"Sorry." Grinning sheepishly, he lowered the muzzle.
"Bah! You're just developing the right sort of reflexes.
"About the Institute, though, John. Why did POCSYM put a S'Cotar Nest on Terra? Any speculation?"
John stamped his feet, trying to warm them. "I think he put it there so we Terrans would discover the S'Cotar. The events at the Institute and Goose Cove were as carefully orchestrated as the attack on your Confederation. It required less resources', but had to be timed with your arrival in this system." He paused. "Could POCSYM have planted the clues in your Archives that led you here?"
"Possible. Archives is a vast, decentralized sprawl of a city, run by computers and a handful of academics. Yes, it's very possible."
"But why brainstrip the corpses, J'Quel. What use could the S'Cotar have for human brains?"
They both saw it at the same instant. "POCSYM!"
"Of course!" D'Trelna shouted, slamming his palm with a fist. "The S'Cotar didn't take them. Revenge wasn't the last mindslaver."
"Damn right," growled John. "No wonder he's been able to keep going for all these centuries. His central components are infinitely renewable. And the corpses are saved-"
"As a treat for his creatures," finished the Captain. "Let's get out of here. My balls are frostbitten and I think I'm going to be sick." The officer turned toward the door.
"J'Quel, wait." Fanning the blaster wide, John fired into a stack of boxes. A second later the corpsicle room was filling with greasy smoke. Sullen orange flames began licking up the wall.
"Requiescatinpace, you poor bastards," said the Terran as the door slid shut behind them. He stopped dead. "But they really can't, can they?"
"Not while their minds are in thrall to POCSYM," D'Trelna said as they retraced their steps down the passageway.
"Then the only way to free them is to destroy POCSYM." John carefully scanned the intersection.
"Yes. And POCSYM will be destroyed, John, my word on it.
"Now what?" asked the Captain, looking down the deserted corridor.
"Keep going in the direction we were headed when we lost contact with POCSYM. It stands to reason that the control area is off a main passageway. We know we're on the right level. So…" He waved his blaster down the gray expanse of corridor.
"So we continue." D'Trelna sighed. "I'd travel easier in a warsuit."
"Courage, Captain, courage," said John, slapping the older man on the back, some of his natural buoyancy recovered.
"Cunning and guile will win the day for us yet." He took off at a brisk trot.
"Let's hope Cunning and Guile get here soon," grumbled Implacable's skipper, forcing his bulk after the other's slender, receding form.
****
L'Wrona picked himself up from the cold alloy of the passageway. Waving his pistol, he signaled the battered advance section to follow him through the carnage. He picked his way through the blasted corpses of the S'Cotar ambush force, mingled with the bodies of many-too many-of his men. Dropping back between the quick-trotting double file of commandos, he let his point squad take the lead.
"Feeling better?" he asked of a figure, slighter than most, keeping pace with the column. It was further distinguished by an ugly burn hole through its left arm.
"Yes, thank you, H'Nar," Zahava said drowsily. "The automedic's pumped me so full of painkillers I feel like I'm flying."
The attack, first since the lift, had been expected, even overdue. The length of time it had taken the biofabs to mount even minimal resistance to the assault had lent POCSYM some badly needed credibility. Perhaps the computer really had sealed the enemy from the humans' route of march. L'Wrona only hoped that D'Trelna and Harrison were finding it easy going to the rendezvous. The troopers' attack should have pulled every S'Cotar left in the sealed area into the counterattacks. But there'd been no contact with either the two men or Fleet since the commandos had penetrated the Citadel.
"The painkillers will wear off in a few hours, then all you'll want to do is sleep," said the Commander. "Sure you don't want to change your mind, go back to the boats with the rest of the wounded?"
"No way," the Israeli said firmly. "Although I don't think, I'll take the point again."
She'd been leading the column when the biofabs hit from two side corridors. It had taken ten minutes of fierce hand-to-hand fighting before the ambush was overcome. The only survivor of the point squad, Zahava had led the final charge-this despite her wound.
