Empress of Eternity (14 page)

16 Siebmonat 3123, Vaniran Hegemony

Two days after the abortive attack on the station, Duhyle was walking up the ramp into the main area of the station. There the two junior officers and Helkyria were standing and talking. Duhyle froze and concentrated on the interchange.

“…showed you the images. Most of the entire world thinks the government killed three hundred peaceful protesters…”

“They were only stunned, and the First Speaker had vids out in less than two hours showing the protesters awake and unharmed,” returned Symra.

“It didn’t matter. The Aesyr had the first images, and they even claimed that the Vanir government—that was the way they phrased it—would claim no one was hurt and would show false images of uninjured protesters.” Captain Valakyr’s words were bitter. “There were ten deaths. Those didn’t help.”

“In any government based on open representation, the majority wants to believe the worst about those in power,” observed Helkyria. “The Aesyr are using that to their benefit.”

“What will they do next?” asked Symra.

“They want something here at the station. They’ll attack again before too long. SatCom is reporting magnetic anomalies consistent with a large submersible approaching from the west.”

“Or do they just want to attack to prove that the government is hiding something here and will kill innocent protesters to keep whatever it is secret?” asked Symra.

“Does it matter?” replied Helkyria.

“Magnetic anomalies, I take it, are not proof?” asked Valakyr dryly.

“Not until attackers emerge and overrun us,” replied Helkyria. “Or until we destroy and repulse them, in which case we overreacted in dealing with misguided Aesyr idealists.” She turned to the subcaptain. “How many Aesyr are likely to be able to attack from the south?”

“We’ve been able to catch indications of comm activity, even with all their variable freq shifts. I can only guess, but no more than half a company.”

Helkyria nodded. “That means they aren’t likely to mount a diversionary attack prior to whatever they intend with the submersible. I’ve checked with Colonel-Marshal Dorja. With all the riots, they can’t spare another company at the moment.”

Not for a research installation
, thought Duhyle.

“The only reason we’re still here is that they can’t spare the airships to come reclaim us for duty elsewhere,” suggested Valakyr. “She’s also afraid the Aesyr would attack them.”

“They can make a scramjet available for a quick attack pass—nonlethal, of course,” added Helkyria.

“It might help.”

“One way or another, it will,” replied Helkyria dryly. “For now, I’ll use the equipment here to monitor world comms and developments, and keep you posted.”

What about your work?” asked Valakyr.

“What I’m working on might prove helpful in time, but I’m not close enough to having anything useful that the next few hours of work will change anything.”

Left unspoken was the point that unless they repulsed the putative Aesyr attack, she wouldn’t likely be around to continue that research.

The two junior officers nodded. “Yes, ser. We’ll let you know if we see any sign of attackers.” They turned and left the station.

Only then did Duhyle make his way up to the main level.

“You heard the conversation,” Helkyria said. “What do you think?”

“If you can’t use the research to repel an attack in the next few hours, it should wait.”

“A few days might be enough. I’m very close, but…” She shook her head.

“The control system?”

“I think so.”

“Can I do anything?” Duhyle asked.

“Not right now.”

“Then I’ll see where else I can aid.”

A faint tinge of deep blue appeared momentarily at the tips of Helkyria’s short-cut hair, then vanished. “I’d appreciate that.” She turned and headed up toward her work spaces.

Duhyle went to find Symra.

Two hours later, he was standing outside the canal-side door from the station, holding the looper he’d cadged from Valakyr. The close-range stunner that he’d gotten from Symra remained in its holster at his waist.

Two-thirds of the security troopers crouched behind the canal wall or behind sandbags stacked east of the station running from the wall southward. They waited for the Aesyr disembarking from the submersible that had moored almost a kay to the east of the station, out of range of the weapons carried by the security troops.

From that distance, Duhyle saw only glimpses of movement. Barely flickering forms of the Aesyr troops scrambled up the net ladders from the submersible and then re-formed on the flat stone of the top of the canal. He didn’t even think about retreating to the station. The security troopers looked to need any help they could get, and the station was anything but a refuge. Either way, retreat would have been totally pointless.

Before long, the Aesyr began to move forward. Given the blend-in uniforms, close to the same as those worn by the security troopers, the impression was that the stone of the canal rippled westward toward the station. As the Aesyr advanced, the majority of security troops waiting behind the raised canal wall scurried into new positions behind the sandbags. Duhyle stepped back, so that the door opened. He stood in the opening, partly protected by the indestructible stone that formed the doorway.

The rippling of the stone was still half a kay from the sandbags when the high-pitched whining roar of a scramjet caught Duhyle’s attention. He looked to the north, then back to the submersible. Although he couldn’t see the entire vessel, a silvery streak flared from what he thought was the conning tower. In instants, the silver streak merged with the point that had to be the scramjet—and a brief flare of energy brightened the already bright northern sky. Then the streak seemed to return to the submersible, dwindling to a black point as it touched a square antenna protruding from the conning tower. The sky was empty, as if the scramjet had never been.

Duhyle had never seen a weapon like that streak. Nor had he read about anything or any technical development that would have fore-shadowed it. It hadn’t been a laser, because it had taken measurable time to reach the scramjet, but it hadn’t been a missile either, not with the return pulse.

The dull rumble of the explosion followed, and then the Aesyr began to move more quickly toward the security troopers, fast enough that the stone itself seemed to sprint toward the sandbags. Duhyle felt that, again, the attackers outnumbered the security troopers, likely by two to one. From the blend-ins alone, the attackers were far better equipped than the demonstrators of the earlier attack. As the Aesyr neared the sandbags, where the security troopers remained, without firing, the flickering momentary images of the Aesyr looked like troopers in equipment and bearing. Like the demonstrators, they were large physical specimens, although Duhyle couldn’t distinguish gender because of the blurring effect of the blend-ins.

