Lanyan’s team reached the end of the hall after purging each sector. It took the better part of two hours before he declared the Goliath’s lower deck secure. Seven trainees had been killed in the methodical assault. Acceptable losses.
The General stood in front of the closed lifts at the end of the hall and addressed the breathless commandos. “This is going to be tight. The only bridge access is by these two lifts, one on each side. That creates a strategic bottleneck, since we can only get a small group of you in at a time. No telling how many compies have holed up on the bridge.”
He swung his gaze around through his faceplate’s limited field of view. “I’m going to lead one charge myself. Ensign Childress will take a group up the second shaft. Childress, pick fifteen of your coolest sharpshooters and crowd them into the elevator car. I’ll do the same here, and reactivate both lifts. On my mark, hit the bridge selector so that both groups arrive at the same time.”
“Agreed, General!” Childress’s voice was husky and eager. “May I suggest, sir, that we limit our weapons to energy dischargers? D-U slugs will make macaroni of the bridge control boards, and I assume you want to fly the Goliath out of here at the end of the day?”
“Good point, Ensign. So ordered. Switch to energy scramblers.” Lanyan swapped his projectile weapon for a soldier’s stun-pulser. Having watched his fighters clear the lower decks, he tapped the ones who had been the most proficient. Together, they waited at the lift door. His kleebs were acting like a real team, real soldiers. They were getting the hang of this.
When Lanyan used his command codes to restore power to the lifts, the sealed elevator doors slid open—releasing a Soldier compy like a spring-loaded jack-in-the-box. The reeling compy knocked Lanyan over. Two trainees immediately fired a scrambler burst, and the ruined machine jittered and fell heavily on top of the General. “Get this clanker off of me!”
The soldiers lifted the hulk away and helped Lanyan to his feet. Two of the servo systems inside his armored suit had been knocked offline, so he delayed the bridge-assault teams just long enough to reset his suit controls. When all the lights blinked green, Lanyan transmitted to Childress, “Let’s go.”
He and his chosen group crowded into the first lift. It reminded him of an academy stunt—how many EDF troopers could fit into a ship’s elevator?—but there was nothing fun about this operation. At his signal, the two lifts shot upward, arriving in unison at opposite sides of the captive bridge. The doors slid open, and the sweeper teams boiled out.
Energy weapons crackled around Lanyan. Circuitry-numbing bolts played across the first two trainees as they emerged onto the bridge, freezing their suit servos and turning the kleebs into statues.
“Watch who you’re hitting, Childress!” Lanyan bellowed, assuming that the opposite team was firing.
“It’s not us, sir. The clankers have their own weapons. Must’ve seized them from the Goliath’s armory.”
Lanyan ducked out of the way as the firing continued. Static discharges ricocheted like lightning in a bottle. This pitched battle was the compies’ last stand. The military robots advanced with the sheer weight of numbers. Lanyan froze a clanker in front of him, then kicked the energy weapon out of its metal hands. Even he hadn’t expected so much resistance. “Why the hell are so many of them up here?”
Then he noticed that the bridge’s command modules had been pried open, circuitry boards removed, systems wired up to bypasses. After the guillotine command had shut down the Juggernaut engines, the compies had indeed tried to reconfigure all systems to restore control, as expected. I’ll be damned if they wouldn’t have succeeded in another hour or two.
Right now, the compies must be doing the same thing aboard all the other paralyzed ships. A ball of ice formed in his stomach. They had to hurry.
Realizing he had stopped shooting, Lanyan blasted another military robot that came up behind one of his trainees. Three members of Childress’s team already lay motionless on the deck. Lanyan didn’t count the time, didn’t count the number of targets, simply focused on any machine that was still moving.
When the mutinous robots had been eliminated, the sudden calm felt eerie. Childress shot three more blasts into a clanker already sprawled on the deck.
Unable to believe it was over, Lanyan looked at his forearm display, checked the external pressure, and saw that the air was still breathable. He cracked open his faceplate and took a deep breath. The bridge smelled like smoke, ozone, burned circuitry, and spilled blood. Even so, it was better than the inside of his helmet.
