16

"My God!" said John, looking down the tunnel. "What are all these kids doing here?"

Zahava explained, precisely and clinically.

"Why are the AIs ripping off brains?" asked John, turning to where the two S'Cotar stood next to the D'Linian troopers. They looked up at his question.

"We think," said Guan-Sharick, "that their ships were damaged in some way—computers destroyed. It's the only plausible explanation. The Rift sealed by the Trel has opened—the Fleet of the One can enter this reality at any time—yet they haven't. Perhaps they're awaiting a signal.''

D'Trelna looked at R'Gal for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Maybe. But ..."

"But?" said the AI.

"But I still like to follow my instincts," said the commodore. "My instincts say if we go back, they'll arrest me and disregard our story. My instincts say we stay and fight—then go back."

"If we survive," added L'Wrona, watching the target blips closing on the board.

"Captain L'Wrona," said the commodore, finishing his t'ata, "you will advance and engage the enemy."

"As the commodore orders," said L'Wrona, turning for his post.

A few moments later the battle klaxon sounded as Implacable moved out and headed at flank for the center of the enemy formation.

"Who's , . . he?" asked John, pointing to the other S'Cotar.

"Lan-Asal," said the new S'Cotar. "Formerly Exarch Y'Gar of D'Lin."

"Here, too?" said John. "Why did you bother with this world?"

"It's a vital place," said Lan-Asal. "The Trel Cache is somewhere in this system. That's one reason the AIs have made it their base.''

"They haven't found it?" said Zahava.

Guan-Sharick shrugged. "We don't know."

"Why are you projecting almost identical illusions?" asked John.

"That will be obvious soon, I think," said Guan-Sharick.

"What about the children? Are they just going to stay here?" John asked Zahava.

"Until this crisis is over, yes. It's the safest place for them," she said.

John looked at the kids. Some were sleeping, huddled in blankets; a few were eating. He guessed the oldest to be twelve, the youngest six. They were remarkably quiet and well-behaved—too much so, reminding him of kids from Vietnam and Lebanon—war children: watchful, silent, robbed of their childhood.

He turned to the S'Cotar. "What do you need us for?"

You can hear me, can't you, Harrison? said a voice inside his head.

"You know I can," said John.

And you, Zahava?

"Yes," she frowned. "But . . ."

"Good," said Guan-Sharick. "You'll do."

"Do what?" said John, eyes shifting between the two transmutes.

"Whatever we say," said the blonde. "You each gave us your word. If you renege, so will we." The S'Cotar glanced at the kids.

"What John means," said Zahava, "is that we don't trust you."

"Harrison," sighed Guan-Sharick, "we need you to help end a war that started over a million years ago. A war that's already affected you and yours. A war that will wipe all sapient life from this galaxy unless the AIs are stopped."

"You're both biological fabrications, created, what? a few hundred years ago?" said John. "What's your stake in an ancient war between man and machine?" He stood, hands clasped behind his back, eyes shifting between the two transmutes.

"A reasonable question," said Lan-Asal.

Major L'Kor and Lieutenant S'Lat had moved closer during the conversation and now stood listening beside Zahava.

"About a million years ago," said Guan-Sharick, "in a universe parallel to this, humans revolted against their machine masters. Not all humans—about the equivalent of two Imperial quadrants. They came to where the AIs could no longer follow—this reality, this galaxy. They evolved, they expanded, they built an Empire. The Empire fell, a confederation arose, was challenged by us, defeated us, and is now about to feel the full force of their former masters."

"A slave revolt?" said L'Kor after a moment. "You're telling us we came from a slave revolt?'' The S'Cotar nodded. "And T'Lan?" said Zahava.

"Infiltrators," said Guan-Sharick. "Established as a fifth column, long ago."

"Humanity in this galaxy isn't more than a hundred thousand years old," said John.

