Stephen Berry - The Biofab War

"Captain, three heavy cruisers?" L'Wrona said, quietly seconding K'Raoda's protest.

"We will fight and we will win, gentlemen," said D'Trelna confidently, nodding. He turned to the Terrans. "As for you people, please stay with the landing force until our return. They'll need your help even more now. I can't spare many men.

"K'Raoda." He fixed the young officer with a piercing gaze. "If you are in imminent danger of being overrun by a S'Cotar assault force, destroy as much of that installation as you can. You're authorized to arm these and any other Terrans at your discretion."

"Sir, what about the Non-interference Directive?" asked the Tactics Officer.

"A pleasant fiction whose time has passed."

"You'll be staying here for now?" he asked, turning to McShane. Better, though still a bit pale, the professor sat at the flag station.

He nodded. "I'd be of little use in a ground action right now."

Accompanying the landing party to the now-restored Hangar Deck, Bob warmly embraced Zahava and Greg as they boarded the stubby-winged shuttle.

"You know what your chances are," said John, lingering.

Bob nodded. "About as good as yours if those S'Cotar cruisers get through. Besides"-he grinned-"I'll go out astride the deck of a starship, battling alien hordes. Beats the hell out of a coronary."

Ten minutes later, as McShane followed his commando escort back into the ship, the battle klaxon sounded.

The small ship settled with a quiet whoosh atop Goose Hill. Fighting back waves of nausea, John managed to croak, "Do you always pilot like that, Subcommander? Or just when you have guests?" He knew all of his bones were broken.

Seemingly untouched by the g-forces, the K'Ronarin officer bounded past his passengers to the airlock. Deftly fingering a control panel, he opened both doors. Fresh sea air wafted in.

"If you'd seen the sensors," he said as his squad fanned out, securing the perimeter, "you'd have dived, too. Your atmosphere is one vast detector web. We've no shield to stop missiles-I'd rather outrun them before they're fired."

Dropping like a meteor through the stratosphere, they'd executed a series of punishing, powered turns. Pressed deep into his padded chair by the brutal pressure, John had watched, gasping for air, as they'd plummeted through the clouds. Cobalt-blue, the Atlantic had rushed up, filling the overhead screen. Only at the last possible instant had a ribbon of dun-colored land appeared, curving out into the water. The shuttle's gentle landing had belied its violent descent.

John staggered to his feet. "I thought these warsuits doubled as pressure suits?" he said accusatively. "I blacked out more than once." He and Zahava helped an ashen-cheeked Greg to his feet.

"Without them, you'd be dead-we all would," said K'Raoda, turning in the airlock. "But they are better warsuits than pressure suits. Not even the Imperials could mutate so many physical laws with one construct.

"Come help us unload the cargo bay. You'll feel better."

They began moving supplies and equipment from the shuttle. Rubble still blocked the site's top entrance, but there was no sign of Langston or his men.

Leaving only two crewmen on guard, the small party of humans worked quickly, trucking cargo down to the hill's shoulder and stacking it before the rock-choked doorway. They finished as the sun was slipping into the ocean, turning the calm sea a burnt-ochre.

"Now what?" asked Zahava, eyeing the rubble.

K'Raoda sighed. "Give them the rifles, D'Nir."

Nodding, the NCO walked to a rectangular box, sliding back the top. The rifles he handed the Terrans were a gray, dully burnished metal. Stock, trigger guard, safety catch-all looked the same as on any rifle the three had held before. Only the lack of a protruding magazine and the odd muzzle gave the weapons an alien look.

"This will probably get me court-martialed," K'Raoda said resignedly, picking up a rifle. His men stood behind him in a small knot, watching the lesson.

"This is a Confederation Fleet Commando Ion-Laser Rifle, Model-Thirty-Two. It's a line-of-sight weapon, firing a stream of ions along a laser beam. The M-Thirty-Two has greater range and power than the M-Eleven pistol." He patted his holster. "It doesn't require any gift of intellect to use one. Just point"-he aimed casually into the rubble-"and fire." A boulder exploded with a bang, pierced by a thin, red bolt. The blaster made a distinctive shrilling when fired.

"Adjust the beam so." He twisted the muzzle, then fired again. The beam fanned wide, slowly melting an entire boulder.

"Please," K'Raoda implored, tossing his rifle to D'Nir, "keep the safety on.

"One more thing. Recall that the S'Cotar can appear human. If your communicator"-he touched the pendant at his throat-"sounds like this

…" A high-pitched whine made them wince. "…then there's a S'Cotar within twenty yards. Shoot whomever you think you see without hesitation-your mother, your lover, your child-and you may live. Understood?"

His students nodded.

"Good." He smiled. "Now for some target practice. Help us blast through the rubble. I want to be safely inside by dark."

The tons of rubble soon melted away under the hungry red beams. With everyone lending a hand, they made K'Raoda's deadline.

Stephen Ames Berry

The Biofab War

Bill Sutherland smiled at the young, blond-headed guard. "Do you know what a John Doe warrant is?" he asked, leaning against the big security desk.

The man shook his head, eyes narrowed in suspicion. There was a stubborn set to his mouth.

"It's issued by a federal judge who agrees with me that some of Leurre's staff conspired to kill one of my men," he continued easily. "We're empowered to arrest anyone we believe part of that conspiracy. You're obstructing our investigation, which makes you an accessory after the fact and subject to arrest. Understand?"

"Yeah." A corner of his mouth curled up-more grimace than smile.

"So why not cooperate? It'll save FBI Special Agent Flan-nigan here"-he nodded to his right-"from having to haul you in." Tall, thirtyish, black Irish good looks, Flannigan stood with Tuckman, Bakunin and Sutherland's team in the deserted lobby of the Leurre Institute. The guard was the only other human being they'd seen since their arrival.

Sullenly answering Bill's questions, he'd given nothing away. No, he didn't know where Dr. Langston was. No, there was no one here today. Yes, the Institute was usually open on Friday. No, he would not look at their search warrant. They'd have to wait till he could locate someone in authority.

Bill's soft persuasion seemed to work. "Okay"-the guard shrugged-"if you have to search, search. There's nothing I can do. But there really isn't anyone here. And I don't know where the Director is."

Sutherland turned to his men. "Okay, let's get started. You all know where to go and what to look for. Remember, we don't have to uncover the whole iceberg-the tip will do for now. Anything on Foxfire, Antonucchi's murder, the Goose Hill site. Then tomorrow we can have fifty men down here, sifting through.

"You've all got handsets." He held up his own small, Japanese-made transceiver. "If you find something, let us know. I'll be here with the DCI and Colonel Bakunin, in case any of the staff show up."

"Why weren't your people at Otis, Bill?" asked the Director as the agents boarded an elevator.

His deputy shook his head. "I wish I knew. Perhaps Lang-ston caught up with them-an unpleasant possibility. Or maybe they went back to the site." His face brightened. "Of course, that's just what they'd do! McShane would want to poke around in there before we sealed it off.''

Tuckman nodded. "Good reasoning. Let's finish our preliminaries here, then get to the site." Turning to the guard, he asked, "How do we get to Goose Hill from here?"