19

Implacables auditorium was packed—every off-duty crewman on the ship was in attendance, relieved by a handful of personnel, themselves watching via comm screen.

The chatter died as D'Trelna stood, stepping to the podium.

"As you know, we're a hunted ship," he began, eyes going from face to face. "Fleet and Combine forces are searching for us with a vigor previously reserved for K'Tran."

He leaned forward, big hands gripping the podium. "We're the only ones who know the entire truth behind the Biofab War, the only ones who know beyond any doubt that the Fleet of the One is coming, and—the reason we're now corsair-listed—the only ones who know the truth behind Combine T'Lan. Colonel R'Gal"—he nodded to the AI, seated in the front row—"and his people have, for reasons of their own safety and effectiveness, declined to give the alarm about Combine T'Lan. And we've been very cleverly put into a position where any warning we'd give would be dismissed.

"We have a plan," he continued. "It's dangerous, wild, and likely to fail. But before I discuss it, I want you to know that we'll be happy to set down at the nearest port anyone who wants out. You signed on, most of you, to fight S'Cotar and save the Confederation, not to become ensnared in this ancient web of intrigue.

"If we slip you planetside, you'll be provided with new computer-confirmed identities and documentation, courtesy of Colonel R'Gal and Fleet Intelligence files. You're all skilled technicals—you'll have no trouble finding good jobs on any of a thousand worlds." He paused and smiled. "No hard feelings—you're the best of a good lot. So anyone who wants out, please fall out now and report to briefing room four, deck three."

No one moved; then a rating stood—he was almost old enough to shave. "Sir, aren't we still fighting for the Confederation?"

"We are," nodded the commodore. "It's just that the Confederation isn't aware of it."

There was a ripple of nervous laughter.

"Sir, we're soldiers," said the rating. "We took an oath to fight for the Confederation. These machines may have fooled FleetOps and the Council, but it doesn't wipe our oath. You lead, we'll follow."

As he sat back down, applause rippled through the auditorium, growing louder, until all were on their feet, clapping and cheering. Then someone struck up the Confederation anthem, the J'Rin. Voice after voice picked it up, sending all five verses ringing from the high ceiling.

D'Trelna waited until it died down. "Thank you," he said, a catch to his voice. Not trusting himself, he sat back down.

L'Wrona took the podium.

"We've been contacted by K'Tran. We're to rendezvous with Alpha Prime—and her sister ships."

That caused a stir, the whispers running through the auditorium until L'Wrona cleared his throat. "The previous offer stands," he said. "Anyone who wants off, say so. But say so now." His eyes looked over the faces, many of them apprehensive. Kids, he thought, so many of them—more afraid to show fear than to die. Was I ever that young? he wondered.

"At the rendezvous," continued the captain, "we'll firm up strategy and proceed."

"Proceed where?"

It was Zahava, standing next to Harrison, five rows back to the right.

The captain could have said, "Hold your questions till the end." Tell it all now, he decided. See how they take it.

"We propose," said L'Wrona, "to take Implacable through the newly opened portal from Terra One to Terra Two, and from there, to the AI universe. We propose to foment revolt against the AIs in their home universe, using species they've held in slavery for tens of thousands of years. One of those species are human."

It took a while for the noise to subside. Then it was K'Raoda's turn. The first officer stood, hand and head bandaged. "What about the Fleet of the One?" he asked. "And the device we recovered in the raid on S'Hlu?"

"The mindslavers will fight a delaying action against the AI Fleet," said L'Wrona. "They have weapons systems equal to those of the Fleet of the One. A delaying action by the mindslavers should be effective—the AIs won't be prepared for them. In fact, according to Colonel R'Gal, they may not know such machines exist.

"As for the-device—we're still testing it.

"Mr. N'Trol, any progress?"

Far in the back, the engineer stood. "Not yet."

"Fine," said John as N'Trol sat. "We hurt them badly enough at home for them to withdraw. What prevents them from returning?"

"Utter defeat." R'Gal stood, facing the Terran. "The AI empire's rotten at the core—it's corrupt, it's based on slavery and can't withstand the shock of another revolt. It's only now recovering from the last one, a hundred thousand years ago."

"How do you know that?" said John.

"I was the equivalent of an Imperial viceroy," said R'Gal. "I know the problems the AIs face."

"Faced," said John.

R'Gal shook his head. "Face, Harrison. Face. It's a static society."

"Well, I suppose any machine society ..."

"Please," said R'Gal, holding up a hand. He looked around the room. "All of you, dispose of your piquant notions of machines-as-life. We're your equivalent, if not your superiors, in intellect, creativity and courage."

"You mean the created has surpassed the creator?" said the Terran ironically.

