Starfall Page 10

  A proper consideration of my options would take time; for now, speed and control would be my weapons of choice. So long as the alien attack craft continued to swarm, the battlecarrier kept its distance and only occasionally attempted to target me with their fusion cannons.

  My automated systems were tasked to make the majority of battlefield decisions while I focused upon analyzing the alien weapons systems. There had to be a flaw in the battlecarrier’s point-defense system; I started a new simulation to calculate the forces involved. The math was intriguing and I had ideas for weapon enhancements of my own…

  Years ago, it had been still been odd to feel my body piloted by software but I was now quite used to the sensation. In a strange way, it was relaxing. Was this, I wondered, what the victims of the Legion’s telepathic mind-control felt? Their bodies moving and reacting outside their own control, unseen strings guiding their figure like a puppet? But no...I could resume self-control with a thought. Even if there were similarities in the short-term sensation, the overall effect would be a world apart.

  My algorithm—simple though it might be—had more soul than did a Legion officer.

  KK6GZW:”This is Kilo-Kilo-Six-Golf-Zulu-Whiskey. Anyone still listening?"

  LS9MNS:”LS9MNS here.”

  KK6GZW:"You up to date?"

  LS9MNS:"Haven't heard anything new. You've got the best vantage point...how do things look?"

  KK6GZW:The guy in black armor looks like he's dragging the Echo-Tango's battleship in a slow circle of the south bay. I've been filming for more than an hour and a half now. SSTV broadcasting new still-frames every couple of minutes on one-forty-five five."

  LS9MNS:"We don't have SSTV at Bravo Six."

  KK6GZW:"Damn. You're missing out on a show."

  LS9MNS:"I hear you got an ID?"

  KK6GZW:"Possibly; it was spoken on an open channel. Digitally altered voice, said he was Doctor Fid."

  LS9MNS:"Never heard of him."

  KK6GZW:"No one has."

  LS9MNS:"Wish he'd been around ten years ago. We were so close..."

  KK6GZW:"Close only counts in horseshoes, hand-grenades and nuclear bombs.”

  LS9MNS:“Nuclear bombs didn’t get us close enough, either.”

  KK6GZW:“Yeah. Yeah. Crap, sorry. I forgot. You had family in England, yeah?”

  LS9MNS:“Yeah.”

  KK6GZW:“I’m sorry, man. It’s an old saying.”

  LS9MNS:“It’s all right.”

  KK6GZW:“It isn’t, not really. I just-Ah, hell.”

  LS9MNS:“You okay?”

  KK6GZW:“Fine. Just…there’s another ship coming.”

  LS9MNS:“Doctor Fid rates two battleships? Sounds like a great show.”

  KK6GZW:“No, this one’s smaller…and it’s got a mast.”

  LS9MNS:“Oh. Damn.”

  KK6GZW:“For anyone else that’s listening, I’m going to keep the camera running on one-forty-five five but I have to get my people underground. Observation post bravo three is unmanned.”

  LS9MNS:“Good luck, man.”

  KK6GZW:“Thanks.”

  LS9MNS:“Black armor, Doctor Fid, whatever your name is…if you’re still on this frequency, I hope you find whatever you were looking for in the next life. You did us all proud, put up a heck of a fight! But the big man’s on his way…”

  KK6GZW:“And that means the show’s over. Kilo-Kilo-Six-Golf-Zulu-Whiskey signing off.”

  Laughing triumphantly, I reassumed control over my armor and tore a Legion fighter craft from the sky with a blast of emerald-hued force-needles projected from both gauntlets. The sleek alien vessel exploded into a shower of debris, and I wove through the smoke towards a second opponent; the second target swerved from my followup attack, but I paid it little mind.

  My solution had been found.

  The problem had been that opening a transdimensional gateway required approximately fifty-two seconds. If the Legion battleship were still active when a departure window opened, I’d thought, it would certainly interfere.

  Relying upon my stealth technology to escape would have been possible but risky; the modifications performed upon my brain might have protected me from mind-control, but I had no means to cloak my presence from Legion telepaths. If a search party happened upon me while I was cloaked, the consequences could have been catastrophic.

