Seeing what was happening to his troops, Hillmead insanely began running toward the rear defences, firing wildly with his assault rifle. Shalok chased after him, screaming for him to come back. As the last few seconds of the countdown ticked by, it was left to the sergeant of a straggling platoon to knock down his commanding officer, and drag him into the safety of the cavern. At a time like that, the mutant veteran and his battle-hardened squad, weren’t about to worry about striking an officer.
Desperately, Shalok helped the last of the walking wounded into the shelter and ordered the cavern to be sealed. The huge steel doors silently closed, and her last vision of the outside world was of a rocket, rising into the sky, trailing a large plume of smoke and flame. The advancing horde of crustaceans never even paused, as the warhead exploded high in the stratosphere. Across all of Dyason another dozen missiles rose into the heavens and simultaneously ignited their payloads.
A strange calm befell Tanert as he sat, trapped in the wreckage of his Imperial battle-tank. Although he couldn’t see it, he knew he was bleeding heavily from a stomach wound. Shrapnel had sliced through his intestines and he realised he had but a few minutes to live. A few minutes however, was all he needed.
They’d been in the thick of the fighting, pushing forward from their lines of defence outside Caranak, to engage the alien drones and their machines. His tank crew had been heroic, fearlessly engaging the horrific creatures. They’d managed to halt at least seven of the weird-looking Starweb tanks before being hit themselves. The missile fired by one of the rotor-craft had struck their B-38 battle-tank just below the turret. It smashed through the armour plating and turned the interior into a meat grinder; his crew died instantly. The only reason Tanert wasn't killed outright was because he sat in the armoured commanders seat, at the front of the tank.
Now he could watch as the crustaceans ran amok over the suddenly deserted battlefield. Most, although by far not all, of the surviving members of the 57th Imperial battalion had made it back to the shelters as the missile rose high into the unusually clear skies above Caranak. Through the thick armoured glass of the commanders view-port Tanert could see some of the taller insectoids look toward the sky in curiosity—they didn’t have to wait long for their questions to be answered. The warhead exploded in a searing flash which made the wounded tank commander gasp in pain. Even through the tinted lenses of the view-port the light was painfully bright. If he hadn't known better, he would have sworn it was the flash of an atomic warhead.
It took over a minute for the light to fade sufficiently for Tanert to peer again through the view-port of the crippled battle-tank. What he saw made him yell in shock and awe. The sky was afire; it broiled in streets of dancing colour and multicoloured layers. Like a developing cu-nimbus storm, clouds rapidly grew to towering proportions. As he watched, angry bolts of lightening leapt toward the ground and the growing black mass was interspersed with yellow flames. It grew at a frightening pace, rapidly covering the sky from horizon to horizon and marching toward the battlefield. The wind picked up until a howling gale swept across the plain, lifting up bodies and other war debris. The approaching maelstrom was drawing in air from all around, feeding the terrible flames.
Some of the crustaceans and the insectoid overseers, attempted to turn and run back to the shelter of the troopship. But the storm which screamed across the sky at thousands of kilometres per hour, was too fast for them. Caught out in the open, the minions of the Starweb became victims of the first large scale use of ‘Point Zero’. As the chain-reaction struck the crustaceans, Tanert was sure, he could just hear the screams of the dying creatures. The water content inside their shells split into its constituent parts of hydrogen and oxygen, then ignited. Across the battlefield the thousands of crab-like biological robots began to explode like firecrackers. Their remains were then swept up into the heavens, to be devoured by the cleansing firestorm. It was an almost comical sight and Tanert realised he was grinning maniacally, as his lifeblood drained away and he finally expired, happy in the knowledge the battle had finally been won. The tank commander thankfully died moments before the chain-reaction finally consumed his body.
