This is a fan translation of Fighters of Danwait (Бойцы Данвейта) 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 third 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.
FAATA TRORI. This term comes from the Faata language (Faata'liu). It is known that the Faata designate their own race as "Bino Faata", or "fully sentient", while those humanoids who are similar to them in appearance and general physiology are called "Bino Tegari", which can be, with a stretch, translated as "alien sentients", "other sentients", or "not completely sentient but not t'ho" (the latter version is attributed to Ian Balneonis).
There is, however, a third category of sentient humanoids, designated "Faata Trori". The literal translation ("with a drop of Faata") does not clarify the situation and requires explanation. The "drop" in this case indicates Faata blood, or, rather, their genes, passed on to a humanoid of an alien race as a result of interspecies mating. The issue of whether or not there are Faata Trori (half-bloods) among the modern human population remains open. There are rumors of human astronauts, who ended up aboard the alien starship during the Invasion and became victims of certain biological experiments, but this information has remained classified by the USF for 175 years.
Sources of information: Materials from the Invasion era: articles, books, films, memoranda, and reports of independent researchers, see list 1. List 1: Removed at the request of USF Secret Service.
Xenological Compendium, section Galactic Races. United University edition, La Sorbonne, Oxford, Moscow (Earth), Olympus Mons (Mars), 2264
Chapter 14
Route from the Earth Federation to the Lo'ona Aeo sector
"I believe her." Valdez stared at the corner of the cabin with an unseeing gaze. "I do, Cro! I just don't understand how that could happen. My role in this pleasant event is questionable. You see, we…" he swallowed and cleared his throat, "we didn't have sex."
"What did you do?" the Chief asked, glancing at the holo-image attached to the wall. Cro looked as if he was asking what was for dinner.
"We held hands!" Valdez roared. "And I kissed her a few times… well, maybe more than a few… But what does that have to do with kids? Kids are a result of certain… hmm… efforts and manipulations, but that requires organs that the Lo'ona Aeo simply don't have!"
"That's a human opinion," Lightwater said. "Don't forget that she's not human and not even humanoid. My own race does perfectly fine without these… hmm… efforts and manipulations."
"I'm not planning on hitting on your women," Valdez snapped.
"That would be difficult," Cro noted with an inscrutable face. "We don't have sexes."
The timer over the cabin door flashed green; it was just under two hours until the jump. The enormous transport and the escort ships had already reached Pluto's orbit and were accelerating for the Limbo submersion. From this far off, Earth looked like a barely noticeable dot, Jupiter was a slightly bigger dot, and Sol was a golden coin. The edge of the inhabited world, the threshold of the human Ecumene! Now, Valdez should have been thinking of that, remembering the home he'd left behind and longing for his loved ones, but there were different thoughts in his head at the moment. Very different! He had spent the necessary time on the bridge, while the Ahiros was taking off from Luna and was, under the Driver's control, passing among the structures circling Earth's moon; he had ensured that the Shiva and the Yoshitsune, the escort ships, were following on parallel courses, maintaining their distance to the transport ship; he had finished his watch, drunk his coffee, and listened to Atigem, who had visited all the Tver taverns in the two weeks and even trashed one of them. The description of this deed had been given in great detail and turned out to be very picturesque, but failed to distract Valdez from his thoughts. These thoughts were touching on delicate matters, which he had never before discussed with Cro or even imagined that something this personal, deep, and secret would someday need to be discussed. But, as the Romans used to say, "Omnia mutantur" — "everything changes."
Then again, Valdez's thoughts were hardly grave; just the opposite, he was happy for Zantoo, and all he had to do was close his eyes, and he would see her pretty face and shining eyes. The happiness was, however, present side-by-side with confusion; he could not understand how he could have given Zantoo the very same precious burden she had dreamed of. The physical contact between them had been so innocent! After all, they had indeed only held hands…
Cro, who was sitting at the table, across from the cot where Valdez had settled himself, reached over and took the holographic image from the wall. A piece of plastic, but Valdez's entire family, his entire life on Earth were there: Mother and Father, brothers and sisters, brothers-in-law and nephews. They were smiling, the wind was playing with the women's hair, palm trees were rocking in the blue sky, and the edge of the sun was very slowly appearing over their unkempt green canopies.
