18

S'Hlu was a soft, green world, tucked away in Red Seven, a quadrant adjoining Red One and the K'Ronarin home systems. Only fifty light-years from K'Ronar, it was visited frequently by Fleet units patrolling against corsairs and escaped S'Cotar.

Thus, the Combine T'Lan port officer gave almost automatic clearance to the three Fleet craft descending from the L'Aal-class cruiser that had just slipped into orbit.

Almost.

As they came in he ran a standard ID check—confirming that the Forward Seven was actually assigned Red Seven— then ran it again when the complink flashed DESTROYED—SECOND BATTLE OF H'SAK.

The port officer leaned forward as fresh data trailed onto the screen, then cursed softly as he read: INCOMING CRAFT IDENTIFIED AS ONE ARMED SHUTTLE AND TWO COMMANDO ASSAULT CRAFT. WANT SPECS???

Ignoring the query, the port officer slapped the general alarm call.

The klaxons had just started wailing as the control tower, ripped by fusion fire, exploded.

Sweeping out of the setting sun, the silver ships came in low over the ruined control tower, Mark 44's strafing the complex. The scattering of return fire was quickly suppressed by the shuttle, which continued circling and strafing as the assault boats settled onto the roof of a squat, black building.

The sides of the assault boats dropped away with a faint pneumatic hiss.

"Follow me!" cried L'Wrona, leading the rush down the ramp and across the roof. Seventy-one black uniformed commandos and R'Gal swept after him, the smaller contingent from the second boat setting up a defense perimeter around the landing zone.

The rush stopped at the closed double doors of the lift.

"Visitors?" said R'Gal, pointing to the lift indicator. The machine was coming express from the ground level.

"Count on it," said the captain. He turned to the commandos. "Hostiles in the lift. Deploy."

The commandos took up positions, a black arc centered on the lift. As they waited, the alarm klaxons stopped hooting and the blaster fire between shuttle and ground positions fell off.

Please, thought L'Wrona, sighting two-handed on the center of the lift door, not the blades. He'd seen destroyed ones, and read Harrison's action report on them—it was as close as he wanted to get.

The lift arrived, the doors hissing open on five layers of killer machines, red sensor scans moving balefully along the blue-steel edges of their blades.

"Fire!" shouted L'Wrona, squeezing off a bolt stream.

Blaster fire poured into the lift, obscuring it in exploding bursts of blue bolts. Smoke and flame billowed out— but no return fire.

The K'Ronarins continued firing until their reload signals beeped.

"Hold fire," called L'Wrona, peering through the drifting smoke. Slapping in a new chargepak, he advanced cautiously.

The blades lay in shattered heaps, slowly congealing rivulets of molten duraplast dripping on them from the lift's ruined walls and ceilings.

"They just hovered there and took it," said S'Til, standing beside him, looking at the destruction.

L'Wrona looked at R'Gal, standing to the right of the lift. Meeting the captain's gaze, he winked.

* * * *

"Status of raid, D'Trelna?" asked S'Gan, her image appearing in the commodore's comm screen.

"As per plan and schedule, Admiral," he said. "The diversionary force has landed atop the armory. Much shooting and shouting, but unable to advance off the rooftop. Intercepted communications show all Combine security groups are being vectored on the armory. L'Wrona will pull out on schedule, hopelessly outgunned. That great bloody firefight should continue to absorb them." He dialed for t'ata.

"Incidentally, Admiral, R'Gal just saved a lot of lives by jamming the blades' command and control frequencies."

"Great," said S'Gan. "Give him a medal. Anything from the real action yet?"

"No," said D'Trelna, sipping the t'ata but watching the tacscan—they'd accounted for the two guardships, but help was coming from the Combine base on the seventh planet—a lot of help. Time to worry about that later.

"We'll only know about the 'real action' if and when that force returns," he said, looking back at S'Gan.

"If they get back," said S'Gan. "I'm having Y'Kor pull Deliverance back to omega blue three nine. We'll intercept that incoming reaction force."

D'Trelna glanced again at the tacscan. "They'll punch through you like a meteor storm, Admiral."

S'Gan shook her head and laughed. To the commodore's surprise, it was a pleasant sound. "D'Trelna, they can't kill this ship. We're already dead. Ask FleetOps."

