“I must,” the High Commander replied quickly and openly. “It is the only way to save it.”
Both Agrippa and Tamerlane frowned at that.
“How will destroying it save it?” Agrippa asked, his hand on his gladius hilt as he started forward again, now resigned to having to fight the entire crowd of alien warriors.
“The comets,” High Commander Siklar said. “They have come to our star-worlds now. They bring the Skrazzi. The Phaedrons. They bring a horrible, lingering death to every being in this galaxy.” He stopped typing for a moment and looked back over his shoulder at Agrippa; his expression was one of dedication, not malevolence. “It is inevitable. Our seers have foretold it. The entire galaxy will fall to them—to torture and slavery and then to death.” He nodded toward the console upon which he was entering code. “At least this way we will go quickly, painlessly, and take many of their kind with us.”
“We’d rather not go at all,” Agrippa stated firmly. “And I’m betting your own warriors feel the same way.” He raised his voice yet another notch; it boomed out as if being channeled through artificial amplification. “They are warriors—fighters trained to give their all against the enemy—not cowards who burn down their own house and the houses of their neighbors at the first sign of trouble.” He shifted his gaze now from Siklar to Merrin and Ralin. “Last chance, gentlemen. Will you stand with us—with a fighting chance for survival—or will you choose utter galactic death and obliteration, with the Dyonari going down as perpetrating the greatest act of pan-galactic genocide in all of history?”
Merrin and Ralin were looking at one another now, silently but furtively, and Agrippa fervently hoped they were engaged in a philosophical telepathic conversation, preferably about the merits of rebelling against the command of Siklar. A moment later, that was revealed likely to have been so. Merrin, his expression changing in an instant to one of grim determination, stepped back from his confrontation with Agrippa, turned about and—before any of Siklar’s personal guards could move, and practically faster than the eye could see— brought his sword around the other side of the white seat. He held the blade tightly across the High Commander’s throat.
Less than the blink of an eye later, the nearest bodyguard drew his sword and lunged for Merrin.
Merrin reacted so quickly that those watching from a distance scarcely saw him move. The entire fight took less that three seconds to play out. The bodyguard drew back from Merrin’s defensive move, dropped into a crouch, and swung out with his blade again; Merrin shifted his body just enough that the sword’s tip passed a millimeter away from his chest. Then—at just before the three-second mark—he lunged and sliced out and up.
As the third second since the conflict had begun ticked away, the bodyguard’s severed head dropped toward the floor of the chamber. Before it had actually hit the gray tiles, Merrin had moved back into his previous position, his sword around the chair, its blade against Siklar’s throat.
“Impressive, Commander,” Siklar said, out loud. He spoke louder for the benefit of his other bodyguards and for the humans to hear. “I trust no one else will attempt that. I would prefer to have no more Dyonari die at the hands of Dyonari.”
“That would be my preference as well, High Commander,” Merrin said through gritted teeth, “but know that I will not hesitate to repeat the performance as necessary.”
Siklar had paused in his typing. He turned his head slightly to see his junior officer; the task was made more difficult by the incredibly sharp blade at his neck. “Commander Merrin, I call upon you to cease this mutinous behavior at once. If you do, I will forgive it, given the emotional conditions at present.”
“You are under arrest, High Commander,” Merrin said to him, ignoring the offer. “Please rise and step away from the console.”
Siklar barked a sharp order to the remaining warriors: “Arrest Merrin.” None of them moved; they merely shifted about uncertainly. Then Merrin issued his own orders: “Stand down.” Again no one moved at first. The tension hung in the air for long seconds. Finally, after what seemed an eternity of uncertainty, first one, then another, then all of the Dyonari warriors en masse sided with Merrin. Ralin moved over to Merrin’s side and said, “I concur with Commander Merrin’s directive, High Commander. You are under arrest and relieved of command of this unit.”
“Lower the force field,” Merrin ordered.