A reflection of old memories slid down the Chief's face, paused in the wrinkles by his lips, and melted away into a tight smile.
"All living quarters aboard all ships are similar: a chair, a cot, a table, and a photo…" he muttered. "Once, your great-grandfather and I were sitting the same way… so recently, only a century and a half ago, but Paul Corcoran is gone, as is that ship, as is my Selina… But there is Sergey Valdez, his girl, and their interesting story." Cro carefully set the picture aside. "So, you held hands… And what does she say about it?"
"She just smiles more and jumps around with joy," Valdez said. "Based on what I've gathered from her explanations, their females' eggs contain a full set of chromosomes and do not require gametes [Gametes are sex cells; during conception, two gametes of the opposite sex merge, forming a zygote, from which a new individual develops.] from other sexes. The transition to a zygote happens in some other way than for us. I haven't quite figured that out… But she did say that a talde carries the fetus and a trla and a tayos initiate it. A talde is a female, a mother, a trla is a male, and a tayos is a half-male, and there are certain genetic differences between them, again, I don't know which ones. But from what I understand, to initiate the egg, a trla and a tayos must work together." He chuckled. "Maybe they need to hold both hands of the future talde?"
"It's not as ridiculous as you think," the Chief spoke with a thoughtful expression. "So, they pass on genetic material only on the matrilineal side… Curious, very curious! And it's fairly obvious that the demands on that sex are very high, and our girl, who has violated their strict laws, is a veritable criminal! Well, God willing, everything will work out for her…" He moved closer to Valdez and gripped his wrist with the fingers of his right hand. "Now we're going to try an experiment. Close your eyes, Sergey, try to relax, and follow me, go with complete trust, with feelings of affection and friendship. Go without hesitation and fear, as if you were being led by your father and mother. I think we can do it."
Do what?.. Valdez wanted to ask, but then a gleaming white abyss opened up before him, gripping him in its warm embrace. He no longer felt Cro's fingers on his hand, but he was certain that the other man was somewhere near him and, as befitted a great chief, was leading him down the path of love and understanding; for the paths and the roads that were related to hate, rejection, and violence did not exist in the world of light. Somehow, he realized that this world had been created by both of them and was holding on their mutual affection as reliably and strongly as a star and a planet were connected by the force of gravity. The thoughts and the feelings of the being who bore the name Cro Lightwater and many other names streamed to Valdez, and he, unable to grasp them completely, understood that he was now hearing the Protector of his planet, his civilization, and his family. He might not be human, but he was a being who had decided to become one; once by chance, then by habit, and, finally, choosing a conscious unity with Earth and the human race, so complete and ancient that no human could possibly match it. For what was human? A spark of flame in the darkness, a glowing ember, that was cooling down and turning to ash so rapidly, so tragically quickly…
The link was broken, and the last thing that Valdez saw was a thought that was not his own. Grief and memory that were not his; and the female image flashing past him also bore no resemblance to either Zantoo or Inga.
Stunned, he jerked back, and the cot rocked on grav-suspension.
"What was that, Chief?"
"Psychic contamination, a telepathic link, a melding of minds, the tertiary signaling system. Mental unity, if you wish… We can call this phenomenon any of these names, but they will be human terms. Each galactic race has different ones, presumably the Lo'ona Aeo are no exception."
"A talde carries the fetus, and a trla and a tayos initiate it…" Valdez repeated, sensing a sudden revelation. "These flights through the glowing emptiness… this abyss that accepted us… So we were actually making love to one another!.."
"Weren't you?"
Valdez nodded in agreement, thought for a moment, and said with a broad happy smile, "For humans, this is something like an immaculate conception. Contactless sex has existed for a few centuries already, but you can't make kids this way, you need the good old-fashioned method. But this… my child… my baby… Imagine that!"
"It's her child, not yours, from a human standpoint, I mean. It won't have your genes."
"So what? If I replaced her trla and tayos, and if any human can do that–"
The Chief cut him off with a sharp gesture, "Not any human. Don't kid yourself: what has been given to you is not accessible to others. It's the Faata blood… In the fourth generation, but with such strength!"
