18

"That's it," said John, turning off the truck's engine. It died with backfire. Tune-up time on Terra Two, he thought.

"What do you mean?" asked L'Wrona. He sat between Hochmeister and John in the truck cab.

"We can't go any farther, H'Nar. The road's impassable."

The K'Ronarin stared at the stout saplings growing in the road. "There're only little trees. Just roll over them."

"They're enough to stop this truck," said John. "Internal combustion engine—not one of your spiffy floaters."

They'd turned off the Maximus access road half a mile from the complex, following the overgrown ruts of the old logging trail, branches scraping the sides of the truck.

"It's not much farther," said Hochmeister. Opening the door, he hopped from the cab into the brush, working his way around to the front.

"Everyone out," said L'Wrona over the commnet. Two by two, the commandos leaped the tailgate, tramping through the scrub to join the other three.

Leading with long, ground-devouring strides, Hochmeister set off down the road into the gray winter twilight. As they followed, snow started falling, dry flakes rustling through barren birch and oak.

"Looks like home," said L'Wrona.

"U'Tria?" sad John, walking beside him.

The captain nodded. "A world of short summers and long winters. But spring—spring's a green miracle."

"And the S'Cotar occupation?" asked John, regretting it at once.

"Left little." Squinting, L'Wrona turned his head from a sudden sharp gust. "It's going to be a howler."

The snow was thickening, the wind whipping it into a classic northeast blizzard.

Hochmeister stopped and turned, waving them to him. They huddled around him, a small circle of warmth. "The road turns right at the base of the hill," he said, "then runs to the river's edge—perhaps a hundred meters. The drainage tunnel's set in concrete, halfway down the embankment."

"We can climb down it?" asked S'Til.

"Easily. Thirty-five, forty-degree slope, no more."

"You're sure about the sentries?" said L'Wrona.

"None when I was there."

"Luck, then," said L'Wrona. "Maintain skirmish order. Follow me."

K'Tran's face appeared in D'Trelna's monitor. "Your engines are now destruct-tied, K'Tran," said the commodore. "Both frigates and all escape pods are disabled. Betray us, try to run, your drives will explode."

"You'd grieve, of course."

"Repeat orders."

"I'm not a cadet, D'Trelna," he snapped.

"K'Tran, I don't want to, but if necessary, I will crew your cruiser from Implacable and take my chances under-strength.

"Repeat orders."

The corsair sighed. "Commanding the light cruiser, I am to take station at designated coordinates. Upon your order, I'm to activate the Imperial device installed in our drive. I'm to keep the portal so created open for Implacable to pass through and return.

"And if you don't return?"

D'Trelna smiled unpleasantly. "Then in five Terran days, you'll change from organic to inorganic garbage, wafting through the universe. The solar winds out here blow toward T'Kyar's Galaxy. There'll be a bad smell there in a few billion years.

"Assume station now. Advise when completed." He switched off.

"If anyone can slip your trap. Commodore," said Z'Sha, "K'Tran will." The ambassador stood beside D'Trelna's station, his pre-battle demeanor and attire restored.

"A clever slime, but he can't walk home." He punched up a drink. "T'ata, Ambassador?"

"No, thank you."

"Will that drive device work. Commodore?" he asked, as D'Trelna slipped the steaming cup from the beverager.

"We'll soon know," said D'Trelna, sipping carefully. "If it fails dramatically, then the surviving corsairs will be killed, not my people."

"Installation was no problem?"

"We put the cube into the cruiser's drive interfeed port, as specified. Jump drive mechanics have changed little over the centuries. Accessing the drive core, that cube should do whatever it's supposed to."

"Is that all the commwand had to tell you?"

"Directly, yes. Just a few simple instructions, no explanations." He set the cup down. "Indirectly, though . . . Voice analysis of the message shows it was recorded by machine. As far as I could tell, it was just a slightly pedantic baritone. Machine-generated phonemes, according to computer."

"Corsair moving on station, Commodore," reported T'Ral.

"Very well."

