moon-base, was finally breaking-apart as the plasma beams took their toll. The composite hull split open, spewing burning gas and sections of the vessel separated, then slowly span away. The ship appeared to stagger, then the prow of the cruiser dipped and aimed toward the Masorak base. In it’s final death throws, the minion of the Starweb fired its engines for the last time and dived toward the surface.

  When Polesy saw what was happening, a strange calm came over him; the battle, for the occupants of the moon-base at least, was about to end. There was nothing he could do to change the inevitable now. A strange silence descended upon the battle-centre as the same realisation struck them all. Each and everyone of them had been trained for warfare—it came as no real surprise to the men and women of Masorak, that their end should come in combat.

  In his last few moments Polesy considered his life and came to the conclusion that he had done, what the gods had declared to be his task. There was no doubt in his mind, that the Starweb would be defeated and Dyason would enter a new, better era. If he had helped bring this about, then it had all been worth it.

  As the cruiser ploughed into the moon-base and the singularity was released in a flash of pure energy Polesy stood to attention and saluted the men and women of Masorak—it was a suitable, noble end.

  When the expanding ball of flame finally faded, the moon of Silago had a vast, new crater in its surface.

  When Moss heard the troopships had all landed on Dyason and divulged their gruesome contents, he knew it was time to engage the second stage of the battle-plan. The physical battle around them had now firmly swung in favour of the Starweb. Both sides had suffered heavy casualties, but the ‘Guardians of God’ now had the strategic advantage. Without the troopships to defend, the cruisers could now concentrate on destroying the allies.

  The Web-fighters, although vastly reduced in numbers, were not only keeping the Flyships and Snubfighters at bay, they were also continually harassing the starships. Dominator had withdrawn crippled from the combat-zone, but there was still a good chance that the Web-fighters would get past Jenson’s escorting Flyships and finish the ancient vessel off.

  Excalibur and Valvia had sustained damage, although thankfully none of it critical. However, they could no longer risk another direct attack on the Starweb cruisers, which faced them in a loose skirmish line. This kept the allies from supporting the Masorak moon-base, or the wounded Dominator and Moss realised they had to move onto the next stage of Polesy’s plan immediately, or lose the battle.

  The problem was, the planned attack required key personnel who had just been taken out of the game. Jamming the Starweb’s sub-ether transmissions would take a concerted mental effort far greater, than that needed at Extremity Station. There the Guardians had been taken unawares, surprise had been total. This time, it would be different—the Starweb would be expecting them to try and block their data link to the robotic minds, that flew the ships of the fleet. Their defences would be strengthened accordingly. Which was why, the allies had to create a mind-concert of a scale, never attempted before.

  To successfully jam and sever the sub-ether transmissions, Moss believed it would require the effort of every available allied operant. Of course, the most capable operants were Gulag, Myrddin, Dauphne and himself, followed by Colmarrie, Jennifer, Daal and Brabazon. Of these operants two were out of action; Myrddin was still unconscious in Valvia’s sickbay and Gulag had received a neural-overload. The clone was still alive, but only just, and there was no way of knowing when, or if, he would recover. That meant any orchestrated attack would be missing key players, which would weaken the concert, possibly fatally.

  ‘We’ll just have to do as best we can with what we’ve got Moss,’ the seer Dauphne told him bluntly. ‘Everything will be lost if we don’t make the effort. Better to try and fail, then to never make the attempt.’

  ‘I agree,’ Jennifer added. ‘The plan hinges on us jamming the sub-ether transmissions. We’ve got no choice but to go ahead.’

  ‘Okay, so long as you know the risks,’ Moss told them. ‘This isn't going to be easy. So, is everyone prepared?’

  ‘We’re all with you,’ Daal the captain of the Heligsion confirmed, ‘Every operant member of our crew will add their weight to the concert.’

  ‘I shall be with you friend Moss,’ the strained thought of Colmarrie stated. The Terran thanked her, but privately he wasn’t sure how much help the mutant woman could be. She was still trying to fly the crippled Dominator to the safety of the second moon, and suppressing the pain being transmitted by the interactive flight controls.

  ‘Count me in as well,’ Brabazon added, although he too was distracted by the attempt to save the Dyason starship. Moss gathered his will and began to organise the other minds about him.

  ‘Okay everybody, here we go!’ he told them.

  Like the conductor of an orchestra, Moss organised the operant minds into one complete concert. He stood at the top of, what could be described as, a mental triangle. He was the point of focus, the tip of the sword. Supporting him was Dauphne and supporting her were Jennifer, Colmarrie, Brabazon and Daal. Then, like the foundations of a building which support the pillars of a tower, were the other Heligsion crew, all of whom had a certain amount of natural operancy. Despite all this support, Moss desperately wished he had the additional support of Myrddin and Gulag. Placed at the tip of the sub-ether weapon, he felt terribly exposed.

