"The, um, the transporter signature," said Lieutenant Tyzel. "The one we detected. From the Tempest. It must have been - "
"Yes," snarled Karzis. "The last survivor of the Tempest. These Starfleet androids are of some interest - this one should be dismantled for study by the Circles of Engineering." His right hand closed in a fist. "I will take pleasure in attending to that matter personally."
"All in due time," said Gavron Stannark. He lumbered over to his aide, looked down on him. "We have not been entirely idle during your misadventure. This chamber, at least, has been secured - though it seems to serve no useful purpose." He cast a brief, dismissive glance at the coloured lines that marked the centre of the arena. "Our thinking is that it is a sporting venue, a place of amusement. However. We are using it as a staging area, and our advance parties have already located some more promising machinery rooms."
"What progress has been made interrogating the residents?" Karzis asked.
"As yet, none." Stannark kicked casually at the charred remains of a Solanae. "We have taken none alive, or even reasonably intact. They know these corridors, this locale, as we do not. They have fled, and gone to ground. No matter. We will take some of them in due course, and learn whatever we can."
"Is it confirmed that they are - what they appear to be?"
"Organic Solanae. Yes. The members of the Circles of Science are processing the data now, but it appears the ancestors of these creatures survived the initial disaster, somehow. Possibly the heavy shielding on this spire was designed to protect against such mishaps. Of course, we may never know the whole story. It is very likely these creatures are the descendants of generations of inbreeding. Degenerates. That would account for their staggering incuriosity at our arrival. Dissection of the brains of some of the corpses might confirm this."
"I admit," said Karzis, "I am in a mood to dissect some brains." He shrugged off the medic and rose, unsteadily, to his feet. "With the commander's permission, I will join the teams examining the machinery. If we can identify some of the control circuitry, I have special operations software packages that should make it... amenable to our wishes."
"This structure," said Stannark, "poses a challenge, simply by virtue of its sheer size. I could call for more ships from Command, but... our military forces are stretched already. No, I think it better that we identify the local command centres and take control of them. If you are fit for duty, by all means, take command of the search teams."
"I am not one to malinger over a minor injury," said Karzis. He looked up, and his ocular implants flashed and rippled with data. "What was that?"
"What was what?" Stannark demanded.
"I'm reading something," Tyzel said. He had a scanner in his hand, was studying it intently. "Motion in... it looks like some kind of ducts overhead. Motion, but no life signs. There might be power sources -"
"There are," said Karzis grimly. "And my devices tell me there are gravitic fields in operation - flight units. All this suggests one thing to me - Watch out!"
Fifty metres distant, a circular hatch irised open in the ceiling, and the first shape glided through. The security swarmer made a leisurely sweep through the air, seemingly getting its bearings, then turned towards the nearest group of Voth. A scarlet beam lashed out from its front section, and a security trooper yelled in shock and fright as his personal shield flared and wavered. The swarmer shot forward, its tentacles trailing behind it, and fired again.
Behind it, a second swarmer emerged from the hatch, and a third. And other hatches were opening in the ceiling, in the walls.
Red light threaded the air. The shrill sound of the antiproton beams was drowned out by Stannark's roar of anger. A swarmer had targeted him, was firing repeatedly, but its shots simply bounced off the Voth commander's heavy-duty shield. "This is insupportable!" Stannark shouted, levelling his handgun at the swarmer and firing back. Now, it was the turn of the swarmer's shield to flicker under the onslaught. The machine turned to flee, and Stannark pursued it, his hand weapon glaring viciously in his fist. Sparks shot from the swarmer's body as one shot punched through the shield and hit home - and the machine dropped to the floor, its tentacles a hopeless tangle, smoke pouring from its forward section.
But there were more of them, and still firing. Lieutenant Tyzel screamed as his shield blew out - and his scream ended abruptly as a sustained beam from one swarmer struck his head and burned downwards, bisecting him from head to crotch. Karzis aimed his weapon at that swarmer, blasted it out of the air with a series of long bursts. The Voth troops, startled by the sudden onslaught, were starting to coordinate their responses. Lightly armoured technicians fled for cover while the armoured troopers formed fire teams and shot down the swarmers with concentrated barrages, overwhelming their shields. Shattered and burning hulks of machinery crashed to the deck.
