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Lron's size, brought the enormous wooden wheel over. The Farrago left orbit,
to edge out of the planetary ring for a Karbarran approach.
Down in the bays and holds and hangar decks, the mecha came to full
alert, systems at high pitch. Logans, Alphas, Betas, Hovertanks; drum-armed
Spartans with their giant, cylindrical missile launchers; long-barreled MAC Us
that were walking hydras of cannon tubes; quad-muzzle Raider X self-contained
artillery batteries; and ground-shaking Excalibers bristling with a half-dozen
diverse heavy-weapons systems-the Godzillas of the second-generation
Destroids.
Scuttlebutt about the Karbarran children and the concentration camp had
filtered its way through all ranks in no time, though nobody had made any
official announcements.
So, they think they're gonna gun down a buncha kids, huh?
The mecha formed up and waited, their crews avid for the word to go.
"That's it," Rem said. "That's as much as I can get working. Farrago
says turn-to, and that means there's no time left."
Gnea nodded, taking a place behind him in the communications officer's
chair since there had been no time to repair the copilot's. She took one last
look in the aft hold, to make sure that Halidarre was well secured. Then she
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said, "Prepared."
Rem smiled, punching up the ridiculous mission the shuttle would have to
fly. Admiral Hunter's book said he should let the computers do the flying, but
the computers had been used as a scratching pole by a very big polecat.
Besides, Rem had invented new computer designs and he didn't trust them as
much as people who knew less about them.
The shuttle's engines shrilled, coming up to power.
"Not long now," Rem told Gnea.
The Farrago began its long approach orbit on a course chosen by the
Sentinels because it led through the least-well-monitored portions of the
enemy detection skynet.
This time, Tesla's face filled the communication screen. His would-be
slaves couldn't be exhibited because they were all otherwise involved in
getting Farrago and its fighting forces ready to hit Karbarra like a
sledgehammer.
"Er, Karbarra Control," Tesla said delicately. He still wore that
dismaying, priceless bib; moreover, there were unsmiling Sentinels surrounding
him, just out of camera range, with an appalling collection of energy devices
and even cruder things-pointed, glittering implements with unpleasant
implications.
"Some of these pesky ablative surfaces and hull features on the captive
ships I've incorporated into mine have begun to break up under the stress of
entry. Inferior technology, you know. I'm sure they'll burn up upon hitting
the deeper atmosphere, but you might, um, alert your sensor techs not to pay
any attention to the little cloud of objects coming down with me."
The Haydonites' spell was still in effect. "Of course," said the Living
Computer, "of course. Your landing area is at coordinates 12-53-58 relative;
we will roll back a segment of the Tracialle city dome to permit your
entrance."
Tesla tried to sound enthusiastic and grateful, especially since one of
those horrid, overmuscled Praxian harridans stood ready to stick a halberd
into his side if he made a mistake.
"Oh! How very kind! I will speak to the Regent of your cooperation and
efficiency."
"Thank you, Tesla." The brain signed off.
"We've got a tentative location on that concentration camp," Vince
relayed up to Lisa, "but it's still not dead certain. It's obvious that
they're not in the camp Lron mentioned, because that's been torn down. But
we're ninety percent sure we've got the new one spotted."
"We'll go in with a wide deployment of the attack forces," she decided.
"I want everything we've got in the air."
"All set," he answered.
"Then, begin launch operations."
The composite ship began seeding the sky with air-combat elements. The
VTs and the Logans went first; then the Skulls dropped and deployed, beginning
a slow approach toward Tracialle, skimming the ground. Max and Miriya got the
Skulls in proper array. Down almost at the surface, Jonathan Wolff's tankers
made their drop and took up least-conspicuous routes, minimizing the chances
of being spotted and riding low on their surface-effect cushions.
Farther along, the flagship moving even slower, Lisa ordered the
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