For some reason, when the time came, Candallor found he couldn’t enter the village shelter he’d helped build. Maybe it was because he was claustrophobic, or it may simply have been he felt his time had come. Either way, he ignored the pleas of his two surviving sons, all that was left of his once large family. The political commissar swore, calling him a fool, then sealed the shelter, leaving him out in the open. Candallor stood resolutely alone in the centre of his field, which had once been so fertile, and watched the rocket climb above the distant mountains. He shielded his eyes with his arm when the warhead exploded, and only removed it when the light faded.
Candallor watched without understanding, as the chain-reaction spread across the sky. In his ignorance, he could only presume the approaching firestorm was a sign; that the final solution was no solution at all. It appeared to him, that Armageddon was at hand. Even so, the farmer was able to stand on the desert that was once his livelihood and face the end calmly. He knew that to carry on would be far more painful than to embrace the end, and he’d suffered enough pain.
With a strange nobility the peasant farmer awaited the cleansing fire. When the screaming air lifted him off the ground and sucked him into the flaming clouds Candallor felt a euphoric freedom, as if he'd been relieved of all his burdens. With open arms he happily embraced death.
From the strange viewpoint of another dimension, Moss watched as the chain-reaction spread through the Dyason atmosphere. It was an awesome and terrifying sight! The ultimate defence, the ultimate weapon, the final solution, it didn’t matter what you called it; the humanoid species had just entered a new age. What was happening on the Dyason home-world was just as profound as the dropping of the atom bomb on Hiroshima. The use of ‘Point Zero’ was the herald of a new era and there was no turning back.
Seeing the flames devour the planet, the Starweb realised the significance of what had happened and acted accordingly. With a renewed and almost desperate strength, the Guardians struck at the mental concert. Moss and the orchestra he conducted, staggered under the onslaught.
This was what he'd feared most. For so long as the Starweb stuck to its own “rules of engagement” he knew they were fighting the Guardians on equal terms. However, he was now left in no doubt, that the rule book had been tossed away. The Guardians were exerting their full force and had every intention of exterminating them all, before the new era could get underway.
Moss found himself floundering under the incessant blows delivered by the Starweb. As much as he tried he couldn't defend himself, or those that made up the concert, from the precision strikes of the Guardians. They were like surgeons slicing away at infected tissue, cutting at the most vulnerable parts, with unerring accuracy. Moss did his best to block the attacks, but he was unable to draw any more energy from those around him. The orchestra was playing to its maximum and there were no more reserves to call upon. Their tenuous hold on the Starweb waveform was failing. Moss could feel the foundations of the concert collapsing, under the strain of such a vicious attack.
He did his best to rally the other operants, but to no avail. Like himself, they were all on the point of exhaustion; he was simply asking too much. None of them had done anything like this before, and he was asking inexperienced operatives to stand up against a collective entity, which had been manipulating the sub-ether for eons. The seer Dauphne, Jennifer, the mutant Colmarrie, all tried to bolster their support for him, but it was no good. With key members of the orchestra missing, the concert was incomplete. With infinite sadness and regret, Moss felt their strength failing, and the Starweb reconnect its communications with the waiting fleet. They’d come so far, but in the end victory for the humanoids, was just out of reach.
‘I bet you thought you could take all the glory for yourself brother,’ a thought entered Moss’s mind. ‘You didn’t really thin
k I’d let you be a hero all on your own, did you?’
‘Gulag?’ Moss exclaimed, his heart suddenly leaping with joy and renewed hope, ‘I thought you were near death!’
‘Nah! Not me, my friend! I’m a clone remember? One of the genetic extras built into my body was a certain ability to self-rejuvenate,’ the clone told him. ‘A few fuses were blown, but I’m Okay... You seem to be having some trouble brother—here, share the load with me.’
Moss felt the clone beside him at the point of the sword, the tip of the orchestra. He had always suspected that Gulag possessed powers equal to his own. Mentally, if not genetically, they were not just brothers; they were virtual twins. The full force of the clone’s talent was added to the orchestra and suddenly the concert was complete. For some reason that could never be explained, every player felt instinctively that this was—correct. In the end, there had only been one missing instrument, one key player, not two, as Moss had initially thought. Myrddin was never meant to be a member of the orchestra, that was why he wasn’t there; Moss realised that now. The other soloist had returned and the final movement could be completed. The concert began to rise toward a crescendo as the finale began.
