Oh. “How many people are you sending?”
“One officer.” A clanging noise occurred over the radio-link. “We have launched the pod, Mayflower. Prepare for boarding in twenty minutes. Rousseau out.”
Marten cut the link, and he stared out of the window at the dark blot of the warship. Yes, he could visually make out a flare, the pod’s exhaust.
His heart rate quickened. Maybe he could hide Osadar and keep that little surprise for later. He knew he should have radioed ahead about her. He’d asked Osadar about it, since she’d grown up in the Jupiter System. She’d rejected the idea. When he’d asked her why, she had said that events would squash all their hopes. But why accelerate the day of doom?
The cyborg had reason for her pessimism, but Marten didn’t share it. However, a long life of bitter surprises had taught him caution concerning authorities—any authorities.
Marten opened a channel to Osadar’s room.
“The time has come,” Osadar said in her strange voice, speaking before he could.
“You’ve been monitoring the conversation?”
“I have already armed myself,” she said.
Marten unbuckled his straps, wondering if he should order Omi to hurry. They’d been avoiding each other for weeks. Cramped quarters for these endless months had put a strain between them. It was probably inevitable. It was human.
Marten glanced at the flaring engine again, signaling the approach of Rousseau’s pod. His gut twisted with nervousness. They’d reached a new system, a free system and a rich one. Would the people here accept Osadar’s strange story?
Marten pushed for the hatch, floating in the weightlessness. It was time to meet his first Jovian.
* * *
Marten and Omi floated near the Mayflower’s airlock. Omi seemed much like before with his muscled shoulders and bullet-shaped head. Each of them wore a Gauss needler. The metallic, sliver ammunition was ejected through magnetic impulse. The needlers were set on low so that the slivers would not puncture the shuttle’s skin. Each of them had donned a vacc-suit, minus the helmet, as the suits were their cleanest garments.
“What do the Jovians look like?” Omi asked.
Marten unhooked a handscanner, which was keyed to the ship’s computer. The computer controlled the video cameras outside the shuttle.
As Marten watched, the pod braked with hot exhaust. It was tear-dropped-shaped, and its polarized window was black, hiding the Jovian pilot. Slowly, the pod eased beside the Mayflower, which was many times larger than the pod.
“I don’t see anyone yet,” Marten said.
“I mean when they first hailed us,” Omi said.
“Their com-equipment was faulty. It didn’t show any vid-shots.”
“That sounds suspicious,” Omi said.
Marten shrugged as he studied his handscanner. Trust an ex-gang enforcer to be distrusting.
Omi leaned near and glanced at the tiny screen. That annoyed Marten, but he still moved the scanner, allowing Omi a better look.
“Their boarding tube’s snaking out,” Omi said.
Marten tilted the scanner back to him. Sure enough, a docking tube stretched between the pod and the Mayflower’s outer hatch. That was quick work, seeing as how the pod had barely matched velocity with them. On the scanner, the pod seemed motionless, but both space vehicles moved in an orbit around Jupiter. Both ships thus had an appreciable speed. Usually, it took time for pilots to adjust velocities just right between two spaceships. The stretching tube was flexible, but it could only flex so much. That the pod’s pilot already sent the docking tube… it spoke of extreme self-confidence.
“These Jovians are good,” Omi said.
Marten nodded. The magnetized flex-tube made noise against the Mayflower’s hull. He heard faint hissing sounds as the tube pressurized.
“See anyone moving?” Omi asked.
“The tube is dark.”
Omi glanced at Marten.
Marten kept his eyes on the scanner. He’d gotten tired of looking at Omi several months ago.
“Seems like they’re going to a lot of trouble to keep themselves from being seen,” Omi said.
“I suppose,” Marten said.
“Are Jovians usually this paranoid?”
By the movement in it, someone was already in the flex-tube, maybe more than one. Marten recalled that the Rousseau’s com-officer had said one boarding-officer would inspect them. The first worm of doubt now seeped into his gut.
“How many sets of feet do you see?” Marten asked. He meant feet pressing against the flex-tube.
Omi studied the scanner. “Three,” he said.