"Machines." Z'Sha sat at the captain's station. "Machines on Terra Two—with Imperial markings. Machine-generated commwand. And the Trel Expedition, held in abeyance by this madness"—he waved vaguely toward Terra—"was prompted by a warning of a machine invasion from another reality. How are these three related?"

D'Trelna shrugged. "We'll probably find out at great cost, as we do everything. I have one crisis to deal with, here and now. Actually, there and now. I'm dealing with it."

"These are all extensions of the same phenomenon, though, D'Trelna—they must be. And knowing the phenomenon, we can control for the variants."

"With respect sir, your logic is far exceeding your facts."

"Perhaps," smiled Z'Sha. "I'll tell you what, D'Trelna. You take this battle cruiser to Terra Two and bring us back some facts. An intact enemy machine would be marvelous."

"I'll do what I can." He glanced at the time readout. "You have little time to make your shuttle."

Z'Sha stood. "Mr. McShane will be riding down with me?"

"Yes." D'Trelna rose, seeing him to the doors.

"An interesting man. We land in New York. Perhaps he'll have dinner with me." He held out his hand. "Luck to you, Commodore. From an old soldier to a younger one."

D'Trelna shook the firm, dry hand. "Thank you, sir."

He turned to the sentries flanking the doors. "Escort the ambassador to shuttle embarkation."

The commlink beeped as D'Trelna resumed his station. "Cleaned up?" he asked at the sight of K'Raoda's tired face in the pickup. Behind the commander, the hangar deck swarmed with repair crews.

"Reasonably," said K'Raoda. "Bodies and debris have been hauled off. It'll take two, maybe three more watches to tidy up."

"Very good, T'Lei. Get up here."

K'Tran's face replaced K'Raoda's. "We're in position."

"Activate your drive."

K'Tran turned from the pick up. "S'Kal, engage drive."

"Full forward visual on the screen, please," ordered D'Trelna.

Pale gray, a thin beam lanced up from the cruiser's blunt bow. Halting high above and ahead of the corsair, the beampoint became a gray rim that rotated slowly wider, banishing all light within its boundaries.

"Readout on that?" asked D'Trelna.

"Nothing coherent," said T'Ral, monitoring three telltales. "Wild energy fluxes. Peak, drop, peak, drop."

The dark within the circle rippled, growing even darker. After a moment, the rippling subsided. "Fascinating," said T'Ral.

"What?" said D'Trelna as K'Raoda came onto the bridge.

"There's a coherent signal now. It's the inverse of the readout we got when they snatched V'Tran's Glory. And the inverse of the readout from the Maximus portal."

"Any fluctuation in the signal?" asked K'Raoda. "None."

D'Trelna nodded. "Ship's status, Commander K'Raoda?"

"All sections at battlestations."

"K'Lana, did our shuttle launch?"

"Yes, sir."

"Let's do it, then. Forward, point three, T'Lei." Seen from New Hope, Implacable slipped away down a black hole.

"A'Tir," said K'Tran into the commnet, "they're gone.

Any luck?"

"None." She was wearing a white radiation suit. Removing the helmet, she handed it to an Engineering tech. "Implacable's. Engineer is too good to be Fleet."

"He isn't," said K'Tran. "Chief Engineer of the R Tar Line. They drafted his ass. What did he do?"

"Tied a tickle line from the engines to the destruct programming. We try to move ..."

K'Tran's eyes narrowed. "But we can jump?"

"There is no barrier to our jumping," she said wearily. "Only to disengaging that magic black cube."

"But we can't jump with it in the drive."

"Correct."

"I'll disengage the destruct programming," he said, reaching for the complink.

"Don't!" she said sharply. "He's looped the destruct programming back into the tickle line. Try to change destruct programming from current parameters and you'll trigger it."

K'Tran took his hands from the terminal. "I see."

"There's another problem. We've needed a good port overhaul for a long time."

"The better ports would not have us, Number One."

"We've got measurable power-core leakage. Nothing biologically hazardous, but enough to maybe spark a backsurge. If that surge were near the tickle line ..."

"Got us by the shorts, hasn't he?" said K'Tran, running a hand through his hair. "What can we do?"

