"I am unfamiliar with the term," Wix said, peevish at the interruption.

  "Big-winged bug," Kane said. "Uh, no offense, Bug Mama."

  "None taken," she replied.

  "Yes," Wix said. "It glows because it draws in more material, even faster, than the accretion disks of the black holes. Indeed, it is somehow sucking matter from beyond the event horizons of the very singularities themselves." "I thought that was impossible," Brigid said.

  The creature's lips were actually a flat chitinous beak, incapable of doing more than opening and closing. Still, the chief whitecoat seemed to smirk as he said, "Near a phenomenon such as this irregularity, very little can be said to be impossible. It is, so far as we know, unique in the universe. Certainly in this galaxy, or any galaxy within the super-group."

  "Get on with it, here, Wix," Bug Mama said, folding her voluminously sleeved arms. "The Paa and Bates's evil crew are in a hurry, even if you aren't."

  "I am explaining abstruse concepts in entirely unsuitable layman's terms, as you insisted—"

  "Wix." She didn't raise her voice. Nonetheless the word stream shut off as if a hundred-ton blast door had slammed shut on it. The tall, gaunt alien drew a breath.

  "Each of the two stations controls a single self-powered projectile: a hundred-mile-long artifact of ultra-dense material orbiting nearby. Each carries a small mass of anti-neutronium as a warhead. Each is meant to be fired simultaneously toward one another at superluminal velocity."

  "Superluminal'?" Kane asked.

  "Faster than light," Brigid said. "I thought the concept of simultaneity was invalid over relativistic distances, such as the two light-years distance the stations orbit from one another."

  "But then," Big Mama said, "faster-than-light travel's impossible, too, under your primitive conception of relativity as anything but a special condition, applicable only at certain energy levels. But still, here you are.-

  "If that stuff was true," Kane said, "our mat-trans gateways wouldn't work, either, would they, Baptiste?"

  Her cheeks colored beneath the smudge that still showed on one. "You're right, Kane." She smiled wanly and swept back a stray lock of flame-colored hair from her face. "I must be too wound up to think clearly."

  "You're not the only one, Baptiste."

  "So what happens when you fire these big antimatter-tipped rockets?" Grant asked.

  "They collide at the mathematical center of the irregularity," Wix said, "creating a reaction of an energy level, and indeed a nature, unprecedented since the beginning of the universe."

  "And then?" Kane prompted.

  Wix shrugged. "If the builders' calculations were correct.," he said, "the end of everything."

  "The collapse of the vacuum bubble that theoretically constitutes our universe," Brigid said.

  "Simultaneously," Bug Mama added with gloomy satisfaction. She snapped her fingers. Since they were covered in ceramic-hard chitin, they made a noise like a small handblaster going off. "The whole shebang, gone at once." "Well, that would certainly suck," Kane said. "But we knew all that. How can we destroy something like...that... without blowing up the whole universe?"

  "All clear," Major Mike called voice from astern. Kane and Grant spun, hands corning up to ready the blasters they both still gripped. Kane felt a hot flush of embarrassment and plain fear flood through him: What if Team Phoenix lost, or let one of those crawdaddy bastards by? But they hadn't. The four were all on their hind legs and walking steady, though half of young Reichert's hair was burned off, and the right side of Larry Robison's camou ballistic-fabric blouse hung in shreds dyed in shades of brown by drying blood, showing the beige of a coalition med patch on his rib cage below.

  "We had another half dozen of 'em loose back there," Reichert said, grinning, though Kane now saw half his olive-complected face glowed angry red, as if he'd been out too long in the sun. "You know those sumbitches can fire their weapons, aimed fire, in different directions at the same time? Like something out of the movies." He spoke with evident satisfaction.

  "Good job," Kane said. Domi moved forward and hugged each man in turn; they were friends from way back. Marina followed her, showing a tendency to cling and shake. "This whitecoat here was just explaining to us how we had to destroy a pair of black holes and that big glowing thing out there to make sure the Cosmic Eye could never be rebuilt."

  "Oh, goody," Robison said.

  "At least we got here in time for the interesting part," Hays said.

  "Enough suspense already," Bug Mama said to Wix. "Give."