The Goliath’s bridge crew lay dead, mangled human bodies discarded under the control stations. The captain and bridge officers had put up a decent fight, but were overwhelmed.
Lanyan studied the exposed circuitry modules on the captain’s chair. “We’ve got some housekeeping to do. Get our best computer specialists up here so we can reactivate this Juggernaut’s systems while other cleanup crews go deck by deck and clear out the rest of the clankers. And I want an inventory of all the robot bodies you find, so we can keep a halfway accurate tally.”
“Some of them are in too many pieces,” Childress pointed out.
“And some of them might be still hiding out in the air ducts,” Lanyan said. “I’d rather not get an unpleasant surprise.”
Though he tried to make his voice stern, he could not prevent a grin from creeping onto his face. All around in the open gulf of space, the rest of the hijacked Grid 0 battle group waited for him. But this Juggernaut was his again. A good start.
“We’ve got one of our ships back. I’m proud of you all, but it’s going to be a long day yet.”
49
BENETO
Beneto watched the hundreds of towering verdani seedships preparing for war. With their thorn branches outthrust, he could sense the pulsing drive, the anger toward their mortal enemies. Gathered now, these organic battleships were ready to destroy the hydrogues after the holocaust ten thousand years ago.
But it wasn’t the only war. The worldforest thrummed with the last cries of green priests trapped on EDF vessels as berserk Soldier compies slaughtered every human they found. Desperate telink reports splattered like hot blood across the verdani mind. The seeds of this current treachery had been planted long ago. Through worldforest memories, Beneto knew how Klikiss robots had used that previous war to set up a betrayal that exterminated their creator race. Now it seemed that Soldier compies had done something similar to humanity, taking advantage of the greater conflict. And there was nothing he or the worldtrees could do to assist the EDF.
Knowing the inevitability of the upcoming clash with the hydrogues, and aware of his special responsibility, Beneto stood before the nearest landed treeship, which thrust up to the sky like a many-tipped spear. He had been created as an avatar of the worldforest, a link between the tree mind and the human race. He had to understand these incalculably old organic battleships.
A part of him knew that he had to go inside. The gnarled trunk was covered with golden plates thicker than the bark of a normal worldtree, as impenetrable as a dragon’s armor. Beneto pressed his wood-grain palms against the overlapping bark scales, and a vertical perforation appeared down the trunk, parting for him like a wooden mouth. He entered the giant treeship, and the wooden portal closed behind him.
The winding interconnected passages were smooth, as if made by a giant burrowing beetle. Beneto went deeper into the core, trailing his artificial fingertips along the walls and feeling where he should go.
The vessels had taken flight ten millennia ago, drifting on the cosmic winds. They had traveled far from where hydrogues had once fought the worldforest, where wentals and faeros had clashed, flying away like sparks from a windblown fire. But they had been summoned back.
He reached the immense tree’s nerve center, a vaulted chamber akin to a warship’s command bridge. Wooden pillars dripped like stalactites fused into a support framework. At the center of the chamber sat a half-dissolved creature overgrown by cellulose drapings. The
pilot.
Beneto could make out the elongated head, angular chin, and upswept cheekbones. The close-set birdlike eyes seemed to be little more than knots of wood. This creature was not meant to appear human, had never been human. An unknown alien species.
The pilot turned its nearly fused head, and Beneto faced it. He could hear whispered history through the immensely complex library of worldforest memories.
Long before humanity had begun to build cities on Earth, some other race—now lost to all records, hidden even in the folds of the verdani mind—had served as green priests in the first war with the hydrogues. After so much time aboard the verdani battleship, little more than a wisp of the original life form remained, just this tiny sculptured afterimage. But it was still aware, still serving the worldforest.
Fused into the soft, pulsing heartwood, the overgrown face lifted so that its birdlike eyes met Beneto’s. The two of them shared a destiny, and both accepted their fates. Without words, Beneto received a flood of the pilot’s experiences and knowledge, warnings and joys.