"Cut power down to emergency levels. Vital equipment only. Cold concentrates, cold showers, minimal life support."

He gave the necessary orders, turning back to A'Tir as the lights dimmed. "I'm going to get Commodore Fats and his friends, Number One. It would almost be worth dying to strand them in an alternate reality."

"Nothing's worth dying for."

"Yes, well, I'll find a way."

"You do that," she said, stripping off the radiation suit. The brown Fleet-duty uniform beneath was rumpled, the underarms dark with sweat. "I'll be showering with the last of the hot water.''

K'Tran sat a long while in the command chair, his thoughts growing even darker and colder than his ship.

"Clean," said S'Til, pocketing her detector.

L'Wrona leading, the commandos, Hochmeister and Harrison swept into the tunnel, a long black line moving warily, rifles ready, wind screaming ahead of them down the dark tunnel.

Should have kept my starhelm, thought John, flashing his light ahead. Oblong-shaped, a good twenty feet across, the tunnel rose at an easy angle, disappearing beyond the range of the slim utility lights.

"No sediment," said L'Wrona, flicking his light along the pipe bottom's pristine concrete. "Admiral, isn't this used?"

"No," said Hochmeister, walking to the captain's left.

"It was dug for an atomic reactor—prematurely. The reactor was never approved for construction by the Reich. The pipe doesn't breach the complex, so it's unguarded."

"How many reactors has the Reich allowed outside of Germany, Admiral?" asked John.

"I've read your dissertation, Major Harrison," said Hochmeister, eyes and light sweeping the wall to his left. "You had an entire section on that issue—over thirty pages." He looked at John. "You're the alternate Harrison, aren't you?"

"Assuming we get out of this, Admiral," said L'Wrona, "I'm sure Fleet Intelligence could find a post for you."

"Everyone's offering me jobs I don't want, Captain," said Hochmeister. "First the bugs, now you. I'm needed here—civilization's roving proconsul."

"You call what I've seen civilization?" said John.

"Germany, all of Europe, is quite civilized, Mr. Harrison," said the admiral. "We've recovered from fascism, rebuilt from the war, aided less fortunate allies, kept the bear at bay. I shudder to think what this world would be like had we—or the Soviets—let the atomic genie out of its bottle."

"Equality, perhaps."

"Ah! Here we are." Hochmeister's light picked out a seemingly random scattering of feldspar along the left wall. "As best I could tell, this is the portion nearest the breeding vault. From here," he shifted his light to the right, along the tunnel, "the pipe runs up and away from the vault."

"Your guesses seem very close, Admiral," said L'Wrona. "We'll go with this one."

"Set your blastpak, S'Til."

"N'Tron," called the commando officer. "Blastpak." The corporal hurried forward, shrugging the flat orange

pack from his shoulders. Taking it, S'Til knelt and set it against the wall. Unfastened, the top revealed a miniaturized console, complete with screen. The screen glowed green as S'Til pressed a button: enter targeting instructions, it responded.

"Narrow focus, S'Til," said L'Wrona. "Edge down the blowback—we haven't got much cover."

"You wouldn't know how thick the wall is, would you, Admiral?" asked S'Til, looking up at Hochmeister.

"No idea," he said. "They weren't about to show me blueprints."

"The wall is four-meters thick, Lieutenant," said a voice from beyond the small circle of light.

L'Wrona swung his utility light around. Twenty-four blasters followed the beam.

"Beyond the wall," said Guan-Sharick, stepping forward as the light found him, "is eight meters of granite, honeycombed with breeding chambers." The transmute's eyes glowed red in the beam.

"Admiral Hochmeister," said John, rising from the prone firing position, "Guan-Sharick. Guan-Sharick, Admiral Hochmeister."

"You look just like Shalan-Actal, Guan-Sharick," said the admiral.

"Appearances can be deceiving, can't they, Admiral? Or should I say Colonel?"

"You're well-informed, Guan-Sharick."

"True."

"One more thing, L'Wrona." The transmute looked at the Margrave. "The growth accelerant Shalan-Actal's using in the nutrient cell walls—it's highly volatile. A few well-placed shots and the cavern will torch."

