This is a fan translation of Invasion (Вторжение) by Mikhail Akhmanov, currently only available in Russian and, because of the author's passing in 2019, unlikely to ever be published in English. This is the first book in a six-book series called Arrivals from the Dark (Пришедшие из мрака), which also has a six-book spin-off series called Trevelyan's Mission (Миссия Тревельяна).
I claim no rights to the contents herein.
Chapter 14
Between the orbits of Mars and Earth
"Abby," Litvin was explaining, "Abby McNeil, the Earth woman... I need to go after her."
"Why? Is she your tuahha partner?"
"What tuahha? I already told you that we don't have a mating season. During maturity, we are always ready, and that lasts for forty years, sometimes longer. We also don't have ksa, our women give birth whenever they want... almost always. Exceptions are rare."
"But she is your partner?" Yo insisted. "A sexual partner, as your people say?"
"No. Relationships between humans are very diverse and are not confined to sex. McNeil is my comrade-in-arms and my subordinate officer. I am responsible for her. I cannot leave her without help. I need to..."
Their conversation had been going on, with mixed success, for over an hour. They had not yet discussed how to rescue Abby McNeil, as they got stuck on a different issue: why this was necessary in the first place. That was a problem that Yo could not understand, who could not image the breadth of connections between humans, and her attempts at understanding the situation were still without success. All was aggravated by the fact that Yo was not thinking as well as during their past meetings. As the Ship had explained, it was a side effect of tuahha. The increased excitability clouded the mind, and, when the Faata created the caste of breeders and switched to planned reproduction, the mating season had been excluded from social life. This happened two millennia ago.
As far as Litvin could learn, in that era, at the very beginning of the Third Phase, a mutation had appeared that sharply increased the number of people with the psychic gift, although, among the rest of the population, there was no more than one percent. After a short but fierce struggle between the mutants, a leader appeared, the first Pillar of Order, who seized power. Under his rule, the Faata expected a series of radical changes: the stratification of society by psychic ability and the breeding of t'ho: from the almost-sentients to the annexes of quasi-living mechanisms. The slogan of the new era was first stability, then space expansion, in which they saw the guarantee of that same continuity of civilization. Apparently, the Faata were haunted by the genetic terror of the Eclipses; they, having lived through two cataclysms, wanted to build an indestructible empire, spreading it to the farthest stars. Technology-wise, they had the capability, but there were limitations: the population growth had slowed down, and the psychic gift did not always pass to the offspring. On average, only a quarter of the ksa females, fertilized by the sperm of the fully sentient, produced offspring with the dominant mutation; as for their women, they were sterile. But they lived long lives, supporting their bodily vigor with special procedures.
"Leave this ksa," Yo said. "You said that they sent guards to the t'hami halls... If you go there, they will kill you..." She sighed and added, "Then they will kill me."
"Are you afraid to die?" Litvin asked.
"I was not before. Before, life was almost indistinguishable from eternal oblivion or the slumber in t'hami. But now... now I would like to live all the cycles remaining to me. Perhaps not long, but next to you." Yo put her hand on Litvin's chest, and her eyes clouded. "Two moons in your eyes, their light on your face... I wish to see this light for a little longer."
Before... he thought. He knew little about Yo's life from before; he knew that she'd been born in the New Worlds and had lived there for fourteen years, if counting her age using Earth years. Perhaps, the Bino Faata matured at a younger age than humans, or their development was accelerated artificially, but either way, she was an adult woman. It was also possible that the early maturity was related to the small lifespan of the t'ho, but Litvin was afraid to ask about that. Death came to all, but the knowledge of its time was bitter... Doubly bitter if talking about one's loved ones.
He sighed, put the kaff to his temple, and started putting on the suit.
"Still, I'll go. I can't leave her. The Ship will help me."
"It cannot help you with what has already happened," Yo said, turning away. Her shoulders sagged, and her voice became like earlier; almost lacking in emotion. Is her tuahha ending?.. Litvin thought and asked, "What happened? What are you talking about?"
"Iveh... He did not take her to sleep in t'hami. She..." Yo raised her head and looked into his face. "She is not infertile like me, she is a ksa. And, like all ksa, already carries the embryo of life. Iveh said that the crossbreeding was successful, and that the fetus was developing with the same speed as in our females. Very quickly. This hybrid will become the first of the new partly sentient breed, and if..."