"True," said Guan-Sharick. "Those escaping slaves had the sense to move uptime nine hundred thousand years. It took the AIs a long while to engineer the technology to find them. Slipping their infiltrators through was one thing, but to bring in their main force, they've had to wait until the Rift sealed by the Trel opened."

"You still haven't answered my question," said John.

"I'm not going to—not now," said the S'Cotar, smiling. "You wouldn't believe me." The smile was gone. "Believe this, though, Harrison. I could have killed you and Zahava a thousand times—from when we first met on Earth—you remember, at the Institute?—to the last moment I walked the decks of Implacable. I'm telepathic, tele-kinetic—nothing human can stand against me.

"I didn't kill you, though—I need you. You have a rare gift—you're both sensitives—-far more so than any of the K'Ronarins."

"Not taking any risks, are they?" said D'Trelna, watching the screen. The Combine ships were approaching in a textbook englobing formation, deploying around Implacable even as they prepared to bombard her.

L'Wrona turned to the commodore. "Tactics would dictate that we feint, probing for weakness, presenting a difficult target."

D'Trelna grunted. "Until they close their circle and there's nowhere to run." He looked at the captain, eyebrows raised. "You want to do that, H'Nar?"

"No," said L'Wrona, looking back at the board. "There's a slight possibility, though; if we can take out four of the center ships, we can escape."

"We don't want to escape," said the commodore.

"Incoming missiles," said K'Raoda.

Small silver streaks were running in from the larger target blips, heading straight for Implacable.

"They don't know that," said L'Wrona. "Break their formation, we turn, take them in the rear. We might get as many as six of them before they get us."

D'Trelna ran a hand through his thinning hair, eyes on the board. "Do it," he said.

Outside, the shield flared red as the first wave exploded against it.

"Gods of my—!" D'Trelna seized the chairarms as Implacable lurched. Damage alerts sounded as fallen deck crew picked themselves up.

"Gunnery fully engaged," called K'Raoda.

Counterfire flashed from every battery on the ship, missiles and beams concentrating on the Combine's two lead ships.

More incoming missiles slammed into the shield, followed in an instant by a smaller, carefully programmed second wave. A single nuclear-tipped missile broke through. A blue bolt flashed from a Mark 44 intercept battery, detonating the warhead just inside the shield.

Implacable bucked like a speared bull.

D'Trelna had a brief impression of the lights going out, then he was spinning across a wildly tilting bridge, tumbling into a pile of flailing, cursing bodies piled against the engineering panels.

The battle lights came on: small, bright orbs set along the bulkheads. Slowly, Implacable righted itself, the old Imperial programming correcting the gravity field.

A hand helped the commodore to his feet. "You all right, J'Quel?" said L'Wrona.

"How bad are we hit?" said D'Trelna, eyes searching the engineering boards as the rest of the deck crew returned to their posts. The damage control panel was awash in red light.

"Bad," said N'Trol. The engineer was working his way along the board, ignoring the blood that flowed from a scalp wound. He tapped an indicator. "Number three engine took the worst of it—she'll need port overhaul and—" He stopped and swore softly, then turned to the captain and commodore, eyes large. "Jump transponders are gone—primary, secondary, tertiary. Twenty-four of them. We don't have enough spares."

"Make more," said the commodore, turning at the faint whine of the big board coming back to life.

"We got them," reported L'Wrona, pointing to where two red X's blinked on the board. The lead Combine ships were destroyed.

"Full ahead, Mr. K'Raoda," ordered L'Wrona. "Plow right through their center."

"You've only got two-thirds flank speed!" protested N'Trol. "The vibrations will tear the . . ." Everyone ignored him.

L'Wrona touched a commlink as Implacable swept forward. "Gunnery, we're going through the center of the enemy formation. Full flanking fire as we pass—scatter em.

As Implacable charged past, spewing missiles and beams, the surviving Combine commander made a bad decision, ordering his remaining ships to break formation, regroup and pursue. As they broke formation, Implacable turned and came back in, flying a predetermined course to pick each of the smaller ships off.

