How are you, Admiral?"
"Let you know after you explain this nonsense about a class one emergency in your spatial vicinity requiring task-force response."
"I doubt if you'd believe it if you saw it, Admiral. Though I haven't and I do."
"So far you haven't convinced me of much, Major."
"Class one requires no explanation, sir. Even priority transfer can leak."
There was a brief pause at the other end.
"All right, Major. You're proper and correct. I'll have a cruiser and a squadron of stingships dispatched ..."
"Negative, Admiral. Full task force, with every battlewagon you can muster. I said class one, I mean class one. Full task force, or it might as well be a complimentary card expressing best wishes for my health. Stingships haven't the firepower."
"That's the first time I've ever heard anyone argue with stingships firepower. That I can use as justification. I hope you're not just knotting your antennae, Major."
"I'm perfectly sane."
"Yes. Well, the ships will be on their way to you in one hour, HH standard. And I also hope, Major, that you can back up this request to the task-force commander, or you'll be back at central student HQ doing logic terminations."
"I think I can do that, sir."
"I hope so, because I'll be commanding it." The connection snapped off.
"Sir," came another voice from the speaker, "Tundra V has broken communication. Shall I attempt to restore ...?"
"Thank you operator, no. Communication ended." He turned to face Porsupah. "Do you pray, Tolian?"
"Occasional meditation. I haven't the inclination for prayer."
"Then it might be an idea to find someone who does, because I cant suspend belief long enough to, either. And I like to be covered all ways."
"I've never heard a class one call before, sir." In spite of himself, Porsupah was a little awed.
"Class three's a threat to the Commonwealth. Class two a threat to the Church. Class one is a threat to the race."
"Any particular race?"
"Ought to read the Book, Lieutenant. The race of reason, of course."
The AAnn did not sweat, so the engineer's exhaustion was not particularly visible, except to another AAnn. "The transmitters still work, Excellence, Oasis knows how. And we have some emergency power."
"Thank you Engineer First." The Commander limped slightly. His left leg had been badly bruised by a falling beam as he and the others had scrambled for the safety of the maximum security shelter buried in the center of the island.
The shelter had been built to take thermonuclear attack and anything else short of direct hit by a SCCAM shell. It had-apparently-protected them from the overwhelming fury of the monster. Perhaps thirty had survived. Thirty, out of the complex's entire complement. Thirty, plus one.
"You sure did have something you wanted kept secret, didn't you?" said Dominic Rose. The old man's talent for surviving had preserved him once more. When the destruction began, he'd stuck close to the Commander, reasoning correctly that the most important being on the island would head straight for the safest place. In a fair fight he'd have done just the opposite, knowing the AAnn. Parquit noticed he still held the slim, deadly metal case in one hand.
"'Pears your brain-boys didn't calculate too well."
At another moment, drug or not, Parquit might have turned and with great pleasure ripped the human from throat to groin. As it was, he had neither the mood nor the inclination.
"To say we have underestimated the' creature and its abilities would be an understatement of sufficient magnitude to make the Lord of all Nests shudder in his cave. We knew some of the thing's talents, yes, but little of its potential. And we believed its intelligence that of a high order domesticated animal. We were wrong. Wrong everywhere. I confess to puzzlement as to why it does not continue on and destroy us as well. I have not the faith in that shelter some did."
"Seemed like a pretty secure sheltering to me," Rose said.
Parquit spared him a contemptuous glance, waved at the destruction all around. "For a manifestation of the normal universe, yes. Do you really believe mere metal and alloy saved your miserable life? I think it not. The monster left for reasons of its own. For which I am grateful. It gives us a chance."
He stepped gingerly over a flat length of metal that had been one of the foundation beams supporting a transparent roof. It was flattened like straw.
Parquit reached the remains of control. The Tower was completely gore, but some of the equipment in the lower portions had survived. He leaned over the engineer fourth working there. "Well, manipulator, what say you to a link-up?"
"If our orbiting station can handle the first connection and boost what's left of our signal sufficiently, I say yes, Excellence."
"And what does the orbiter say?"
"He says maybe."
"Do this thing, and I will lay first sand in your lodge with my own hands. And feed your first-bona from the Emperor's preserves."
` It will be done, Excellence!"
The entity Parquit was so anxious to talk to, with the ruins of his command still smoking about him, was named Douwrass N, Prince-of-the-Circle, the Emperor's Long Fang for the fourteenth quadrant of the Empire.
The request he made had fewer light-years to travel than that of a certain officer of the Church, but was essentially the same. For example, preservation took precedence over protection.
Prince-of-the-Circle agreed. He also questioned, for he had stronger reason than Ashvenarya.
"Your life is balanced in this, Parquit RAM. Not that that is of consequence."
"Naturally, Highness," said Parquit.
"But mine also will go under the Emperor's paw for consideration. That is of consequence. Yet I cannot argue with your need. I have access to the original reports of discovery of the creature and have been following your special project with some little interest. I regret its demise and that there are none responsible left to chastise properly among the so-called scientists."
"Do not blame the Passed, Highness. They were outclassed. We all were."