"But . . ."

She shook her head. "You do your job, D'Trelna. We'll take care of the reaction force." She touched her commkey, then looked back up. "D'Trelna?"

"Admiral?"

"It's up to you—stop those v'org slime."

"The AIs?"

She nodded.

"How?" He spread his hands helplessly. "We're infiltrated, they're on their way, and I've no faith in this magical weapon we're after."

"Find some way to hit their rear, D'Trelna," said S'Gan. "Between you, R'Gal, K'Tran and the two transmutes, you'll think of something. . . . You're an unorthodox slob, D'Trelna," she added. "You'll pull it off. Luck."

"Luck," he said to an empty screen.

D'Trelna turned to the tacscan. Deliverance was pulling out, heading straight for the—he counted—twenty-three Combine cruisers. Off to a very orthodox and very brief battle, thought the commodore.

Crushing his cup, he stuffed it into the disposer.

* * * *

Well, that was easy.

Now what? asked John—he had difficulty not speaking the words.

Everything's very neat—start reading those yellow labels over the cubicles. According to their computer index, those are finished prototypes awaiting testing.

Guan-Sharick had flicked them inside the complex—an instantaneous transition from cruiser to earth, over before the mind could react. Arriving after L'Wrona took the raiders in, they'd found the central lab building deserted, its personnel either in shelters or responding to the alarm.

Guan-Sharick had glanced briefly at the building locator in the lobby; then he and John were standing in a lab, instruments all about, looking through a glass wall at the complex. Half a dozen buildings were in flames, burning from the top down—fires triggered by the exchange of fusion bolts with the K'Ronarin shuttle. Ringed by those flaming towers stood the smaller black structure, with

L'Wrona and the commandos still on the rooftop, now battling a sudden rush of human-seeming figures. AIs? wondered John. Or human helpers?

Human, reported Guan-Sharick. Combine T'Lan has retainers—unwitting retainers, most of them.

This isn't what we want.

They'd moved on to another lab, the shrill and crash of blaster fire suddenly muted.

Unfinished projects lay everywhere, spread out like so many vivisected carcasses on long white benches, presided over by the dead green eyes of inactive complinks.

Jump navigational aid—Mark IV. John read the duraplast label above the equipment cubicle, then stepped in.

The device looked like two giant-sized green ear swabs, each about a meter long, crossed diagonally and banded together in the center by a red nodule.

"Not much to—" he said as Guan-Sharick entered the small work area.

Fingers clamped over his mouth. Idiot! There're voice sensors everywhere. Grab that device and we'll go.

What about the research notes?

No time.

Combine T'Lan always had contingencies. They'd activated a major one when no more messages came from T'Lan Two aboard Alpha Prime.

T'Lan Two A had been activated.

People had often remarked on the striking resemblance between T'Lan senior and T'Lan junior. It was a resemblance easily explained—they were of the same series— and easily seen as they stood together, deep beneath S'Hlu, watching the raid.

"I believe this is an act of desperate men with no other options?" asked T'Lan One.

The young-looking AI nodded. "Agreed."

"What bothers me," said the other, watching the screen that showed L'Wrona's contingent fighting for their lives, "is that it's a stupid act. Stupid I wouldn't have expected.

Come now, the armory? S'Gan and D'Trelna have-two cruisers, armed to the jump nodules."

The Combine's Operations Center was large, well-hidden, and only partially preoccupied with the defense of the complex. Most sections and stations were busy directing the activities of fleets of merchant and mining ships, relaying communications from star system to star system, collecting intelligence, and maintaining constant contact with the home universe.

"Then what?" said T'Lan Two A.

"Intruder alert, lab complex four, section red three," said a cool, soft voice issuing from all points of the big room.

"Then that," said T'Lan One, leaning over the console. "Punch up that section," he said to the operator.

A new screen flashed on, showing Harrison carrying a device from the cubicle while a blonde hunched over a complink, fingers flying, eyes scanning the text.

"Guan-Sharick," said T'Lan One. "That's how they got in—teleported." He shook his head. "I didn't believe your predecessor's report. They should be dead—they're organic."

He turned, issuing orders. "Activate lab thirteen's security shield. Withdraw all but a token force from the armory skirmish—it's a ruse. Security's to enter lab thirteen via selective shield penetration, kill those two intruders and recover the device they're stealing."

