The ship dropped hyper, a new set of constellations appeared on the screens, and the standard drives cut in. The destroyer's control room was small and cramped, but the commanding officer had slotted Sophie into an empty seat and narrated each stage of the jump. Something she didn't require, but didn't have the heart to refuse.
The executive listened as orders were passed, marveled at the extent to which the military could turn even the most mundane activity into a ritual, and considered the task ahead.Some progress had been made during her stay on the Unioncity, especially where new alliances were concerned, but there was a long way to go. That was why she had begged her uncle to let her stay and help.He had refused by pointing to the fact that if their efforts were successful, there would need to be some sort of dictatorship. The first fifty years of the industrialist's life had been spent under imperial rule, and he had no desire to repeat the experience.To counterOne of the toadies offered Usmos a wireless microphone whispered something in his ear, and stepped out of the way. Conscious of the video cameras, the entourage looked suitably respectful.An announcer read from a carefully prepared script. Usmos stepped out where he could be seen and took a moment to admire the size of his audience. His image blossomed on three enormous screens. Halfhearted applause ripped through the crowd.The odds were that the Radio Free Earth's fly cameras were covering the event as well, which was all to the good, since that would extend the breadth of Usmos' coverage. Dozens of black-clad troops appeared at the exits as he brought the microphone to his lips. The crowd stirred uneasily. "Greetings. Thank you for taking time out of your busy lives to attend this gathering."Most of you are law abiding citizens. Thanks for your support. Others, and you know who you are, belong to the so-called resistance or, if not active yourselves,
The ground shook as the newly reinducted cyborgs marched past. Three had expired during the flight to Bajoti, six died while being transferred into their new bodies, and eighty nine were declared unfit for duty.The rest turned in response to an order, formed a column of twos, and marched the length of runway 1G.Marco held his salute as yet another Confederate flag drew abreast of the makeshift review stand and felt a variety of conflicting emotions.It was good to see these veterans, to have their strength to call on, but sad nonetheless. How many of these same cyborgs would die cursing his name? Wishing he had left them buried in the past? There was no way to know.A bugle sounded, a flight of six fighters roared overhead, and the troops marched on. * * * The safe house was buried in south Los Angeles. It belonged to a sympathizer who worked for the government. Water poured into the tub, and the bathroom filled with steam. It billowed, eased toward the
The command car circumnavigated the bomb crater, lurched through a drainage ditch, and growled onto the much abused highway. A lizard raised its head, took exception to what it saw, and scuttled away.Admiral Tyson Salom felt her butt leave the seat and was grateful for the lap belt.Colonel Bay Marco glanced in her direction and grinned."Nice one point landing, Admiral... sorry about the road"."The name is Salom... and I'll settle for any kind of landing that I get to walk away from"."So noted", Marco said cheerfully. "Now hang on. The road gets worse before it gets better".The legionnaire's words proved prophetic. The vehicle topped a rise, granted a glimpse of blue, and plunged into a gully. It took the better part of twenty minutes to fight their way through a dry river bed, up a series of ancient switchbacks, and along the side of a heavily eroded cliff. Tool marks left more than two hundred years before could still be seen.But then, just as Salom was
Shola's extremities covered hundreds of square miles of ocean and, that being the case, could feast on nearly limitless sunlight. Wonderful, delicious sunlight, which was different from that available on her native planet had its own unique bouquet.It was a dreamy existence for the most part, drifting with the currents, pursuing whatever thoughts happened along, and keeping the world at bay.Well, almost at bay, since there was no way to ignore the surface vessels that did occasional damage to her delicate limbs, or the minds, thousands upon thousands of which planned, schemed, and plotted until the ethers were filled with the metal equivalent of static.But there were others as well. Minds lost in deep meditation, who, though primitive in ways, had their own kind of intelligence, and lived in the ever present now.It was through them, while hitchhiking in their minds, that Shola had first experienced how wonderful it felt to slide along the crest of a wave, to dive for
A sentient might have experienced any number of emotions, but the machine was utterly calm. It launched a remote through tube one, waited for the device to reach the stern, and scanned the incoming video. Unlikely though such a circumstance was, it appeared as though two or even three Loliginidae, or giant squid, had chosen to wrap themselves around the propellor shaft and been torn apart. Sharks had been attracted to the scene and were starting to feed.That was strange, but of no particular concern, since the problem would soon resolve itself. Or so it seemed to the machine.Daggers flew regular coastal patrols now, and it was a relatively simple matter for Shola to summon two of the aircraft and point the pilots in the right direction. They located the attack submarine, dropped two torpedoes each, and whooped as debris boiled to the surface.Shola, who had experienced each death as if it were her own, floated in an ocean tears. * * * Luton looked out acro
Every now and then, every other cycle or so, the Hoon liked to tour the fleet. The easiest way to accomplish that was to choose two or three hundred of the more than twenty thousand surveillance devices at his disposal and spend a tenth of a second on each.Though once routine, the excursions had been more rewarding of late, ever since the soft body had gone forth to "peach the gospel" - the essence of which seemed to consist of blocking thoroughfares, praising the supreme intelligence known as "God", and seeking "converts", which is to say semi autonomous units willing to listen to the human's rantings.The entire process seemed like a waste of time and resources except for one thing: interspersed with the nonsense regarding God was a good deal of anti Thraki rhetorics. And, like it or not, the Artificial Intelligence had no choice but to support sentients that shared the same mission it had which was to find Thraki and kill them.Still, the Hoon had encountered a co
"Don't tell me, let me guess", Herbert said disgustedly. "You signed on".Jyro looked away. "No, not exactly"."But close".The human turned back. The tone was petulant. "So, what if I did? There was no other choice".The navigational computer would have sighed, had such a thing been possible. "I think the message is pretty clear: They found some Thraki, and the Hoon wants you to kill them"."Why me?" Jyro asked desperately. "The Hoon could kill them by himself"."It's a test", the Artificial Intelligence replied patiently, "to see what you will do".The better part of a minute passed while the human considered the matter. When he spoke, the words fell one at a time."So it's kill or be killed"."Essentially", Herbert replied."Unless..." Jyro said."Unless what?""Unless I could convert the Thraki, and convince the Hoon to accept them"."Dream on", the Artificial Intelligence said simply. "The Hoon is a computer, and
The stars seemed to snap into existence as Jose Fonseca-Three Hundred Forty six dropped hyper, switched his sensors to max, and scanned the surrounding volume of space. Something that he, plus all 876 of his "brothers" had done countless times before.In spite of the fact that the Clone Hegemony had joined the Confederacy at the conclusion of the second Dodvalian war, they continued to maintain their own military forces and placed little reliance on the Confederate Navy.That being the case, the clones conducted regular patrols along their section of the Galaxy - mostly to control smuggling, but to ensure their sovereignty as well.A beeper beeped, data scrolled onto the scout's screens, and the pilot felt his stomach lurch. The readings couldn't be true! Nobody had a fleet that large! Not even the Confederacy.Fonseca-Three Hundred Forty six ran the scans again, obtained the same results, and dumped them to memory. A swarm of fighters started in his direction. That was