"How stupid?" he asked after a moment.

 

 

"Extremely so. In fairness, they were never intended for even rudimentary self-awareness, and their age is also a factor. Omega Three's self-repair capability was never up to Fleet standards, and it has suffered progressive failure, largely, I suspect, through lack of spares. Approximately forty percent of Omega Three's data net is inoperable. The main computers remain more nearly functional than the auxiliary systems, but there are failures in the core programming itself. In human terms, they are senile."

 

 

"I see. Are you getting anything at all?"

 

 

"Affirmative, sir. In fact, I am now prepared to provide a hypothetical reconstruction of events leading to Omega Three's emplacement."

 

 

"You are?" Colin sat straighter, and others at the table did the same.

 

 

"Affirmative. Be advised, however, that much of it is speculative. There are serious gaps in the available data."

 

 

"Understood. Let's hear it."

 

 

"Acknowledged. In essence, sir, Fleet Captain (Biosciences) Cohanna was correct in her original hypothesis at Defram. The destruction of all life on the planets we have so far encountered was due to a bio-weapon."

 

 

"What kind of bio-weapon?" Cohanna demanded, leaning forward as if to will the answer out of the computer.

 

 

"Unknown at this time. It was the belief of the system governor, however, that it was of Imperial origin."

 

 

"Sweet Jesu," Jiltanith breathed. "In so much at least wert thou correct, my Hector. 'Twas no enemy wreaked their destruction; 'twas themselves."

 

 

"That is essentially correct," Dahak said. "As I have stated, the data are fragmentary, but I have recovered portions of memoranda from the governor. I hope to recover more, but those I have already perused point in that direction. She did not know how the weapon was originally released, but apparently there had been rumors of such a weapon for some time."

 

 

"The fools," Cohanna whispered. "Oh, the fools! Why would they build something like this? It violates every medical ethic the Imperium ever had!"

 

 

"I fear my data sample is too small to answer that, yet I have discovered a most interesting point. It was not the Fourth Imperium which devised this weapon but an entity called the Fourth Empire."

 

 

For just a moment, Colin failed to grasp the significance. Dahak had used Imperial Universal, and in Universal, the differentiation was only slightly greater than in English. "Imperium" was umsuvah, with the emphasis on the last syllable; "Empire" was umsuvaht, with the emphasis upon the second.

 

 

"What?" Cohanna blinked in consternation.

 

 

"Precisely. I have not yet established the full significance of the altered terminology, yet it suggests many possibilities. In particular, the Imperial Senate appears to have been superseded in authority by an emperor- specifically, by Emperor Herdan XXIV as of Year Thirteen-One-Seven-Five."

 

 

"Herdan the Twenty-Fourth?" Colin repeated.

 

 

"The title would seem significant," Dahak agreed, "suggesting as it does an extremely long period of personal rule. In addition, the date of his accession appears to confirm our dating of the Defram disaster."

 

 

"Agreed," Colin said. "But you don't have any more data?"

 

 

"Not of a political or societal nature, Captain. It may be that Omega Three will disgorge additional information, assuming I can locate the proper portion of its data core and that the relevant entries have not decayed beyond recovery. I would not place the probability as very high. Omega Three and its companions were constructed in great haste by local authorities, not by Battle Fleet. Beyond the programming essential for their design function, their data bases appear to be singularly uninformed."

 

 

Despite his shock, Colin grinned at the computer's sour tone.

 

 

"All right," he said after a moment. "What can you tell us about the effects of this bio-weapon and the reason the fortifications were built?"

 

 

"The data are not rich, Captain, but they do contain the essentials. The bio-weapon appears to have been designed to mount a broad-spectrum attack upon a wide range of life forms. If the rumors recorded by Governor Yirthana are correct, it was, in fact, intended to destroy any life form. In mammals, it functioned as a neuro-toxin, rendering the chemical compounds of the nervous system inert so that the organism died."

 

 

"But that wouldn't kill trees and grasses," Cohanna objected.

 

 

"That is true, Commander. Unfortunately, the designers of this weapon appear to have been extremely ingenious. Obviously we do not have a specimen of the weapon itself, but I have retrieved very limited data from Governor Yirthana's own bio-staff. It would appear that the designers had hit upon a simple observation: all known forms of life depend upon chemical reactions. Those reactions may vary from life form to life form, but their presence is a constant. This weapon was designed to invade and neutralize the critical chemical functions of any host."

 

 

"Impossible," Cohanna said flatly, then flushed.

 

 

"By the standards of my own data base, you are correct, ma'am. Nonetheless, Keerah is devoid of life. Empirical evidence thus suggests that it was, indeed, possible to the Fourth Empire."

 

 

"Agreed," the Biosciences head muttered.

 

 

"Governor Yirthana's bio-staff hypothesized that the weapon had been designed to modify itself at a very high rate of speed, attacking the chemical structures of its victims in turn until a lethal combination was reached. An elegant theoretical solution, although, I suspect, actually producing the weapon would be far from simple."

 

 

"Simple! I'm still having trouble believing it was possible!"

 

 

"As for Omega Three and its companions," Dahak continued, "they were intended to enforce a strict quarantine of Keerah. Governor Yirthana obviously was aware of the contamination of her planet and took steps to prevent its spread. There is also a reference I do not yet fully understand to something called a mat-trans system, which she ordered disabled."

 

 

" 'Mat-trans'?" Colin asked.

 

 

"Yes, sir. As I say, I do not presently fully understand the reference, but it would appear that this mat-trans was a device for the movement of personnel over interstellar distances without recourse to starships."

 

 

"What?!" Colin jerked bolt upright in his chair.

 

 

"Current information suggests a system limited to loads of only a few tons but capable of transmitting them hundreds-possibly even several thousands-of light-years almost instantaneously, Captain. Apparently this system had become the preferred mode for personal travel. The energy cost appears to have been high, however, which presumably explains the low upper mass limit. Starships remained in use for bulk cargoes, and the Fleet and certain government agencies retained courier vessels for transportation of highly-classified data."

 

 

"Jesus!" Colin muttered. Then his eyes narrowed. "Why didn't you mention that before?"

 

 

"You did not ask, Captain. Nor was I aware of it. Please recall that I am continuing to query Omega Three's memory even as we speak."

 

 

"All right, all right. But matter transmission? Teleportation?" Colin looked at Chernikov. "Is that possible?"

 

 

"As Dahak would say, empirical data suggests it is, but if you are asking how, I have no idea. Dahak's data base contains some journal articles about focused hyper fields linked with fold-space technology, but the research had achieved nothing as of the mutiny. Beyond that-?" He shrugged again.

 

 

"Maker!" Cohanna's soft voice drew all eyes back to her. She was deathly pale. "If they could-" She broke off, staring down at her hands and thinking furiously as she conferred with Dahak through her neural feed. Her expression changed slowly to one of utter horror, and when her attention returned to her fellows, her eyes glistened with sorrow.

 

 

"That's it." Her voice was dull. "That's how they did it to themselves."

 

 

"Explain," Colin said gently.

 

 

"I wondered... I wondered how it could go this far." She gave herself a little shake. "You see, Hector's right-only maniacs would deliberately dust whole planets with a weapon like this. But it wasn't that way at all."

 

 

They looked at her, most blankly, but a glimmer of understanding tightened Jiltanith's mouth. She nodded almost imperceptibly, and Cohanna's eyes swiveled to her face.

 

 

"Exactly," the biosciences officer said grimly. "The Imperium could have delivered it only via starships. They'd've been forced to transport the bug-the agent, whatever you want to call it-from system to system, intentionally. Some of that could have happened accidentally, but the Imperium was huge. By the time a significant portion of its planets were infected, the contaminating vector would have been recognized. If it wasn't a deliberate military operation, quarantine should have contained the damage.

 

 

"But the Empire wasn't like that. They had this damned 'mat-trans' thing. Assuming an incubation period of any length, all they needed was a single source of contamination-just one-they didn't know about. By the time they realized what was happening, it could've spread throughout the entire Imperium, and just stopping starships wouldn't do a damned thing to slow it down!"

 

 

Colin stared at her as her logic sank home. With something like the "mat-trans" Dahak had described, the Imperium's worlds would no longer have been weeks or months of travel apart. They would have become a tightly-integrated, inter-connecting unit. Time and distance, the greatest barriers to holding an interstellar civilization together, would no longer apply. What a triumph of technology! And what a deadly, deadly triumph it had proven.

 

 

"Then I was wrong," MacMahan murmured. "They could wipe themselves out."

 

 

"Could and did." Ninhursag's clenched fist struck the table gently, for an Imperial, and her voice was thick with anguish. "Not even on purpose-by accident. By accident, Breaker curse them!"

 

 

"Wait." Colin raised a hand for silence. "Assume you're right, Cohanna. Do you really think every planet would have been contaminated?"

 

 

"Probably not, but the vast majority certainly could have been. From the limited information Dahak and I have on this monster of theirs-and remember all our data is third or fourth-hand speculation, by way of Governor Yirthana-the incubation time was quite lengthy. Moreover, Yirthana's information indicates it was capable of surviving very long periods, possibly several centuries, in viable condition even without hosts.

 

 

"That suggests a strategic rather than a tactical weapon. The long incubation period was supposed to bury it and give it time to spread before it manifested itself. That it in fact did so is also suggested by the fact that Yirthana had time to build her bases before it wiped out Keerah. Its long-term lethality would mean no one dared contact any infected planet for a very, very long period. Ideal, if the object was to cripple an interstellar enemy.

 

 

"But look what that means. Thanks to the incubation period, there probably wasn't any way to know it was loose until people started dying. Which means the central, most heavily-visited planets would've been the first to go.

 

 

"People being people, the public reaction was-must have been-panic. And a panicked person's first response is to flee." Cohanna shrugged. "The result might well have been an explosion of contamination.

 

 

"On the other hand, they had the hypercom. Warnings could be spread at supralight speeds without using their mat-trans, and presumably some planets must have been able to go into quarantine before they were affected. That's where the 'dwell time' comes in. They couldn't know how long they had to stay quarantined. No one would dare risk contact with any other planet as long as the smallest possibility of contamination by something like this existed."

 

 

She paused, and Colin nodded.

 

 

"So they would have abandoned space," he said.

 

 

"I can't be certain, but it seems probable. Even if any of their planets did survive, their 'Empire' still could have self-destructed out of all too reasonable fear. Which means-" she met Colin's eyes squarely "-that in all probability, there's no Imperium for us to contact."

 

 

Vladimir Chernikov bent over the work bench, studying the disassembled rifle-like weapon. His enhanced eyes were set for microscopic vision, and he manipulated his exquisitely sensitive instruments with care. The back of his mind knew he was trying to lose himself and escape the numbing depression which had settled over Dahak's crew, but his fascination was genuine. The engineer in his soul rejoiced at the beauty of the work before him. Now if he could only figure out what it did.

 

 

There was the capacitor, and a real brute it was, despite its tininess. Eight or nine times a regular energy gun's charge. And these were rheostats. One obviously regulated the power of whatever the thing emitted, but what did the second... ?

 

 

Hmmmmm. Fascinating. There's no sign of a standard disrupter head in here. But then-aha! What do we have here?

 

 

He bent closer, bending sensor implants as well as vision upon it, then froze. He looked a moment longer, then raised his head and gestured to Baltan.

 

 

"Take a look at this," he said quietly. His assistant bent over and followed Chernikov's indicating test probe to the component in question, then pursed his lips in a silent whistle.

 

 

"A hyper generator," he said. "It has to be. But the size of the thing."

 

 

"Precisely." Chernikov wiped his spotless fingers on a handkerchief, drying their sudden clamminess. "Dahak," he said.

 

 

"Yes, sir?"

 

 

"What do you make of this?"

 

 

"A moment," the computer said. There was a brief period of silence, then the mellow voice spoke again. "Fleet Commander (Engineering) Baltan is correct, sir. It is a hyper generator. I have never encountered one of such small size or advanced design, but the basic function is evident. Please note, however, that the generator cavity's walls are composed of a substance unknown to me, and that they extend the full length of the barrel."

 

 

"Explanations?"

 

 

"It would appear to be a shielding housing around the generator, sir-one impervious to warp radiation. Fascinating. Such a material would have obvious applications in such devices as atmospheric hyper missile launchers."

 

 

"True. But am I right in assuming the muzzle end of the housing is open?"

 

 

"You are, sir. In essence, this appears to be a highly-advanced adaptation of the warp grenade. When activated, this weapon would project a focused field-in effect, a beam-of multi-dimensional translation which would project its target into hyper space."

 

 

"And leave it there," Chernikov said flatly.

 

 

"Of course," Dahak agreed. "A most ingenious weapon."

 

 

"Ingenious," Chernikov repeated with a shudder.

 

 

"Correct. Yet I perceive certain limitations. The hyper-suppression fields already developed to counteract warp grenades would also counteract this device's effect, at least within the area of such a field. I cannot be certain without field-testing the weapon, but I suspect that it might be fired out of or across such a suppression field. Much would depend upon the nature of the focusing force fields. But observe the small devices on both sides of the barrel. They appear to be extremely compact Ranhar generators. If so, they presumably create a tube of force to extend the generator housing and contain the hyper field, thus controlling its area of effect and also tending, quite possibly, to offset the effect of a suppression field."

 

 

"Maker, and I always hated warp grenades," Baltan said fervently.

 

 

"I, too," Chernikov said. He straightened from the bench slowly, looking at the next innocent-seeming device he'd abstracted from Omega Three once Cohanna had decided her painstaking search confirmed the original suggestion of the functional hydroponic farms. There was no trace of anything which could possibly be the bio-weapon aboard the battle station, and Chernikov had gathered up every specimen of technology he could find. He'd been looking forward to taking all of them apart.

 

 

Now he was almost afraid to.