T'Lans One and Two A stood watching the blonde as the orders went out. "What else survives?" wondered T'Lan One, watching Guan-Sharick.

"Well done, Harrison," said the blonde, turning from the complink. "You may have just lost us the war."

"Why are you speaking?" he asked, hefting the strange device uneasily in his hand.

"Because it doesn't matter now—they've slapped a security shield on this building. I can't teieport through it. The jig, my friend, is up."

"What can I do?" he asked.

"See that door?" Guan-Sharick pointed to the gray slab of battlesteel that shut the lab off from the corridor. Harrison nodded.

"Blast the lock shut; that'll hold the slime for a while. I'll be sending what specs I have"—the transmute tapped her head—"to Lan-Asal. Maybe, just maybe, they can replicate the device."

If we're killed, John added to himself, moving toward the door.

"H'Nar."

D'Trelna's voice came through sharp and clear in L'Wrona's earpiece.

"Yes?" he asked, ducking as a blaster bolt grazed the air duct he was behind, showering him with sparks.

"They've tumbled to it. They're responding a small army to that lab. And they've slapped a security shield on it. Go save them. They're on level seven."

"Where's the screen generator?" asked the captain.

D'Trelna touched his complink, watching the briefing scan as it scrolled by. After a moment he froze it and read quickly. "Subbasement seven, northwest quadrant four— unless they've moved it since the last FleetOps update."

"Have Lan-Asal tell Guan-Sharick to meet us there," said L'Wrona.

"Acknowledged," said the commodore.

With three quick bolts, L'Wrona finished the sniper he'd been toying with, rising as the man's body tumbled from a neighboring rooftop.

"To the boats!" shouted L'Wrona, waving his blaster. "To the boats!"

"Any lifepods launched?" asked D'Trelna, leaning over K'Raoda's shoulder, peering at the tacscan. Red X's marked what had been Deliverance and three Combine ships.

"No, sir," said K'Raoda.

On the tacscan, twenty-one target blips continued to advance on the green dot marking Implacable.

"No obliging mindslavers this time," said D'Trelna, straightening. "Get us some room, T'Lei. Move us farther out from the planet—gunnery to open fire as targets come in range."

He looked at the red X again, then went back to his post.

Lieutenant S'Til dashed across the corridor, blaster bolts snapping around her as she dived into the doorway.

"We're going the wrong way, Captain," she said, pulling herself into the corner shared with L'Wrona.

"No." He stepped around the corner, snapped off three bolts, then ducked back, dodging the return fire. "We're making for that room five doors down—field generator."

"It'll take all night—they've got at least one company between us and it," said S'Til.

"One more doorway's all we need, Lieutenant," said L'Wrona, waving the next squad forward. He and S'Til joined in the covering barrage.

Half the squad reached the next two doorways.

"Let's go," said L'Wrona. He and S'Til made for the next doorway, continuing the deadly game of leapfrog.

"Troops are in the basement," said Guan-Sharick. "Bring the device.''

"Where are we going?" asked John.

The lab door was beginning to glow cherry red, the battlesteel slowly yielding under heavy blaster fire.

"Another hot spot, Harrison," said Guan-Sharick.

The lab was gone—the Terran found himself crouching in a gray doorway, blasters shrilling all around, the wide bore of an Mil A inches from his face. "Don't do that again, John," said L'Wrona, lowering the weapon.

"That's it?" he added, pointing to the device in John's hand.

"Yes," said Guan-Sharick.

"I wasn't addressing you," said L'Wrona. He turned back to Harrison. "Is it?"

"Allegedly," said the Terran. "Can you make it work?"

They ducked as a blue bolt tore into the top of the door frame, showering them with sparks and droplets of molten metal.

"Ask Guan-Sharick," said John.

L'Wrona turned reluctantly. "How does it work?"

"Ask me when we get to the ship, Captain," said the blonde, meeting his gaze.

"What if you don't get to the ship?"

"You'll see that I do, won't you, Captain?" she said with an easy smile.

L'Wrona looked out, checking the skirmish. "No one's going anywhere until we reach that generator room. There are about five squads of hostiles fronting us, backed by endless reserves."

