The Battle for Terra Two (25 page)

"I tried," he said, stepping around the console. "She was shouting too loudly."

"I'm listening," she said coldly.

"Our machine friends could have turned you into a carrier of some very deadly latent bacillus," he said, meeting her look. "Anyone coming in contact with you would also have become a carrier. After a year, the bacillus would activate, killing you, everyone you'd passed it to, everyone they'd passed it to, on into infinity. Not so long and your world would be free of people."

Heather had grown very pale. "This has happened before?" she asked in a small voice.

Q'Nil nodded. "Long time ago. The Machine Wars. But under strikingly similar circumstances. Captive found, taken home, embraced by family and friends."

"And a world died?" she said.

"A quadrant died. Over two hundred inhabited planets, half a trillion people." He walked to the food server, punching up a cup of soup. "It's still there, on the star charts—the Plague Quadrant. The corpses are dust, the buildings and machines in ruins, cities overgrown. Fleet sends robot probes in now and then, taking samples—the Plague's still there, latent, awaiting a carrier. Formidable automated defense networks keep those planets and their buried wealth safe from greedy madmen—and us safe from the bacillus. Ironic that machines protect us from what machines wrought.

"Something to eat?" he asked, blowing gently on hot, clear liquid.

They shook their heads.

"Come on, lady," said John. "I'll give you a tour of
Implacable."

"Fine." She turned at the door. "Sorry I was such a jerk, Q'Nil. Thanks."

"Happiness and long life, MacKenzie," he said, saluting her with upraised cup. He stepped to the commlink as the door closed. "Well?" demanded D'Trelna.

"They dosed her with a binary agent, Commodore. I almost missed it."

"What is a binary agent?"

"A war bacillus harmless in itself. Call it type zero. If type zero meets the other half of the equation, though
..."

"Type one?"

"Yes—type one. Each mutates the other into the same deadly, highly communicable killer."

"So what good does it do for them to have just type zero walking around on Terra Two?"

"They must have seeded the locals with type one when they held Maximus, Commodore. MacKenzie's type zero would spread from person to person, remaining in their systems, even as type one is now spreading. They'd inevitably meet and the Plague would start."

"We came that close," D'Trelna held thumb and forefinger slightly apart, "to another corpse world?"

"We did."

D'Trelna sat silent for a moment, looking at the status board without seeing it. He turned back to the commlink. "She's clean now?"

"More than clean." He sipped his lukewarm soup. "She'll be spreading a counter bacillus that destroys both binary types."

"Thank you, Q'Nil."

"Oh, Commodore?"

"Yes?" D'Trelna's finger paused over the comm switch. "The primary bacillus—the killer—it's the one used against the Empire. It's the Plague Quadrant bacteria."

"You look good," said John as they walked down the corridor, heading for the lift. "Especially for someone who's been held in the brig for about a month."

"When I came tumbling through that portal, I was sure they'd kill me," she said. "Instead they put me in detention—and ignored me. I learned how to use the food machine. And the entertainment link was a godsend. It's programmed for English. Anything you want to know about the S'Cotar, the biofab war, I can tell you, as long as it was in ship's computer. I can even read some K'Ronarin.

"When can I go home?" she asked, as they reached the lift.

"A couple of hours," said John, pushing the calltab. "D'Trelna wants to get back to Terra One." The lift arrived, announcing itself with a faint ping.

"You'll be delighted to know," he said, as they boarded, "that an old friend will be joining you on the flight home."

"Come," called Hochmeister as the door chimed. He sat at his cabin's small desk, looking at a page of closely written notes.

D'Trelna came in, attired in his usual rumpled brown duty uniform.

"Ah, Commodore," said Hochmeister. "Have a seat." The drab K'Ronarin uniform seemed made for him.

"Thank you, no," said D'Trelna. "We've finished testing the portal device aboard our destroyer, Admiral. We're leaving this charming universe almost immediately. Where would you like us to set you down?"

"Berlin. Midday, midweek, atop the Brandenburg Gate. I'd appreciate it if the shuttle could approach booming out Wagner—'The Ride of the Valkyries,' I think."

"Admiral
..."