Litvin clenched his fists. Cold shivers ran down his back.
"Are you saying that she was inseminated? Artificially?" he forced out.
"Yes. One of Iveh's experiments with humans. In the cavity with the females, there is a special type of radiation speeding up the development of the embryos. The biological stimulation field... It is stronger now, and the t'ho generation will be born in thirty or forty cycles, by the time of the conquest of your system. Workers, olks, pilots... females to continue our species... probably several full sentients... Then the experiments with your women will continue. Iveh believed that he would be able to create a hybrid race."
"Like breeding cattle..." Litvin muttered through gritted teeth, immediately calling out to the quasi-mind. Ship! Is she correct? Is that all true?
Yes, came the silent reply. Then, picking up on his next thought, the Ship added, It is impossible to interrupt the pregnancy. Most likely, the human ksa will die.
"But if I she is removed from t'hami, she will not die?"
No, but the gestation process will return to its natural course and slow down. Three months instead of two weeks.
"Wait for me here," Litvin told Yo, got to his feet, and exited the module into the hallway. He stood near the membrane, holding his temples with his hands; his head was ringing, the kaff dug into his skull like a red-hot drill. Hatred raged inside him, but not towards extraterrestrials in general, not to the alien race that had invaded humanity's celestial abode. Could he hate Yo? Could he imagine that the olks, mindless slaves, were worthy of hate? The Bino Faata, like humans, were not an amorphous throng of villains, but a highly civilized society, where some decided, and others obeyed. Those who decided ruled through force, and, where that wasn't enough, resorted to deception; thus, Iveh, who spoke of trust, was most definitely a liar. If someone needed to be hated, it was that vivisector; but was he alone? Iveh had experimented on Richard and Abby, without bothering to ask if they liked it or not, but the same was done by human rulers, who burned those who thought differently in ovens, poisoned them with gas, destroyed entire peoples, countries, cities. This bloody orgy had lasted for centuries, millennia even, and he, Pavel Litvin, was duty-bound to be involved in it. Each race, humanity or the Faata, had its own habits, its own peculiarities, but they were probably united in one thing: neither could care less about the life and wishes of their fellow being.
Litvin slowly moved down the hallway to the transport alcove, then stopped again. The conversations with Yo and thoughts about what had happened to Abby were distracting him from the main thing: what was happening right that moment in the cold emptiness, under light of the stars and the faraway Sun. He froze, peering into the endless row of membranes stretching along the deck and feeling the strengthening of his mental connection to the Ship.
The situation outside?
Unchanged.
There were indeed no changes: nine human cruisers surrounded the Ship, two more and the Admiral's frigate hung in front of it like warriors blocking the enemy's path. The "Ring" formation, red alert, full battle readiness... Over the past day, Litvin was examining the flotilla using the Ship's eyes for the tenth time, attempting to recognize his own ships by their outlines, the number of turrets, long-range antennae, and hatches for dropping UFs. The frigate Suzdal, obviously, with the Viking and the Volga with her, the twins from the Pamir's squadron; two more Barracuda-class heavy cruisers, one of them definitely the Pamir, her silver hull bearing the image of a mountain peak in the clouds. The third cruiser was newer and larger, probably the Sakhalin, and with her was a squadron of four combat units: Sydney, Fuji, Tiburon, and Neva. He thought he recognized the other cruisers of the Third Fleet, and his memory instantly brought back the familiar faces of those with whom he had served and trained, met on the Lunar Base, on Mars, Earth, and in the Asteroid Belt. Many, many worthy people! If they only knew where Pavel Litvin was now, they'd be very surprised...
His eyes focused on the heavy cruiser he could not yet identify. Closer, still closer, he ordered the Ship. It obediently shifted the image; now the dimly glittering hull of the cruiser blistered with the protrusions of turrets and hatches, the smooth mirror of the armor reflected the stars and the blinding spot of the Sun. Similar to the Pamir and the Barracuda, Litvin thought, and then he noticed the picture on the bow plating. A white rose... The Lancaster then [The white rose was the symbol of the House of Lancaster during the War of the Roses in 15th century Britain.]. The cruiser carried the symbol of an ancient war, which had ended over six centuries ago.
How are the negotiations coming? Litvin asked inaudibly, stepping to the transport alcove.
Ineffectually, the Ship replied.