The alien brain was like a pattern of permanent stains on the battleship’s wood. Beneto absorbed the breadth of the long journey out of the Spiral Arm and into unknown reaches of the Galaxy. A cascade of centuries filled his mind, giving him a poignant understanding of endless time. Until now, Beneto had never had any concept of what ten thousand years felt like.
Now he knew what was to become of him.
The verdani requested the same commitment from Beneto to find other volunteers among the green priests, and the same sacrifice of life and time.
Then they asked him to help them create more giant organic vessels to throw against the hydrogues. Many more. And for that he needed to call on the assistance of the wentals.
50
NIRA
The surrounding hills had turned a crackling brown in the dry season. Nira hoped there wouldn’t be fires again, though part of her longed to see this whole camp burned to the ground. She had hoped, and prayed, never to return here—and she’d certainly never expected it to be under circumstances like these.
Osira’h took her by the hand and led her toward the austere buildings where the descendants from the Burton lived out their lives, men and women forced to breed with Ildiran subjects. The captives found their own glimmers of happiness, selecting companions and mates for when they weren’t locked in the breeding barracks.
Nira shuddered at the sight of those dark buildings to which she’d been dragged during her fertile times. No one had bothered to tell her—or any of them—the purpose of the breeding program, but she suspected that Udru’h had enjoyed it all. There, by the fence, the guards had beaten her, dragged her away, and told everyone she was dead.
The ground showed no bloodstains. Four young children played together by the fence as if their lives were perfectly normal.
Black spots danced in front of her eyes. She wanted to turn and run again, to clamber through the fences and flee into the tinderbox-dry hills. Osira’h sensed her distress and squeezed her hand. “It’ll be all right, Mother. We’re together now.”
At her arrival, people came out into the bright sunlight, curious and amazed. Though Nira must look worn and weary, these people knew who she was. They had never seen any other green priest. Benn Stoner, the ostensible leader of the camp, studied her, as if she might be an illusion. “We thought you were dead. They put up a grave marker for you.”
“The Designate is no stranger to covering up terrible deeds.” Nira doubted she would ever shake off her revulsion for this place until she was away from here forever. During her previous time here, she had told the captives about the worldforest on Theroc, the Terran Hanseatic League, and the Ildiran Empire. But, having grown up in captivity, the people hadn’t believed her.
The girl looked at the curious faces. The captives were just as surprised to see Osira’h walking among them as they were to see Nira. Half-breed children had always been taken away and held in the Ildiran section of the settlement. “We’re going to live here now. Here in the camp,” Osira’h said. “We need a place to stay.” She opened the door of one of the communal sleeping quarters.
“There are empty beds inside,” Stoner said. “We have meals together, then stories and a few songs.” He shrugged. “We used to be assigned hard work, but no one seems to know what to do anymore, not even the Ildirans. The breeding barracks have been closed. The whole camp is practically shut down.”
Nira glanced up in wonder. “No more rapes?” Maybe it was some further trick by Designate Udru’h, giving them a shred of hope just to take it away again. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”
The captives looked healthy but confused. Their world had been shaken, obviously for the better, but somehow they were not comforted. Stoner ran a hand along the back of his neck. “No one will tell us why.”
“There’s no longer any need,” Osira’h said. “The purpose of this breeding camp is complete.” Though she was small, the girl carried an authority that made everyone listen. “They have me. They got what they wanted.” She found a clean bunk and sat down on it. “I’ll take this one. The Mage-Imperator says you and I are supposed to wait here, Mother.”
“When will we see him?” Nira asked. “Do you know when he’s coming here? I haven’t seen him in so long.”
Osira’h’s small voice sounded profoundly bitter. “He remains in the Prism Palace continuing his schemes. He doesn’t want you to know what he’s doing. He doesn’t want me to see him either. I think he’s embarrassed or ashamed.” She lowered her voice. “I hope so.”
