Stephen Berry - Final Assault

"Whatever it is, is irrelevant, gentlemen," said DTrelna, holding out a hand. "We're through-we're home."

Brown, touched by just a hint of green and blue, K'Ronar lay before them, an arid world of sweeping desert and rocky crags, its population now mostly confined to the greenbelt girdling the equator. She'd been a rich, lush world once, heavy in minerals, covered with forests and grassy plains. Man had taken the forests and the minerals, then, at his Imperial height, resculpted the land into a green arca-dia of forested peaks and deep blue lakes, interspaced by cities wrought of gleaming alloys and subtly hued duraplast, all crafted of a daring vision that had triumphed across a galaxy.

A slow strengthening of K'Ronar's sun, matched by Empire's long twilight, had left much of paradise a wasteland. Ruined cities of a hundred emperors now lay forgotten beneath the sands, while from the towers of A'Kan, proud capital to every dynasty since the First, the encroaching desert could be seen, held at bay just beyond the expensively maintained barrier of lakes and parks.

"We're on remote," said L'Wrona, pointing to the helm controls, which now responded to the landing programming of Prime Base's computers.

Piercing a wispy gray-white cloud layer, Implacable came in low over the K'Zan Desert and turned north, following an ancient dry river bed.

" 'R'Shen, mighty daughter, who drank the blood of slaughter,'" said DTrelna softly, watching a scan of the cracked, brown wash.

"I didn't know you were a poet, J'Quel," said L'Wrona.

"I'm ashamed to say it's all I can recall," said DTrelna.

"Prespace, isn't it?" said N'Trol.

The commodore nodded. "An epic poem by S'Hko, commemorating a battle at that river. They fought with swords and bows then, gentlemen, and put an end to the Slavers' Guild. S'Hko says the waters of the R'Shen ran red for days." He looked up from the screen. "An important place, the R'Shen-men died there in a good cause."

"We're being landed in Seven Blue, area one three nine two," said K'Lana, turning from her console.

"What's that? A hundred t'lars from FleetOps?" said DTrelna. "Why not land us in the K'Zan and have us walk out?"

They came in over the southeastern perimeter of Prime Base, drifting on silent n-gravs past the defense perimeters-line after line of missile and gun emplacements, hardened, shielded, deep set in the sand-then over the landing field and ships of every size and type: cruisers, destroyers, scouts, interceptors, all sitting on the black duraplast field, sunlight shimmering on their hulls. Except for the occasional maintenance vehicle, nothing moved.

"War's over-everyone's gone home," said L'Wrona, shaking his head. "Combine T'Lan's done its job well."

"Let's see if we can fix that," said DTrelna as Implacable settled with a faint whine onto an isolated stretch of duraplast. "And Combine T'Lan."

"Admiral G'Yar for the commodore," said K'Lana.

"Who?" said L'Wrona,

DTrelna touched the commlink. "Good afternoon, sir," he said to the face appearing in his commscreen.

"You and Captain L'Wrona will remain with the ship, Commodore," said the admiral, a sharp-faced man with a thin, disapproving little mouth. "Your crew will dismiss and muster out-personnel carriers are on the way."

"One will do, Admiral," said DTrelna. "They only hold fifty, Commodore." "Just the right number, Admiral." DTrelna smiled.

"You lost over two hundred crew?!" exclaimed G'Yar, eyes widening.

"They're not lost, sir. We know where they are."

The Admiral tried to say something, failed, finally found his voice and snapped, "You will remain with your ship, sir." The commscreen blanked.

"Just who the hell is Admiral G'Yar, H'Nar?" asked DTrelna, swiveling his chair toward the captain's station.

L'Wrona was watching the complink, frowning at the data scrolling slowly past. "According to this-and it's two years behind -G'Yar was a commander in Fiscal. Direct commission, no war service."

"A politico," said DTrelna. "He shouldn't be allowed to even sweep the floor in FleetOps, yet he seems to be Officer-in-charge."

"Ground vehicle approaching," said a pleasant, asexual contralto-ship's computer. "A personnel carrier, unarmed."

"Shipwide," said DTrelna, opening the commlink. "This is the Commodore. We're home. FleetOps says you're to be discharged -they've sent a carrier for you. Take your time, gather your things. Captain L'Wrona and I will say good-bye to you at"-he glanced at the groundscan-"airlock fifty-nine, deck eight."

"I've got to help bed down the engines," said N'TroI, leaving the engineering station. The armored doors hissed shut behind him.

Captain and commodore looked at each other, then around the bridge with its array of empty consoles. "You and me, H'Nar," said DTrelna into the silence, looking back at L'Wrona.

"A long and bitter war, J'Quel," said L'Wrona, rising. "I only wish it were over -that we were leaving this ship never having heard of an AI or the Fleet of the One."

"Humanity would be compost in less than a year if we hadn't heard of the AIs, H'Nar. It still may be." He tried to punch up a drink from his chairarm beverager-nothing. "Engineering's begun shutting her down."

"They'll try to kill us both, you know," said L'Wrona.

"Perhaps," said the commodore, standing. "Shall we go?" He indicated the door.

In a moment, for the first time in ten years, the bridge was empty.

"B'Tul," said DTrelna, holding out his hand, "keep out of trouble."

"Commodore," the big master gunner, smiling and shaking the officer's hand, "me?" B'Tul stood at the head of the disembarking crew, there in the narrow access corridor at the bottom of the ship, gray kit bag slung over his shoulder, brown utility cap perched rak-ishly on his head.

T remember that bar brawl on I'Tak Two, Master Gunner," said DTrelna.

"And I remember you throwing that miner into the bar," said B'Tul. "The one who wanted to gut me with a broken bottle."

DTrelna nodded. "It was STanian brandy, B'Tul. A bad end for a noble poison-I lost my head."

B'Tul handed DTrelna a slip of paper.

"What's this?" said the commodore, unfolding it.

"My address. I have everyone else's contact point. You need us, call. We've got a lot of friends on Devastator who aren't out of this yet. And rumor has it you and the captain are in deep trouble here. Anyway"-he adjusted his hat-"you need us, call.

"Luck, sir," said B'Tul, shaking L'Wrona's hand.

"Luck, B'Tul," smiled the captain.

B'Tul stepped through the door and onto the long ramp that spiraled down to the waiting carrier.

The others filed past, said their good-byes and followed the master gunner into the hot desert sun. The two officers stood on the top of the ramp, watching them go.

"Seven years through blood and fire with some of them," said L'Wrona, shaking his head. "Think we'll ever see them again?"

"Yes," said DTrelna. They watched the carrier rise on its n-gravs, turn and accelerate toward the distant smudge of Base Central, a blur of speed quickly lost in the heat haze shimmering above the landing field.

The two men reentered the ship.

"Let's secure the bridge," said DTrelna. "Then if N'Trol's finished, wait here like good children for…"

"Alert! Alert!" It was computer. "Ground assault units are approaching this vessel. Ground assault units are approaching this vessel."

"Didn't waste any time, did they?" said DTrelna, reaching the wall commlink first. "Computer. Specify composition of ground units."

The voice shifted from wall speakers to the commlink. "Fifteen Class One battle tanks, twenty-seven weaponed personnel carriers of mixed nomenclature."

As DTrelna turned for the corridor and the lift, the commlink beeped. He punched it on. "What's happening?" asked N'Trol.