MotherShip (42 page)

With one motion, Guardian pulled the Fixer away. The little robot's arms were stiff, unmoving; its hands had melted into a metallic blob.

“My arms are not functioning,” Fixer reported calmly.

“The intense heat has fused the internal circuits and destroyed your servo motors,” Mother said from the overhead speaker.

“The engine will explode,” Fixer reported.

“Stand back,” Guardian ordered calmly.

Guardian placed his metallic hands against the red-hot surface. Even as he bent his huge frame and powered every internal servo motor, he felt the circuits in his hands go dead. Melted. He pushed harder, but the engine did not move.

Suddenly the image of Becky displayed to his near-term memories. Her image had been occurring with a regular frequency this last hour. And no matter how often it happened, after he had studied the familiar visage, taking in every curve of the face, every layout of the blonde hair, he would erase it from his near-term memory, only to have the image return seconds later. The image was there again, and Guardian felt a surge of power inside his body.

Guardian did not understand.

But for some reason, as he bent his body this time, as he strained every joint and motor, the engine began to move.

The circuitry inside Guardian's arms sizzled and fused with a sickening staccato of sparks from the intense heat.

Fixer stared at the giant robot, and sent the visual images to Mother.

Mother focused a small portion on this incoming signal, and noted that only twenty-one seconds remained before the coming explosion.

Like some mythological god, Guardian flexed and drove his being into the Herculean task before him. His metallic back and shoulders strained behind his outstretched arms, driving them forward—stepping forward on one leg while the other stretched back behind him, he pushed with all his metallic might. Now even more than Atlas, the mythological god of old, he held the entire universe in his grip as he pushed against the massive engine.

Tiny drops of liquid metal raced down Guardian's hands and across his forearms as the searing heat caused them to glow a dull and deadly red. The massive engine jerked with a sudden movement that placed it closer to its original position and the huge heat sinks that protected it. But now Guardian's servo motors screeched and wailed as they overheated and the deadly red glow crept toward his shoulders.

The image of Becky in his near-term memories began to blur.

The giant robot communicated rarely. As his motors screamed and his circuits went dead one by one, Guardian sent a last, short message to Mother—his companion, his friend.

Even with his internal circuits melting, he bent his robotic frame one last time, every ounce of processing power on two things—to push the engine back into place...and to remember Becky's image. With his last effort, Guardian sought to achieve these two last goals—forever.

The engine suddenly lurched into proper position and the heat sinks automatically reclamped. Immediately the red-hot surface of the huge engine began to cool. The gargantuan task was finished.

But Guardian did not remove his melted hands. And the ruby indicators no longer gleamed in his eyes.

Fixer remained still, his visual sensors locked on the lifeless Guardian now frozen to the engine in his last act of heroism. As the engine cooled, Guardian's hands remained attached—permanently fixed onto its outer surface—as if a statue in memory of his sacrifice. Fixer's optics zoomed onto the metallic face and noticed that extreme heat had changed/melted Guardian's face ever so slightly—a single, frozen metallic tear dripped from his right eye. But more important, it seemed as if the corners of the robot's mouth curved ever so slightly in an eternal smile of the most profound and subtle happiness.

Mother felt another odd stirring in her circuits, and saved it for future reference. She saw the image of Guardian and knew he was now nonfunctioning.
Dead?
Her systems reported the engine's cooling, and that her shields were now on-line and slowly strengthening. She quickly looked at Guardian's last message and stored it.

It was a single word: Becky.

Mother drove hard and avoided another salvo from the frigates providing close support for the Great Horned ship. She destroyed the last of the Hunters as they attacked from the rear, but now she had to deal with these last escorts before her final attack. Her engines roared as she set them to full speed.

She was almost on top of the Great Horned ship, flying just above its outer surface. Her sensors told her the frigates were holding their fire because of her close proximity. But her sensors also informed her that the frigates were closing into point-blank range—they would fire on her then.

