Stephen Berry - Final Assault

"Don't bother, Commander." Guan-Sharick stood. Taking a med analyzer from her pouch, she placed it on top of a console and injected the blood sample into the specimen aperture. After a moment, the results came up on the unit's screen. "It's too late."

"What do you mean?" asked Yarin. With the others, he stood well away from the dead man.

The transmute held up the medanalyzer. "This is generic plague bacillus-the same one the Fleet of the One used on the Trel, a million years ago. It's mutated now and is attacking humans-with, I think, one intermediate step." She looked at Yarin. "You didn't drive the AIs from their home, did you, Yarin? They're fleeing-fleeing this microscopic killer. Your men contracted it when they stormed the AI rearguard, didn't they?''

His face very pale, Yarin sank into a chair, nodding. "They were dying-dying by the millions-no problem at all, wiping out their remnants. Then our people started dying -none of mine, though. We captured some of their medics-they said what you did, that it was a generic bacillus, lab-bred to adapt to and destroy any lifeform- silicon, carbon, whatever."

"You didn't believe them, of course?" said the transmute, setting the analyzer back down.

Yarin shook his head. "No," he said quietly.

Outside, unnoticed, a score of trim little fighters flashed up over the bridge and through the shield.

"It took a million years to attack the AIs," said Zahava.

"No," said Guan-Sharick. "It probably lay dormant somewhere, until someone, AI or human, came into contact with it."

'Then the Fleet of the One is a plague fleet," said K'Raoda.

The blonde nodded. "And whether they win or not, that plague fleet will spread this invisible killer throughout your galaxy. It was bred for survival-it can survive anything from hard vacuum up to fusion fire. The entire Fleet of the One can be destroyed, but if only a single piece of wreckage with this virus on it lands on some planet, anywhere, it'll spawn and await its newest victims."

"Surely there's an antidote," said John.

"Yes." The blonde turned and pointed toward the main screen. "Down there's the antidote. All we have to do is live long enough to reach there-we have about eight hours, one watch-until the bacillus kills us."

As she finished speaking, the orbital forts opened fire.

"Welcome home, my Lord," said Admiral L' Guan.

D'Trelna and L'Wrona stood uncertainly to one side as N'Trol entered Line's command center.

"Thank you, Admiral," said the Heir. "I really had no intention of leaving, though." He looked at the other two officers. "You did well-my compliments."

L'Wrona bowed stiffly. D'Trelna just nodded.

"How's the Imperial officer you brought back?" asked N'Trol.

"He's in Line's sickbay, getting a full workup," said L'Wrona uneasily. "He seems to be fine. Sir," he added.

"Why don't we just dispense with titles and have a drink?" suggested N'Trol, sinking into one of the room's padded armchairs.

"My kind of Emperor," said D'Trelna, going to a beverager and returning with a tray of four wineglasses and a full decanter. "Though I should remind you, My Lord, that as a S'Htarian, I'm an unswerving radicalist." He finished pouring and handed N'Trol a glass. "My people were throwing grenades at yours when any talk of a confederation was treason."

"Your health, gentlemen," toasted N'Trol, and sipped his wine. "D'Trelna, assuming we survive the AI attack, there'll be a general election. If a plurality wants a constitutional monarchy, I'll be happy to restore the Throne. If not"-he shrugged-"I'll be just as happy to be chief engineer of some deepspace line again."

"Obviously, the admiral and his brother officers are satisfied with your background," said D'Trelna. "Can you convince everyone, though?"

"Line," said N'Trol, setting his drink down on the instrument console. "Am I the Heir?"

"You are," said the machine.

"How can you tell?" said N'Trol.

"You have an extra chromosome, My Lord," it said. "The so-called n chromosome found only in the firstborn male of the Imperial House."

"And how is this chromosome acquired?" asked D'Trelna. "We've had scores of dynasties."

"It's acquired during conception," said Line.

"Nice and vague," said D'Trelna, finishing his first glass and reaching for the decanter. "Are we to be told more?"

"No," said Line.

"Enough of this," said L'Guan. He turned to N'Trol. "K'Ronar has been secured, though we have several thousand uncrewed mindslavers orbiting the planet."

"The smallest of our worries," said N'Trol. "Where's the AI fleet now?"

"They should be clearing their last jump point this watch," said the admiral. "The ships that answered the rally have regrouped and are under the command of Admiral, recently Commodore, A'Wal."

"Let's take the battle as far from the planet as possible," said N'Trol. His gaze shifted to L'Wrona and D'Trelna. "Implacable's combat ready. If you'd care to come with me, I'm taking her down to what's left of Prime Base crewing her, then taking her into the teeth of the AI attack. I have a plan-suicidal, possibly, but it's all we have."

"Let's hear it," said D'Trelna.

There was silence after N'Trol finished, broken by Line's almost petulant voice: "You won't be directing the battle from here, My Lord?"

"In reasonable safety and complete comfort?" He shook his head. "I've been a combat officer for eight years, Line. If this is truly humanity's last day, then I'm going out with my ship and my shipmates, all guns blazing. Besides, Line, Admiral L'Guan's a brilliant tactician, and I'm a very bad one. The admiral's in full command. Obey him as you would me.

"Yes, My Lord," said the machine.

N'Trol sighed. "It can't be said I don't delegate authority-it's all I've been doing." He stood. "Gentlemen?"

D'Trelna and L'Wrona stood. "A privilege to serve with you, My Lord," said L'Wrona.

"I want a good look at her drive," said D'Trelna. "Between you and that corsair, they're probably just so much scrap by now."

"That's what I've always liked about you, D'Trelna," said N'Trol as they left the room. "Your gracious demeanor. You try pushing that ancient bucket with some sadistic nymphomaniac goading you with a blaster to your head."

"And what did you goad her with?" asked L'Wrona as the door hissed shut.

"Well, Line," said L'Guan. "Shall we get to it?"

"Very well, Admiral." "Battle formation, please. And I'd like to speak with Admiral A'Wal."

The fires were mostly beaten down, but columns of thick, black smoke still rose skyward, augmenting an eerie black veil through which a stark orange sunset burned like the promise of doom. The air stank of burned flesh and smouldering duraplast.

Implacable came in over the ruins on silent n-gravs, settling on her struts atop what had been a green quadrangle, now just so much blackened stubble.

N'Trol walked down the ramp, followed by D'Trelna and L'Wrona. The Heir wore a Fleet officer's uniform of duty brown without insignia, a standard-issue Mil A holstered at his side. Walking to where the survivors of the garrison waited, he climbed a pile of rubble and stood, looking down at them for a moment. Black, brown and gray, they were drawn up in eight understrength companies, facing Implacable. "Gather round," he called, gesturing. "I know you don't all have communicators."

They gathered round, a semicircle of no more than a thousand dirty, battle-wearv faces looking up at N'Trol. "The AI fleet will be insystem soon," he began. "Line and the ships that answered the recall will go out to meet them. We're hopelessly outnumbered. Our only chance, our only very desperate chance, is to seize their leaders. Line will identify their command vessel. I propose to take Implacable, board and storm that ship. If we can seize their leadership, they may sue for peace-or so we hope. If not"-he shrugged and smiled-"well, it's better than sitting here waiting for the next blade assault."