"Just joking, Commodore," he said with a smile. Taking off his bifocals, he set them atop his notepad and looked up at D'Trelna, hands folded. "My home is Dresden, a quaint city of the baroque. There're a number of parks. Just slip me into one at night. I'll take a cab."

"Fine." He stepped to the door.

"You don't like me, do you, Commodore?"

"Like you?" frowned D'Trelna, turning back. He shook his head. "No, I don't like you, Admiral. Oh, you're a cultured, intelligent man—you can be quite charming when you want to be. But you have the soul of an Imperial Security Master—you're a tireless and ruthless servant of Order. Happily, people like you are rare. Perhaps you kill each other off."

"Peace, Commodore," said Hochmeister easily. "I serve the peace."

D'Trelna shrugged. "Call it what you will.

"Please be ready to leave in an hour. I'll send an officer to escort you to hangar deck." He left the room, the door hissing shut behind him.

As Hochmeister picked up his glasses, the door chimed again.

It was D'Trelna. "You've piqued my curiosity, Admiral," he said before Hochmeister could speak. "You've been on board for a week, have left only once, and are logging almost continuous computer time. What the hell are you doing?"

"Just being a policeman, Commodore—serving Order. You have a S'Cotar on this ship."

D'Trelna glanced out the armorglass. The stars shimmered faintly, their light distorted by the shield. "Impossible."

"Guan-Sharick is on board. Probably since you defeated the S'Cotar off Terra One."

The commodore sat down facing the desk. "Explain."

"Certainly. I've spent my time reviewing your records. First for my own information, then to quell a suspicion. The suspicion merely grew.

"Who told you about Maximus, Commodore?"

"Guan-Sharick, of course."

"Yes. Guan-Sharick. Teleported aboard and walked into your cabin with a bottle of premium brandy. Shock. Amazement. Consternation.''

"Yes."

"Guan-Sharick's briefing was interrupted. Remember?"

"Someone called." D'Trelna shook his head. "It's been a while."

The admiral reached for the desk complink. "I envy you your technology," he said, entering a command.

"The prophylactic that protects our civilization from infectious creativity," said the commodore as Hochmeister swiveled the monitor to face him.

"I like that," said the admiral.

"As true now as when first written, four thousand years ago.

"Half the screen's my log entry of Guan-Sharick's visit," said D'Trelna, reading the data. "The other half's a maintenance downtime log for the shield."

"Note the times."

D'Trelna saw it. He looked up, startled. "The S'Cotar arrived while the shield was up, he
left
when it was down."

"Correct," said the admiral, swinging the monitor back and disconnecting the complink. The screen folded itself neatly into the desk top, blending with the yellow t'raqwood veneer. "That was the only time your shield had been down since you first arrived in the Terran system."

"One of us," said D'Trelna, pinching the bridge of his nose, looking pained. "One of us."

"Yes—if it's true the S'Cotar can't teleport through a shield."

"They can't."

He looked at Hochmeister, eyes narrowed. "Who?"

The admiral spread his hands. "I didn't know, but I
thought an alien clever enough to infiltrate an enemy ship for so long would know where to set tripwires—early warnings of an investigation. Matching of those two log entries we just viewed would be a logical tripwire. An alert has no doubt now been triggered to someone on this ship." He touched the beverager, producing a cup of fata.

D'Trelna glanced at the door. "Someone who'll come to silence you." *

Hochmeister shook his head. "No. Someone who is already here."

"You're very clever, Admiral," said Guan-Sharick.

"You're not D'Trelna, are you?"

"No. That capable lump's on his way to the bridge." The transmute looked around the room, then at the door. "No rush of commandos, Admiral?"

"No." He grimaced as he sipped the t'ata. "Hideous drink." He set it aside.

"Herbal. Very healthy.

"Why did you ferret me out?" The blonde replaced D'Trelna's image.

"Amazing how you do that," said the admiral. He rose, walking to the armorglass window and its view of Terra Two. "I need you. I promised the gangers I would help them—negotiations, profound changes in the way

America is run. Many in Germany fear a united America. I don't—they're no threat without the bomb. I can influence our side into neutrality while the gangers talk with their government." He faced the blonde.

"It's the American side that I can't control. For that, I need you. How many effectives have you left inside their government?"