But Mother fired her hybrid weapon deep into the Great ship's hull first.

A massive hole opened. The impact of Mother's point-blank range caused a huge layer of the ship's hull—essentially its skin—to fold backwards in a great wave.

Huge amounts of debris exploded from inside, along with the strange, purple fluid that no other species except the T'kaan had ever seen.

She stretched her sensors inside the ship, even as she maneuvered away from the incoming fire from the frigates. The frigates missed her and struck the ship they were trying to protect.

Mother began priming her weapon for one last shot, but she needed to determine a vital section in which to target in order to destroy the Great Horned ship once and for all. She only had seconds in which to search as her sensors stretched forth across the armored skin and then deep into the creature-ship's wound.

The answer came even though she had not been able to make a sensor lock.

Mother began relaying the crucial data to Rawlon as her long-range sensors revealed he was even now making his final approach upon the other Great Horned ship.

Mother's sensors now revealed that she could enter the creature-ship via a large opening underneath the horned prow. Once inside, a deadly angle would present itself toward the center of the gargantuan creature and the heart of its life signs which her sensors registered inside it. This precise angle alone would enable a single shot to destroy the ship completely, but to obtain the angle she had to be inside the armored skin of the creature so her sensors could lock onto it.

Mother and Rawlon would have to be inside each ship before they fired in order to get an accurate lock.

“We've lost the Starfire and the Firestorm,” Curja reported curtly.

Rawlon growled angrily. But even as the word of the destruction of the two cruisers sank in, the Kraaqi Admiral began reading the message just sent from the MotherShip. His eyes narrowed at the crucial data just supplied, and his fists clenched with his iron resolve.

The Thunderer, his flagship, reeled from another T'kaan salvo—more direct hits.

“Shields are failing!” Curja shouted.

On the viewscreen the Great Horned ship increased speed.

“The T'kaan Great ship is powering its hyperdrive engines. It is preparing to retreat.” Curja turned expectantly.

“We can't let that happen. Order the remaining battleships and cruisers to fire on my mark. But not the Thunderer.” Rawlon began punching the controls on his console, sending specific coordinates for each ship to target on the Great Horned ship.

“Range?” Rawlon growled.

“Two hundred kilometers.” Curja turned. “Prime range.”

“Fire.”

The two other Kraaqi battleships fired along with the three remaining cruisers. The huge T'kaan ship that filled their viewscreens seemed to lurch upwards as the five holes erupted.

“Sensors. Damage assessment,” Rawlon commanded.

The Kraaqi officer worked the controls at his station. “There is damage.” Curja paused, still working the dials and controls. “Damage is minimal—the ship is still functioning.” He looked up from his console. “Their hyperdrive engines are off-line, but I don't know for long. I already detect repairs being applied.”

Rawlon growled under his breath. “The Thunderer is now the only ship I have that still has a functioning hybrid weapon.” He nodded stoically.

“Send word to Trakam—he has command of the Kraaqi fleet now.” Rawlon looked down. “What's left of it,” he whispered, so that nobody heard.

Rawlon stood and walked to the center of the bridge. Standing there, his right hand gripping the rapier's handle still in its scabbard, he looked at what was before him.

Several stations were already destroyed; main power was still off-line, evidenced by the red glow of the emergency lighting. Half of his bridge crew was missing, wounded and taken to medical—or dead.

“You have been the best crew any Kraaqi Captain ever commanded.” Rawlon gazed proudly at them all.

The Thunderer shuddered from another direct hit.

“Engines still functioning, but we have no more shields, sir. We have just lost hull integrity in sections B-Seventeen through Twenty-three,” Curja reported diligently.

“Order
Abandon Ship
, Curja. All non-essential personnel.” Rawlon thought a moment. “No, all personnel will evacuate. But first, pass all Engineering controls over to the Bridge.”

Rawlon walked back to his command chair. He looked again at his brave crew.

“I want all of you evacuated in exactly ten minutes. But first, we need to steer the Thunderer down the throat of the T'kaan ship before us.”