"Still intact?" L'Wrona asked the two men protectively flanking Zahava. Like her own, their armor bore no rank, just the commando shoulder badge. Their winded condition was audible over the commnet.
"Physically, aren't we, Andre?" panted Sutherland.
"So far," the Russian grunted, blast rifle held ready at high-port, eyes suspiciously sweeping the side corridors as they trotted past. "I'd like more than that mendacious machine's word that these passageways are 'relatively secure.'"
"We've neither the time nor the force to secure them, gentlemen," said the starship officer. "All we can do is throw a squad down them as we approach, then pull it back after we pass. We can't get mired down in these labyrinthine halls. Everything depends on our reaching that control facility. Everything," he repeated grimly.
"Frankly," said Sutherland, hefting his rifle, "I preferred the reception aboard Vigilant. Give me canapes to carnage any day."
"You're a living symbol of capitalist decadence, Sutherland." Bakunin snorted contemptuously.
"You're hardly a paragon of socialist self-sacrifice, Colonel," retorted the CIA officer. "As we were changing into these warsuits, I noted your uniform. 'Chalmers of Savile Row.' Very nice."
"We all must make minor accommodations to the march of the dialectic," Bakunin said, unruffled.
It was then that the main counterattack materialized, literally, in the column's center.
Figures seemingly K'Ronarin, down to the last detail of insignia and equipment, appeared with blasters firing. Pandemonium threatened as the troopers tried to tell friend from foe in the ferocity of a head-on firefight.
The guard spheres saved them from the certain death of a rout. Their small, floating presence forgotten until now, they poured a steady, accurate fire into the transmute shock troops. Enjoying only the illusion of warsuits, the biofabs died. Seconds later the guard spheres self-destructed, settling to the floor in a sigh of melting circuitry.
"General assault from the side corridors!" crackled the commnet.
L'Wrona, with the Terrans, whirled to see a mass of biofab warriors overrun the squad holding the nearest intersection- an action being repeated the length of the column.
"Push them back! Do not pursue beyond the blast doors," ordered the Commander.
Rallying, the commandos sent a wall of flame into the bio-fabs, breaking their attack. Only at two points did the S'Cotar penetrate the column, breaches quickly sealed with biofab bodies.
Victory wasn't cheap, though.
Sutherland and Bakunin had joined a subsection attacking down a side corridor. The American, rifle empty, was laying into the warriors with his commando knife. Beside him, Bakunin flailed about with his rifle butt. The fighting was close, fierce and now in the humans' favor.
Suddenly the surviving biofabs broke for the safety of the next intersection. As they reached it, the great armored blast doors trundled shut in their faces.
"Nice guys!" Bill shouted to the Russian above the din. '"Stand or die!'"
The S'Cotar died-a desperate, hopeless charge. A few survived the blaster fire to throw themselves into the troopers' ranks. They, too, died. But not soon enough.
Sutherland had just slipped another chargepac into his rifle when the suicide wave hit. He shot the first few insectoids, then went down under three more. In seconds, Zahava and Bakunin had blasted the last S'Cotar from atop their friend.
"Let's go, Bill," Bakunin said, wearily extending a hand.
There was only a hoarse whisper in response. "Got me this t
ime, Andre."
Only then did they see where the knife had torn a gaping hole in his stomach. Crimson blood flowed, mingling with the biofabs' green lifestuff.
"Hang on, we'll get you back to the boats," said Bakunin, removing Bill's helmet as Zahava called for a medic.
"Forget it," Bill whispered, face serene from the auto-medic's drugs. "Funny, isn't it, Tovarich Colonel? Think you've seen it all
… spent final years pushing paper, then retire to-" A great cough racked his body. Blood dribbled from his mouth. "…cottage. What happens?" He smiled, more rictus than grin. "You end up fighting bug-eyed monsters with a KGB and some starship troopers." He coughed again, not as deeply.
Arriving with a medic and two stretcher-bearing commandos, L'Wrona overheard the last of Sutherland's eulogy. "You're not going to die!" he snapped. "You're going back with the wounded and into a medical regenerator. Then you're going to get well. Fast. Because there's a courier ship on the way with our new Ambassador. And the death of a Terran national under my protection would cast a definite pall over the treaty talks."
