Only once had Harrison and D’Trelna encountered biofabs: two sentries, head-shot before they could raise an alarm.
Cautiously peering around yet another curve in the seemingly endless corridor, the two men spotted a small group of biofabs busily erecting a barricade before a set of opened blast doors. The barricade faced the other way. The S'Cotar's backs were to them.
"D’Trelna to POCSYM," whispered the Captain for the hundredth time.
"Sorry for the inconvenience, Captain." POCSYM's voice was as assured as ever. "I've finally circumvented the biofabs' commbloc. You are at the control facility?"
"Yes. What's the status of the Fleet Commando?"
"They're twenty minutes from you, Captain, and coming fast. They have taken heavy casualties. I'm in contact with Commander L'Wrona."
"Can you put us in touch with them?" asked John.
There was a pause, a brief hum, then, "Captain, are you all right?" asked L'Wrona, concern in his voice.
"We're fine. What about you? POCSYM says you've sustained heavy casualties."
L'Wrona quickly sketched the raid's progress.
"There are just a few biofabs at the control facility," reported D'Trelna. "Why is that, POCSYM?"
"Many of this garrison went to man the ships you annihilated, Captain. The rest are busy trying to destroy your commandos or on their way to aid that effort. This is a large installation, though, so you still have a brief period of grace before Gaun-Sharick marshals his forces."
"It's hardly been a cotillion so far," said L'Wrona.
"They've overcome all my attempts to block their route of march, Commander. But I still control most missile and beam defenses. And I've put a crimp in their teleportation. Reinforcements are approaching by traveltube.
"Fail at the control area, though, and you'll have a much warmer reception on the way back."
"L'Wrona, this is John Harrison. I think the Captain and I can take that control room. Do you agree, J'Quel?"
The officer nodded. "I've been saving something special for just such an occasion." He tossed John a small black ball. "Stun grenade. Push the little button on the top, then throw. Detonates on contact.
"We'll take that control room, H'Nar, and hold it till you arrive. Ready?"
The Terran nodded.
"Toss on three. One. Two. Three."
They chucked their grenades, then hugged the wall. As the teeth-rattling blast ended, the men charged around the corner. Blasting the stunned warriors, they dived between the closing doors.
The room was half the size of Implacable'^ bridge. John counted twelve consoles, screens and equipment banks. Hearing a noise to his left, he ducked just as a bolt of raw, blue energy flashed by, blasting into the rear wall.
Rolling for cover, the men came up firing at the third console, blowing it apart in an explosion of flame and sparks. A S'Cotar ran crookedly from behind it, exoskeleton aflame. D'Trelna killed it with a negligent flip of his wrist.
"That's it," said John a moment later, after they'd carefully checked the room.
"Yes, but the door's broken," the K'Ronarin observed, pointing at the entrance. The blast doors stood a yard apart, unmoving. "I'll patrol the corridor. See if you can get POCSYM's damage fixed." Easing his ample form through the narrow opening, the Captain vanished.
"Okay, POCSYM," John said to the air, "it's your show. What now?"
"It's always been my show, Mr. Harrison. It still is.
"On the fifth console to your right, there's a large red button labeled 'Fire Extinguisher.' It's the manual override. Please push it."
Holstering his blaster, John walked the few paces to the console, found the button and pushed. "Well?" he asked.
There was a brief silence. "Alas! They're very much alive, including the company now advancing down the corridor. I have alerted Captain D'Trelna."
"Sorry, POCSYM," John said wearily, walking to the door. "But I've no faith left in you deus ex machina types.
"J'Quel!" he called, stepping into the hall. "POCSYM says more biofabs are coming."
"I know." The Captain had settled behind the half-finished barricade. "He told me. How are you doing?"
"There are problems."
"Now what?" he asked, slipping back into the control room.
"Open the inspection hatch by turning the two fasteners at the upper corners clockwise.
"Now drop the panel and stand aside so I can see."
As he waited, John noticed two things: the machine's inside, evidently once a delicate, crystalline web, was now a fused blob. And the whine of blasters was coming from outside.
"I was afraid of that." POCSYM sighed.
D'Trelna backed hastily through the doorway, firing as he came. Blue bolts shot in after him, gouging chunks out of the wall. Some of the equipment began to burn.
Ignoring the destruction behind them, the two men knelt to either side of the opening, sweeping the passageway with a deadly crossfire. There was a sudden lull in the attack. D'Trelna risked a quick look.
"Not much cover behind that barricade," he observed. "They're falling back to regroup."
They both looked down, checking their weapons.
"So, what are you going to do after the war, John?" asked D'Trelna, slipping a fresh clip into his blaster. "At the risk of sounding banal."
"At the risk of sounding banal, J'Quel," Harrison said with a slight smile, eyes on the corridor, "I don't know. Before my friends and I stumbled into all this"-his free hand circled above his head-"I was going with the woman I love to a tiny country surrounded by enemies. Build a new life, raise a family, make a stand for a few simple verities."
"Ah, yes. The simple verities." The Captain nodded, smiling gently. "It's been a long time since I've seen some of them. Good friends, a shared life, peace in the land, joy in the children. Those sorts of things?"
"Yes." He glanced at D'Trelna. "Those sorts of things. But now
…"
"But now you don't know."