“You’re not making any sense, Osira’h.”
“None of this makes any sense. The Mage-Imperator will summon us back to Mijistra whenever it serves him to do so. He no longer needs either of us.”
51
DOBRO DESIGNATE UDRU’H
The female green priest had a talent for making things difficult, even her own rescue. Udru’h had never expected Nira to escape and cause more problems, especially now that he was trying to do the right thing.
At least he would not need to create another deception—another lie—for Jora’h. He knew that all the previous ones had been necessary, however. His brother’s irrational attachment to a breeding mother could have brought down the very program designed to protect the Ildiran race. Udru’h had had no choice but to shield the new Mage-Imperator from his own bad decisions.
The Designate simply had to wait and bide his time. All of his actions would be proved right, and justified, sooner or later. The Mage-Imperator, though still angry at Udru’h’s treatment of Nira, would know the Designate’s true loyalty and dedication.
Now Jora’h had commanded that Nira be kept safe, and he had even sent Osira’h to stay with her. Udru’h had not expected that. He didn’t understand why the girl would not prefer to stay with him in his dwelling outside the camp. She was a living justification for all that had been done here. He had been her guide and mentor for most of her brief life. At first, he had hoped that perhaps the girl returned to Dobro to be with him. Now he scowled at his foolish thought. She seemed to want the company of her mother—a human woman she barely knew.
Nira was a thorn in his side reminding him about certain questionable decisions. She was like an unstable explosive in their midst, and would be even more dangerous when she returned to Jora’h. She would burden the Mage-Imperator with sob stories of her pains and sorrows, no doubt blaming everything on Udru’h without understanding the necessity—when Jora’h could ill afford to be distracted.
Pacing alongside him, Daro’h looked with concern toward his uncle. Though the young man didn’t speak a word, his body language telegraphed countless questions that had been growing within him like thorny weeds. The Designate-in-waiting, who had always been a diligent student and completely loyal, now appeared angry, hurt, and . . . disappointed?
“I am your successor. Why do you hide things from me?” he finally said. “Explain what really happened here. Why did you ex
ile that green priest to an isolated island? Why did you hide her even from the Mage-Imperator?”
Udru’h turned to the young man. The possibilities of how much damage Nira could still do flickered like embers ready to be fanned into flame. “All my reasons are the same one: I did it to strengthen and protect the Ildiran Empire. I have told you everything you need to know.”
Walking toward the camp fences, the Dobro Designate stared at the subdued breeding camp. He had mixed feelings about what would happen to the experimental subjects now. His life’s work, indeed the whole centuries-long plan for Dobro, was over. Udru’h could not help feeling an emptiness, an abrupt malaise that set in along with the realization that he had achieved an impossible task. And now what?
Daro’h lowered his head in surrender. “Your behavior has changed since Osira’h returned, Designate. You were once so passionate about our work here. Now that she has succeeded, what is to become of Dobro?”
“I feel the ending of the thing that has been our very reason for existence for centuries.” His words were sharp with a bitter aftertaste. Udru’h turned from the enclosed breeding compound where the humans continued their routines. He had fulfilled his role, done everything that history and his bloodline asked. He was finished. “I never thought success would be as disappointing as failure.”
Udru’h reached a decision that made him sad, yet also gave him a sense of liberation and freedom. He placed his left hand on Daro’h’s shoulder, turning the younger man to face him. “This is a time of changes. I have taught, and you have learned, but Dobro is a different splinter colony now. My advice and experience will not benefit you further. There should be a clean transition.”
Daro’h frowned. “What are you saying?”
“I will return to Ildira.” He turned back toward his private dwelling. The Designate-in-waiting had already made his own home in a different part of the settlement. “There are too many eyes here, too many who would judge without understanding what I have done, or why. I will retire and never see this place again.” He took a sad look around the grassy hills, the settlement, the croplands. This should have been a fine and thriving splinter colony, where colonists could have a life of self-sufficiency. Maybe if he left, the stain would go with him.
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