  "Ancient artificial intelligences control the trajectory of the superluminal missiles," the whitecoat said. "They must be aimed with a precision unthinkable even to our current measurement capabilities. If they do not strike precisely head-on, to the diameter of a hydrogen atom, they cannot produce the desired result."

  "If you're the son of sicko," Reichert said, "who desires the end of the universe."

  Wix nodded. "Precisely. But, ah, even should the impact be off by more than the very small margin of error allowed, an unprecedentedly destructive event will ensue." "Just not big enough," Kane said, "to turn off the whole universe."

  "Again, very good. You show quick comprehension for space ra—for layfolk. If the projectiles strike head to head but nanoscopically outside the parameters of optimum performance, a dislocation will occur that, through probability-distortion and raw energy release, will simply destroy everything within a radius of three parsecs. Including both black holes, and these stations."

  Kane and the other humans looked at one another. "Whoa," Reichert breathed.

  "I second that Keanu impression," Larry Robison said. "What are they talking about?" Bug Mama asked. "You don't want to know," Kane said. "Trust me." "Can you jimmy this ancient AI so it misses by just the right amount?" Bug Mama asked.

  Once again the alien whitecoat's body language showed unmistakable smugness. "It is done already." He bowed slightly toward her.

  "So, great," Hays said. "The deal is, we set up some kind of relay or timer here, flit off to the other station, set it to fire simultaneously and warp to safety while the whole thing goes off like the Second of July."

  "I thought it was the Fourth," Grant said.

  "Should've been the Second," Robison said. "Don't get us started."

  Bug Mama's feathery antennae drooped, then waggled disconsolately. "Not exactly," she said.

  "WE HAVE WON CLEAR of the traitor battle fleet," the courier said. It was a Halmi with glabrous mauve skin, one of the foremost of the Paa's vassal races, not one of her innumerable daughters.

  Uvaluvu had access through instruments in her honeycomb cell by which she could monitor the course of battle and events within her fleet and her flagship. She disdained to use them, as she disdained to have her sacred person sullied by implants. It was for slaves to tend to her, to inform her and serve her and in general wait upon her pleasures.

  And soon, she thought, my slaves will comprise all the sophonts of the Far Arm. And beyond...

  "But," the Halmi continued.

  It failed to quail at the warning way the stiff gray bristles rose about the Circle queen's eighteen variously sized black eyes; she did not desire to hear such a word as but. The amphibious Halmi were either immune to fear or a little bit slow. Even Uvaluvu did not know which. Their bricklike lack of imagination made them useful tools, even though it also meant there was no sport in tormenting them. They just didn't get it.

  "Even as we head toward the nearer of the ancient space stations, our enemy streams in hot pursuit," the creature continued.

  She clattered some lesser spare limbs in annoyance. "We will win the prize. We must! It is our destiny. We represent the will of all life—impossible we should fail!" The Halmi bowed. "As you say, Your Majesty." The obeisance was too bland to be gratifying. But, she consoled herself, she had plenty of eminently satisfactory minions to take her dudgeon out upon. Even if sheer practicality dictated that she couldn't actually kill many of them or even subject them to physical torture. Fortunately, she was equipped to enjoy psychological cruelty, as well. "Shape course for the station." It would take time to get there. Not even the Paa dared make jumps of more than a few light-hours at a time in this place. They had to travel for hours in real space, with the vile little space rat Bates and his renegades nipping at their heels the whole time. But still they had the advantage. And no one lived to become a full queen among the Paa, far less queen of the Circle of Life, without knowing how to wring the last picogram from each and every advantage.

  Besides, she had an ace up her sleeve. Had she a sleeve. "Withdraw."

  The Halmi bowed again. It left.

  "Senior Marshal," the queen said. Her daughter stepped from her position by the honeycomb on the queen's right. Her own genuflection crossed the boundary to insult. Uvaluvu showed no sign of noticing.

  "Your wish?" the marshal asked.

  "Have our commandos seized the station yet?" "Negative, Majesty. I have just received confirmation that all communication with the commando unit has been lost. They have failed."

  "Failed? Failed?"

