Stephen Berry - The Biofab War

"They're eating my brain!" he cried, or so D'Trelna later swore.

Q'Nil was sure the Captain would kill them, racing the ho. vercar around sharp corners at full speed, recklessly banking and swerving.

They were at the mindslave chamber in minutes, D'Trelna charging through the door and down the stairs to kneel over Bob. The Terran lay stretched out on the floor, ominously still, his breathing shallow. He opened his eyes, blinking weakly as Q'Nil examined him.

"Captain," he managed to croak. "Captain. The mind-slaves… you must kill them. My word… agreed to help us… let them die."

D'Trelna blinked, then avoided the injured man's piercing gaze. "Well?" he asked as Q'Nil administered a hypo.

"Shock, fever, exhaustion. I've given him a sedative. He'll need lots of rest, but barring complications he should be all right."

"Captain," Bob whispered hoarsely. Seizing D'Trelna's tunic with both hands, he pulled the K'Ronarin's face to within inches of his own. "Your word!"

"I can't!" cried the officer, pulling away. He stood, his face set. "You did a great and wondrous thing, my friend. But you exceeded your authority when you made that promise. Hell, man, you exceeded mine! Without those brainstrips, Revenge is just another toothless relic. And we may still need her."

"If you could only have felt their anguish-and the terrible catharsis that's their only pleasure, J'Quel," said Bob, rallying voice and mind for a final plea. "They desire only oblivion- deserve it as a mercy!"

"You're suggesting, Bob," came the gentle rejoinder, "that we can only save those brainstrips-legally centuries dead, their names forgotten-we can only save these dead things by killing them."

He bent down and lifted one of McShane's arms. "Help me get him to sick bay, Q'Nil. He's delirious."

Stephen Ames Berry

The Biofab War

"This man"-Admiral L'Guan beamed, draping an affectionate arm about D'Trelna's broad shoulders-"once led me such a wild chase through an uncharted asteroid belt that I marvel to be alive." Chuckling, he slipped his arm away to hook a drink from a passing steward.

The K'Ronarin fleet had shown up eight days after the S'Cotar's destruction. Standing well off Terra, its senior officers had flitted down-via POCSYM-to a series of meetings with the heads of all but one of Earth's most powerful nations. Although ignoring its invitation, the Soviet Union had sent a freshly debriefed Andreyev Bakunin to the conference as an observer, a continuing status he now shared aboard Vigilant with the two Americans and the Israeli, also just returned from home.

The meetings, held on a secluded ranch in the high desert of New Mexico, had been cordial, reinforcing the existing groundwork of mutual trust. The K'Ronarin Ambassador, once he arrived, would find the Terrans receptive to a mutual aid pact.

L'Guan was every inch the professional soldier-diplomat: tall, handsome, with silver-streaked hair and aquiline features, he stood resplendent in a bemedaled, jet-black dress uniform, a gracious, charming host to the Terrans and K'Ronarins thronging Vigilant's spacious reception hall.

"You really couldn't catch me?" asked Implacable's skipper disbelievingly. "I thought you were toying with me!" Both burst into laughter.

"Maneuvers?" asked John, sipping his drink.

"Maneuvers? This old pirate? Ha!" the Admiral laughed. "He was a smuggler, running-what was it that time, J'Quel, null-grav spices?"

"No, sir. Surface-to-space missile parts for the colonists on Q'Tul Seven. As you'll recall, Admiral, our myopic policy was to close our eyes and pretend that the S'Cotar would just-"

"As you can see," interrupted L'Guan good-humoredly, "we've had our differences. When the entire Confederation finally came around to J'Quel's way of thinking, he came in one day and offered his services. It was because of his… ah… unusual background and subsequent record that I chose him to lead this expedition.

"You signed up when, Captain, six years ago?" he asked, draining his glass. A crewman whisked it away.

"Yes, sir. Just after the debacle of U'Tria Nine. And a difficult six years it's been, Admiral," continued D’Trelna. He reminded Zahava of a pugnacious bulldog that had once hung around her apartment building, terrifying the neighborhood kids.

"Oh, I think we have them now, Captain-' said the senior officer, exuding a quiet confidence. "Or rather, they no longer have us, thanks to all of you.'' His gaze swept the circle of his listeners: John, Zahava, Montanoya, Sutherland and Bakunin, the last of whom wore the dress uniform of a KGB colonel. "Our forces are already reoccupying the sectors they've pulled out of.''

Sutherland, dressed in the Outfit's uniform-two-piece designer suit, hand-finished white shirt, silk tie and Swiss cordovans-raised his glass, saluting L'Guan. "I'd like to thank you, sir, for a grand reception, and for my being the first Terran to enjoy a manhattan in Earth orbit."

The Admiral gave a slight bow, then added mischievously, "Actually, someone from your country's diplomatic corps claimed that record over an hour ago." He glanced about the room. "Hmm. He seems to have gone off with one of the women of my bridge crew. Busy setting another new record, no doubt."

Zahava, earlier unrecognized by Bill in a lavender Dior gown, turned to Montanoya. "How did you convince all these people to come, Jose?" she asked. Her long-stemmed crystal wineglass swept over the gathering.

The hall thronged with military and civilians, K'Ronarin and Terran, all in after-dinner attire and wearing translators. The U.S. Marine Corps chamber orchestra, smartly set off in mess whites, was playing Bach. The Earth hung seemingly just beyond the transparent far wall, a green, brown and blue orb broken by swirling mists of white.

"I wish I could say it was my diplomatic skill," replied Montanoya, his own eyes taking in the reception. "Credit where it's due, though. The recent ground, air and space actions lit up battleboards around the planet like a Christmas tree.

"They probably didn't tell you, Admiral, but several idiots wanted to start lobbing nukes at both K'Ronarin and S'Cotar fleets. But when the morons saw the numbers and weaponry involved, cooler heads were able to prevail. Fortunately, one of those heads belonged to our then-Vice President, Pete Martin."

He stopped to light a cigar, first delicately biting the tip off and swallowing it.

"You've stunned the world into at least a temporary peace," he continued, exhaling a great wreath of smoke. "Hostilities of any sort have ceased in most areas of the globe. It's as if the world were holding its collective breath, waiting to see if you're going to conquer us, lend technical aid or ask for colonization rights."

He smiled at L'Guan's startled expression. "My summation of yesterday's Situation Report from our State Department."

"Surely the masses know nothing of this?" asked Bakunin with a tinge of alarm.

"The 'masses,'" said Montanoya, slowly hissing the s's, "know nothing, Colonel. You can rest assured-for now."

The Russian's bourbon and spring water stopped halfway to his lips. "Surely sir, you-the United States-don't intend to unilaterally reveal all of this to an unprepared world!"

"Maybe your half aren't prepared, Colonel"-the National Security Advisor smiled thinly-"but ours is. So are the Chinese. And with a neo-populist instead of a plutocrat in the White House, look for that announcement to come soon-and forcefully.

"You may have to give up the Black Sea dacha, Colonel.

"Actually, Zahava," he said, turning back to the Israeli, "I had to turn people away from this reception to cull down to the hundred or so Vigilant could accommodate. You'd think more people would have sense enough not to let a computer scatter their atoms across space." More smoke billowed toward the transparent bubble that was the ceiling.