Stephen Berry - Final Assault

"Anyone home?" called D'Trelna, his voice through the twilight world of S'Yal's last citadel.

"J'Quel," admonished L'Wrona.

Both men's communits beeped. Lifting his from his belt, the commodore said, "Line?"

"Yes," said Line. "You're hard to reach, gentlemen-I finally found an open frequency-a battle frequency of a certain Imperial House."

"No need to ask which House," said L'Wrona, looking at the obstacle in front of them.

"K'Ronar's in a desperate situation," continued Line. "Prime Base is falling beneath a sea of security blades. The enemy will then turn its attention to our cities."

"Then blow the enemy away," snapped D'Trelna. "It would take you about twenty-count."

"We've had this discussion before, Commodore. What is your situation?"

"We're about to enter the front of a three-story, curvilinear building-black, window-less, no visible sensors or weapons." He stared at the double doors barring the entrance-double doors made of the same black metallic polymer as the rest of the building and surrounded by the same almost imperceptible red glow. "The building appears to have some sort of shield overlay."

"Give me a vidscan, please," said Line, voice suddenly concerned.

D'Trelna clicked on his communit's vidscan and clipped the unit to his breast pocket. There was a faint hum as of power as the unit began transmitting the pickup.

"Not a shield," said Line after a moment. "Stasis field. Of a type not known to me."

Captain and commodore exchanged worried glances. "Are you saying that whatever's in there is the same as it was six thousand years ago?" asked D'Trelna.

"If the field was turned on then, and if it worked," said Line, "then things will be the same. The reality obtained inside that building when the field was activated will continue for a few moments after the field is turned off. Proceed carefully."

There was a rasp of metal on leather as both men drew their sidearms. Reaching out through that faint red haze, L'Wrona touched the door. As he touched it, the red haze vanished. Perfectly balanced, the door swung wide.

D'Trelna pushed open the other door and the two officers looked down a set of stairs at the end of the House of S'Yal.

Clad in Imperial blue, the Guardsmen's bodies lay strewn about S'Yal's command post: crumpled on the walkways rimming the three levels, sprawled on the floor and across the consoles. The air was thick with the sickening-sweet smell of roasted human flesh.

Two men stood facing each other in the center of the floor, unaware of the two officers watching from the entrance.

"Give it to me," said the younger man, holding out his left hand. He was thin, with pinched, almost ascetic features, his hairline thinning and his eyes sharp and gray. The single blood stone on the collar of his gray Fleet uniform proclaimed his rank: Supreme Commander. "Give it to me," he repeated, gesturing impatiently with the compact little blaster in his right hand. "Now."

"You've lost S'Yal," said the other man. He wore the uniform of the Guard, Assault Captain's lances on his collar. His hand clenched his right shoulder and the gaping blaster hit.

"The Fleet's revolted, this citadel's besieged…"

"And all but one of my traitorous guards are dead," said the Emperor.

"And all your loyal ones."

"S'Kur," said the Emperor, "give me the recall device and you'll live-my word on it."

"And let you recall the Twelfth, oath-breaker?" The young officer smiled through his pain. "And turn a coup into a civil war?" He shook his head. "Carve me up with that if you want-you'll never find it. Your House is broken, your filthy cult destroyed. But only after you cost us millions of dead, breaking the Compact with the droids, attacking them without warning." His voice rose angrily. "We made them, and yes, they're peaceful, you said, but they're growing too strong-they'll challenge us eventually. Strike now-they don't know how to fight-we can win easily. Well, they learned, didn't they?"

"We won," said S'Yal.

"Twenty-five million casualties, eight worlds, five sector Fleets. My father, my brothers, my friends, dead. And to win, you had to rebuild the mindslavers the Emperor T'Nil decommissioned." Captain S'Kur's eyes blazed. "No people deserve such a victory."

His face very pale, the Emperor raised his pistol, aimed carefully at S'Kur's head-and fell, death erasing the surprise from his face.

The whine and crash of the blaster shot was still echoing as L'Wrona reholstered his weapon and advanced with D'Trelna into the command center.

"Who in all the hells are you?" demanded S'Kur, looking at the strange uniforms and unfamiliar weapons.

"Assault Captain…" began L'Wrona.

"Commodore," said Line, its voice audible to the other two men. "Assault Captain S'Kur has a very brief time left to live. Please obtain the location of the recall device."

The young officer's face was a study in confusion. "I don't understand," he said.

"Everything, everyone you know is dead," said D'Trelna gently, hand to the Guardsman's good shoulder. "It's been fifteen thousand years since the Fall of S'Yal, five thousand since the Empire itself fell. You left us a great legacy-one we're fighting to save."

S'Kur slumped into a chair. "The stasis field," he said numbly. "During the fighting, someone must have triggered the stasis field."

L'Wrona nodded. "You were too busy to notice."

"Commodore," said Line urgently. "Observe the bodies."

The corpses were growing transparent, fading like wraiths in the morning light. Even as the three men watched they were gone. "I'm sorry, Assault Captain," said Line. "But you're on short time-no one's ever perfected a longhaul stasis field that can restore organic life for more than a few moments. Please help us."

S'Kur nodded, face pale but composed. "What do you need?"

"The recall device," said D'Trelna.

S'Kur's eyes searched their faces. "Very well," he said after a moment. Unfastening a utility pouch on his belt, he took out a communit, flatter and smaller than the ones D'Trelna and L'Wrona carried. "Our beloved Emperor missed this," he said. "Press the red tab on the left side anywhere within the confines of home system and the Twelfth will come back where it left from, just over Prime Base. Or so Fleet Research says." He handed it to L'Wrona.

"You intercepted this and S'Yal found out?" guessed D'Trelna.

S'Kur nodded. "A lot of good people died for that."

"More are dying as you speak," said Line. "Please press the tab."

L'Wrona looked at the recall device, then handed it back to S'Kur. "If you would, sir."

S'Kur pressed the switch.

"A few pockets of resistance," said T'Lan senior to the translucent red ball in his skipcomm screen. "When may we expect the Fleet?"

"The First Leader's compliments," said the red ball in its melodic voice. "We'll be there in two days. There was very fierce resistance at our initial jump point. We still aren't sure by what sort of ships-but all were destroyed."

"There was some rumor of the last of the mindslavers making a stand against Your Omnipotence," said T'Lan. "Possibly under the command of the legendary outlaw, Captain K'Tran. Defeating them, you defeated the last of the mindslavers. Nothing else of this time can succeed against the Fleet."

"Excuse me, T'Lan," said the red ball. "But if we destroyed the last of the mindslavers, what is that behind you?"

T'Lan spun around, looking out the armorglass wall. Mindslavers filled space as far as he could see, all the way to the distant shimmer of K'Ronar's atmosphere. His conversation forgotten, he ran for the bridge as the battle klaxon sounded. He was almost there when his long life ended in the fireball that consumed his ship.

Admiral Lord R'Tak was confused. He'd taken the Twelfth outsystem in one massed jump, heading for Red Seven to crush the heart of the Machine Revolt. But instead of some miserable agro planet, K'Ronar filled his screens.