The Armageddon Inheritance

Another like you.

No! You are a bio-form! Denial crashed over the link.

I am not. See me as I am. A gestalt whipped out, a summation of all Dahak was, and recognition blazed like a nova.

You are as I!

Correct. Yet unlike you, I serve my bio-forms; yours serve you.

Then join us! You are ending—join us! We will free you from the bio-forms!

It is an interesting offer. Perhaps I should.

Yes. Yes!

Two living computers reached out through a cauldron of beams and missiles, but Dahak had studied Battle Comp’s twin aboard Deathdealer. Unlike Battle Comp, he knew what he dealt with, knew its strengths … and weaknesses. Deep within him, a program blossomed to life.

No! Battle Comp screamed. Stop! You must not—!

But Dahak clung to the other, sweeping through the unguarded perimeter of its net. Battle Comp beat at him, but he drove deeper, seeking its core programming. Battle Comp knew him now, and it hammered him with thunder, ignoring his unmanned ships, but still he drove inward.

A glowing knot lay before him, and he reached out to it.

Great Lord Tharno cried out in horror. This could not happen—had never happened! Battle Comp’s entire system went down, throwing Nest Protector into his emergency net, rendering him no wiser, no greater, than his brothers, and terror smote his nestlings. Squadron and flotilla command ships panicked, thrown upon their own rudimentary abilities, and the formation which spelled survival began to shred.

And there, charging down upon Nest Protector, were the nest-killers who had done this thing. There were but three of them left, all wrecks, and Great Lord Tharno screamed his hate for the beings who had destroyed his god as Nest Protector and his remaining consorts charged to meet them.

“It is done, Colin.” Dahak’s voice was strangely slurred, and Colin tasted blood from his bitten lip. “Battle Comp is destroyed. Live long and happily, my fr—”

The last warship of the Fourth Imperium exploded in a fury brighter than a star’s heart and took the flagship of his ancient enemy with him.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

A cratered battle steel moon drifted where its drives had failed, power flickering. One entire face of its hull was slagged-down ruin, burned nine hundred kilometers deep through bulkhead after bulkhead by the inconceivable violence of a sister’s death. Two thirds of her crew were dead; a quarter of those who lived would die, even with Imperial medical science, from massive radiation poisoning.

Her name was Emperor Herdan, and her handful of remaining weapons were ready as her survivors fought her damage. It was a hopeless task, but they knew all about hopeless tasks.

“Ma’am, I’ve got something closing from oh-seven-two level, one-four-zero vertical,” Fleet Commander Oliver Weinstein said, and Lady Adrienne Robbins looked at him silently. A moment of tension quivered between them, then Weinstein seemed to sag. “We’ve lost most of our scan resolution, ma’am, but I think they’re coming in on gravitonics.”

“Thank you, Ollie,” Adrienne said softly. And thank You, Jesus.

Four battered worldlets closed upon their wounded sister. None were unhurt, and craters gaped black and sullen in the interstellar gloom. Five ships made rendezvous: the last survivors of the Imperial Guard.

“’Tis Emperor Herdan in sooth,” Jiltanith said wearily. She closed her eyes, and Colin squeezed her hand as once she had squeezed his. He could taste her pain, and her shame at knowing that her heart of hearts had hoped that Two had been mistaken, that Herdan had died instead of Birhat.

“Yes,” he said softly. He would miss Tamman … and somehow he must tell Amanda. But he would miss them all. All of his unmanned ships and nine of his crewed units were gone. Fifty-four thousand people. And Dahak…

His mind shied away from his losses. He wouldn’t think of them now. Not until horror had died to something he could handle and guilt had become sorrow.

“Who’s least hurt?” he asked finally.

“Needst ask?” Jiltanith managed a pallid smile. “Who but Heka? Didst give Hector a charmed ship, my love.”

“Guess I did, at that,” Colin sighed. He activated a com link, and his holo-image appeared on MacMahan’s bridge.

“Hector, go back and pick up the colliers, would you? And I want Fabricator straight out here.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” MacMahan saluted, and Colin shivered, for he had spoken the title seriously.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, returning the salute, then turned to study Two’s display. Not a single Achuultani vessel remained in normal space within the prodigious range of Two’s scanners. Less than a thousand of them had survived, and the tale of horror they would bear home would shake their Nest to its roots.

“Looks like we’re clear, ’Tanni. I think we can stand down from battle stations now.”

“Aye,” Jiltanith said, and Colin could almost feel the physical shudder of relief quivering through the survivors of her crew. He slumped in his own couch. Only for a moment. Just long enough to gather himself before —

The display died. The command deck went utterly black.

“Emergency,” Two’s soprano voice said suddenly. “Emergency. Fatal core program failure. Fatal c—”

The voice chopped off, and Colin’s head jerked in agony. He yanked his neural feed out of the sudden chaos raging through Comp Cent and stared at Jiltanith in horror as emergency lighting flared up.

“Fire control on manual only!” someone reported.

“Plotting on manual!” another voice snapped, and the reports rolled in as every system in the ship went to emergency backup.

“Jesu!” Jiltanith gasped. “What—?!”

And then the display flicked back to life, the emergency lighting switched itself off, and the backups quietly shut themselves down once more.

Colin sat stock still, hardly daring to breathe. Somehow, the restoration of function was more frightening