Heaven's Reach (78 page)

Mirages are a dime a dozen.

If Earthlings possessed any craft that was equal to the best Galactic technology, it lay in the art of manipulating optic images.

The play began with one of her oldest disguises—one she routinely used to fool
Streaker
's stolen Library unit.

Appearing suddenly in the holo tank, a stern Thennanin admiral strode forth, preening his elbow and shoulder spikes, puffing up his extravagant head-crest, and clearing his vents with a deep
harrrumph
, before commencing to speak in stately, formal Galactic Six, addressing his remarks to those besieging Earth.

“Brethren! Fellow high patrons of starfaring civilization and descendants of the Great Progenitors! I come before you now at a crucial juncture of choice. You, along with all your clients and clan mates, may profit or suffer because of decisions made during this nexus of opportunity.

“The time has come to look past blinders of false belief. Your presence here (which my clan had the great wisdom to resist) is anathema to destiny. It brings you nothing but cascading sorrow, replenished from an inexhaustible supply of hardship that the universe willingly provides the obstinate!”

It really was a very good Thennanin, quite pompous and credible. But credibility—even plausibility—wasn't the point here.

No, it was the sheer
effrontery
of this ruse that should gall them.

Her ersatz admiral continued.

“Consider the facts, misguided brethren.

“Number one.

“To whom did the Progenitors reveal relics of great-and-profound value?

“To you? Or even to the Old Ones you revere?”

While speaking those words, the Thennanin started to
melt
, shifting and reconfiguring in a much more gaudy and disturbing manner than the Transcendent had. (Her visitor's intent had been to focus Gillian's thoughts, while her aim right now was to frighten … then enrage.)

The big admiral finished transforming into a quite different entity that now floated in midair, glossy and gray, resembling Captain Creideiki at his most handsome and charismatic, before an accident permanently scarred his handsome sleek head.

“No they did not! The Progenitors did not disclose hidden truths to you, or to any noble clan or alliance!

“In fact, the Ghost Fleet was revealed to one such as this!”

Creideiki's image thrashed its tail flukes for emphasis.

“A member of the youngest of all client races. A race whose talents would have made any senior patron eager to adopt them, yet who proudly call themselves members of wolfling Earthclan!

“Next, consider yet another fact. The way the Earthship
, Streaker,
evaded all your searches and clever schemes to capture it! Even when you bribed and suborned the Great Institutes, did such acts of treasonous cheating avail you at all?”

The figure began shifting again, continuing, sotto voce, with teasing GalSix undertones.

(“Tell me, brethren. Have you begun to guess the identity of the vessel now plummeting toward you, laughingly defiant of your vaunted power?

“Do you need more clues? You shall have them!”
)

A male human shape replaced Creideiki. She had tried using Tom as a model, but that proved too hard. So she settled on old Jake Demwa … which was probably a good idea anyway. The Soro would instantly recognize him from two centuries of frustration, when he had proved their bane on numerous occasions.

“Fact three: Despite great wealth and innumerable lives spent subduing the Terrans' homeworld, what have you accomplished here, except to make their legend grow? Even on the verge of apparent success, can you be certain this is not yet another ruse? A trick, meant to draw in your reserves? To make their unexpected triumph seem all the greater in others' eyes?

“Even if you win, and the last human lies dead—with every dolphin and chimp readopted by some humorless clan—will you withstand the vengeance others may then take upon you, in the name of martyred Earth?

“Ask yourselves this. Might these wolflings rise even stronger, out of death? Either in fact, or else in a flood of new ideas? Ideas that will span the New Era to come, diverting Galactic culture down paths you can't imagine?”

Streaker
shuddered. The lights flickered. On other screens, Gillian glimpsed a brief, violent, one-sided battle, as the cruiser flotilla fired volleys while sweeping past. Either they were getting a knack for using dumbed-down brains in their missiles or there were simply
too many, this time. For whatever reason, about a dozen got through, detonating uncomfortably close.

Suessi gave a thumbs-up sign, indicating the pattern wasn't focused enough to be dangerous. But it showed the limits of their defense.

Just so long as the enemy can't tell. Let them think we're just shrugging it all off, for a bit longer.

In the holo tank, Jake Demwa faded into another shape—one of the elder races
Streaker
encountered at the vast, chilly habitat called the Fractal World. Without pause, that stark visage continued the soliloquy.

“Or take fact number four: Did any of
you
foretell the Great Rupture? So conservative were you all, so trusting of your own elders, that you had no idea the Old Ones were manipulating the Great Library, and the other Institutes! For their own reasons, they kept the Civilization of Five Galaxies ignorant. We had no inkling to prepare, or that this sort of massive spatiotemporal breakup has happened before!

“Yet, a warning did come. Even while beset by attackers, the Terrans did their citizenly duty, broadcasting an alert based upon their alternative mathematics.

“Is it a coincidence that great harm befell those who ignored the warning? Those blinded by their contempt for wolfling science, who chose obstinate ideology over pragmatism?”