"No. Oh, I still love Zahava. But this war-assuming we win-will open the galaxy to us, to Terra. Just the realization of that may well sweep away many of the underpinnings of my life-of several billion lives. In a decade I suspect that much of the political and cultural reality I've known will be supplanted by… what? You've brought us a large question mark, my Captain," he concluded quietly. "And what about you, J'Quel. Is your future as ambiguous?"
The Captain shook his head. "More settled, perhaps. I've got some back pay, savings, a modest pension and a brother-in-law who needs help running a cargo line. The guilds are eating him alive."
"I didn't know you had a sister."
"I don't."
"You're married-I mean, you have marriage?"
"Yes, I'm married." D'Trelna smiled. "And we do have marriage customs. Most of the societies in the Zone-I'm S'Htarian-practice polygamy. I'm away too much for that so R'Enna and I have a monogamous contract. K'Ronar Sector is strictly monogamous. As with much else, you might look to them for the origins of your mostly monogamous world."
He glanced down the corridor. "Here they come."
Raising their pistols, the men opened fire.
The return fire, closer than before, set more of the room on fire, filling it with an acrid, poisonous smoke. "They're working their way along the wall." D'Trelna coughed. "They'll toss a grenade in here soon."
"POCSYM, can't you do something about this smoke?" John managed to choke out.
"I have only observation functions left in this section. Sorry."
"Damned if I'm going to die of smoke inhalation. Let's take 'em." D’Trelna nodded.
Eyes streaming, they charged into the corridor, weapons ablaze.
L'Wrona rounded the bend at the head of the column just as D'Trelna and Harrison charged through the smoke, pouring a murderous fire into the S'Cotar. "Assault!" he shouted, firing even as the biofabs spotted the commandos.
The S'Cotar made a spirited stand. But though a match for the K'Ronarins in numbers, weapons and discipline, they had no warsuits. Their forward ranks blasted away by the troopers, their flank harried by the two men flitting in and out of the smoke, the warriors were soon compressed into a small, ragged square. A final volley of grenade and blaster fire finished them.
Gasping, their eyes bloodshot, D'Trelna and Harrison were given a boisterous reception by the attack force.
John was glad to trade the metallic air of the warsuit D'Nir brought him for the corridor's stench: burning machine and burnt flesh, both biofab and human. It'd been steadily tugging at his stomach.
A slight, wiry figure ran from the last subsection to arrive, throwing her arms around John, an embrace made cumbersome by rifle and helmet.
"You're all right?" they both asked at once, then burst into laughter.
"Andre and I are," the woman lied, trying to hide her arm. "But Bill's badly wounded. He's been medivaced to Vigilant."
"You are hurt!" Gently, John tugged Zahava's arm into sight from behind her back. "Why didn't you go back with the wounded?" he demanded angrily. "Ever the hero!"
"I'm a soldier!" the Israeli retorted, just as angry. "Don't think that just because you're a man…"
A few yards away, another heated exchange was taking place.
"You're on a fool's errand, H'Nar," said D'Trelna, wearily pulling a warsuit on over his begrimed uniform. "POCSYM can't destroy the S'Cotar. The damage is too extensive. Once again, biofabs have bested their maker."
L'Wrona's joy at finding his friend alive was replaced by anger.
"I left a trail of ashes getting here, J'Quel. The ashes of good men-boys, most of them. And now you're telling me they died for nothing!*." He snapped the last word, glaring.
POCSYM's voice filled the air, ending the conversation. "The fault is mine. I underestimated the S'Cotar capacity for innovation and foresight. I have created a Frankenstein's monster, Mr. Harrison, Miss Tal, Colonel. A R'Actol Plague, Captain, Commander. Unlike those constructs' creators, though, I will accept the consequences of my actions.
"Reactors are now running to critical. You have ninety minutes to retrace your steps."
D'Trelna and L'Wrona exchanged alarmed looks. "Can we do it?" asked the Captain.
"Very little margin for error. Certainly not enough to live on, J'Quel." He managed a humorless smile, shrugging his shoulders. "Hell, we're not going to sit here praying.
"Prepare to move out! Section leaders, pick up your wounded. We're leaving on the double."
"POCSYM," John said as the troopers reassembled. "Are you a mindslaver?"
"Yes." The cool reply came over the tactical band. "I gather you found a cadaver room."
A cadaver room. "Yes. But you gave yourself away much earlier, when you first showed us Revenge. You laughed. K'Raoda told me that not even the Empire could program humor into its machines. Humor isn't logical."
"I'm afraid it was the young Subcommander's prattling about 'truth' that brought out the professor in me, Mr. Harrison. Several professors, actually." The ultimate mindslaver paused.
"But all of my original brainpods were filled by volunteers-dedicated men of vision who conceived this entire scenario. Men who truly had the courage of their convictions."
"No doubt they did," said John. "Fanaticism isn't a Terran invention." The entire assault force was listening to their exchange, even as the men prepared to move out. "But how long did those original brains last? A thousand years? Surely no more.
"You're not just a Weapons system, as were the mindslaves aboard Revenge. You're a Planetary Operations Command System. Constant use would wear out many of your components, wouldn't it? Where did the replacements come from, POCSYM? Did you have the S'Cotar snatch Terrans? Did you later use K'Ronarin captives?
"How many through the centuries, POCSYM? Thousands? Hundreds of thousands?"
"A modest number, Mr. Harrison, when weighed against my mission: the preservation of humanity."
"A humanity you were prepared to sacrifice in order to save,