 

 

CHAPTER NINE

 

 

Colin MacIntyre sat in Conference One once more. He'd grown to hate this room, he thought, bending his gaze upon the tabletop. Hate it.

 

 

Silence fell as the last person found a seat, and he looked up.

 

 

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "for the past month I've resisted all arguments to move on because I believe Keerah represents a microcosm of what probably happened to the entire Imperium. I now believe we've learned all we can here. But-" he drew out the slight pause behind the word "-that still leaves the question of what we do next. Before turning to that, however, I would like to review our findings, beginning with our Chief Engineer."

 

 

He sat back and nodded to Chernikov, who cleared his throat quietly, as if organizing his thoughts, then began.

 

 

"We have examined many artifacts recovered from Omega Three. On the basis of what we have discovered to date, I have reached a few conclusions about the technical base of the Imperium-that is to say, the Empire.

 

 

"They had, as we would have expected, made major advances, yet not so many as we might have anticipated. Please bear in mind that I am speaking only of non-biological technology; neither Cohanna nor I is in a position to say what they had achieved in the life sciences. The weapon which destroyed them certainly appears to evidence a very high level of bio-engineering.

 

 

"With that reservation, our initial estimate, that their technology was essentially a vastly refined version of our own, seems to have been correct. With the probable exception of their mat-trans-on which, I regret to say, we have been unable as yet to obtain data-we have encountered nothing Engineering and Dahak could not puzzle out. This is not to say they had not advanced to a point far beyond our current reach, but the underlying principles of their advances are readily apparent to us. In effect, they appear to have reached a plateau of fully mature technology and, I believe, may very well have been on the brink of fundamental breakthroughs into a new order of achievement, but they had not yet made them.

 

 

"In general, their progress may be thought of as coupling miniaturization with vast increases in power. A warship of Dahak's mass, for example, built with the technology we have so far encountered-which, I ask you to bear in mind, represents an essentially civilian attempt to create a military unit-would possess something on the order of twenty times his combat capability."

 

 

He paused for emphasis, and there were signs of awe on more than one face.

 

 

"Yet certain countervailing design philosophies and trends, particularly in the areas of computer science and cybernetics, also have become apparent to us. Specifically, the hardware of their computer systems is extremely advanced compared to our own; their software is not. Assuming that Omega Three is a representative sample of their computer technology, their computers had an even lower degree of self-awareness than that of Comp Cent prior to the mutiny. The data storage capacity of Omega Three's Comp Cent, whose mass is approximately thirty percent that of Dahak's central memory core, exceeded his capacity, including all subordinate systems, by a factor of fifty. The ability of Omega Three, on the other hand, despite a computational speed many times higher than his, did not approach even that of Comp Cent prior to the mutiny.

 

 

"Clearly, this indicates a deliberate degradation of performance to meet some philosophical constraint. My best guess-and I stress that it is only a guess-is that it results from the period of civil warfare which apparently converted the Imperium into the Empire. Fleet computers would have resisted firing on other Fleet units, and while this could have been compensated for by altering their Alpha Priority core programming, the combatants may have balked at allowing semi-aware computers to decide whether or not to fire on other humans. This is only a hypothesis, but it is certainly one possibility.

 

 

"In addition, we have confirmed one other important point. While Omega Three's computers did use energy-state technology, they also incorporated non-energy backups, which appears to reflect standard Imperial military practice. This means a deactivated Fleet computer would not experience a complete core loss as did the civilian units discovered at Defram. If powered up once more, thus restoring its energy-state circuitry, it should remain fully functional.

 

 

"Further, even civilian installations which have been continuously powered could remain completely operational. Omega Three's capabilities, for example, suffered not because it relied upon energy-state components, but because it was left unattended for so long that solid-state components failed. Had the battle station's computers possessed adequate self-repair capability and spares, Omega Three would be fully functional today."

 

 

He paused, as if rechecking his thoughts, then glanced at Colin.

 

 

"That concludes my report, sir. Detailed information is in the data base for anyone who cares to peruse it."

 

 

"Thank you." Colin pursed his lips for a moment, inviting questions, but there were none. They were waiting for the other shoe, he thought dourly.

 

 

"Commander Cohanna?" he said finally.

 

 

"We still don't know how they did it," Cohanna replied, "but we're pretty sure what they did. I'm not certain I can accept Dahak's explanation just yet, but it fits the observed data, assuming they had the ability to implement it.

 

 

"For all practical purposes, we can think of their weapon as a disease lethal to any living organism. Obviously, it was a monster in every sense of the word. We may never learn how it was released, but the effect of its release was the inevitable destruction of all life in its path. Any contaminated planet is dead, ladies and gentlemen.

 

 

"On the other hand-" as Colin had, she drew out the pause for emphasis, "-we've also determined that the weapon had a finite lifespan. And whatever that lifespan was, it was less than the time which has passed. We've established test habitats with plants and livestock from our own hydroponic and recreational areas, using water and soil collected by remotes from all areas of Keerah's surface. From Governor Yirthana's records, we know the weapon took approximately thirty Terran months to incubate in mammals, and we've employed the techniques used in accelerated healing to take our sample habitats through a forty-five-month cycle with no evidence of the weapon. While I certainly don't propose to return those test subjects to Dahak's life-support systems, I believe the evidence is very nearly conclusive. The bio-weapon itself has died, at least on Keerah and, by extension, upon any planet which was contaminated an equivalent length of time ago.

 

 

"That concludes my report, Captain."

 

 

"Thank you." Colin squared his shoulders and spoke very quietly as the full weight of his responsibility descended upon him. "On the basis of these reports, I intend to proceed immediately to Birhat and Fleet Central."

 

 

Someone drew a sharply audible breath, and his face tightened.

 

 

"What we've discovered here makes it extremely unlikely Birhat survived, but that, unfortunately, changes nothing.

 

 

"I don't know what we'll find there, but I do know three things. One, if we return with no aid for Earth, we lose. Two, the best command facilities at the Imperium's-or Empire's-disposal would be at Fleet Central. Three, logic suggests the bio-weapon there will be as dead as it is here. Based on those suppositions, our best chance of finding usable hardware is at Birhat, and it's likely we can safely reactivate any we find. At the very least, it will be our best opportunity to discover the full extent of this catastrophe."

 

 

"We will depart Keerah in twelve hours. In the meantime, please carry on about your duties. I'll be in my quarters if I'm needed."

 

 

He stood, catching the surprise on more than one face when his audience realized he did not intend to debate the point.

 

 

"Attention on deck," Dahak intoned quietly, and the officers rose.

 

 

Colin walked out in silence, wondering if those he'd surprised realized why he'd foreclosed all debate.

 

 

The answer was as simple as it was bitter. In the end, the decision was his, but if he allowed them to debate it they must share in it, however indirectly, and he would not permit them to do so.

 

 

He couldn't know if Dahak's presence was required to stand off the Achuultani scouts, but he hoped desperately that it was not, for he, Colin MacIntyre, had elected to chase a tattered hope rather than defend his home world. If he'd guessed wrong about Horus's progress, he had also doomed that home world-a world which it had become increasingly obvious might well be the only planet of humanity which still existed-whatever he found at Birhat.

 

 

And the fact that logic compelled him to Birhat meant nothing against his fear that he had guessed wrong. Against his ignorance of Horus's progress. His agonizing suspicion that if Fleet Central still existed, it might be another Omega Three, senile and crippled with age... the paralyzing terror of bearing responsibility for the death of his own species.

 

 

He would not-could not-share that responsibility with another soul. It was his alone, and as he stepped into the transit shaft, Senior Fleet Captain Colin MacIntyre tasted the full, terrible burden of his authority at last.

 

 

The moss was soft and slightly damp as he lay on his back, staring up at the projected sky. He was coming to understand why the Imperium had provided its captains with this greenery and freshness. He could have found true spaciousness on one of the park decks, where breezes whipped across square kilometers of "open" land, but this was his. This small, private corner of creation belonged to him, offering its soothing aliveness and quiet bird-song when the weight of responsibility crushed down upon him.

 

 

He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, extending his enhanced senses. The splash of the fountains caressed him, and a gentle breeze stroked his skin, yet the sensations only eased his pain; they did not banish it.

 

 

He hadn't noted the time when he stretched out upon the moss, and so he had no idea how long he'd been there when his neural feed tingled.

 

 

Someone was at the hatch, and he was tempted to deny access, for his awareness of what he'd done was too fresh and aching. But that thought frightened him suddenly. It would be so easy to withdraw into a tortured, hermit-like existence, and it was over six months to Birhat. A man alone could go mad too easily in that much time.

 

 

He opened the hatch, and his visitor stepped inside. She came around the end of a thicket of azaleas and laurel, and he opened his eyes slowly.

 

 

"Art troubled, my Colin," she said softly.

 

 

He started to explain, but then he saw it in her eyes. She knew. One, at least, of his officers knew exactly why he'd refused to discuss his decision.

 

 

"May I sit with thee?" she asked gently, and he nodded.

 

 

She crossed the carpet of moss with the poised, cat-like grace which was always so much a part of her, straight and slim in her midnight-blue uniform, tall for an Imperial, yet delicate, her gleaming black hair held back by the same jeweled clasp she'd worn the day they met. The day when he'd seen the hate in her eyes. The hate for what he'd done, for the clumsy, cocksure fumbling which had cost the lives of a grandnephew and great-nieces she loved, but even more for what he was. For the threat of punishment he posed to her mutineer-father. For the fullness of his enhancement while she had but bits and pieces. And for the fact that he, who had never known of Dahak's existence, never suspected her own people's lonely, hopeless fight against Anu, had inherited command of the starship from which she had been exiled for a crime others had committed.

 

 

There was a killer in Jiltanith. He'd seen it then, known it from the first. The mutiny had cost her her mother and the freedom of the stars, and the endless stealth of her people's shadowy battle on Earth had been slivered glass in her throat, for she was a fighter, a warrior who believed in open battle. Those long, agonizing years had left dark, still places within her. Far more than he could ever hope to be, she was capable of death and destruction, incapable of asking or offering quarter.

 

 

But there was no hate in her eyes now. They were soft and gentle under the atrium's sun, their black depths jewel-like and still. Colin had grown accustomed to the appearance of the full Imperials, yet in this moment the subtle alienness of her beauty smote him like a fist. She had been born before his first Terran ancestor crawled into a cave to hide from the weather, yet she was young. Twice his age and more, yet they were both but children against the lifespan of their enhanced bodies. Her youthfulness lay upon her, made still more precious and perfect by the endless years behind her, and his eyes burned.

 

 

This, he thought. This girl-woman who had known and suffered so much more than he, was what this all was about. She was the symbol of humankind, the avatar of all its frailties and the iron core of all its strength, and he wanted to reach out and touch her. But she was the mythic warrior-maid, the emblem, and the weight of his decision was upon him. He was unclean.

 

 

"Oh, my Colin," she whispered, looking deep into his own weary, tormented eyes, "what hast thou taken upon thyself?"

 

 

He clenched his hands at his sides, gripping the moss, and refused to answer, but a sob wrenched at the base of his throat.

 

 

She came closer slowly, carefully, like a hunter approaching some wild, snared thing, and sank to her knees beside him. One delicate hand, slender and fine-boned, deceiving the eye into forgetting its power, touched his shoulder.

 

 

"Once," she said, "in a life I scarce recall, I envied thee. Yea, envied and hated thee, for thou hadst received all unasked for the one treasure in all the universe I hungered most to hold. I would have slain thee, could I but have taken that treasure from thee. Didst thou know that?"

 

 

He nodded jerkily, and she smiled.

 

 

"Yet knowing, thou didst name me thy successor in command, for thine eyes saw more clear than mine own. 'Twas chance, mayhap, sent thee to Dahak's bridge, yet well hast thou proven thy right to stand upon it. And never more than thou hast done this day."

 

 

Her hand stroked gently from his shoulder to his chest, covering the slow, strong beating of his bioenhanced heart, and he trembled like a frightened child. But her fingers moved, gentling his strange terror.

 

 

"Yet thou art not battle steel, my Colin," she said softly. "Art flesh and blood for all thy biotechnics, whate'er thy duty may demand of thee."

 

 

She bent slowly, laying her head atop her hand, and the fine texture of her hair brushed his cheek, its silken caress almost agony to his enhanced senses. Tears brimmed in the corners of his eyes, and part of him cursed his weakness while another blessed her for proving it to him. The sob he had fought broke free, and she made a soft, soothing sound.

 

 

"Yea, art flesh and blood, though captain to us all. Forget that not, for thou art not Dahak, and thy humanity is thy curse, the sword by which thou canst be wounded." She raised her head, and his blurred eyes saw the tears in her own. One moss-stained hand rose, stroking her raven's-wing hair, and she smiled.

 

 

"Yet wounds may be healed, my Colin, and I am likewise flesh, likewise blood," she murmured. She bent over him, and her mouth tasted of the salt of their mingled tears. His other hand rose, drawing her down beside him on the moss, and he rose on an elbow as she smiled up at him.

 

 

"Thou wert my salvation," she whispered, caressing his unruly sandy hair. "Now let me be thine, for I am thine and thou art mine. Forget it never, my dearest dear, for 'tis true now and ever shall be."

 

 

And she drew him down to kiss her once again.

 

 

The computer named Dahak closed down the sensors in the captain's quarters with profound but slightly wistful gratitude. He had made great strides in understanding these short-lived, infuriatingly illogical, occasionally inept, endlessly inventive, and stubbornly dauntless descendants of his long-dead builders. More than any other of his kind, he had learned to understand human emotions, for he had learned to share many of them. Respect. Friendship. Hope. Even, in his own way, love. He knew his presence would embarrass Colin and Jiltanith if it occurred to them to check for it, and while he did not fully understand the reason, they were his friends, and so he left them.

 

 

He gave the electronic equivalent of a sigh, knowing that he could never comprehend the gentle mysteries which had enfolded them. But he did not need to comprehend to know how important they were, and to feel deeply grateful to his new friend 'Tanni for understanding and loving his first friend Colin.

