The Battle for Terra Two

by Stephen Ames Berry

  It won’t let you leave, will it? taunted Guan-Sharick.

  What is it? he asked desperately.

  Your children, Shalan-Actal. Your children becoming something Else. An angry child, Tactics Master.

  The walls began rippling with cold green glow.

  Out! Ordered Shalan-Actal. Use the Kronarin blast hole.

  Last one into the drainage culvert. Lawrona turned, eyes streaming, and rolled a grenade back in, collapsing the blast hole.

  The cold green fire left the wall in small clusters, drifting down to where the Scotar milled in confusion. Touching the warriors’ weapons, it released their potential as the grenade detonated.

  Chapter 19

  “Move, you hulk, move!” Natrol stood at the Engineering station, glaring at the image of Voltran’s Glory on the main screen. “Half our mass, one-third our power, and it won’t budge.” The engineer looked down at that tractor-lock readout, not believing. The telltale read force seven—the destroyer should have been trolling toward the cruiser like a hooked game fish.

  “Full power,” said Detrelna, watching the screen. The portal continued turning and growing.

  “We’re at breakpoint, Commodore,” said Natrol. “Tie in more power, we’ll be breathing vacuum.”

  “Objection noted, Mr. Natrol. Execute.”

  “Your ship,” he said, engaging override.

  Implacable groaned, engines straining against a seemingly immovable object. Vibrations shuddered down the long miles of the cruiser as the engines whined higher, pressed beyond design tolerance.

  “Negative movement!” shouted Natrol over the din.

  “Hull sensors show fault lines—first, third, seventh through . . .”

  “Cut down,” ordered Detrelna.

  The engineer’s fingers flew over his controls. The whining shuddering died.

  “I’ll take your damage control reports in a moment, Natrol,” Detrelna said into the silence.

  “Strange energy scan on the Maximus site,” reported Taral.

  “Define ‘strange,” said the commodore.

  “Overlapping N-17 and N-30 groupings,” said Taral. “Fluctuating—every third series peaking five percent higher than the last.”

  “The portal’s stopped dilating, sir,” said Kiroda.

  Detrelna glanced up. “So it has. Well, we know what happens now, don’t we?”

  “Sir?” said Kiroda.

  “Birth, idiot,” said Natrol, busy at his station.

  “That portal’s half the diameter of Terra’s moon,” said Taral. “The baby should be impressive.”

  “We’re just going to sit here and wait?” asked Natrol, transferring the damage control reports to the commodore’s station.

  “Mr. Natrol,” said Detrelna, looking balefully at the engineer, “we may die in a few moments. So let me say that you are one of the finest technical officers I have ever seen—and I’ve seen a lot.”

  Natrol grunted.

  “You are also as ungracious, unmannered and selfish as you are competent. Had I my way, you’d be fully discharged and sent home.”

  “Why, thank you, Commodore.”

  “Captain Lawrona on tacband, sir.”

  Detrelna switched into the pickup. “Hanar! What’s your situation?”

  Lawrona leaned against the tunnel wall, survival jacket torn, flecked with green blood. His six surviving commandos were behind him, all wounded. “We torched and sealed the vault, Jaquel,” he said, “but there’s something weird happening in there.” He stopped, covering his head as the ground rumbled, showering the party with bits of cement. The rumbling ceased. “There’s seismic activity—seems to be centered in the vault.”

  “What’s your assessment?”

  “The mutation process Guan-Sharick was afraid of—it’s here and out of control.” He turned his back to the wind knifing down the tunnel. “Maybe we triggered whatever’s happening, maybe it’s spontaneous.”

  Across the passageway from Lawrona, John slumped wearily against the wall then jerked away, his back stinging. “Hanar!” he called. “This wall’s hot!”

  Turning, Lawrona’s saw the wall further down the tunnel glowing a sullen red—the air seemed to ripple in the heat. Rivulets of molten rock were forming into fiery streams that inched toward them, slowly swelling.

  “Everyone out!” he called, pointing to the entrance. “Make for the river and the opposite shore!”