"You seize the shield generator, then what?" asked John.

"Then Guan-Sharick teleports us back to Implacable," said the captain.

"I'm not a god," said the blonde. "I can get you out in fours and fives, but—"

"Just get the device back to the ship," said L'Wrona. "Please."

Guan-Sharick nodded.

R'Gal joined them, moving up the corridor and into the doorway, a blur of motion. "Guan-Sharick," he nodded. "R'Gal," nodded the blonde. "I need your help again," he said. "As in the Revolt?"

"As in the Revolt," said the AI. He pointed up the corridor. "Move me up one doorway—I'll jam the impulse matrix on the shield generator."

"Done," said the S'Cotar. R'Gal was gone.

"Blades attacking from the rear!" S'Til's voice crackled over the commnet.

"Squads seven, nine and four, face about!" ordered the captain.

The blades came slicing up the corridor, a long phalanx of death mowing through the troopers, firing and slicing. Whenever one fired, blue lightning snapped from its rim and a commando fell, shot neatly between the eyes.

It took overwhelming firepower to bring even one of the blades down. As John and L'Wrona fired from the doorway, the lead machine faltered, accelerated, and plunged past them, plowing into the wall, a geyser of blue-red flame.

"Shield's down," said Guan-Sharick, appearing between L'Wrona and Harrison. "Hideous things, aren't they?" she said, staring at the blades. The carnage ended as the blades vanished, leaving the smoldering remains of four machines behind.

"You flicked them away," said John.

Guan-Sharick nodded. "Northern polar region. It'll take them a while to get back."

"Shield's down," said R'Gal over the commnet. "Up and away!"

Eyes streaming, choking and wheezing from the smoke, D'Trelna and T'Ral dragged K'Raoda from the shattered navigation console, stumbling in the murky twilight.

They'd lost the lights almost at the start. The Combine ships, already wounded by S'Gan, were minimizing risks, coming in waves of four, pounding the shield at preselected points. Soon the shield was rippling red-white, too weak and unstable to completely stop the hundreds of blue fusion bolts ripping at it. Then the hull began taking hits— greatly weakened hits holing it in a score of places.

A diminished fusion salvo found the bridge, exploding row after row of consoles, sending the atmosphere rushing out in a sudden gust, until stopped by the automatic sealants. By then the bridge was a smoking ruin, dead and wounded laying where they'd fallen.

"N'Trol," D'Trelna had shouted over the din of alarms and explosions, "engineering to take conn!" Flipping off the commlink, he'd stood, bellowing, "Evacuate the bridge! Wounded first. All others to engineering." He'd turned then and seen K'Raoda, slumped on the deck. Cursing, he'd knelt beside the young officer, turning him gently onto his back. Blood ran freely from a nasty head wound, and his left hand was badly burned, but he'd live—until the shield failed.

D'Trelna's communicator beeped just as he reached the lift. "What?" he managed as T'Ral set K'Raoda down beside the other wounded. The lift doors closed and the machine moved sluggishly for Sick Bay.

"You want to kiss Implacable good-bye, D'Trelna?" It was N'Trol. "We can take three more of those runs, maybe four—shielding's almost gone—then we're one with the universe."

"You keep that shield up, N'Trol!" snapped D'Trelna. Just leave us communications and internal transport."

"What do you think we've been doing?" The engineer's tone was jocular. Defense mechanism, thought D'Trelna, watching T'Ral rip open a medkit and fumble for a dry compress. N'Trol's as scared as the rest of us.

"Then carry on," he said as T'Ral put the compress on K'Raoda's forehead. The first officer groaned but remained unconscious. "I'll be there as soon as I can." If there's any there left to get to, he added to himself. Kneeling beside the medkit, he searched for the burn salve.

"They've raided the lab and stolen the prototype of a navigation jump aid." The security captain's face filled the comm screen. There was a nasty blaster burn across her cheek and exhaustion in every line in her face.

"Where are they now?" asked T'Lan One.

"Subbasement seven. We have them trapped."

"Very well. Continue. Make every effort to recover that navigational aid." He switched off before she could answer.

"If they reach their landing zone, they could pull it off," said T'Lan Two A. "That shuttle is jump equipped."

