Stephen Berry - Final Assault

"Terra Two," said John to no one in particular, "is not good news."

"Well?" said ntrol. Arms folded, he leaned against the armorglass, watching A'Tir dress.

"Not bad, for a loyal Fleet officer," said the corsair, fastening her pants. "You and your happy little crew can keep their miserable lives-for now." As she sat to pull on her boots, N'Trol breathed a silent sigh of relief. It had been a contest, no doubt-one which he'd won, but just barely. And one he didn't care to repeat, not for those stakes.

"Every third watch," said A'Tir, rising and walking to D'Trelna's wall safe. Taking out her holstered Ml 1 A, she belted it on and bent, tying the bottom of the black v'arx leather holster to her leg.

Witch, thought N'Trol. She reads minds.

"Every third watch what?" he asked, knowing the answer.

"You and your men live at my pleasure -literally," said A'Tir, facing him. "Back to your quarters, Engineer, and…"

Seeing the corsair's eyes widen at something behind him, N'Trol spun in time to view the mindslaver sweep alongside, ten black-hulled miles of weapons batteries, sensor arrays, instrument pods and not a single light.

"We all live at something else's pleasure now, witch," said N'Trol as A'Tir bit her lower lip, face pale.

"Captain!" It was K'Lal's voice, tight with fear, calling from the bridge. "Mindslaver has come alongside. Permission to sound battlestations?"

A'Tir laughed-a high, musical sound that banished her frightened look and almost made N'Trol like the woman. Stepping to the commlink, she flipped the transmit tab. "Sound anything you like," she said. "We can't crew both gunnery and the bridge. And nothing we have would even make that monster's shield flicker.

"Mr. N'Trol and I are on our way."

N'Trol and A'Tir were in the lift when the slaver spoke-a dry whisper coming from every comm speaker on Implacable.

"You barely got away alive last time, cruiser Implacable. You won't be so fortunate this time. You'll be processed in salvage hold eight, your organic and mechanical components used to serve R'Actol."

As A'Tir and N'Trol stepped onto the bridge, Implacable lurched from the force of the mindslaver's tractor beams.

There were five corsairs manning the bridge, eyes more on the screen than on their consoles. The cruiser was being drawn toward a gaping hole in the mindslaver's belly. K'Lal punched to higher magnification, zooming the scan in on the single bright-lit berth in that vast hold-a rectangular dry dock overhung by wrecking cranes and rimmed by the squat, massive form of industrial-grade welders, all shimmering faintly behind the blue haze of energy shields.

A'Tir and N'Trol paused for an instant, held by the sight of the space-borne abattoir drawing them in.

"Status?" said A'Tir, taking the captain's chair as N'Trol moved to the engineer's station.

K'Lal turned from the screen, shaking his head. "I've seen you pull miracles before, Commander." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "How about one now?"

A'Tir pushed the commtab. "Are you Alpha Prime?" she said.

"Yes, Commander A'Tir," came the whisper-dead leaves rustling in an autumn twilight, thought N'Trol. "You and Captain K'Tran will have adjoining brainpods."

A'Tir's fingers gripped the chairarm, white-knuckled.

"You let it rattle you, it wins," said a soft voice beside her. She looked up at N'Trol, standing beside her. The engineer smiled faintly. "Surprise-I hate it more than I do you, corsair."

"You've scanned ship's logs," said A'Tir, turning back to the screen and the yawning salvage hold that now, even on lowest magnification, filled the screen.

"Indeed," said the nightmare. "You have about a hundred-count to kill yourselves -knives only-we've put a damper field on your ship. It won't prevent us from brainstripping you, of course, but experience has shown that in the case of suicides, even with the most prompt attention, we lose about seven percent. So some of you can slip away."

"We're not here to die, thing," said A'Tir, leaning back in the chair, "or to be brainstripped. I have information vital to the survival of the Seven."

"Tell us," whispered the mindslaver. "We are the Seven of R'Actol, and we can show mercy."

"I demand a personal audience," said the corsair.

There was a long pause. "Granted," said the dead voice as Implacable slipped into the salvage hold.

"What's your game, A'Tir?" said N'Trol as he and the corsair approached the cruiser's number five access port, K'Lal and another corsair behind them.

"I have something that will make them restore K'Tran and turn command of their ship over to me," she said as the corridor dead-ended at the access port. A small airlock, it lay topside of the cruiser, just behind the bridge.

"Luck, Commander," said K'Lal, cycling open the airlock. With a curt nod she stepped through the double doors and onto a strip of black duraplast that spanned the gap between the cruiser and the battlesteel catwalk surrounding it. N'Trol followed, trying not to look down at the distant shimmer of the air curtain and the beckoning nothingness of space beyond. Steel ships and spineless men, he thought, wanting very much to get down and crawl across the void. The sight of A'Tir's straight back and confident walk kept him moving. Witch, he thought.

The component was waiting for them on the catwalk: gray-uniformed with a major's silver rank pips and starship-and-sun on his collar, slim Imperial-class blaster on his hip, gleaming black boots and holster. Archives would have said he was an Imperial Marine captain, Third Dynasty. Medscan would have shown he had no brain.

"Welcome to Alpha Prime," it said, saluting. Its voice was warm, its smile pleasant, its eyes dead. "Follow me, please."

They were led from the salvage hold down a corridor to where an open ground car waited. Motioning them into the rear seat, the component slid into the front seat and activated the car. Rising silently, it turned, rose and moved quickly from the side corridor into one of the mindslaver's main thoroughfares, a broad, well-lit avenue of gray battlesteel. There was no other traffic.

"A'Tir," said N'Trol softly, eyes on the component, "tell me you don't have a secret code sequence from the First Dynasty that will bend this ship to your will." He saw her start, half turning to look at him.

"How did you…?'¦'

The engineer closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them. "I have a bridge to sell you," he said.

"A bridge?" she asked, even more confused.

"Terra. New York. Never there, were you?" He said no more, eyes ahead, ignoring her uneasy look.

The car flitted past a series of intersections, then up a broad circular ramp. Decelerating, it turned a corner and came to rest before a shimmering archway.

"You've been here before, I believe," said

N'Trol as the car settled to the deck.

A'Tir nodded. "Alpha Prime's bridge. Last place time I saw K'Tran, that forcefield"-her eyes traced the curtain of energy to the archway's distant top-"had just closed behind him. Bloody fool was going to take over the ship."

"You're no less a fool to think this ancient evil will go quietly, corsair."

Something in his tone turned her toward him, a question on her lips.

"Follow me, please," said the component, having seen to the ship car.

As the trio approached, the force field lifted, then lowered behind as they advanced down a wide corridor-a corridor lined by what had been Imperial Marines.

Every third component fell in behind, blastrifles at port arms, twelve soldiers of R'Actol forming a column of twos that marched in perfect step into the multitiered bridge, following the two humans and their officer up the ramp to the command tier. Halting just before the railing, the components took station and waited along the ramp, expressionless acolytes to That Which Waited.