  “She’s dead,” said Hochmeister, throwing a jacket over a gut-shot commando. He and John followed the others into the night and storm.

  “Jaquel, we’re out,” reported Lawrona, scrambling down the embankment and out onto the ice. “Commvector a shuttle down to us.”

  The wind had dropped, but the snow was coming in thick, dry and stinging. They trudged in a ragged line across the clean-swept ice, making for the opposite shore.

  Hochmeister slipped, starting to fall. An arm shot out, catching him.

  “Why are you taking such good care of me, Harrison?” he asked.

  “You’re going to keep your word to the gangers, Admiral,” said John, guiding the other around a suspiciously dark patch of ice. “For that you have to be alive.”

  Detrelna nodded at a thumbs up sign from Kiroda. “Your shuttle’s enroute, Hanar,” he said.

  “Something big is coming,” said Taral, looking up at the main screen.

  “Gods of my fathers,” whispered Detrelna, rising from his chair.

  It was huge—a black sphere hundreds of miles in diameter, emerging slowly from the rippling obsidian of the portal. In all that darkness, not a single light shone.

  “Computer,” said the commodore, finding his voice, “search all data sources for any record of a vessel similar to the one now approaching us. Lakan, give me ship-to-ship, all bands. Gunnery, lock all but one missile battery on that monster. Target that one missile battery on Voltran’s Glory.”

  “Commodore,” said computer through the chair speaker, “there is an archival reference to ships of this configuration.”

  “Summarize.”

  “The data is in the classified portion of the Imperial Archives on Kronar. Requests must be made through channels.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Yes.”

  “You have ship-to-ship, all bands, Commodore,” said Lakan.

  Detrelna opened the commlink. “This is Kronarin Confederation cruiser Implacable. Halt and identify.”

  Something flashed from the black sphere, now half through the portal. Every screen on the bridge blanked as it exploded against the shield.

  “Our shield’s gone,” said Taral, incredulous. “Like something swatting a fly.”

  “Natrol?” said Detrelna.

  “It somehow used our own shield to conduct a charge to the hullside shield relays. They’re fused lumps.” For once the engineer looked impressed. “It’ll take months to repair.”

  “We may not have to worry about repairs,” said Detrelna.

  “Switching to secondary scanners,” said Kiroda.

  Their view of the outside returned.

  “Burned out all exposed scanners,” reported Natrol, surveying the damage readout.

  “Why doesn’t it finish us?” said Kiroda.

  “Perhaps we’re beneath its contempt,” said Detrelna. “Let’s see if we can change that. Gunnery, open fire on the sphere—everything we’ve got. Move us in front of that portal, Tolei.”

  It had saved itself, becoming flame even as the flames took it. And it had learned, taking the minds of the Scotar as they died. Integrating their memories, it saw what they’d attempted and understood their error.

  It searched out Implacable and the portal. Finding them, it rose from its fiery crèche.

  They were halfway across the river when the top blew off Maximus, a sudden flash of emerald light sweeping away the dark.

  Unbearably bright, a flaming green orb soared into the night and the storm, taking away the light and sending a shock wave crashing across
the mountains.

  “What . . . ?” asked Satil, rising from the ice, vision still blurred by dancing specks of green.

  “The end of the Maximus Project,” said Hochmeister, brushing off his jacket.

  The weather was closing in again, the wind throwing the snow into their faces.

  There was a sudden loud snap! then a series of groans and cracks beneath their feet.

  “The ice is breaking up!” John flashed his light ahead of them. Ice and snow were being replaced by a widening stretch of black water.

  “Back! The way we came!” shouted Lawrona. “Quickly!”

  “Forget it,” said Satil, flicking her light along the network of cracks spreading from the Maximus side.

  “Upriver,” ordered Lawrona, turning left.

  Behind them, the cracks were widening to fissures, triggering more faults that began snaking up and down river.

  They’d covered perhaps a hundred yards, their race with the dark water almost lost, when a yellow halo appeared out of the storm, resolving into a shuttle that hovered on n-gravs just above the ice, access port cycling open as a ladder descended.