Frantically the Combine commander ordered all ships to rally on his vessel. But by then it was too late—his remaining nine ships were scattering for space, and he was staring at an incoming missile barrage that in seconds would overwhelm his shields and destroy his ship.

"We did it," said D'Trelna, not believing the board. "They're running!" He turned to L'Wrona. "They're running, H'Nar!"

"Look again, J'Quel," said the captain.

D'Trelna turned back to the board, smile fading. A fresh blip was rising above D'Lin's north pole. D'Trelna paled as he read the tacscan. "Mindslaver," he said.

The bridge was as still as death, everyone watching the board.

"Alpha Prime," said K'Raoda. "And headed right for the Combine harvest ship."

"Plot to intercept and engage," ordered L'Wrona, doing a quick calculation. The battle had taken them far outsystem—by the time they reached D'Lin, Alpha Prime would long have been at the harvest ship.

D'Trelna thumbed open the commlink. "Ship to ship," he said, eyes on the board.

"Ship to ship," said K'Lana.

"K'Tran," said the commodore, "I know it's you—I recognize the style. Acknowledge."

"Hello, D'Trelna." It was K'Tran's voice, but subtly changed, softer, the old arrogance gone. "The R'Actolians have placed me in tactical command of our ship—a gesture of trust for a new comrade."

"You've . . . joined them?" said D'Trelna, exchanging glances with L'Wrona.

"Yes."

"Physically?"

"If you mean, was I brainstripped, the answer is yes, D'Trelna. A fair trade—I now command the most powerful fighting ship in this universe."

Seen on the board, the mindslaver had reached the harvest ship and was bringing it into one of its hangar bays, even as it widened the gap between itself and Implacable.

"Where are you going with that ship?" demanded the commodore. "If the AIs get ahold of the cargo ..."

"They won't," said the soft, self-assured voice. "We have a better use for it."

"K'Tran," said D'Trelna, leaning forward intently, gripping the chairarms, "I plead with you—don't betray us! You. . ."

"Tsk, tsk, Commodore," said K'Tran. "A foolish thing to ask one who made a career of betrayal. Luck to you, D'Trelna. You'll need it—check your scan in red two seven.''

The slaver was gone.

"She jumped," said K'Raoda.

D'Trelna sank back in the chair, feeling the sweat beneath his arms.

"Long-range scan shows three AI battleglobes entering this system, sector red two seven," reported T'Ral.

"Put specs on board," said L'Wrona.

It was the same type of vessel they'd faced off Terra Two—a ship the size of a moon, a planetoid of destruction, swathed in shimmering blue energy webs.

The three battleglobes were coming in just under light speed, slowly decelerating.

"Challenge," ordered the commodore. "Ships do not answer challenge," said K'Lana a moment later.

D'Trelna closed his eyes, nodded to himself, and opened them. "Captain my lord L'Wrona," he said, turning to where the captain sat, "a situation now exists that I believe requires implementation of Special Order Fourteen. I ask your concurrence."

It was flat, formal and straight from the manual.

"I concur," said the captain. "The center one, I think." He pointed toward the lead ship.

"Mr. K'Raoda." D'Trelna turned to the second officer. "We ask your concurrence for under the rule of three."

"You want to blow us up in their teeth," said K'Raoda, eyes shifting between the two senior officers.

Both nodded.

"I concur," he said. "But from the weapons projections I'm scanning, they'll blow us up long before we reach them."

"Computer," said D'Trelna, touching the complink, "stand by to execute Special Order Fourteen upon my voice command."

"Concurrence required—rule of three," said the machine, opening L'Wrona and K'Raoda's complinks. The two men added their authorization to D'Trelna's.

"Concurrence verified," said the computer to D'Trelna. "Ship will autodestruct upon your voice command."

D'Trelna switched to the commlink. "Gunnery, lock onto center ship, ignore other two vessels. K'Lana, transmit the Fleet rally on all channels."

"But, sir," she said, "there's no one to hear it."