  "The word is simple enough."

  "Not for me! Not for a Paa! How is it possible they failed?" "All things are possible. Perhaps it was the influence of the irregularity."

  Her daughter's voice and manner were as bland as the Halmi's. Uvaluvu knew full well the marshal no more believed that than she had. The unpalatable truth was, their enemies were most resourceful. Vermin, but resourceful. "Send twice as many," she commanded. "Five times as many. Ten!"

  The marshal hesitated. "It is risky, our scientists inform us, to attempt to interfere so much mass in such proximity to the irregularity. We took a substantial risk last time, as it was."

  "Do you fear?" the queen asked in a tone of silken menace. "Only that we shall betray the destiny of the Paa race," she said, "by taking unnecessary risks and so incurring failure."

  The queen swelled with fury. Limbs and thick fur bristled. "You dare accuse me—"

  Her daughter stood her ground. "Not yet," she said simply. "Go and do as you are commanded! I am the queen." The marshal stood a moment, her pair of eye stalks fixed on her mother's mass of eyes. "I obey."

  She turned and stalked from chamber. And surely she did not imagine her mother would fail to hear when, as she stepped through the door that slid open, obedient to her approach, she said in a low voice, "For now."

  "MY GROK HERE," Bug Mama said, gesturing toward the toad like creature who now squatted mutely beside her, tugging the hem of her robe, "tells me the bad guys are on their way here. Still shooting at each other, and not even the Paa are stupid enough to take big steps this near the Eye. But they're on their way."

  Kane shrugged. "So what? We knew they'd come. Sooner or later."

  "Unfortunately, it's sooner. We're going to need to leave a screening force here to make sure they don't get hold of the station and foul things up. That's a one-way ticket to heaven, as they say."

  "We knew we'd have to do that, though," Grant said. "Perhaps the screening ships can risk a jump out of the system once the projectiles are launched," Brigid said. "Even if it's highly risky, it would offer better odds than staying."

  "Perhaps," Bug Mama said. "But there's something else— the Paa might try inserting more raider-forms into this station. Someone has to stay here. On the station. To secure it." Kane leaned his head first left, then right, stretching his neck with alarmingly loud cracks. "Well, it's too long a walk home anyway."

  "Just you and me, point man," Grant said, nodding. "Brigid and Domi can find some way home. Or make lives for yourselves out here."

  "That's a big negative, big guy," Major Mike said. "How so?" Grant said, his scowl deepening.

  "This is our job," Robison said quietly. "We secure the station. You go. Make sure everything else comes off on schedule."

  "How do you reckon that?" Kane asked, feeling irrational anger surge within him.

  "You guys are the ones at the center of the struggle to save Earth from the overlords," Sean Reichert said. "We're way out on the periphery."

  "But we're not getting home," Grant said.

  "You don't know that," Hays said. "Anyway, somebody's got to go pull security on the other station while things get net up there. This ain't over yet—fat lady's only just doing her throat warm-ups."

  Kane shook his head at the blazing non sequitur. Joe Weaver stepped forward. "Remember," he said, "we agreed to be put to sleep in the first place because we didn't have any connections holding us back in the twentieth century. What kind of connections do we have back on Earth now?"

  Kane stood staring at them.

  "Listen, boys," Bug Mama said, "I hate to sacrifice any of you, but I'm not getting my druthers here. Rather than getting into a testosterone-level contest, couldn't you just draw straws or something?"

  Kane shook his head. "No," he said. "They're right." "And anyway it's only a difference between a real slim chance," Grant said, "and none."

  "Roger that, big fella," Hays said.

  Kane and Grant stepped forward, shook hands with each of their opposite numbers. Domi embraced and kissed each man in suns. So, to Kane's surprise, did Brigid, although not quite as vigorously as the small albino woman. "Let's get this show on the road," Bug Mama said. "We got a universe to save by destroying a big old chunk of it!"

  "SO THIS IS IT,. Larry Robison said, gazing out at the twin-lobed Eye.

  "Belay that crap, Navy boy," Hays growled. "It ain't over till it's over."