  “What’s that?” asked Hochmeister.

  “The cavalry, Admiral,” said John as they joined the rush for the ladder.

  Detrelna shook his head, disgusted. “Not even slowing it,” he said, watching red fusion beams and silver missiles strike at the black ship. The beams were splashing harmlessly against it, the missiles drifting unexploded along the sphere’s equator, engines dead. “Cease fire,” he ordered.

  It was almost through the portal, a featureless black mass that filled the screen, only the drifting silver needles of Implacable’s missiles providing contrast.

  “Message received on all bands,” said Lakan from the commstation.

  That brought Detrelna out of his chair, staring at her. “What?”

  “‘Catch.’”

  “Catch?” He turned back to the screen, just as all of Implacable’s missiles came alive, coming home on tails of pale blue fire.

  “Gunnery! Destruct those missiles!”

  “Negative response, Commodore.”

  “Get us out of here,” ordered Detrelna

  “Never make it,” said Kiroda, slamming in full reverse engines.

  “Humor me and try,” said Detrelna. Gripping the back of the command chair, he leaned forward, watching the screen.

  The black sphere’s image shrank as they retreated. The missiles drew closer then turned as one, heading away from Terra Two and the cruiser, driving in toward the sun.

  “Whatever else they are,” said the commodore, “they’re cruel. Get us back on station.” He took his chair. “Gunnery, he’s almost here. Destroy Voltran’s Glory.”

  Natrol began whistling a tune popular when they’d last put into Prime Base—“Upship and Home No More.”

  “Commodore! Wait!” Kiroda transferred a fresh pickup to the screen. A brilliant speck of green was rising from Earth’s night side, growing nearer as they watched.

  “Gunnery. Cancel last order. What is that, Tolei?”

  “The Maximus anomaly,” said Kiroda. He sent the targeting data flowing across the screen.

  “Star plasma,” said Natrol. “Nothing else stays that hot.”

  “Headed right for us—and the portal,” said Detrelna. He studied the target projections. “Computer, assume us to be target of object approaching from planet. Give us standard audio count to impact.”

  “Acknowledged.”

  “Is it after us or the portal?” said Detrelna.

  “Let’s not find out,” said Detrelna.

  “Thirty to impact,” said computer, voice filling the bridge.

  “Tolei, at five, jump us just outsystem—about where we’d put a skipcomm buoy.”

  Kiroda was suddenly very busy. “Cycling to drive, Commodore.”

  “Twenty to impact.”

  “Drive cycled.”

  “All decks, stand by for jump,” said Detrelna.

  “Ten, nine, eight . . .”

  “Hazardous radiation!” reported Taral, shielding his eyes as blinding green light swept the bridge.

  “Five . . .”

  The ball of green fire passed through where Implacable had been. Missiles and beams flashed from the black ship as she cleared the portal. Green fire devoured them. Reaching the portal, the Maximus entity passed through layers of wondrously intricate defense screens, penetrating the hull. The black sphere exploded, a fierce flash of primary colors sweeping out from the portal.

  The gray beam from the destroyer winked off as the explosion touched it. Freed, Voltran’s Glory drifted slowly toward Terra Two.

  Chapter 20

  Warsuited, blaster in hand, Kiroda stood alone on the bridge of Voltran’s Glory, talking to Implacable. “Bridge and Engineering are secure, Hanar,” he said. “Satil’s force is searching the rest of the ship—Natrol’s checking drive and engines.”

  “And those alien machines?”

  Kiroda looked at the small piles of gray ash littering the deck. “They don’t do well with defeat—they’ve self-destructed.”

  “Advise when the ship’s secure. Volunteer crew is standing by.”

  “Acknowledged.”

  Security seemed as deserted as the rest of the ship. Satil walked past the central guard station and down the corridor, glancing into the detention rooms. The first four held no surprises—doors open, beds neatly made, a dresser, table, entertainment equipment, food unit, lavatory.

