"Bud Sparhawk - Bright Red Star" - читать интересную книгу автора (Sparhawk Bud)

parity.

That all changed at Witca, a heavily fortified military outpost armed with the latest data on Shardie attack
patterns.

Only the Shardics were using new patterns that got through the outer defenses. It was as if they were
anticipating the base's reactions and countering Witca's best defensive moves with ease. Witca fell with
all hands lost.

After Witca's defeat, we lost ground steadily, falling farther and farther back toward Earth year after
year. We no longer had parity. We were losing.

Then, largely through a stroke of luck, our fleet happened upon a lone Shardie ship near Outreach. As
soon as it realized we were near, it attacked on an evasion pattern that defied the fleet's best defensive
efforts. The fleet lost six ships before managing to still whatever mysterious force propelled the Shardie
vessel.

The fleet marines lost no time in boarding. Command had high hopes of finally finding something alive
inside. They weren't disappointed. Disgusted and surprised might better describe their reaction. Inside,
they found sixteen of the Jeaux survivors.

Survivors isn't exactly the word. What they found were sixteen bodies without arms, legs, and most
organs. What remained were essentially heads hooked up to life support and fueled by oxygenated
glucose pumps. There were a couple of hundred strands of glass fiber running from the ship's walls into
each skull, into each brain, into each soul. Four of the sixteen were still functioning—alive is not a word
to describe their condition.

Clinical examination of the four revealed that each was fully conscious and aware, at least that's what the
eeg traces indicated. They also indicated that the Shardies had used no painkillers to dull the senses when
they'd done this. Had the survivors mouths, they would have been continually screaming. All four died
mercifully fast when their pumps ran dry. I'm not too sure that the medics didn't help that along. It was a
mercy.

The only conclusion we could draw was that the Shardies were using human brains to defeat human
defenses. They were obviously using our own brains to "think" like us.

There was no hesitation on the part of Command. They ordered everyone, except combat types like us,
from the most likely targets. Humanity couldn't allow any more people to become components for the
Shardie offense.

But civilians never listen. Farmers were the worst, hanging onto their little plots and crops until somebody
dragged them away, kicking and screaming at the injustice of it all. That's why we were here. Forty
settlers had stupidly refused to be evacuated from New Mars. Forty we didn't know about until we got
that one brief burst.

My mission was to make certain that they didn't become forty armless, legless, gutless, screamless
weapon components.

"Why do you look so funny?" Becky asked as we jogged along. Her question was expected. Few
civilians ever see combat troops like us. Luckily the combat gear and darkness hid most of the worst