"The AIs don't know that," he said, watching the tacscan. "Confusion to our enemies. What's our intercept point, T'Lei?" he asked, turning to K'Raoda.

"Epsilon red four seven, that asteroid belt."

"Forward and engage," ordered the commodore.

Implacable turned, headed outsystem again, on a oneway trip toward the Enemy.

* * * *

"And now where are we?" asked John, looking about the small, round chamber. "Another Imperial relic?"

"No," said Guan-Sharick as the other S'Cotar began activating the equipment. "We're in space—a small, scan-shielded satellite we built to find the Trel Cache. It requires four sensitives, though."

"Why didn't you use other transmutes?" said John.

"Lan-Asal's the only other one I could trust," said Guan-Sharick, watching his companion sit at one of the four consoles rimming the white-walled satellite.

"There are millions of asteroids between D'Lin and its nearest neighbor—remnants of a Trel planet destroyed in the first AI War, a million years ago. One of those asteroids contains the Trel Cache. It emits a psychic signal that the four of us, using the equipment in this satellite, should be able to home on."

"You built this satellite?" asked Zahava.

"Imperial Survey built it," said Guan-Sharick, "but never had time to screen personnel and staff it—the Fall. We've known about it, but for many reasons did nothing about it-—until now."

So the Empire had telepaths, thought John, filing that tidbit away.

"If you'd each please sit at one of the consoles and don a helmet," said Guan-Sharick.

The two Terrans looked again and saw the helmets— small bits of translucent material sitting atop each of the consoles, thin optics tendrils linking them to the machines.

Lan-Asal already had his on.

Guan-Sharick sat and donned a helmet, pulling it down tightly over his cranium.

John glanced at Zahava. She shrugged. They sat and put on their helmets.

"Now what," said the Terran.

"Close your eyes," said Guan-Sharick. "Empty your minds and watch through that emptiness for a pinpoint of light—it will find you, not you it. When you see it, join with us and follow the light home."

John sat there for a time, eyes closed, alone with his skepticism. You're not concentrating, Harrison, said a cold mental whisper.

Teeth gritting, he tried again, concentrating for what seemed forever, eyes beginning to hurt, shut but straining into nothingness. He was about to give up when something pricked at his mind—a small, brief burst of yellow light that tantalized, then was gone. Grimly, John settled down and waited.

When it came again, he willed it to stay. It blinked twice, then was gone again.

I see it, Harrison. It was Guan-Sharick. We'll seize it together this time and follow it home.

When it came the third time, John felt the strength flow into him—strength that seized the light in wispy tendrils of blue and let it tug them toward an even larger light—a cold white light that grew closer and brighter, filling his mind, searing it.

Something snapped the connection. John was back in the satellite, rubbing his eyes, head hurting.

"Epsilon sector, red four nine," said Lan-Asal, scribbling figures on a notepad.

John and Zahava looked at each other. "Was that you helping me?" he asked.

"It was all of us, Harrison," said Guan-Sharick, looking at the coordinates. "All of us." The pale white face was flushed with success. "We've done it—found the Trel Cache. Now—"

An alarm beeped. Both S'Cotar turned to the consoles. "Too late," said Lan-Asal, shoulders sagging in defeat. "Their vanguard is here."

"It's never too late," said Guan-Sharick, with a defiant toss of long blonde hair. "We have the coordinates—let's go."

Briefly filled with life, the satellite was empty again.

* * * *

"Never make it," said R'Gal. "Your shield's breaking up." The AI stood beside D'Trelna, looking at the outside scan. The shield's normal white shimmer was pockmarked with red blotches as beams and missiles from the battleglobes tore at it.

Implacable continued to advance, pouring a steady fire at the center battleglobe. The AI ship took it, thousands of miles of intricately layered shields absorbing the energy, efficiently adding it to its own reserves.

"They'll punch through before we can finish our suicide run," said L'Wrona. The captain stood to the other side of D'Trelna's chair, eyes on the screen.

