The Biofab War by Stephen Ames Berry Page A

people,”—he nodded toward the Terrans—“have no more right to be alive than my landing party. The Scotar should have swept through you like voracious insects devouring a grain field. Just as they should long ago have devoured this planet. Why didn’t they?
    “And three.” A thumb came up. “They should have teleported down that tunnel once they were through the outer door and could visualize the area. Hell! They should have overrun you on the hilltop. Why didn’t they use the ability that has cost us so dearly—an ability that threatens to sweep us from the galaxy? They don’t need to scuttle about—they can flit anywhere.” He slapped the dull black metal on the console. “Bah! I’m not an Alien Psych officer. Let’s continue ponder these points as we go about staying alive. Questions?”
    “Are we in any immediate danger of attack?” asked Sutherland. He’d exchanged the Scotar blaster for a Kronarin rifle, now slung over his shoulder. Marsh, Johnson, Yazanaga and Bakunin were also toting Fleet M-32s. (“If we survive this,” Sutherland had said as Danir had passed out the rifles, “don’t even think of taking those home.”)
    “Tactics Officer?” Detrelna deferred to Kiroda.
    “Almost certainly,” answered Tolei, his work at the terminal momentarily set aside. “The Scotar always counterattack. We’ve been granted this brief lull as they rally everything they’ve got left in your system—spacecraft, transmutes, warriors—and launch a coordinated assault. Right now they’re probably marshaling on the opposite side of the planet from Implacable . The festivities should resume soon. Like the captain, I don’t know why they haven’t used their special abilities.”
    “How long before your fleet arrives?” asked McShane.
    “A week, maybe two.” Detrelna held up a hand, stifling the murmur of dismay. “Not soon enough to help us, but in time to take on any major Scotar reinforcements. If we can hold till then, we may win.”
    “How can we help?” asked Bakunin. “More troops?”
    “Pretty free with our guys, isn’t he?” one of the Americans whispered.
    “No.” Detrelna shook his head. “In fact, you should withdraw all but a small number of men—say forty. If we can’t hold these few tunnels with a hundred, we can’t hold them at all. Don’t forget, the Scotar have a fix on these coordinates now. They should be dropping right into our ranks. We can’t afford to be packed asses to elbows down here—we’d be slaughtered.” he rose from his chair. “They love slaughtering. Torturing, too.
    “I have no authority over you, my friends,” he continued. “But circumstance has united us against a vicious and deadly foe. It’s a war of extermination—no treaties, no quarter. Either we kill the Scotar or they kill us—every man, woman and child in the galaxy. We can make no mistakes—there’ll be no second chances. Follow our orders explicitly. When it comes to fighting this plague, we’re experts—and have the scars to prove it. Agreed?”
    “We’re with you,” said Sutherland. “What choice do we have?” he added, shaking Detrelna’s hand. “What are your orders, Captain?”
    “Select your men from the military force topside. Take them to the supply shuttle for weapons—it’s the third one on the beach. Brief them, then have them report here to me.”
    With a nod, Bill led his team from the room, wondering what he’d tell the square-jawed infantry colonel now uselessly deploying his men along the hill, as though expecting waves of enemy infantry. A lie couched in truth, probably, he thought—it usually worked.
    “I’ll command the ground action,” Detrelna said as the door closed. “Commander Kiroda will continue trying to activate the defenses. If I’m killed, he’ll assume command of the defense, followed by Sergeant Danir. Gather around, please.” He spread Kiroda’s sketch of the installation out on top of the equipment. “Let me explain our