Stephen Berry - Final Assault

"My word on it, Freeholder," said the Margrave.

Satisfied, the old man nodded, releasing L'Wrona's hand and the commwand.

The blaster bolt took the Freeholder in the back, crumpling him to the floor between the old scorch marks, eyes staring into forever.

Whirling, L'Wrona dropped to one knee, drawing and firing as a burst of blue bolts exploded around him.

L'Wrona's three quick bolts shattered the front window, sending a stream of glass slicing into the falling body of the black-clad man with the blaster hole through his chest.

The firing had masked the faint sound of soft-soled boots slipping in from the kitchen. A sharp gasp turned L'Wrona left, blaster raised.

A woman-black-clad, short-haired, an Mil A clutched in her hand-lay facedown across the threshold, another woman straddling her, knee to the small of the back. Before the margrave could move, the woman on top pulled the other's head back by the hair and deftly slit her throat, then rose nimbly as her victim died, convulsing in a growing pool of blood.

"Drop it," said L'Wrona with a flick of his weapon.

The big kitchen knife fell to the floor.

"Step forward," he ordered, walking toward her. He stopped short when he saw the face. "K'Yan?" he said uncertainly.

"Do I know you, sir?" said the woman. She was the Margrave's age, hair close-cropped like a boy's, wearing the shapeless gray uniform Fleet issued to war refugees. She had a pretty oval face and light green eyes without a spark of life in them.

"It's me," said L'Wrona, touching her shoulder. "H'Nar."

He watched K'Yan's face as she struggled to remember, saw her almost catch hold of the thought, lose it, then win it in a rush of comprehension that restored fife to her face and animation to her body. "H'Nar!" she sobbed, throwing her arms around him. K'Yan clung to him like a lost child, great sobs racking her body, tears soaking into L'Wrona's shirt.

He held her till the sobbing and the tears eased. Then K'Yan stepped back, wiping her face with the back of a gritty gray sleeve. "Better?" he asked, still holding her shoulders.

She nodded. "Better. It comes and goes. I hope I can hold it for a while." "It?"

"My mind," she said. "The S'Cotar brain wiped me."

"I see," he said, letting go of her.

"It's not contagious," she said with a faint smile. "Just permanent. And with fits of lucid-ity."

"Can't it be…?"

"No." She said it flatly. "I've a moron's intellect till I die, H'Nar. The war killed my children, now my father…"-she glanced at the still figure by the fireplace-"and took away my humanity."

"How… how do you live?" he stammered.

"Badly," she said. "Fleet handouts are spotty. The garrison troopers sometimes share their food if you share yourself, but they're on tight rations and God knows there's a lot of competition… What's the matter?" she said, seeing his stricken face.

"I'll get you out of here," he said. "K'Ronar has facilities. I know we're working on a means of reversing…"

"There's no known way to reverse a neurological brain damp, old friend," she said, hand on his arm. "You're talking to a neurologist

… at least for the next few moments."

"I'll take you…"

"You sound like a chipped commwand," said K'Yan. "There is something you can do for me."

"Anything."

She moved her hand down to his wrist, raising it until his sidearm was pointed at her heart. "Kill me."

"No." L'Wrona took her hand from his wrist.

"Please, H'Nar," said K'Yan, strong hands gripping his arms. "To be like this and to remember what I am, what I've lost and what I do to live…" She leaned close, imploring. "I'd do it for you."

"No," he repeated, shaking his head violently. "You can't give up hope, K'Yan, it's all any of us have left." As he spoke, he saw her face reverting to the empty, green-eyed mask it had been when she entered the room.

"I know you," said K'Yan uncertainly. "Don't I?"

Tearing himself free, L'Wrona turned and fled into the night.

"that's it?" said John, staring at the small black cube in R'Gal's hand.

"That's it," said the AI. "One alternate-reality linkage." He turned, passing it to K'Raoda. "Install and activate, please, Commander."

Filled by great, gray hulking shapes of multi-storied machinery that swept on and on, Devastator's engineering section dwarfed the small cluster of human figures: K'Raoda standing next to the control console, John, Zahava and R'Gal watching intently as the young officer slid open a small panel on top of the console.

With a faint whirring, a cube-shaped piece of duraplast extended from the console, supported by a thin duralloy rod. Thumb and forefinger carefully aligned with the transparent holder, K'Raoda dropped in the black cube. Accepting the offering, the arm retracted and the little hatch slid shut.

"Now what?" said K'Raoda, looking at R'Gal.

"Push that button, that and that," he said, indicating two red buttons and a yellow one that lay nestled among three rows of like-colored controls, all labeled in what seemed a series of dots.

"Pushed," said K'Raoda, looking up again. A green light winked in the center of the console.

"And engaged," said R'Gal. Reaching past the human, he touched the console's commlink. "Portal should be appearing and dilating, S'Rel," he said. "Take us through as soon as it's within limits."

"Acknowledged," came the reply from the bridge.

"And give us forward scan video down here, please, S'Rel," added R'Gal.

What had been a rectangular stretch of bulkhead was suddenly transformed into a view of the space between Earth and Mars where Devastator now hung at dead stop, her forward momentum checked by her monstrous n-gravs.

"Now what?" said Zahava.

"Watch," said K'Raoda. "Center front."

Nothing at first-a vast multitude of stars set in black velvet-then, as John watched, not quite sure he was seeing something, a bit of that blackness grew even darker, a growing circle of obsidian that quickly blotted out all but its own unnatural self. John looked away, trying to end a sudden painful ringing growing somewhere deep in his head. K'Raoda flinched and Zahava covered her ears. R'Gal seemed unaffected.

"Is it a black hole?" asked John, trying to ignore the pain that grew as the battleglobe moved slowly forward, closing the gap.

"You might call it an artificial black hole," said R'Gal, eyes on the scan. "One that's had its useful properties adapted to our needs." He glanced at the three and smiled sympathetically. "Your discomfort's due to some of the portal's emitters having the same frequency as your own latent neural receivers. It'll pass."

"Penetration attained," reported S'Rel as a swirling vortex of color replaced the blackness-a vortex that shook the great ship like a toy, throwing John and Zahava to the hard deck and spinning K'Raoda from his chair-an action that saved his life as the console exploded, a sudden orange and blue geyser of flame.

From on high, fire snuffers responded, smothering the flames in a thin, focused stream of mist that absorbed the oxygen and snap-froze the superheated console.

R'Gal touched a commpanel while the humans helped each other up. "Status," he demanded.

"Terra Two attained," said the bridge-a voice other than S'Rel's. Then, after a slight pause, "We show localized explosion in your section. What is your status?"

"Never mind us," snapped R'Gal, eyes on the console. "What do you show for reality linkage status?"

This time there was a long pause.

"Report," said R'Gal impatiently.

"Field down," came S'Rel's voice. "Possibly destroyed. The good news is that we're out of the transition flux and into our bridge universe. That's Terra Two down there."

Everyone looked at the vidscan: no more vortex, no more black hole. Blue-green and brown, a familiar world filled the scan, all soft pastels and serenity.