DTrelna looked up from his desk complink. "I really hate this, H'Nar," he said to L'Wrona, sitting in front of the desk. "Had I known when they gave me these"-he tapped the stylized, four-pointed silver star on each collar- "that I'd be confined to quarters half the watch, filling out moronic reports…"
Implacable'*captain smiled. "You're only happy when the battle klaxon's banging away, J'Quel.
"How's Harrison doing?" he asked, changing the subject.
"Better." DTrelna stared at the complink, not really seeing it. "Sick Bay says his new heart's holding. They'll be waking him up soon."
"When can we debrief him?"
"Two days, local."
L'Wrona rose, walking to the armor glass. He stood looking at theV'Tran's Glory for a moment, then turned to DTrelna. "We don't know what happened on Terra Two yet. That bothers me, J'Quel."
"Guan-Sharick told Sutherland the portal's gone, H'Nar.
That'll have to do for now. Medical won't bring him out of it until regeneration's over."
"I hate taking that bug's word for anything."
"Only for now, H'Nar. Only for now.
"Computer, resume."
"Resuming," said the too-perfect voice. "State composition and current tactical deployment of task force and reason for such deployment.''
"Computer, just copy the last entry under this category and change date to current."
"Illegal command."
D'Trelna's face flushed dangerously. "Computer, nothing has changed since the previous entry. Copy the previous entry."
"All entries of this nature must be original."
D'Trelna reached for the large crystal water carafe.
"Damaging a remote terminal will not injure main computer," said computer. It had lost five other screens beneath the same hairy hand before discovering that disingenuous sentence.
"Blood pressure, J'Quel," warned L'Wrona. "Blood pressure."
"Very well." The carafe returned to the desktop. "Composition of force: two vessels. The L'Aal-class battle cruiserImplacable, Captain Lord Captain H'Nar L'Wrona, Margrave of U'Tria, commanding. And the S'Rin-class destroyerV'Tran's Glory, Captain H'Tan S'Tur commanding. Both warships are in geosynchronous orbit one hundred and seventeen standard units above the planet Terra. Task force is awaiting Fleet reevaluation of original mission versus current situation, planet Terra. See previous reports. Terra Two, cross references Shalan-Actal, Guan-Sharick and John Harrison, file number…
"Computer, will you condescend to insert the reference number?"
"Of course, Commodore."
"Thank you. End and file."
"Filed." The screen blanked, quickly folding back into the comparative safety of the desktop.
D' Trelna shook his head. "I really hate that machine."
"It's only a machine, J'Quel-it's not malevolent."
"Maybe." D'Trelna sat up, opening the top drawer of his desk. "Let's talk about malevolent machinery." He held out the golden triangle. "Here."
L'Wrona took it, looking at the device set into the metal: silver starship against a gold sun, a blue eye in each corner of the triangle.
"Early Empire," said L'Wrona, holding it up to the light. "Fourth Dynasty at the most. And beautifully detailed-the eyes are uncanny." He set it on the desktop.
"Under magnification, those eyes have a retina pattern- the same retina pattern."
"Interesting. Where'd you get it?"
"Harrison brought it back from Terra Two."
L'Wrona's eyes widened. "How…?"
"How, indeed?"
"T'ata?"
"No, thank you."
D'Trelna tapped out a command, then took a steaming cup of brown liquid from the desk beverager.
"Harrison was briefly conscious on the way to the hospital. He gave that triangle to McShane-taken from a destroyed killer machine." The commodore sipped his tea.
"You ran it?"
D'Trelna nodded, setting down the t'ata. "You were close, H'Nar. Third Dynasty-the House of D'Lan."
The captain sat down on the chair. "Gods. The Machine Wars."
"Correct. The Empire built self-replicating, self-improving helpers. Said helpers decided man was obsolete. Man thought otherwise. Empire tottered, Fleet reeled, Emperor and dynasty fell-but machines were wiped out."
"Then these aren't the machines Pocsym warned against- they can't be," said L'Wrona. "Those machines predated man by millennia."
"Insufficient data, as our tame computer would say." D'Trelna thoughtfully circled the cup rim with a thick finger. "I would like very much to get to Terra Two."
"You can't-not if Harrison destroyed the portal."
"There may be another way." He turned, staring through the armorglass at Earth and the Moon beyond.
A silver spacecraft drifted by, running on n-gravs for the hangar deck aft.
"Shuttle coming in." He glanced at the wall chronometer. "American, I believe. If it's more social scientists with those quaint recording machines and inane questions, I'm hiding."
"But they're so earnest, J'Quel," said L'Wrona.
The commodore raised an eyebrow. "You were certainly very earnest with that lovely young anthropologist- the one who shared your quarters, for what? two watches?"