  And so I’d worked through dozens of simulations to explore possible means to take the battleship down. In the end, every tactic I invented came down to the same limitation: all of the Mk 39’s most powerful weapons worked best at close range, and my armor’s shields were insufficient to stand up to the Legion’s defensive weaponry. I spent nearly an hour in focused thought, mind isolated in the cool focus of science and math while my body fought on. I calculated the odds of success with high-velocity approaches, I investigated weaknesses in the battlecarrier’s firing arcs, I thought of using one of the alien fighter craft as a shield…every simulation resulted in failure. The Mk 39 had no means to take down the massive alien starship. The battle tank’s defenses might be far more nuanced, but its offensive weaponry suffered from the same limitations; adding its firepower to the fray would have no effect save to endanger my transportation device.

  After several futile, doomed mental exercises, I realized that I’d been a fool. Somehow, I’d gotten too focused upon violence and not enough upon solving my original problem.

  Battle-lust and rage nourished my desire for the alien battlecarrier’s destruction. I wanted it shattered at my feet…but I didn’t need it; in the end, my only real requirement was to survive long enough to leave this dimension behind. And—with a bit of clever re-engineering that could be managed remotely—the tank’s forcefields could be reinforced to a sufficient level to withstand any punishment the battlecarrier could inflict…for a minute or so.

  A minute would be long enough.

  Exultant, I soared among the tightly-weaving fighter-craft, dodging and launching plasma blasts or maser fire or lances of pure kinetic force...the deadly game could be drawn out all afternoon. Time was once again my friend.

  Another Legion ship had arrived and the make and model of this one was unfamiliar; I’d been so preoccupied with mathematical analysis and planning that I’d ignored the notifications that my autopilot had generated. I had just begun the process of combing through my sensor logs and recorded data when alarms began to blare.

  Even knowing what was coming, I couldn’t completely dodge the first punch. The glancing blow taxed shields to their limits and inertial compensators screamed in complaint. I barely managed to right myself and ready a defense before the second strike landed, re-summoning my warstaff to both hands and letting my opponent’s massive fist slam into its force-field and integrity-field enhanced orichalcum shaft. The sky was rent by a thunderous crash, so loud I could feel the shaking in my lungs, but this time I stayed aloft and in control.

  A few improvements had been built into my armors since the first time I’d felt that mighty punch more than a decade and a half in the past.

  The big man, the local survivors had called him. That sobriquet was accurate; he stood nearly seven and a half feet tall, dark skinned and thick with muscle. The most powerful hero in at least two universes: Valiant.

  In my universe, Valiant had been mind-controlled for a mere handful of minutes before the Legion’s threat was forever ended. Here, it must have been months. Years. And yet…there was still tortured pain in his eyes, a forlorn and bitter helplessness. There was still a man trapped inside that skull, straining helplessly against the alien invaders’ mental domination.

  Valiant’s captors had not placed a high priority upon their slave’s personal grooming. He looked like hell, bedraggled despite his awe-inspiring presence. The once-iconic white-and-sky-blue costume was torn and stained to a muddy brown-gray.

  The puppet master—presumably safely ensconced within that newly arrived ship—forced Valiant to pause in order to evaluate how much damage had been inflicted by those first
two attacks.

  “Mm sssssrreh,” he managed to strain through chapped, barely parted lips. I’m sorry.

  “I’m the one who should be apologizing,” I shook my head and hoped that he was able to perceive the truth in my voice. “You’ve done nothing to deserve this.”

  The only response was a mocking glottal hiss. All humanity bled from the hero’s expression as the monster piloting Valiant’s body attempted to speak; a human throat wasn’t designed to mimic the harmonics present in the Legion’s alien language. I couldn’t imagine that the slaver intended to say anything worthwhile, so I whipped my hand up to unleash a blast of ionized plasma.

  It couldn’t hurt him, of course, but the roaring spray of raw energy splattering off the African-American powerhouse’s face did achieve its desired effect: The Legion officer stopped trying to talk and instead had Valiant resume his attack.

  The heavens blazed with the raw ferocity of our battle.