Valdez's joy faded, as if a candle blown out by the wind. Frowning, he stared at his knees and, without looking up at Cro, asked him, "What does Faata blood have to do with it? Can you explain it to me?"
Cro once again took his hand. Is fingers were long and flexible, and Valdez felt their strength and warmth. The strength was flowing to him, and the alarm was departing, like fog in the rays of the morning sun.
"Abigail McNeil, your great-grandfather's mother, was captured by the Faata during the first contact with a human ship," Lightwater spoke. "This happened near the Jovian orbit. The medium cruiser Lark, the year 2088. Only three survived that fight with the Faata: Pavel Litvin, the marine commander, and two of his officers, Abby McNeil and her lover Richard Corcoran. He died soon after, but he was considered Paul Corcoran's father. You know that, of course."
"I do," Valdez replied. "But why do you say 'considered'? Richard Corcoran was Paul's father, and our family chronicle–"
"No, he wasn't. The Faata destroyed him, and McNeil was the victim of rape… well, some operation… you call it artificial insemination. So, your great-grandfather Paul Corcoran was half-Faata, and you, Sergey, have one-sixteenth of their blood. You're Faata Trori, a descendant of a higher-caste Faata, who possessed the telepathic gift. They did tell you in flight school, didn't they?.. That the Faata have highly-developed psychic abilities, compared to humans?"
"Of… of course," Valdez managed to utter. The cabin, the ship, and the entire universe started to spin before him, but the pulses of strength coming off the Chief kept him calm. He believed Lightwater's every word. Well, technically, the words only carried information, but the belief was based on a much stronger foundation, on that melding with Cro's mind that he had experienced.
"My visions and premonitions… the ones I get in battle… are they related to this gift?"
"Naturally. Just as the particular qualities of your family, your long period of maturation and your extended life, for the Faata live longer than humans. Your father is over a hundred years old, if I recall." Valdez nodded wordlessly. "Your great-grandfather and grandmother would still be alive today had they not been killed. And your life will be long, very long, if it doesn't end in a tragic event… Take care of it!"
There's the family curse! Valdez thought. But was the alien blood really a curse or a blessing? He hesitated for a moment, weighing the pros and the cons, reflecting on what he had gained, the telepathic gift and a long life, then imagined the fetus, growing in Zantoo's womb, and felt serenity and joy. Curses don't bring happiness, he thought, and she's happy…
Valdez raised his gaze to Cro and asked, "Who knows about this? I mean… umm… about our oddities?"
"As you humans say, only the right authorities. There is the Haley-Chavez Memorandum, where all these events are described, and other classified documents… All that is kept in the USF Secret Service archives."
"And you?.."
"I am one of the emissaries of the Service. That is my primary status, and my secondary…" The Chief chuckled and wiggled his prosthetic fingers. "Well, let's not get into that. One doesn't get in the way of the other."
The timer over the door flashed orange, and Valdez stood up.
"Let's go to the bridge, Cro, we have less than ten minutes until the jump." He shrugged, glanced at the photo of his family. "How strange and amazing all this is! I am human, born on Earth, and, at the same time, I have blood and spiritual ties with aliens… A Lo'ona Aeo female is going to have my child, and there is a long-lived ancestor among the Faata who started our family–"
"He's gone," Lightwater informed him, also getting up. "Dyte, Paul Corcoran's biological father, was a Keeper of Communications in the New Worlds. An outstanding individual, I have to admit, with an incredible telepathic gift! But, I repeat, he's gone."
"Died of an incredibly old age?" Valdez asked, standing at the threshold.
"Hardly. Your great-grandfather and I killed him, on Ro'on, about a hundred and forty years ago. Before Commodore Vrba captured the planet."