L'Wrona blushed. "You're a voyeur, D'Trelna."
'' Bored-merely bored.''
A moment later, the alert klaxon brought them to their feet, startled.
"Battle stations. Battle stations." The view through the armorglass blurred as the shield went to battle force.
"This is no drill," warned the bridge. "This is no drill."
D'Trelna took an MK 1A from his desk.
"Command officers to the bridge. Command officers to the bridge."
Weapons in hand, the two rushed into the corridor. Officers and crew filled the passageways, running for their posts.
Captain and commodore burst onto the bridge, the battle klaxon still rattling through the long miles of the ship.
"Status," said L'Wrona to the XO, Commander T'Lei K'Raoda.
"Mr. Sutherland…" began the young officer.
"I requested T'Lei bring the ship to alert, H'Nar," said Bill Sutherland. The CIA Director stood to their right, by navigation.
"What is the nature of the emergency?" asked L'Wrona, eyes flicking to the tacscan up on the main board. Terran communications satellites, space junk andV'Tran's Glory standing five units off to port. AH green plotted, all normal.
The battle klaxon stopped.
"As I was having breakfast this morning, Guan-Sharick appeared, au naturel, said four words and vanished. I left the granola scattered over the floor and grabbed the next shuttle from Andrews. I didn't dare use the commnet."
"What did the bug say?" asked D'Trelna.
The nearest bridge crew pretended not to listen.
"He said, 'The portal is back.' "
"Shit," said D'Trelna in English. He sank into the flag officer's chair, behind and above the captain's.
"High alert, Commander K'Raoda," ordered L'Wrona. "All S'Cotar countermeasures into effect."
"He also said to warn you-the machines need another star drive to punch through to their home universe. They'll be coming for one of yours."
"Sir, V'Tran's' shield has been down for half the watch," said K'Raoda.
L'Wrona and D'Trelna exchanged worried glances. "T'Lei, why didn't you report that?" asked the captain.
"It's only an anomaly during high alert, sir."
D'Trelna shook his head mumbling something. He punched into the commnet. "Commodore toV'Tran's Glory."
A woman's round face filled his commscreen. She was about D'Trelna's age, with close-cropped, graying hair. The bottom edge of the pickup just caught the gleam of the starship captain's silver insignia on her collar.
"How's that shield coming, H'Tan?" asked D'Trelna.
"Just about ready, Commodore," she said. "We'd have had it sooner, but I'm short three shield techs. Shore leave."
D'Trelna grunted. "Very well. Keep me posted." His finger paused over the cutoff.
"Oh, H'Tan. Just got a skipcomm from Fleet." He smiled knowingly. "Admiral T'Bul sends you his warmest compliments."
The destroyer captain's face brightened. "D'Trelna, you've made my watch."
"And you mine," said D'Trelna as her image disappeared. He swiveled the chair to face L'Wrona. "I think we should sendV'Tran's Glory our warmest compliments, H'Nar."
"Agreed." Face a graven mask, he turned to K'Raoda."V'Tran's Glory is taken, T'Lei. Blow her away."
K'Raoda had heard the exchange between D'Trelna and the destroyer. Calling up gunnery control, far amidships, he began speaking softly into the commnet, face pale and angry.
"Good God!" said Sutherland, aghast. "Are you sure?"
D'Trelna nodded wearily. "S'Tur would never let more than one shield tech go at a time. No competent captain would. And S'Tur is.. . was very competent."
"But…" protested the Terran.
"Admiral T'Bul's been dead for ten years, Bill," said L'Wrona. "He died in our first battle with the S'Cotar. He and S'Tur had a brief marriage contract. It didn't end pleasantly. She cheered his death posting."
"Gunnery will not fire without authenticated confirmation from both captain and commodore," reported K'Raoda.
"Target's shield just came up," reported T'Ral from the tactics console. "Battle force. I've implemented broad-spectrum countermeasures."
"Ahead flank," ordered L'Wrona. "Full evasive pattern. Prepare for hostile fire."
D'Trelna slammed down the commnet switch. "Gunnery! T'Laka! D'Trelna! Flanking Councilor seven to Ar-chon two. You open fire or I'll kick your teeth in!"
Both ships fired as one, thick red fusion beams lashing from squat, gray weapons blisters, tearing at each other's shields-shields that turned red as the moments dragged by. Five minutes into the battle, and the destroyer's shield began sliding into umbra, the new color lapping out in concentric circles from the beam points.
"We outgun him ten to one," said D'Trelna to Sutherland. "He can't outrun us. Even if he made jump point, he'd have to drop his shield to jump. We'd vaporize him with a missile." They watched as the umbra blazed into scarlet, obscuring the other ship.
