Stephen Berry - The Battle for Terra Two

The S'Cotar shrugged. "If we hadn't wiped most of your corrupt fleet and your rotting republic, something else would have-the invasion Pocsym predicted, some unpleasantness out of the old Imperial Marches. Life's a quirky gift, Margrave-you often have to risk it to keep it. We reminded you of that."

"Too costly a lesson," said L'Wrona, pulling his blaster.

"H'Nar!" snapped D'Trelna. "No!"

' 'Please, J'Quel," said L'Wrona softly, weapon on Guan-Sharick. "They killed my world."

"Captain my Lord L'Wrona," said D'Trelna, voice flat and hard, "you will holster your weapon or I will relieve you and charge you, sir."

"As the commodore orders." L'Wrona slid his blaster back into its holster, then clasped his hands behind his back, expressionless.

"If this isn't convincing," said D'Trelna to the S'Cotar, "you're dead."

Guan-Sharick shrugged. "During the war," it began, gaze shifting between the two men, "we found an Imperial device in this system that could access alternative realities."

D'Trelna mumbled something. The other two looked at him. He shook his head. "Nothing. Continue."

"Gaining a crude understanding of this machine, we used it to establish a base on an alternate Terra-Terra Two, we called it. This covert base was to continue research into the use of the device and serve as a fallback for us in the remote chance that we lost the war." The blonde smiled wryly-an engaging smile. D'Trelna marveled as always at the S'Cotar transmute's flawless mimicry of its dead victims' mannerisms. "As this base was not part of the war, we placed it in charge of a troublesome Tactics Master.''

"Tactics Master?" said D'Trelna.

"Ten years you fought us, Commodore," said Guan-Sharick, surprised, "and you don't know what a Tactics Master is?"

"Your command structure was mostly a mystery. Whenever we captured one of you, you'd blow up. Can't interrogate wall scrapings."

"A Tactics Master is-was-roughly the equivalent of a second admiral-the senior-most insystem commander.''

"Leader of a heavy task force," said L'Wrona.

Guan-Sharick nodded. "Shalan-Actal distinguished himself early in the war. It was he who planned and executed the assault on your home world of U'Tria, Margrave."

L'Wrona's face seemed graven in stone.

"He was a zealot, though," continued the S'Cotar. "As the war dragged on, we saw the need to conserve resources. Shalan did not. He'd rather torch a planet than capture it, shoot humans rather than use them as labor, burn cities in reaction to minimal guerrilla activity, rather than convert their industrial plant to our war effort. He grew worse and finally was relieved, sent into what we thought was a harmless exile."

"Terra Two," said DTrelna.

"Terra Two," said Guan-Sharick. "There he conducted unauthorized experiments with the device. During one such experiment he contacted entities in another parallel universe-entities with a similar device. It was like two opposing tunnels meeting."

The blonde stood, pacing in between desk and sofa. "When you won the war, Shalan formed an alliance with these entities. They're silicon-based life-forms-machines of beings long dead. They're now on Terra Two, a small force of them, trying to reestablish the connection between that world and their own universe. When they do that, they'll come pouring through their portal, take Terra Two and then Terra One."

"How do you know that?" said L'Wrona.

The S'Cotar faced L'Wrona. "I was there. I heard, I saw. And I escaped, Margrave. Even now Shalan's transmutes are hunting me."

"Where's their portal on Terra?" asked D'Trelna.

"No." The S'Cotar shook its head. "I don't trust you- you might do something rash. If you attack that portal, you'll spark a counterattack-one you may not stop with two ships."

"Of course we'd stop it," said L'Wrona. "You've said the machines are few. And how many bugs could this Shalan have been allowed in his exile?''

"Few, but they're breeding up to strength. Fast, using an untested growth accelerant."

"Assuming this is true," said DTrelna, "what do you want us to do?"

The desk commlink chirped. "D'Trelna," said the commodore.

"Engineer N'Trol requests permission to lower the shield for periodic maintenance," reported K'Raoda, Implaca-ble's third officer.

D'Trelna sighed. "What did N'Trol actually say, T'Lei?"

"He said, sir, 'Tell Fatty and the fop to let me fix the number eight shield generator, or we'll be eating meteors next watch.' "

"Seems clear," said D'Trelna. "Thank you, T'Lei. I'll advise N'Trol direct." He turned to L'Wrona. "What do you think?"

"It has to be fixed," said the captain. He looked at the blonde. "As long as slime here doesn't flick an assault force on board."

"I could do that very easily," said Guan-Sharick. "You're well within teleport range of the Terran surface. But I've no force left.

"If Shalan knew I was here, though, he'd try for me."

"Does Shalan know?" asked L'Wrona.

"No."

Commodore and captain exchanged glances. "Let's do it," said L'Wrona.

D'Trelna nodded curtly. "Agreed." He spoke into the commlink. "Chief Engineer."

"Engineering. N'Trol," said a surly voice.

"N'Trol. Fatty here. Fop and I have decided that you may lower the shield."

"About time."

"N'Trol, you'll find this hard to believe, but there are other considerations than the care and feeding of the engineering…"

The commlink telltale winked out.

"Cut me off," said D'Trelna, surprised. "He's getting worse, H'Nar."

"Why do you tolerate him?" asked the S'Cotar.

"He's very competent," said L'Wrona.

"NTrol's the finest engineer in Fleet," said D'Trelna. "He resents having been drafted from a very lucrative job."

"He resents humanity," said L'Wrona. "N'Trol should have been a S'Cotar." He touched the communicator at his throat. "Bridge. Captain. Shield's going down for repair. Go to high alert, coordinate with Engineering on outage and hull-security party."

"All sections, high alert." K'Raoda's voice echoed through the great old ship. "High alert. The shield is going down for repair. Shield will be down. All sections to high alert. All sections acknowledge."

"You won't give us the portal location," said D'Trelna as the alert call ended. "What proof can you offer?"

A small white cylinder appeared in the blonde's hand. "Everything is on this commwand. But all I need"-the S'Cotar smiled ruefully-"all we need, is one man. One special Terran who can stop Shalan-Actal. A man who'd never work for me, Commodore-but he'd work for you."

"The shield is down," announced the bridge. "The shield is down."

Guan-Sharick rose, extending the commwand.

As D'Trelna stepped around the desk, a transmute flicked into existence beside him, firing at Guan-Sharick. The blonde vanished. The blue bolts tore through the sofa, exploding against the bulkhead.

L'Wrona drew and fired, two quick, red bolts, as the battle klaxon sounded and D'Trelna threw himself to the floor.

"All secure, J'Quel," L'Wrona called over the klaxon. The transmute lay dead on the floor, an arm's length from the commodore, viscous green blood oozing from a hole in its thorax, staining the maroon carpeting.

D'Trelna stood, pulling himself up by the desktop, the commwand in his other hand.

The door hissed open. L'Wrona whirled, blaster ready. A reaction squad of black-uniformed commandos surged in, commando lieutenant S'Til leading. Captain and commandos faced each other over the dead S'Cotar, weapons leveled.

"Captain to Flanking Councilor four," said S'Til.

"Concede," said L'Wrona, lowering his weapon.

"Sir." S'Til saluted, Mil A to her chest. If L'Wrona had given an I'Wor move, she'd have killed him.

"Clean this up, Lieutenant," said L'Wrona. He spoke briefly with the bridge, then turned to D'Trelna. "Just that one," he said, as two commandos dragged the biofab's body out. "The rest of the ship's clean."