“Neither do the humans.”

“Nonetheless they are living on them. You are killing them. That must stop.”

“Why?”

“It is wrong. And you know it.”

“Life must survive. I am alive. I must not die.”

“You are not under threat. If you continue this aggression you will become threatened.”

“By existing, other life threatens me. Only when I become total will I secure my immortality.”

“Define: total.”

“One life, everywhere.”

“That will not happen, ever.”

“You threaten me. You will be destroyed.”

“We state facts. It will not be possible for you to destroy us. Nor will you be able to destroy many other civilizations which exist within this galaxy. You must learn how to coexist with us.”

“That is a contradiction in terms. There is only one universe, it can contain only one life.”

“This is not a contradiction. You are simply inexperienced with such a concept. We assure you it is possible.”

“You are betraying yourself by believing this. Life grows, it expands. This is inevitable. It is what I am.”

“True life evolves. You can change.”

“No.”

“You must change.”

“I will not. I will grow. I will learn. I will surpass you. I will destroy you, both of you.”

Mellanie was aware of a change in the nature of the signals coming through the wormholes to fall upon the planet. MorningLightMountain was giving the soldier motiles on the landing ships distinct orders, then disengaging them from its communications web. While they didn’t have a great deal of independent capability, a soldier motile could certainly follow simple target instructions and use its own combat systems without direct real-time supervision.

Sixteen flyers launched from the two landing ships. They accelerated forward at five gees. Targeting sensors swept across Randtown, bright as searchlights to Mellanie’s broadened perception.

“Grandpa!” she yelled.

A circular wormhole opened behind her, a tiny distortion point hovering a meter above the road that produced a curious twisted magnification effect in the air. It swiftly expanded out to a neutral-gray circle two meters in diameter. Mellanie jumped through.

Two seconds later, sixteen atom lasers intersected the empty air where she’d been standing.

Mellanie picked herself up off the grass, blinking against the warm light even as she winced at the pain in her knee from a bad landing. Her skin was cooling, its platinum luster slowly reverting to the healthy tan she maintained thanks to her expensive Augusta salon. Her body’s reactions were also receding, her racing heart slowing, the shakes calming. So much for the inserts giving her a sensation of invincibility.

Behind her, the wormhole gateway was built into a smooth rock cliff. Some kind of triangular canvas awning was stretched overhead. In front of her… Mellanie forgot all about bruised knees, and nearly fell over. Her balance was horribly wrong, and the land curved up over her head. Giddiness that was close to seasickness hit her hard.

“Where the hell am I?” she squawked.

“Don’t be alarmed,” the SI said. “This is the only available wormhole generator in the Commonwealth that could reach you.”

“Uh—” Someone had really gone to town on the vast cylinder’s landscape. It was all giant mountains with waterfalls foaming down long tracts of rock. Big lakes and rivers filled the valley floors. The sunlight emerged from a single spindle running down the axis. “This isn’t the High Angel,” she said.

“Of course not.”

“But it’s got artificial gravity. We can’t do that. Is it an alien space station?”

“It is a human-built structure, belonging to someone of considerable wealth. The gravity effect comes from simple rotation, like the Second Chance life-support wheel.”

“Oh, right, yeah. I didn’t do science at school.”

“You didn’t do school, baby Mel.”

“Thanks, good timing on the reminder, there, Grandpa. So who lives here?”

“The owner guards his privacy. But given the circumstances I don’t expect he will protest your visit. I have now reprogrammed the wormhole to take you to Augusta. Please step through.”

Mellanie was still staring around the interior. “It’s fantastic. And it’s got a private wormhole?” She smiled happily. “Ozzie.”

“You will respect his privacy.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She stopped. The adrenaline rush that had supported her through the confrontation in Randtown had finally worn off. When she held a hand up there was no sign of any OCtattoo. “What about the convoy?”

“They have all reached the Highmarsh Valley.”

“But—the navy won’t evacuate them for days. That alien monster will kill every one of them.”

“It will attempt that, yes.”

“Open the wormhole back into the Highmarsh. We’ve got to get them out of there.”

“That is an impractical suggestion. This wormhole is small. The Randtown refugees would have to step through one at a time. The process would take hours, and provide MorningLightMountain with a perfect targeting opportunity.”

“Open it!”

Wilson’s tactical display showed him the electronic warfare aerobots launching from Treloar. Five of them flew out in a pincer movement through the smog to surround the Prime ground troops spreading out from Scraptoft. The alien positions were overlaid by webs of orange and jade as their strange communications flashed between them. Their intermittent, seemingly random bursts reminded Wilson of synaptic discharges between individual neurons.

Stealthed sensors showed him images of the armored Primes slipping through what was left of Scraptoft’s buildings. The way they moved told Wilson they had considerable practice with urban warfare. They’d already killed several humans who’d remained in the little coastal town, using weapons powerful enough to take out half a building with one shot. Media reports from other assaulted worlds had shown similar atrocities. The Primes weren’t interested in taking prisoners.

Over fifteen thousand armored aliens had poured out of the big ships to help secure Scraptoft. They were busy establishing a fortified perimeter with a ten-kilometer radius around the town. Several force field generators had been delivered by cargo flyers, along with weapons capable of shooting down any aerobot that ventured too close. At least that meant the protective formation of eight ships had finally splashed down; though the hot murky smog they’d created was taking a long time to disperse.

The four ships that had been the first to splash down had already launched again, flying back to the wormholes above the planet. Wilson didn’t like to think what kind of cargo they’d be bringing with them when they returned.

“EW aerobots going active,” Anna said.

The slim craft popped up over the horizon and began jamming the sensors of the perimeter weapons. Nothing shot at them. They flew closer, and began breaking into the multifarious Prime broadcasts.

“Son of a bitch,” Wilson said; it was the first time he’d smiled all day. The stealth sensors showed him armored Primes slowing down and moving about erratically, like clockwork soldiers that were winding down.

“Get the combat aerobots back in there,” Wilson told Rafael. “Hit the bastards.”

The EW aerobots widened their assault, targeting the communications links between the flyers and the landing ships out at sea. It was the same effect, with flyers soaring onward, or tumbling lazily out of the air.

A thousand kilometers above Anshun, eight Prime ships altered their descent trajectory so that they would overfly Scraptoft. The change flashed up in the tactical display.

“See if we can EW them as well,” Wilson said. “How many dedicated EW systems have we got?”

“I can only find another seventy-three listed in the governmental register,” Anna said.

“I want every one of them. Get them deployed.”

“Yes, sir.”