"Perhaps. One thing worries me, though, Commander. It is not to be anticipated that the humanx will react with welcomes and hosannas to the appearance of an AAnn battle fleet in one of their frontier systems. Not to mention a subsequent request for said fleet to use nuclear engines on the territory."
"Logical," Parquit replied. He winced. The pain in his left leg was worse. "Yet I believe they'd eventually be thankful. Not that we can expect a lower species to act in a civilized fashion. That is not the important thing. What I must impress upon you, Highness, is that the destruction of this creature supercedes everything else. There is a belief that it is somehow capable of traversing interstellar and possibly even intergalactic space. It grows daily in power. It must be destroyed now, here, before it can manifest abilities we cannot begin to comprehend
You may have noticed in the reports how it ignores the fury of a full laser with seemingly no ill effects. It is apparently also immune now to enormous electrical impulses and various other destructive energies."
"It was right that you contacted me," said the Prince. "Instructions will be relayed to the Eighth battle fleet to proceed at maximum displacement to Repler. I place my good hand, the Baron Riidi WW, in command. An attempt will be made by shuttle to remove you and the other survivors from the station."
"We are grateful, Highness."
"It is not a matter of gratefulness," the Prince replied sternly. "You and the others are all who remain who have observed the creature first hand. I expect it to be destroyed on the planet. Yet I must consider all possibilities, including the impossible. If feasible, your knowledge should be saved."
"It is so recognized, Highness. It is not to be inferred that I slavishly offer thanks. I shall be grateful because I should be most amused to hear the humanx not only agree to, but request, bombardment by ships of the Emperor of one of their own planets."
"I had not consid
ered so," said the Prince. "The Axis of the Universe is Irony. Clean killing, Commander."
"Clean killing, Highness."
The Vom had arrived in the waters outside Repler City. It floated near the surface like a thick oil slick, roiling, folding in and out upon itself, feeding on the small lives of the bottom and the larger silver swimmers. In the several hours since it had made a cursory inspection of the water-front, more out of curiosity than purpose, it had been fired on by a multitude of exotic weaponry of different types and theoretically murderous capabilities. Peot's fears had not been realized, and in some ways it was worse because of that. The monster had ignored the efforts of the humanx defenders. it could take them when it wished and made the fact obvious. It was depressing.
The harborfront had been sealed off by police when the creature had appeared. The majority of the citizenry was aware only that something unusual was taking place at the harbor. A minor disturbance, perhaps a devil-fish attack. Nothing to get excited about. Go about your business, citizens.
It could not be concealed for long, however, that there was no devil-fish smashing insanely into boats and rafts and that the nuisance was in fact anything but minor. At that point Orvenalix, peaceforcer Mailloux, and the Governor would have the additional burden of a general panic on their hands.
Although it was a frightening thing to observe the monster's complete indifference to repeated assault, Orvenalix was prepared for it. Porsupah told him such would likely be the result.
What did disturb him was a related incident with more sinister implications.
While the creature was prowling half-submerged about the docks, a single shuttle was launched on its way skyward. The craft had managed to gain only a few hundred meters when it had abruptly wavered, veered crazily, and crashed into the shallow water north of the shuttleport. All inquiries from the port controller had been greeted with deathly silence.
When the full report was presented, Orvenalix ordered all shuttles grounded and those in orbit to remain there. This despite the howls and threats of merchants and citizens alike. Sure, a crash was unusual, but hardly unique. But if he'd merely lost control of his ship, the shuttle pilot should have been shouting non-stop for aid, instructions and suggestions. Or at least cursing respectably. There'd been not a squeak. The implication was obvious.
The Vom's second attempt at mental control after eons had proven as exhilarating as the first. Some slight hesitation in special cells, some difficulty in these first attempts would have been excusable. There had been none. The Vom was confident now. With a little more strength, it felt capable of assuming control of every intelligent mind on the planet.
But that would be unwise. No point unless-no, until it conquered a single other mind. One not of this planet. It was a reckoning long overdue, although the Vom would never interpret it in such terms.
Nor were its thoughts operating on a simplistic level anymore. Soon it would reach the point where it would not have to worry about anything at all.
But for now it could not pierce the Guardian's veil.
Something different should be tried. Possibly piecemeal destruction of this population center, while wasteful, could provoke the Guardian to some response. The Vom began to consider how it might go about destroying the city.
"Everything that can be done has been done," said Peot, staring at his ancient resting place. Mal, Kitten, and Philip stood around the towering alien.
"The Vom is now contemplating the reduction of selected portions of your central metropolitan center. This will be done in hope of forcing me to respond. It will not take place, as I plan to reveal myself to it momentarily. I regret that I have no way of predicting the eventual outcome, nor even the length of the conflict. The Machine assays anywhere from 60 to 40% chance of success. Every minute, the odds increase in the monster's favor." The alien shrugged in very human-like fashion, although it may have meant something else entirely. Or perhaps nothing at all.
