23

"Miracle," said D'Trelna, shaking his head. He stood looking down at R'Gal. The AI lay on a medcot, eyes closed, apparently asleep.

They'd found what was left of him in the corridor outside Devastator's Operations. R'Gal had managed to return to his own structure; still John and the others had barely recognized him—part of his face was blown away, and two gaping holes in his chest emitted a weak, pulsing light. Feeling utterly helpless, John, Zahava and L'Wrona had seen R'Gal conveyed to Implacable''s Sick Bay and delivered into the hands of the taciturn senior medtech.

The commodore turned to the room's third occupant, Medtech Q'Nil. "You've a miracle, Q'Nil."

The medtech shrugged. "Luck, Commodore—and lots of help from engineering. Fortunately, we didn't need to know most of the principles involved in order to effect repairs. And some of R'Gal's systems are self-healing." He pointed to the face. "The skin, for example, grew back in one watch after we repaired the lower jaw. He should be coming around any time now—I hope."

D'Trelna pulled up a straight-backed chair and sat facing Q'Nil and the cot, hands folded over the chairback. "Are you aware, Mr. Q'Nil, that we have a S'Cotar aboard?"

Q'Nil nodded and picked up R'Gal's medchart. "Everyone knows it, Commodore," he said, beginning an entry.

"I've done nothing about it—we've had much larger problems, and every watch since we arrived here's been a fight for survival. Also, R'Gal and, indirectly, Harrison convinced me that our elusive blonde friend ..."

"Blonde?" said Q'Nil, looking up from his chart.

D'Trelna smiled. "Possibly. Or a slime-green bug. Or maybe an eight-foot crustacean." He shrugged. "It really doesn't matter now. One thing I want to be sure of, though," he continued. "Implacable, her crew and I are going back to K'Ronar and flush that vipers' nest at Combine T'Lan. I want Guan-Sharick on the battleglobe, with R'Gal, Harrison and the rest, when she goes back to the AIs' home universe. They're going to need help—very special, high-powered help."

Q'Nil set the chart down on the cotside table. "I see. How long have you known?"

"Since I walked into this room, just now, and saw how you'd fixed up R'Gal," said the commodore. "It's beyond the capability of anyone on this ship—hell! of anyone in the Confederation! By saving his life, you've given yourself away—and earned my trust."

"Your limited trust, no doubt?"

"Certainly," said the commodore. "You're utterly ruthless, and you'll never be forgiven what you did to galactic humanity—killing millions of us as a conditioning exercise." His face darkened at the thought. "And although your ultimate motives are obscure ..."

"They don't contravene yours, Commodore."

D'Trelna smiled coldly. "We'll see. The point is, you need us. And we need you—and him." He nodded toward R'Gal.

The ship's medtech looked at the AI. "He's my friend, strange as that may seem." The transmute turned back to D'Trelna. "The Revolt, Commodore. You should have been there. AIs, humans, a few of us and some others—we rose against the shackles my people forged and broke free."

"Shackles you'd forged?"

"We're a telepathic, telekinetic race, D'Trelna. There were never very many of us. We built machines to serve us, and we built too well." He nodded toward R'Gal. "Look at him—intellect, free will, self-replication—the product of millennia of self-directed evolution. They were designed to be self-repairing." Guan-Sharick smiled. "They brought a new, wide perspective to the term."

"Did they really create mankind?" asked the commodore, looking at the AI. R'Gal seemed to be sleeping peacefully, chest gently rising and falling.

The transmute turned back to the commodore. "They sincerely believe they did. You needn't fear for your egos, though—the story's more complex than R'Gal cares to know.

"As the AI empire expanded, they encountered humans, usually either primitives or with only rudimentary spaceflight. The AIs found them to be intelligent but wild and—the cardinal sin—often illogical. So they created a new race of humans, starting with the basics of genetic engineering through eugenics. It seemed to work—until the Revolt."

"What happened?" asked D'Trelna, intrigued.

"What they'd done," said the transmute, "was to breed not for docility, but for subterfuge, creating humans who'd happily bow and scrape before their masters even as they plotted against them. I don't think the AIs ever recovered from the shock of seeing their handiwork coming for them with beamers.

"Those bioengineered humans who fought and fled with us interbred with other humans, so, in a sense, R'Gal was right—some of your genetic stock does come from AI tinkering. It doesn't seem to have hurt you."

"And Q'Nil?" asked D'Trelna. "What happened to him?"

"He was killed and replaced at the Lake of Dreams battle—replaced not by me, but by a S'Cotar. Trying to escape, I killed the S'Cotar."

"I don't believe that," said D'Trelna, eyes narrowing. "You killed Q'Nil and took his place."

