Mutineer's Moon

He eased her dead armor into a sitting position where she could see the crippled mutineer, then returned his attention to the computers. He activated a stand-alone emergency diagnostic system and felt his cautious way down the frozen fire control circuits to the detonation order, then sought the next circuit in the sequence. He disabled it and withdrew, then reactivated the core computers and swung to face Anu, and his face was cold.

“How?” the mutineer moaned. Even his implants couldn’t fully deaden the agony of his broken limbs, and his face was white. “How could you do that?”

“Dahak taught me,” Colin said grimly, and Anu shook his head frantically.

“No! No, Dahak’s dead! I killed it!” The agony of failure, utter and complete, filled Anu’s face, overshadowing his physical pain.

“Did you, now?” Colin asked softly, and his smile was cruel. “Then you won’t mind this a bit.”

He bent over the broken body and snatched it up, careless of Anu’s wail of anguish.

“What wouldst thou, Colin?” Jiltanith asked urgently.

“I’m giving him what he wanted,” Colin said coldly, and crossed the command deck. A hatch hissed open at his command to reveal the cabin of a lifeboat, and he dumped Anu into the lead couch. The mutineer stared at him with desperate, hating eyes, and Colin smiled that same cold, cruel smile as his neural feed programmed the lifeboat with a captain’s imperative, locking out all attempts to change it.

“You wanted Dahak, you son-of-a-bitch? Well, Dahak wants you, too. I think he’ll enjoy the meeting more than you will.”

“No!” Anu shrieked as the hatch began to close. “Nooooooooo! Ple—”

The hatch cut him off, and Osir twitched as the lifeboat launched.

The gleaming minnow arced upward through the enclave’s shield, fleeing the planet its mother ship had come to so long before. It altered course, swinging uneeringly to line its nose on the white, distant disk of the moon, and its passenger’s terrified mind hammered futilely at the commands locked into its computers. The lifeboat paid no heed, driving onward toward the mighty starship it had left millennia ago. Tracking systems aboard that starship locked upon it, noting its origin and course, and a fold-space signal pulsed out before it, identifying its single passenger to Dahak.

The computer watched it come, and Alpha Priority commands within his core programming tingled to life. Dahak could have fired the instant he identified the target, but he held his fire, waiting, letting the lifeboat bear its cargo closer and closer, and the human emotion of anticipation filled his circuitry.

The lifeboat reached the kill zone about the warship, and a single, five-thousand-kilometer streamer of energy erupted from beneath the crater men had named Tycho. It lashed out, fit to destroy a ship like Osir herself, and the silver minnow vanished.

There were tiny sounds aboard the leviathan called Dahak. The targeting systems shut themselves down with a quiet click. The massive energy mount whined softly as it powered down, its glowing snout cooling quickly in the vacuum of its weapon bay. Then there was only silence. Silence and yet another human emotion … completion.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Two months to the day after the fall of the enclave, Senior Fleet Captain Colin MacIntyre, Imperial Battle Fleet, commanding officer of the ship-of-the-line Dahak and Governor of Planet Earth and the Solarian System, stepped out of the hoverjeep and breathed deep of the crisp, clear morning of a Colorado autumn. The usual frenzy of Shepherd Space Center was stilled, and he felt his NASA driver staring at the bronze- sheened tower of alloy thrusting arrogantly heavenward before them. The sublight battleship Osir had been sitting here for a week, waiting for him, but a week hadn’t been long enough for NASA to get used to her.

He adjusted his cap and moved to join the small group at the foot of Osir’s ramp. He was grateful that those same people had let him have a few moments of privacy to stand alone with the permanent honor guard before The Cenotaph. That was the only name it had, probably the only name it ever would have, and it was enough. The polished obsidian shaft reared fifty meters into the air in front of White Tower, glittering and featureless, and its plain battle steel plinth bore the name and birth-planet of every person who had died fighting the southerners.

It was a long list. He’d stepped close, scanning the endless names until he found the two he sought. “SANDRA YVONNE TILLOTSON, LT. COL., USAF, EARTH” and “SEAN ANDREW MACINTYRE, US FORESTRY SERVICE, EARTH.” His brother and his friend were in good company, he thought sadly. The best.

Now he tried to put the sorrow aside as he reached the waiting group. Horus stood with General Gerald Hatcher, Sir Frederick Amesbury, and Marshal Vassily Chernikov—the three men who, most of all, had held the planet together in the wake of the preposterous reports coming out of Antarctica. Once the truth of those fantastic tales registered, virtually every major government had fallen overnight, and Colin still wasn’t quite certain how these men had managed to hang onto a semblance of order, even with the support of Nergal’s allies within the military.

“Horus,” Colin nodded to his friend. “It looks like I’m leaving you in good hands.”

“I think so, too,” Horus replied with a small, slightly wistful smile.

Only eleven of Nergal’s senior Imperials had lived through the fighting, and they had chosen to remain behind with the planet on which they’d spent so much of their long lives. Colin was glad. They’d far more than earned their right to leave, but it would have seemed wrong, somehow. In a very real sense, they were the surviving godparents of the human race, Terran branch. If anyone could be trusted to look after Earth’s interests, they could.

And Earth’s interests would need looking after. A second line of automated stations had gone off the air, which meant the Achuultani’s scouts were no more than twenty-five months away. He had that long to reach the Imperium, find out why no defense was being mounted, summon assistance, and get back to Sol. It was a tall order, and he frankly doubted he could do it. Nor was the fact reassuring that no one had yet answered the non- stop messages Dahak had been transmitting ever since they recovered the hypercom spares from the enclave.

It looked like the only way they could find help—if there was any to find—was to go out and get it in person, and only Dahak could do that. Which meant Earth would be on her own until Dahak could return.

The situation wasn’t quite as hopeless as it might have been. Assuming Dahak’s records of previous incursions were any guide, the Achuultani scouts would be anywhere from a year to eighteen months ahead of the main incursion, and Earth would not be fangless when they arrived. Except for Osir herself, all of Dahak’s sublight warships had been debarked, along with the vast majority of the old starship’s fighters and enough combat and ground vehicles to conquer the planet five times over. They would remain behind to form the nucleus of Sol’s defense.

Two of Dahak’s four Fleet repair units, each effectively a hundred-fifty- thousand-ton spaceborne industrial complex in its own right, had also been debarked. Their first task had been the construction of the gravity generator Dahak would leave in his place to avoid disturbing such things as the Lagrange point habitats, not to mention little items like Earth’s tides. Since completing that assignment, they had split their capacity between replicating themselves and producing missiles, mines, fighters, and every other conceivable weapon of war. The technological and industrial base Anu had hoarded for fifty millennia was coming into operation, as well, with every Terrestrial assistance a badly frightened planet could provide.

No, Earth would not be helpless when the Achuultani arrived. But a strong hand would be needed to lead Colin’s birth-world through the enormous changes that awaited it, and that hand would belong to Horus.

Colin had declared himself Governor of Earth, but he’d never meant to claim the title seriously. He’d seen it only as a means to make his pardon of Nergal’s Imperials “official,” yet it had become clear his temporary expedient was in fact a necessity. It would be a long time before Terrans really trusted