Cyborg Assault ds-4

by Vaughn Heppner

  Mechanics in zero-G worksuits and small repair-bots attached docking lines to the Descartes. Like some exotic species of space-ant, suited workers exited various bays. Hydrogen spray expelled from their packs as they moved huge crates and circular pods. Other mechanics repaired ship-damage or they took the badly wounded to the Thebes’s spacious medical chambers. Lastly, technicians replaced torn bulkheads and failing ship’s systems. Everyone worked feverishly, including Marten, Osadar and Omi.

  Ten hours before detaching, orders arrived via laser lightguide from Strategist Tan. The Secessionist Council confirmed her commands. Equipment worthy of a shock-trooper piled into the cargo bays. Meanwhile, another meteor-ship limped in and matched velocities.

  “Something is up,” Marten told Omi.

  They were in an outer corridor, standing beside tall crates piled to the ceiling. One crate was open, with an armored spacesuit lying on the floor.

  The suit was composed of articulated metal and ceramic-plate armor. A rigid, biphase carbide-ceramic corselet protected the torso, while articulated plates of BPC covered the arms and legs. The helmet had a Heads up Display, and a thruster-pack gave motive power. It was reminiscent of the shock trooper armor they’d worn while storming aboard the Bangladesh.

  “Why are they filling our ship with these?” asked Omi.

  “Take one guess,” Marten said.

  “You and me?” asked Omi. “We’re going on the offensive for these people?”

  “There’s something someone wants taken out by shock troopers.”

  “What thing?” Omi asked suspiciously.

  “I have no idea,” Marten said. “But I think we’ll find out soon enough.”

  “I hope there not thinking we’re going to tackle cyborgs for them.”

  “Who else would we tackle, the Praetor?”

  “I’m not sure I care for that, either.”

  Marten kicked the corselet with his armored boot. It had a nice metallic ring, and it proved that the armor-suit was heavy. It was too bad it lacked exoskeleton power. On whatever surface they fought, they’d have to utilize their own muscled power. “These are nothing compared to battleoids,” Marten said.

  “When did that stop anyone from feeding canon-fodder into the shredder?” Omi asked in a bitter tone.

  “Never.”

  Omi glanced at Marten. “So what are we going to do?”

  Marten shrugged moodily.

  “We still have Osadar,” Omi said.

  Marten frowned as he counted crates. There were a lot, and plenty of new ship-guardians had boarded. They reminded him of the guardians who had helped them kill Octagon’s two myrmidons. What they needed were more of those genetic killers. But maybe myrmidons were too elemental to fight well in spacesuits.

  “Can these Jovians beat the cyborgs?” Omi asked.

  “The time for running is over,” Marten said quietly.

  A hard frown appeared on Omi’s normally expressionless face. “I don’t think you heard me before. We still have Osadar.”

  “Yeah, I heard you. But I don’t like the idea of killing Yakov’s crew just so we can run away again.”

  “I don’t like certain death either,” Omi said. “You’ve watched the videos from Callisto. I don’t think even Highborn could face cyborgs one-on-one, let alone us.”

  Marten took a deep breath. “We don’t know that’s what the higher-ups are planning.”

  “Come-on,” Omi said. “We know it here.” He tapped his heart. “Before, everyone figured they could use us. Why would these Jovians be any different?”

  “The Jovians are our friends.”

  “Balls,” said Omi. “They’re people in a tight spot who will grab anything they can to stay alive. What I want to know is how come it’s always you and me that have to do the dirty fighting?”

  “Maybe because we always win,” Marten said.

  “You think we won on the Bangladesh?”

  “We didn’t lose.”

  Omi shook his head, and he turned, giving the suit a kick. “This is crap, whatever they have planned for us. We’ve done our time. Now it’s someone else’s turn.”

  “No,” Marten said. “Now we’re going to teach others how to do it.”

  “Like we did on Mars?” asked Omi.

  “Better than we did there.”

  Omi studied Marten. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  Marten took another deep breath. Then, in a quiet voice, he told Omi his thoughts about standing for once and fighting or dying instead of just endlessly running away.