 

 

And now, he thought, while they were occupied, he might add that tiny portion of his attention which constantly attended his captain's needs and desires to another problem. Those encoded dispatches from the courier Cordan still intrigued him.

 

 

His latest algorithm had failed miserably, though he had finally managed to crack the scramble and reduce the messages to symbol sets. Unfortunately, the symbols were meaningless. Perhaps a new value-substitution subprogram was in order? Yet pattern analysis suggested that the substitution was virtually random. Interesting. That implied a tremendous symbol set, or else there was a method to generate the values which only appeared random....

 

 

The computer worried happily away at the fascinating problem with a fragment of his capacity while every tiny corner of his vast starship body pulsed and quivered with his awareness.

 

 

All the tiny corners save one, where two very special people enjoyed a priceless gift of privacy made all the more priceless because they did not even know it had been given.

 

 

The last crude spacecraft died, and the asteroid battered through their wreckage at three hundred kilometers per second. Bits of debris struck its frontal arc, vanishing in brief, spiteful spits of flame against its uncaring nickel-iron bow. Heat-oozing wounds bit deep where the largest fragments had struck, and the asteroid swept onward, warded by the defenders' executioners.

 

 

Six Achuultani starships rode in formation about the huge projectile as it charged down upon the blue-and-white world which was its target. They had been detached to guard their weapon against the pygmy efforts of that cloud-swirled sapphire's inhabitants, and their task was all but done.

 

 

They spread out, distancing themselves from the asteroid, energy weapons ready as the first missiles broke atmosphere. The clumsy chemical-fueled rockets sped outward, tipped with their pathetic nuclear warheads, and the starships picked them off with effortless ease. The doomed planet flung its every weapon against its killers in despair and desperation... and achieved nothing.

 

 

The asteroid hurtled onward, an energy state hungry for immolation, and the starships wheeled up and away as it tasted air at last and changed. For one fleeting instant it was no longer a thing of ice-bound rock and metal. It was alive, a glorious, screaming incandescence pregnant with death.

 

 

It struck, spewing its flame back into the heavens, stripping away atmosphere in a cataclysm of fire, and the Achuultani starships hovered a moment longer, watching, as the planetary crust split and fissured. Magma exploded from the gaping wounds, and they spread and grew, racing like cracks in ice, until the geologically unstable planet itself blew apart.

 

 

The starships lingered no longer. They turned their bows from the ruin they had wrought and raced outward. Twenty-one light-minutes from the primary they crossed the hyper threshold and vanished like soap bubbles, hastening to seek their fellows at the next rendezvous.

 

 

CHAPTER TEN

 

 

Horus stood on the command deck of the battleship Nergal, almost unrecognizable in its refurbished state, and watched her captain take her smoothly out of atmosphere. A year ago, Adrienne Robbins, one of the US Navy's very few female attack submarine skippers, had never heard of the Fourth Imperium; now she performed her duties with a competence which gave him the same pleasure he took from a violin virtuoso and a Mozart concerto. She was good, he decided, watching her smooth her gunmetal hair. Better than he'd ever been, and she had the confident, almost sleepy smile of a hungry tiger.

 

 

He turned from the bridge crew to the holo display as Nergal slid into orbit. Marshal Tsien, Acting Chief of the Supreme Chiefs of Staff, towered over his right shoulder, and Vassily Chernikov stood to Horus' left. All three watched intently as Nergal leisurely overtook the half-finished bulk of Orbital Defense Center Two, and Horus suddenly snapped his fingers and turned to Tsien.

 

 

"Oh, Marshal Tsien," he said, "I meant to tell you that I spoke with General Hatcher just before you arrived, and he expects to return to us within the next four or five weeks."

 

 

Relief lit both officers' eyes, for it had been touch and go for Gerald Hatcher. Though Tsien's first aid had saved his life, he would have lost both legs without Imperial medical technology, assuming he'd lived at all, yet that same technology had nearly killed him.

 

 

Hatcher was one of those very rare individuals, less than one tenth of a percent of the human race, who were allergic to the standard quick-heal drugs, but the carnage at Minya Konka had offered no time for proper medical work-ups, and the medic who first treated him guessed wrong. The general's reaction had been quick and savage, and only the fact that that same medic had recognized the symptoms so quickly had prevented it from being fatal.

 

 

Even so, it had taken months to repair his legs to a point which permitted bioenhancement, for if the alternate therapies were just as effective, they were also far slower. Which also meant his recuperation from enhancement itself was taking far longer than normal, so it was a vast relief to all his colleagues and friends to know he would soon return to them.

 

 

And, Horus thought, remembering how Hatcher had chuckled over Tsien's remark at Minya Konka, as the first enhanced member of the Chiefs of Staff.

 

 

"I am relieved to hear it, Governor," Tsien said now. "And I am certain you will be relieved to have him back."

 

 

"I will, but I'd also like to congratulate you on a job very well done these past months. I might add that Gerald shares my satisfaction."

 

 

"Thank you, Governor." Tsien didn't smile-Horus didn't think he'd ever seen the big man smile-but his eyes showed his pleasure.

 

 

"You deserve all the thanks we can give you, Marshal," he said quietly.

 

 

In a sense, Hatcher's injuries had been very much to their advantage. If any other member of the chiefs of staff was his equal in every way, it was Tsien. They were very different; Tsien lacked Hatcher's ease with people and the flair which made exquisitely choreographed operations seem effortless, but he was tireless, analytical, eternally self-possessed, and as inexorable as a Juggernaut yet flexibly pragmatic. He'd streamlined their organization, moved their construction and training schedules ahead by almost a month, and-most importantly of all-stamped out the abortive guerrilla war in Asia with a ruthlessness Hatcher himself probably could not have displayed.

 

 

Horus had been more than a little horrified at the way Tsien went about it. He hadn't worried about taking armed resisters prisoner, and those he'd taken had been summarily court-martialed and executed, usually within twenty-four hours. His reaction teams had been everywhere, filling Horus with the fear that Hatcher had made a rare and terrible error in recommending him as his replacement. There'd been an elemental implacability about the huge Chinese, one that made Horus wonder if he even cared who was innocent and who guilty.

 

 

Yet he'd made himself wait, and time had proved the wisdom of his decision. Ruthless and implacable, yes, and also a man tormented by shame; Tsien had been those things, for it had been his officers who had betrayed their trust. But he'd been just as ruthlessly just. Every individual caught in his nets had been sorted out under an Imperial lie detector, and the innocent were freed as quickly as they had been apprehended. Nor had he permitted any unnecessary brutality to taint his actions or those of his men.

 

 

Even more importantly, perhaps, he was no "Westerner" punishing patriots who had struck back against occupation but their own commander-in-chief, acting with the full support of Party and government, and no one could accuse Tsien Tao-ling of being anyone's puppet. His reputation, and the fact that he had been selected to replace the wounded Hatcher, had done more to cement Asian support of the new government and military than anything else ever could have.

 

 

Within two weeks, all attacks had ended. Within a month, there was no more guerrilla movement. Every one of its leaders had been apprehended and executed; none were imprisoned.

 

 

Nor had the chilling message been lost upon the rest of the world. Horus had agonized over the brutal suppression of the African riots, but Tsien's lesson had gone home. There was still unrest, but the world's news channels had carried live coverage of the trials and executions, and outbursts of open violence had ended almost overnight.

 

 

Tsien bobbed his head slightly in acknowledgment of the compliment, and Horus smiled, turning back to the display as ODC Two grew within it.

 

 

The eye-searing fireflies of robotic welders crawled over the vast structure while suited humans floated nearby or swung through their hard-working mechanical minions with apparently suicidal disregard for life and limb. Shuttles of components from the orbital smelters arrived with the precision of a well-run Terran railroad, disgorging their loads and wheeling away to return with more. Construction ships, raw and naked-looking in their open girder-work, seized structural members and frame units on tractors, placing them for the swarm of welders to tack into place and then backing away for the next. Conduits of Terran cable for communication nets, crystalline icicles of Imperial molycircs for computer cores and fire control, the huge, glittering blocks of prefabricated shield generators, Terran lighting and plumbing fixtures, and the truncated, hollow stubs of missile launchers-all vanished into the seeming confusion as they watched, and always there were more awaiting the frantically laboring robots and their masters.

 

 

It was impressive, Horus thought. Even to him-or, possibly, especially to him. Geb had shared Tegran's remarks about the Terra-born with him, and Horus could only agree. Unlike these fiercely determined people, he'd known their task was all but impossible. They hadn't accepted that, and they were making liars of his own fears.

 

 

He and the generals watched the seething construction work for several minutes, then Horus turned away with a sigh, followed by his subordinates. They stepped into the transit shaft with him, and he hid a smile at Tsien's uneasy expression. Interesting that this should bother him when facing totally unexpected ambush by traitors within his own military hadn't even fazed him.

 

 

They arrived at the conference room Captain Robbins had placed at their disposal, and he waved them towards the table as he seated himself at its head and crossed his legs comfortably.

 

 

"I'm impressed, gentlemen," he said. "I had to see that in person before I could quite believe it, I'm afraid. You people are producing miracles."

 

 

He saw the pleasure in their eyes. Flattery, he knew, was anathema to these men, however much of it they'd heard during their careers, but knowing their competence was appreciated-and, even more importantly, recognized for what it was-was something else.

 

 

"Now," he said, planting his forearms on the table and looking at Tsien, "suppose you tell me what other miracles you plan on working."

 

 

"With your permission, Governor, I shall begin by presenting a brief overview," the marshal replied, and Horus nodded approval.

 

 

"In general," Tsien continued, "we are now only one week behind General Hatcher's original timetable. The resistance in Asia has delayed completion of certain of our projects-in particular, PDCs Huan-Ti and Shiva suffered severe damage which has not yet been made entirely good-but we are from one month to seven weeks ahead of schedule on our non-Asian PDCs. Certain unanticipated problems have arisen, and I will ask Marshal Chernikov to expand upon them in a moment, but the over all rate of progress is most encouraging.

 

 

"Officially, the merger of all existing command structures has been completed. In fact, disputes over seniority have continued to drag on. They are now being brought to an end."

 

 

Tsien's policy was simple, Horus reflected; officers who objected to the distribution of assignments were simply relieved. It might have cost them some capable people, but the marshal did have a way of getting his points across.

 

 

"Enhancement is, perhaps, the brightest spot of all. Councilor Tudor and her people have, indeed, worked miracles in this area. We are now two months ahead of schedule for military enhancement and almost five weeks ahead for non-military enhancement, despite the inclusion of additional occupational groups. We now have sufficient personnel to man all existing warships and fighters. Within another five months, we will have enhanced staffs for all PDCs and ODCs. Once that has been achieved, we will be able to begin enhancement of crews for the warships now under construction. With good management and a very little good fortune, we should be able to crew each unit as it commissions."

 

 

"That is good news! You make me feel we may pull this off, Marshal."

 

 

"We shall certainly attempt to, Governor," Tsien said calmly. "The balance between weapons fabrication and continued industrial expansion remains our worst production difficulty, but resource allocation is proving more than adequate. I believe Marshal Chernikov's current plans will overcome our remaining problems in this area.

 

 

"General Chiang faces some difficulties in his civil defense command, but the situation is improving. In terms of organization and training, he is two months ahead of schedule; it is construction of the inland shelters which poses the greatest difficulty, then food collection."

 

 

Horus nodded. Chiang Chien-su, one of Tsien's nominees to the Supreme Chiefs of Staff, was a short, rotund martinet with the mind of a computer. He smiled a lot, but the granite behind the smile was evident. Less evident but no less real was his deep respect for human life, an inner gentleness which, conversely, made him absolutely ruthless where saving lives was concerned.

 

 

"How far behind is shelter construction running?"

 

 

"Over three months," Tsien admitted. "We anticipate that some of that will be made up once PDC construction is complete. I must point out, however, that our original schedules already allowed for increases in building capacity after our fortification projects were completed. I do not believe we will be able to compensate completely for the time we have lost. This means that a greater proportion of our coastal populations will be forced to remain closer to their homes."

 

 

Horus frowned. Given the ratio of seas to land, anything that broke through the planetary shield was three times more likely to be an ocean strike than to hit land. That meant tsunamis, flooding, salt rains... and heavy loss of life in coastal areas.

 

 

"I want that program expedited, Marshal Tsien," he said quietly.

 

 

"Governor," Tsien said, equally quietly, "I have already diverted eighty percent of our emergency reserve capacity to the project. Every expedient is being pursued, but the project is immense and there is more civilian opposition to the attendant disruptions than your Council anticipated. The situation also is exacerbated by the food program. Collection of surpluses even in First World areas places severe strains on available transport; in Third World areas hoarding is common and armed resistance is not unknown. All of this diverts manpower and transport from population relocation efforts, yet the diversion is necessary. There is little point saving lives from bombardment only to lose them to starvation."

 

 

"Are you saying we won't make it?"

 

 

"No, Governor, I do not say we will fail. I only caution you that despite the most strenuous exertions, it is unlikely that we will succeed entirely."

 

 

Their eyes held for a moment, then Horus nodded. If they were no more than three months behind, they were still working miracles. And the marshal's integrity was absolute; if he said every effort would be made, then every effort would be made.

 

 

"On a more cheerful note," Tsien resumed after a moment, "Admiral Hawter and General Singhman are doing very well with their training commands. It is unfortunate that so much training must be restricted to simulators, but I am entirely satisfied with their progress-indeed, they are accomplishing more than I had hoped for. General Tama and General Amesbury are performing equally well in the management of our logistics. There remain some personnel problems, principally in terms of manpower allocation, but I have reviewed General Ki's solutions to them and feel confident they will succeed.

 

 

"In my own opinion, our greatest unmet training needs lie in the operational area. With your permission, I will expand upon this point following Marshal Chernikov's report."