He should not have expected anything else. If the Third Fleet had come here, it was not to provide the aliens with an honorary escort. A lieutenant, even a commander, could not read the mind of an admiral, but Litvin had no doubts about the instructions Timokhin had received and the fact that the Admiral would carry them out. Perhaps he would be more successful than B.J. Cassidy, the Lark's captain, but it was also possible that the result would be the same.
Sighing, Litvin stepped into the pod. The vision of the cruisers frozen in space disappeared, the diagram of transportation lines flared to life in front of him, overlaying the already familiar image of the Ship's nervous system. One of the images he saw with his own eyes, the other, from the visual sensors, was appearing directly in his brain's visual center: two webs woven by a giant quasi-sentient spider. There was something curious about them, something that, Litvin thought, should have been noticed and, perhaps, used, but his mind already switched to something else. Peering into the diagram, he ordered, "Here, to this t'hami hall. Is it being guarded?"
All tiers are under observation, the Ship informed him, displaying long hallways with transparent walls, figures of beings frozen in catalepsy, and guards, almost as motionless as the sleeping Faata. They stood in group of three or four, with impassive faces, weapons in their hands; the play of shadows and the light made their powerful muscles look even more striking.
"To hell with these imbeciles! Remove them," Litvin growled, and the two overlaid webs once again appeared in front of him. The pod rocked and slid down the dark tunnel, among anthracite walls. He sat down on the floor, lowered the helmet visor, checked the cartridges with the breathing mixture. His plans regarding McNeil were still vague: he could repeat the first time, make a hole in a partition and flood the hallways with the sleeping gas, or set up a different diversion and drag his target away during the confusion. To be honest, Litvin did not know yet if he would undertake a frontal assault or go around, and relied more on his luck. He had to get Abby out, he had to! And do it before the Third Fleet attacked the aliens. No matter which way the battle would go, it would be safer to be in an autonomous module. Maybe they would even manage to leave the Ship... Most likely, if he could only control this damned module!
Litvin stared at the transport diagram: the light of his pod crawled along the line representing the tunnel, and something else flickered nearby, some sort of artery of the Ship, stretching in the same direction, directly to the t'hami tier. Then it branched out, splitting into a cluster of other, smaller arteries, and, at the point of branching, a spot darkened, looking like an inkblot. Suddenly he realized that he wasn't seeing all this with his eyes but in his head, like the other lines and centers of the Ship's nervous system. It looked like many of them were located near the transport lines and gravity shafts, and there were probably some passages, a secret network of hallways that allowed one to secretly get to any part of the Ship. As soon as he realized this, Litvin jumped to his feet and shouted, "Stop!"
The pod halted. Now it was hanging about halfway between the battle module hangar and its final destination, the hall where the ksa slept.
He stretched out his left hand and clenched his fingers in a fist. A slicing strand slipped out of the small disk on his glove with a quiet rustle. Litvin felt around the transparent dome covering the pod; its material slightly flexed under his fingers and was, obviously, no stronger than the partitions in the t'hami halls. Then his left arm made a circle, and he pushed away the cut out piece with a slight movement. There was now the tunnel wall in front of him: coal-black, slightly gleaming in the weak lighting coming from the pod. Would he be able to cut through that as well?
The whip shuddered, raised up, and, at that moment, the Ship's disembodied voice warned, Do not do that.
"There is another passage," Litvin replied. "I don't have to cut the wall if you tell me how to get there."
Why?
"To get to the ksa cavity and retrieve the human woman. So that the guards don't notice."
Silence. It seemed that the quasi-mind controlling the Ship was processing his words.
After several seconds, Litvin raised his hand again.
There are other means, a Ship's thought came immediately. There is no need to cut open the wall. That could damage the communication channel between functional centers.
It was afraid! Catching that emotion, Litvin started and, afraid to give away his triumph, clenched his fists even tighter. The prospect of a battle with Earth's fleets, even with a whole planet, did not scare the Ship, but it was vulnerable here. Here, in this place, where, behind the black wall, stretched one of the nerve fibers. Should he cut it?
The tissue will be restored, the Ship hurriedly informed him. High regeneration capability. Then he added, Another option is offered again.
"Which one?"
The human ksa will be delivered into the module cavity.
Interesting! Litvin thought. "Who will deliver her?"
Olks, the answer came immediately.
"You can control them?"
