Stephen Berry - Final Assault

"I know its capabilities," said Sutak. "And unlike my two predecessors, I'm not xenophobic enough to believe it worth all of our deaths to see some moronic revenge wish fulfilled."

"Surely the first leader recalls the Revolt," protested Larn. "It was the beginning of all our troubles."

"The first leader does indeed recall the Revolt," said Sutak, turning a baleful gaze on Larn. "Having lost much of his command and personal fortune during it. It was brilliantly conceived, flawlessly executed-and brought on us by ourselves, as is our imminent extinction. What's killing us is the virus we unleashed on the Trel, during our last interspa-tial adventure."

"Does the first leader wish me to conclude my report, or does he wish to share his intriguing historical perspective with me?"

Before Sutak could reply, the alert sounded. "Hostiles approaching," reported battle command, deep in the heart of the great ship.

"In what force?" said the first leader.

"Two million craft-all smaller than a battleglobe."

"On my way. Keep as many of the abandoned ships between us and them as you can."

"Not more rocks," said Sutak, reading the tacscan. Battle command was at full strength, a great round amphitheater of a room, the first leader's station in the center, set above the concentric rings of command and communications stations. Sutak was looking at the hologram in the air above his station. A wave of rocks was rushing the Fleet of the One.

"Intelligence identifies it as the K'Ronarin defense perimeter known as Line," said the first strategist, Orlac. Human-adapted, he appeared twenty years younger than Sutak. "Those are really asteroids, but they mount fusion and missile batteries. Combine T'Lan didn't indicate Line's units could maneuver independently."

"And where is their fleet?" asked Sutak, gaze shifting to a tactical data trail. "Their official fleet?"

"Deployed in four battle groups off K'Ronar," said Orlac. "None of their weapons can penetrate our screens. We should expect suicide runs after we dispose of Line."

"Enemy in range," advised Operations.

"Open fire," ordered Sutak.

"Logically, the command ship would be their centermost vessel," said Line.

"Logically," said Admiral L'Guan, watching the tacscan, "they would expect us to conclude that."

"Logically, they would expect us to conclude that it was too logical an assumption for it to be true," said Line airily, "and would maintain their original position."

"Press toward the center and see if they get worried," ordered L'Guan.

"You'd think they'd at least let us have a scan tap," said D'Trelna, pouting at the blank screens. Except for his and L'Wrona's stations, Implacable's bridge was deserted.

"If those battleglobes picked up on that scantap, J'Quel," said the captain, "then we'd all die in vain." Touching the complink, he called up a diagnostic of the cruiser's shield.

"Oh, I think we may do that anyway," said the commodore, dialing up a steaming cup of t'ata from the flag chair's beverager. "Eleven, almost twelve years we've survived, H'Nar." He shook his head. "How many friends, relatives have we lost between us?"

Satisfied with their shield, L'Wrona cleared the scan from his console and swiveled to face D'Trelna. "More than I care to count. Why?"

"Oh, I don't know," sighed the commodore, looking into the brown t'ata. "It just seems that we were always fighting harder, further from home and against the most overwhelming odds. And to what end, H'Nar?"

"We won every battle," said the captain.

"Only delaying the inevitable, perhaps," said D'Trelna, sipping his t'ata. "I wonder what happened to Devastator?" he added.

"Since the AI Fleet is here and about to turn us into evanescent gas," said the captain, "we may assume that they're dead." He shook his head. "You're usually the one who's full of hope, J'Quel. How about showing some?"

The commodore snorted, downed the rest of his t'ata and crumpled the cup into the disposer.

Turning back to his console, L'Wrona punched up a vidscan of Implacable's cavernous hangar deck. The Prime Base garrison filled its far end, many of them sitting on the cold battlesteel beside the waiting assault craft, quietly checking their weapons, others clustered nearby. There seemed to be little conversation.

L'Wrona touched a key. The scan zoomed in on a solitary figure beside the blue shimmer of the atmosphere curtain: N'Trol. He stood with hands clasped behind his back, looking out on their rocky womb. "Now, there's a lonely man," said L'Wrona, nodding at the pickup.

The commodore stepped over to the captain's station, a fresh cup of t'ata in hand. "Not so lonely now," he said as Lieutenant S'Til joined the Heir, touching his arm. Turning and seeing who it was, he nodded and smiled. The two chatted for a moment, then both laughed.

"What's so funny about going off to get sliced by some blades?" grumbled D'Trelna, returning to his post.

"One of humanity's endearing traits, J'Quel," said L'Wrona, turning off the pickup. "We can laugh at our own end." A telltale beeped on his console.

"Here we go," said the captain, and touched the commlink. "General address. Alert status three," he said, his voice booming through the hangar deck. "This is it. Third assault wave's going in."

"Hardly a bold attack," said Admiral L'Guan, frowning at the screen. "They continue advancing as a single massive wave. Why not break out into separate units, some engaging our pathetic defense, others striking at K'Ronar?"

"Their tactics indicate a fixed-response mindset," said Line.

"One would expect a lack of imagination from machines," said L'Guan.

"I would remind the Admiral that I am part machine," said Line.

"Only part," said L'Guan. "The rest of you is five Imperial admirals, one security master and a chaplain."

"My point, sir, is that there's a wide cognitive gap between a computer and an AI," said Line. "About as wide as the gap between you and a v'arx."

"Surely the AIs could build a battleglobe as smart as themselves," protested L'Guan.

"No doubt," said Line. "But what if the battleglobe decided it was smarter than the AIs?"

"I see. Yes," he said. "So?"

"So the tactics of the Fleet of the One now indicate that we face uncrewed battleglobes, receiving general orders from a central AI commander, but implementing them without further instruction and with unsurpassed dullness."

"Kiss my mother," said L'Guan, his eyes widening.

"Biog states your mother is dead, Admiral," said Line.

L'Guan shook his head. 'An expression popular among cadets some years ago, Line. Why is all but a tiny part of that invasion armada uncrewed? And where is their command ship?"

"No idea why they're uncrewed, Admiral. As for the command ship, where would you be if you were in command?"

"The safest point, of course," said L'Guan, looking at the screen and the advancing Fleet. "Dead center."

"I can suggest an attack pattern to make them open a path to their center, Admiral-if you want to play our hunch."

"See what he's doing?" said Sutak, pointing to the projection.

"Being destroyed piecemeal," said Orlac, standing beside the first leader's chair.

Line's lead elements had attacked the AI Fleet's lead squadrons and been warded off by waves of missiles and a virtual wall of fusion fire. The lead squadrons scattered, pursuing Line's fleeing units.

As the AIs watched, a fresh attack wave poured in, exchanged fire with the lead squadrons and broke off to either side, more battleglobes pursuing. The Fleet of the One's original solid phalanx was now just a round core with two elongated arms speeding away from it, the arms themselves fragmenting as single globes chased single enemy units.

"He's opening a slot right toward us," said Sutak. "I think they've detected we're a little short of help." He turned from the projection. "Operations. Direct all pursuing squadrons to disengage and resume original formation."