Stephen Berry - The Biofab War

"Something unpleasant happen to them, sir?" asked Yazanaga, the team's technical specialist.

"Wiped out. By particle beam weapons." He said it casually, taking a croissant from the coffee table.

"Sir," said Marsh into the uneasy silence, "particle beams were science fiction back then-mostly still are." He glanced uneasily at the expressionless Russian. An analyst of Soviet military technology, Frank Marsh knew of the long-term Russian research in laser and particle beams.

"Colonel Bakunin," said Tuckman, deferring to the Russian.

The KGB officer cleared his throat. "I am authorized to tell you that the radiation traces still in that cave, and at the other sites, are very similar to the residue from our own particle beam testing."

My God! thought Bill. Whatever the hell's going on must have scared the Presidium down to its toenails for that to come out. Before he could ask what other sites, Tuckman continued.

"Some years after the war, an SS officer sold us a map, a very odd map captured by a mortally wounded Abwehr officer during that raid. It sketched the world as we knew it, except for the Antarctic, which was shown without its ice covering. The accuracy of that was only confirmed in the late 1950's by satellite photogammetry. The map's lettering was in a language or code NSA's been unable to crack. It was impregnated into a thin, pliable, highly durable polymer that continues to defy analysis.

"Also on the map, scattered over the globe, are two hundred and fifty-eight red Xs, usually along the coast or well inland. Although it's a very large scale map, one of the marks is plainly on the south coast of France. Proceeding logically, we began the task of finding the other sites. As the French site was underground, we assumed the others would be. We thought we'd gotten lucky after a few months-a cave in Oregon. But like the French site, whatever had been there was destroyed. Just fused lumps of metal congealed on the floor. A small place, really, just a few tunnels hollowed out of bedrock, a cleverly concealed entrance. Analysis of the metal showed the presence of alloys unknown to us-alloys not composed of any known elements."

"Excuse me, sir," said Flannigan. "Did you say no known elements?"

The Director nodded, pausing to sip coffee. "Operations were stepped up.

"The Soviets got their map the same time we did. It was a copy, sold them by the same ex-SS."

"There is no such thing as an ex-SS," said Bakunin.

"Anyway, the Soviets did not begin looking until shortly after we found another site in Montana and lost our team-also to particle beam fire. Shortly after that, the KGB very quickly found a site near Batumi, on the Black Sea. They lost their team, too.

"That was ten years ago. Since then there's been close cooperation on this between myself and General Branovsky, Head of the Second Chief Directorate. Characteristically, the Soviets consider this a problem of internal security, so Second Directorate's in charge. As it was first thought a foreign intelligence matter for the U.S., I was given the assignment, initially reporting to then-Director Mr. Dulles. Currently I report to the President's National Security Advisor, Jose Montanoya.

"Colonel Bakunin was in Washington to discuss progress with me when your call came, Bill. We drew certain conclusions and here we are.

"Floor's now open for discussion."

His men looked to him, waiting. Sutherland voiced it for all of them. "You're talking about an… outside force, sir, aren't you? Something with a technology way ahead of ours. Something keenly interested in finding those sites and preventing us from finding them?"

"Little green gremlins," said the Director. "That's what President MacDonald calls them. Lord knows, he may be right."

"If teams have been wiped out," Bill asked, "why aren't we going in with an armored division?"

"Armored divisions attract attention, Bill. And they're no protection against little green gremlins with, how to say, blasters?

"There was a movie some years ago, The Andromeda Strain. Everyone see it?" Sutherland was surprised when Bakunin nodded with the rest. "You'll recall, then, that when something lethal and alien falls from the skies, the team sent in after it was considered expendable. We're expendable, gentlemen. But then that's always gone with the territory, hasn't it?" He poured more coffee.

It was a long while before anything but the steady throbbing of the jets broke the silence.

Stephen Ames Berry

The Biofab War

"The shield is fully operational, Captain," said N'Trol. Wiry, middle-aged, with the deep-seamed tan that comes from a lot of years hullside, the Engineer had come to the bridge to make his report. He looked tired.

D'Trelna grinned-a smug little grin. "Thank you, Mr. N'Trol. Care for a fata?" The Engineer nodded. "Sit, sit." The Captain waved to the empty flag-officer's station at his rear, swiveling about as N'Trol sat. D'Trelna handed him the steaming cup that appeared atop the chair arm, dialing up another for himself.

"You've done a great job, Engineer. My compliments to you and your staff." N'Trol nodded, acknowledging with an all but imperceptible smile as he sipped the t'ata. "We no longer have to worry about S'Cotar flitting aboard. I'm not aware of anything but massed fusion or missile fire having ever penetrated a Class One Imperial Shield."

"True, sir. A telekinetic beam scatters against a shield like sand against a wall." He finished the drink. "With your permission, sir, I'd like to get some sleep."

"With my blessing. Go."

As N'Trol left, D'Trelna turned back around. "Time to planet three, Mr. K'Raoda?"

"Shield penetrated!" L'Sura cried. Alarms hooted as he pointed midway between Navigation and Weapons. "Life forms materializing… there!"

"Shipwide," snapped the Captain. "Intruders on bridge. Controls to auxiliary. Reaction force to bridge. Battlestations! Battlestations!" The battle klaxon joined the security alarms.

D’Trelna moved fast. Even as a searing white light burst over the bridge, he was on his feet, squinting against the fierce glare, listening for one more alarm before he pulled the trigger.

When spots stopped dancing before their eyes, the K'Ronarins saw four very bewildered humans standing next to Navigation. The bridge S'Cotar detectors remained silent.

"Hold fire," ordered D’Trelna. "They're not transmutes.

"Identify yourselves!"

The oldest of the four, a big, white-haired man, fell to his knees, gasping. "Bob!" cried John. He and Zahava knelt beside the professor as K'Raoda called, "Medtech to the bridge." Stripping off his field jacket, Greg bundled it under Bob's head.

The reaction force burst in, D'Nir at their head. The sergeant looked disappointed at the absence of S'Cotar.

"Get them off the bridge, Sergeant," said D'Trelna as a medtech brushed past him to tend McShane.

"Let go of me," snapped Harrison as a commando grabbed his arm, trying to pull him away from Bob. Zahava rose, seeming to comply, then drop-kicked D'Nir, only to have her arms pinioned.

"This is absurd," D'Trelna said, stepping down from the command tier and past the doubled-over NCO. "Commandos, stand clear. D'Nir, you should be ashamed of yourself, sap-kicked like that.

"Well?" he asked Q'Nil, the medtech.

The man looked up, putting away the diagnoster. "Shock, minor stroke. Their heart and respiratory systems seem slightly different from ours. A while in sick bay and he should be fine." Filling a hypo, he pantomimed injecting Bob, looking questioningly at the three other Terrans. They nodded.

"We've got to communicate," said D'Trelna. "D'Nir, very calmly, without injuring yourself further, escort the two men and the woman to Briefing Room Three, Five Deck. K'Raoda, have Survey bring five cerebral translators there on the run." As he spoke, McShane's breathing eased and he slept.