Dear Mom & Dad,
Everything here remains quiet, as always, and I don’t know why you two keep insisting there’s bad war news. Take it from me. As I wrote you before, I’m in a rear-echelon unit that hardly ever sees any action at all. So I hope you’ll excuse me for asking you both to kindly quit worrying. Especially with Pop in the condition he is in.
I’m sorry I missed Christmas. There’s always next year, after all. I think I might be able to pull a furlough soon, with things being so dull around here and all.
Thanks for the fruitcake; it was great.
Love,
Your son,
Angelo Dante
The order of the day was execution, and the clones with the rifles weren’t listening to any ATAC objections about the Geneva Convention. Dana and her squadmates had no room to try anything in the cell; they marched out with hands behind their heads, as per instructions.
Surrounded by guards, the troopers were marched through the detention center and into a side corridor. Without warning, the clones’ exacting schedule was interrupted.
A driverless runabout with its engine shrilling came zooming at the lead guards. The triad was knocked high in the air with bone-breaking force, Dana just barely managing to pull back out of the way. In a shower of sparks and metal fragments, the runabout overturned and shrieked to a stop upside down. The first guards were crunched to the floor as the troopers jumped the other three, who seemed paralyzed by what had happened.
It was a short fight, Sean ramming an elbow back into one rear guard’s throat, Angelo crashing the heads of the other two together like cymbals. Even as the 15th was rearming itself from the selection of weapons lying around, Musica came running toward them. “Bowie!”
Louie was delighted to find that one of the guards was carrying the pulse-grenade that he himself had been carrying when he’d been captured. Okay, Living Protoculture; let’s just go another round, what d’ya say?
In the Memory Management complex, Zor rested, strapped to a padded slab, at an acute angle, nearly standing upright. He was still unconscious, his head encased in a helmet like a metal medusa.
Technician clones were moving precisely, ensuring that no mistake would be made. Zor’s original memories, as servant to the Masters, Bioroid warrior, battle lord of the fleet, must be restored to him and integrated with the memories of his time among the Humans. Then the totality of his memory would be comprehensible, and would be shifted to storage banks for further study. The lump of tissue that was the last Zor clone could be disposed of.
Jeddar watched the preparations with satisfaction. He would have been less happy had he seen what was transpiring on an upper tier of the chamber.
On a glass-walled observation deck, a big forearm locked around a guard clone’s throat, and the guard was silently removed from active duty. Angelo resisted the temptation to dust off his palms.
Dana and the 15th looked down on the demons’ workshop below. She saw what they were doing to Zor and almost gave out a yelp, but Louie shushed her, as he studied the instruments and machinery. He adjusted his tech goggles to detect energies on very subtle levels and looked the lab over like a sniper studying the landscape through a nightvision device.
“Screwy operation,” Sean said wryly.
“But convenient,” Louie countered. “See those gauges over there? When they hit the top, Zor’s memories will all be back in his brain.”
Louie indicated a bank of three stacked rectangles. The first was filled, all glowing blue; the second was filling, as if it were a resplendent blue thermostat marking a sudden, incredible heat wave.
The techs had to pry Zor’s jaws apart and wedge a mouthpiece between them as the indicators rose. As the third stack filled, he began to convulse. Louie had to hold Dana back from hurling herself through the glassy pane of the observation deck to intervene.
At last a tech clone pronounced, “Full reinstatement of memory is now complete. Reintegration of memory will begin at once—” He was cut off by an intense barrage from above. The tier window and much of the complex’s apparatus was shot to bits. Before anybody there could react, the ATACs had dropped to the main floor and had the clones covered.
“Don’t anybody move,” Dana warned. They could see from her eyes what would happen if they did.
Jeddar and his Clonemasters were more astonished than afraid. This was, after all, their first close encounter with Humans. Behind the raiders came Musica, and Karno was visibly shaken to see her, breathing her name.
In another second, Louie and Angelo freed Zor from his restraints and cranial wiring. The big sergeant got the unconscious clone over his shoulder with ease. As much as Angelo might have berated Zor, Dana noticed that now he glared around furiously at the creatures who had tortured him.
The troopers were so busy making sure that no one on the scene made any hostile moves that they missed the slight motion it took Jeddar to press a button on his wristband. A moment later, a door snapped open and three more guards leapt into the opening.