A jump, another jump, and yet another… They were separated by long hours, and, while the Ahiros and the Convoy ships had been accelerating and charging for the Limbo submersion, Valdez was reflecting on the past and the present, the turns and zigzags of fate that had connected him to two alien races. One of them was an enemy, the other was his employer, which had not stopped him and his ancestor Corcoran from establishing a personal connection with the aliens, when the abstract concepts of foes or masters suddenly acquired names and turned into beings that could be hated or despised, comforted or loved. Valdez thought that his great-grandfather had been less lucky in such contacts; after all, he'd had to kill Dyte, who was his father, if only from a biological standpoint. He had to assume the latter had deserved it! His own fortune was more favorable, for that personal connection that linked him and Zantoo gave life rather than took it away. Perhaps there was some secret and deep meaning in this, signifying a new move in the game played by all the galactic races, an attempt to reconcile the irreconcilable, to bond what had fallen apart, to return the Daskin age of unity. Although, who knew how their contemporaries had viewed that time! No golden age had even been our age…
In-between jumps, Valdez would visit Zantoo. They no longer floated in the mental space, no longer submerged into the abyss of light, preferring to sit in the gazebo over the sea, which was now completely terrestrial, and look at the tiny island with a palm grove and a lone pine tree. They could zoom in to the island and examine each of its inhabitants in detail, a crab, a lizard, even a person, and, calling up this or that familiar image, Valdez told Zantoo of his loved ones, of the house built by Grandpa Inigo, of the birds and the butterflies that had been transported from the mainland, of the faithful dolphin assistants, of the palm wine made by Father, and of the lilies-of-the-valley grown by Mother in defiance of nature. He also spoke of his studies at the Sydney Academy, of his first landing on Venus and the flights to the Asteroid Belt, of the long, long watches on the bridge of the Rome, and of how the emptiness would suddenly explode, spewing out a stream of battle modules, how ships flared up like stars upon being struck by enemy fire, and how hot plumes of plasma, debris, and dead bodies floated through the darkness of the Void. He told her much, but not a word of his ancestor Corcoran, of his family's blood ties to the Faata, and of his amazing talents. Maybe there was no need for words, and Zantoo felt his uniqueness without them? After all, she had figured out the telepath Cro Lightwater during their first meeting… Valdez didn't ask, and Zantoo didn't say. They had other topics, which were more important than discussions of the Mzani and the Faata.
After the third jump, Valdez suddenly remembered the term of her imprisonment and was horrified. It turned out that the child, their child, no matter what Cro Lightwater had insisted, would spend many years on the Ahiros, grow up surrounded by Servs, cargo, machinery, and the emptiness beyond the walls of the ship. He would not see a single living creature, except Zantoo, his mother-talde, and, perhaps, his human trla named Valdez, who would only stay with him for a short while, a few years, five or six, until he left to fight the Dromi. He would not live in an astroid, go down to the wonderful world of Fayo, dance with the other tiny elves in a magical circle, fly over a lake, or hear the teachings of Ghiaira, Ptayon, and Briani… Truly, a sad fate!
He shared his fears with Zantoo, but she merely smiled. Her punishment had not been exile but isolation and the inability to have offspring; but if an offspring managed to see the light and the darkness, however this happened, the punishment would no longer make sense. This flight would be her last, she told him. She could now return to her astroid, and no one would say a word of reproach: the Lo'ona Aeo listened to the will of destiny, even if it came through only as a barely-audible whisper. And this was definitely not a quiet whisper! Then Zantoo touched her belly with her hand.
Valdez listened to her and thought that a person was like a camel: as soon as one weight was removed, another would already be put on the hump. Their child would be born in the astroid and would not want for affection, care, home comfort, or the fairytale luxury of the Lo'ona Aeo worlds. This would happen! But he would never see him, never pick him up, never hold him… Neither the tiny elf nor the beautiful Zantoo…
"Will we part?" he asked, already seeing the answer in her eyes.
"We will part," she echoed. "I would keep flying with you, Sergey Valdez of Earth, but my people say, 'blessed is the one who leaves at the appropriate time.' And so, I will leave. I cannot give you anything."
"You've already given me so much…"
"And so little!" Zantoo lowered her head and buried her face in her hands. "Her, the other one…" Valdez heard, "the one you sometimes think about… She will give you everything I could not. And when you are with her… when you love each other as humans do… remember me, Sergey Valdez of Earth, remember me as a female of your race. Remember and imagine that she is me."
Inga would hardly like that, Valdez thought, kissing Zantoo's eyes. They turned out to be dry, as the Lo'ona Aeo had no tear ducts.
But her lips were wet and hot.