The S'Cotar was gone.

Everyone looked at L'Wrona. "Use the bug's figures.

S'Til," he said after a few seconds. "The rest of you, back off and take cover." Outside, the blizzard roared higher.

"Well, what have we here?" said K'Tran, his breath fogging the tactics scan.

"Incoming ship," said A'Tir, looking over his shoulder. She rubbed her hands, red from the cold, then reached over, making a careful adjustment. More data flowed into the readout. "R'Dal-class dreadnought—latest thing out of the yards."

"He's signaling, Captain," said S'Kal. Still wearing a commander's uniform, the big red-bearded corsair was the only other person on the bridge.

K'Tran stepped to the Engineering station, turning on the bridge lights and bringing the heat up. "Get your jackets off," he ordered, stripping down to his tunic.

"There," he said, sitting back in the command chair, as warm air flowed from the floor vents. "Put him on, S'Kal."

"Commodore D'Trelna?" asked the young captain whose face appeared in the monitor. K'Tran noted the double row of battle ribbons on her tunic.

"No, Captain," he said. "I'm Captain T'Ral. You're our reinforcements?"

"The first part of them. Another dreadnought and two cruisers were jump-scheduled a watch after us."

"And you are?"

"Captain G'Ryn, commanding the R'Dal-class dreadnought Victory Day."

"Welcome to the Terran system, Captain," smiled K'Tran. "My first officer says you're authenticated and cleared for insystem."

G'Ryn frowned, touching a finger to her ear. "Captain

J'Tan," she said, "Your authentication failed. And we read you as a light cruiser and two frigates, not a L'Aal-class cruiser and a destroyer."

"Oh?" K'Tran looked perturbed. "Now I'm confused, Captain. Didn't FleetOps advise you? Implacable and V'Tran's Glory have been lost—max casualties."

"D'Trelna, dead?" she asked, disbelieving.

K'Tran nodded. "And L'Wrona, too. There was a S'Cotar attack from that parallel reality—wiped both ships just as we came insystem. The S'Cotar fell back through their portal as we approached."

"And your codes?"

"We're a pickup force—been on deep-space patrol for the last three years. Our codes are obsolete. We've no skipcomm buoy. And the attack that wiped D'Trelna's force also took out their skipcomm buoy."

"I can't believe D'Trelna's dead." G'Ryn shook her head. "I served under him for a year—a harrier squadron inside S'Cotar space. He brought us home with only forty-percent casualties."

"Believe me," said K'Tran, "he's gone."

"I'll deploy a skipcomm buoy, Captain."

K'Tran held up a hand. "Don't—not until we've met."

"Why . . ."

"I don't want to explain over the commnet. I'll brief you when we rendezvous."

"Very well." she said. "I'll shuttle over as soon as we arrive."

K'Tran smiled. "Please, bring your crew over, too. It's been a long time since we've seen new faces."

"Can you accommodate several hundred?" she asked.

"Not only accommodate them, Captain—I think we can promise you a memorable reception."

"Certainly looks like Terra One," said D'Trelna. He sat at the flag officer's station, watching Australia and New Zealand roll by on the main screen.

"The population centers are smaller," said K'Raoda, reading a comparison scan. "Sydney and Melbourne are about a third the size of their alternates."

"We'll be coming up on the Maximus site in a moment," said T'Ral. "No ship traces . . . wait.

"Scanning a Probe class scout, mark one-three, two-one-four."

"Gunnery," said D'Trelna, "standby. Target coming up."

T'Ral read a new scan. "Negative life support. Negative drive core flow to hull jump nodules." He looked up, surprised. "She's a derelict."

"Abandoned," said K'Raoda, reading his own telltales. "Why?"

"Maybe to augment V'Tran's' drive," said D'Trelna. "If the machines' universe isn't on the next plane to this one, like Terra Two, they may need more power to punch through."

"How'd they get that scout here?" said K'Raoda. "Piece by piece through the Maximus portal," said T'Ral.