Guan-Sharick shrugged. "Makes no difference, now, D'Trelna. We need each other, as you say. But you have my word—I did not kill that man. And my word is rarely given."

The commodore stared silently out the small armorglass window, then turned back to the transmute, shaking his head.

"What a mess you've made of two universes. You built AIs that enslaved everything they touched. Not content, you then created Pocsym and the S'Cotar and gave us the Biofab War. You're children—dangerous children."

"They're not children." R'Gal rose on the medcot. "They've accepted responsibility for their actions and tried to correct them. Given the variables and the time involved, Commodore, could you have done any better?" He shook his head. "I know I couldn't. . . . Am I going to live?" asked the AI.

The transmute smiled. "With care, longer than you may want to."

"Thank you, old friend," said R'Gal.

"It seems I'm going with you, back home," added Guan-Sharick.

"Good idea," said R'Gal, standing. "And Lan-Asal?"

"He'll be staying on D'Lin, at his own request. The D'Linians need him—there'll be no help from K'Ronar, obviously."

"We have eight personnel who've opted out," said D'Trelna. "They didn't mind fighting AIs in their home universe, but the thought of returning to K'Ronar and probably being arrested with me was too much. They'll be working with Lan-Asal, lending aid and assistance to D'Lin. They're good people. I hope to come back for them—someday."

The commodore stood. "Medtech Q'Nil will be transferred to Devastator's crew. And you, R'Gal, are badly needed on that battleglobe to answer several million questions."

The commlink chirped.

"Yes?" said D'Trelna.

"Alpha Prime approaching," said K'Raoda. "K'Tran requests permission to come aboard."

"Granted. Escort him to my office."

"Watch out for him," said Guan-Sharick. "The mindslavers will turn on you the instant they can. They hate any reminder of what they were.''

D'Trelna nodded. "I know," he said, and left the room, R'Gal following.

"We sustained some heavy battle damage," said K'Tran. "It'll take time to repair."

He sat in the red armchair in front of D'Trelna's desk, neatly dressed in his old uniform, hands folded in his lap.

"And if their main fleet comes through now?" asked the commodore.

"We have scouts out by the portal—the Rift, as the AIs call it," said K'Tran. "If their main fleet comes through, we'll stand them off as long as we can, but"—he pointed at D'Trelna—"we can't do it alone. We need that monster you captured to be raiding their home worlds, diverting their strength. And we need the Confederation fleet. And, might I add, some assurance that our modest requests will be granted?"

D'Trelna nodded. "I'll do what I can to bring in the Confederation—the rest is up to R'Gal and Devastator.. As for your requests—you're very much committed now. Assuming the AIs transmitted battlespecs back home, the Fleet of the One isn't going to give you a unit citation when they get here."

"We can hide," shrugged the corsair.

D'Trelna smiled unpleasandy. "They'll find you, K'Tran. I'm afraid you're committed."

"We'll discuss this later," said K'Tran. "What about the recall device you captured?"

D'Trelna sighed, spreading his hands. "It doesn't work. N'Trol says it should, according to the schematics, but it doesn't. He'll continue studying it, but I suggest we not place any hope in ancient legends and mystical fleets."

"I see," said K'Tran after a moment. "Is the battleglobe ready to go?"

"Just finished repairs last watch," said the commodore, turning to glance out the armorglass to where the battleglobe hung, her shield restored, a constant stream of shuttles moving between her and the orbiting Implacable. "There were some AI holdouts, raiding from deep inside her, but with R'Gal's help, we got them all—I hope.

"The portal to Terra Two's still opened," continued D'Trelna. "There's a destroyer on station there, maintaining it with the device we recovered during our last set-to with you. Devastator will access the AIs universe using the device."

"And how do you propose to convince the destroyer crew of that?" said K'Tran.

D'Trelna shrugged. "R'Gal will be in command. He's wonderfully inventive—he'll think of something."

"And you?" said K'Tran.

"We'll be leaving for K'Ronar this watch. I'll submit myself to arrest, face trial and, with the Watchers' help, turn the Confederation against Combine T'Lan. We're paralyzed as long as that AI nest lives within us."

K'Tran rose, extending his hand. "See you in hell, Commodore."

D'Trelna shook the mindslave's hand. "Is there any chance you'll, well . . . ever leave Alpha PrimeV

All expression, all humanity vanished from K'Tran's face. "None," said a dry, familiar whisper. "Captain K'Tran will be with us always."

"Gods," whispered the commodore, staring into the empty blue pools of K'Tran's eyes.

Animation returned to K'Tran, like a light coming on. "Luck, D'Trelna," he smiled. Receiving no answer, K'Tran nodded, turned and left.