A clang outside the Mayflower’s hull startled Marten. The outer hatch was opening. Why would the com-officer have lied about the number of people boarding the shuttle?
“—Move!” Marten shouted.
Both ex-shock troopers propelled themselves away from the airlock. Omi jammed on his helmet, sealing it. Marten was only seconds slower. Each squeezed through the nearest hatch. Omi turned and began to close it.
“Wait,” Marten said. Clamped onto the wall was a heavy plasma cannon. In Earth-like gravity, the cannon would need a tripod mount for a soldier to use. Because of weightlessness, it was possible for one man to wield it here.
The airlock began to open.
Marten chinned his visor shut and moved away from the hatch. Omi eased the hatch so it was almost closed. Both men stared at Marten’s upheld handscanner.
Instead of one, three tall beings stepped aboard the Mayflower. Their helmet visors were black. Each figure looked quickly around. One reached up and undid his helmet’s clamps.
Marten moistened his mouth as he activated the plasma cannon. He felt it vibrate and heard it hum. It was a wicked weapon, obviously not meant for such confined quarters. The cannon shot a superheated charge of plasma. Such a charge would destroy the airlock and open the Mayflower to space.
Omi cursed softly.
On the small screen of the handscanner, a cyborg swiveled its plasti-flesh features back and forth in tiny, machine-like jerks.
Marten and Omi traded startled glances. Marten nodded curtly. Omi only hesitated a moment, then he swung open the hatch. Marten dropped into position and aimed the plasma cannon at the cyborgs.
It was a frozen moment.
Then the cyborgs began to draw stubby tanglers. As fast as they were, Marten had time to think, Tanglers. They meant to capture us. Instead of curses, Marten pulled the trigger.
The heavy plasma cannon bucked as it spewed orange death. Marten had forgotten to set himself. The discharge applied Newton’s third law of motion. For every action, there was a reaction. The discharging cannon shoved Marten backward.
Omi clanged the hatch shut. Three splats against it told of tangle-balls hitting. Then the Mayflower shuddered gently.
Marten lifted the handscanner, staring at a fuzzy screen.
“Now what?” asked Omi.
“Cyborgs!” Marten hissed. “The cyborgs are in the Jupiter System.” His heart pounded with adrenalin. “All those months—”
“Cyborgs are in our ship,” Omi said, in his maddeningly calm way. “They’re beside us in a warship.”
Marten blinked rapidly as he clutched the plasma cannon. Cyborgs captured normal people and put them into horrible machines. That’s what Osadar had told them. They converted you into a cyborg. Death was preferable to capture.
“Marten?”
Marten kept blinking. Were the Jovians allied with the cyborgs?
“Marten?” Omi asked.
Marten quit blinking as he stared at Omi. “We have to kill the cyborgs in the pod,” he said. He was surprised at how calm he sounded.
“Any idea how?” asked Omi.
“Close the hatch behind us and then open this one,” Marten said, dipping the nozzle of the plasma cannon toward it.
“What if a cyborg survived?”
“Shut the hatch!” Marten hissed. “We don’t have time to jabber.�
�
Omi stared at Marten through his helmet’s faceplate and then he floated toward the rear hatch.
Marten raised the handscanner, using his thumb to click a keypad. “Osadar?” he said. “You’d better be ready.”
“I’m in the control room,” she said. They were using tight-link communications. “The Rousseau is hailing us, asking what happened.”
“You can’t answer because our communications are out,” Marten said. “Can you tell if the person hailing us is human or cyborg?”
“By the voice, human,” Osadar said.
“Ready,” Omi said beside Marten.
Marten took a deep breath. “Open it,” he whispered, “and then brace yourself for decompression.” Marten turned on his magnetic hooks, sealing his vacc-suit to the wall.
Omi opened the forward hatch. Escaping air smashed it open as the vacuum of space rushed in. In seconds, the air was gone from their chamber.
Marten shut off his hooks and drifted through the hatch. The wrecked airlock had a plasma hole in it straight through to space. Metal had melted and frozen in twisted globs. Three cyborgs drifted in the chamber. Two were missing part of their torsos and emitting blue sparks. The third lacked a head.
“The shuttle is secure,” Omi whispered over the tight-link.