On their sixth jump, the Ahiros found herself in a slit or arm of space a billion kilometers long, directed towards the galactic North Pole. Orienting by the ship's movement, one could say that below, above, and to the right of her trajectory was a molecular cloud of atomic hydrogen and fine dust, in which the slit was like a needle in a haystack. Not even a needle, but a miniscule hair slightly less than a light hour long, while they were five or six light months from the other edge of the cloud. There was an asteroid belt of some ancient star to their left, whose planetary system had turned to dust and rocks a hundred million years ago. It was madness to try to accelerate in the cloud or the asteroid thicket, so the first-rate vacuum of the slit was a godsend for any navigator. Besides, this object lay at the junction of a number of sectors, and the Haptors, the Dromi, and the Kni'lina made use of it, as well as the Lo'ona Aeo trade ships.
The Ahiros had appeared at the start of the arm and had already crossed a quarter of it, when the Flight Watchers sent the alarm signal. Under its shrill ringing, Valdez, Atigem, and Cro Lightwater rushed onto the bridge, took their assigned seats, sealed their cocoons, and examined the screens. While in the cargo hold, the Lancelot was blind and deaf, but the Driver was relaying the data from the transport ship's video sensors: the edge of the nebula cloud, blazing in a crimson glow, a dense stream of asteroids, and the views of space fore and aft of the ship.
"Yuki Hedo to the Senior Defender," the communicator rustled. "What are the reasons for the alert, sir?"
Hedo, a Japanese ex-officer, was the captain of the Yoshitsune, a k'hi with a fairly experienced Arab crew; the second vessel, the Shiva, was under the command of Bhapal, and her crew was mixed, Hindus and Chinese from Harra, Danwait, and Zaytar. The sensors of the Ahiros were more powerful than those of the Convoy ships, and they, probably, couldn't see the object that was creeping up from behind the caravan. It was barely visible on the Lancelot's viewscreen: three tiny dots and that was it.
"There's a ship following us," Valdez said. "Unknown affiliation. I'll try to get an ID."
He contacted the First Watcher and ordered him to clarify the range and zoom in on the object. It was three hundred and twenty thousand kilometers away, approximately the distance from Earth to Luna, a medium distance in cosmic terms, not too big and not too small. The Driver relayed the image on the starboard tactical screen, where frames started to appear, one after another: the three glowing dots, then dashes, pointed arrows, and, finally, a trio of elongated hulls, joined into one by a flat wing. The central hull was longer and more massive than the other two, with its configuration reminiscent of human cruisers.
"Holy shit! What is that thing?!" Atigem shouted in astonishment.
The Chief raised his prosthetic hand, reached towards the screen, as if trying to touch the image, and said, "It's a ship."
"I can see that it's a ship! Whose is it?"
"More importantly, what sort of a ship is it?" Valdez spoke.
This could turn out to be a harmless passenger liner, a cargo vessel, or a trade ship like the Ahiros, but something told him that the transport ship was being chased by a warship. This knowledge was purely instinctual, borne of the experience of many battles, chases, and border skirmishes; with barely a mental effort, he was assessing the predatory lines of the hull, studied the protrusions that looked like gun turrets, approximated the speed, maneuverability, and the firepower of the unknown ship. He had never encountered a multi-hulled vessel like that before, and, it seemed, Cro Lightwater was also stumped.
Well, it's a big galaxy, Valdez thought and called out to the Lancelot, "Pilot to the ship. Identify the vessel chasing us."
The database in the beyri's memory was much more extensive than that of its human counterparts; the Lo'ona Aeo, who had become a space-traveling race when Neanderthals still roamed the Earth, possessed tons of information. The reply came immediately, "A Haptor warship, Senior Defender. Given that there is a Master aboard, your task–"
"I know my task!" Valdez snapped. "Tactical and technical data on screen! Now!"
Symbols, number, and diagrams started appearing on the monitor. The Haptor Empire lay far from the Earth Federation, humans encountered them infrequently, and the data of the potential of the Hornies had been mainly gathered in the Lo'ona Aeo sector. The incident on Dust Devil was probably the first armed engagement with this race, and not even under an Earth flag; after all, the Lancelot and her crew, as well as the Ahiros, belonged to the Lo'ona Aeo. But those had been small craft that attacked them over the planet of deserts and volcanoes, while this ship was much, much bigger. Possibly a cruiser, Valdez decided.