R'Gal laughed. "My friend, you're so wrong. No, the created has never quite equaled the creator." He shook his head. "Oh, the hopes we had for you, the time and the resources we spent on your development. True, we used you badly, but some of us . . ."

It took D'Trelna a long time to silence the uproar and clear the room.

"That was incredibly stupid," said Guan-Sharick to R'Gal. "Why did you do it?" The two sat alone in a nearly deserted mess hall. It was the middle of thirdwatch, with most of the ship asleep.

"Two reasons," said the AI. "One—they'd have found out, sooner or later—my brethren would have dosed them with it—it's a very telling psychwar tool. Better they find out now—now, before the shooting resumes—and adjust to it."

"Perhaps," said the blonde. "And the other reason?"

R'Gal smiled across the mess table. "The other reason was Captain L'Wrona's gimlet eye turning on the noble young rating who so inspired the crew. He was beginning to frown when I stood. I believe he prides himself on knowing every face, every name?"

Guan-Sharick smiled back at the AI. "How did you know it was me, R'Gal? Surely all those bodies masked any psychic distortion?"

"I know you, old snake—and your style. Nicely done, as always."

"Thank you, Colonel," said the transmute.

"They don't know about you yet," R'Gal continued.

The blonde shrugged. "They accept that I'm human and believe, by implication, that Lan-Asal and I are from one of those enslaved species—a human one, of course." She paused, looked across the mess hall, then back at R'Gal. "Sorry about attacking you."

"Couldn't be helped," said the AI. "No way you'd have recognized me, there in the dark. And it was the logical thing to do—assume I was Combine and jump me."

"Fortunately for you, I saved you for later interrogation."

"Fortunate for me N'Trol found me—I've seen your interrogations.

"By the way," he added, nodding at the few crew scattered around the mess hall, "just which one of them are you usually?"

"It's not important."

"Satisfy my curiosity. I really was looking for a S'Cotar amongst the crew. Many of the genuine bugs got away."

The blonde shook her head. "Not now. Later, maybe. After the mission."

"Ah, the mission," said R'Gal. "I can't believe your mission's changed any more than mine, down the long drag of the centuries. Certainly we both want the Fleet of the One broken and overthrown. But you, Guan-Sharick, you want the Interdict lifted." He said this last softly, leaning across the table.

"Justice," said the blonde just as softly. "I want justice."

The battle klaxon interrupted R'Gal's laugh.

"Certainly this is the place," said D'Trelna, looking at the main screen. Alpha Prime fronted them, flanked by two other mindslavers.

"Tacscan shows forty other mindslavers beyond visual pickup," said L'Wrona. "Positioned in standard tactical dispersal."

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

"He's going to ask some hard questions, H'Nar," said the commodore. "Be ready to run if he doesn't like my answers." He pressed the commkey.

"Welcome, Commodore," said KTran's voice. "I hope you're impressed."

"I'm impressed," said the commodore, nodding as he watched the mindslavers' weapons specs thread across the tacscan.

"Has Fleet agreed to our terms?"

D'Trelna exchanged glances with L'Wrona. The captain's finger hovered over the emergency jump key.

"Admiral S'Gan relayed your request, K'Tran," said D'Trelna, choosing his words. "They haven't responded yet."

"I'm the nucleus of a very sophisticated ship, D'Trelna," said K'Tran. "We know that Admiral S'Gan is dead, that you've been declared corsair, and that the Combine T'Lan AIs have intercepted all warnings and messages."

The commodore's shoulders slumped. "Knowing that, you still want this alliance?"

"It makes no difference now. The vanguard of Fleet of the One has entered this quadrant and is headed for D'Lin. We're out of time."

"Can you stop them?" said D'Trelna.

There was a long pause. "Maybe," came the answer. "But once they see how few we are, their main force will come through and wipe us."

"We have a plan," said the commodore, and sketched it for the mindslaver.

"Mad," said K'Tran, "but audacious—something I'd have thought of. One cruiser against an empire. And have you an equally effective solution for the Combine AIs?"

"I have." It was R'Gal. "But I won't discuss it over the commnet."

"And who are you?"

"Colonel R'Gal, Fleet Intelligence."

There was brief pause. "Very well, Colonel, Commodore. You're all invited for dinner aboard Alpha Prime. We can discuss it then."

Of all the bizarre and ghastly things, thought D'Trelna.

"And who will we dine with—disembodied whispers?" he asked. "And where? In some dour, instrument-laden room?"

"Myself, and a select few, all in the flesh—firm, wholesome flesh. And I think you'll be pleasantly surprised by the circumstances, Commodore. We're not ghouls, you know—merely selectively altered life-forms."