To an extent. When they are connected via the bio-interface.
"This is new information. If I had received it earlier, we could have reached an agreement and cooperated more productively. You could have stopped the guards who attacked me and were destroyed."
No. The execution of any command is determined by its potential. Currently, it is significantly higher than before.
"Because of my threat?"
Silent agreement.
Litvin put away the whip and once again sat down on the floor, next to the Achilles heel that was so suddenly revealed. All that remained was to check which benefits his find promised to bring him.
"Can you control the fully sentient? Iveh, Yata, and the other assholes from your cesspool?"
No.
"Really? What if..." The end of the whip again started dancing in the air.
No. No! The fully sentient do not require psychic amplifiers. It is impossible to control without an interface.
"But I have one." Litvin touched his kaff. "So, you can order me around?"
This is a special interface that does not allow influencing the wearer's mind.
Litvin smiled pleasantly. Whoever had made his kaff, the Daskins or other handymen from the depths of the galaxy, the thing was built well and equipped with pleasant surprises. Most likely, he did not know how to use it to the fullest potential.
"Ship!"
I listen.
"An order to all olks, except those helping with the human woman: grab all fully sentients and isolate them in one of the holds. Any one, your choice. Execute!"
A pause, then, Unable to execute command.
"Potential too low?" Litvin said aloud. "Well, let me add some!"
He slashed the strand against the black wall. The whip cut deep, almost to its full length, and he was almost immediately drowned by a wave of unbearable pain. Crying out, he raised the helmet visor, ripped the kaff off his temple and spent the next several minutes sitting, taking deep breaths of the warm air, and senselessly staring at the wall. Enormous drops of thick crimson fluid oozed through the cut and, merging into a stream, dropped to the floor, as if he'd cut a titan's vein, causing it to bleed out. But, gradually, the bloody drops appeared less frequently, the trickle of fluid grew thinner, and, by the time Litvin came to, the wound had probably closed. Picking up the interface marble, he attached it to its place. There was no pain.
Which of us has been taught a lesson, it or me? Litvin thought. Some truth began to dawn in his consciousness: he seemed to start to understand what the Ship feared. Damage to the communication channels between functional centers? One could say that, but in the human language this was called differently: pain, suffering, anguish.
The human ksa has been delivered to the module cavity, the disembodied voice echoed.
"Run the pod back," Litvin instructed. "And what about the fully sentient? Maybe you will grab them yourself? Or maybe convince the olks?"
Unable to execute command, the reply came. Then, after a pause, Pain… no more pain… need other emotions… anger, sense of power, joy, passion…
"I wouldn't say no to joy, but there are no reasons for it," Litvin said, sighing. He had learned the lesson; he knew that he could burn the Ship or vaporize it, kill it in a thousand ways, but not torture. He was terrible at that.
The pod stopped, he came out onto the deck and immediately saw McNeil. Naked, helpless, she was lying on her back, and because of that her belly looked even larger; bloated like a drum, it drooped over her hips like something alien and completely unnecessary to Abby. Litvin took her in his arms, passed through the membrane, and set her down next to Yo, who was sitting motionlessly.
"You did it," she said, touching the combat suit's shoulderpad. "You did! How?"
"I told you the Ship would help me. Well, it did…" Litvin pressed his fingers to the girl's wrist. McNeil's pulse was steady and strong, but strangely frequent, at least a hundred beats per minute. "While she's sleeping, we should get her some clothes, like the ones you're wearing. Would you find them, sweetie?"
Yo nodded, likely having picked up the gesture from Litvin. The kaff on her temple flared, a section of the wall shifted to the side, and a tube from the container with the nourishing liquid slipped into her palm. She began to bustle about McNeil, making the girl more comfortable, rubbing her hair and cheek; then she touched the tube's nipple to a vein in the crook of her elbow. Food and biostimulants, Litvin recalled. The injection was probably a necessary step of the awakening process.
He stared at Abby and thought about what he would say when she awoke, how he would explain… What could one say to a woman whose womb had been turned into a lab experiment? Who was carrying an alien fetus, and whose child, as yet unborn, had already been counted among the slave caste? The truth seemed too harsh, and Litvin, remembering Corcoran, nodded slightly. McNeil would not find out the truth until the baby was born. Perhaps, she would never find out; their chances of survival were slim.