“See if you can open the airlock,” Marten said.
“Are you sure that’s wise?”
“Listen to me,” Marten said. “Cyborgs do everything fast. We have no time to waste. Open the airlock now!”
Omi floated to the airlock as Marten checked the plasma cannon. This was bad. He only had two charges left. Then he’d have to hook it to a charging unit.
“The Rousseau has become insistent,” Osadar said over the tight-link.
“Keep them talking,” Marten said.
Omi cranked the damaged airlock wider, enough to allow a man to squeeze through.
Marten drifted nearer. They had to kill all the cyborgs in the pod. Their one stroke of good fortune was that the pod had maneuvered around the Mayflower, meaning that the airlock was aimed away from the Rousseau.
The long flex-tube detached from the Mayflower’s hull and retracted into the pod.
Cyborgs always move fast.
Marten clutched the heavy plasma cannon and eased into the airlock. While staying as far back as he could from the outer opening, he studied the tear-dropped-shaped pod. It was smooth, dark and had huge lettering on the side he couldn’t read. The black window by the front… was someone staring out of it and watching the airlock?
What should I do? If they send more cyborgs—
A hatch slid open on the pod. There was a flicker of movement. A humanoid shape jumped out of the hatch. Hydrogen spray trickled from its back. No, that was a thruster-pack. The cyborg might be cradling a weapon that Marten couldn’t see from here.
Marten swore softly as he knelt in the airlock. He brought up the plasma cannon. He knew he should wait until the cyborg was closer. But time was against them. He had to kill all the cyborgs in the pod… and on the Rousseau. Clearly, that was impossible. But if he wanted to keep on living as Marten Kluge, he was going to have to achieve the impossible.
Marten braced himself against a wall, targeted the bastard, and squeezed off two shots of roiling orange plasma. The first glob missed. The second orange blob consumed the cyborg’s midsection.
Marten made a strangled laugh. He hated cyborgs. He dreaded them. He watched the pod, waiting for some signal concerning its next move.
What are they thinking over there in the Rousseau?
“Marten,” Osadar said over the tight-link.
Here it comes, he thought.
“A cyborg is on the com-link,” she said. “It’s demanding to know what has occurred. Do you have any idea what I should say?”
“Can you mimic a controlled cyborg?”
“Not efficiently,” Osadar said. “There are too many variables that—”
“Open a channel and try to mimic a controlled cyborg the best you can. Tell them you have secured the ship. Then disconnect the com-unit. By then, I’ll be there with you.”
“They’ll destroy us,” Osadar said.
“We’re dead anyway. This way… this way we might be able to hurt them before we die.”
“I fail to—”
“Please, Osadar,” Marten said. His mouth felt bone dry. It was hard to talk. “Just do it while they’re still wondering what could have gone wrong.”
“Understood,” said Osadar. “I am complying.”
* * *
On his way to the shuttle’s control module, the answer came. Marten didn’t like it, but it seemed like the only way to survive the cyborgs. Either the melded creatures possessed a Jovian warship with a skeleton number of humans left, or the cyborgs were allied to the Jovians who controlled it. Those Jovians would all have to die if he, Omi and Osadar were to survive. That was a grim thing, but he wasn’t going to go soft now. He had clawed and fought his way out to Jupiter. He would claw and fight until he took his last breath, God willing.
Marten grimaced as he recalled his mother’s most quoted saying. She’d died in the Ring-Works Factory around Mercury. That seemed like a long time ago now. Political Harmony Corps had come for her then. As much as Marten hated PHC, it had still been composed of humans. The cyborgs—he was doing the humans aboard the Rousseau a favor killing them. If he could pull this off, that is.
Marten told the others his plan and they moved fast throughout the Mayflower. In six minutes, they met back at the airlock. Each of them had a hand-case and wore a vacc-suit with a helmet.
Osadar had already shrugged on a thruster-pack. Omi hooked tether lines between them.
“This will never work,” Osadar said over the tight-link. Her facial features were as much plastic as human, as much a mask as a face.
“I enjoy useless gestures,” Marten said.
Osadar stared at him.
“It’s a joke,” Marten said.
