Stephen Berry - The Biofab War

The other commando and the three Terrans fell in beside him. "Commander!" he called. "Now or never."

"Never," said a resigned voice. Knife in hand, K'Raoda came to stand with his men.

John felt a hand squeeze his arm. Zahava stood next to him. "The French have a saying," she said with a sad smile. "'Tout passe, tout casse, tout lasse.' You know it?"

"Today's not our day to perish, my friend." He gave an answering squeeze, then let her hand fall away. "My bad knee doesn't hurt."

The warriors came at them six abreast, leaping toadlike over their dead, sweeping down on the humans, a great green flood. At twenty paces, John gamely fell into a fighting crouch. His left knee was throbbing.

"Drop!" roared a voice from behind. "Hit the deck!" The humans dropped, faces to the rock floor, as a hail of gunfire tore into the S'Cotar. The victorious charge became a rout.

Firing from the hip, Sutherland led his men after the retreating warriors. A final burst of fire killed the last of them just as they reached their blasters, stacked beside the altar well. The five men walked slowly back to where John and Zahava stood, helmets under their arms.

"Long night, Mr. Director?" John smiled weakly.

"Long night, Mr. Harrison." Bill nodded, smiling back. "In fact, I keep hoping I'll wake up soon."

"No chance. Thanks, Bill." He clapped his friend on the shoulder.

Zahava, ever direct, kissed Sutherland soundly on the lips.

"More. More." He grinned, tired but appreciative. She kissed him again.

"Something out of an opium dream," said Sutherland, nudging a torn S'Cotar corpse with his rifle butt.

"And who those people are, I'm afraid to ask," he said, nodding toward the K'Ronarin survivors. "I gather they supplied your galactic opera costumes?"

"They're from a nearby starship," said Greg nonchalantly, helping carry the unconscious crewman into the transport room. Sutherland merely nodded, eyes distant. Bakunin, standing nearby examining a blast rifle, didn't even look up.

"I can see you're overwhelmed by the news," drawled John.

"I was overwhelmed hours ago." The CIA officer sighed. "Now I'm just trying to cope, moment to moment. What are they called?"

"They're K'Ronarins," said Zahava. "Their ancestors built this installation, centuries ago."

"And the big green bugs?"

"S'Cotar. The two are fighting a war of extermination," John said.

"Who's winning?"

"The S'Cotar."

Sutherland grunted. "This gets cheerier by the minute."

K'Raoda had vanished into the transport room just after the warriors' destruction. Now he reappeared, intent on the small biosensor he was holding. After a moment he looked up, relieved. "All enemy forces have left the area." He gave a crooked grin. "We did it-we held.

"And it's because of you that we did," he said to Sutherland. "Thank you." He held out his hand.

"I can't understand you," said Bill, shaking hands, "but I can guess. You're welcome."

"By a clever oversight, I neglected to bring translators with us." K'Raoda led them into the transport room. Bakunin, exploring, looked up as they trooped in.

"May I present Colonel Andreyev Ivanovich Bakunin, Union of Soviet Socialist Republics," said Sutherland. "These two people"-he indicated John and Zahava-"work with me."

Bakunin nodded pleasantly. "May I know their names?"

"No." Bill looked at Greg. "You, I don't know," he said.

"If you're Joe Antonucchi's boss, you might recognize my fingerprints from a piece of granite I gave him."

"Implacable to ground force." D'Trelna's voice boomed from the commset and over all the communicators. "What is your situation?" A ragged cheer preceded K'Raoda's report.

"I'm coming down with reinforcements," the Captain said, an anxious McShane hovering at his elbow. "By the way, fifty Terran rotoplanes are closing on you-ETA two minutes. I assume they're friendly." (He assumed nothing. Four batteries were locked on the unsuspecting airborne troops.)

John relayed the information to Sutherland.

"RDF troops from Devens." He nodded. "I'd better get up there. Where's the front door?"

His men hadn't been idle. A rope ladder now dangled down the altar well. He made a face, then swung up the ladder, K'Raoda following close behind.

"I don't know about anyone else," said Bakunin, "but I need rest." The Russian lay down on the floor and was instantly asleep.

"Food for those who want it," said D'Nir, passing out handfuls of tasteless protein wafers.

Tired but hungry, the remaining allies ate.

Stephen Ames Berry

The Biofab War

"Yes, but why didn't they teleport?"

D'Trelna's bull voice filled the cramped transport room. "You should all be dead!" He'd landed an hour ago, marched in and promptly taken command. Unlike K'Raoda, he'd brought extra translators.

Rumpled green tunic unbuttoned, the Captain perched precariously atop one of the slender console chairs, drumming his fingers on the instrument panel. "Too many unanswered questions, gentlemen," he said to the K'Ronarins and Terrans gathered around him. He enumerated them on his blunt fingers.

"One. The S'Cotar have been in your solar system for some time. That's obvious from the base we destroyed, their takeover of the oceanographic facility and their destruction, according to your own evidence, of other transporter stations.

"Two." A second finger rose. "Given all that, you people"-he nodded toward the Terrans-"have no more right to be alive than my landing party. The S'Cotar should have swept through you like voracious insects devouring a grainfield. Just as they should have devoured this planet years ago. Why didn't they?

"And three." A thumb came up. "They should have tele-ported down that tunnel once they were through the outer door and could visualize the area. Hell! They should have overrun you on the hilltop. Why didn't they use the ability that has cost us so dearly-an ability that threatens to sweep us from the galaxy?"

He slapped the dull black metal on the console. "Bah! I'm not an Alienpsych officer. Let's keep those points in mind, though, and get on to the specifics of staying alive. Questions?".

"Are we in any immediate danger of attack?" asked Sutherland. He'd exchanged the S'Cotar blaster for a K'Ronarin rifle, now slung over his shoulder. Marsh, Johnson, Yazanaga and Bakunin were also toting Fleet M-32s.

"Tactics Officer?" D'Trelna deferred to K'Raoda.

"Almost certainly," answered the younger man, his work at the terminal momentarily set aside. "The S'Cotar invariably counterattack. We've been granted this brief lull, I suspect, so they can rally everything they've got left in your system- spacecraft, transmutes, warriors-and launch a coordinated assault. Right now they're probably marshaling on the opposite side of the planet from Implacable. The festivities should resume soon, I think."

"How long before your fleet gets here?" asked McShane.

"A week, maybe two." D'Trelna held up a hand, stifling the murmur of dismay. "Not soon enough to help us, obviously. But soon enough, I hope, to take care of major S'Cotar reinforcements. If we can hold till then, we may win. If not…"

"How can we help?" asked Bakunin. "More troops?"

("Pretty free with our men, isn't he?" someone-Marsh?- stage-whispered.)

"No." D'Trelna shook his head. "In fact, you should withdraw all but a small number of men-say forty. If we can't hold these few tunnels with a hundred men, we can't hold them at all. Don't forget, the S'Cotar have a fix on these coordinates now. They should be dropping right into our ranks. We can't afford to have it packed asses to elbows down here-we'd be slaughtered." He rose from his chair.

"I have no authority over you, my friends. But circumstance has united us in arms against a vicious and deadly foe. It's a war of extermination; without treaties, without quarter. Either we kill the S'Cotar or they kill us-every man, woman and child in the galaxy. We can't make any mistakes. There are no second chances.