Atigem shifted in his cocoon, muttering, "Looks like a heavy cruiser, guys! Definitely! See that tube under the middle hull? It's an annihilator, Christ be my witness! If we don't jump, and they catch up to us, we're screwed!"
"I don't think we'll jump in time," Cro called out, looking at the viewscreen.
"No, we won't," Valdez confirmed after requesting the data from the Driver. "This tub's got powerful drives. It's moving faster than a Dromi dreadnought."
Atigem swore, "I knew those Hornies wouldn't leave us alone! Listen, Captain, what if we bring your girl here? Take her and run at full speed? Maybe we'll escape them on the Lancelot?"
"Doubt it." Valdez once again contacted the beyri, ordered the computer to perform the calculation, and shook his head, "The Lancelot won't escape them either. They started accelerating before us and have a greater speed advantage. Plus, we can't abandon the Convoy."
Acceleration was the Achilles heel of all ships in the galaxy, a period when they could be located, attacked, and destroyed. Entering Limbo required significant amounts of energy, produced by a generator at full power when flying at great speeds, not as great as the speed of light, but still reaching, depending on the ship's mass, hundreds or thousands of kilometers per second. The rate of acceleration was also determined by the generator's power output, and the place of Limbo entrance had to be somewhere far from any gravitating objects, stars and planets, as strong gravity fields affected the destination point. All other factors being equal, a vessel that had started accelerating first always had an advantage over its late opponent.
"Driver, connect me to the Yoshitsune and the Shiva," Valdez spoke, and the faces of Hedo and Bhapal appeared on the ceiling monitors. "The Haptor is already on our tail," he informed the Convoy crews. "A cruiser. Armed with an annihilator and multiple plasma cannons. We can't escape them, guys. That's the situation."
"Haptors don't bother our caravans," Yuki Hedo said.
"This one will. Due to… hmm… certain circumstances," Valdez exchanged glances with Cro and Atigem, "I know what the Hornies want. We have a special cargo, so they aren't going to vaporize the transport. They'll catch up, dock, and try to get inside."
Bhapal's swarthy face darkened even more.
"Are we fighting them?" he asked, but Hedo, a former lieutenant commander of the Frontier Fleet, half-closed his narrow eyes and calmly informed him, "They have an annihilator, Bho. They'll vaporize us with a single blast."
"That's true," Atigem confirmed. "Those bastards will put us on the ground, damn them to hell!"
"How long until contact?" Hedo inquired.
Valdez glanced at the screen with the calculations, "About forty-seven minutes."
"What are we going to do, Captain?"
"Your task is to avoid combat and stay close to the transport. Hull to hull, under a common shield, at arm's length. They need the cargo, so they won't use the annihilator. You're safe near the Ahiros."
"I'd sure like to know what we're carrying," Bhapal noted.
"Holy cows from Varanasi," Valdez explained with a chuckle. He had no intension of telling the Convoy crews that there was a living Master on the Ahiros. Moreover, a blue-eyed Mistress in an interesting condition!
Thinking about that, Valdez felt a rush of cold fury. If only he had an annihilator, he could have faced three Haptor cruisers and vaporized them into clouds of dust! What rotten luck… This flight, Zantoo's last, was her path to freedom. She was coming back home, to her family, with the most precious gift that love gave a woman — a child. His child!
He gritted his teeth.
"Relax," Lightwater said quietly, emitting a wave of calm and strength. Hedo and Bhapal were looking down at Valdez from the ceiling screens.
"Any thoughts, boss?" the Japanese man asked.
"A few. Stay under the Ahiros's wing, as I ordered, while we break off their horns. We're going to try, at least."
"You want to get into a fight with the Haptors? So that we have time to jump?" Hedo's eyes became tiny slits. "It'll be difficult to live with myself, if I abandon my comrades before a battle, Senior Defender! If I run away without firing a single shot!"
"I hope you'll refrain from committing seppuku," Valdez said dryly.