Siklar’s personal guards moved in tight around the High Commander, weapons at the ready, but they did not look at all certain of their actions or their loyalties any longer. They were now surrounded by dozens of armed and determined foes, and via the holo display they could see as plainly as anyone else in the chamber the results of what the High Commander was doing.
The leader of the three bodyguards turned his back on the surrounding crowd and spoke directly to Siklar. “Sir,” he said, “our position is no longer tenable. We must—”
“Yes, yes.” Siklar closed his eyes, inhaled and exhaled slowly, and then deactivated the force field. He rose and moved away as ordered. He glared at Merrin and Ralin. “You are choosing to bring slavery and horrific destruction down upon our people,” he warned them.
“No,” Merrin said. “You were choosing that. We choose to fight back.”
Siklar shook his head. “There will be no fighting back. The enemy is everywhere. Even now, more of his forces pour into this galaxy. Our own seers have foretold it: his is victory is inevitable and imminent.”
Merrin didn’t reply to this. He instead shoved Siklar along toward the doorway. Meanwhile the two human techs wasted no time in moving to the console they had been forced to abandon. Quickly they started back to work on deprogramming the overload code.
After only a few seconds of work, the technicians began to argue with one another, and Major Cassius moved between them. Very rapidly he ascertained the problem and then reported it to the two generals.
“The code the Dyonari commander was entering into the system is something they’re not familiar with,” Cassius stated. “They believed they understood it before, and were getting it removed. This time, though, they aren’t making any headway.”
The two human generals exchanged troubled glances, but then Commander Merrin stepped forward. “If I might be allowed to take a look at it?” he said.
Tamerlane and Agrippa hesitated only a second before agreeing.
Nodding his thanks, Merrin moved in behind the console as one of the techs scooted out of the way. He studied the display for a few seconds, then raised his hands to the controls and began to type. The two human technicians and Major Cassius all eyed the Dyonari with grave suspicion.
“Gentlemen,” Agrippa said from over their shoulders, “I believe we can trust Commander Merrin. We have little choice. And besides—without his actions, we wouldn’t have this opportunity to begin with.”
The two techs reluctantly nodded, but they remained hovering next to him, watching every movement he made.
After almost a full minute of very rapid typing, Merrin stopped, lowered his hands from the controls, and studied the displays. He nodded to himself, then looked up at Agrippa and Tamerlane. “As I feared,” he said. “Siklar introduced the Apocalypse Protocols.”
“I don’t like the sound of that,” Agrippa grumbled; Tamerlane added a, “No.”
“It is an older code that my people have used more than once in campaigns against alien forces,” Merrin explained. “It overrides power systems on a linked grid and removes safeguards, while simultaneously locking itself out from any other overrides. One can only imagine what it could have done here, given the energy levels available.” He stood and stretched. “I could not entirely eradicate it—that would require many hours of work, and with more specialized knowledge than I possess.”
Tamerlane frowned. “Then what can we—?”
Merrin continued: “I have, however, deleted the core components.” He paused, as though considering his statement, and then qualified it with, “More or less.�
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“More or less?” Tamerlane repeated, not sounding at all mollified.
Merrin nodded. “From here, your men should be able to complete the job of reducing the power buildup to non-threatening levels, at least.”
As the two techs slid back into the broad curved seat and inspected the displays, they began to smile to themselves and to one another. One of them glanced back at Merrin and awkwardly managed, “Um—thank you, Commander.”
Merrin bowed his head in response.
Tamerlane and Agrippa thanked him and shook his hand. He bowed to them as well, then returned to the group of Dyonari who were holding Siklar.
“It was you, wasn’t it?” Agrippa suddenly said, looking at the captive Siklar. “You sent those Dyonari into the tower ahead of us. The ones whose blood trail we followed here.”