Everyone opened fire simultaneously, and those guards who were already in the lab took the opportunity to spring for cover, as did the Clonemasters, the ATACs, and Musica. The energy bolts crashed and flashed; the air began heating up at once. Shots set off eruptions of power from the complex’s systemry.
“I believe you’ve gone mad, Musica!” Karno called to her over the din of the firefight. “What have these monsters done to you to make you a traitor to your own kind?”
Musica, flustered, didn’t know how to explain except to say, “Zor is their friend; they’re saving him!”
Then Bowie was towing her along. “We’re getting out of here!”
Intense fire from the 15th had cleared the doorway; three guards lay dead or dying there. With practiced calm and precision, the five troopers fired as they moved. The remaining enemy had no choice but to keep their heads down, only able to risk the occasional shot.
There was another runabout outside the complex; in a moment, the escapees were roaring away, with Dana and Sean keeping up a high volume of fire to make sure no one followed or tried for a parting shot.
Released from the grip of the mind apparatus, Zor began to stir, then came around. Dana was overjoyed and stopped shooting long enough to gush about how happy she was, but Angelo, at the controls, growled, “Secure that hearts-and-flowers crap! We’ve still gotta find ourselves a way outta this joint, remember?”
At that moment three red Bioroids appeared, skimming along close to the ceiling of the high central passageway in which the runabout was traveling. Angelo managed to dodge their first bolts, nearly smearing the vehicle along the nearby wall, then made a desperate turn into a side way, losing the enemy mecha for the moment.
“We’ve got to get back to the Hovertanks!” Dana yelled over the wind of their passage. “I’m workin’ on it, ma’am.”
She consulted the tiny sensor Latell had given her. “Take that next right!” Perhaps they could retrace their steps from the control center, which Musica had pointed out along the way.
They slewed and hairpin-turned and blasted along, coming around a corner only to run head-on into another triad of guards. Disinclined to stop, Angelo gritted his teeth and slammed into them, hurling two to either side, slamming the middle one to the floor.
But the impact made the runabout defy its controls. It hit a stanchion, bounced back the other way while Angelo fired retros desperately, then hit the floor surface and slowly upended. Its occupants were spilled out and it came to a final rest with a clang and crunch.
Dana shook her head, looking up. Directly before her was an open hatchway, and beyond—“Look! It’s the central control area!” The housing in which the Living Protoculture was situated was closed, protecting it.
For the moment.
They heard Hovercraft approaching and scattered to find concealment in the center. In another few seconds, the three reds settled in for a landing, dismounting and scanning the area.
Seeing the Bioroids sparked something in Zor’s still-disorganized memory. He turned to Musica, who crouched with him under a huge conduit. “Why did the Masters send me to Earth in the first place?” he whispered. Somehow he knew that she, Mistress of the music that was part of the Masters’ power over their realm, could answer.
She looked at him with infinite sadness. “You were their eyes and ears. You were sent to Earth as a spy,” she mouthed the words more than whispered them. “They planted a neuro-sensor in your brain. You weren’t even aware of what you were doing, Zor!”
The entire center, the entire ship, began thrumming with a peculiar vibration, something that made their hair stand on end. The Bioroids cocked their heads, registering it.
“It’s a battle alert,” Musica mouthed to the ATACs. “Your forces must be attacking us!”
“Time to make our move,” Dana said. “We take out this control center, whatever it costs, understood? Otherwise Emerson won’t have a chance.” With a little luck, Louie could figure out some way to put it out of commission. But first the reds had to go.
The 15th troopers fanned out, firing at the Bioroids, dodging from cover, heading for the Living Protoculture. They kept close to the systemry, shooting from its protection. The enemy mecha seemed reluctant to fire, enduring the minor consequences of the small arms fire rather than risk damaging the ship’s core. One was angling for a clear shot at them; Louie reluctantly used his pulse grenade on it, but only staggered it instead of putting it out of the fight.
Only Zor and Musica remained behind, she stunned by what was happening, he immobilized by surfacing memories. Then Zor found himself remembering, remembering much. His gaze traveled to the 15th’s commanding officer.