T'Lan One nodded. "Instruct our reaction force to disengage Implacable and establish a blockade around S'Hlu. Our enemies have risked everything to get that device. Whatever it is, they're not going to have it."

"They're breaking off," said N'Trol.

"What?" D'Trelna looked at the small tacscan. Tucked away in the back of engineering, auxiliary control lacked the sophistication of the main bridge—there were only a handful of screens and four consoles, all now doubly manned. Yet one of the small screens showed the Combine ships were in fact leaving Implacable behind, racing for S'Hlu.

"After them," said D'Trelna, reading the data. "They're after L'Wrona."

"You're crazy, Commodore," said N'Trol. The engineer's face was streaked with black, residue of an electrical fire in the shield generators. Bloodshot eyes glared at D'Trelna. "I can give you half of standard, or I can jump. I can't give you weapons and propulsion and shield."

D'Trelna felt him flushing. "Don't tell me what you—"

He and N'Trol whirled, drawing their side arms as Lan-Asal appeared on the other side of the console. The transmute shook his head. "Mustn't think with our blasters, gentlemen."

"What is it?" said D'Trelna, holstering his M11A.

"I need you to stabilize position relative to S'Hlu, and drop your shield."

Commodore and engineer exchanged glances. "Why?" asked D'Trelna.

"We're going to try to teleport the raiding party off of S'Hlu."

"Do it," said D'Trelna to N'Trol.

* * * *

It went well at first, with John and fourteen wounded troopers teleported to Implacable's hangar deck in three separate jumps.

"Take this," he said, tossing the prototype to a startled DTrelna.

"What . . ."

"It's what we came for," said John. He turned to Lan-Asal. "Do you need me back there?''

"No—just another body to carry," said the transmute, and was gone.

"Well, that eases up on the return fire," said L'Wrona. He stood with R'Gal in an open doorway, firing at the Combine forces as they tried to advance up either side of the corridor, weapons silent.

"Great defensive position, Captain," said R'Gal, looking at the sign over the door: Armory 7—Atomics.

"Works for a time," said L'Wrona, reloading. "Until they send in more blades." Behind them were the last of the raiders—five wounded and two not, sitting and lying in front of rows of deep-cooled white metal cylinders, all labeled with various ordnance nomenclatures.

"Here they come," said R'Gal, pointing to a flight of blades as they whipped around a corner, light glinting off blue steel. He shook his head. "Can't help you this time, L'Wrona—they're frequency shielded."

"In," said L'Wrona. The two stepped back, the captain palming shut the thick blast doors. They snicked together as the first blades reached the armory.

L'Wrona touched his communicator. "J'Quel," he said, watching thin white lines of energy slowly carve through the door, "we need out now."

"They're on their way," came D'Trelna's voice.

"We're here," said Guan-Sharick. L'Wrona and R'Gal turned—Lan-Asal and Guan-Sharick stood between them and the troopers.

"Get the rest out of here first." said the captain, stepping to the small stack of gear they'd carried in. "I have something to do."

"Gone?" repeated T'Lan One, staring at the comm screen. "Where and how?"

The woman shrugged wearily. Behind her the pickup showed the open door of Armory Seven, with security troops and blades flitting in and out. "Unknown."

"Guan-Sharick," said T'Lan One. "Teleported them out."

"All of them? That fast?" said the other AI.

"There were five of them during the revolt," said T'Lan One. "Maybe more than one survived.

"All ships to intercept Implacable," he said. "And advise Confederation FleetOps that we've just suffered a corsair attack—give them full battlespecs."

"But if they find Implacable first, we won't recover the device."

"It's more important to deprive them of it," said T'Lan One.

Panicked shouting came from the comm screen. Startled, both AIs turned back to the comm screen. Their security forces were scattering, troops and blades fleeing down the corridors.

"What . . . ?" began T'Lan One.

The captain's face reappeared. "Blastpak," she said hoarsely, glancing over her shoulder. "No time to disarm—"

The screen winked off. The AIs looked at the surface monitors as flame washed over the pickups, leaving only screen fuzz and static in its wake.

"Can we take the aftershock?" asked T'Lan Two A. He'd hoped to remain functional for more than a day.

His question was answered as the ground wave shattered the ceiling and west wall, sending tons of earth exploding in on the command center.