Lowering his eyelids, he looked around with the aid of external video sensors. Outside, everything remained unchanged: the Lancaster, the Pamir, the Sakhalin, and six other cruisers floated around the monstrous cylinder, the Suzdal with her escort floated dead ahead, a hundred kilometers away. Missile strike range, Litvin thought. The Ship's shield had deflected the swarm volleys, but what would happen with missiles coming from all directions? The first salvo would probably have a hundred and fifty of them, adding up to triple that after the first minute of fighting… Would that be enough? And what would be better for them, for him, for Yo and Abby: to die along with the Ship or survive? But at what cost?
He was still resolving this dilemma, when Yo stood up and disappeared behind the entrance partition. Watching her leave, Litvin called out, "Ship! You said you could only influence olks via the bio-interface… What about the other t'ho? Are they not controlled by you?"
The influence applies to all semisentients. Their brains lack proper defenses. They are unable to distinguish an external mental signal from their own and resist.
"So that means you can implant any idea into their minds?"
Any idea that does not contradict the orders of the Sheaf or any other full sentient.
"Does that apply to Yo as well?"
A moment's hesitation, an instant of indecision. Then, Yes.
"Yo is very fond of me. Have you noticed?"
That can be clearly explained by the tuahha.
"Her tuahha period is ending, but the fondness remains. And I recall that, during out previous encounters, she behaved completely differently from Yegg, the second translator. Let's say, friendlier." Pausing for a few seconds, Litvin asked, "Did you program her?"
The term is imprecise. This t'ho is naturally gifted with imagination, curiosity, and increased excitability. In a way, she is a relic of the past eras, standing on the brink of being bred out. All that was necessary was to awaken these and other qualities.
"Other? Which ones exactly?"
Another echo of doubt, as if Litvin's companion was afraid to reveal more information than necessary. Then the silent words reached him.
Pity. Yes, in the system of human concepts, these feelings are called "compassion" and "pity". She retained this ability.
"Compassion is the first step towards love," Litvin said ponderously. "But you, why did you do it? Why awaken sympathy in her?"
His voice rumbled like thunder in the small cabin but did not drown out the reply.
Emotions, the Ship explained, emotions. They are clearer and stronger in humans than in the Faata.
"So what? Are emotions that important?"
There is nothing more important. Emotions are the source of pleasure.
So much for being quasi-sentient! a thought passed through Litvin's head. It feels pain and longs for pleasant sensations… It was a strange beastie the Daskins had created to surprise all the other starfaring races! It was not a computer, definitely not a computer… What then? A living toy? A partner capable of empathy, an amplifier of joys and sorrows? A medical device for curing neurosis? Or all of the above?
Yo silently appeared at the entrance, interrupting his thoughts. She sat, smoothed out the coveralls she'd brought on her knees, the same chrysolite hue as her own, apparently picking it out to match McNeil's red hair. She stretched out her hand, touched the girl's neck, and froze, closing her silver eyes.
"She will awaken soon. I sense the beating of two hearts, hers and the child's. The rhythm is already normal, and that means that they have exited the accelerated phase."
"The acceleration of what?"
"Vital processes."
Litvin nodded and started removing of his suit. Then he headed for the forward narrow section of the compartment, where the walls converged to the hemispherical screen, stood near the contact film, thinking of the crushing power of the weapon right under his feet, about the chamber coiled by a spiral. An annihilator! If only he could control it!.. Beyond the hangar, at the very center of the Ship's structure, lay the cavity of the hyperlight drive, an enormous shaft three to four kilometers in length. If he could get there and incinerate the converter… But, perhaps the word "incinerate" would not do here; the stream of antimatter would create a much stronger effect than plasma, lasers, or nuclear missiles. More than likely, if he fired the annihilator at the drives, the Ship would turn to dust…
Touching the film, quietly rustling under his fingers, Litvin pulled on his jumpsuit zipper, about to perform yet another experiment, but then he was called by Yo.
"Come here! She is about to wake up."
McNeil's eyelids lifted. She stared at Litvin blankly for a minute or two, then, recognizing him, muttered, "Paul! Is that you, Paul? Where's Richard? What happened to him?"
He squeezed her hand.
"Be brave, Abby… Richard is gone."
The girl's blond eyebrows arched, her face contorting into a pained grimace.
