Read Online The Biofab War by Stephen Ames Berry - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Stephen Ames Berry
Tags: Science-Fiction, Literature & Fiction, Space Opera, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Genetic engineering, High Tech, alien invasion, Hard Science Fiction, first contact, Galactic Empire
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Subcommander? Or only when you have guests?” He knew all of his bones were broken.
Seemingly untouched by the g-forces, the Kronarin officer bounded past his passengers to the airlock. Deftly fingering a control panel, he opened both doors. Fresh sea air wafted in. “If you’d seen the sensors,” he said as his squad fanned out, securing the perimeter, “you’d have dived, too. Your atmosphere’s a vast detector web. We’ve no shield to stop missiles—I’d rather outrun them before they’re fired.”
Plunging like a meteor through the stratosphere, they’d executed a series of punishing turns. Pressed deep into his padded chair by the brutal pressure, John had watched, gasping for air, as they’d plummeted through the clouds. Cobalt blue, the Atlantic rushed up, filling the overhead screen. Only at the last possible instant had a ribbon of dun-colored land appeared, curving out into the water. The shuttle’s gentle landing had belied its violent descent.
John staggered to his feet. “I thought these warsuits doubled as pressure suits?” he said accusatively. “I blacked out more than once.” He and Zahava helped an ashen-cheeked Greg to his feet.
“Without them, you’d be dead—we all would,” said Kiroda, turning in the airlock. “But they are better warsuits than pressure suits. Not even the Imperials could mutate so many physical laws with one construct. Come help us unload the cargo. You’ll feel better.”
They began moving supplies and equipment from the shuttle. Rubble still blocked the site’s top entrance, but there was no sign of Langston or his men.
Leaving two crewmen on guard, the small party worked quickly, carrying containers down to the hill’s shoulder and stacking it before the rock-choked doorway. They finished as the sun was slipping into the Atlantic, turning the calm sea a burnt-ochre.
“Now what?” asked Zahava, eyeing the rubble.
Kiroda sighed. “Give them the rifles, Danir.”
Nodding, the NCO walked to a rectangular box, sliding back the top. The rifles he handed the Terrans were a gray, dully burnished metal. Stock, trigger guard, safety catch—all looked the same as on any rifle the three had held before. Only the lack of a protruding magazine and the odd muzzle gave the weapons an alien look.
“This will probably get me court-martialed,” Kiroda said resignedly, picking up a rifle. His men stood behind him in a small knot, watching the lesson.
“This is a Confederation Fleet Commando Ion-Laser Rifle, Model-Thirty-Two—an M32. It’s a line-of-sight weapon, firing a stream of ions along a laser beam. The M32 has greater range and power than the M11A pistol.” He patted his holster. “It doesn’t require any gift of intellect to use one. Just point”—he aimed casually into the rubble—”and fire.” A boulder exploded with a bang, pierced by a thin red bolt. The blaster made a distinctive shrilling when fired.
“Adjust the beam so.” He twisted the muzzle, then fired again. The beam fanned wide, partially melting a boulder. “Please,” Kiroda implored, tossing his rifle to Danir, “keep the safety on. One more thing—recall that the Scotar can appear human. If your communicator”—he touched the pendant at his throat—”sounds like this . . .” A high-pitched whine made them wince. “. . . then there’s a Scotar within twenty yards. Shoot whomever you think you see without hesitation—your mother, your lover, your child—and you may live. Understood?”
His students nodded.
“Good.” He smiled. “Now for some target practice and how to change the chargpak. Help us blast through the rubble. I want to be safely inside by dark.”
The hungry red beams soon ate away the tons of rubble. With everyone helping, they made Kiroda’s deadline.
Chapter 9
B ill Sutherland smiled at the young blond-headed guard. “Do you know what a John Doe warrant is?” he asked, leaning on the big security desk.
The man shook his head, eyes
Seemingly untouched by the g-forces, the Kronarin officer bounded past his passengers to the airlock. Deftly fingering a control panel, he opened both doors. Fresh sea air wafted in. “If you’d seen the sensors,” he said as his squad fanned out, securing the perimeter, “you’d have dived, too. Your atmosphere’s a vast detector web. We’ve no shield to stop missiles—I’d rather outrun them before they’re fired.”
Plunging like a meteor through the stratosphere, they’d executed a series of punishing turns. Pressed deep into his padded chair by the brutal pressure, John had watched, gasping for air, as they’d plummeted through the clouds. Cobalt blue, the Atlantic rushed up, filling the overhead screen. Only at the last possible instant had a ribbon of dun-colored land appeared, curving out into the water. The shuttle’s gentle landing had belied its violent descent.
John staggered to his feet. “I thought these warsuits doubled as pressure suits?” he said accusatively. “I blacked out more than once.” He and Zahava helped an ashen-cheeked Greg to his feet.
“Without them, you’d be dead—we all would,” said Kiroda, turning in the airlock. “But they are better warsuits than pressure suits. Not even the Imperials could mutate so many physical laws with one construct. Come help us unload the cargo. You’ll feel better.”
They began moving supplies and equipment from the shuttle. Rubble still blocked the site’s top entrance, but there was no sign of Langston or his men.
Leaving two crewmen on guard, the small party worked quickly, carrying containers down to the hill’s shoulder and stacking it before the rock-choked doorway. They finished as the sun was slipping into the Atlantic, turning the calm sea a burnt-ochre.
“Now what?” asked Zahava, eyeing the rubble.
Kiroda sighed. “Give them the rifles, Danir.”
Nodding, the NCO walked to a rectangular box, sliding back the top. The rifles he handed the Terrans were a gray, dully burnished metal. Stock, trigger guard, safety catch—all looked the same as on any rifle the three had held before. Only the lack of a protruding magazine and the odd muzzle gave the weapons an alien look.
“This will probably get me court-martialed,” Kiroda said resignedly, picking up a rifle. His men stood behind him in a small knot, watching the lesson.
“This is a Confederation Fleet Commando Ion-Laser Rifle, Model-Thirty-Two—an M32. It’s a line-of-sight weapon, firing a stream of ions along a laser beam. The M32 has greater range and power than the M11A pistol.” He patted his holster. “It doesn’t require any gift of intellect to use one. Just point”—he aimed casually into the rubble—”and fire.” A boulder exploded with a bang, pierced by a thin red bolt. The blaster made a distinctive shrilling when fired.
“Adjust the beam so.” He twisted the muzzle, then fired again. The beam fanned wide, partially melting a boulder. “Please,” Kiroda implored, tossing his rifle to Danir, “keep the safety on. One more thing—recall that the Scotar can appear human. If your communicator”—he touched the pendant at his throat—”sounds like this . . .” A high-pitched whine made them wince. “. . . then there’s a Scotar within twenty yards. Shoot whomever you think you see without hesitation—your mother, your lover, your child—and you may live. Understood?”
His students nodded.
“Good.” He smiled. “Now for some target practice and how to change the chargpak. Help us blast through the rubble. I want to be safely inside by dark.”
The hungry red beams soon ate away the tons of rubble. With everyone helping, they made Kiroda’s deadline.
Chapter 9
B ill Sutherland smiled at the young blond-headed guard. “Do you know what a John Doe warrant is?” he asked, leaning on the big security desk.
The man shook his head, eyes
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