The attack was over as quickly as it had begun. The hatches in the walls and ceiling closed, and the remaining swarmers, outnumbered and outgunned, were quickly disabled.
Stannark strode back towards Karzis, his expression furious. His battle armour was scorched in a few places where swarmers had breached his shields. He looked down at the two halves of Lieutenant Tyzel, then shot a questioning glance at a nearby medic.
"Not recoverable," the medic said shortly. "Too much damage to the central nervous system. We can't work miracles, sir."
Stannark nodded curtly. "To die in the service of Doctrine is... no bad thing. His relatives may be consoled by that... but he was Voth. These creatures and their robot functionaries have no right to kill Voth. They must be made aware of that. Forcefully, if need be."
"We have numbers here sufficient to withstand an assault," said Karzis. "The smaller exploratory teams, now, they may be in graver danger. We should take steps to protect them."
"We shall," said Stannark. "I will order up some heavier ordnance. And we will redouble our efforts to locate and take over the control centres. Once we hold those, these swarmers will answer to our will. As it should be."
---
"I have thousands of swarmers," Siffaith muttered, "but they are dispersed, scattered into many small groups.... I do not know if I can coordinate all of them together, swamp the intruders with too many swarmers to hold off.... Dyegh, where can I obtain more swarmers? There must be repair stations for the damaged ones, or fabricators to make replacements...."
He straightened up. He felt twinges of pain in his carapace - he had been crouched over the security console for too long. He turned to face Dyegh, who was standing a little way off, clicking his claws irresolutely.
"Dyegh. Fabricators. I have many swarmers, but they are in finite supply - if the new gods destroy them all, my defences will fall. How do I access the fabricators?"
"There are security fabricators." Dyegh spoke slowly, reluctantly. "I... could give you access... I think. But my work - "
"This need not affect your work," said Siffaith.
"How can it not?" demanded Dyegh. "The fabricators demand power! Resources! Scarce elements, which must come from my stockpiles, or must be made by transmutation, which takes more power! You are taking things that I need for my work!"
"Temporarily," said Siffaith. He fixed his large eyes on the other's face. "Dyegh, see reason. Your work will be stopped if the new gods take control of the Home. Let me have what I need to drive them out, and you will only be delayed. Neither is good, I admit, but my way is the lesser of the two evils."
Dyegh turned away. He walked slowly to the other side of the control room, and paused, leaning over a console. Siffaith could see him trembling, even beneath his robe.
"I have a goal," he said in a dull voice. "I have an aim in view... I want to restore the sun, to bring the Land back to its full glory and power. Why must it be so difficult? Why must so many people try to stop me? Even you...."
Siffaith came to stand beside him. "I do not want to stop you, Dyegh. I want to help. But we must keep the new gods from interfering, and to do that, I will need the Home's resources. For a time. For as short a time as I can make it."
Dyegh made a faint moaning noise. Then, "Do what you must," he said. "Go to the primary console and the security menu, and enter access code Gold, Gold, Cyan, Red, Gold. You will have control of the second-tier security responses, then, and those include permission to queue replicator requests. You will have all the swarmers you need. And other capacities besides."
"Thank you," said Siffaith. "I will do what I can - I will drive off the intruders and let you do your work in peace."
"I hope so," Dyegh muttered.
Siffaith turned and went back to the security console. "The new gods are divided into two factions," he said. "One is unquestionably hostile, but the other... the other spoke words of friendship. If we could enlist the help of that side against the hostiles, we could use their resources, perhaps."
"No," said Dyegh. "No. If we become enmeshed in the gods' squabbles, we will never make our way out again. It will be temporary alliance after temporary alliance, and no end in sight."
Siffaith nodded. "Perhaps you are right." His claws touched the console, entering the colour-code sequence. "Well, then. Both factions of the gods have sent ships, have entered or docked with the Home...." On the console screen, command menus opened up, symbols indicating a wealth of new possibilities to Siffaith's eyes. "Perhaps I should give some thought as to how those ships might be destroyed."
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