"No more Richard… I remember… he was dying, and we didn't know how to help him… And that damned machine… their computer… said that his respiratory centers were paralyzed…" She turned her head, examining the narrow compartment, then touched her chest and abdomen with her hand. Her eyes went wide. "Paul! Where are we, Paul? Why am I naked? And this… this…" McNeil's hand was on her belly. "Where did this come from?"
"Don't worry, I will explain everything," Litvin said hurriedly. "This is not the compartment where they put us, I got out of there, and you… they took you away even earlier. You were pregnant… I mean, hell, you're still pregnant and are carrying Corcoran's child. They… the ones who captured us… in short, they put you in some kind of field that accelerates your vital processes. I think they wanted to observe the development of the fetus… It hasn't even been two weeks, and you're already at the six-month mark." He swallowed and added, "Richard would have been happy. You and him… you…"
McNeil frowned, contemplating her belly.
"We used protection. You know the rules and saw the USF contact for female marines. I signed it… not to give birth for five years…"
"Then you didn't use enough protection. Anyway, it's a moot point now… Maybe it's for the best; you'll have a son or a daughter, which means a part of Richard will live on. Understand?"
She nodded obediently.
"I understand, but not everything. Where are my clothes?"
"Here they are. Yo will help you."
"Yo?"
"A Faata woman. Our friend. She speaks English."
Litvin turned to face the wall. Fabric rustled behind him, McNeil gasped, standing up, muttered something through gritted teeth, then came Yo's voice, "Fasten here. No, not like that… just connect the edges of the cut." Finally they quieted, and he turned his head. McNeil, already clothed, stood, supporting herself on Yo's shoulder and holding her belly with both hands.
"She's sweet. And she smells nice." Abby took a deep breath and carefully lowered herself to the floor. "I'm fine, sir… fine, as much as it's possible to be under these circumstances… I'm a marine and I remember that, so you can tell me everything." McNeil put her hand on her belly and winced. "I guess, things are pretty bad?"
"Bad, but not hopeless," Litvin noted. "We are, obviously, on the run, but we have an ally… no, not Yo and not even a person, just a very important individual. In any case, we can rely on it, on it and the Third Fleet."
Sitting down next to Abby, he started to talk.
Based on the timer on the cuff of his jumpsuit, almost two hours had passed. McNeil was tired and fell asleep, Litvin and Yo sat on the soft floor, immersed in silence. The light in the compartment dimmed, and the escapees were veiled in a resounding, viscous silence, the small sphere in the woman's hair faded; apparently, she had nothing to ask the Ship. It seemed that the silence and the stillness spread far and wide throughout the whole enormous vessel and beyond it, to the Sun, the planet, and the distant stars, but it was only an illusion of calm. The night sky was no longer a source of dreams and serene beauty, and every look at its vastness could reflect questions: who else would come from this abyss?.. When?..For what purpose?..
Yo's thin fingers slipped into Litvin's palm.
"When this is over and if we stay alive," he whispered, "will you agree to stay on Earth?"
"No matter how this ends, I will stay, alive or dead," she answered. "T'ho will not return to the New Worlds, t'ho will live out their lives here and die on your planet. When their time comes."
"When exactly?.." Litvin wanted to ask, but was afraid to and instead started to tell Yo about the quiet Smolensk, slumbering on the banks of the Dnieper, about the old fortress with brick towers and battlements, about the cathedral that stood over the steep slope down to the river, about the blooming apple trees and the lilac bushes, the scent of which enveloped the city streets in spring. Yo listened, her eyes glistening, and something like a clumsy smile appeared on her lips.
"Smo-lensk…" she spoke slowly. "Smolensk is a city? Many houses in one place?"
"A city," Litvin confirmed. "Streets, squares, houses, people live in some and work, learn, play in others. Bridges over the river, a wharf by the bank, and you can get on a ship and sail away to another city, to Orsha, Mogilev, and even Kiev. Do you have cities?"
"No. We did once, during the First and Second Phases. Not anymore."
"Why not?"
"If there are no cities, then there is nothing to destroy. Population centers were the first victims of the Eclipses."
"Where do you live then?"
"The fully sentient live aboard orbital stations, just as large as this Ship, and the t'ho…" the sphere of the kaff lit up, "t'ho live in barracks. Yes, barracks is the most appropriate term. There are…"
The module shuddered noticeably, and Yo froze, her mouth open. It shook again. McNeil tossed and turned, opened her eyes, got up on her elbow.
