The Biofab War by Stephen Ames Berry Page A

handful of small black boxes from a crewman, placing them on the table. Snapping one of them open, the Kronarin officer removed what looked like a tiny, one-piece hearing aid. Placing it in his right ear, he gestured for the Terrans to do the same. When they hesitated, Detrelna selected a box at random and imitated Lawrona’s action.
    After they’d all adjusted their translators, the captain asked, “Can you understand me?”
    “Yes,” they said.
    “Do you know where you are?”
    “No,” said John tersely. “Who are you?”
    “I’m Captain Jaquel Detrelna, commanding the Kronarin Confederation starship Implacable . This is Commander Hanar Lawrona, my first officer.”
    “Starship?” John said, a catch to his voice. “Can you prove it?”
    Lawrona pushed a button and a wall opaqued into transparency. They stared gaping as the light of billions of stars filled the room. John looked down, eyes taking in the endless sweep of battlesteel, the bulging weapons turrets and instrument pods, all swathed in the shield’s blue shimmer.
    “We’re closing on what we believe to be your home world,” said Detrelna, staving off questions.
    Lawrona pressed another button. Space vanished, replaced by a close-up of an almost cloudless western hemisphere. “Is that your home planet?” asked the captain.
    “That’s it,” John said. “Where are we?”
    “We’re halfway between your home—what do you call it?”
    “Terra.”
    “We’re halfway between Terra and your system’s fourth world,” explained Detrelna.
    “Mars,” provided Zahava.
    “We’re decelerating, so it’ll be some hours before we’re within range.”
    Lawrona set the wall back to space view.
    “Range?” said Zahava with quiet alarm.
    “Landing range,” smiled the captain. “We’ll land a scout craft and explore your point of origin, as traced by ship’s computer.”
    “Just why did you bring us here, Captain, and how?” demanded John, still shaken—and angry.
    “We did not bring you, sir. You were thrust upon us—we suspect by matter transport, a technology lost to us. And one we need very badly. We’re in your system to investigate a report of extant Imperial technology,” continued Detrelna, leaning back in his chair. Taking in their puzzled faces, he smiled. “I see I’m going too fast. Let’s begin with basics. You know our names. What are yours?”
    John introduced himself and his friends, adding. “We’re tired, hungry, and more than a little confused.”
    “Hunger’s easily solved,” said Lawrona, dialing up four steaming platters of food and equally hot cups of beverage from a wall unit. “And I hope we can resolve our mutual confusion,” he added.
    “This is delicious,” said Zahava, digging into the hearty stew.
    “As to our mutual confusion,” Detrelna said. The wall now displayed a three-dimensional star map: several score points of white light, scattered among three roughly equal colored zones—blue, green, and yellow.
    “The Kronarin Republic as it was a decade ago. Three semiautonomous states, descendants of the strongest of the old Imperial sectors, united for trade and mutual defense.
    “The Confederation as it is today.”
    Half of the map now shone scarlet.
    “Ten years ago we harbored the dangerous belief that we were alone,” said Lawrona, picking up the tale. “Our ancestors, whose Empire ranged this galaxy, found only fossils in their search for other sentient life. Then the Scotar swept in on us from the barren marches of space. The red is theirs by right of conquest,” he said bitterly.
    “The Scotar,” added Detrelna, “are voracious, telepathic insectoids. Origin—unknown. History—unknown. Ultimate purpose—unknown. Scotar captives destroy themselves quickly and nastily—a bomb in the brain. All we really know is that they want us all either dead or their mind-wiped slaves.
    “They are of at least two castes.” The map vanished, replaced by a six-legged insectoid standing erect