"He's right," said D'Trelna. "That scout's no larger than one of our shuttles.

"If we haven't picked up traces of our destroyer by the time we reach Maximus, deploy scanning satellites."

"Got them," said T'Ral a few moments later, as they passed over California. Computer recorded without comment a coastline radically different than that of Terra One.

"Mark one-seven, five-two-nine—just above . . ." He frowned. "They're creating a portal. Same general parameters as Maximus and the space portals—some minor energy anomalies."

"Scan to screen," said D'Trelna. His eyes narrowed as the scan graphics came up: two green points of light equidistant from a single circle—a circle that grew larger as they watched. Targeting data began threading across the board.

"No shield," said K'Raoda. "They're diverting all energy to the portal."

"That's V'Tran's Glory, all right," said D'Trelna, reading the data.

"Coming within their scan range," said T'Ral.

"Sitting up here bare-assed." The commodore punched into the commnet. "Gunnery. D'Trelna. Imperiad one-seven to Archon five. Take targeting feed and blow that ship away."

"Acknowledged," said B'Tul. "Destroy target."

"Attention. Attention." It was computer—calm but very loud. "The portal has closed. The portal has closed."

They all looked up at the screen. The two green lights and the black were still there, the black continuing to expand.

"Computer—verify," said D'Trelna, annoyed.

"Our portal, Commodore," said T'Ral, checking a permanent rearward scan. "Our portal is gone!"

"Verified," said computer. "Portal to Terra One is gone."

"K'Tran!" D'Trelna lunged for the commlink. "Gunnery. Redoubt one to flanking commander two. Abort that kill order!"

"Order aborted, Commodore," said B'Tul. "Just."

"Machine failure?" suggested K'Raoda. "K'Tran," repeated D'Trelna. "Gunnery. Take out V'Tran's' shield nexus."

Far amidships, in gunnery control, BTul called up a projection of V'Tran's Glory. Marking the forward shield nexus in flashing amber, he fed in the targeting data and pushed "Execute."

A stylus-thin red beam flicked from the number seven fusion battery, spanned two and half thousand miles of space and disintegrated a hull relay pod the size of a geode.

"Shield nexus destroyed, Commodore," reported the gunner.

"Very well."

"Something unwholesome is coming through the portal very soon," said D'Trelna as they continued to close on the two ships, "or they'd have run."

He turned toward Engineering. "Lock a tractor beam on that ship, N'Trol. Pull it away from the portal," he said. "Carefully. It's our only way home."

Shalan-Actal flicked from the auxiliary command post, deep in the Vermont granite beneath Maximus, to the bridge of V'Tran's Glory. Four transmutes worked the instruments, teleporting between twenty-four bridge stations. At the twenty-fifth station a bubble hovered above the command chair. About five feet in diameter, its interior swirled with a sullen red haze.

You and we haven't much time, said the Tactics Master.

We have enough time, replied a chill thought. We are within the prescribed area. When this flashes, a blue beam sprang from the top of the bubble, touching a telltale, our portals are joined. Reinforcements will pour through. Nothing can stop us.

You were stopped twice before—banished from this reality, said Shalan-Actal. By the Empire and by the Trel of prehistory.

The crimson mist swirled darker. The Empire is dust. The Trel less than that.

You are about to be tractor-towed and boarded. The K'Ronarins need that portal device. They are many, we and you are few. They will retake this ship.

Not before the Armada of the One is here. Our ships carry many such portal devices. We will retake the Home Universe. We will find the Betrayer.

The telltale flashed blue.

Victory, said bubble.

K'Ronarin commandos have penetrated the breeding vaults! came the distant alert. They're firing the chambers!

I will not save you at our expense, said the transmute, antennae weaving in agitation. You are on your own, Forward Commander of the One.

Shalan-Actal flicked back to Maximus, taking the handful of S'Cotar from the ship with him.

The last hundred warriors of the once Infinite Hosts of the Magnificent huddled in the old British barracks, sheltering around propane heaters from the blizzard howling under the eaves. Hatched and raised in dry, warm caverns beneath Terra's Moon, serving mostly aboard starships, this was their first exposure to a planet's wilder elements. They stood in small, uncertain groups, feet shuffling uneasily in the flickering light from the emergency generator.