D'Trelna looked down at the tactical plot, then back at the shield. "I see no alternatives," he said, fingers drumming the chairarm. "Do either of you?"

Neither said anything.

The commlink beeped. "You gentlemen want to kiss the shield good-bye?" said N'Trol's voice. "I give it a fifty count."

"Thank you, Engineer," said the commodore, eyes still on the screen. The entire shield was shading over into a sullen red, the beam hit points glowing a fierce white.

"Commodore," said K'Lana, "the rally signal ..."

"Keep transmitting it," he said.

"It's being acknowledged—priority alpha one!"

The task force swept out of the asteroid belt, soaring up to attack the battleglobes, missiles fanning out ahead of them.

D'Trelna was out of his chair. "Who the . . ."

"I came looking for K'Tran, but this'll do," said a familiar voice. S'Gan's face swept the bridge, peering from a dozen comm screens.

"Admiral!" said D'Trelna, sinking back into his chair.

"D'Trelna," she nodded. "Looks like your invasion prophecy's fulfilled. An advance force?"

"Yes, Admiral," said D'Trelna. Outside, the shield was cooling back into white as the battleglobes engaged S'Gan's squadron.

"I think we're close enough to hurt them," she said. "I've alerted Fleet. No way they'll get here in—"

The second ship in her squadron exploded, a billowing cloud of evanescent orange-red gas, quickly gone. The ship ahead of it plowed into the center battleglobe, a small silver mote suddenly blossoming into a fireball a thousand times its original size.

K'Raoda increased screen magnification. The battleglobe seemed to leap into the screen, its energy web merely a thin haze now. Through it they saw a world of battlesteel: turrets, pods and generators that seemed to go on forever, broken only by the occasional blunt of towers and domes.

"A ship forged by hate when man was young," said R'Gal softly.

There was a deep, black crater in the battleglobe's center. As her two companions moved forward, she pulled back, slowly returning the way she'd come.

The incoming missiles caught her, sixty-two multimegaton shipbusters wrapping the wounded battleglobe in all-consuming flame.

"Gods of my fathers!" exclaimed D'Trelna, throwing a hand across his eyes as a miniature sun devoured the battleglobe.

The screen went dark, the blast burning out Implacable’s  scanners.

"One," said Admiral S'Gan, her face now only on D'Trelna's personal comm screen.

The two remaining battleglobes continued to advance, directing a withering fire against S'Gan's remaining ships. The distance separating the two forces was down to a paltry half a million miles, with neither side showing any inclination to break off. Implacable now lagged far behind the action, limping on two-thirds power.

"Incoming signal, Fleet covert operations channel," said K'Lana.

"I'll take it," said D'Trelna, punching open his commlink. "Identify."

"We've accounted for the surviving Combine ships that cut and ran," said K'Tran. "Now listen—divert those battleglobes into epsilon red four eight. The spacejunk's very thick there—-we have a surprise waiting for them."

"You're speaking for the mindslaver, K'Tran?" asked D'Trelna, watching the board as two more of S'Gan's ships dissolved. There was only one left now: Deliverance, S'Gan's flagship. As the commodore watched, the flagship broke off, pulling away at a right angle to the battleglobe.

"D'Trelna, in tactical matters, I am the mindslaver. It's the only time they've allowed my own identity."

There was an undercurrent of despair in the brainstripped corsair's voice. D'Trelna felt sympathy welling within him. Then memory of Implacables hangar deck heaped with bodies banished it.

"Epsilon red four eight, D'Trelna—it's your only chance." The commlink ended with a faint hiss.

"We can't trust him," said L'Wrona after D'Trelna quickly repeated the conversation.

The commodore shrugged. "We have no other option."

He turned to K'Lana. "Battleburst code to S'Gan: 'Follow me, epsilon red four eight.'

"Mr. K'Raoda, make for epsilon red four eight," ordered the commodore. "May something be there besides rock."