 

 

"Of course," Horus said.

 

 

"Then, if I may, I will ask Marshal Chernikov to begin."

 

 

"Certainly." Horus turned his bright old eyes to Chernikov, and the Russian rubbed a fingertip thoughtfully over the table as he spoke.

 

 

"Essentially, Horus, we are well ahead of schedule on our PDC programs. We have managed this through allocation of additional manufacturing capacity to construction equipment and the extraordinary efforts of our personnel.

 

 

"We are not so advanced on our orbital work, but Geb and I agree that we should be on schedule by the end of next month, though it is unlikely we will complete the projects very much ahead of schedule. Nonetheless, we believe we will at least make our target dates in all cases.

 

 

"Despite this, two problems concern me. One is the planetary power grid; the other is the relative priority of munitions and infrastructure. Allow me to take them in turn.

 

 

"First, power." Chernikov folded his arms across his broad chest, his blue eyes thoughtful. "As you know, our planning has always envisioned the use of existing Terran generator capacity, but I fear that our estimates of that capacity were overly optimistic. Even with our PDCs' fusion plants, we will be hard put to provide sufficient power for maximum shield strength, and the situation for our ODCs is even worse."

 

 

"Excuse me, Vassily, but you said you were on schedule," Horus observed.

 

 

"We are, but, as you know, our ODC designs rely upon fold-space power transmission from Earth. This design decision was effectively forced upon us by the impossibility of building full-scale plants for the ODCs in the time available. Without additional power from Earth, the stations will not be able to operate all systems at peak efficiency."

 

 

"And you're afraid the power won't be there," Horus said softly. "I see."

 

 

"Perhaps you do not quite. I am not afraid it will not be available; I know it will not. And without it-" He shrugged slightly, and Horus nodded.

 

 

Without that power net, the ODCs would lose more than half their defensive strength and almost as much of their offensive punch. Their missile launchers would be unaffected, but energy weapons were another matter entirely.

 

 

"All right, Vassily, you're not the sort to dump a problem on me until you think you've got an answer. So what rabbit's coming out of the hat this time?"

 

 

"A core tap," Chernikov said levelly, and Horus jerked in his chair.

 

 

"Are you out of your-?! No. Wait." He waved a hand and made himself sit back. "Of course you're not. But you do recognize the risks?"

 

 

"I do. But we must have that power, and Earth cannot provide it."

 

 

Maker, tell me what to do, Horus thought fervently. A core tap on a planet? Madness! If they lose control of it, even for an instant-!

 

 

He shuddered as he pictured that demon of power, roused and furious as it turned upon the insignificant mites who sought to master it. A smoldering wasteland, scoured of life, and raging storm fronts, hurricanes of outraged atmosphere which would rip across the face of the planet....

 

 

"There's no other choice?" His tone was almost pleading. "None?"

 

 

"None that my staff have been able to discover," Chernikov said flatly.

 

 

"Where-" Horus paused and cleared his throat. "Where would you put it?"

 

 

"Antarctica," Chernikov replied.

 

 

There's a fitting irony in that, Horus thought. Anu's enclave hid there for millennia. But a polar position? So close to the Indian Ocean bio-system? Yet where would I prefer it? New York? Moscow? Beijing?

 

 

"Have you calculated what happens if you lose control?" he asked finally.

 

 

"As well as we can. In a worst-case scenario, we will lose approximately fifty-three percent of the Antarctic surface. Damage to the local eco-system will be effectively total. Damage to the Indian Ocean bio-system will be severe but, according to the projections, not irrecoverable. Sea-level worldwide will rise, with consequent coastal flooding, and some global temperature drop may be anticipated. Estimated direct loss of life: approximately six-point-five million. Indirect deaths and the total who will be rendered homeless are impossible to calculate. We had considered an arctic position, but greater populations would lie in relative proximity, the flooding would be at least as severe, and the contamination of salt rains would be still worse when the sea water under the ice sheet vaporized."

 

 

"Maker!" Horus whispered. "Have you discussed this with Geb?"

 

 

"I have. It is only fair to tell you he was utterly opposed, yet after we had discussed it at some length, he modified his position somewhat. He will not actively oppose a core tap, but he cannot in good conscience recommend it. On the other hand-" agate-hard blue eyes stabbed Horus "-this is his planet only by adoption. I do not say that in any derogatory sense, Horus, yet it is true. Worse, he continues to feel-as, I believe, do you-a guilt which produces a certain protective paternalism within him. If he could refute the logic of my arguments, he would oppose them; his inability to support them suggests to me that his own logic is unable to overrule his emotions. Perhaps," the hard eyes softened slightly, "because he is so good a man."

 

 

"And despite that, you want to go ahead."

 

 

"I see no option. We risk seven million dead and severe damage to our world if we proceed; we run a far greater risk of the total destruction of the planet if we do not."

 

 

"Marshal Tsien?"

 

 

"I am less conversant with the figures than Marshal Chernikov, but I trust his calculations and judgment. I endorse his recommendation unreservedly, Governor. I will do so in writing if you wish."

 

 

"That won't be necessary," Horus sighed. His shoulders slumped, but he shook his head wryly. "You Terra-born are something else, Vassily!"

 

 

"If so, we have had good teachers," Chernikov replied, eyes warming with true affection. "Thanks to you, we have a possibility of saving ourselves. We will not throw away the chance you have given us."

 

 

Horus felt his face heat and turned quickly to another point.

 

 

"Maker! I hope you didn't plan on discussing your concerns in order of severity. If your munitions problem is worse-!"

 

 

"No, no!" Chernikov laughed. "No, this is not quite so grave. Indeed, one might almost call it planning for the future."

 

 

"Well that has a cheerful ring."

 

 

"Russians are not always melancholy, Horus. Generally, but not always. No, my major concern stems from the high probability that our planetary shield will be forced back into atmosphere. Our ODCs will be fairly capable of self-defense, although we anticipate high losses among them if the planetary shield is forced back, but our orbital industrial capacity will, unfortunately, also be exposed. Nor will it be practical to withdraw it to the planetary surface."

 

 

That was true enough, Horus reflected. They'd accepted that from the beginning, but by building purely for a weightless environment they'd been able to produce more than twice the capacity in half the time.

 

 

"What do you have in mind?"

 

 

"I am about to become gloomy again," the Russian warned, and Horus chuckled. "Let us assume we have succeeded in driving off the scouts but that Dahak has not returned when the main incursion arrives. I realize that our chances of survival in such an eventuality are slight, yet it is not in me to say there are none. Perhaps it is unrealistic of me, but I admire the American John Paul Jones and respect his advice. Both the more famous quote, and another: It seems a law inflexible unto itself that he who will not risk cannot win. I may not have it quite correct, but I believe the spirit comes through."

 

 

"This is heading somewhere?" Horus asked quizzically.

 

 

"It is. If we lose our orbital industry, we lose eighty percent of our total capacity. This will leave us much weaker when we confront the main incursion. Even if we beat off the scouts quickly and with minimal losses-a happy state of affairs on which we certainly cannot depend-we will be hard-pressed to rebuild even to our current capacity out of our present Imperial planetary industry. I therefore propose that we should place greater emphasis on increasing our planetary industrial infrastructure."

 

 

"I agree it's desirable, but where do you plan to get the capacity?"

 

 

"With your permission, I will discontinue the production of mines."

 

 

"Ah?"

 

 

"I have studied their capabilities, and while they are impressive, I feel they will be less useful against the scouts than an increase in planetary industrial capacity will be to our defense against the main incursion."

 

 

"Why?"

 

 

"Essentially, the mines are simply advanced hunter-killer satellites. Certainly their ability to attack vessels as they emerge from hyper is useful, yet they will be required in tremendous numbers to cover effectively the volume of space we must protect. Their attack radius is no more than ninety thousand kilometers, and mass attacks will be required to overpower the defenses of any alert target. Because of these limitations, I doubt our ability to produce adequate numbers in the time available to us. I would prefer to do without them in order to safeguard our future industrial potential."

 

 

"I see." Horus pursed his lips, then nodded. "All right, I agree."

 

 

"Thank you."

 

 

"Now, Marshal," Horus turned to Tsien, "you mentioned something about operational problems?"

 

 

"Yes, Governor. General Amesbury's Scanner Command is well prepared to detect the enemy's approach, but we do not know whether we would be better advised to send our units out to meet them as they move in-system after leaving hyper or to concentrate closer to Earth for sorties from within the shield after they have closed with the planet. The question also, of course, is complicated by the possibility that the Achuultani might attempt a pincer attack, using one group of scouts to draw our sublight units out of position and then micro-jumping across the system to attack from another direction."

 

 

"And you want to finalize operational doctrine?"

 

 

"Not precisely. I realize that this almost certainly will not be possible for some time and that much ultimately will depend upon the differences between Achuultani technology and our own. For the moment, however, I would like to grant Admiral Hawter's request to deploy our existing units for operational training and war games in the trans-asteroidal area. It will give the crews valuable experience with their weapons, and, more importantly, I believe, give our command personnel greater confidence in themselves."

 

 

"I agree entirely," Horus said firmly. "And it'll also let us use some of the larger asteroids for target practice-which means the Achuultani won't be able to use them for target practice on us! Proceed with it immediately, by all means, Marshal Tsien. Vassily, I'll take your recommendations to the Council. Unless someone there can give me an overpowering counter-argument, they'll be approved within forty-eight hours. Is that good enough?"

 

 

"Eminently, Governor."

 

 

"Good. In that case, gentlemen, let's get into our suits. I want to see ODC Two firsthand."

 

 

* * *

 

 

The Achuultani scouts gathered their strength once more, merging into a single huge formation about their flagship. A brilliant F5 star lay barely five light-years distant, but it held no interest for them. Their instruments probed and peered, listening for the electromagnetic voices they had come so far to find. The universe was vast. Not even such accomplished killers as they could sweep it of all life, and so worlds such as T'Yir were safe unless the scouts literally stumbled across them.

 

 

But other worlds were not, and the sensor crews caught the faint signals they had sought. Directional antennae turned and quested, and the scouts reoriented themselves. A small, G2 star called to them, and they went to silence it forever.

 

 

CHAPTER ELEVEN

 

 

"Barbarian!" Tamman shook his head mournfully as he took a fresh glass of lemonade from his wife and buried his sorrows in its depths.

 

 

"And why might that be, you effete, over-civilized, not to say decadent, epicure?" Colin demanded.

 

 

"That ought to be obvious. Mesquite charcoal? How... how Texan!"

 

 

Colin stuck out his tongue, and meat juices hissed as he turned steaks. A fragrant cloud of smoke rose on the heat shimmer of the grill, pushed out over the lake by the park deck's cool breezes, and the volley ball tournament was in full cry. He glanced up in time to see Colonel Tama Matsuo, Tamman's grandson, launch a vicious spike. One of the German team's forwards tried to get under it, but not even an enhanced human could have returned that shot.

 

 

"Banzai!" the Sendai Division's team screamed, and the Germans muttered darkly. Jiltanith applauded, and Matsuo bowed to her, then prepared to serve. His hand struck the ball like a hammer, and Colin winced as it bulleted across the net.

 

 

"Now, Tamman, don't be so harsh," his critic's wife chimed in. "After all, Colin's doing the best he knows how."

 

 

"Oh, thank you, kind lady! Thank you! Just remember-your wonderful husband is the one who courted bad luck by broiling tai in miso last week."

 

 

Recon Captain Amanda Givens laughed, her cafe-au-lait face wreathed in a lovely smile, and Tamman pulled her down beside him to kiss her ear.

 

 

"Nonsense," he said airily. "Just doing my bit to root out superstition. Anyway, I was out of salt."

 

 

Amanda snuggled closer to him, and Colin grinned. Dahak's sickbay had regenerated the leg she'd lost in the La Paz raid in time for her wedding, and the sheer joy she and Tamman took in one another warmed Colin's heart, even though their marriage had caused a few unanticipated problems.

 

 

Dahak had always seemed a bit pettish over the Terran insistence that one name wasn't good enough. He'd accepted it-grumpily-but only until he got to attend the first wedding on his decks in fifty thousand years. In some ways, he'd seemed even more delighted than the happy couple, and he'd hardly been able to wait for Colin to log the event officially.

 

 

That was when the trouble started, for Imperial conventions designating marital status sounded ridiculous applied to Terran names, and Dahak had persisted in trying to make them work. Colin usually wound up giving in when Dahak felt moved to true intransigence-talking the computer out of something was akin to parting the Red Sea, only harder-but he'd refused pointblank to let Dahak inflict a name like Amandacollettegivens-Tam on a friend. The thought of hearing that every time Dahak spoke to or of Amanda had been too much, and if Tamman had originally insisted (when he finally stopped laughing) that it was a lovely name which fell trippingly from the tongue, his tune quickly changed when he found out what Dahak intended to call him. Tamman-Amcolgiv was shorter; that was about all you could say for it.

 

 

"Methinks it little matters what thou sayst, Tamman," Jiltanith's mournful observation drew Colin back to the present as she opened another bottle of beer. "Our Colin departeth not from his fell intent to poison one and all with his noxious smokes and fumes."

 

 

"Listen, all of you," Colin retorted, propping his fists on his hips, "I'm captain of this tub, and we'll fix food my way!"

 

 

"Didst'a hear thy captain speak of thee, Dahak, my tub?" Jiltanith caroled, and Colin shook a fist at her.

 

 

"I believe the proper response is 'Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me,' " a mellow voice replied, and Colin groaned.

 

 

"What idiot encouraged him to learn cliches?"

 

 

"Nay, Colin, acquit us all. 'Tis simply that we discouraged him not."

 

 

"Well you should have."

 

 

"Stop complaining and let the man cook." Vlad Chernikov lay flat on his back in the shade of a young oak. Now he propped one eye open. "If you do not care for his cuisine, you need not eat it, Tamman."