"You can't spare any more men to take out casualties," countered Bill weakly from the stretcher.
"I don't care if I have to storm that control area alone," L'Wrona snapped, eyes smoldering. "We always take out our wounded.
"Take him away. Safe trip."
Sutherland waved limply as his bearers joined a long line of similarly burdened soldiers. Zahava, L'Wrona and Bakunin watched as they disappeared around the corridor.
"Nor do we leave our dead for carrion eaters," said the ' Commander. "Give me a hand. You know what to do."
They'd watched before, after the other battles, as the troopers had set their dead comrades' weapons to delayed-destruct, placing them beneath the crossed arms of the fallen. This time they helped. It didn't take long.
"Move out!" L'Wrona ordered.
As his men double-timed by, he stood alone, saluting his dead for a long moment before joining the column.
The small, shrill explosions and pure white light raced toward the enemy, a sense of benediction in their wake.
Stephen Ames Berry
The Biofab War
Chapter 22
Only once had Harrison and D’Trelna encountered biofabs: two sentries, head-shot before they could raise an alarm.
Cautiously peering around yet another curve in the seemingly endless corridor, the two men spotted a small group of biofabs busily erecting a barricade before a set of opened blast doors. The barricade faced the other way. The S'Cotar's backs were to them.
"D’Trelna to POCSYM," whispered the Captain for the hundredth time.
"Sorry for the inconvenience, Captain." POCSYM's voice was as assured as ever. "I've finally circumvented the biofabs' commbloc. You are at the control facility?"
"Yes. What's the status of the Fleet Commando?"
"They're twenty minutes from you, Captain, and coming fast. They have taken heavy casualties. I'm in contact with Commander L'Wrona."
"Can you put us in touch with them?" asked John.
There was a pause, a brief hum, then, "Captain, are you all right?" asked L'Wrona, concern in his voice.
"We're fine. What about you? POCSYM says you've sustained heavy casualties."
L'Wrona quickly sketched the raid's progress.
"There are just a few biofabs at the control facility," reported D'Trelna. "Why is that, POCSYM?"
"Many of this garrison went to man the ships you annihilated, Captain. The rest are busy trying to destroy your commandos or on their way to aid that effort. This is a large installation, though, so you still have a brief period of grace before Gaun-Sharick marshals his forces."
"It's hardly been a cotillion so far," said L'Wrona.
"They've overcome all my attempts to block their route of march, Commander. But I still control most missile and beam defenses. And I've put a crimp in their teleportation. Reinforcements are approaching by traveltube.
"Fail at the control area, though, and you'll have a much warmer reception on the way back."
"L'Wrona, this is John Harrison. I think the Captain and I can take that control room. Do you agree, J'Quel?"
The officer nodded. "I've been saving something special for just such an occasion." He tossed John a small black ball. "Stun grenade. Push the little button on the top, then throw. Detonates on contact.
"We'll take that control room, H'Nar, and hold it till you arrive. Ready?"
The Terran nodded.
"Toss on three. One. Two. Three."
They chucked their grenades, then hugged the wall. As the teeth-rattling blast ended, the men charged around the corner. Blasting the stunned warriors, they dived between the closing doors.
The room was half the size of Implacable'^ bridge. John counted twelve consoles, screens and equipment banks. Hearing a noise to his left, he ducked just as a bolt of raw, blue energy flashed by, blasting into the rear wall.
Rolling for cover, the men came up firing at the third console, blowing it apart in an explosion of flame and sparks. A S'Cotar ran crookedly from behind it, exoskeleton aflame. D'Trelna killed it with a negligent flip of his wrist.
"That's it," said John a moment later, after they'd carefully checked the room.
"Yes, but the door's broken," the K'Ronarin observed, pointing at the entrance. The blast doors stood a yard apart, unmoving. "I'll patrol the corridor. See if you can get POCSYM's damage fixed." Easing his ample form through the narrow opening, the Captain vanished.