A plan had already started forming in his mind, becoming more detailed by the second; time, speed, maneuverability, firepower, armor and shield strength, all the details of the coming fight were being put in their place, calculated, and assessed, as if a tactical computer was working in his head. He knew that he would have time for only a single strike, and that strike would have to be deadly.
"Listen, Hedo…" He glanced at the screens, where the predatory outline of the alien cruiser continued to grow with inevitable persistence. "I'm not going to risk in vain, I want to win, and you can help me with that. You and Bhapal. You are our hope, my friends, and I'm not trying to convince you to run away. Don't jump into Limbo until you pick up what's left of us. And another thing: contact the Servs. Tell them to prepare three hypothermic chambers."
"So that's how it is…" The Japanese and Hindu captains continued to stare at the crew of the Lancelot for a long moment from the ceiling screens, then their hands came up in a salute. "Permission to execute the maneuver, sir?"
"Granted."
Hedo and Bhapal disappeared. Atigem coughed in a deep voice, wiggled his fingers over the gunnery console; like Cro, he didn't need unnecessary explanations. Both of them chuckled, when Valdez ordered them to check the ejection system. Only about twenty minutes remained until the contact with the cruiser.
"I'd like to know how they tracked us down," the Chief said. "Maybe they patrol the entire slit."
"Not with cruisers!"
"Of course not. Beacons are enough… I think they sent the cruiser to be sure. After Dust Devil, they know what we're capable of."
Valdez noted the "we", while Atigem announced with a cheerful grin, "No, they don't, Chief! When we cut off the oxygen to those assholes, then they'll figure out our capabilities, a few seconds before death."
The Yoshitsune and the Shiva moved closer to the transport; their silver hulls were visible on the port and starboard tactical screens.
"They'll catch up to us in about seven minutes," Valdez said. "Let's launch, turn around, and ram them at full speed. Your task, guys, is to shoot down the emitters, or we'll get bogged down in the shield. Shooting will be difficult, since I'll be maneuvering."
"Don't worry, Captain, we'll nail them. We…"
Atigem wanted to add something else, but the iris of the upper hatch opened, and the beyri slipped out into the emptiness like a silver fish. The nebula wrapped them in a crimson glow that hid the stars, and only an ancient red giant, floating beyond the gravesite of its satellites, stared at the ship with its sinister round eye. The distance to the cruiser was still big, but the Lancelot's sensors had already locked onto the target, putting it onto the grid of the tactical screens. The three hulls, the wing connecting them, and the dark maw of the annihilator were visible quite clearly, but Valdez was not yet able to make out the shield emitters.
"Fire on my command," he said, turning the ship around. The grav-compensators gurgled quietly, the enormous transport seemed to jump away into the crimson twilight, the Lancelot's gun barrels shifted, correcting for the maneuver. It's too bad about the ship, Valdez thought. And the UCR, sleeping in the armory. Going to die without even waking up…
"The unknown object is challenging us," the Lancelot suddenly informed them. "Orders, Defender?"
"Since they haven't introduced themselves, don't answer. Full power to the drive. Go!"
The first lightning bolt flashed, the beyri dove, dodging an antiproton strike, and time started to move in rapid leaps. As before, Valdez needed no devices or screens; the landscape of the space battle had somehow moved into his consciousness, where a deadly game was taking place: he was escaping from splashes of hot plasma that were attempting to catch the ship and incinerate the fragile shell that protected the AI and the crew of the Lancelot. His fingers were barely touching the sensor panel, dancing a speedy jig, or sliding in a smooth waltz; the fingers were ten beams that connected the pilot to the ship, but, besides them, there was also a powerful mind-to-mind channel, a mental link of the living intelligence to the nonliving one. Valdez also thought he was sensing some kind of support, as if someone was giving him hints on when the annihilator would discharge, when the Haptor cannons would fire, and where the deadly lightning bolts would fly. He realized it was Cro, good old Cro, friend and Protector! Momentarily returning to the bridge, Valdez examined the monitors and decided that the cruiser was in firing range.
"It's time, guys. Open fire!"