Jenson closed on the Web-fighter, which was making yet another pass at the crippled starship. He tensed his muscles, ready to fling the Flyship in any direction, ready to follow his opponent. When he was virtually on top of the machine Jenson blasted away with his laser cannons, cursing when he saw the beams go wide of the mark as the Web-fighter finally, took evasive action. It pulled an impossibly tight turn to starboard and Jenson did his best to follow, without blacking-out from excessive g-forces. His only conciliation being that the enemy fighter was forced to break off its attack on Dominator.
Initially, the jamming of the Starweb transmissions had given Jenson, Sandpiper and the few surviving allied fighter pilots, a badly needed advantage. The robotic minds of the Web-fighters, were obviously connected to the larger computers on-board the cruisers, which in turn were linked to the Guardians. This system worked very effectively when the invasion fleet was linked to the Starweb, but as soon as the data-link was interrupted, the processing ability of the cruisers and enemy fighters became strictly limited. For a while, the allied pilots found themselves in a turkey shoot. The Web-fighters were suddenly no match for the Flyships and Snubfighters, and were shot down in their droves. Within minutes the score was evened and eight Web-fighters faced eight surviving allied fighters; all that was left of more than thirty Flyships and Snubfighters.
But then the battle became stalemate; as the number of the Web-fighters reduced, the total available processing power for each individual machine increased. The guiding computers on-board the cruisers, were able to concentrate their resources. The Web-fighters became more effective once more. They were yet again, a match for the allied pilots. The combat above the flaming planet of Dyason became a standoff, with each side unable to gain an advantage over the other. Jenson was on the verge of exhaustion and he knew Sandpiper and the other surviving pilots felt the same. In the end, they would lose the battle because of fatigue. The human pilots would make the first mistakes and the Web-fighters would finish them off. The allies needed a miracle if they were to finish off the Starweb fleet; which was exactly what they got.
‘Alpha one this is Excalibur,’ Black hailed Jenson over the battle-net.
‘Go Excalibur!’ Jenson answered while still trying to get a lock on the wheeling Web-fighter.
‘You’re not going to like this Paul, but we read two new unidentified vessels, rapidly approaching us from beyond the orbit of the twin moons,’ Black told him in a strained, almost exhausted voice.
‘What? Shit, Excalibur! There’s no way we can engage more Starweb vessels,’ Jenson exclaimed with a groan. ‘We’re stretched to the limit as it is! The concert's jamming of the Starweb transmissions could fail at any moment. When that happens, these new ships will be enough to finish us off!
‘Roger that, Alpha One,’ Black agreed. ‘I’ve spoken to Kallke on Dominator and the battle-officer on Valvia. We’re still awaiting a positive ident on those vessels, but we're preparing to disengage as best we can. I think we’re going to have to make a run for it, Paul!’
Jenson swore loudly, they couldn’t give in now! Not with so many lives lost! He refused to let the deaths of all the Flyship and Snubfighter pilots be for nothing. Cursing, he was about to tell Black on the bridge of Excalibur as much, when a new voice transmitted, ‘Excalibur this is the WDF battle-cruiser Illustrious, do you copy?’
Dismay was turned to joy when Jenson realised the approaching vessels were from home! The World Defence Force had sent reinforcements, and like the seventh cavalry, they had arrived at the eleventh hour.
‘Illustrious, this is Excalibur! Are we glad to see you!’
‘The feelings mutual Excalibur,’ the captain of the Terran cruiser replied. ‘We have the battle-cruiser Victory and three squadrons of Flyships with us, and at your disposal. Can we be of assistance?’
‘You certainly can Illustrious! You certainly can!’