"To those of your kind who still place hope in the imagined power of your tiny ships ..." Mal jerked as he realized that the alien had been reading his thoughts again, " ... I can only hope they are prepared to implement my final suggestion, should my own attempts end in failure. The Vom has already matured to the point where most energies are no longer a threat to it. Only by striking directly at its mind is there a chance. All, of course, is conjecture. Things may have changed. Yes, things may have changed ... After all, the Vom itself is an indication of that."
"That's the first time I've heard you display anything remotely like sarcasm," said Kitten.
"You may be right. Final-sealing on my capsule must be concluded from outside. Young Philip has the instructions and knows what last needs be done. He has been invaluable."
"I've been called lots of things, but never that," grinned the youngster.
Peot entered the capsule, turning in the single couchlike affair to face outwards. The same straps and tubing and holds they had seen on his body when the container first opened were reattached. A few shining new devices and link-ups of familiar materials and unfamiliar construct had been added.
With Philip's help the alien began reemplanting tubes and lines into its own body. Finished, the youth stepped back. The massive door began to swing slowly, ponderously shut. There was no click or snap. At that point Philip moved about the scaffolding which clung web-like to the capsule. He did things to hidden switches and controls, each recessed into its own concealing panel.
He climbed down from the spidery framework.
"Is that all?" asked Kitten.
The young engineer nodded. "A small light has been installed-up there." He pointed to the top of the capsule. A tiny, clear glow shone brightly, sharp against the dark metal.
"It's white now. When he makes contact with the Vom -joins battle, if you will-the light should go to yellow. If he wins it will begin to flash red."
"And if he loses?" asked Mal.
"Then the light will go out."
"I hope it's fast," the ship-captain grunted. "Being tied down like this is costing me a small fortune commissionwise. And I can't leave because that crazy over-bug has grounded all shuttles until this idiocy is resolved."
"If friend Pent doesn't win," Kitten shot back, "you'll lose a damn sight more than commissions!"
"I just don't like sitting." The massive hands clasped, unclasped. Knuckles popped like wood.
"Swell. I've got as idea. It might help."
"Anything that'll speed this up one way or another, I'm game."
"Ha! I'll hold you to that! First thing, we've got to find a decent ship. I'm sure Kingsley's got something better tied up than that toy we drifted in on. Then we go back to the reptiles' enclave."
"What the hell do you want to go back there for?"
"I've fond memories of the place..."
"Bulls..."
" ... and I want to look for something. Backing out?"
"Oh Deity!" The captain turned away.
"Philip? You're more than welcome."
"No thanks." He was staring at the silent capsule. "If you can do without me I think I'd best stay around here. In case he needs me."
"Alright awready. Do we talk or go?" Mal asked irritably.
"Keep your plane oriented. We go."
"Would it be too much to ask what we're going for?"
"Tell you when we get there."
"In that case, I propose a temporary delay."
"For?"
"Dinner for two."
"Why Captain! How startlingly romantic of you! I thought you swore true to your cardmeter."
"Romantic, hell. My lower abdomen confesses to feeling decidedly cavernous. The offer to share was meant as a courtesy. No affection implied."
"Charmingly put. Always face Armageddon on a full stomach. Okay, let's eat."
Sealed once more within the capsule which was as familiar to him as his own body, Peot cautiously opened channels to the Machine, kilometers overhead. The computer responded to the linkup wit
h satisfaction. It bad not felt comfortable with the Guardian out of phase, although it had bowed to the necessity.
Arranging functions to comply with the reintegrated Guardian, it prepared channels, girded circuits, primed connections. Circuits in the Machine were ultimately compact. Information passed and changes were made by changes in the number of electrons in the shells of certain atoms. An unimaginable amount of highly concentrated energy, generated by a method as yet glimpsed only in theory by mathematicians of a few existing races, was placed at standby.
Borders defining organic from inorganic levels collapsed, blended, became hypothetical. Only the Guardian Machine remained. A decision, so: The haze surrounding Pout's consciousness, concealing, protecting him, vanished The universe jumped into focus: fine-grained, high-resolution focus. The Guardian reached out. No longer would a policy of concealment serve. The thing must be done: now.
The Guardian impinged lightning-like on an ocean of alien thought, instantly charting mounts and abysses, analyzed.
Sized up.
Leaving a reserve and a small portion of its consciousness to protect its physical self, the Vern. reacted a microsecond later. It was not properly positioned for maximum response. It was, however, no longer a time for probes and feints.
A sledge-hammer force struck the Vom, smashing cells, burning out channels, screaming along- unprepared neural highways like sunfire. The vast heaviness recoiled, shook, recovered.
Struck back.
Within the Guardian Machine a few linkages were shut down, organic or inorganic. A few circuits burnt out, organic or inorganic. Overload. Repair procedures took over.
There was no time for subtlety.
Two pebbles on a shore contested for the same resting place in the sand. One thunderhead sought sky-domination over another. Now somewhere one saint ascended, only to be dragged back to earth; now the other. There was to be no instant resolution to the Old Contest. Both sides knew it, neither argued it.
There were-side effects. Energy was expended and brushed aside. It had to go somewhere. It did. Things happened.
The smaller of Repler's two moons slowed, stopped, began to rotate counter-clockwise.