“Useless, yes,” Osadar said. She floated to the open airlock and pushed off toward the Rousseau’s drifting pod.
Omi jumped next, and afterward Marten jumped. Using her former piloting skills, Osadar maneuvered toward the pod, keeping the Mayflower between them and the Rousseau.
As he floated behind Omi, Marten studied his handscanner. Using it, he initiated a specially coded program aboard the Mayflower’s computer. The shuttle’s engine thrust particles from the exhaust. Gently, the shuttle eased toward the Rousseau in the distance.
Soon, Marten floated through the open hatch of the cyborg pod. This vessel had one-fifth the space as the Mayflower. They would not be making any intersystem journeys in it. They might not make any journeys whatsoever. Shortly after boarding, the three of them crammed into the pod’s control room. Voices spoke out of the com-unit. The voices spoke in a high-speed chatter.
“Can you understand them?” Marten asked.
From within her helmet, Osadar nodded solemnly.
“Well?” Marten asked.
“They are getting ready to fire on the Mayflower.”
“You have to tell them that everything is fine,” Marten said. “Tell them the other cyborgs are piloting the vessel to the warship.”
“They will never believe me,” Osadar said.
“Do it anyway.”
Osadar sat at the single pilot’s chair. Omi had already shut the hatch and pressurized the cabin. Opening her visor, Osadar opened a channel to the Rousseau.
Marten tore off his vacc-suit gloves and ran his fingers over the handscanner, using its keypad to pilot the shuttle.
Osadar was having a deliberate and unimaginative conversation with the cyborgs. The enemy queries were getting closer to deducing that the assault had failed.
“Engage the pod’s engines,” Marten whispered to Osadar. “Get us out of here.”
Her fingers flew over the pod’s controls.
Marten slid onto the floor and braced his back against a bulkhead. Omi did
likewise.
Through the tiny screen of the handscanner, Marten studied the Rousseau. The scanner picked up the feed from the Mayflower’s forward cameras. The Jovian dreadnaught was similar in configuration to a Social Unity battleship, but with a more compact design. It was like a giant ball bearing with asteroid-like particle shields. One of them was locked open, revealing a hanger bay inside. The pod had no doubt come from there. If the bay was still open….
Marten watched the screen. He saw the hanger door lurch and begin to close. The Mayflower could fit through it. The heavy particle shield also began rotating into a defensive posture.
“Give us full thrust!” Marten shouted. His fingers typed over the keypad.
Over three kilometers away on the Mayflower, the warfare pod they had installed back in the Mars System activated. The shuttle possessed five Wasp 2000 missiles. Those missiles entered the launch tubes.
Several things happened at once then on the Mayflower. The engine engaged at full thrust, pushing the shuttle faster toward the much larger Rousseau. The Wasp 2000s ignited from the launch tubes, leading the charge at the Aristotle-class dreadnaught. Almost immediately, the dreadnaught’s point-defense cannons opened up. They targeted the missiles. A Wasp 2000 disintegrated. Another blew into a plume of light, while a third exploded in space, slightly damaging the Mayflower behind it. The fourth and fifth missiles slammed against the warship. One struck a particle shield, harmlessly blowing away asteroid-like rock. The last flew through the closing hanger door and exploded.
The hanger door froze.
The Mayflower closed with the Rousseau. The dreadnaught’s point-defense cannons began to target the shuttle.
As growing G-forces pushed Marten against the pod’s bulkhead, he pressed a button.
The accelerating Mayflower ignited its fusion engine, blowing the atomic pile in a nuclear explosion of obliterating power.
-2-
The Highborn Praetor commanded the Thutmosis III, and he was worried as his badly damaged missile-ship sped toward Jupiter.
The giant ship was a stealth vessel, painted with anti-sensor coating and colored as black as the void of space. Almost a year ago, they had circled the Sun gaining terrific velocity. Then they had broken Sun-orbit and shut off the ship’s engines. Like a rock from a slingshot, they had sped silently toward Mars. At the right moment, the Praetor had launched a decisive salvo of missiles and drones. Unfortunately for the crew, they had one other mission to accomplish. Using teleoptic scopes and as they’d passed Mars, the Praetor had relayed precious combat information to the Doom Stars.
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