  “Dying is easy,” Omi said. “Running keeps us alive.”

  “Dying isn’t easy for us two,” Marten said. “Let’s find Yakov. He’ll tell us what’s going on.”

  * * *

  They found Yakov in his wardroom. The silver-haired Jovian was grim-faced. His elbows were on his computer desk as he massaged his temples. He stared at Marten before looking away.

  “Why all the armored spacesuits?” asked Marten.

  “Close the door,” Yakov said.

  Marten and Omi piled into the tiny room. Yakov motioned them nearer. The two of them sat as the Force-Leader straightened. There was a tightness around his mouth, bunched up muscles like little hard balls. He adjusted the desk controls.

  “Chief Strategist Tan personally sent me this,” Yakov said. “The leaders on Ganymede are still debating what it means.”

  Marten watched the video-feed from the Occam VII of the last Aquinas Wing Patrol. He witnessed the missiles, the destruction of the first two patrol boats and the dreadnaught rising from behind the asteroid-moon.

  “This is Carme,” Yakov said. “It’s at the outer limit of Jovian space. This is what I want you to notice.”

  A pointer appeared on-screen, showing a large and lighted circular area on the otherwise dark surface.

  “What are we looking at?” Marten asked.

  “Tan’s people have been running an analysis on the readings,” Yakov said. “The best estimate is a massive exhaust-port, crater-sized, in fact. The indications are that someone has bored vast tunnels into Carme to massive engines inside.”

  Marten frowned at the Force-Leader. “That would take years to do.”

  “It doesn’t seem to make sense, I know,” Yakov said. “It would indicate the cyborgs slipped into our system long ago and began secret construction there. Maybe they’ve lived like ants down there, hollowing it out, waiting for this moment. The question is why. Then one of Tan’s technicians recalled an intercepted message from the cyborgs.”

  Omi muttered obscenities.

  Yakov raised an eyebrow, but Omi said nothing more. Yakov readjusted the controls. On the vidscreen, the dark surface leaped closer as the picture became grainy. The pointer now showed what looked like low metal domes, but it was difficult to be definite.

  “Tan’s people are of two minds on these,” Yakov said. “Some believe it is the upper part of a vast power-plant. The others think this is where the missiles came from.”

  “Tell me about the intercepted message,” Marten said.

  Yakov stared at the images. “It took several days to decode. It spoke about a planet-wrecker.”

  “Planet, not a moon?” asked Marten.

  Yakov looked up as his dark gaze bored into Marten. “That’s a shrewd comment. Do you understand what it means?”

  Marten and Omi traded glances.

  “I’m beginning to think I do,” Marten said.

  Yakov put his hands on the vidscreen as he studied both ex-shock troopers. “Tan’s experts believe the cyborgs plan to move Carme. It would be extremely unwieldy as a warship, but if the experts are right, it will become something much worse.”

  “Are you going to tell us what that is?” Omi asked.

  “The intercepted message said it all,” Yakov whispered. “A planet-wrecker.”

  “Yeah?” asked Omi. “What does that mean?”

  The muscles at the corners of Yakov’s mouth tightened even more. �
�If Tan is right, the cyborgs plan to accelerate Carme and drive it into a moon or a planet.”

  Omi shook his bullet-shaped head. “Why would cyborgs crash Carme into Jupiter? That doesn’t make sense.”

  “I doubt Jupiter is their goal,” Yakov said. “Tan thinks this is a clever way to attack Mars, Earth or possibly Ganymede.”

  “Huh?” asked Omi.

  “It would explain why the cyborgs came here,” Yakov said. “The Mars Campaign would indicate they’re at war with the Highborn and that they turned traitor against Social Unity. I’ve had trouble understanding why they would dissipate military strength by sending cyborgs to Jupiter. With two such militarily powerful foes, why add to the number of their enemies? The answer may be because they believe this is the perfect way to attack their primary foes.”

  “You’ve lost me,” Omi said.

  “It’s basic,” Yakov said. “It is also clever. Maybe more than that, it’s also based on gargantuan mechanics. That’s what makes it difficult to see or conceptualize.”

