the Hive. The planet Telecore was close behind.
Someone might have wondered why a planet perfect for life had none. Rome had only found Telecore devoid of all life because the Hive had already been there once, eaten it clean, and moved on. And came back.
The Hive ate the terraformed world clean one more time.
The Hive was ancient, resilient, a veteran of countless attempts to destroy it. Swarms could outmaneuver, overpower, and turn high-tech weaponry on its owners. Yet despite all the Hive’s collective adaptations and tricks, the individual members could still be cut with a sharp edge. A ship equipped with swords was the first to survive an encounter with the Hive.
Jose Maria had assisted in destroying the original enemy, but failed in his quest to bring his wife home. He knew Mercedes was dead. He would have liked to lay her to rest on Terra Rica.
Sulla had never been found.
Jose Maria was going home alone.
“I must give you something of mine,” Jose Maria told John Farragut. “There may not be time later. I gave Augustus my guitar.”
Well, Augustus had taken it.
Jose Maria gave John Farragut his Spanish sword.
The elegant sword, its elaborate hilt fashioned like El Cid’s colada, bore nicks and scratches of honorable service. The cord that kept it in hand through many battles was frayed. “Hell of a gift,” said Farragut, profoundly moved. “Thank you.”
He asked Jose Maria if he was going home now to Terra Rica.
“Earth first,” said Jose Maria. “I have an audience with the Pope.”
“What’d that cost you?”
Eyelids lowered, brows went up. “You are channeling Augustus, young Captain,” Jose Maria scolded gently. “That was unkind.”
“That was unforgivably rude,” said Farragut, surprised that the words even came out of him. “Forgivable.” Jose Maria made the sign of the cross over him. “Te absolvo.”
Jose Maria’s standing as philanthropist and as a Catholic would make him welcome at the Vatican, seat of the archaic Earth religion which had long since parted ways with the Roman Empire.
“We’ll need to delouse you and all your things before we get to Fort Ike,” said Farragut.
The crew had come to referring to nanites as lice.
Neither the term nor the requirement surprised Jose Maria. He was aware of all the sanitization happening around him. Farragut promised him, “I’ll have the crew repack your crates when they’re done,”
Jose Maria demurred, “Young Captain, I have a set of personal nano-machines I should very much like to preserve.”
“I’ll get you a capsule. We can tow your nanites outboard with the oxygen bricks. You’ll need to park them outside the Fort and pick them up on your way out.”
“That will suffice. Thank you for accommodating me.”
“Are you taking the Shotgun home or are you and Mercedes touring the galaxy?”
“I have not decided,” he said, thoughtful.
The Shotgun could displace Jose Maria and Mercedes across the two thousand parsecs that separated Fort Dwight David Eisenhower from Fort Theodore Roosevelt in an instant. A ship existed in the Fort Ike terminus of the Shotgun one moment, and then in the Fort Ted terminus the next. Never in between.
From Fort Ted, Earth was only eighty-two light-years away. Terra Rica was not much farther but in a different direction.
A hefty tariff accompanied nonmilitary use of the Shotgun. That would not be an issue for Jose Maria if he decided to use the Shotgun.
The alternative to the Shotgun was a three-month voyage across the Abyss—the lightly starred space between galactic arms. Maybe less than three months if Jose Maria tried to set a record in his new Star Racer.
“Fort Ike and Fort Ted are both military targets,” John Farragut advised Jose Maria. “Unless the Pope is drumming his fingers, I’d take the long way home. The farther you stay from us, the safer you will be.”
“Perhaps then I should pick up a guitar in Fort Eisenhower,” said Jose Maria, contemplating
Someone might have wondered why a planet perfect for life had none. Rome had only found Telecore devoid of all life because the Hive had already been there once, eaten it clean, and moved on. And came back.
The Hive ate the terraformed world clean one more time.
The Hive was ancient, resilient, a veteran of countless attempts to destroy it. Swarms could outmaneuver, overpower, and turn high-tech weaponry on its owners. Yet despite all the Hive’s collective adaptations and tricks, the individual members could still be cut with a sharp edge. A ship equipped with swords was the first to survive an encounter with the Hive.
Jose Maria had assisted in destroying the original enemy, but failed in his quest to bring his wife home. He knew Mercedes was dead. He would have liked to lay her to rest on Terra Rica.
Sulla had never been found.
Jose Maria was going home alone.
“I must give you something of mine,” Jose Maria told John Farragut. “There may not be time later. I gave Augustus my guitar.”
Well, Augustus had taken it.
Jose Maria gave John Farragut his Spanish sword.
The elegant sword, its elaborate hilt fashioned like El Cid’s colada, bore nicks and scratches of honorable service. The cord that kept it in hand through many battles was frayed. “Hell of a gift,” said Farragut, profoundly moved. “Thank you.”
He asked Jose Maria if he was going home now to Terra Rica.
“Earth first,” said Jose Maria. “I have an audience with the Pope.”
“What’d that cost you?”
Eyelids lowered, brows went up. “You are channeling Augustus, young Captain,” Jose Maria scolded gently. “That was unkind.”
“That was unforgivably rude,” said Farragut, surprised that the words even came out of him. “Forgivable.” Jose Maria made the sign of the cross over him. “Te absolvo.”
Jose Maria’s standing as philanthropist and as a Catholic would make him welcome at the Vatican, seat of the archaic Earth religion which had long since parted ways with the Roman Empire.
“We’ll need to delouse you and all your things before we get to Fort Ike,” said Farragut.
The crew had come to referring to nanites as lice.
Neither the term nor the requirement surprised Jose Maria. He was aware of all the sanitization happening around him. Farragut promised him, “I’ll have the crew repack your crates when they’re done,”
Jose Maria demurred, “Young Captain, I have a set of personal nano-machines I should very much like to preserve.”
“I’ll get you a capsule. We can tow your nanites outboard with the oxygen bricks. You’ll need to park them outside the Fort and pick them up on your way out.”
“That will suffice. Thank you for accommodating me.”
“Are you taking the Shotgun home or are you and Mercedes touring the galaxy?”
“I have not decided,” he said, thoughtful.
The Shotgun could displace Jose Maria and Mercedes across the two thousand parsecs that separated Fort Dwight David Eisenhower from Fort Theodore Roosevelt in an instant. A ship existed in the Fort Ike terminus of the Shotgun one moment, and then in the Fort Ted terminus the next. Never in between.
From Fort Ted, Earth was only eighty-two light-years away. Terra Rica was not much farther but in a different direction.
A hefty tariff accompanied nonmilitary use of the Shotgun. That would not be an issue for Jose Maria if he decided to use the Shotgun.
The alternative to the Shotgun was a three-month voyage across the Abyss—the lightly starred space between galactic arms. Maybe less than three months if Jose Maria tried to set a record in his new Star Racer.
“Fort Ike and Fort Ted are both military targets,” John Farragut advised Jose Maria. “Unless the Pope is drumming his fingers, I’d take the long way home. The farther you stay from us, the safer you will be.”
“Perhaps then I should pick up a guitar in Fort Eisenhower,” said Jose Maria, contemplating
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