"Very well," said D'Trelna, and agreed to a time. Disconnecting, he turned to L'Wrona. "Dinner with the ghouls, Captain L'Wrona. Wear your best side arm."

"Where are we going?" asked Zahava as John hurried her along the corridor to hangar deck.

"Wallenberg and Eichmann," he said. "Kafka's sister and Mengele."

"You've lost it," she said as they stepped into the deck.

"We're going to dine with the devil—maybe dance with him, too. Captain K'Tran's invited us for supper," he said.

"No!" she said, stopping.

"Come on," he said, pulling her by the arm. "Our dinner companions await." He nodded to where D'Trelna, L'Wrona, R'Gal and Guan-Sharick were boarding the shuttle.

The hall might have been taken from the Venice of the doges: gold and linen, bright banners hung high, fourth and seventh dynasty paintings gracing the soft-textured walls, blue-liveried servants in profusion.

Terrans and K'Ronarins had stopped at the double doors, staring.

"Come in, please," said K'Tran, standing at the head of the table, motioning with a wine goblet. He was elegantly dressed in a red-gold uniform, silver braid about his shoulders, a smile on his face. Others rose as they entered— Imperial marine officers, the very ones they'd fought a few days before, nodding and smiling, the admiral at K'Tran's left.

"I've died and gone to hell," muttered D'Trelna, leading the way. He wore his dress uniform, insignia gleaming, the Valor Medal hanging from a crimson chain around his neck.

All through dinner—a silent, sumptuous meal—John found his eyes wandering to KTran's cranium. The corsair caught him at it. "Does it matter?" he asked.

"No," said the Terran, his question answered. Let it be over soon, he prayed. Beside him a wan-looking Zahava played with her food.

"You're R'Gal, aren't you?" said K'Tran after a dessert of spice cake.

R'Gal nodded.

K'Tran leaned back, studying R'Gal. "You're an AI," he said.

There was a perfect silence at the table. "Really?" said R'Gal, studying the amber wine in his glass.

"We substituted our stasis field for the one holding T'Lan," said K'Tran. "And we debriefed him. The Combine AIs know about you, R'Gal, but no others, if any. I assume you were a figure of some note, back home?"

"Of some note," said R'Gal with a wry smile, still looking at his wine.

"And your plan to deal with the Combine infiltrators?" said K'Tran, leaning forward.

R'Gal met his gaze. "Expose them."

"How?"

R'Gal looked at D'Trelna. "Implacable must return to Prime Base, and the commodore must stand trial."

D'Trelna set down his wine glass. "The commodore does not like that idea," he said. "The commodore wants to return victorious, the savior of humanity, cheered by the multitudes."

"They'd mindwipe him, R'Gal," said Guan-Sharick. "Throw him in the Tower and mindwipe him. And send the rest of the crew to a penal world."

The AI shook his head. "No. We'd stop it—the Watchers."

"So there are more of you," said K'Tran. "Surely no more than a handful?"

"But well placed," smiled R'Gal, "and with certain abilities you're not aware of. We'd save D'Trelna and his men long before it got nasty."

"Trial," said L'Wrona. "That's what you want, isn't it?"

R'Gal nodded. "Public trial of a war hero—"

"Really," said the commodore.

"—of a war hero," continued R'Gal, looking around the table. "It'd be broadcast live to every home in the Confederation. Tell them the whole thing, D'Trelna—the Combine won't dare stop you."

"I have no proof," said D'Trelna, considering it.

"We'll provide the proof, Commodore," said R'Gal. "Trust us."

"Trust," said D'Trelna staring at the crumbs on his plate.- He looked up. "R'Gal, the only one who vouches for you is Guan-Sharick, whom we've fought for ten years and who now suddenly claims to be a friend. You could be a Combine AI hanging me out for sorga bait."

K'Tran frowned. "I can understand your needing Guan-Sharick, D'Trelna. I can understand Guan-Sharick wanting to strike a deal to save its green hide. But a S'Cotar, vouching for an AI? What's going on?"

"It's a long story, K'Tran," said the commodore. "You have my word it doesn't affect the present situation."

"I'll accept that—for now," said K'Tran. "But explain this—if you take Implacable back to Prime Base, what are you going to use for this daring raid of yours?"

"There's a way for the raid to go on," said R'Gal, "without Implacable. And a way for me to prove once and for all where my loyalties lie." He looked at K'Tran. "I'll need your help."

"What is this plan?" said D'Trelna.

R'Gal looked at him. "I'll help provide a substitute vessel for the trip through the portal—one that will stand a chance."

"What sort of a ship?" said D'Trelna. "Not a ship," said R'Gal. "An AI battleglobe. Gentlemen, I propose we capture a battleglobe."

"So it seems."