A slight vibration of the ship told him that shots had departed to find their target. A few seconds later, he saw, or rather sensed, since sight had nothing to do with it, the stream of rounds piercing the shield. For the Lancelot, which was fairly massive, the shield was a serious obstacle, but the shots were penetrating it like thin muslin. Volley, volley, and another volley… The tiny arrows hit in three waves, sweeping away shield emitters, tracking antennae, some sort of trusses that connected the hulls to the wing, everything fragile, open, filigree, that was not hidden under armor like turrets. Hundreds of explosions flashed, pricking his brain like sharp needles, and Valdez heard Atigem's voice that seemed to come from a far away, "Got the Hornies! Shall we add some more, Captain?"
"No," he said. "Eject!"
Another slight, barely noticeable, shudder. The cocoons dropped, right into the embrace of escape pods, and the Lancelot jettisoned them into space. Valdez couldn't monitor this process; the moment of shock had passed for the Haptors, and lightning bolt discharges and streams of antimatter were once again playing hide-and-seek with him.
The enemy likely had no idea what he was planning to do. The Haptors were a warlike tribe, but, like all galactic races, they had their own ideas about battles in space and on planets, when to attack or run, what could be sacrificed for victory, the meaning of honor, where heroism began and loyalty to chiefs and ideals ended. Such differences, naturally, came from the psychological makeup and the understanding of the value of life, which, in the end, determined military strategy. In this respect, humans possessed unique experience, for, in their brief history, there had not been a time without someone fighting, burning cities, destroying fortress walls, tricking, trying to fool enemies, doing what some people would call great deeds and others considered the lowest form of insidiousness. Indeed, Julius Caesar and Tamerlane, Hannibal, Napoleon, Suvorov, the leaders of the Vikings and the Huns, the Crusaders and the Arabs, the commanders of the two world bloodbaths and hundreds of local wars, all of them were a secret human weapon, whose power had been felt by the Faata. Now it was the Haptors' turn.
The beyri was nearing the cruiser, and her guns were still not silent. Surprised, Valdez glanced to the side and realized that Cro continued to sit in his cocoon's embrace, firing from all barrels; it seemed he had switched the control of Atigem's two turrets to himself. The rounds were pounding the enemy turrets and the wing, where an enormous hole already gaped.
"Get out!" Valdez hissed through gritted teeth, diving under the cluster of orange lightning bolts. "Leave now!"
"I'm not leaving you," the Chief replied calmly. "It's not as dangerous for me, as–"
"Go! It's not your fight, Cro!"
Lightwater chuckled. His prosthetic was sliding over the gunnery panel.
"Not mine? And what are you fighting for? The Lo'ona Aeo?"
"For my child!"
"It's not your child. I told you that, from a genetic standpoint–"
"Lancelot!" Valdez shouted. "I order you to eject the gunner!"
"Executing, Senior Defender."
Cro's escape pod flew away into the darkness, spinning. The object was extremely tiny; the cruiser was unlikely to detect it at the distance of several thousand kilometers. Ensuring that no lightning bolts were following it, Valdez nodded in contentment. They were no longer trying to vaporize him with a burst of antimatter, firing only the plasma throwers. He was nearing the enemy with each passing second and was now so close that the cruiser's armor plating might not be able to handle a matter-antimatter explosion.
It seemed to him that the Haptors still had no idea what he was planning.
"Lancelot! Do you hear me, Lancelot?"
"Yes, Senior Defender."
"We'll hit the central hull. We need to open up the antimatter tank."
"This is sensible, Defender. The lateral hulls contain only gravity drives and weapons."
"I will direct the ship into the annihilator's maw and eject. You will do the rest."
"Yes, Defender."
The cruiser's enormous bulk was getting rapidly closer. The timer in Valdez's head was counting down the final moments.
"You're an excellent warrior, Lancelot. I'm proud to have flown with you."
"As am I, Defender. You are saving a Master. May my life be a payment for yours."
The chair slid down, and the tight walls of the escape pod closed around Valdez. The Lancelot threw him out into space, clumps of the crimson cloud and the occasional stars spun in a rapid dance, and a telepathic pulse showed him the final image: the silver dart of the beyri plunging into the maw of the enormous cruiser. Then there was the blinding flash of an explosion, fountains of protuberances striking out, and a predatory flaming tongue reaching for the pod.
That was the last thing Valdez remembered.