  "Do you really think I take that old chestnut seriously?" Robison said. But the words came out without force. He felt drained. Not resigned—never that. But at loose ends. He laughed and shrugged. "You're right. While there's life, there's hope."

  "No call to turn this into a cliché bee," Hays warned. "Hey, guys," Reichert called from behind. "Look what Joe and I found."

  The two older Phoenix men turned to see their partners walk in, followed by a familiar looming but human shape and several aliens.

  "Thand," Hays said, frowning slightly. "Thought you were commanding the screening fleet. What are you doing here?"

  The huge blond-bearded man gestured brusquely. Team Phoenix found themselves staring down the gaping maws of half a dozen energy weapons.

  Chapter 32

  "The commandos have assembled in the beam-cast chambers," the senior marshal reported. "They await your word." The queen lay in an attitude of blissful satisfaction as tiny four-eyed pseudo-primates crawled over her body, grooming and cosseting her with agile little hands.

  "Send them."

  The marshal stood immobile for an instant. Unlike her mother, she wore an implant that made it possible for her to communicate directly with the ship mind, and through it, the rest of the crew and fleet.

  "It is done," she said.

  "Excellent!" the queen cawed, spittle flying from her ingestive-mouth. The grooming slaves scuttled in fear for the safety of their cells. "Now go and destroy yourself for your presumption, wretched pup!"

  "I shall not."

  For a moment silence reigned in the royal chamber. All the servants and attendants froze in attitudes of terrified anticipation. Only the mindless cleaning drones continued their endless rounds, scouting the walls and ceilings and floor of the great chamber and the inside of the cells in the great honeycomb wall.

  Without command the pair of immortals flanking the queen's agitated bulk stepped forward, leveling spear-like energy lances. A pair of small plasma cannon mounted on the marshal's carapace to either side of her bullet head swiveled up and forward. They destroyed the silver bodyguards with a single orange pulse each.

  As the scorched and shattered bodies fell kicking their spurred limbs with frantic scratching noises upon the metal deck, other immortals along the outer wall dropped their weapons to firing positions. With a whir of servos, the shoulder cannons turned to focus their aim upon the eye mass of the Circle queen.

  "Shoot if you wish." The marshal's voice echoed in the vast space of the chamber. "Do you think a marshal fears to die? But my dying impulse will blast this unworthy cull to smoking ruin, be assured."

  "Unworthy cull?" The queen swelled until her already bloated abdomen pressed against the walls of its cell with dangerous pressure. The pale membrane bulged precariously around the hexagonal edges of the cell. "Unworthy cull? How dare you?"

  "For the good of the race," the marshal said calmly, as uncaring of her mother's rage as for the score of weapons poised to send streams of hellfire darting through her body. "You cannot aspire to be queen! It is not biologically possible."

  "Even you might be surprised by what our gene-transfer philosophers have devised," her daughter said. "But it matters not at all whether I succeed you. A new queen can always be grown—and others, of course, are ready to slither into your place. But supplanted you must be."

  That issue, Uvaluvu thought, remains far from decided, 0 my daughter. Maintaining the appearance of unbearable agitation, she said. “But why?"

  IN THE GREAT BATTLESHIP'S transmission chambers a party of sixty commando forms stood waiting. An orange light flashed wanting. And then the matter-transmission process whisked them into simultaneous nonbeing.

  Instead of being transmitted directly to a destination, though, the signal that encoded and contained their beings was split and duplicated. It was then transmitted, without intervening time passage, to the mat-trans gateway of another Paa battle wagon ten light-days away on the far extremity of the fleet beating down upon the ancient Eye station.

  They were then broadcast as probability waves. The spreading wave fronts interfered with one another, forming nodes of probability. On the first and strongest of these lay the interior of the builders' long-abandoned station. But unlike the first time, they did not resolve back into being inside the station, ready to sweep away all resistance and seize control of the Cosmic Eye.

  Whether it was proximity to the total unreality manifest within the Eye itself or whether the second probability-wave attack triggered a backlash from the irregularity, not even the most advanced science of the Far Arm could ever afterward establish. But after all, no light of the event survived to be picked up by sensors and resolved into images, nor were any probability-ripples caused in the fabric of the universe by the event.

 

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