"How did you know?"

Hochmeister shrugged. "Something was happening at the second-secretary level. In light of later data, it had to be you."

"I see. There're three that Shalan missed. Why?"

"I want you to use them in any way necessary to see that an accord is reached between the gangers and the government. A fair and equitable accord—UC is to be disbanded, the cities rebuilt."

"I'd have thought you had a warm spot for Urban Corps, Admiral."

The admiral shrugged. "Just playing a role. I was there to investigate suspicions regarding Maximus. Colonel Aldridge was a superb cover."

"You fooled a master," conceded the S'Cotar. "So, I do what you say, and then what?"

"Then you're free."

"Did I miss something?" asked the blonde. "Why shouldn't I just kill you?"

Hochmeister walked back to the desk. He stood, looking down at the S'Cotar. "Because I've recorded and hidden my suspicions and evidence about you deep in ship's computer. A routine report to computer of my death or disappearance would trigger a wide dissemination of that file. D'Trelna and L'Wrona would tear this ship apart with their bare hands to find you."

"I could steal the access code from your dying mind."

The admiral shook his head. "Probably not before my mind died." He tapped his teeth with a fingernail. "L-pill in a hollow tooth. Fast."

The S'Cotar was silent for a moment. "Very well, Admiral. It costs me nothing.

"I must return with this ship. However, my transmutes will report to you upon your return. When their mission's accomplished to your satisfaction, you will give them the access code to that file."

"They'll be leaving the portal open for a while, then?"

The blonde nodded. "The plan is to post a few ships off Terra Two—just to make sure there are no slimy green bugs left."

"I'm leaving tonight," the admiral said as the S'Cotar stood.

"I know. They're putting you and MacKenzie down on a scan-shielded shuttle. With the Maximus site obliterated, there's no trace of an alien presence on the planet."

They walked to the door. "It's probably being explained as a secret project gone wrong," said Hochmeister.

"Not a total lie."

"So, do we have a deal, Guan-Sharick?"

"We have a deal, Admiral," said the S'Cotar. They shook hands, Hochmeister feeling the S'Cotar's grip as firm, dry and human. Guan-Sharick was gone.

Bemused, the Admiral looked at his hand, then went back to the desk and stuffed his notes into the disposer.

"Well, this is it, then?" said Heather as they stopped at the foot of the shuttle. Hangar deck was back to normal now, blaster gouges along the walls the only trace of battle.

"This is it," said John. He handed her the green backpack he'd just taken from his quarters.

"What's in here?" she asked, unlacing the nylon cord.

"A belated gift from Prometheus," he said, watching her remove the thick, black bound book. "One of the oddities of our civilization the K'Ronarins were shipping home. They can always get another."

"On the Construction of Atomic and Thermonuclear Weapons,"
she read. "But we know bomb theory."

"Theory." He tapped the book. "This tells you how— bomb casings, fissionable materials, detonators.

"You do have fissionable material?"

She nodded, thumbing excitedly through the manual. "Five German-managed power plants reprocess PU-239 through us." She looked up. "We've been saving a small percentage of it—conditioned the auditors to believe that five percent of any run is MUF—Material Unaccounted For.

"In a year, we're going to have our own nuclear force." She slipped the book into the backpack. "There's going to be a big geopolitical shakeout." She kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you."

"My pleasure," he smiled. "Luck to you."

"And to you," she said, holding out her hand. John shook it, looking for the last time into those cool green eyes.

Hochmeister arrived, wearing his old UC uniform and escorted by K'Raoda. "So, it's good-bye, then?" he said to John.

"For now, Admiral. But who knows? We're only a reality away."

"May I take your bag, Captain MacKenzie?" asked Hochmeister.

"Thank you, Admiral," she said, handing him the backpack. She winked at John, then turned and bounded up the stairs. Hochmeister followed.

John watched the shuttle drift silently down the deck, penetrate the air curtain and vanish, a silver ship dwindling in size against the blue-green bulk of Terra Two.

He was halfway to the bridge when the battle klaxon sounded.

"Shuttle launching," reported K'Lana. "And
V
'Tran's Glory
advises ready to intitiate portal."