"What?.."
"They probably started a fight with the Third Fleet," Litvin said hoarsely, staring at the wall. "Ship, explain! What is happening?"
Battle modules are being jettisoned.
"Like ours?"
No, larger and more powerful. They are launching from the outer hull.
The wall in front of him melted away. He once again saw the nine human cruisers, surrounding the Ship in a circle, and the angular craft rising up from its surface. Ten, twenty, thirty… He lost count. These Faata machines also looked like a box with a cut-off corner, but they were significantly larger than the module they were hiding in. He thought that they were as long as the Sakhalin, the most powerful cruiser of the Third Fleet, but had a much bigger cross-section. This swarm of flying jerrycans would have looked ridiculous, if not for the vision of the annihilator that was present in his memory.
The battle modules split into two fans in the sectors of space above and below the ecliptic. The ring of the human ships, surrounding the alien, suddenly started moving, spinning, dropping long fiery jets; the engine exhaust reached for the stars, eclipsing their radiance. This carousel rapidly gained speed, and, through the perceptive eyes of the video sensors, Litvin saw turrets rotating, barrels of plasma throwers and swarms quivering, metal gleaming in the dark channels of missile tubes. Perhaps a second passed, and a flock of silver darts separated from the Sakhalin's hull and dashed out into the darkness. Continuing to rotate, the Pamir and the Lancaster launched missiles, followed by the Sydney, the Fuji, and the other cruisers. One volley, two, three… They were firing at the alien Ship, not at the modules, and the target was so large that the shots simply could not miss.
"Paul" Abby shouted. "What do you see, Paul?"
"Our death," he answered and squeezed Yo's hand even tighter.
Hatches opened to launch fighters. A cloud of Vultures and Kites, seeming shapeless at first, threw out four tips. They crashed into the enemy lines, and hundreds of scarlet and violet flashes appeared in the darkness: they were firing lasers and swarms. Then a wide scarlet tongue licked away three fighters, reached for the stern of the Sydney, and the cruiser disappeared in a fountain of flames. The scattered debris or, possibly, the UF weapons hit the Faata module, but it didn't explode, instead breaking into pieces as if sliced by an invisible blade. Three other machines, breaking through a Kite screen, attacked the Lancaster. The darkness once again retreated from the crimson streams of fire, they converged on the cruiser, at the very middle, but an instant before that, the Lancaster, like a mortally wounded animal, managed to fire her plasma cannons. Wherever the plasma and antimatter streams crossed, a blinding star flared, then her fusion reactor blew. An incandescent nebula appeared where there had once been the cruiser and the battle modules, its edges wildly spinning, stretching out into space with crooked orange fingers, almost as if it was trying to rip the darkness into pieces.
Looking at this picture of universal apocalypse with hundreds of eyes, horrified, afraid, and triumphant, Litvin in some corner of his consciousness counted down the remaining time. It ran down with frightening speed; he knew that, at the range of a hundred kilometers, the missile volley would reach the Ship in twenty-six seconds and, most likely, rip it to pieces. For a medium-sized asteroid, that would have been enough, but if the starship survived the initial strike, it would be followed by a second and a third. It didn't look like the Ship's arsenal had interceptors, and the force shield would scarcely be able to handle the attack. Nearly five hundred missiles, a hundred and forty thousand megaton… He tried to imagine what would happen to the Ship, but his imagination failed him. Then again, there was no reason to strain it; death would be instantaneous, and Lieutenant Commander Litvin was prepared for it.
He had time to notice the Pamir, spewing plasma jets, colliding with a Faata module, a UF wing burning in a crimson blast of an annihilator, the Suzdal, the Viking, and the Volga rushing into battle, their fighters flanking the enemy in the X formation.
Then the floor under his feet shuddered and, along with the walls, began to rock up and down, side to side, as if the Ship had turned into an ancient sailing ship, a toy in the hands of a storm. Litvin no longer saw the battle, did not see the dark angular modules and the maneuvering cruisers, the exhaust of their engines and the tiny gnats that were fighters; furious light blinded him, and, for a moment, he thought that the Ship was suddenly at the center of a new star. He heard the women's frightened cries and groaned himself, unable to rid himself of the scary glow burning his brain. This is the end! The missiles have struck!.. he thought, but his agony went on and on, and neither the Ship nor his body was turning to ash. He was still in this world and not in hell; the shaking, the monstrous fire, Yo and Abby's sighs, but that was all…
"Ship!" Litvin called out. "By the galaxy, what is happening?"