Dana …
He knew what he had to do. He crept away to one side, getting clear of the shooting.
At the same time, Musica was coming to a decision. There isn’t much time. The ship will be destroyed soon. I must get to the barrier control!
She raced for the stairs that wound up around the housing that protected the Protoculture. Bowie, seeing her go, yelled her name and sprinted after.
Musica ran like a deer up the broad steps. But she was in the open, and a Bioroid risked a shot as she neared the top. At the same moment, a bolt from Angelo’s weapon hit the red’s discus gun; its discharge hit the housing near Musica, missing her, but dazing her and damaging the housing.
In a moment, Bowie was at her side. “Bowie, the barrier! It must be deactivated!”
He nodded, and sprang up the last few steps to the control panel she had been trying to reach. The 15th was pitching at the reds with everything they had, and the damage to the housing kept the reds from attempting another shot at Musica or Bowie.
At her direction, he pushed a button, pulled down on the gleaming lever that appeared in response to that. A world-shaking hooting rose above the first alarms and even the firefight. “Hurry!” she called to him. “We must go!”
The Bioroids were at a terrible disadvantage since it was forbidden by the unseen Masters to fire any shot that might endanger the ship’s systemry. The ATACs had been quick to exploit this fact; five rifles were a lot of firepower if the users knew where to aim, and the troopers had had plenty of practice at hitting faceplates.
As Bowie helped Musica down from the steps, the last Bioroid tottered backward and came to rest leaning against the bulkhead. The fugitives raced into the passageway, but another trio of reds dropped from nowhere, blocking their way. The rifles were all but exhausted, and there was no hiding behind systemry now. The leader took dead aim with its discus handgun—
The gun and the arm blew apart in an eruption that almost knocked them flat on their backs. Jetting down the passageway behind them came a well-remembered red on its Hovercraft.
“Go get ’em, Zor!” Dana cheered.
Zor was still the greatest battle lord in the enemy fleet. He dodged the other reds’ blasts deftly, firing with great accuracy all the while. He leapt his mecha from the Hovercraft, and let the saucer-platform crash into them, destroying his opponents in a collision that half-deafened the fugitives.
Zor’s Bioroid landed with a deck-shaking impact. “Dana, you and the others go ahead; the Hovertanks are that way, through there. I’ll stay here and delay any further pursuit.” His voice was the voice of the Zor they had served with, not the eerie, indrawn-breath voice of the Master’s slave.
“Huh!” Angelo said, with something like approval.
“We’ll be waiting for you,” Dana said somberly.
There was no other option; the escapees dashed on. Zor turned to wait patiently. It didn’t take long; three groups of Triumviroids raced into view on Hovercraft. Zor took aim and began firing.
Astoundingly, the tanks were just as the 15th had left them.
“But what good’ll they do us?” Angelo asked, as the squad fired up their mecha. “There’s no way we can reach Emerson on just tank thrusters!”
“Don’t you think I know that?” Dana snapped. With their mecha in tank mode, the 15th followed her as she tried to retrace the route she had taken on her first evasive dash with Bowie and Louie.
At last she found what she was searching for, a sort of cul-de-sac compartment piled high with salvaged components and disabled equipment. It was obvious that a lot of repair work was done there as well.
The tanks stopped, cannon trained on the only hatchway. The troopers rose to stand in their cockpit-turrets. Dana pointed to a rank of Hovercraft that had seen better days.
“Louie, you’ve got to find us the five best out of those, and make sure they’ll get us to Emerson.”
Easy for you to say! he thought. Was she crazy, or just ignorant? “Lieutenant, I—”
“I don’t want to hear it! I’m not talking about winning a Formula X race; we’ll only need them for a few minutes. If we’re not back with the fleet by that time, it won’t make any difference.”
Aboard his flagship, Emerson had long since reached the conclusion his subordinates were warily expressing. The Earth forces were going at the Masters with hammer and tongs once more, but couldn’t take the beating they were getting for much longer.
There was no sign of the 15th and no radio contact. Emerson ordered that the fleet prepare to withdraw, that the Ajaxes prepare to return to their transports. When Lieutenant Crystal objected, he dressed her down brusquely, and reiterated his orders.
But the whole time, he thought, Bowie. Dana. And he knew the other names as well.