  “See what?” asked Omi. “I’m getting tired of your hinting. Just tell us.”

  “If Tan is right, the cyborgs are taking Carme and attempting to turn it into a weapon of planetary destruction. Jupiter has sixty-three moons, more than any other system. Maybe they’ll attach massive engines and power plants to the other moons. If they build up enough velocity circling the gas giant, they could fling the moons at Earth or at Mars perhaps. In time—bam,” Yakov said as he clapped his hands together. “It’s extinction for everyone on that planet.”

  Omi blinked rapidly. “A planet-wrecker,” he whispered.

  “You need to send out your warships,” Marten said. “Destroy the wrecker before it can begin.”

  Yakov shook his head. “It’s not that easy. The cyborgs have shattered the system, murdering nearly half the Jovian population with their strike on Callisto. The massive fortifications there helped guard the other Galilean moons. Obviously, Callisto doesn’t guard them anymore. Athena Station is now the strongest defensive position, and the cyborgs hold it.”

  Yakov massaged his forehead. “They’ve slaughtered millions and put us on the brink of extinction, but they’ve lost four capital ships doing it. That means Tan has a slight edge with the remaining Guardian and Secessionist warships. It also turns out that the Pythagoras Cruise-Line can convert several of their tugs into mine-laying ships.”

  “That doesn’t stop Carme,” Marten said.

  “No,” said Yakov. “But it means that Tan has persuaded the others to send two meteor-ships into the outer system.”

  “You just showed us the video,” Marten said. “A dreadnaught guards Carme. Can two meteor-ships fight past it?”

  “Theoretically, we can.” Yakov drummed his fingers on the computer-desk. “One has to expect, however, that if the cyborgs have built engines and exhaust-ports large enough to move Carme, that they would have added missiles and laser-bunkers to it.”

  “I know what to do,” Omi said.

  Yakov looked at him with hope.

  “It’s not our problem. Let Earth deal with it.”

  Yakov shook his head. “It could be targeted on Ganymede. But even if their eventual plan is to target Earth, we can’t stand by and let the cyborgs win. If Social Unity goes down and if the Highborn lose, that would likely mean the end of humanity. We have a stake in seeing that doesn’t happen.”

  “Radio Earth,” Marten said. “Tell them.”

  “Tan already has.”

  “No,” Omi said. “Social Unity isn’t our friend. Neither are the Highborn.”

  “You speak truth,” Yakov muttered. “Both have done us harm. Yet both are still human.”

  “That’s all beside the point,” said Marten. “Two meteor-ships might fail to take out a dreadnaught and an armored Carme.”

  “The massive exhaust-port shows us that even two meteor-ships might fail to stop the moon,” Yakov said.

  “I get it,” Omi said, with a bitter laugh. “You want to land shock troopers onto Carme, hoping they kill every cyborg there. It’s a suicide mission in other words, which means you plan on sending us and other fools to do it.”

  “Tan has chosen me to go with you,” Yakov said quietly.

  “We should have killed her when we had the chance,” Omi said. “Now she’s taking her revenge. Yeah, I know her kind.”

  “The stakes are too high and her rationality too sound for that,” Yakov said.

  Omi stared at the Force-Leader. “Don’t bet on it.”

  “You’re missing a greater truth,” Yakov said, with a faint scowl. “Chief Strategist Tan is sending us because of you two. No one is better at space-marine fighting. You both know it, and you can both lead—”

  “Lead other fools to commit suicide?” Omi asked.

  “Perhaps we are all fools,” Yakov said. “Sometimes, however, fools win.”

  “Fools luck?” asked Omi. “Marten’s and my luck ran out a long time ago.”

  “So did mine,” Yakov said. “Still, in the end, the Secessionists broke free from the Dictates.”

  Omi stared at the vidscreen, studying Carme and the bright mote on it. He whirled on Marten. “Aren’t you going to tell him this is crazy?”

