Stephen Berry - Final Assault

Inside the ship, L'Wrona lowered his arm. "Status?" he asked, watching the tacscan. Another wave of missiles, three times the number of the last, was just launching. Ahead and around him, the opposing ships were coming into beam range.

"Shield's gone," said Dad.

"Any suggestions?" he asked the ship.

"Unless Line does something for you right now, son, bend over and kiss it good-bye." "Concur," said L'Guan.

"What the seven hells?" said Admiral I'Tal, coming to his feet as every screen in FleetOps went dark. "Commodore A'Wal," he called, "check status on…"

The screens came back on, all showing the starship-and-sun of the old Empire, set in a single black circle-Line's emblem. "This is K'Ronarin Defense Sphere," said the unmistakable contralto from every speaker in the Operations Center. "The ship Rich Man's Toy is under the protection of this unit. You are directed to break off attack and withdraw all forces to their original positions. I will give you a twenty-count. Any units attacking the vessel Rich Man's Toy at the end of the twenty-count will be destroyed." The screens returned to normal, but the voice remained, counting slowly, "Twenty… nineteen…"

Admiral I'Tal didn't waste time with intermediaries. Lunging across Commodore A'Wal's console, he pushed the General address tab. "All ships, Home System-break off attack on scout craft. Destroy all in-flight ordnance. Return to stations."

Breathing hard, he sank back into his chair, watching the tacscan on the big board. Acknowledgments were coming in by the time Line was intoning "Zero." One by one, the r.; misers turned away, a trail of self-destructing missiles in their wake.

The slumbering giant awakes," murmured 1 Vial, watching the screen as the admiral reached for a glass of water. The Commodore frowned. "Combine T'Lan has not broken off the attack," he said as the trailing red blips closed on the single green one.

Admiral FTal glanced up at the board. "Be a pity if those power-hungry v'org slime got wiped." He grinned a vicious little grin. "Have Commander Prime Base put the installation on a stage two alert." He and A'Wal watched as the Combine T'Lan ships loosed another missile salvo, followed by a fusion barrage. "Line's about to wipe a flotilla of the Imperial Party's biggest supporter-I don't want any edict-issuing Councilors bursting in here."

An alarm sounded-three high, warbling notes. "Line has opened fire," said computer.

"Incoming all over the scan," said Dad.

"Shield…"

"Gone."

L'Wrona found himself clutching the freeholder's commwand with one hand as he futilely stabbed the jump drive engage with his other.

"Forget it, son," said the ship. "Hull transponder nodules got fried."

L'Wrona was reaching out to take the ship off manual, to bring it around for a death run on his attackers, when the incoming warheads atomized Toy.

The little grotto-jungle, trees, bluff, waterfall-D'Trelna saw none of it, standing in front of the tacscan, watching the missiles from the Combine ships close on his friend's ship. "Fire-full intercept pattern!" he bellowed. Behind and above him, frightened birds took flight.

"Too late," said L'Guan. "Even at light speed." He stood beside D'Trelna, watching quietly, drink in hand.

Missile specks and target blip met and vanished. "Target destroyed," read the data trail's final item.

"Now, I think," said Line, and fired. Thousands of miles away, weapons on two artificial planetoids flashed briefly, azure beams piercing the shield wall. As D'Trelna and L'Guan watched, all remaining blips vanished from the screens, followed by the screens themselves. Overhead, the circling birds returned to their trees.

"You useless, antiquated automaton," said D'Trelna slowly, eyes searching the grotto, as though hoping to find some tangible part of Line that he could rip with the hands clenching and unclenching at his side. "You delayed… you purposefully delayed firing!"

"Commodore," said Line pleasantly, . ire no judge of my capabilities. I suggest…"

"I could have picked those slime off with three ships at the same range you failed at-failed with the entire firepower of an Imperial fleet!" His voice rose to a shout. "L'Wrona's dead, the commwand lost-and with it any hope of defeating the AIs." He sank into his chair. "Give me a ship, please," he said to L'Guan. "Anything's better than…" He broke off, turning in his chair to follow L'Guan's gaze, then stood, his chair tipping unnoticed to the ground.

"That bellow of yours carries the length of the corridor," said L'Wrona, stepping from the rock entrance to the grotto into the light.

"H'Nar!" shouted D'Trelna, embracing the captain in a bear hug that made L'Wrona protest, "J'Quel…"

"Sorry," said the commodore, gripping him by the shoulders and stepping back. "Matter transporter," he said, letting go.

"Matter transporter," confirmed L'Guan, joining them. '

"The same 'lost' matter transporter technology we were sent to find during the Biofab War, H'Nar," said D'Trelna, turning to L'Guan. "Something the admiral's declined to explain."

"Interesting," said L'Wrona. "Admiral, you do owe us an…"

"An explanation?" L'Guan smiled. "No, I don't. But"-he held up a hand, stopping their protests-"I'll give you one, now that Implacable's gone. Your ship was sent as far from the war to protect its precious cargo from harm."

"Precious cargo?" said D'Trelna. "I thought Scepter and Crown were enshrined in the Palace?"

"Human cargo, D'Trelna," said L'Guan. "The last hope of this dying republic, and, oddly, an aristocrat-though he hides it well-a bit too well."

"The Heir," said L'Wrona wonderingly. "You put the Heir Apparent on board!"

"I didn't know there was an Heir," said D'Trelna.

"A well-kept secret," said L'Wrona. "I've always known there was an Heir, but never who he was."

"Why on Implacable?" demanded D'Trelna. "To protect him? We were in the thick of it-he could have died a hundred times!"

"You weren't supposed to be in the thick of it," said the admiral. "And he may die yet."

"Who?" asked both men at once.

L'Guan laughed and refilled his empty glass. "A toast, gentlemen, to the last of a great house: K'Yan, sixth of that name, Heir Apparent to the Sceptered Throne, Commander of the Founding Fleet, Guardian of

"Who?" said D'Trelna.

"Your engineer, N'Trol," said the admiral, emptying his glass.

"I don't believe it," said D'Trelna.

"Believe it," said L'Guan.

"Then we're a doomed race," said D'Trelna. "He's irresponsible, hates people, loves only his engines…"

"Excuse me," interrupted Line. "But the Fleet of the One has just entered Quadrant Blue Nine. The mindslavers are engaging them."

"How are you feeling, Y'Dan?" asked a familiar voice-a woman's voice.

Feeling? thought K'Tran drowsily. I don't feel anymore-the question's irrelevant.

He felt a rough hand on his shoulder. "Stand to, corsair captain," said a man's voice. "For your Emperor, your Gods and your Fleet."

"Pompous asshole," said K'Tran, and opened his eyes.

"I thought that would bring you around," said N'Trol, smiling down on the surgical table.

"How are you, Y'Dan?" said A'Tir, stepping into K'Tran's field of vision.

"All right, I think, Number One," he said carefully, and sat up. The first thing he saw was his feet-large, pale and hairless, with blunt, square toes and high arches. He looked at: he rest of his naked body, then felt his face. This is not my body," he said carefully.

"The last R'Actolian destroyed your body just before it escaped," said a perfect voice -the voice of a computer.

"And who the hell are you?" demanded KTran.

"We are the master computers of the Golden Fleet, linked in series," said the voice.