(
“Have you guessed yet, brethren? Have ye figured out who streaks toward you now? Insolent. Heedless of the reverence you feel yourselves due? Can you sniff/sense/feel/grok the very thing you covet … and secretly fear?”
)

Cruisers fell in behind
Streaker
, cutting off retreat. Looming just ahead, the unified armada of capital ships left their siege positions to meet this challenge, spreading
to envelop and enclose the impudent newcomer in an inescapable mesh of fire.

“They're talking to each other,”
informed the Niss Machine.
“From battleship to battleship. A lot more discussion than you'd expect for warships going into a fight. It's coded, but I can tell it is pretty heated.

“Is it possible they don't understand your hints and clues, Dr. Baskin? Perhaps you've been too coy. Shall we go ahead and tell them who we are?”

She shook her head.

“Relax. They're probably just arguing over how best to kill us.”

Streaker
had one hope. This kind of envelopment pattern meant the enemy must concentrate their volleys into a very narrow zone, or else risk damaging each other. If the Earthship could create
uncertainty
over its exact position, that might result in a focused blast that was offset just enough, so their Transcendent-shell would not be overwhelmed. Then, amid the blinding aftermath,
Streaker
would swerve away and run for it! With any luck, this amazing survival would make the enemy pause long enough for a good head start … before the entire fleet came baying after her.

The aim was simple: to buy time, giving Earth a brief respite—a chance to quickly rearm the Luna fortresses—arid possibly get a few mothers and children away before the end.

“They are p-preparing to fire!” announced the detection officer, who then squealed a warning in Primal Delphin.
“Here come sharkssss!”

Gillian felt palpable twinges go off in her mind as several hundred speedy missiles leaped from launching tubes, arming themselves as they raced toward
Streaker.
At this range, many would carry psi and probability warheads, as well as annihilation charges.

Streaker
's protective shell cast forth swarms of countermemes, but this time the effort would clearly be inadequate.

“You know what to do,” she told Akeakemai, trusting her life to his skill. This was not a job for a pilot but for a gifted geometrodynamics engineer.

Lacking anything else to do while waiting for obliteration, Gillian turned back to the scene playing out within the holo tank—the same message being watched on the command deck of every battleship.

The last of her simulated Old Ones started to dissolve. And yet—(copying tricks she had learned from the Transcendent)—the voice went on, using tones that were intentionally infuriating, patronizing, and serenely confident.

“Can you see the symbol on this vessel's prow? Is it the familiar emblem of five spiral rays? Or has something else taken its place? Can you recognize the nature of our new shell?

“And yet, by now your scans also show the ancient, mundane hull within. The Earthling figures of our crew.

“Well? Can your minds resolve this anomaly? This dissonance? Is there an explanation?”

The image in the tank reformed at last, taking a shape she had recorded during her interview with the Transcendent. A form that was sure to spoil the enemy's composure.

If just one glimpse of Herbie—a billion-year-old mummy—had thrown half the fanatics in five galaxies into a tizzy, what would the mummy's reconstructed likeness do? Emulated in apparently living flesh, the faintly amphibian humanoid now offered an enigmatic smile that broadened to uncanny width, conveying a touch of cruel empathy.

“Come now, foolish youngsters. Surely you can draw conclusions from what lies before your very—”

Akeakemai interrupted with a squeal.

“Impact in ninety secondsss! Let's do it-t!”

Gillian blinked as
Streaker
's engines let out a wail of exertion, yanking the ship out of normal space.

Too had
, she thought, regretting that it had happened quite so soon.

I wanted to watch the show once through, all the way to the end.

In theory, you could dodge enemies by jumping into hyperspace.

Unfortunately, that idea was older than a lot of stars. The arts of war had long ago adapted to such tactics. When
Streaker
jumped, so did the pack of onrushing missiles, which had no trouble sensing which way she headed.

Akeakemai played the engines swiftly, sending their old Snark-class survey ship leaping
laterally
among the known strata that still overlay Galaxy Two.

Unlike Galaxy Four, the varied levels of hyperspace were still accessible here, though with greater difficulty than before. Gillian was counting on that difference now to disrupt the timing of the incoming barrage. With any luck, there might also be chaos waves—aftershocks from the Great Rupture—to warp space and confuse the death machines.

Alas, it did not take long to realize—she had committed the worst sin of any commander. Assuming her enemies were stupid.

In B Space, where all stars turned into midget rainbows, the detection officer yelled dismay.

“Mines! They've filled the place with—”

Akeakemai was swift, triggering a second jump, but not before several nearby objects detonated, slamming
Streaker
with shock waves, even as the ship flickered over to A Space.

The strange-familiar sensations of that speedy realm crowded around Gillian, as if each direction she turned became a
tunnel
, offering a shortcut beyond some far horizon. Down each of those tubes, there glowed the disk of a single majestic, spinning sun.

“Fifty seconds,” murmured Hannes Suessi, mostly to himself.

“More mines!”
came the rapid cry … unneeded, as a drumbeat of savage thuds rocked the ship, straining the energy-absorbing power of
Streaker
's new shell. Excess heat brought sweat popping from Gillian's skin.