Stephen Berry - Final Assault

L'Nar looked at the AI-S'Yatan stared unblinking at where Guan-Sharick had stood, eyes still red with frozen flame. "How long will he…?"

The blonde looked at the young officer, her eyes blue and distant. "Till the stars wink out, Commander, and all matter's just an ethereal memory." Guan-Sharick smiled wearily. "And a better fate than he deserves.

"Luck to you, Commander L'Nar."

The S'Cotar and the Terrans were gone.

"Come," called A'Tir as the door chimed.

N'Trol stepped into what had been D'Trelna's old office.

"Yes?" said the corsair, looking up as the engineer crossed the carpet.

"We've entered the Ghost Quadrant and are proceeding on course toward the Rift," said N'Trol, stopping in front of the big traq desk and the deceptively small woman.

"So?" said A'Tir, returning to the desk's complink and the ship's status report. "You think I need a progress report from you to know where we are?" She looked toward the door, frowning. "Where's your escort?"

"Vigilantly guarding my cabin door," said N'Trol. "I used the ventilation and light conduits."

A'Tir pressed a commkey. "K'Lana, two crewmen to my quarters, please. They're to remain outside unless called."

She switched off at the acknowledgement.

"What do you want, N'Trol?" said the corsair, leaning back in the big chair.

"May I?" He jerked his head toward the sofa.

A'Tir shrugged.

"You've cleared last jump point," said

N'Trol, sitting. "You're within sublight of some of the Empire's lost colonies-D'Lin, notably. You can gang-draft people there, run them through forced training. So even if you don't rescue K'Tran or anyone else, you can still crew this ship. I think you'd rather chance the inconvenience of impressing and training a bunch of groundies than risk our hatred just for our experience. Am I right?"

The corsair looked at N'Trol with new eyes, silent for a moment. "I keep underestimating you, Engineer. I used to think you were a brilliant, misanthropic technical officer. Yet you've held your men together, and now you've anticipated me."

She nodded. "Yes, I don't need you or your crew anymore. You're all going to take a short jump into hard vacuum at first watch."

N'Trol's face betrayed nothing. "I have a deal for you, Commander A'Tir," he said.

"Dead men don't deal, N'Trol," she said, reaching for the door switch.

N'Trol moved quickly, reaching across the desk to stop her hand as it touched the switch. "Spare my crew, and I'll get K'Tran back for you."

A'Tir looked at the blunt, competent fingers circling her wrist. "You have nice hands, Engineer," she said, brown eyes meeting his green ones. "Can you do something with them besides fix jump drives?"

"What did you have in mind?" said N'Trol, letting go and stepping back a pace.

A'Tir stood and nodded toward D'Trelna's bedroom, just the other side of the bulkhead. "I'll show you," she said and turned for the connecting door, unfastening her tunic as she walked.

"What about my deal?" said N'Trol, not moving.

"We'll discuss that while you work, Engineer," said the corsair. She turned to face him as the door hissed open. "Coming?" Her breasts were small, firm and tanned, with large, dark areolae, her belly hard and flat.

"I'm not a piece of meat, A'Tir."

She shook her head, smiling coldly. "You are what I say you are, N'Trol. And if you don't fix my problem, Engineer, we don't talk a deal."

N'Trol sighed. "I suppose I could look at your problem," he said, and followed her into the bedroom.

"D'Trelna's still asleep," said Line.

L'Guan nodded, staring out at K'Roponar, hands clasped behind his back. He stood in the asteroid's observation bubble, a small black pip on the jagged surface. Above him, K'Ronar rose, its eastern hemisphere turning to meet a new day.

L'Guan turned from the view. "Will you redeploy as prescribed in your prime directive?"

"Of course," said Line. "When so ordered by the Emperor in his capacity as Supreme Commander."

"There is no Emperor," said L'Guan. "He has no command. Just a comparative handful of us against a whole universe of AIs."

"Wrong," said Line as L'Guan, tired of the familiar exchange, stepped toward the lift.

The monument had no name. Time had wiped it from the memory of U'Tria as slowly and as inexorably as the stiff winter winds off the lake had rounded the obelisk's sharp edges. A weathered, silver shaft, it rose above the choppy night waters and its own dim, uncertain reflection, a testament to forgotten men and dead ideals.

The old man stood in front of the monument, looking out on the lake, then up at the Stalker, just rising in the west. Wrapping his thick winter cape tight against a sudden chill, he turned toward the monument and the village beyond.

"Blood moon," said a voice.

The old man froze for an instant, then turned. A man in Fleet uniform stood beneath the monument, the silver starship on his collar now reflecting the Stalker's ocher tint.

"My Lord Margrave," said the old man with a slight bow.

"Freeholder K'Sar," said L'Wrona, walking over to the other. "Long time." He held out his hand. "Well met, Freeholder."

The old man smiled a thin smile as he took L'Wrona's hand. "Well met, My Lord. I'd hoped you'd have been back long before now. We need you."

"War," said L'Wrona, looking at the monument. "It never ends. We defeated the S'Cotar, now it's the AIs, one the precursor to the other." He looked up at the stars, toward Quadrant Blue Nine. "The Rift has opened and they're coming."

"And you've nothing to stop them?" said the freeholder.

L'Wrona looked into eyes deep set beneath the high forehead, a face seamed by decades of care. "Millions of ships the size of the Stalker," he said. "All coming our way, backed by millennia of carefully nurtured hate. We're held responsible, it seems, for all the AIs' failures since…"

"Since the Revolt," said K'Sar.

L'Wrona looked at him, startled. "I thought only the AIs retained that bit of history. Or do you still have friends in FleetOps?"

An even stronger wind buffeted them from the lake, sending leaves swirling around the monument. K'Sar hooked his arm through L'Wrona's. "Walk me home, H'Nar. I promise you a good meal, a better brandy and a warm fire."

A few moments and they were crossing the village plaza. What L'Wrona recalled as a bustling marketplace was now a row of gutted shops, their windows smashed, broken glass and congealed duraplast puddling the scorched paving stones. Fires flickered among the ruins, people huddling around them, silently eating from Fleet survival packs, not bothering to look as freeholder and margrave walked by.

"What happened here?" asked L'Wrona.

K'Sar shrugged. "The usual. When what was left of the Fleet fell back and the S'Cotar landed, we fought… we lost. Then they started conscription, brain wiping about a third of the survivors down to automaton level, using them to produce war goods in retooled factories. Now the S'Cotar are gone, and we're left with the ruins-physical, mental, spiritual. Fleet does what it can, but there are so many worlds in need…"

They reached the little stream whose venerable old bridge was now just a heap of hand-tooled masonry. Someone-Fleet engineers, Planetary Guard-had thrown a field span across it, twenty meters of gray duraplast strung with thick hand cables. Crossing the bridge, the two men turned right where the footpath forked into the forest-a primeval forest of thick-trunked trees whose high canopies cloaked the Stalker and the stars.

"Home," said the Freeholder as the outline of a tall, wood-beamed house rose out of the night, a single light in one of the lower windows. The footlights flanking the pebbled path were dark.

"When are they going to get the power grid back on?" said L'Wrona as K'Sar fumbled at the lock.