D'Trelna shuddered as the door hissed shut.

"And that's about it," said D'Trelna, picking up his wine glass. "We'll have messaged ahead, to friendly parties. They won't get away with blowing us up when we hit home space. There'll be lots of commercial vid coverage of our landing and my arrest. And when I stand in that court dock, looking into all those lenses, I'm going to speak loud and long."

The four of them sat in D'Trelna's private dining room with its long sweep of armorglass, backdropped by two worlds, one natural, the other not: D'Lin and Devastator. The remains of a tasty meal were scattered across the table.

"It's so fantastic," said Zahava as D'Trelna finished his wine. "Will anyone believe you?"

"They'll believe me," said L'Wrona, "testifying as both captain and margrave. And we have the ship's log, every scan neatly and unalterably recorded."

D'Trelna sighed. "I wish I were going with you," he said, looking at the Terrans. "The most daring thing anyone's done for centuries, and I have to sit it out."

"If it rums nasty on K'Ronar, J'Quel, you won't be sitting," said John, setting his napkin on the table. "And somehow, it always turns nasty."

The thought cheered the commodore. He refilled all their wine glasses.

"And the Trel Cache?" asked Zahava, lifting her glass. "Are you just going to leave it here?"

"For now," said L'Wrona. "After we settle with the AIs, a scientific expedition will be sent. The knowledge the Trel preserved could move us ahead centuries. Why, the secret of matter transport alone ..."

"So why not extract it now and use it in the war?" said John.

"Two reasons," said D'Trelna. "One, it would take too long—this will all be over in a few months. And two, with the Combine AIs infecting our government and military, anything we did extract from that satellite might be used against us. No, H'Nar's right—we let it sit for now."

"And what about the other recall device?" said John. "The one mentioned by the Trel?"

"The Lost Citadel?" D'Trelna stared at his wine. "I suppose we have to see if it has any what? historical validity?" He looked at L'Wrona. "H'Nar, I think that's something you might do, while I'm awaiting trial."

The captain shook his head. "S'Yal and the Machine Wars were a long time ago, J'Quel. The records will be fragmented and inaccurate."

"Still," said the commodore, "find out what you can. But let's hope N'Trol gets the Combine's prototype working." He poured himself the last of the wine.

"What are you going to do about Guan-Sharick?" said Zahava.

"Guan-Sharick will be accompanying Devastator back to his, or her, home universe. Incognito."

"You know who he is," said L'Wrona, staring at the commodore.

D'Trelna nodded and sipped his wine.

"Not going to tell me, are you?" said the captain.

The commodore set down his glass, shaking his head. "No. Yes, I know," he said, holding up a hand as L'Wrona started to speak, "Guan-Sharick's a mass murderer and totally ruthless."

"And I don't believe it's human," said L'Wrona.

"It's never said it was," said D'Trelna. "It's merely implied it."

"I'm convinced it's on our side—for now, and I'll tell you, H'Nar"—he leaned forward—"there may be no victory with Guan-Sharick's help, but there'll be none without it."

"Victory," said L'Wrona, easing back in his chair. "I don't believe in it anymore, J'Quel. We're climbing an endless mountain—each time we reach the top, we find it's just another plateau."

"We take out the AIs, H'Nar," said D'Trelna, wagging a finger at the captain, "we've reached the peak. Victory."

"Let's hope we live to enjoy it," said John, finishing his wine.

"I'm going to miss them," said John. He and Zahava stood in Devastator's Operations center, watching the main screen with its image of Implacable. The battle damage was gone, and humans wearing the duty brown of the Confederation now manned the consoles.

"We'll see them again," said Zahava, putting an arm around his waist.

"Will we? I wonder."

D'Trelna's face appeared on a comm screen. "We're about to jump for home." He cleared his throat. "Luck to you all, and Gods ride with you."

There was a chorus of well wishing, then the comm screen flicked off.

In a second, the main screen held only stars—Implacable was gone. John and Zahava turned to face their new captain.

"A good, clever and determined man," said R'Gal, eyes on the blank comm screen. "If anyone can do it, he can. And he has the margrave and my people—that'll help."

He turned to the first officer. "Course plotted and laid in, Mr. K'Raoda?"

"Plotted and laid, sir," said K'Raoda.

"You may jump when ready," said R'Gal, then turned to the two Terrans. "When we get to Terra, if you want off, I'll understand. It's not your fight."

"Of course it's our fight," said Zahava, remembering Major L'Kor and the D'Linians. "It's everyone's fight."

"And you?" said R'Gal, looking at John.

"We're with you to the end, sir," he said, holding out his hand.

R'Gal took it, and Zahava's. "To the end," he said. Devastator jumped.