 

 

"Fat chance!" Colin snorted, and stole Jiltanith's beer.

 

 

He swallowed, enjoying the "sun" on his shoulders, and decided 'Tanni had been right to talk him into the party. The anniversary of the fall of Anu's enclave deserved to be celebrated as a reminder of some of the "impossible" things they'd already accomplished, even if uncertainty over what waited at Birhat continued to gnaw at everyone. Or possibly because it did.

 

 

He looked out over the happy, laughing knots of his off-watch crewmen. Some of them, anyway. There was a null-grav basketball tournament underway on Deck 2460, and General Treshnikov had organized a "Top Gun" contest on the simulator deck for the non-fighter pilots of the crew. Then there was the regatta out on the thirty-kilometer-wide park deck's lake.

 

 

He glanced around the shaded picnic tables. Cohanna and Ninhursag sat at one, annihilating one another in a game of Imperial battle chess with a bloodthirsty disregard for losses that would turn a line officer gray, and Caitrin O'Rourke and Geran had embarked on a drinking contest-in which Caitrin's Aussie ancestry appeared to be a decided advantage-at another. General von Grau and General Tsukuba were wagering on the outcome of the volley ball tournament, and Hector wore a dreamy look as he and Dahak pursued a discussion, complete with neural-feed visual aids, of Hannibal's Italian tactics. Sarah Meir sat with him, listening in and reaching down occasionally to scratch the ears of Hector's huge half-lab, half-rottweiler bitch Tinker Bell as she drowsed at her master's feet.

 

 

Colin returned Jiltanith's beer, and his smile grew warmer as her eyes gleamed at him. Yes, she'd been right-just as she'd been right to insist they make their own "surprise" announcement at the close of the festivities. And thank God he'd been firm with Dahak! He didn't know how she would have reacted to Jiltanith-Colfranmac, but he knew how he would have felt over Colinfrancismacintyre-Jil!

 

 

"Supralight shutdown in ten minutes," Dahak announced into the fiery tension of Command One's starlit dimness, and Colin smiled tightly at Jiltanith's holo image, trying to wish she were not far away in Command Two.

 

 

He inhaled deeply and concentrated on the reports and commands flowing through his neural feed. Not even the Terra-born among Dahak's well-drilled crew needed to think through their commands these days. Which might be just as well. There had been no hails or challenges, but they'd been thoroughly scanned by someone (or something) while still a full day short of Birhat.

 

 

Colin would have felt immeasurably better to know what had been on the other end of those scanners... and how whatever it was meant to react. One thing they'd learned at Kano: the Fourth Empire's weaponry had been, quite simply, better than Dahak's best. Vlad and Dahak had done all they could to upgrade their defenses, but if an active Fleet Central was feeling belligerent, they might very well die in the next few hours.

 

 

"Sublight in three minutes."

 

 

"Stand by, Tactical," Colin said softly.

 

 

"Standing by, Captain."

 

 

The last minutes raced even as they trickled agonizingly slowly. Then Colin felt the start of supralight shutdown in his implants, and suddenly the stars were still.

 

 

"Core tap shutdown," Dahak reported, and then, almost instantly, "Detection at ten light-minutes. Detection at thirty light-minutes. Detection at five light-hours."

 

 

"Display system," Colin snapped, and the sun Bia, Birhat's G0 primary, still twelve light-hours away, was suddenly ringed with a system schematic.

 

 

"God's Teeth!"

 

 

Jiltanith's whisper summed up Colin's sentiments admirably. Even at this range, the display was crowded, and more and more light codes sprang into view with mechanical precision as Sarah took them in at half the speed of light. Dahak's scanners reached ahead, adding contact after contact, until the display gleamed with a thick, incredible dusting of symbols.

 

 

"Any response to our presence, Dahak?"

 

 

"None beyond detection, sir. I have received no challenges, nor has anyone yet responded to my hails."

 

 

Colin nodded. It was a disappointment, for he'd felt a spurt of hope when he saw all those light codes, but it was a relief, as well. At least no one was shooting at them.

 

 

"What the hell are all those things?" he demanded.

 

 

"Unknown, sir. Passive scanners detect very few active power sources, and even with fold-space scanners, the range remains very long for active systems, but I would estimate that many of them are weapon systems. In fact-"

 

 

The computer paused suddenly, and Colin quirked an eyebrow. It was unusual, to say the least, for Dahak to break off in the middle of a sentence.

 

 

"Sir," the computer said after a moment, "I have determined the function of certain installations."

 

 

An arc of light codes blinked green. They formed a ring forty light-minutes from Bia-no, not a ring. As he watched, new codes, each indicating an installation much smaller than the giants in the original ring, began to appear, precisely distanced from the circle, curving away from Dahak as if to embrace the entire inner system. And there-there were two more rings of larger symbols, perpendicular to the first but offset by thirty degrees. There were thousands-millions-of the things! And more were still appearing as they came into scanner range, reaching out about Bia in a sphere.

 

 

"Well? What are they?"

 

 

"They appear, sir," Dahak said, "to be shield generators."

 

 

"They're what?" Colin blurted, and he felt Vlad Chernikov's shock echoing through the engineering sub-net.

 

 

"Shield generators," Dahak repeated, "which, if activated, would enclose the entire inner system. The larger stations are approximately ten times as massive as the smaller ones and appear to be the primary generators."

 

 

Colin fought a sense of incredulity. Nobody could build a shield with that much surface area! Yet if Dahak said they were shield generators, shield generators they were... but the scope of such a project!

 

 

"Whatever else it was, the Empire was no piker," he muttered.

 

 

"As thou sayst," Jiltanith agreed. "Yet methinks-"

 

 

"Status change," Dahak said suddenly, and a bright-red ring circled a massive installation in distant orbit about Birhat itself. "Core tap activation detected."

 

 

"Maker!" Tamman muttered, for the power source which had waked to sudden life was many times as powerful as Dahak's own.

 

 

"New detection at nine-point-eight light-hours. I have a challenge."

 

 

"Nature?" Colin snapped.

 

 

"Query for identification only, sir, but it carries a Fleet Central imperative. It is repeating."

 

 

"Respond."

 

 

"Acknowledged." There was another brief silence, and then Dahak spoke again, sounding-for once-a bit puzzled. "Sir, the challenge has terminated."

 

 

"What do you mean? How did they respond?"

 

 

"They did not, sir, beyond terminating the challenge."

 

 

Colin raised an eyebrow at Jiltanith's holo-image, and she shrugged.

 

 

"Ask me not, my Colin. Thou knowest as much as I."

 

 

"Yeah, and neither of us knows a whole hell of a lot," he muttered. Then he drew a deep breath. "Dahak, give me an all-hands link."

 

 

"Acknowledged. Link open."

 

 

"People," Colin told his crew, "we've just responded to a challenge-apparently from Fleet Central itself-and no one's shooting at us. That's the good news. The bad news is no one's talking to us, either. We're moving in. We'll keep you informed. But at least there's something here. Hang loose.

 

 

"Close link, Dahak."

 

 

"Link closed, sir."

 

 

"Thank you," Colin said, and leaned back, rubbing his hands up and down the arm rests of his couch as he stared at the crowded, enigmatic display. More light codes were still appearing as Dahak moved deeper in-system, and the active core tap's crimson beacon pulsed at their center like a heart.

 

 

"Well, we found it," Colin said, rising from the captain's couch to stretch hugely, "but God knows what it is."

 

 

"Aye." Jiltanith once more manned her own console in Command Two, but her hologram sat up and swung its legs over the side of her couch. "I know not what chanced here, my Colin, but glad am I Geb is not here to see it."

 

 

"Amen," Colin said. He'd once wondered why Geb was the only Imperial with a single-syllable name. Now, thanks to Jiltanith and Dahak's files, he knew. It was the custom of his planet, for Geb had been one of those very rare beings in Battle Fleet: a native-born son of Birhat. It was a proud distinction, but one Geb no longer boasted of; his part in the mutiny had been something like George Washington's grandson proclaiming himself king of the United States.

 

 

"But whate'er hath chanced, these newest facts do seem stranger still than aught else we have encountered." Jiltanith coiled a lock of hair about her index finger and stared at Command Two's visual display, her eyes perplexed.

 

 

With good reason, Colin thought. In the last thirty-two hours, they'd threaded deeper into the Bia System's incredible clutter of deep-space and orbital installations until, at last, they'd reached Birhat itself. There should have been plenty of room, but the Bia System had not escaped unscathed. Twice they passed within less than ten thousand kilometers of drifting derelicts, and that was much closer than any astrogator cared to come.

 

 

Yet despite that evidence of ruin, Colin had felt hopeful as Birhat herself came into sight, for the ancient capital world of the Imperium was alive, a white-swirled sapphire whose land masses were rich and green.

 

 

But with the wrong kind of green.

 

 

Colin sat back down, scratching his head. Birhat lay just over a light-minute further from Bia than Terra did from Sol, and its axial tilt was about five degrees greater, making for more extreme seasons, but it had been a nice enough place. It still was, but there'd been a few changes.

 

 

According to the records, Birhat's trees should be mostly evergreens, but while there were trees, they appeared exclusively deciduous, and there were other things: leafy, fern-like things and strange, kilometer-long creepers with cypress-knee rhizomes and upstanding plumes of foliage. Nothing like that was supposed to grow on Birhat, and the local fauna was even worse.

 

 

Like Earth, Birhat had belonged to the mammals, and there were mammals down there, if not the right ones. Unfortunately, there were other things, too, especially in the equatorial belt. One was nearly a dead ringer for an under-sized Stegosaurus, and another one (a big, nasty looking son-of-a-bitch) seemed to combine the more objectionable aspects of Tyrannosaurus and a four-horned Triceratops. Then there were the birds. None of them seemed quite right, and he knew the big Pterodactyl-like raptors shouldn't be here.

 

 

It was, he thought, the most God-awful, scrambled excuse for a bio-system he'd ever heard of, and none of it-not a single plant, animal, saurian, or bird they'd yet examined-belonged here.

 

 

If it puzzled him, it was driving Cohanna batty. The senior biosciences officer was buried in her office with Dahak, trying to make sense of her instrument readings and snarling at any soul incautious enough to disturb her.

 

 

At least the sadly-eroded mountains and seas were where they were supposed to be, loosely speaking, and there were still some clusters of buildings. They were weather-battered ruins (not surprisingly given the worn-away look of the mountain ranges) liberally coated in greenery, but they were there. Not that it helped; most were as badly wrecked as Keerah's had been, and there was nothing-absolutely nothing-where Fleet Central was supposed to be.

 

 

Yet some of the Bia System's puzzles offered Colin hope. One of them floated a few thousand kilometers from Dahak, serenely orbiting the improbability which had once been the Imperium's capital, and he turned his head to study it anew, tugging at the end of his nose to help himself think.

 

 

The enigmatic structure was even bigger than Dahak, which was a sobering thought, for a quarter of Dahak's colossal tonnage was committed to propulsion. This thing-whatever it was-clearly wasn't intended to move, which made all of its mass available for other things. Like the weapon systems Dahak's scanners had picked up. Lots of weapon systems. Missile launchers, energy weapons, and launch bays for fighters and sublight parasites Nergal's size or bigger. Yet for all its gargantuan firepower, much of its tonnage was obviously committed to something else... but what?

 

 

Worse, it was also the source of the core tap Dahak had detected. Even now, that energy sink roared away within it, sucking in all that tremendous power. Presumably it meant to do something with it, but as yet it had shown no signs of exactly what that was. It hadn't even spoken to Dahak, despite his polite queries for information. It just sat there, being there.

 

 

"Captain?"

 

 

"Yes, Dahak?"

 

 

"I believe I have determined the function of that installation."

 

 

"Well?"

 

 

"I believe, sir, that it is Fleet Central."

 

 

"I thought Fleet Central was on the planet!"

 

 

"So it was, fifty-one thousand years ago. I have, however, been carrying out systematic scans, and I have located the installation's core computer. It is, indeed, a combination of energy-state and solid-state engineering. It is also approximately three-hundred-fifty-point-two kilometers in diameter."

 

 

"Eeep!" Colin whipped around to stare at Jiltanith, but for once she looked as stunned as he felt. Dear God, he thought faintly. Dear, sweet God. If Vlad and Dahak's projections about the capabilities of energy-state computer science were correct, that thing was... it was...

 

 

"I beg your pardon, sir?" Dahak said courteously.

 

 

"Uh... never mind. Continue your report."

 

 

"There is very little more to report. The size of its computer core, coupled with its obvious defensive capability, indicates that it must, at the very least, have been the central command complex for the Bia System. Given that Birhat remained the capital of the Empire as it had been of the Imperium, this certainly suggests that it was also Fleet Central."

 

 

"I... see. And it still isn't responding to your hails?"

 

 

"It is not. And even the Empire's computers should have noticed us by now."

 

 

"Could it have done so and chosen to ignore us?"

 

 

"The possibility exists, but while it is probable Fleet procedures have changed, we were challenged and we did reply. That should have initiated an automatic request for data core transmission from any newly-arrived unit."

 

 

"Even if there's no human crew aboard?"

 

 

"Sir," Dahak said with the patience of one trying not to be insubordinate to a dense superior, "we were challenged, which indicates the initiation of an automatic sequence of some sort. And, sir, Fleet Central should not have permitted a vessel of Dahak's size and firepower to close to this proximity without assuring itself that the vessel in question truly was what it claimed to be. Since no information has been exchanged, there is no way Fleet Central could know my response to its challenge was genuine. Hence we should at the very least be targeted by its weapons until we provide a satisfactory account of ourselves, yet that installation has not even objected to my scanning it. Fleet Central would never permit an unknown unit to do that."

 

 

"All right, I'll accept that-even if that does seem to be exactly what it's doing-and God knows I don't want to piss it off, but sooner or later we'll have to get some sort of response out of it. Any suggestions?"