“Indeed,” the High Commander stated, nodding once. “I had hoped they could complete the operation while my warriors and I kept you occupied outside.” His expression was sad; Agrippa could tell that he truly believed he had been doing the right thing. “When they failed to report in, I saw no alternative but to come inside after them, despite the presence of you and your forces accompanying us.” He met Agrippa’s eyes defiantly. “You know I could have simply ordered the death of all of you when you first arrived in the Above. But I chose to allow you to live.”
“We might never know if your warriors could have succeeded in carrying out such an order,” Agrippa retorted. “But understand—you did order our deaths.” He glared back into the alien’s dark eyes. “And not just ours—the deaths of everyone in the galaxy.” He gave Siklar a sour look and turned away. The High Commander pursed his lips but said nothing in return; a moment later he, too, looked away.
Merrin waited for a quiet moment and then gestured toward the door. “We will, as you suggested, await you outside,” he told Agrippa. He and Ralin moved past the humans and toward the opening.
Agrippa nodded and saluted. “You are heroes, gentlemen,” he told the two officers. “You did well.”
Merrin made a gesture that might have been a shrug. “Perhaps. I hope so. Time will tell.”
As two of Ralin’s Dyonari led Siklar past the humans, the two bodyguards that stood to either side of the High Commander suddenly drew their swords, unleashed death-screams that had half of those present clutching at their ears, and charged in the direction of the human leaders. Simultaneously with this, as everyone’s attention was drawn to the two suicide soldiers, the High Commander reached out. His hand brushed against the face of the nearest soldier to one side: Major Torgon. Torgon stepped back quickly, frowning, fearing a trick of some sort. His hand moved to grasp the handle of his blast pistol. But then Siklar had moved along.
Quad-rifles and blast-pistols fired from almost every human present. The burning plasma bolts, glittering particle-beams and explosive slugs riddled the two Dyonari attackers, actually cracking their transparent but utterly hard armor. One went down at that point, never to rise again. The other staggered back a few steps, shook himself free from those of his own kind who attempted to restrain him, and rushed at the two human leaders again.
Agrippa drew his gladius and prepared to strike, but before he could act, Tamerlane raised his right hand and brought a wave of flame out of thin air to engulf and devour the attacker. Within only a few seconds, the glasslike armor lay charred and almost empty on the floor, the body consumed by the holy fire of the Above.
All the Dyonari gazed in awe at this newly-revealed ability—this manifestation of the Power—and at the human who had wielded it. They now appeared to regard him with much greater respect than before.
“I should have tried to burn Siklar through the force field,” Tamerlane said to Agrippa, watching them go. “It would’ve been a lot safer and quicker.”
“You don’t know that,” Agrippa retorted. “It likely wouldn’t have worked at all. And even if it did, it could have set off something in the equipment and killed us all—or perhaps caused the overload effect to accelerate and brought about the end of everything. At the very least, we would now be in a shooting war with those alien soldiers who are presently leaving here peacefully.”
“I suppose so,” Tamerlane said, making a sour expression. “You did well, obviously.” He gave the blond man a wry smile and started to say something else when there came a disturbance near the exit. He and Agrippa turned and moved that way quickly; there they found High Commander Siklar lying prone on the floor, right at the threshold of the doorway. The two guards who had been escorting him were now bending over him, apparently attempting to revive him. His eyes were closed and he did not appear to be breathing.
“What happened?” Tamerlane demanded. “Did anyone see it?”
At first no one spoke, but then Torgon raised his voice. “I witnessed it, General. He simply slumped over.”
Tamerlane turned to one of his men—a medic—and asked him to check the High Commander. The man nodded but didn’t seem terribly confident in his ability to administer aid to an alien. Quickly he gave way when a Dyonari warrior stepped up and identified himself as, in part, a medical officer.
The alien checked his commander over, touching a few key spots in search of vital signs, and then shook his elongated head to Commanders Merrin and Ralin and the human leaders. “I am sorry,” he reported, “but Commander Siklar is dead.”
Frowns creased the exotic features of the two Dyonari officers.