  Marten moistened his lips. “It is crazy. The cyborgs are crazy. Breaking a moon out of its orbit, even a small asteroid-moon, and sending it across space to hit a planet—that’s lunacy. It tells me this is a war of annihilation, either theirs or ours.” Marten flexed his hands. “I told you before, I’m finished running away. It’s time to slug it out. Maybe that means you and I are supposed to lead an attack onto that rock. I don’t know.”

  “We’ll be facing cyborgs,” Omi said.

  “Yeah,” Marten whispered. Cyborgs—he remembered Olympus Mons. A handful of cyborgs had handled them with ease. If Osadar hadn’t shown up, Omi and he would likely be cyborgs now. This was a suicide mission. Damn, he hated cyborgs.

  Marten scowled. Hadn’t he already killed cyborgs here? He’d helped destroy a dreadnaught full of them. It’s also likely his action had given the Jovians whatever chance they had of surviving this stealth attack from Neptune. Marten stood very still then. Had he arrived in the Jupiter System for a reason?

  A queasy feeling filled Marten’s stomach. What did he stand for? Did the cyborgs really plan to make planet-wreckers and send them at Earth? Could he stand by and watch them do it, knowing he could have done something but that fear had caused him to run to Saturn or Uranus for safety? How long could he run in a Solar System ruled by cyborgs?

  “Tell Yakov he’s full of crap,” Omi said.

  Marten swallowed a lump in his throat. “Maybe this is crazy,” he told Omi. “But we have to do it.”

  “Why? We’ve done our time.”

  “We survived Japan,” Marten said. “But Stick and Turbo died there. We survived the Bangladesh. Vip, Lance and Kang become sterile motes in space. We survived Mars, but Chavez and the others are radioactive dust. Maybe this is why we lived. We’re meant to help stop humanity’s extinction.”

  Omi folded his arms across his chest. After a moment, he said, “Osadar is right. Life is rigged.”

  “All men die,” Marten said. “Maybe it’s time to make our existence worth something.” He faced Yakov. “I’m in.”

  Yakov checked a chronometer. “We leave in eleven hours. In that time, I want you to choose which ship-guardians to take along.”

  “Come again?” asked Omi.

  “We had planned to take the Thebes with us,” Yakov said. “Now we’ve discovered severe engine damage.”

  “What?” Omi asked.

  “There was sabotage aboard the Thebes,” Yakov admitted.

  Omi laughed bitterly.

  “Now we must select the best ship-guardians,” Yakov said, ignoring the laugh. “You two must teach them what you can in the time remaining. Then you will lead them to victory once we reach Carme.”

  It was Marten’s turn to laugh. He stared into sp
ace as if recalling a grim memory. “We have to choose the best. Yeah, I know what to do. Omi?”

  Omi’s face had become blank. He gave the barest of nods. Marten clapped him on the back, and that made Omi scowl.

  “This is crap,” Omi said.

  “When isn’t it?”

  Omi thought about that, and said, “Yeah.”

  -3-

  “Are you sure you want to do it this way?” Omi whispered.

  Marten wore a black uniform with silver stripes and tabs. Omi was similarly dressed. They stood in the spacious promenade deck of the Thebes, a first class pleasure liner of the Pythagoras Corporation. It had a rotating torus shell, giving pseudo-gravity to this area of the ship.

  “No,” Marten whispered. “I’m not sure. If you know of a better way of choosing space marines, let me know now.”

  Grim-faced ship-guardians standing at attention and in their blue uniforms, complete with medals and battle ribbons, filled the promenade deck. There were too many ship-guardians to take in the two meteor-ships. The guardian-class Jovians stood ready, awaiting inspection.

  “I know of a better way,” Osadar said.

  She stood behind them, the focus of many staring eyes, as the three of them stood before the crowd of ship-guardians.

  Marten and Omi turned to her.

  “Check their records,” she said.

  “They’re peacetime soldiers,” Omi said with distain.

  “Do peacetime records lie?” the cyborg asked.

  “It isn’t that,” Marten said. “During war, officers look for fighters. During peace, they look for yes-men, for those who don’t make waves. We want fighters. We want soldiers who will stick it out when cyborgs swarm them.”

  “Sift carefully through their records,” Osadar said.

  “We don’t have time for that,” Marten said.