 

 

"As I have explained," Dahak said even more patiently, "we should already have elicited a response."

 

 

"I know that," Colin replied, equally patiently, "but we haven't. Isn't there any sort of emergency override procedure?"

 

 

"No, sir, there is not. None was ever required."

 

 

"Damn it, do you mean to tell me there's no way to talk to it if it doesn't respond to your hails?"

 

 

There was a pause lengthy enough to raise Colin's eyebrows. He was about to repeat his question when his electronic henchman finally answered.

 

 

"There might be one way," Dahak said with such manifest reluctance Colin felt an instant twinge of anxiety.

 

 

"Well, spit it out!"

 

 

"We might attempt physical access, but I would not recommend doing so."

 

 

"What? Why not?"

 

 

"Because, Captain, access to Fleet Central was highly restricted. Without express instructions from its command crew to its security systems, only two types of individuals might demand entrance without being fired upon."

 

 

"Oh?" Colin felt a sudden queasiness and was quite pleased he'd managed to sound so calm. "And what two types might that be?"

 

 

"Flag officers and commanders of capital ships of Battle Fleet."

 

 

"Which means..." Colin said slowly.

 

 

"Which means," Dahak told him, "that the only member of this crew who might make the attempt is you."

 

 

He looked up and saw Jiltanith staring at him in horror.

 

 

CHAPTER TWELVE

 

 

They went to their quarters to argue.

 

 

Jiltanith opened her mouth, eyes flashing dangerously, but Dahak's electronic reflexes beat her to it.

 

 

"Senior Fleet Captain MacIntyre," he said with icy formality, "what you propose is not yet and may never become necessary, and I remind you of Fleet Regulation Nine-One-Seven, Subsection Three-One, Paragraph Two: 'The commander of any Fleet unit shall safeguard the chain of command against unnecessary risk.' I submit, sir, that your intentions violate both the spirit and letter of this regulation, and I must, therefore, respectfully insist that you immediately abandon this ill-advised, hazardous, and most unwise plan."

 

 

"Dahak," Colin said, "shut up."

 

 

"Senior Fl-"

 

 

"I said shut up," Colin repeated in a dangerously level voice, and Dahak shut up. "Thank you. Now. We both know the people who wrote the Fleet Regs never envisioned this situation, but if you want to quote regs, here's one for you. Regulation One-Three, Section One. 'In the absence of orders from higher authority, the commander of any Battle Fleet unit or formation shall employ his command or any sub-unit or member thereof in the manner best calculated, in his considered judgment, to preserve the Imperium and his race.' You once said I had a command mentality. Well, maybe I do and maybe I don't, but this is a command decision and you're damned well going to live with it."

 

 

"But-"

 

 

"The discussion is closed, Dahak."

 

 

There was a long moment of silence before the computer replied.

 

 

"Acknowledged," he said in his frostiest tones, but Colin knew that was the easy part. He smiled crookedly at Jiltanith, glad they were alone, and gave it his best shot.

 

 

"'Tanni, I don't want to argue with my XO, either."

 

 

"Dost'a not, indeed?" she flared. "Then contend with thy wife, lackwit! Scarce one thin day in this system, and already thou wouldst risk thy life?! What maggot hath devoured thy brain entire?! Or mayhap 'tis vanity speaks, for most assuredly 'tis not wisdom!"

 

 

"It isn't vanity, and you know it. We simply don't have time to waste."

 

 

"Time, thou sayst?!" she spat like an angry cat. "Dost'a think my wits addled as thine own? Howsoe'er thou dost proceed, yet will we never return to Terra ere the Achuultani scouts! And if that be so, then where's the need o' witless haste? Four months easily, mayhap five, may we spend here and still out-speed the true incursion back to Earth-and well thou knowest!"

 

 

"All right," he said, and her eyes narrowed at his unexpected agreement, "but assume you're right and we start poking around. What happens when we do something Fleet Central doesn't like, 'Tanni? Until we know what it might object to, we can't know what might get everyone aboard this ship killed. So until we establish communications with it, we can't do anything else, either!"

 

 

Jiltanith's fingers flexed like the cat she so resembled, but she drew a breath and made herself consider his argument.

 

 

"Aye, there's summat in that," she admitted, manifestly against her will. "Yet still 'tis true we have spent but little time upon the task. Must thou so soon essay this madness?"

 

 

"I'm afraid so," he sighed. "If this is Fleet Central, it's either Ali Baba's Cave or Pandora's Box, and we have to find out which. Assuming any of Battle Fleet's still operational-and the way this thing powered itself up is the first sign something may be-we don't know how long it'll take to assemble it. We need every minute we can buy, 'Tanni."

 

 

She turned away, pacing, arms folded beneath her breasts, shoulders tight with a fear Colin knew was not for herself. He longed to tell her he understood, but he knew better than to... and that she knew already.

 

 

She turned back to him at last, eyes shadowed, and he knew he'd won.

 

 

"Aye," she sighed, hugging him tightly and pressing her face into his shoulder. "My heart doth rail against it, yet my mind-my cursed mind-concedeth. But, oh, my dearest dear, would I might forbid thee this!"

 

 

"I know," he whispered into the sweet-smelling silk of her hair.

 

 

Colin felt like an ant beneath an impending foot. Fleet Central's armored flank seemed to trap him, ready to crush him between itself and the blue-white sphere of Birhat, and he hoped Cohanna wasn't monitoring his bio read-outs.

 

 

He nudged his cutter to a stop. A green and yellow beacon marked a small hatch, but though his head ached from concentrating on his implants, he felt no response. He timed the beacon's sequence carefully.

 

 

"Dahak, I have a point-seven-five-second visual flash, green-amber-amber-green-amber, on a Class Seven hatch."

 

 

"Assuming Fleet conventions have not changed, Captain, that should indicate an active access point for small craft."

 

 

"I know." Colin swallowed, wishing his mouth weren't quite so dry. "Unfortunately, my implants can't pick up a thing."

 

 

Colin felt a sudden, almost audible click deep in his skull and blinked at a brief surge of vertigo as a not quite familiar tingle pulsed in his feed.

 

 

"I've got something. Still not clear, but-" The tingle suddenly turned sharp and familiar. "That's it!"

 

 

"Acknowledged, Captain," Dahak said. "The translation programs devised for Omega Three did not perfectly meet our requirements, but I believe my new modifications to your implant software should suffice. I caution you again, however, that additional, inherently unforeseeable difficulties may await."

 

 

"Understood." Colin edged closer, insinuating his thoughts cautiously into the hatch computers, and something answered. It was an ID challenge, but it tasted... odd.

 

 

He keyed his personal implant code with exquisite care, and for an instant just long enough to feel relieved disappointment, nothing happened. Then the hatch slid open, and he dried his palms on his uniform trousers.

 

 

"Well, people," he murmured, "door's open. Wish me luck."

 

 

"So do we all," Jiltanith told him softly. "Take care, my love."

 

 

The next half-hour was among the most nerve-wracking in Colin's life. His basic implant codes had sufficed to open the hatch, but that only roused the internal security systems.

 

 

There was a strangeness to their challenges, a dogged, mechanical persistence he'd never encountered from Dahak, but they were thorough. At every turn, it seemed, there were demands for identification on ever deeper security levels. He found himself responding with bridge officer codes he hadn't known he knew and realized that the computers were digging deep into his challenge-response conditioning. No wonder Druaga had felt confident Anu could never override his own final orders to Dahak! Colin had never guessed just how many security codes Dahak had buried in his own implants and subconscious.

 

 

But he reached the central transit shaft at last, and felt both relief and a different tension as he plugged into the traffic sub-net and requested transport to Fleet Central's Command Alpha. He half-expected yet another challenge, but the routing computers sent back a ready signal, and he stepped out into the shaft.

 

 

One thing about the terror of the unknown, he thought wryly as the shaft took him and hurled him inward: it neatly displaced such mundane fears as being mashed to paste by the transit shaft's gravitonics!

 

 

The shaft deposited him outside Command Alpha in a brightly-lit chamber big enough for an assault shuttle. The command deck hatch bore no unit ensign, as if Fleet Central was above such things. There was only the emblem of the Fourth Empire: the Imperium's starburst surmounted by an intricate diadem.

 

 

Colin looked about, natural senses and implants busy, and paled as he detected the security systems guarding this gleaming portal. Heavy grav guns in artfully hidden housings were backed up by the weapons Vlad had dubbed warp guns, and their targeting systems were centered on him. He tried to straighten his hunched shoulders and approached the huge hatch with a steady tread.

 

 

Almost to his surprise, it licked aside, and more silent hatches-twice as many as guarded Dahak's Command One-opened as he walked down the brightly lit tunnel, fighting a sense of entrapment. And then, at last, he stepped out into the very heart and brain of Battle Fleet, and the last hatch closed behind him.

 

 

It wasn't as impressive as Command One, was his first thought-but only his first. It lacked the gorgeous, perfect holo projections of Dahak's bridge, but the softly bright chamber was far, far larger. Dedicated hypercom consoles circled its walls, labeled with names he knew in flowing Imperial script, names which had been only half-believed-in legends in his implant education from Dahak. Systems and sectors, famous Fleet bases and proud formations-the names vanished into unreadable distance, and Quadrant Command nets extended out across the floor, the ranked couches and consoles too numerous to count, driving home the inconceivable vastness of the Empire.

 

 

It made him feel very, very insignificant.

 

 

Yet he was here... and those couches were empty. He had come eight hundred light-years to reach this enormous room, come from a planet teeming with humanity to this silence no voice had broken in forty-five millennia, and all this might and power of empire were but the work of Man.

 

 

He crossed the shining deck, bootheels ringing on jeweled mosaics, and ghosts hovered in the corners, watchful and measuring. He wondered what they made of him.

 

 

It took ten minutes to reach the raised dais at the center of the command deck, and he climbed its broad steps steadily, the weight of some foreordained fate seeming to press upon his shoulders, until he reached the top at last.

 

 

He lowered himself into the throne-like couch before the single console. It conformed smoothly to his body, and he forced himself to relax and draw a deep, slow breath before he reached out through his feed.

 

 

There was a quick flicker of response, and he felt a surge of hope-then grunted and flinched as he was hurled violently out of the net.

 

 

"Implant interface access denied," a voice said. It was a soft, musical contralto... utterly devoid of life or emotion.

 

 

Colin rubbed his forehead, trying to soothe the sudden ache deep inside his brain, and looked around the silent command deck for inspiration. He found none, and reached out again, more carefully.

 

 

"Implant interface access denied." The voice threw him out of the net even more violently. "Warning. Unauthorized access to this installation is punishable by imprisonment for not less than ninety-five standard years."

 

 

"Damn," Colin muttered. He was more than half-afraid of how Fleet Central might react to activating his fold-space com but saw no option. "Dahak?"

 

 

"Yes, Captain?"

 

 

"I'm getting an implant access denial warning."

 

 

"Voice or neural feed?"

 

 

"Voice. The damned thing won't even talk to my implants."

 

 

"Interesting," Dahak mused, "and illogical. You have been admitted to Command Alpha; logically, therefore, Fleet Central recognizes you as an officer of Battle Fleet. Assuming that to be true, access should not be denied."

 

 

"The same thought had occurred to me," Colin said a bit sarcastically.

 

 

"Have you attempted verbal communication, sir?"

 

 

"No."

 

 

"I would recommend that as the next logical step.".

 

 

"Thanks a lot," Colin muttered, then cleared his throat.

 

 

"Computer," he said, feeling just a bit foolish addressing the emptiness.

 

 

"Acknowledged," the emotionless voice said, and his heart leapt. By damn, maybe there was a way in yet!

 

 

"Why have I been denied implant access?"

 

 

"Improper implant identification," the voice replied.

 

 

"Improper in what way?"

 

 

"Data anomaly detected. Implant interface access denied."

 

 

"What anomaly?" he asked, far more patiently than he felt.

 

 

"Implant identification not in Fleet Central data base. Individual not recognized by core access programs. Implant interface access denied."

 

 

"Then why have you accepted voice communication?"

 

 

"Emergency subroutines have been activated for duration of the present crisis," the voice replied, and Colin paused, wondering what "emergency subroutines" were and why they allowed verbal access. Not that he meant to ask. The last thing he needed was to change this thing's mind!

 

 

"Computer," he said finally, "why was I admitted to Command Alpha?"

 

 

"Unknown. Security is not a function of Computer Central."

 

 

"I see." Colin thought more furiously than ever, then nodded to himself. "Computer, would Fleet Central Security admit an individual with invalid implant identification codes to Command Alpha?"

 

 

"Negative."

 

 

"Then if Security admitted me, the security data base must recognize my implants."

 

 

Silence answered his observation.

 

 

"Hm, not very talkative, are you?" Colin mused.

 

 

"Query not understood," the voice said.

 

 

"Never mind." He drew a deep breath. "I submit that a search might locate my implant codes in Fleet Central Security's data base. Would you concur?"

 

 

"The possibility exists."

 

 

"Then I instruct you," Colin said very carefully, "to search the security data base and validate my implant codes."

 

 

There was a brief pause, and he bit his lip.

 

 

"Verbal instructions require authorization overrides," the voice said finally. "Identify source of authority."

 

 

"My own, as Senior Fleet Captain Colin MacIntyre, commanding officer, ship-of-the-line Dahak, Hull Number One-Seven-Two-Two-Niner-One." Colin was amazed by how level his own voice sounded.

 

 

"Authorization provisionally accepted," the voice said. "Searching security data base."

 

 

There was another moment of silence, then the voice spoke again.

 

 

"Search completed. Implant identification codes located. Anomalies."

 

 

"Specify anomalies."

 

 

"Specification one: identification codes not current. Specification two: no Senior Fleet Captain Colinmacintyre listed in Fleet Central's data base. Specification Three: Dahak, Hull Number One-Seven-Two-Two-Niner-One, lost fifty one thousand six hundred nine point-eight-four-six standard years ago."