"Okay, POCSYM," John said to the air, "it's your show. What now?"
"It's always been my show, Mr. Harrison. It still is.
"On the fifth console to your right, there's a large red button labeled 'Fire Extinguisher.' It's the manual override. Please push it."
Holstering his blaster, John walked the few paces to the console, found the button and pushed. "Well?" he asked.
There was a brief silence. "Alas! They're very much alive, including the company now advancing down the corridor. I have alerted Captain D'Trelna."
"Sorry, POCSYM," John said wearily, walking to the door. "But I've no faith left in you deus ex machina types.
"J'Quel!" he called, stepping into the hall. "POCSYM says more biofabs are coming."
"I know." The Captain had settled behind the half-finished barricade. "He told me. How are you doing?"
"There are problems."
"Now what?" he asked, slipping back into the control room.
"Open the inspection hatch by turning the two fasteners at the upper corners clockwise.
"Now drop the panel and stand aside so I can see."
As he waited, John noticed two things: the machine's inside, evidently once a delicate, crystalline web, was now a fused blob. And the whine of blasters was coming from outside.
"I was afraid of that." POCSYM sighed.
D'Trelna backed hastily through the doorway, firing as he came. Blue bolts shot in after him, gouging chunks out of the wall. Some of the equipment began to burn.
Ignoring the destruction behind them, the two men knelt to either side of the opening, sweeping the passageway with a deadly crossfire. There was a sudden lull in the attack. D'Trelna risked a quick look.
"Not much cover behind that barricade," he observed. "They're falling back to regroup."
They both looked down, checking their weapons.
"So, what are you going to do after the war, John?" asked D'Trelna, slipping a fresh clip into his blaster. "At the risk of sounding banal."
"At the risk of sounding banal, J'Quel," Harrison said with a slight smile, eyes on the corridor, "I don't know. Before my friends and I stumbled into all this"-his free hand circled above his head-"I was going with the woman I love to a tiny country surrounded by enemies. Build a new life, raise a family, make a stand for a few simple verities."
"Ah, yes. The simple verities." The Captain nodded, smiling gently. "It's been a long time since I've seen some of them. Good friends, a shared life, peace in
the land, joy in the children. Those sorts of things?"
"Yes." He glanced at D'Trelna. "Those sorts of things. But now
…"
"But now you don't know."
"No. Oh, I still love Zahava. But this war-assuming we win-will open the galaxy to us, to Terra. Just the realization of that may well sweep away many of the underpinnings of my life-of several billion lives. In a decade I suspect that much of the political and cultural reality I've known will be supplanted by… what? You've brought us a large question mark, my Captain," he concluded quietly. "And what about you, J'Quel. Is your future as ambiguous?"
The Captain shook his head. "More settled, perhaps. I've got some back pay, savings, a modest pension and a brother-in-law who needs help running a cargo line. The guilds are eating him alive."
"I didn't know you had a sister."
"I don't."
"You're married-I mean, you have marriage?"
"Yes, I'm married." D'Trelna smiled. "And we do have marriage customs. Most of the societies in the Zone-I'm S'Htarian-practice polygamy. I'm away too much for that so R'Enna and I have a monogamous contract. K'Ronar Sector is strictly monogamous. As with much else, you might look to them for the origins of your mostly monogamous world."
He glanced down the corridor. "Here they come."
Raising their pistols, the men opened fire.
The return fire, closer than before, set more of the room on fire, filling it with an acrid, poisonous smoke. "They're working their way along the wall." D'Trelna coughed. "They'll toss a grenade in here soon."
"POCSYM, can't you do something about this smoke?" John managed to choke out.
"I have only observation functions left in this section. Sorry."
"Damned if I'm going to die of smoke inhalation. Let's take 'em." D’Trelna nodded.
Eyes streaming, they charged into the corridor, weapons ablaze.
L'Wrona rounded the bend at the head of the column just as D'Trelna and Harrison charged through the smoke, pouring a murderous fire into the S'Cotar. "Assault!" he shouted, firing even as the biofabs spotted the commandos.
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