Then, abruptly, with the Aesyr less than thirty yards away, all the security troopers opened fire, raking the attackers with interlaced stun bolts.

From the rear of the attacking force arched several containers.

Duhyle immediately closed his eyes and raised his forearm in front of his face—just before the vision-searing flash-blinders exploded. Even with his vision blocked and shielded, Duhyle felt his eyes watering.

After several moments, Duhyle blinked and opened his eyes.

Amazingly, the security troopers kept raking the lines of the attackers. Had they been wearing shield lenses? Or had they been trained to fire blindly, as directed by Valakyr? All officers had altered irises and retinas, one of the reasons for the silvery sheen and flecks to their eyes. Techs and troopers didn’t.

Suddenly, as one, all the security troopers dropped behind the sandbag barrier.

Why?
wondered Duhyle, but only for an instant before he stepped completely into the station and touched the stone beside the opening, willing it to close. His hands went to cover his ears.

He almost made it before the sonic nerve-ruptor slammed him to the floor. He lay shuddering for several moments, despite the protection afforded by the station. When he could move again, perhaps a minute later, he slowly climbed to his feet. He did wait for another two minutes before touching the stone to open the entrance.

He stepped back out into the late morning and surveyed the canal. His eyes still watered, but he could see the submersible was pulling away from the canal wall at high speed and submerging. Just before the conning tower looked to disappear beneath the gray-blue waters of the canal, a streak of brilliant green struck, and an enormous gout of water geysered skyward. Almost immediately, a second explosion followed the first.

The force of the explosions rocked Duhyle back and forth on his boots. He had to reach out and steady himself on the stone of the station wall.

For the next ten minutes, the security troopers remained behind the wall of sandbags, occasionally discharging stunners whenever there was a sign of movement. Then, when all movement among the fallen Aesyr had ceased, a squad of troopers moved out from the sandbags.

Still holding the looper at the ready, Duhyle moved forward. He glanced at the canal where the waves from the explosions had yet to fully subside, and then back at the stone expanse beyond the sandbags. The only movements were those of the security squad. By the time Duhyle reached the wall of sandbags, the security troopers had reached the rear of the bodies of the fallen Aesyr. How many were merely stunned, and how many were dead?

As Duhyle stood back of the sandbags, something flickered at the edge of his vision. He turned and loosed the looper. A projectile whined past him—only one. As the restraint loops tightened around a kneeling figure in blend-ins, a stun bolt slammed into the Aesyr, and he pitched forward onto the stone.

A security trooper hurried up toward Duhyle. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.”

“He must have been lying low, pretending to be stunned, looking for a high-tech or an officer,” she continued.

Symra joined the two of them, and the three moved toward the fallen attacker, less than thirty yards away.

The trooper knelt and turned the bearded man, still twitching, on his back. “Another big one. Big and stupid.”

“Not…stupid…” gasped the man. “The Hammer will not fail the Aesyr…” The attacker’s eyes glazed over, and he slumped.

“The Hammer?” asked Symra, looking to the tech.

Duhyle shrugged. “You’d have to ask the commander. I’ve never heard of it.”

“After we make sure everything here is secure…”

“Are most of them dead?” asked Duhyle.

“So far. The nervous system isn’t designed for multiple jolts, but one or two isn’t enough to stop someone with the size of most of them, not when they’re in berserker mode.” Symra shrugged. “I can’t say I have much sympathy for them. All the weapons they were carrying are lethal. Projectile guns, battle-axes for close-in, even razor knives.”

Duhyle looked across the dead and fallen, possibly two hundred bodies, and nodded slowly. He’d heard that part of the Aesyr belief was that because chaos or the universe always triumphed, all that mattered was the struggle. The bodies suggested they really believed that.

Valakyr appeared behind them. “Once we have a count, we’ll report to the commander.” The captain moved away.

Duhyle made his way back to the station. He waited by the canal-side door so that he could accompany the two officers when they reported to Helkyria. Absently, he wondered exactly what had so preoccupied her that she had not come to see the results of the skirmish—since Valakyr and Symra had to have sent a quick report.

He debated asking by using private link, then decided against it.

He waited half an hour, studying the canal, the sky, and the ocean to the west. He saw nothing unexpected—and no aircraft or watercraft at all. Finally, the two junior officers appeared, and he followed them inside.

Helkyria rose from where she was sitting before the comm console and turned, waiting.

“There are twenty-three survivors among the Aesyr. They’re all restrained,” announced Captain Valakyr. “The other hundred eighty-one are dead. I regret the casualties. They won’t make matters easier for the government or the First Speaker.”

“When you’re under attack, the enemies’ casualties are secondary,” replied Helkyria. “Particularly now.”

“One of the fatalities claimed before he died that something called the Hammer would not fail the Aesyr,” interjected Symra. “Do you know what he meant, Commander?”

Helkyria stiffened. “It is—or was reputed to be—a weapon based on Thora’s Theorem.”

“Ah…that’s not exactly revealing to those of us without a technical background, ser,” suggested Symra, ignoring the hard look from Valakyr.

“Freyja Thora was trained as a theoretical physicist, and also as an engineer. Her theorem states that, since all matter was once one, prior to universal inflation, with proper manipulation energy can be directed anywhere and then return, compressed and compacted and able to strike again, like a hammer. She left the Institute of Vestalte some ten years ago when the Bursar for Procurement denied her requests for equipment on the grounds that weapons development was against the charter of the Institute. Reputedly, she’s been working at the Collegium of Asgard.”