Mother suddenly banked hard to port, missing another salvo from the pursuing frigates. Her super-weapon, the hybrid, was almost primed and the enemy still had not sensed her next move.

That was good.

Her sensors registered that the T'kaan Great Horned ship was powering its hyperdrive engines. It looked like the T'kaan finally realized that the puny humans and their allies might possibly win after all.

But it was too late—for all of them.

“Kyle. Jaric. Disengage and retreat. Send word for a general retreat. There is no need for any more losses.”

But neither Kyle nor Jaric answered as the comm channels remained deathly silent.

Mother did not know what this meant. She wanted to focus her processors, but could not. She shuddered as another direct hit shook her violently and she felt her shields fall to zero strength.

Accelerating her engines, she dove for the prow of the T'kaan ship. As she drew near, the creature-ship began evasive maneuvers.

But Mother was too fast. As she kicked her engines again, she slipped underneath and then into the opening that led inside.

The three pursuing frigates followed her inside seconds later.

Mother stretched her sensors out as she entered the total darkness of the T'kaan ship. She felt the strange, overpowering readings of the creatures all around her. Almost without thinking, she began recording them.

Her sensors were blinded momentarily by the sheer enormity of the ship. But then she focused, and a picture began to take shape.

She was inside a huge, pitch-black labyrinth.

As she maneuvered through the huge tunnels, she discovered a surprise.

Along the inner walls, great city-horns rose full of squirming T'kaan young—the fully grown maggots now in the second stage of life. Everywhere paths, roads, and super highways full of T'kaan led from city-horn to city-horn.

City-horns rose by the tens of thousands, each one filled with hundreds of thousands of T'kaan. She registered factories, shipyards, and other signs that a complex society existed inside this almost completely darkened place.

Mother tried to make out smaller details.

Seconds later, she did find T'kaan in other stages of life—they seemed to be leading the youth. But she noticed something strange—

In one instant, thousands of T'kaan had disappeared from where they had once been, seemingly absorbed by the interior walls of the great creature-ship as they traveled the grooved roads. But oddly, nearby T'kaan did not seem to notice their sudden disappearance with any anxiety.

Mother stretched her sensors to that single spot where the T'kaan had been absorbed—there was no other word to describe what she had just seen. She recoiled her sensors almost simultaneously as the hideous answer came to her.

The creature-ship had
eaten
the T'kaan.

And it was eating more; Mother's wide field sensors sensed more being absorbed every few seconds all along the massive interior. Of the hundreds of billions of life signs she saw in a single instant, millions were suddenly absorbed.

Mother realized with a sinking feeling that she was hopelessly lost. She wasn't sure now what direction she was pointed in. She had only that massive sensor reading that showed her the heart of the creature-ship's life source.

She did not want to die, to become nonexistent. Mother began calculating tens of millions of possible solutions. But there were no solutions to her surviving the resulting explosion if she did not find a way out within twenty seconds after she had fired.

The three frigates blocked her from going back out the way she had come. And yet, that seemed the only way out.

Still, she stretched her sensors, sending the new data into her circuits and rerunning the analysis one last time.

A near-miss from one of the frigates sent her reeling. But she quickly righted herself as she leapt into another section of the seemingly endless labyrinths that filled the creature-ship.

She sent more processing to access the damage, and discovered her main power grid off-line, damaged beyond her present capabilities of repair. Her sensors also reported that the next frigate was beginning to fire. Another near-miss would finish her backup grid, and she would be defenseless.

Mother sent the prewritten message she had prepared for Minstrel. It was short and encrypted. She had hoped she would never have reason to send it.

As she fired her hybrid weapon at the target, her sensors continued to stretch out, seeking for a way out. Her analysis for escape continued to run as well.

Everything around her in the darkness suddenly shuddered. Her weapon struck home, a direct hit right into the heart of the creature-ship. Deep inside the now dying entity, a massive overload began, signaling its death knell.