  The door to the fifth room was shut. “Room five, Detention, is locked,” she said over the commnet. “I’m going in.”

  “Wait for reinforcements,” said Kiroda.

  Ignoring him, she stepped back, aimed carefully and fired, blowing the lock controller away without fusing the lock. She went through the door as it slid open, M11A leveled.

  “And who the hell are you?” said the redhead in the brown Kronarin uniform, ignoring the blaster aimed at her chest.

  “English,” said Satil, not lowering the weapon. “Is your name Makenzie?”

  “MacKenzie.” She took a step toward Satil.

  The commando officer held up a palm. “Stay there.

  “Commander,” she said into the communicator. “I need a decon team down here. They had a Terran prisoner.”

  “I’ve been poked, prodded and probed,” said Heather. “One especially vile metallic thing was shoved into my . . .”

  “Enough!” John held up his hands. “Did Qinil tell you why?”

  Oblivious to the two Terrans, the medtech was busy at the exam room’s lab console, reading Heather’s final workup.

  “Something about biological vectors,” she said, glaring at Qinil.

  “She’s clean,” announced Qinil in English, looking up from the console. “You can send her home.”

  “Qinil,” said John, “tell Heather why you did outrageous things to her body.”

  “I’m listening,” she said coldly.

  “Our machine friends could have turned you into a carrier of some very deadly latent bacillus,” he said, meeting her gaze. “Anyone coming in contact with you would also have become a carrier. After a year or so, the bacillus would activate, killing you, everyone you’d passed it to, everyone they’d passed it to, on into infinity. Not so long and your world would be free of people.”

  Heather had grown very pale. “This has happened before?” she asked in a small voice.

  Qinil nodded. “Long time ago. The Machine Wars. But under strikingly similar circumstances. Captive found, taken home, embraced by family and friends.”

  “And a world died?” she said.

  “A quadrant died. Over two hundred inhabited planets, half a trillion people.” He walked to the food server, punching up a cup of soup. “It’s still there, on the star charts—the Plague Quadrant. The corpses dust, buildings and machines in ruins, cities overgrown. Fleet sends robot probes in now and then, taking samples—the Plague’s still there, waiting. Automated
defense networks keep those planets and their buried wealth safe from greedy madmen—and us safe from the bacillus. Ironic that machines protect us from what machines wrought. Something to eat?” he asked, blowing gently on hot, clear liquid.

  They shook their heads.

  “Come on, lady,” said John. “I’ll give you a tour of Implacable.”

  “Fine.” She turned at the door. “Sorry I was such a jerk, Qinil. Thanks.”

  “Happiness and long life,” he said, saluting her with upraised cup. He stepped to the commlink as the door closed.

  “Well?” demanded Detrelna.

  “They dosed her with a binary agent, Commodore. I almost missed it.”

  “What is a binary agent?”

  “A war bacillus harmless in itself. Call it type zero. If type zero meets the other half of the equation, though . . .”

  “Type one?”

  “Yes—type one. They mutate into a deadly, highly-communicable killer. Kill rate is one hundred percent. The structure’s quite elegant.”

  “So what good does it do for them to have just type zero walking around on Terra Two?”

  “They must have seeded the locals with type one when they held Maximus, Commodore. MacKenzie’s type zero would spread from person to person, remaining in their systems, even as type one is now spreading. They’d inevitably meet and the Plague would start.”

  “We came that close to another corpse world?”

  “We did.”

  Detrelna sat silent for a moment, looking at the status board without seeing it. He turned back to the commlink. “She’s clean now?”

  “More than clean.” He sipped his lukewarm soup. “She’ll be spreading a phage that destroys both binary types.”

  “Thank you, Qinil.”

  “Oh, Commodore?”

  “Yes?” Detrelna’s finger paused over the comm switch.

  “The primary bacillus—the killer? It’s the one used against the Empire. It’s the Plague Quadrant.”

  “You look good,” said John as they walked down the corridor, heading for the lift. “Especially for someone who’s been in the brig for so long.”