And the flagship! How long he had hungered for that morsel! A Living Computer in the Regent's command ship matched it up with the specifications Edwards had given him, and with exquisite precision the Invid sensors penetrated down and down into it until they found the junction and the components Edwards specified-the ones Lron had explained to the REF and Lang when the Sentinels first appeared.
Lacking the grand slam of the GMU's cannon, the Farrago turned to its lesser weapons, gamely firing and firing, weapons crews staying at their stations even though things seemed hopeless.
Most of them had been in Invid cages, and had no intention of being there again, whatever the price of freedom-even if it was death.
But luck wasn't with them this time. The Regent's techs and scientists had prepared a super cannonbolt in accordance with the things Edwards had revealed to them; they fired it now.
It struck to the heart of Farrago, sending a pulse throughout the ship's structure. In another moment the flagship was coming apart. The forces that unified it had become forces sundering it.
The Regent watched, one fist under his chin, wondering if there was some lesson here. Then he roused himself to bellow at his communications drones. "Haven't you contacted the Regis yet? Well?"
Ah, what a sweet victory this would be! To wipe out the approaching enemy in the nick of time, to humble the Sentinels and destroy them forever here, where his mate could see it all-and be won back by him by this proof of his strength at war and military brilliance! A true, savage, devolved stroke of greatness.
Farrago was ripping itself to pieces; shields were down, power systems were failing, communications were all but nonexistent. Always a patchwork ship, she was being driven apart by the Regent's single bolt.
A string of explosions opened a power conduit all along a main passageway, like something being stitched by a monster sewing machine, inflicting awful casualties among the crewbeings trapped there. The last of the explosions sent shrapnel and fire into Mr. Blake, Lisa's trusted bridge officer.
He had almost made it; the Spherian module was before him, the last that was intact. There was no one aboard the Spherian; at least, no one alive. Concussion, blast, fumes, and flying debris had downed them all.
Blake barely dragged himself inside; he was losing consciousness and had lost a tremendous amount of blood. Yet he somehow held himself up with one hand on a commo box and reached through the hatch, feeling for the emergency release.
He had to strip off the safety seal, ripping fingernails loose in the process but scarcely feeling the pain. Tiredly, he took the little quartz lever there and pulled it down. A crystal tone began to sound in the empty Spherian ship as its hatch closed and the strange repelling forces generated by the Regent's volley began to separate it from Farrago.
But another internal explosion blew out that whole part of the passageway and penetrated the Spherian hull, killing Blake instantly and damaging the Spherian ship. It would never make its programmed rescue run; it broke in half, the drive section tumbling off on a vector of its own, the rest consumed, along with Blake's body, by another huge detonation from Farrago.
The VTs, taken by surprise and surrounded by a horde of Invid mecha, closed ranks and tried to defend themselves as best they could. A few elements tried to break through and run for Praxis, but the Regent's forces were deployed to stop them. The Skulls re-formed and got ready for a fight to the death. There were some garbled transmissions from the Invid, something about surrender, but the fighter jocks had all heard the tales from the Sentinels who had been prisoners, and decided they weren't interested.
Outnumbered five to one, and at times ten to one, they flew from second to second, and died at full throttle. A few joined Alpha to Beta and catapulted themselves into the enemy midst; others got into tight flight elements and rat-raced, skeeting enemies until their own number was up.
They were the best Earth had to offer, people who had contended with cramped living conditions, low pay, and a long separation from home to serve a cause greater than themselves. And no one was there to thank them as they died in the gun turrets, the flight decks, the cockpits. But they hadn't signed on for thanks, and hadn't expected them.
Farrago came apart, its outlashing throwing portions and scraps of it toward unreachable stars.
The teeming Invid swarmed in to slay the last of the VTs and strafe the flagship's remains.
"Still no contact with the Regis?" the Regent howled, shaking a gargantuan fist. "Has she no idea what I've accomplished?"
A drone technician looked stricken, realizing that he might die in the next few seconds. "Oh, All-Powerful One! The Regis is no longer on Praxis! The readings we receive indicate that she may be on her way to Haydon IV with her half of our race, but-there are no Protoculture readings on Praxis, no power sources, no movement-nothing!"
The Regent screamed aloud, but it would have been too much of an inconvenience to leap from his throne and smite the technician. Instead, he tried to wipe the taste of disappointment from his mind.
"A waste, a waste! Did you record every bit of my victory, so that she may see it? Then, make ready to depart!"
"To Praxis, my lord?" an Enforcer asked.
The Regent cuffed the Enforcer aside, and the Enforcer's armor buckled against the deck with the impact of it. "No, of course not to Praxis! Back to Optera! I'll find that female and make her see the truth, make her appreciate me!"
He felt acceleration around him even as he issued more orders. "Send a small observation force to Praxis in case any of my enemies return; this place is of no use to me now. Have them set up a transmitter to warn me if there's trouble here again. And then back to the Home Hive!"
There was his alter ego to groom, and set on its pathway. Enough of these meddling Humans; he would send in his simulagent double to do away with the Tirol base, then consolidate the near stars at his leisure. And when he held all the cards, he would bring the Regis to heel.
A sudden thought struck him. If he could produce a copy of himself, why not a copy of the Regis? Yes! One who would be dutiful and compliant and a proper wife? Meek and obedient and…receptive to him. The very image of that made him feel rather paternal and husbandly at the same time.
But no; he snarled at the realization that the Regis was gone, and she had taken all detailed biogenetic models of herself with her. Even more to the point, possessing a mere image of her wouldn't be the same as possessing her, of bending his mate to his will; he would always be aware, on some level, that the real thing was out there in the universe somewhere.
"Why are we dawdling?" he bellowed. The command ship blurred forward to superluminal speed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
We should protect the Seed,
or we could all fade away
Flower of Life
Flower of Life
Song of the Tiresian Muses
Damn her!
T. R. Edwards tried to tell himself that he didn't care anymore. Wasn't his staying away from the ringside table tonight proof enough of that? The storied Lynn-Minmei enchantment had no power over him, and now the world knew it. Oh yes, the world knew it…
He hadn't meant to have more than that one jigger of Tirol-made bourbon with Adams and the others, but it had gone a little beyond that, and while he wasn't unsteady on his feet, it was time to go home. The planning of a coup d'etat took a sharp mind and unrelenting work. To bed, then.
Except-the door to his quarters was slightly ajar.
He silently drew the pistol that was with him day and night, entering without a sound. He could have called security, but tonight he was in the mood to kill someone.