The two new cruisers swept into the battle, their fresh crews and state-of-the-art weapons eager for combat. Three squadrons of Flyships left their launch tubes and engaged the few remaining Web-fighters, taking the pressure off the relieved survivors of Jenson and Ereed’s decimated squadrons. Within minutes, the battle had finally turned irrevocably in favour of the humanoid allies.
Jenson gave his pilots the option of leaving the battle-zone and making for the crippled Dominator. The arrival of the new ships had saved the Dyason starship and it was now safely in the orbit of the second moon, away from the battle. He wasn’t surprised when they refused; they all wanted to be there to finish off the Starweb fleet. Jenson found himself with the Masorak fighter leader Ereed on one wingtip and Sandpiper on the other. Together they made short work of the last evasive Web-fighters, then headed for the Starweb cruisers.
The allied vessels formed up in readiness, for the final strike against the Guardians' invasion fleet. Illustrious and Victory moved to the flanks, while the larger Excalibur and Valvia sat in the centre of the loose skirmish line, which surged toward the Starweb cruisers.
‘I think it’s time to finish the battle my friends,’ Jenson said to his two wingmen. ‘Shall we take out those mothers?’
‘If you mean those ugly Starweb cruisers, then I think the answer has to be yes friend Jenson!’ the voice of Ereed boomed in Jenson’s headset.
‘It’s got to be done Boss!’ Sandpiper agreed.
‘Then let’s dance!’ Jenson replied and poured on the power. The three fighters accelerated rapidly toward the stationary cruisers and locked-on their heavy armour piercing missiles.
In a blaze of incandescent firepower the allies engaged the remaining vessels of the Starweb fleet and one by one, turned them into vapour.
Side by side, Moss and Gulag's minds stood together and absorbed everything the Starweb threw at them. The orchestra was complete; the concert of minds focused. With their confidence renewed, each and every participating humanoid mind realised the importance of what they were achieving. The release of ‘Point Zero’ on Dyason, explosively heralded a new era in the development of the human species, but it was the concert of minds which was laying down the solid foundations of that development.
Dumbfounded, the Guardians threw everything they could at the humanoids, only to have their blows blocked and swept aside. The Starweb was shocked to its Artificial Intelligence, computerised core, that the sinners were capable of such a feat. It was unholy and rocked their theological belief, in their own divinity. How could the humanoids defend themselves from the Guardians of God in such a manner? Why weren’t they admitting their sins and accepting their penance?
With Gulag and Moss at the tip of the sword, the concert was fending off the Guardians sub-ether attacks, but their renewed power wasn't quite sufficient to actually push back at the Starweb. The orchestra needed something more to initiat
e the final ‘coup de grace’.
They got it, in the shape of the sentient minds of Excalibur and Valvia. The artificial minds that were the heart and souls of these ancient starships were dedicated, to the service of the human species. When the time came, they threw their weight behind the minds of their children and the effect was devastating!
Recoiling in horror, the Starweb withdrew from the sub-ether, deserting the remnants of their invasion fleet. All plans of carrying out genocide against the humanoids disappeared in an instant, as the Guardians fled from the horrific power of their erstwhile prey. For the first time in its entire, eons long history, the Starweb and its Guardians of God had been defeated. For the first time ever, the rules of engagement had been discarded; but it had all been to no avail. The creatures they saw as vermin had finally turned on the exterminators.
Finally, the Starweb had lost a battle. The impossible had become possible! Foolishly blinded by their own arrogance and fanatical belief, the Guardians were devastated! The Starweb's only possible consolation being that the war with the humanoids was not yet over. The opening shots had been fired, but the real campaign had yet to begin.
The concert of humanoid minds rejoiced their victory, as they felt the Guardians withdrawal from the sub-ether. Against the odds they had not only survived, they had defeated the enemy! Delirious with euphoria the orchestra embraced their conductors; Moss and Gulag were overwhelmed by the collective emotions. There could be no doubt about it, the human species had indeed entered a new era. After eons of genocide and persecution, it was time for humanoids to reclaim the galaxy!
EPILOGUE
Aftermath—Dyason
Third Player Page 31