Stephen Berry - The Biofab War

"I think I can answer that," said K'Raoda, pushing his empty plate away. "They didn't.

"They were probably all housed in one central place-I suspect the Institute-until needed. Two or three of the transmutes could project an image of normalcy throughout the entire installation whenever there were visitors."

"It looks like the surface of the moon," said MacDonald to Montanoya as the two men looked down on Goose Hill. The morning sun had woven a grotesque tapestry of light and shadow from the twisted alien bodies and molten, wide-strewn rubble.

"More like something out of Dante, Mr. President," said Montanoya.

"Land where you can," MacDonald ordered the air force Major piloting the Apache gunship.

"Where you can" was next to a pair of gutted K'Ronarin scout craft. The six escort gunships settled in a protective ring around the presidential chopper.

Following a combat-ready platoon of Secret Servicemen, they made their way up from the beach to where S'Cotar bodies heaped the blasted entrance.

"Don't look much prettier burned than they do intact," said Montanoya, comparing a charred corpse to one less damaged.

"There are probably many life forms in the universe, Jose," said MacDonald, waiting for their escort to check the site. "Perhaps we're as repulsive to them as they are to us."

"No one home, Mr. President," reported the agent in charge five minutes later. "Something sure blasted the hell out of the lower corridor and the room above it, though. No human bodies, but plenty of them." He nudged a headless corpse with the polished black toe of his combat boot.

"Okay. Let's have a look," MacDonald said.

Armed men front and rear, the President and Montanoya carefully picked their way down the rubble-strewn stairs and upper corridor, through the broken remains of the altar chamber, then down the ladder to the lower tunnel, its lighting flickering on and off. The scarred walls and blasted S'Cotar corpses bore mute testimony to the hellish energies that had raged there.

MacDonald turned to the escort commander. "Where was-''

He never finished the question. He and Montanoya disappeared, leaving consternation in their wake.

"And this is Central Control," said POCSYM to the humans entering the large room.

Screens above unmanned consoles came on, filling with sights both familiar and strange. London, New York, Moscow, Paris, Tokyo, Singapore, Rio de Janeiro, Bonn, the North American continent, Terra, Terra and its moon, the outer planets, the sun.

"Are those real or taped?" asked the Russian, peering closely at Mars. The color and clarity were flawless.

"Real, Colonel. I've maintained the satellite observation network first installed by Fleet. Drone repair ships are on station in the asteroids and many of the planetary satellites."

The screens blanked out.

"We're about to receive visitors, gentlemen and lady. Please stand well away from the center of the room," POCSYM requested. "And no matter what you think you see, do nothing."

Sutherland was still in awe of the seemingly effortless way POCSYM transmitted and reassembled people. With no apparent transition, Jose Montanoya and President MacDonald stood in the center of the room, blinking.

"Welcome to K'Ronarin Planetary Command," said POCSYM. "I've been looking forward to this meeting for some time."

"You have the advantage, sir," MacDonald said, taking in the unfamiliar faces.

"Your pardon, sir. I am POCSYM Six, this installation's guardian."

"I'm Jose Montanoya," said the National Security Advisor. He paused. Why didn't Sutherland do or say something? The man was just standing there, staring at him. "And this gentleman"-he indicated MacDonald-"is the President of the United States, where I hope we still are."

"You are in the United States, or rather under it, Mr. Montanoya," replied POCSYM. "But your companion is neither gentle nor a man. Stand away from him, please."

Ignoring the hisses of indrawn breath and weapons being drawn, POCSYM continued, "Greetings to you, Gaun-Sharick, Illusion Master of the Infinite Hosts of the Magnificent. Hail! and well met, ancient foe."

"No!" cried Montanoya, even as he backed away from MacDonald. "I've known this man for forty years. He can't be an… alien."

"See and believe, Mr. Montanoya," POCSYM said.

MacDonald's form shimmered for an instant, then was replaced by a transmute. The alien stood unmoving. It carried no weapons.

"And the President?" asked Montanoya after a moment's stunned silence. "What about the President?"

Dead, said a voice in all their heads. The S'Cotar turned its huge eyes on them. We held him in our base on Demos. Your newfound friends killed him in their rush to destroy us.

"Intellectually, Gaun-Sharick is as old as I am, if you discount the hundreds of successive clones through which his persona has passed," POCSYM said. "He stands high in the Council of the Magnificent. His is the task of exterminating all hostile-that is to say alien-life. If he can sow dissension among the foes of the Host, all the better. He's the father of lies.

"Didn't you wonder, Mr. Montanoya," asked POCSYM, "why on earth, or under it, a President of the United States would expose himself to danger, especially without media coverage?

"Gaun-Sharick hoped I would be fooled into transporting him here. Talks between the Terrans and the K'Ronarins was, of course, the next logical step.

"Behold the Illusion Master, stripped of his illusions.

"Captain D'Trelna." POCSYM addressed the Confederation officer, who stood with blaster leveled at the insectoid, "please tell the Terrans what must have occurred for Gaun-Sharick to have imitated their President so well."

Clearing his throat, the Captain complied. "His memories had to be transferred, down to the most basic level, directly into the alien's mind. This is accomplished by slowly inserting the thin, hard antennae concealed in the mandibles into the victim's brain, absorbing each successive layer of memory even as the victim dies. The process takes several very painful hours."

The horrified silence was broken by Montanoya trying to seize John's blaster.

"No, Mr. Montanoya!" said POCSYM. "Alive he can be used to avenge your friend. Dead he is of no use. Something he realizes-he's tried to teleport continuously in the last minute. It would be certain death, as he doesn't know his location. I've blocked those attempts as well as his efforts to bring unwelcome visitors. With your permission, Captain, I'll put him on a debriefer."

"What's that?" asked Greg.

"It will extract every bit of data from his mind, but unlike your President, the process won't kill Gaun-Sharick," said K'Raoda. "I assume there's an Imperial model here. Much more thorough than ours-it will leave him a vegetable." There was no mercy in the young officer's voice.

D'Trelna gestured to two of his commandos. They came up to the alien, flanking him. ''Follow the blue light to Interrogation, gentlemen," directed POCSYM. "My robots will take charge of the prisoner there."

A ball of soft blue light, a foot in diameter, appeared on the floor before prisoner and escort, slowly moving toward the door. The trio followed.

Gaun-Sharick turned at the door, transfixing them with baleful red eyes, twin pools of malevolence. His voice hissed in their minds again. We shall write your names on water. The scattering dust is your fate. The door closed behind him.

"Now what?" asked a shaken Jose Montanoya.

"I suggest we await our battle fleet, sir, then negotiate a mutual defense treaty," D'Trelna said. "It's only a matter of time before the S'Cotar bring up their main force. Our presence here confirms the importance of Terra and this system." He nodded at a wall hologram of the solar system.