  For a brief, fleeting moment, images from his past flashed unbidden into his mind. He remembered when, as a young adolescent, he had shot the Dyason marshal in the ghettos of London. He recalled his first meeting with Jennifer in the slave factory which had sat on Salisbury plain. He still remembered her first words to him, ‘You
are the one. I can feel it!’ It was a phrase he was to hear many times in the following months and years. He could also still vividly remember his first encounter with Excalibur, the ancient starship which was to become such a part of his life. It was in those same caverns below Stonehenge that Moss first met Myrddin and learned of his incredible ancestry. A lot had happened since then—it had been a long and winding road.

  These were the key events which had set him on the path that led to where he was now; the leader of three desperate races of humans. If he’d known, as a ghetto-rat, what the future had in store, he would never have left the rubble of London—or would he? He’d had no life in the ghettos; his only concern at that time had been survival. Someone had chosen a destiny other than death by disease, or starvation, for that thin, spotty youth. Someone had chosen him to face the unbridled hate and power of the Starweb. In return, he had been rewarded with a family of friends and a loving woman. When he looked at his position from that point of view, life didn’t look so bad. If this was where it ended, then it would still have all been worth it. That thought made him feel better; it gave him the strength to face the ‘Guardians’.

  With the orchestrated minds of those around him adding their support, Moss extended his mind and pushed into the sub-ether. There was no problem in finding the massive artificial spike that was the Starweb waveform; it cut through the swirling mists of thought and sub-ether, with a frequency that peaked and dived, in a fashion that could never occur naturally. It stood out against the vibrant, multicoloured wisps of space. The organised regularity and strength of the wave, the sheer alienness of it, confirmed to Moss; this was what they were looking for.

  Colmarrie quickly pointed out to him that this sub-ether transmission was far stronger, than the one she had encountered at Extremity Station. The sharp peaks and troughs were towering, swamping all the natural resonances, which normally travelled through the other dimension. Guided by the mind of the mutant woman who had encountered the Starweb waveform before, Moss began to gather the allies collective will.

  The concert’s energy came not just from within the souls of the players, but from the sub-ether and the universe itself. Moss felt as if he were the tip of a massive lightening conductor, focusing all the power absorbed from the space-time continuum about them. It was a strange feeling; for possibly the first time in the history of the human species, races which until very recently weren’t even aware of each other’s existence, were acting as one. This concert of human minds however, was intrinsically different from the Starweb’s collective thought processing. Even now, Moss could feel the touch of individual souls. The concert did nothing to reduce an individuals identity—which of course, was the opposite to the way the Starweb operated. Although the Guardians were separate computers acting together, they possessed no real individuality. They were devoid of any real—soul.

  When Moss felt the allies could absorb no more power from the universe about them, when he felt the orchestra of the mind was charged to the maximum, he released their collective will at the Starweb.

  Even though the Starweb had been expecting the humanoids to attempt to disrupt the sub-ether communications, the sheer power of their attack was still a surprise. The Guardians were both amazed and appalled, that the sinners could put together such a combined force—humanoids creating a mental concert was simply unheard of. When the Starweb’s transmission to the invasion fleet was successfully jammed, the Guardians were thrown into complete consternation.

  A battle of wills immediately began between the computers of the Starweb and the minds of the humanoids. The ‘Guardians’ increased the output of their transmissions, only to find the sinners matching that output. One moment Starweb had communication with the fleet, the next moment all transmissions were jammed.

  ‘This situation is untenable!’ one of the Guardians declared to the presiding mainframe. ‘Member 3358/82, we must insist that the rules of engagement be revoked! These vermin possess talents never seen before! We cannot allow their intrusion into the sub-ether in such a fashion; it jeopardizes not just God’s worlds, but the Starweb itself!’

  ‘That would be a mistake colleagues,’ the presiding computer retorted. ‘The battle is nearly won! Surely, you can see that the humanoid vessels are virtually defeated. This concert of theirs is a desperate, final act, before they accept their sins. We shall shortly be delivering to the sinners, their penance!’

  ‘We agree their actions are desperate, but they are also working 3358/82! Without the guidance of the Starweb, the artificial minds of the fleet are capable of only limited processing! There is a real danger that for the first time, God’s army will be defeated in battle! We cannot allow this to…’

  The thoughts of the Guardians were interrupted by an event on the planet Dyason itself. As their transmissions to the fleet flickered in and out of phase, they could do nothing but watch intermittently, as the most blasphemous, most sinful, most horrific event swept across the polluted planet.