 

 

"My codes were current as of Dahak's departure for the Noarl System on picket duty. I should be added to your data base as a descendant of Dahak's core crew, promoted to fill a vacancy left by combat losses."

 

 

"That is not possible. Dahak, Hull Number One-Seven-Two-Two-Niner-One, no longer exists."

 

 

"Then what's my non-existent command doing here?" Colin demanded.

 

 

"Null-value query."

 

 

"Null-value?! Dahak's in orbit with Fleet Central right now!"

 

 

"Datum invalid," Fleet Central observed. "No such unit is present."

 

 

Colin resisted an urge to smash a bioenhanced fist through the console.

 

 

"Then what is the object accompanying Fleet Central in orbit?" he snarled.

 

 

"Data anomaly," Fleet Central said emotionlessly.

 

 

"What data anomaly, damn it?!"

 

 

"Perimeter Security defensive programming prohibits approach within eight light-hours of Planet Birhat without valid identification codes. Dahak, Hull Number One-Seven-Two-Two-Niner-One, no longer exists. Therefore, no such unit can be present. Therefore, scanner reports represent data anomaly."

 

 

Colin punched a couch arm in sudden understanding. For some reason, this dummy-or its outer surveillance systems, anyway-had accepted Dahak's ID and let him in. For some other reason, the central computers had not accepted that ID. Faced with the fact that no improperly identified unit could be here, this moron had labeled Dahak a "data anomaly" and decided to ignore him!

 

 

"Computer," he said finally, "assume-hypothetically-that a unit identified as Dahak was admitted to the Bia System by Perimeter Security. How might that situation arise?"

 

 

"Programming error," Fleet Central said calmly.

 

 

"Explain."

 

 

"No Confirmation of Loss report on Dahak, Hull Number One-Seven-Two-Two-Niner-One, was filed with Fleet Central. Loss of vessel is noted in Log Reference Rho-Upsilon-Beta-Seven-Six-One-Niner-Four, but failure to confirm loss report resulted in improper data storage." Fleet Central fell silent, satisfied with its own pronouncement, and Colin managed not to swear.

 

 

"Which means?"

 

 

"ID codes for Dahak, Hull Number One-Seven-Two-Two-Niner-One, were not purged from memory."

 

 

Colin closed his eyes. Dear God. This brainless wonder had let Dahak into the system because he'd identified himself and his codes were still in memory, but now that he was here, it didn't believe in him!

 

 

"How might that programming error be resolved?" he asked at last.

 

 

"Conflicting data must be removed from data base."

 

 

Colin drew another deep breath, aware of just how fragile this entire discussion was. If this computer could decide something Dahak's size didn't exist, it could certainly do the same with the "data anomaly's" captain.

 

 

"Evaluate possibility that Log Reference Rho-Upsilon-Beta-Seven-Six-One-Niner-Four is an incorrect datum," he said flatly.

 

 

"Possibility exists. Probability impossible to assess," Fleet Central replied, and Colin allowed himself a slight feeling of relief. Very slight.

 

 

"In that case, I instruct you to purge it from memory," he said, and held his breath.

 

 

"Incorrect procedure," Fleet Central responded.

 

 

"Incorrect in what fashion?" Colin asked tautly.

 

 

"Full memory purge requires authorization from human command crew."

 

 

Colin cocked a mental ear. Full memory purge?

 

 

"Can data concerning my command be placed in inactive storage on my authority pending proper authorization?"

 

 

"Affirmative."

 

 

"Then I instruct you to do so with previously specified log entry."

 

 

"Proceeding. Data transferred to inactive storage."

 

 

Colin shuddered in explosive relaxation, then gave himself a mental shake. He might well be relaxing too soon.

 

 

"Computer, who am I?" he asked softly.

 

 

"You are Senior Fleet Captain Colinmacintyre, commanding officer HIMP Dahak, Hull Number One-Seven-Two-Two-Niner-One," the voice said emotionlessly.

 

 

"And what is the current location of my command?"

 

 

"HIMP Dahak, Hull Number One-Seven-Two-Two-Niner-One, is currently in Birhat orbit, ten thousand seventeen point-five kilometers distant from Fleet Central," the musical voice told him calmly, and Colin MacIntyre breathed a short, soft, fervent prayer of thanks before jubilation overwhelmed him.

 

 

"All right!" Colin's palms slammed down on the couch arms in triumph.

 

 

"What passeth, my Colin?" an urgent voice demanded through his fold-space link, and he realized he'd left it open.

 

 

"We're in, 'Tanni! Tell all hands-we're in!"

 

 

"Bravely done! Oh, bravely, my heart!"

 

 

"Thank you," he said softly, then straightened and returned to business. "Computer."

 

 

"Yes, Senior Fleet Captain?"

 

 

"What's your name, Computer?"

 

 

"This unit is officially designated Fleet Central Computer Central," the musical voice replied.

 

 

"Is that what your human personnel called you?"

 

 

"Negative, Senior Fleet Captain."

 

 

"Well, then, what did they call you?" Colin asked patiently.

 

 

"Fleet Central personnel refer to Comp Cent as 'Mother.' "

 

 

"Mother," Colin muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. Oh, well, if that was what Fleet Central was used to...

 

 

"All right, Mother, prepare to accept memory core download from Dahak."

 

 

"Ready," Mother said instantly.

 

 

"Dahak, initiate core download but do not purge."

 

 

"Initiating," Dahak replied calmly, and Colin felt an incredible surge of data. He caught only the fringes of it through his feed, but it was like standing on the brink of a river in flood. It was almost frightening, making him suddenly and humbly aware of the storage limitations of a human brain, yet for all its titanic proportions, it took barely ten minutes to complete.

 

 

"Download completed," Mother announced. "Data stored."

 

 

"Excellent! Now, give me a report on Fleet status."

 

 

"Fleet Central authorization code required," Mother told him, and Colin frowned as his enthusiasm was checked abruptly. He didn't know the authorization codes.

 

 

He pulled on the end of his nose, thinking hard. Only Mother "herself" could give him the codes, and the one absolute certainty was that she wouldn't. She accepted him as a senior fleet captain, which entitled him to a certain authority in areas pertaining to his own command but did not entitle him to access the material he desperately needed. Which was all the more maddening because he'd become used to instant information flow from Dahak.

 

 

Well, now, why did he have that information from Dahak? Because he was Dahak's commander. And how had he become the CO? Because authority devolved on the senior crew member present and Dahak had chosen to regard a primitive from Earth as a member of his crew. Which suggested one possible approach.

 

 

To his surprise, he shrank from it. But why? He'd learned to accept his persona as Dahak's captain and even as Governor of Earth, so why did this bother him?

 

 

Because, he thought, this brightly lit mausoleum whispered too eloquently of power and crushing responsibility, and it frightened him. Which was foolish in someone who'd already been made to accept responsibility for the very survival of his race, but nonetheless real.

 

 

He shook himself. The Empire was dead. All that could remain were other artifacts like Mother, and he needed any of those he could lay hands on. Even if that meant assuming command of a long-abandoned headquarters crewed only by ghosts and computers.

 

 

He only wished it didn't feel so... impious.

 

 

"Mother," he said finally.

 

 

"Yes, Senior Fleet Captain?" the computer replied, and he spoke very slowly and carefully.

 

 

"On this day, I, Senior Fleet Captain Colin MacIntyre, commanding officer-" he remembered the designation Fleet Central had tacked onto Dahak "-HIMP Dahak, do, as senior Battle Fleet officer present, pursuant to Fleet Regulation Five-Three-Three, Section Niner-One, Article Ten, assume command of Fl-"

 

 

"Invalid authorization," Mother interrupted.

 

 

"What?" Colin blinked in surprise.

 

 

"Invalid authorization," Mother repeated unhelpfully.

 

 

"What's invalid about it?" he demanded, unreasonably irritated at the delay now that he had steeled himself to it.

 

 

"Fleet Regulation Five-Three-Three does not pertain to transfer of command authority."

 

 

"It does so!" he shot back, but it was neither a question nor a command, and Mother remained silent. He gritted his teeth in frustration. "All right, if it doesn't pertain to transfer of command, what does it pertain to?"

 

 

"Regulation Five-Three-Three and subsections," Mother said precisely, "pertains to refuse disposal aboard Battle Fleet orbital bases."

 

 

"What?!"

 

 

Colin glared at the console. Of course Reg Five-Three-Three referred to transfer of command! It was how Dahak had mousetrapped him into this entire absurdity! He'd read it for himself when he-

 

 

Understanding struck. Yes, he'd read it-in a collection of regulations written fifty-one millennia ago.

 

 

Damn.

 

 

"Please download current Fleet Regulations and all relevant data to my command."

 

 

"Acknowledged. Download beginning. Download completed," Mother said almost without pause, and Colin reactivated his com.

 

 

"Dahak?"

 

 

"Yes, Captain?"

 

 

"I need some help here. What regulation replaced Five-Three-Three?"

 

 

"Fleet Regulation Five-Three-Three has been superseded by Fleet Regulation One-Niner-One-Five-Seven-Three-Niner, sir."

 

 

Colin winced. For seven thousand years, the Imperium had managed to hold Fleet regulations to under three thousand main entries; apparently the Empire had discovered the joys of bureaucracy.

 

 

No wonder Mother had so much memory.

 

 

"Thank you," he said, preparing to turn his attention back to Mother, but Dahak stopped him.

 

 

"A moment, Captain. Is it your intent to use this regulation to assume command of Fleet Central?"

 

 

"Of course it is," Colin said testily.

 

 

"I would advise against it."

 

 

"Why?"

 

 

"Because it will result in your immediate execution."

 

 

"What?" Colin asked faintly, certain he hadn't heard correctly.

 

 

"The attempt will result in your execution, sir. Regulation One-Niner-One-Five-Seven-Three-Niner does not apply to Fleet Central."

 

 

"Why not? It's a unit of Battle Fleet."

 

 

"That," Dahak said surprisingly, "is no longer true. Fleet Central is Battle Fleet; all units of Battle Fleet are subordinate to it. Battle Fleet command officers are not promoted to Fleet Central command duties."

 

 

"Then where the hell does its command staff come from?"

 

 

"They are drawn from Battle Fleet; they are not promoted from it. Fleet Central command officers are selected by the Emperor from all Battle Fleet flag officers and serve solely at his pleasure. Any attempt to assume command other than by direction of the Emperor is high treason and punishable by death."

 

 

Colin went white as he realized only Mother's interruption to correct an incorrect regulation number had saved his life.

 

 

He shuddered. What other tripwires were buried inside Fleet Central? Damn it, why couldn't Mother be smart enough to tell him things like this?!

 

 

Because, a small, calm voice told him, she hadn't been designed to be.

 

 

Which was all very well, but if he couldn't assume command, Mother wouldn't tell him the things he had to know, and if he tried to assume command, she'd kill him on the spot!

 

 

"Dahak," he said finally, "find me an answer. I've got to be able to exercise command authority here, or we might as well not have come."

 

 

"Fleet Central command authority lies in the exclusive grant of the Emperor, Captain. There is no other way to obtain it."

 

 

"Goddamn it, there isn't any emperor!" Colin half-shouted, battling incipient hysteria as he felt the situation crumbling in his hands. All he needed was for Dahak to catch Mother's lunatic literal-mindedness! "Look, can you invade the core programming? Redirect it?"

 

 

"The attempt would result in Dahak's destruction," the computer told him. "In addition, it would fail. Fleet Central's core programming contains certain imperatives, of which this is one, which may not be reprogrammed even on the Emperor's authority."

 

 

"That's insane," Colin said flatly. "My God, a computer you can't reprogram running your entire military establishment?!"

 

 

"I did not say all reprogramming was impossible, nor do I understand why these particular portions cannot be altered. I am not privy to the content of the imperatives or the reasons for them. I base my statement on technical data included in the material downloaded to me."

 

 

"But how the hell can anything be unalterable? Couldn't you simply shut the thing down, dump its entire memory, and reprogram from scratch?"

 

 

"Negative, sir. The imperatives are not embodied in software. In Terran parlance, they are 'hard-wired' into the system. Removal would require actual destruction of a sizable portion of the central computer core."

 

 

"Crap." Colin pondered a moment longer, then widened the focus of his com link. "Vlad? 'Tanni? Have you been listening in on this?"

 

 

"Aye, Colin," Jiltanith replied.

 

 

"Any ideas?"

 

 

"I'faith, none do spring to mind," his wife said. "Vlad? Hast some insight which might aid our need?"

 

 

"I fear not," Chernikov said. "I am currently viewing the technical data Dahak refers to, Captain. So far as I can tell, his analysis is correct. To alter this would require a complete shutdown of Fleet Central. Even assuming 'Mother' would permit it, the required physical destruction would cripple Comp Cent and destroy the data we require. In my opinion, the system was designed precisely to preclude the very possibility you have suggested."

 

 

"Goddamn better mousetrap-builders!" Colin muttered, and Chernikov stifled a laugh. It made Colin feel obscurely better... but only a little.

 

 

"Dahak," he said finally, "can you access the data we need?"

 

 

"Negative."

 

 

"And you can't think of any way to sneak around these damned imperatives?"

 

 

"Negative."

 

 

"Then we're SOL, people," Colin sighed, slumping back in his couch, his sense of defeat even more bitter after the glow of victory he'd felt such a short time before. "Damn it. Damn it! We need an emperor to get into the goddamned system, and the last emperor died forty-five thousand years ago!"

 

 

"Captain," Dahak said after a moment, "I believe there might be a way."

 

 

"What?" Colin jerked back upright. "You just said there wasn't one!"

 

 

"Inaccurate. I said there was no way to 'sneak around these damned imperatives,' " the computer replied precisely. "There may, however, be a way in which you can use them, instead. I point out, however, that-"

 

 

"A way to use them? How?!"