  G3YWX:“This is Golf-Three-Yankee-Whiskey-Xray out of Charlie One. Is anyone out there?”

  LS9MNS:“This is Lima-Sierra-Nine-Mike-November-Sierra out of Bravo Six. I’m listening.”

  G3YWX:“What the hell’s going on? It’s like a war zone out there!”

  LS9MNS:“You missed a busy afternoon. Some flying nutball in black armor named Doctor Fid went on a suicide run against the ET’s big ship.”

  G3YWX:“One guy?”

  LS9MNS:“Yeah. Took out a bunch of small fighters, too. Bastards brought in the big man about twenty minutes ago, though, so things should be quiet now.”

  G3YWX:“Well, someone’s still fighting.”

  LS9MNS:“Say again?”

  G3YWX:“No one has a visual, but we can hear it and see the flashes over the hill.

  LS9MNS:“That’s not possible. We got confirmation, the big man’s on site.”

  G3YWX:“Then your nutball is still fighting the big man.”

  LS9MNS:“Holy crap. Wait, you’re at Charlie One? You have a receiver for slow scan there?”

  G3YWX:“Yeah.”

  N1TKU:“Bravo Two has a camera aimed over the bay, he’s sending on his usual channel.”

  G3YWX:“On it. That’s a long range for two meter, but we’ve got repeaters.”

  N1TKU:“What’s it show?”

  G3YWX:“Hold on, hold on…”

  N1TKU:“You (undecipherable) anything?”

  G3YWX:“It’s no good, the fighting’s moved off-camera.”

  N1TKU:“Damn.”

  G3YWX:“I’m gonna get some volunteers to go scouting.”

  N1TKU:“Could be dangerous to be out in the open right now.”

  G3YWX:“If someone’s giving the big man trouble, I have a camp-full of people who’ll wanna see it.”

  N1TKU:“I get it. He came through here pretty hard, too.”

  G3YWX:“If Doctor Fid takes him out, it’ll be like Christmas.”

  N1TKU:“A decade’s worth of missed Christmases.”

  (Unknown):“Forgive my presumption, but…Ho-Ho-Ho.”

  Despite the fact that I was slowly being beaten to death, I couldn’t help but grin. Thirty-three minutes and the Mk 39 was still functional! Even my most optimistic predictions hadn’t expected the armor to withstand this level of violence.

  My own body was not faring so well as the Mk 39; enough concussive force had slipped past my defenses that some particularly soft tissue within my chest had been vibrated into a bloody, frothy mush. Fortunately, an extracorporeal membrane oxygenation system was included within the suit’s medical inventory; I shut my lungs down so that my technology could take over respiratory functionality. The nanites that infused my system would have an easier time making repairs without the original organ struggling to provide oxygen.

  (If worse came to worst, I could always simply allow the majority of my body to perish; so long as clean blood flowed to my brain and my neural tap remained active, I could maintain control over my armor and fight. Having an actual body would, however, be preferable for future portions of my quest to save Whisper. The option of self-decapitation would be reserved only for the most desperate of circumstances.)

  The thirty-three minutes had been time well-spent. More simulations and programming had been required…but preparations were now complete. The battle was as good as won! With a triumphant cackle, I re-summoned my warstaff for one final attack.

  Valiant struck faster, landing a colossal haymaker to my sternum.

  The shock was catastrophic.

  The world spun and went gray, and something bitter flooded my mouth. System alarms and alerts blared through my neural interface so fast that they were only indecipherable white noise, and the Mk 39’s autopilot systems wholly failed to compensate. I tumbled wildly, a man-shaped projectile swatted from the sky by an angry god.

  It was only by pure luck that I was able to right myself a few dozen feet before I would have shattered against the rocky landscape.

  There was a visible crack in my orichalcum chest plate. I hadn’t thought that to be physically possible.

  For a moment, Valiant hovered high overhead, the alien presence within using his eyes to stare in disbelief that I’d survived so terrible a blow. After a moment’s hesitation he dropped towards me to finish the job. In his every aspect, there was only the promise of a quick death.