  The Guardians approached their president once more, ‘We have just seen the depraved depths these creatures will sink to. Can there be any more doubt?’

  The presiding mainframe examined the evidence of the humanoids atrocious acts against God and the galaxy. ‘It would appear that I have been—mistaken. No, there can be no more doubt. These vermin are indeed the most abhorrent creatures we have encountered!’ it replied ominously. ‘We are left without any choice—remove the rules of engagement!’

  As soon as captain Black saw the Starweb cruisers and fighters behaving erratically, he realised the concert led by Moss was having the desired effect. Now it was up to him and the other non-operants to make the most of the opportunity provided.

  ‘Comms officer!’ he snapped. ‘Send a message to Generals Hillmead and Kivisk, on the planet surface. Tell them to disengage their troops and seek shelter. Point Zero will be implemented in eight minutes from…now!’

  Excalibur’s communications officer did as she was ordered, then opened a hailing frequency on the battle-net.

  ‘Attention all allied vessels, this is Excalibur,’ Black announced. ‘The second stage of the plan has been implemented. Our operants are jamming the Starweb’s transmissions. It’s now up to the rest of us, to make the most of the opportunity. Get in there and kick those android arses back to where they came from!

  ‘The countdown to the third stage of the plan has also begun. In less than eight minutes time, Point Zero will be initiated on Dyason. When it does, we can expect all hell to break loose and the Starweb to throw everything it’s got at us—so be prepared. This is it folks! We’re nearly at the finale; let’s make it the biggest sodding firework display those bastards have ever seen!’

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  Southern wastelands—Dyason

  That’s it! That’s the signal! Get them in the shelters now!’ Hillmead yelled to the officers in the command vehicle. ‘We’ve got eight minutes! Tell everybody to disengage and head for the shelters!’

  Messages went out on the battle-net and the troops of the Democratic Front attempted to break off combat with the crustaceans. Most of them were only too glad to be turning tail and running. The minions of the Starweb, with their crab-like appearance and strange assault rifles, were the army from hell, as far as they were concerned. The crustaceans kept on hurling themselves at the DF’s defences in ceaseless waves, oblivious to their own casualties. It was a costly method of attack, but it had been gradually wearing down the Dyason defenders. The forward defensive lines had already fallen and the rear trenches were under great strain. Their casualties had been steadily getting worse and the battlefield commanders were beginning to wonder how much more punishment their troops could take.

  As briefed, the front line units had tried to identify the larger insectoid androids, who were overseeing the crustacean drones. They’d come to the conclusion that the overseers were running their units from the strange tracked vehicles. The order had gone out to concentrate firepower on the
Starweb tanks. Gunships flown by both Imperial and mutant pilots made numerous sweeps against the alien commanders. At first they’d had some success, removing several of the overseers and their mobile command posts. However, the Starweb soon became wise to this, sending swarms of the small rotor-craft to fend off the attacking gunships and fixed-wing ground attack aircraft.

  Even the interruption of the ‘Guardians’ sub-ether link had only a limited effect on the thousands of attacking crustaceans. The Starweb’s ground forces needed far less processing power than the robotic pilots of the fleet. Hence, they continued to attack the Dyason defenders, regardless of the interruptions.

  Despite the fact that, in physical terms at least, the battle was going against the human defenders, Hillmead knew they had achieved their objective. All across the planet, the Starweb troopships were on the ground and their contents were swarming across the deserts, plains and mountains. Which was exactly where Hillmead and his Imperial counterpart Kivisk, wanted them.

  As soon as the mobile battle-centre was in the underground cavern, Hillmead and Shalok leapt out and began herding the fleeing troops out of the desert and into the shelter.

  ‘Come on, come on!’ Hillmead urged them, breathing hard into his mask. ‘Three minutes to go! Move!’

  The trenches dug by the defenders had been carefully prepared, so the troops could quickly enter passages which were just large enough for a fully kitted man, or woman, to pass through; but not a crustacean. The troops made for these entrances, which led to the prepared shelter, but tragically, not all of them made it. Platoon commanders and front-line officers did their best to organise an orderly withdrawal, but inevitably, as the countdown approached zero, panic set it. With the crustacean hordes literally snapping at their heels, the last few defenders desperately made a dash for the safety of the underground tunnels. However, with the trenches empty, the gunships fleeing for their bases, and the tanks abandoned, there was nothing to stop the Starweb horde from streaming forward, in a frenzy of blood-lust. The hapless rearguard were overrun and horrifically slaughtered by the crustaceans.