"Why isn't he favoring us with one of their famous suicide runs, H'Nar?" asked the commodore. "He can't last much longer."
As he spoke, V'Tran's Glory ceased firing, its shield slowly changing back to umbra.
"He's diverting weapons energy to shield," said the captain, punching into a tactics readout.
"Buying time," said D'Trelna. "For what?" He checked his own instruments, then looked back at the screen, squinting.
"T'Lei, split screen. Give me base-plus-five magnification, grids one-seven by two-five. There's a color anomaly and he's headed right for it."
The screen split, the right still showingV'Tran's Glory, encased in the blazing cocoon of its shield, moving at flank, and a growing circle of something blacker than even the obsidian of space-something blotting out the stars as it expanded.
"Maximus," said Sutherland. "It's like the Maximus portal Guan-Sharick described, only bigger, spaceborne. That ship's headed for Terra Two."
"Gunnery," snapped L'Wrona. "Full missile salvo. Now!"
Missiles flashed from their launch blisters, long silver needles closing onV'Tran's Glory as she slipped through the portal.
Where the hole in space had been, stars shone again. The missiles continued on, straight for the Lesser Magellanic Clouds.
"Gone," said L'Wrona.
"Confirmed," said K'Raoda, checking the full battlescan.
"Gone to Terra Two." Sutherland sank into a vacant chair. "Why?"
D'Trelna shook his head, grim-faced. "Any number of unpleasant possibilities. With the excitement over, we'll have to…"
"Alert. Alert." It was computer. "Incoming ordnance. Incoming ordnance."
K'Raoda punched tacscan up on the big screen. Five arrows were converging on the central blip ofImplacable. "Our missiles are coming home."
"Run for jump point, T'Lei," said LWrona. "Gunnery, destruct those missiles."
There was a brief pause. "They don't respond, sir."
"The shield will have to take it," said L'Wrona.
"They're queuing," said K'Raoda, looking up from a telltale. The five arrows were now in a straight line, chasingImplacable as she fled outsystem. The XO typed a rapid series of commands to the hull sensors. "And they're shielded," he said, looking to L'Wrona.
"Try for jump point, H'Nar," said D'Trelna. "T'Ral," he said to the tactics officer, "change shield frequency- random setting."
"What the hell's going on?" asked Sutherland.
"Sabotage," said D'Trelna. "Someone-something-has gotten to our missiles. Only a shield can penetrate another shield-if they have the same shield frequency. But shield frequencies are changed daily-randomly programmed, manually implemented by Weapons. So all missiles are unshielded. One counts on fusion fire to weaken the enemy's enough for simultaneous missile hits to punch through. Someone's gone to the trouble of shielding those missiles- someone on this ship-smart money says those missiles and our main shield are now on the same frequency."
"Which you're changing," said Sutherland.
D'Trelna looked back at K'Raoda. The XO was reentering the same data command again, scowling. "Smart money also says whoever could infiltrate our physical and programming security could imbed a frequency-lock command."
Gripping the bridge railing, Sutherland looked at the screen. Implacable was speeding toward the glowing blue circle of the jump point, but the missiles were closing even faster.
"Shield programming's dead-trapped," said T'Ral. "Change shield frequency now and the shield fails."
"I sense a master's tentacle in this, H'Nar," said D'Trelna. "Are we going to make it?"
"Computer says almost," said L'Wrona with a tight smile.
D'Trelna shook his head. "I will not be killed by my own weapons. It's embarrassing." The commodore sat silent, brooding as the gap between ship and missiles grew slim.
The bridge was very quiet, all eyes hypnotized by the five needles of death now only a few heartbeats away.
"H'Nar!" said D'Trelna, coming out of his chair. "If the compensator programming's not tied into those missile shields…"
L'Wrona swore-a rarity. "Gunnery, on my order, hit the lead missile."
"Acknowledged."
"T'Ral, advise me the instant their shields drop. "T'Lei, drop our shield."
K'Raoda typed an authenticator, followed by a command. "Shield down, sir."
"Gunnery, fire!"
Touching the lead missile, the fusion beam triggered its warhead. A miniature sun blossomed where the missiles had been, vanishing as cheers swept the bridge.
"What happened?" asked Sutherland.
"Counter-programming in our missiles allows them to compensate for certain changes in target status," said D'Trelna. Sitting down again, he dialed up a cup of t'ata. "Target turns, missile turns, it speeds up, the missile speeds up, it jams, the missile counterjams. But shield-ing's not a category-those weapons aren't shield-bearing design. And, for complex but perfectly logical reasons, a shield would have to have been set through the counter-programming.
"We dropped our shield; the missiles dropped their shields." He sipped his t'ata. "And so, unlike the crew ofV'Tran's Glory, we live."