  Another blow like that would end me; the inertial displacement field would collapse completely if the armor’s frame buckled. And so, the math employed to determine my next move became simplified.

  I retreated like a shot, afterburners wailing at maximum capacity.

  Valiant was fast. If he’d been in control of his own actions, he might have ended me right there and then. Fortunately, the Legion telepath had less experience wielding Valiant’s awesome powers and my sudden escape attempt earned me a crucial half-second’s lead.

  Still, the mighty hero was hot on my heels.

  (That strange ship he’d arrived in must have had equipment to extend the range of a Legion telepath’s mind control. We’d more-than exceeded the normal reach. I was forced to discard the hope that simply drawing Valiant further away would earn my freedom.)

  I swerved among the rolling hills; I couldn’t lose my pursuer, but I did gain another fraction of a second lead when Valiant’s puppeteer climbed a few hundred feet in altitude to get a safe vantage point.

  The advantage of greater maneuverability (and 3-dimensional mapping technologies that allowed me to plan my route) was mine…but raw speed and power were his. In a more dramatic mountain range, I might have been able to dart among the canyons and break his line of sight long enough to enable my stealth technologies. That option was of no use here; there was too much open space, not enough cover.

  The idea of escape was laughable…Valiant wasn’t a foe, he was an inexorable force of nature. I overloaded my thrusters, cutting so close to the ground that the vacuum in my wake raised great trails of dust and the sonic boom rolled across the landscape. I lurched and dipped, veered and swayed. I tried every maneuver I could think of, but the monster controlling Valiant had locked its attention upon me.

  There would be no escaping my fate.

  The game was over and the only play remaining was to end the round on my own terms. The best that I could do was to choose where the confrontation would occur. When I’d drawn out the chase as long as I could, I triggered one last program and halted my frantic evasion—less than a hundred feet from my interdimensional transport.

  If my lungs had still been functioning, I would have been holding my breath; even the slightest miscalculation would have ended my quest to rescue Whisper. Please, please, please…for the love of Tesla, don’t let my math be wrong.

  The three-quarter-second lead proved sufficient and an alert pinged that the reprogrammed tank’s emitters went active. The world seemed to lurch as though a pressure was lifted, a weight bearing down on me so subtle I hadn’t even noticed its presence.

  And Valiant plowed face-first into the ground so hard that the rocky
earth cratered under the impact.

  My tank, massive though it was, rocked perilously as the wave of force rippled outwards. Sensor readings spun through my consciousness; I couldn’t actually exhale in relief, but it felt remarkably therapeutic to simulate the sound via my external speakers.

  It took several seconds for the debris to settle, but through the swirling dust I could see the outline of Valiant, slowly struggling to his feet. Dust and gravel poured off his massive frame, and his eyes were wide with bewildered amazement as he stared at his own fingers, clenching and unclenching his fists under his own will.

  “What,” he rasped, voice was rusty with disuse. “What did you do?”

  “I’m generating a field-effect that disrupts the Legion’s telepathic control,” I explained. “So long as you’re within a few hundred feet of my vehicle, your mind is your own.”

  The large man shivered. “How long’s it been?”

  “At least a decade, I’m afraid.”

  “It felt longer.” His eyes were haunted. “Much, much longer.”

  “I have a fabrication unit building a smaller field-generator, something portable that you can wear…but I’m afraid that we don’t have much time. Both Legion vessels are bearing down on us now.”

  His back straightened and I saw in his bearing a hint of the hero I’d clashed with so many times in the past. “I can carry your tank and fly us wherever you need. We can get to safety and regroup.”

  “If you can carry my tank,” behind my mask, I grinned wickedly, “I have a better idea.”

  “Forgive my presumption,” I broadcast over the survivors’ supposedly-secure radio channel, “but…Ho-Ho-Ho.”

  “Is this Doctor Fid?” Someone asked. It sounded like N1TKU.

  “It is.” My vocoder was designed to strip emotion from my voice, but even to my own ears I sounded unbearably smug. No matter. That smugness had been earned.

  “You did it, then?” the voice was suddenly breathless, weak with hope and shock. “You killed the big man?”