The defense shield is active. It is absorbing the nuclear fission energy.
"A hundred and forty thousand metagon?!"
One hundred and thirty-eight point six, the Ship informed him dryly, and, at that moment, the glow went away, and the vibration stopped.
But Litvin did not see the majority of the cruisers and fighters of the Third Fleet. Instead of the Admiral's frigate and the Volga and the Viking covering her, there was now an identical iridescent cloud as the one that had swallowed up the Lancaster; the Sakhalin, the Neva, and the Fuji were gone, and with them, the Vultures and the Kites; all that remained of the fearsome carousel of powerful machines, spinning around the Ship, was rarefied gas. Three dozen Faata battle modules hung in space, licking away occasional gnat-fighters with their scarlet tongues, and behind that screen the last of the cruisers was rushing towards the Ship; maybe the Tiburon or the Rhine. Her weapons were silent. Covered by blackened armor, with melted turrets and hatches, she was going to ram the enemy, performing a hopeless attack, like a warrior of a broken army, refusing to accept defeat. Two modules lazily turned towards her, spat fire, and the darkness was lit up by yet another plasma cloud.
"They've destroyed the Third Fleet," Litvin said in a dead voice. "Twelve of our ships… thirteen, counting the Lark… Killed a hell of a lot of people…"
He dropped his boots and started pulling off his jumpsuit. His movements were deliberate, as if he was rehearsing some slow pantomime.
Abby moved in alarm.
"Paul! Are you okay, Paul? What are you going to do?"
"Entertain our hosts a little. Don't want them thinking we're completely helpless…" His bare feet slapping on the floor, he headed for the contact film. "Yo, my dear, leave! Take Abby, and go to the deck! Better yet, to the transport network or some quiet corner. At your discretion, honey."
"I am not go–"
"Abigail McNeil! Are you still a marine lieutenant?"
Anger showed through his voice. Yo silently helped McNeil get up, took her hand and led her to the entrance membrane. The kaff in her dark hair kept flaring up and dimming; she seemed to be asking the Ship something and would not get an answer.
They left, and Litvin, waiting another minute, climbed into the film's tight embrace. Somehow he knew, was certain, that this time he would be able to do it; the Lancaster and the Pamir, vanishing in a crimson cloud, the Lark's broken hull kept flashing before his eyes. His muscles fluttered, and something under his feet replied with a similar tremor. He willed away the vision of the gloomy space outside the Ship, which no longer had the human fleet, only filled by slowly-expanding crimson gas clouds. As if by itself, the screen turned on and transported him inside the enormous cylindrical hangar, a monstrous tube with modules hanging in it. It stretched for at least a kilometer in either direction, but the distance seemingly disappeared for Litvin; he could see each machine with crystal clarity.
The flutter below grew stronger; the annihilator was coming to life. Litvin did not attempt to reach the drive, it was useless to him, there was nowhere to run. Not anymore… And even if he could, he still would not flee. There was no honor in running away.
It seemed to him that, somewhere inside, in this strange machine or in his own body, a fireball was being born. He heated it with his own fury, nourished with resentment: they'd dealt with the fleet with such ease! The symbol of Earth's might had been turned to dust in the cold emptiness, and only he could avenge the defeat. That thought caused the burning sphere to heat up and expand, taking Litvin's flesh into itself, as if he was becoming a fiery genie, a dragon, or another kind of monster. He felt that he could no longer restrain this flame, this scorching heat, and needed to splash it out, directly in front of him, into the wall of the hangar dotted with hundreds of machines.
Do not do that, the Ship warned, and Litvin thought that its disembodied voice was tinted with terror. Do not!
Why not? he answered mentally. I thought you liked strong emotions. Humans have a feeling sweeter than creative desire and happier than love. You are not yet familiar with it. It's called vengeance!
A stream of crimson fire struck the wall, vaporizing a dozen modules. Terrible pain pierced Litvin, but, being prepared for it, he did not groan, did not yell out, but merely muttered through this teeth, "I promised you the sky covered in diamonds? Well, look! Look!"
He managed to fire two more times. Then he lost consciousness.