Stephen Berry - The Biofab War

"We were damn lucky," he said as the din subsided. "But our mission's far from accomplished. We have to return to Terra and our men."

"How long to return?" asked McShane as the bridge sank back into routine.

"Six hours," said D'Trelna. "I'm not about to risk that little maneuver again. Insincere assurances to Commander N'Trol notwithstanding.

"Let us hope the landing party is all right."

Innocent of danger, the tow-headed boy bounded up the path, into Zahava's blaster sights. Communicator shrilling in her ear, she swallowed hard and pressed the trigger.

Dying, the boy-form shimmered into what the Israeli recognized as a S'Cotar warrior. "The bugs are attacking," she called over the tactical circuit.

Helmetless, the pilot she'd been guarding raced out of the shuttle, rifle in hand. And died, lanced through the head by a blaster bolt from the rocks below.

Zahava threw herself behind one of the shuttle's thick landing struts, her helmet's infrared scanners picking out the ochre blotches of S'Cotar massing along the hill's lee. Throwing the rifle to her shoulder, she poured a withering series of quick bursts into the insectoids. A hundred blue bolts flashed back at her, filling the night sky.

"Zahava! Hold on! We're coming!" John's voice roared over the commnet.

He was there in less than a minute, Greg and one of K'Raoda's men zigzagging up behind him. Heavy S'Cotar fire now bracketed the Israeli's position.

"Can these suits take simultaneous hits?" John asked the K'Ronarin. He ducked instinctively as a bolt tore through the strut, showering them with sparks. He glanced warily at the tons of spacecraft perched above their heads as the crewman replied, "Only for a few seconds. It depends on how heavy the fire is." The man, a middle-aged Communications technician, sighted carefully and fired. A distant boulder flared cherry-red as a form scuttled from behind it. The K'Ronarin cut it down with a negligent wave of his hand blaster.

A fusillade of blaster fire riddled the shuttle, tearing great gashes in the hull.

"The fuel cells will go!" cried the K'Ronarin. Hastily, the four humans low-crawled to the cover of the rocks behind them.

The craft went up with a roar, sending a huge pillar of blue flame shooting skyward. Molten debris rained down, sparking scores of small brush fires, through which the S'Cotar advanced.

"K'Raoda, we can't hold here," John called over the tactical band. "They've blown the shuttle and are advancing in strength. What's your status?"

"They're coming up our side of the hill. Hundreds of them. I've lost two men." The young officer's voice mingled with the crackle and whine of blaster fire. "We're falling back to the tunnel, Harrison. Join us."

John covered as the others withdrew. No matter how many insectoids he mowed down, more swarmed up from the beach, firing as they came. Soon his warsuit started taking multiple hits, forcing him to withdraw. He followed the others at a run, stopping only twice to snap off a few shots.

So intense was the return fire that for the last few yards John's warsuit was encased in a rippling aura of raw energy. He dived behind the temporary shelter of a boulder, joining the surviving humans now huddled among the rocks ringing the site's entrance.

A stunning barrage of light and sound swept over their shelter, shattering rock and shaking the earth.

"Fall back!" K'Raoda shouted above the din.

They charged into the tunnel, securing the door a second before another, stronger barrage rocked their previous position.

"Photon mortars!" exclaimed K'Raoda. Leaning against the wall, he checked his blaster charge. "Either they've landed a task force or there's a Nest on this planet."

Zahava was about to ask what a Nest was when Greg asked, "Can they get through this door?"

"Yes," said Implacable's Tactics Officer. "But it'll take a while. It only looks like rock. Actually, it's a derivative of Imperial battlesteel." He tapped the door with his gun butt. "Nothing tougher."

"Well I know," the geologist said with a wry smile.

"Why don't they just teleport in here, K'Raoda?" asked John.

"Either they don't have the coordinates or are afraid we've laid some nasty surprises for them."

"My God! Where'd they all come from?" The Israeli slumped wearily against the wall. "We littered the ground with them, but still they kept coming."

"From what you told us," said K'Raoda, "the nearby oceanographic institute must be their Nest. They probably quietly killed off the staff and were using it to search for this site."

"Cindy!" Greg's eyes widened in alarm. "She's at the Institute."

"Who's 'Cindy'?" K'Raoda demanded sharply.

John explained.

The K'Ronarin officer grasped Greg by the shoulders. "Answer carefully," he said intently. "How long did you know • her?"

Blinking, the Terran met his gaze. "Three months."

"Lived with her?"

"Yes."

"How long?"

"About a month."

K'Raoda nodded, then pressed on. "Did you ever notice anything unusual about Cindy? Inappropriate mannerisms, dress, speech?"

Greg shook his head, mute.

"I only saw her once," John said. "She was dressed very lightly for a raw, rainy day. She looked comfortable."

"Just as Langston bounded up Goose Hill with no sign of exertion!" exclaimed Zahava.

The K'Ronarin turned back to Greg. "Do you have any vivid memories of sex with her," he asked bluntly, "or just an indistinct recollection of a wonderful, glowing experience?" Greg frowned. "I… I can't recall anything." He shook his head, bemused. "I remember clearly every other woman I've ever had-but not her."

K'Raoda released the geologist. "That's because there was no 'her,' my friend. 'Cindy' was a S'Cotar. If ever such a woman existed, she's long dead."

"That would explain how Langston-how the S'Cotar- knew we were on the hill," said Zahava. "And that nice, freckle-faced girl I slept under the same roof with-" She broke off, eyes widening in horror.

"Was a transmute that could have ripped your throat out," said K'Raoda.

"But why?" Greg's voice was anguished. "Why lure me back to Massachusetts, why ask to marry me?"

"You were the last human who knew where this site was," John guessed. "To kill you outright would have drawn even more unwelcome attention to the Institute. Better a wedding in Louisiana and a tragic honeymoon accident."

Greg went to a corner, squatted and noisily threw up, rocking back and forth on his heels. Standing after a moment, he shook off comforting hands and confronted his friends, face pale and grim. "What now?" he demanded.

"We hold until relieved, or until I can awaken this installation's slumbering guardian," said K'Raoda. He turned to Zahava. "Show me the control room you were shanghaied from. I'll try to activate the ground defenses. Unless Implacable returns soon, that's our only chance.

"We'll make our last stand at the control room, then destroy it.

"Hold as long as you can," he called over his shoulder, following Zahava down the stairs. "Make them pay for every inch."

"We'll redo the floors in vulture-vomit-green," John promised, turning to face the door. It'd begun to glow just a bit under the hellish energies clawing at it out of the night.

Stephen Ames Berry

The Biofab War

Bill Sutherland led his small contingent along the cold dark beach, stumbling now and again over frozen clumps of seaweed. The bitter March wind howled off the Atlantic, driving the frigid evening tide at their feet.

Bill wasn't aware of his numb hands or frozen feet. With the others, his whole attention was held by Goose Hill, its summit now lit by the flash of massed energy weapons, their whining clear above wind and surf.