Stephen Berry - The Biofab War

"Good evening, Admiral, Captain, everyone," spoke an assured voice.

They turned to greet L'Wrona. A black-clad commando officer, about L'Wrona's age but taller, was with him. Both wore duty uniforms with sidearms.

"Subcommander N'Tal V'Arta, Fleet Commando," said L'Wrona, introducing him. "My second cousin."

L'Guan nodded at V'Arta, then turned to L'Wrona. "How stands the Fleet, Commander My Lord Captain L'Wrona?" he asked cheerfully of the Watch Officer.

"All quiet, sir. Nice party." He nodded, listening for a moment to the strings. "Different music, but very, very nice.

"We just looked in on our patient," he continued, referring to McShane. "He's quite chipper. Fleet Surgeon says he can rejoin us tomorrow."

"Just as well," said John. "He was threatening to break out of there."

"You don't have to tell us," said Implacable's XO with a smile. "We caught him prowling the reaction force ready room on Six Deck. Had to haul him back to sick bay.

"We'd best get back to the bridge. Good evening all, Admiral, Captain."

L'Wrona and V'Arta melted into the crowd.

"And I musn't neglect my other guests," said L'Guan. "You'll excuse me?"

He wasn't gone more than a few seconds before Harrison turned to D'Trelna. "'Commander My-Lord-Captain L'Wrona'?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Ah, yes." The Captain sighed. "The Admiral is an Imperial. Ancient titles are important to that faction. They'd like more of them."

He flagged down a steward-they were less attentive with the Admiral gone-relieving the man of an entire platter of luscious-looking meat canapes. "My First Officer is heir to a great tradition," he said between munches. " 'Lord-Captain of the Imperial Guard, Defender of the Outer Marches, Margrave of U'Tria.'

"The titles are mostly courtesy. The last Imperial Guardsmen fell millennia ago, the Outer Marches haven't been heard from since POCSYM bid his creators farewell and the attack on U'Tria Nine-L'Wrona's home-precipitated this war.

"Care for a canape?" he offered, passing the plate toward his friends.

"You ate them all," said Bakunin bluntly, thrusting it back.

"Oh."

D'Trelna put the platter on a table. "The titles convey the right to lead the Fleet Commando, if it ever should fight as a unit again. The Commando traces its origins back to T'Nil's Task Force Forty-Seven Marines-the unit that seized Imperial Communications and later formed the core of his own guard.

"But the war's just about over. I doubt L'Wrona will get to exercise his birthright."

Admiral L'Guan reappeared. Slipping up to D'Trelna, he whispered urgently in the other's ear, walking quickly away even as the Captain nodded.

"Duty calls." D'Trelna sighed, putting down his glass and stepping toward the arched entrance way.

"Seems to be calling others, too," said John. They all followed his gaze. A steady trickle of K'Ronarin officers were exiting as unobtrusively as possible, their departure sparked by a hurried whisper from L'Guan.

"Captain, we're almost family," John said with a hurt look. "Level with us."

"Really. I can't." He looked embarrassed.

"Afraid you'll frighten the natives, J'Quel?" asked Sutherland, smiling sympathetically.

"All right. Come with me. I'll explain outside." They passed a mixed group of European and Asian diplomats listening attentively to a crimson-uniformed Survey officer.

Gaining the corridor, D'Trelna broke into a brisk trot. Startled, the others ran after him.

"Revenge's watch crew just signaled 'Intruder Alert,'" he explained hurriedly. "We're assembling a force on the Hangar Deck. POCSYM will transport."

In five minutes they were on the Hangar Deck. Some of the hastily gathered commandos were still fastening their warsuits when L'Guan ordered POCSYM to "Transport!"

The Terrans never knew if they'd been included because of design or haste. Regardless, they faced Revenge's surprised bridge crew with two dozen Vigilant commandos.

"Not here, Captain!" K'Raoda called urgently from the command tier. "The mindslave area!"

D'Trelna cursed. "How many S'Cotar?" he demanded.

"I don't know, sir. Fleet hasn't installed S'Cotar detectors yet. We just sealed the bridge and called for help."

"POCSYM," the Captain snarled into his communicator. "Think you can get us to the right coordinates this time?"

They were in the corridor outside the now-sealed door of the mindslave room. Only D'Trelna had been there before.

"No time to burn our way in," he grumbled. "They're probably after the brainpods. Kill the mindslaves and this ship's just so much scrap metal.

"Pass me a blastpack."

Motioning everyone back, the Captain placed the charge. Setting the timer, he ran to join them behind the corridor's sheltering curve.

"Temperature in brainpods rising into critical," reported K'Raoda, worriedly eyeing a bridge monitor. "They must be using a semi."

The explosion preempted any response.

D'Trelna charged through the still-glowing doorway, pistol at the ready. He froze at the railing, looking down into the room, stunned. The commandos halted behind him.

"Are you crazy, man?" he shouted, bounding down the stairs and knocking a big semiportable blaster from McShane's hands. The weapon had gouged a hole deep into the nearly seamless access hatch set in the rear bulkhead.

The older man stood mute, staring at the wall. John and Zahava made their way through the commandos to his side.

"Bob," said John softly, laying a gentle hand on his mentor's shoulder.

"I gave my word." McShane finally looked at them. "My only regret, Captain, is that I failed." His eyes bored into D'Trelna's own. "It's wrong and you know it."

The Captain averted his eyes. "Look…"

"Don't tell me you need this ship, J'Quel," said McShane. "You've wiped out the main S'Cotar force-your own Intelligence says so. Once you find their home world, you can mop up with your regular forces."

"Bob, I-"

"How do we differ from the S'Cotar, J'Quel?"

Caught off guard, the K'Ronarin stumbled. "Well… why, why we're human, of course."

"Isn't it rather the attributes of our humanity-love, compassion, mercy-which distinguish us from other intelligences, Captain?"

"Professor, I must insist that you-"

"How then, Captain," pressed McShane coldly, "how then are we human if we enshrine hatred, eschew compassion and remain merciless in the face of such unmitigated suffering as is here?" He jerked a thumb at the brainpod area. "Tell me, J'Quel," he asked quietly. "I'm listening."

"Magnificent," breathed Sutherland, high atop the stairs.

"POCSYM," said D'Trelna, "transport Mr. McShane back to Vigilant's sick bay. Me as well. Return the rest of our force to Vigilant's Hangar Deck."

A few hours later, while McShane was under close guard, someone who knew how to use a blastpack-L'Guan was never able to find out who-finished the job, commuting the mindslaves' sentence of eternal torment to one of sweet oblivion.

John and Zahava had a suspect, though. Confronted with his name months later, McShane would only smile inscrutably and say, ' 'The triumph of decency over duty is a rare and glorious thing."

Stephen Ames Berry

The Biofab War

"When you asked for this meeting, Captain," said Admiral L'Guan, looking severely at D’Trelna. "I wasn't aware that Professor McShane would be present."

Bob, much his old self, sat between Zahava and John. Across the table, D'Trelna and L'Wrona flanked their Admiral, facing the Terrans.

"Fleet Surgeon has certified Professor McShane as recovered, sir, and his unfortunate actions aboard Revenge the result of stress." The Captain met his superior's hard stare with one of pure innocence.