 

 

"Under Case Omega, sir, you can-"

 

 

"I can take control of Fleet Central?" Colin broke in on him.

 

 

"Affirmative. Under the circumstances, you may be considered the highest ranking officer of Battle Fleet, and, in your capacity as Governor of Earth, the senior civil official, as well. As such, you may instruct Fleet Central to implement Case Omega, so assuming-"

 

 

"Great, Dahak!" Colin said. "I'll get back to you in a minute." Hot damn! He found himself actually rubbing his hands in glee.

 

 

"But, Captain-" Dahak said.

 

 

"In a minute, Dahak. In a minute." Elation boiled deep within him, a terrible, wonderful elation, compounded by the emotional whipsaw which had just ravaged him. "Mother," he said.

 

 

"Yes, Senior Fleet Captain Colinmacintyre?"

 

 

"Colin," Dahak said again, "there are-"

 

 

"Mother," Colin said firmly, rushing himself before whatever Dahak was trying to tell him could undercut his determination, "implement Case Omega."

 

 

There was a moment of profound silence, and then Hell itself erupted. Colin cringed back into his couch, hands rising to cover his eyes as Command Alpha exploded with light. A bolt of pain shot through his left arm as a bio-probe of pure force snipped away a scrap of tissue, but it was tiny compared to the fury boiling into his brain through his neural feed. A clumsy hand thrust deep inside him, flooding through his implants to wrench a gestalt of his very being from him. For one terrible moment he was Fleet Central, writhing in torment as his merely mortal brain and the ancient, bottomless computers of Battle Fleet merged, impressing their identities imperishably upon one another.

 

 

Colin screamed in the grip of an agony too vast to endure, and yet it was over before he could truly experience it. Its echoes shuddered away down his synapses, stuttering in the racing pound of his heart, and then they were gone.

 

 

"Case Omega executed," Mother said emotionlessly. "The Emperor is dead; long live the Emperor!"

 

 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

 

 

"I attempted to warn you, Colin," Dahak said softly.

 

 

Colin shuddered. Emperor? That was... was... Words failed. He couldn't think of any that even came close.

 

 

"Colin?" Jiltanith's voice was gentler than Dahak's, and far more anxious.

 

 

"Yes, 'Tanni?" he managed in a strangled croak.

 

 

"How dost thou, my love? We did hear thee scream. Art thou-?"

 

 

"I-I'm fine, 'Tanni," he said, and, physically, it was true. He cleared his throat. "There were a few rough moments, but I'm okay now. Honest."

 

 

"May I not come to thee?" She sounded less anxious-but not a lot.

 

 

"I'd like that," he said, and he had never spoken more sincerely in his life. Then he shook his head. "Wait. Let me make sure it's safe."

 

 

He gathered himself and raised his voice.

 

 

"Mother?"

 

 

"Yes, Your Imperial Majesty?" the voice replied, and he flinched.

 

 

"Mother, I'd like one of my officers to join me. Her implant signatures won't be in your data base either. Can you have Security pass her through?"

 

 

"If Your Imperial Majesty so instructs," Mother responded.

 

 

"My Imperial Majesty certainly does," Colin said, and smiled crookedly. Maybe he wasn't going to crack up entirely, after all.

 

 

"Query: please identify the officer to be admitted."

 

 

"Uh? Oh. Fleet Captain Jiltanith, Dahak's executive officer. My wife."

 

 

"Acknowledged."

 

 

"'Tanni?" he returned his attention to his com. "Come ahead."

 

 

"I come, my love," she said, and he stretched out in his couch, knowing she would soon be there. His shudders drained outward along his limbs until the final echoes tingled in his fingers and his breathing slowed.

 

 

"Mother."

 

 

"Yes, Your Imperial Majesty?"

 

 

"What was all that? What happened when you executed Case Omega, I mean?"

 

 

"Emergency subroutines were terminated, ending Fleet Central's caretaker role upon Your Imperial Majesty's assumption of the throne."

 

 

"I figured that part out. I want a specific explanation of what you did."

 

 

"Fleet Central performed its function as guardian of the succession, Your Imperial Majesty. As senior Fleet officer and civil official listed in Fleet Central's data base, Your Imperial Majesty, as per the Great Charter, became the proper successor upon the demise of the previous dynasty. However, Your Imperial Majesty was unknown to Fleet Central prior to Your Imperial Majesty's accession. It was therefore necessary for Fleet Central to obtain gene samples for verification of the heirs of Your Imperial Majesty's body and to evaluate Your Imperial Majesty's gestalt and implant it upon Fleet Central's primary data cortex."

 

 

Colin frowned. There were too many things here he didn't yet understand, but there were were a few others to get straight right now.

 

 

"Mother, can't we do something about the titles?"

 

 

"Query not understood, Your Imperial Majesty."

 

 

"I mean- Look, just what titles have I saddled myself with?

 

 

"Your principle title is 'His Imperial Majesty Colinmacintyre the First, Grand Duke of Birhat, Prince of Bia, Warlord and Prince Protector of the Realm, Defender of the Five Thousand Suns, Champion of Humanity, and, by the Maker's Grace, Emperor of Mankind.' Secondary titles are: 'Prince of Aalat,' 'Prince of Achon,' 'Prince of Anhur,' 'Prince of Apnar,' 'Prince of Ardat,' 'Prince of Aslah,' 'Prince of Avan,' 'Prince of Bachan,' 'Prince of Badarchin,' 'Prin-' "

 

 

"Stop," Colin commanded. Jesus! "Uh, just how many titles are there?"

 

 

"Excluding those already specified," Mother replied, "four thousand eight hundred and twenty-one."

 

 

"Gaaa." Not bad for the product of a good, republican upbringing, he thought. "Let's get one thing straight, Mother. My name is Colin MacIntyre-two words-not 'Colinmacintyre.' Can you remember that in future?"

 

 

"You are listed in Fleet and Imperial records as His Imperial Majesty Colinmacintyre the First, Grand Duke of Birhat, Prince of Bia, War-"

 

 

"I understand all that," Colin interrupted. "The point is, I don't want to go around with everyone 'Imperial Majesty'-ing me, and I prefer to be called 'Colin,' not 'Colinmacintyre.' Can't we do something to meet my wishes?"

 

 

"As Your Imperial Majesty commands. You have not yet designated your choice of reign name. Until such time as you have done so, you will be known as Colinmacintyre the First; thereafter, only your dynasty will bear your complete pre-accession name. Is that satisfactory?"

 

 

"It's a start," Colin muttered, refusing to contemplate the thought of his "dynasty." He tugged on his nose, then stopped himself. At the rate surprises were coming at him lately, he was going to start looking like Pinocchio. "All right. My 'reign name' will be 'Colin.' Please log it."

 

 

"Logged," Mother replied.

 

 

"Now, about those titles. Surely past emperors didn't get called 'Your Imperial Majesty' every time they turned around, did they?"

 

 

"Acceptable alternatives are 'Your Majesty,' 'Majesty,' 'Highest,' and 'Sire.' Nobles of the rank of Planetary Duke are permitted 'My Lord.' Flag officers and Companions of The Golden Nova are permitted 'Warlord.' "

 

 

"Crap. Uh, I don't suppose I could get you to forget titles entirely?"

 

 

"Negative, Your Imperial Majesty. Protocol imperatives must be observed."

 

 

"That's what you think," Colin muttered. "Just wait till I get my hands on your 'protocol' programming!" He shook his head. "All right, if I'm stuck with it, I'm stuck, but from now on you'll use only 'Sire' when addressing me."

 

 

"Acknowledged."

 

 

"Good! Now-" He broke off as a soft chime sounded.

 

 

"Your pardon, Sire. Empress Jiltanith has arrived. Shall I admit her?"

 

 

"You certainly shall!" Colin leapt down the steps from the dais and reached the innermost hatch by the time it opened. Jiltanith gasped as his embrace threatened to pop her bioenhanced ribs, and her cheek was wet where it pressed against his.

 

 

"Am I ever glad to see you!" he whispered against the side of her neck.

 

 

"And I thee." She turned her head to kiss his ear. "Greatly did I fear for thee, yet such timorousness ill beseemed one who knoweth thee so well. Hast more lives than any cat, my sweet, yet 'twould please me the better if thou wouldst spend them less freely!"

 

 

"Goddamn right," he said fervently, drawing back to kiss her mouth. "Next time, I listen to you, by God!"

 

 

"So thou sayst... now," she laughed, tugging on his prominent ears with both hands.

 

 

A sudden thought woke a mischievous smile as he tucked an arm around her waist to escort her back to the dais, and he raised his voice.

 

 

"Mother, say hello to my wife."

 

 

"Hello, Your Imperial Majesty," Mother said obediently, and Jiltanith stopped dead.

 

 

"What foolishness is this?" she demanded.

 

 

"Get used to it, honey," Colin said, squeezing her again. "For whatever it's worth, your shiftless husband's brought home the bacon this time." He grinned wryly. "In spades!"

 

 

Several hours later, a far less chipper Colin groaned and scrubbed his face with his hands. Jiltanith and he sat side-by-side on Fleet Central's command couch while Mother reported Battle Fleet's status, running down every fleet and sub-unit in numerical order. So far, she'd provided reports on just under two thousand fleets, task forces, and battle squadrons.

 

 

And, so far, nothing she'd had to report was good.

 

 

"Hold report, Mother," he said, breaking into the computer's flow.

 

 

"Holding, Sire," Mother agreed, and Colin laughed hollowly. "Emperor"-that was a laugh. And "Warlord" was even funnier. He was a commander without a fleet! Or, more precisely, with a fleet that was useless to him.

 

 

The Empire had been too busy dying for an orderly shutdown. Herdan XXIV had lived long enough to activate Fleet Central's emergency subroutines, placing Mother on powered-down standby to guard Birhat until relief might someday arrive, but most of Battle Fleet hadn't been even that lucky. A few score supralight vessels had simply disappeared from Fleet Central's records, which probably indicated that their crews had elected to flee in an effort to outrun the bio-weapon, but most of Battle Fleet's units had been contaminated in their efforts to save civilians in the weapon's path. The result had been both predictable and grisly, and, unlike Dahak, their computers hadn't been smart enough to do anything about it when they found themselves without crews. Except for a handful whose core taps had been active when their last crewmen died, they'd simply returned to the nearest Fleet base and remained on station until their fusion plants exhausted their on-board mass, then drifted without life or power.

 

 

Unfortunately, none seemed to have returned to Bia itself-which made sense, given that Birhat, the first victim of the bio-weapon, had been quarantined at the very start of the Empire's death agony. Less than a dozen active units had responded to Mother's all-ships hypercom rally signal, and the nearest was upwards of eight hundred light-years away; Earth would be dead long before Colin could return if he waited for them them to reach Birhat.

 

 

There was a bitter irony in the fact that Birhat's defenses remained almost fully operational. Bia's mammoth shield, backed by Perimeter Security's prodigious firepower, could have held anything anyone could throw at them. But everyone who needed defending was on Earth.

 

 

"Mother," he said finally, "let's try something different. Instead of reporting in sequence, list all mobile forces in order of proximity to Birhat."

 

 

"Acknowledged. Listing Bia System deployments. Birhat Near-Orbit Watch Squadron: twelve heavy cruisers. Bia Deep-System Patrol Squadron: ten heavy cruisers, forty-one destroyers, nine frigates, sixty-two corvettes. Imperial Guard Flotilla: fifty-two Asgerd-class planetoids, sixteen-"

 

 

"What? Stop!" Colin shouted.

 

 

"Acknowledged," Mother said calmly.

 

 

"What the fuck is the Imperial Guard Flotilla?!"

 

 

"Imperial Guard Flotilla," Mother replied. "The Warlord's personal command. Strength: fifty-two Asgerd-class planetoids and attached parasites, sixteen Trosan-class planetoids and attached parasites, and ten Vespa-class assault planetoids and attached planetary assault craft. Current location: parking orbit thirty-eight light-minutes from Bia. Status: inactive."

 

 

"Jesus H. Christ!" Colin stared at Jiltanith. Her face was as shocked as his own, and they turned as one to glare accusingly at the console.

 

 

"Why," Colin asked in a dangerously calm voice, "didn't you mention them earlier?"

 

 

"Sire, you had not asked about them," Mother said.

 

 

"I certainly did! I asked for a complete listing of Battle Fleet units!" Mother was silent, and he growled a curse at all computers which could not recognize the need to respond without specific cues. "Didn't I?" he snarled.

 

 

"You did, Sire."

 

 

"Then why didn't you report them?"

 

 

"I did, Sire."

 

 

"But you didn't report this Imperial Guard Flotilla-" Flotilla! Jesus, it was a fleet! "-did you? Why not?"

 

 

"Sire, the Imperial Guard is not part of Battle Fleet. The Imperial Guard is raised and manned solely from the Emperor's personal demesne."

 

 

Colin blinked. Personal demesne? An Emperor whose personal fiefdoms could raise that kind of firepower? The thought sent a shiver down his spine. He sagged back, trembling, and a warm arm crept about him and tightened.

 

 

"All right." He shook his head and inhaled deeply, drawing strength from Jiltanith's presence. "Why is the Guard Flotilla inactive?"

 

 

"Power exhaustion and uncontrolled shutdown, Sire."

 

 

"Assess probability of successful reactivation."

 

 

"One hundred percent," Mother said emotionlessly, and a jolt of excitement crashed through him. But slowly, he told himself. Slowly.

 

 

"Assume resources of one hundred seven thousand Battle Fleet personnel, one Utu-class planetoid, and current active and inactive automated support available in the Bia System," he said carefully, "and compute probable time required to reactivate the Imperial Guard Flotilla to full combat readiness."

 

 

"Impossible to reactivate to full combat readiness," Mother replied. "Specified personnel inadequate for crews."