Stephen Berry - Final Assault

As L'Guan turned away, his eye was caught by another screen on which a round silver lifepod fled toward a red glimmer on K'Ronar's surface-the shielded sanctuary of Prime Base. As the admiral watched, two slender silver missiles overtook the lifepod, exploding within meters of its unshielded hull. "Line," said L'Guan, turning from the image of ochre-colored gases dissipating into space, "you're an unfeeling slime."

"Just doing my job, Admiral."

"Now, this is more like it," muttered D'Trelna, looking at the real citadel as the medkit tended his hand.

The original twilight was there, generated by the same shield-all else had changed. Where the villa and its grounds had stood now loomed a dark ziggurat of a pyramid, made of the same black metal as the citadel's flooring. The only other structures were oblong, vertical mirrors, set in the flooring. Slightly taller than a man, they ringed the pyramid at the same distance as had the stone wall. A second, smaller group of mirrors stood in four rows fronting the ring at about the same distance as the trees had the wall.

The medkit chirped as its amber light turned green. The commodore slipped the little machine off his hand and snapped it back onto his belt. Raising his left hand to his face, he examined it carefully, flexing his fingers. Gone was the neatly cauterized hole of the beam hit that had pierced the palm, only a small white scab marking its place. Satisfied, D'Trelna drew his blaster, twisted the muzzle back to operational mode and turned to where L'Wrona stood. Seemingly unaware of D'Trelna, he stared around and through the commodore, eyes scanning the citadel. "J'Quel!" he called, hands cupped.

"Here, H'Nar," said D'Trelna.

L'Wrona seemed not to hear, instead taking out his communit and keying the transmit. "D'Trelna. L'Wrona. Acknowledge," he called.

Reaching over, D'Trelna seized the captain by the shoulder and shook him, hard.

"D'Trelna!" exclaimed the captain, seeing the commodore for the first time. "Where in…" He stopped, his eye caught by the dark spectacle of S'Yal's citadel. "Gods," he said. "You beat their camouflage." He glanced at DTrelna's hand.

"Medkit?"

"A marvelous device," nodded the commodore.

"What are all those mirrors for?" asked L'Wrona, his gaze returning to the citadel.

"I have my suspicions," said D'Trelna.

"Care to share them?"

"Not yet-I don't want to have to argue my primitive superstitions with you when we should be penetrating that large lump out there."

"I see," said the captain. "Well, if it's here, it's in there-S'Yal's resting place, would you say?"

D'Trelna nodded. "And well protected, Fd think." He drew his sidearm. "Let's go. And let's not touch the mirrors-just in case Fm right."

Side by side, weapons leveled, they advanced toward the dark pyramid and its strange guardians.

"AI commander on Fleetcomm nine," said computer into A'Wal's earpiece.

The commodore tapped a comm sequence, then watched as the familiar image of Goodman T'Lan appeared on his commscreen.

"Good afternoon, Commodore A'Wal," said T'Lan. "Though probably not so good for you down there in FleetOps, is it?"

"What do you want?" said A'Wal, eyes shifting to the big board and the final wiping of the last picket ships. He only wished he'd been up there rather than in the hole.

"I want to speak with Admiral I'Tal."

"He's indisposed," said A'Wal. They'd carried the old man out with a heart attack a moment after the K'Ronarport shield had failed. "I command here."

"Very well," said T'Lan. "I want your surrender. Now. The city shields have fallen. The Fleet of the One has penetrated Quadrant Blue Nine and will be here within the week. Surrender now, we'll spare the planet. Otherwise we'll sit up here and blast your cities to glowing rubble and your people to windblown ash. Prime Base and FleetOps can huddle behind their shield for another week, then the battleglobes will be here. You do know what a battleglobe is, Commodore?"

"Rust in hell," said A'Wal, switching off. He touched another commkey. "Commander Prime Base," he said.

A woman's tired face appeared in the commscreen, commodore's insignia on her collar. "A'Wal," she said.

"S'Jan," he said. "They just called for surrender."

"You told them to jerk their circuits."

"I did. Just a suspicion, but I think they're going to try a selective field damp and run an assault force in on us."

"We're ready for them," said S'Jan. "Can't stop them, but we'll keep them out of the hole for a while." She looked up at something offscan, then turned back. "Councilor D'Assan slipped out of the city-Intelligence believes he's with the T'Lan."

"Gone for a traitor's reward. Luck, S'Jan." "Luck, A'Wal. Luck to us all."

"Can you take Prime Base?" asked D'Assan, setting down his drink.

"With the data you've provided," said the elder T'Lan, "certainly. We can penetrate that portion of the shield directly over FleetOps, take them and the shield generators out and scrub Prime Base. That should end all but guerrilla resistance. If you'd care to look, you can see the assault force assembling now."

Taking his drink, D'Assan left the armchair and walked over to the wardroom's armorglass wall, accompanied by the two T'Lans. Outside, sheltered by the fleet's heavy cruisers, thousands of assault craft were massing: wingless, oblong shuttles of K'Ronarin design, each capable of carrying fifty humans.

"What's in there?" asked D'Assan, sipping his drink. "Security blades?"

"Yes," said T'Lan junior. "But piloted by humans familiar with the K'Ronarin defense grid-you're a naturally corrupt species."

"Not all of us," said D'Assan, turning to the AI. "Everything I've done's been for the betterment of humanity. We're illogical, incapable of governing ourselves-you've taught me that."

"Everything you've done, my friend," said the AI, putting an arm around D'Assan's shoulder, "has been for humanity's demise. We're going to dispose of every last one of you."

"But… but…" stammered D'Assan, trying to step away. "The provisional government, the council of advisors…"

"You're a fool, D'Assan," said the AI, breaking the man's neck with a single quick twist.

The two AIs watched silently as D'Assan's limbs twitched in death shock.

"Amazing," said the elder AI as the twitching stopped. "That something so frail and vulnerable could be such a problem."

Outside, the assault force moved off toward K'Ronar.

"Anything from our Home Fleet?" asked the older AI as they left the wardroom.

"Just rendezvous instructions," said his counterpart. "Command staff hasn't sent so much as a 'well done.'"

"Odd," said T'Lan senior. "Well, let's secure K'Ronar and await the Fleet."

A rough hand shook John's shoulder. "Get up, scum," said a harsh voice. "We know you're alive."

The Terran opened his eyes. He was lying facedown beside the shattered remains of one of the bridge consoles, a class-one headache pounding his temples. White-fanged jaws gaped open, a few feet away. Raising his head, he saw it was the hologram projecting from the bow of the crashed ship that filled the shattered armorglass wall of Devastator's bridge. The little ship's cockpit was a crushed and tangled mass of shattered armorglass, buckled beams and dangling power cables. Bloody and well pulped, parts of something once human hung from the cockpit.

"Over there with the rest of the slime." A great red-haired hand jerked the Terran to his feet and dragged him, stumbling, across the bridge, depositing him with a final hard shove among the group huddling against the far wall: Zahava, K'Raoda, R'Gal and S'Rel.

"Are we all that's left?" said John, squinting as a fresh wave of pain lanced through his head. Gingerly, he touched the welt behind his left ear.