Take arms! ordered the Tactics Master. The K'Ronarins are torching the last hope of the Race!

The blast was still echoing when L'Wrona ducked into the hole. Following, John saw a dark blur of himself, mirrored in the fused black surface of the blasthole; then he was through, standing on a gray granite floor.

"Good God!" He looked up and around. "It's huge."

Ringed by catwalks, the breeding vault soared fifteen levels—thousands of small hexagonal chambers, all a misty jade-green. Gray equipment banks filled the half mile of floor, red-white light pulsing along scan and control feeds up to the chambers. Half a dozen unarmed S'Cotar techs lay dead, cut down by the K'Ronarins.

L'Wrona twisted his blaster muzzle right, two soft clicks. "First squad, set weapons on diffused beam," he ordered as the last of the commandos entered the cavern. "Fire those cells. The rest of you, high alert." Aiming two-handed at the top tier of cells, he pulled the trigger, sweeping the broad beam slowly along the cell walls.

"It certainly is 'volatile,' " said Hochmeister, standing beside John. The two shielded their eyes as fierce green-tinged flames leaped toward the ceiling.

Fire raced along the catwalks as the commandos emptied their chargepaks into the walls. Thick, pungent smoke drifted down.

"S'Cotar!" shouted a commando.

Shalan-Actal and his force materialized in the vault's center. Blasters shrilled, blue-and-red bolts knifing through the smoke.

Choking, tears streaming down his face, John held his fire again and again as uncertain targets drifted through the smoke.

Something shoved him, hard. Caught off balance, he sprawled to the floor as a burning section of fused wall fell, exploding where he'd stood, showering him with molten fragments.

A thin hand reached down. John took it, letting Hochmeister help him up. The admiral tried to speak, then coughed. Shaking his head, he pointed toward the blasthole. John nodded. Together, they staggered toward the tunnel.

"Out!" L'Wrona ordered over the commnet. "Fall back!"

Feeling their way along the wall, John and Hochmeister made it to the blasthole.

The smoke wasn't as bad in the tunnel. Others staggered after them, choking and coughing, throwing themselves to the floor and the fresh stream of cold, clear air.

It slept, dimly aware that it was many yet one. Sleeping, it grew, the bonds between it entwining and thickening. Sensed but untested, it felt its strength also growing— strength it perceived as a warm glow, having no concept of strength, no concept of anything other than itself. Soon it would awake, an odd child of power, hungry and curious.

The pain struck without warning, a searing, devouring pain.

Wounded, it awoke, child of a warrior race. Terrified and angry, it lashed out.

Wheezing from the smoke, Shalan-Actal dropped Corporal N'Tron. The commando's head lolled to one side, neck broken, eyes blue and startled, staring sightless into the fire.

They are falling back through the blasthole, reported a warrior. Pursue?

One file only. All others, deploy foggers, tiers one through . . .

The fire went out, like a light turned off. The smoke was gone. The S'Cotar watched, unbelieving, as the breeding chambers repaired themselves, a green blur of speed.

The pain easing, it sought the source. There. Down there.

You are a fool, Shalan-Actal. You were warned about the growth accelerant.

Guan-Sharick? The Tactics Master followed that tendril of thought—within range. He tried flicking himself at it. He couldn't teleport.

It won't let you leave, will it? taunted Guan-Sharick.

What is it? he asked desperately.

Your children, Shalan-Actal. Your children becoming something Else. An angry child, Tactics Master.

The walls began rippling with cold green glow.

Out! ordered Shalan-Actal. Use the K'Ronarin blasthole.

Last one into the drainage pipe, L'Wrona turned, eyes streaming, and rolled a grenade back in. It detonated with a loud blast, blowback exploding into the tunnel, collapsing the blasthole.

The cold green fire left the wall in small clusters, drifting down to where the S'Cotar milled in confusion. Touching warriors' weapons, it released their potential just as the grenade detonated.