“Any signs of injury?” Tamerlane asked the alien medic. “Any signs of—anything?”
“Nothing obvious,” the Dyonari medic replied, his gaze shifting from the body of Siklar to Tamerlane. “Perhaps he took poison, once he realized his cause was lost.”
Tamerlane slowly nodded at this. “Maybe so,” he said.
Agrippa motioned toward the remains of the two bodyguards who had attacked moments earlier. “These two certainly chose the suicide option,” he noted.
“Death by enemy army,” Tamerlane agreed.
“It preserved their honor,” Solonis pointed out. “They went down fighting. They didn’t surrender. They didn’t simply give up and give in. From all that I know of the Dyonari, that is very important.”
Agrippa and Tamerlane both nodded at this. They watched as several of the remaining Dyonari lifted the body of the High Commander and carried it through the doorway and out of the tower. As they went, Agrippa couldn’t help but stare at Siklar. Something was bothering him about what Solonis had just said, but he couldn’t quite but his finger on it. Then he had it: Siklar had given up. Had opted out of the fight, so to speak—assuming he had indeed killed himself. And any other possibility seemed unlikely.
As unlikely as Siklar giving up without a real fight.
And yet there they went, filing out the doorway. There would be no battle between the humans and the Dyonari. At least, not here; not now. Siklar had chosen to surrender and to commit suicide rather than fight to the death. A warrior who was prepared to blow up the entire galaxy—including himself—wasn’t willing to fight to the last breath when victory was within his grasp. He had simply given in. It didn’t add up.
Watching the last of the Dyonari exiting the big chamber, Agrippa still had a nagging feeling he was missing something—something vitally important.
18
With the Dyonari gone, and safe passage for them ordered by Tamerlane, Agrippa led most of his III Legion Kings of Oblivion back towards the center of the room. There they blended in with the mostly I Legion Lords of Fire that Tamerlane had brought with him. As they walked that way, Agrippa passed the man and woman the other general had introduced to him earlier. Their faces both appeared flushed and they seemed to be pointedly ignoring one another, even though they were standing very close together. The names came back to Agrippa surprisingly quickly. “Titus Elaro,” he said. “Colonel Arani.” He nodded to them both and continued on toward the center of the room.
The holographic swirl of the galaxy had vanished. Now only the four
-meter-tall gray giant stood there, immobile, gazing out at them.
“Are you in charge here?” Tamerlane asked the strange being. “Because we need to speak to whomever runs this facility. It possesses or has access to an enormous amount of stellar and cosmic energy. The threat it poses, simply by its existence, is unacceptable to—”
“Please pay attention,” the giant said by way of reply, interrupting Tamerlane’s statement. It raised one meaty hand high. “If you would all focus your attention here...”
The various legionaries and other assorted members of the human group stopped what they were doing and looked up at the gray giant.
FLASH.
19
The tiny gray robot emerged from its usual hiding place in the wall. It moved about quickly but precisely on long, spindly legs and, occasionally, when it dropped down to floor level, on tiny motorized wheels. Its arms—it possessed four of them—extended upward like tree branches from the upper portion of its silver oval shell, and each ended with an array of needles of various sizes. As it moved about the room, it proceeded to jab those selfsame barbs into every living person present.
Solonis watched the robot at work. He’d fallen down when everyone else had, with the flash, but had never entirely lost consciousness and within a matter of moments he was back up again.
“Ugh,” he muttered, rubbing at his eyes. “That was unpleasant.”
The gray giant strode slowly and ponderously toward Solonis. It stared down at him. “You do not stun easily,” it said. It considered him for a few seconds. “You are not human.”
“Not entirely, no. But human enough, in this body, to find your stunt with the flashbulb thing extremely annoying.”
“My apologies.”
“Accepted.” Solonis watched as the little robot continued jabbing needles into the Kings of Oblivion. “I know what you’re doing,” he said a short time later, “and I think it’s a good idea.”
The Shattering: Omnibus Page 80