The Biofab War by Stephen Ames Berry

dream,” said Sutherland, nudging a torn Scotar corpse with his rifle butt. “And who those people are, I’m afraid to ask,” he said, nodding toward the Kronarins. “They supplied your space opera props?”
    “They’re from a nearby starship,” said Greg, helping carry the unconscious crewman into the transport room. Sutherland merely nodded. Bakunin, standing nearby examining a blast rifle, didn’t look up.
    “I can see you’re overwhelmed by the news,” said John.
    “I was overwhelmed hours ago. Now I’m just trying to cope. What are they called?”
    “They’re Kronarins,” said Zahava. “Their ancestors built this installation, centuries ago. Apparently, we’re cousins—a lost colony.”
    “And the big green bugs?”
    “Scotar. The two are fighting a war of extermination,” John said.
    “Who’s winning? The Scotar?”
    “Yes.”
    Sutherland grunted. “Joy.”
    Kiroda had vanished into the transport room just after the warriors’ destruction. He reappeared, intent on the small scanner he was holding. After a moment he looked up, relieved. “All enemy forces have left the area.” He gave a crooked grin. “We did it—we held. And it’s because of you that we did,” he said to Sutherland. “Thank you.” He held out his hand.
    “I can’t understand you,” said Bill, shaking hands, “but I can guess. You’re welcome.”
    “By a clever oversight, I neglected to bring translators with us.” Kiroda led them into the transport room. Bakunin, exploring, looked up as they trooped in.
    “May I present Colonel Andréyev Ivanovich Bakunin, Russian Federation,” said Sutherland. “These two people’—he indicated John and Zahava—“work with me.”
    Bakunin nodded pleasantly. “May I know their names?”
    “No.” Bill looked at Greg. “You, I don’t know,” he said.
    “If you’re Joe Antonucchi’s boss, you might recognize my fingerprints from a piece of granite I gave him.”
    “ Implacable to ground force.” Detrelna’s voice came from their commlinks. “What’s your situation?” A ragged cheer preceded Kiroda’s report.
    “I’m coming down with reinforcements,” the captain said, an anxious McShane hovering at his elbow. “By the way, fifty Terran rotoplanes are closing on you—ETA two minutes. I assume they’re friendly.” (He assumed nothing. Four batteries were locked on the unsuspecting Rangers.)
    John relayed the information to Sutherland.
    “Rapid Deployment Force out of Ft. Devens. I’d better get up there. Where’s the front door?”
    His men hadn’t been idle. A rope ladder now dangled down the altar well, its bottom draped over and dead Scotar. He made a face then swung up the ladder, Kiroda close behind. “Why didn’t that blast collapse this shaft?” he asked, climbing.
    “It’s not rock—it’s an battlesteel alloy,” said Kiroda.
    “I don’t know about anyone else,” said Bakunin, “but I need rest.” The Russian lay down on the floor and was instantly asleep.
    “Food for those who want it,” said Danir, passing out handfuls of tasteless protein wafers.
    Tired but hungry, the remaining allies ate.

Chapter 12

    “Y es, but why didn’t they teleport?”
    Detrelna’s bull-like voice filled the cramped transport room. “You should all be dead!” He’d landed and promptly taken command. Unlike Kiroda, he’d brought extra translators.
    Rumpled green tunic unbuttoned, the captain perched precariously atop one of the slender console chairs, drumming his fingers on the instrument panel. “Too many unanswered questions, gentleman,” he said to the Kronarins and Terrans gathered around him. He enumerated them on his blunt fingers. “One. The Scotar have been in your solar system for some time. That’s obvious from the base we destroyed, their take-over of the scientific facility and their destruction, according to your own evidence, of other transporter stations.
    “Two.” A second finger rose. “Given all that, you