Twenty seconds later, the Descartes engaged full thrust and began hard maneuvering. A harsh whine sounded and the command room’s bulkheads trembled. Marten was pressed into the module as a hardened piece of plastic dug into his side. Then the pressure eased as the ship’s thrust minutely changed. Now the side of Marten’s head pressed against a cushion.
Meanwhile, outside the warship, the anti-missile rockets sped for the drone. Depleted uranium pellets followed, spreading into predictive paths. Behind them tumbled the rail-gun’s barrel-sized canisters.
“Deploy three decoys,” Yakov said.
The ship shuddered as electronically powerful missiles left the meteor. ECM pulsed from each as they attempted to imitate the ship’s signals. Their task was to lure the enemy onto them instead of on the ship.
“Begin spraying the defensive gels,” Yakov ordered.
Rhea initiated the sequence. Outside, tubes sprouted. From them sprayed a thick gel with lead additives. It formed a cloud behind the ship as the engines cut out. In several seconds, the cloud expanded. It was a dull gray with glittering purple motes.
The Zeno gained on them. But now rockets, pellets and canisters zeroed in on it.
Suddenly, the Zeno sprouted targeting rods. Then it ignited its massive thermonuclear warhead. X-rays and gamma rays traveled microseconds faster than the rest of the annihilation. Those rays used the rods to focus and aim at the targeted vessels: two decoys and the meteor-ship itself. The nuclear destruction destroyed the rods and destroyed the targeting computer as the x-rays and gamma rays traveled at light speed toward their destinations.
The two decoys exploded. The other rays hit the gel-field. Some of the energy made it through. One x-ray beam struck the meteor shell and burrowed into it, burning crewmembers on the outer levels. The command room was in the center of the ship. The arbiter’s rooms were also deep within the protective core, and the crewmembers there were spared the worst effects.
As Marten stared at the screen, damage reports began to pour in. The ship’s motive functions had survived. But the Zeno had struck a blow that affected many personnel and would likely reduce the ship’s usefulness for days and perhaps weeks to come.
“Impressive,” Su-Shan said from the main screen. “It is a pity we weren’t able to give you a dreadnaught to command. Is that why you joined the rebellion? Did we under-appreciate you?”
“I have casualties to contend with,” Yakov said. “If you could make this brief, I would be grateful.”
Golden-banded Su-Shan studied Yakov. Then she smoothed out her robe. She spoke as before, without inflection. “In the next few hours, the Galileo Regio shall receive precision bombardments. You can thank yourself for it.”
“Mass retaliation?” asked Yakov.
“No. This is an eradication of ingrates, a purging of philistines. We have achieved near perfection here, which your rebellion now imperils. I assure you that we shall not watch this occur as bystanders, but ruthlessly act to save our unique civilization.”
“It would be good at a time like this if you could speak the truth,” Yakov said. “You plan this bombardment in order to save your rank.”
“I grieve to hear you utter such a nonsensical comment. In the Confederation, those best suited to rule do so. It is a matter of the Dictates and our rigorous tests.”
“If your tests are so accurate,” Yakov said, “why are all the governors from Callisto and not from Ganymede, Europa and Io?”
“Ah. Is this the source of your unwarranted arrogance? The answer is easily explained. We at Callisto possess superior genetics because we have striven to improve our bloodlines. Our educational system soars above yours and above those of Europa and elsewhere. If you desire rank, do as we’ve done. Earn greatness.”
“We have earned it,” said Yakov, his gaze boring into hers.
“No. You have acted as philistines and destroyers. We of Callisto serve as watchdogs over Jovian humanity. We use our teeth as it were and our valor to build. You have committed yourselves to the annihilation of things you cannot achieve. Perhaps you do not even understand what you’re attempting to destroy.”
“That’s why you plan to murder thousands of innocents,” Yakov said, his sarcasm heavy. “You’re proving your philosophic superiority, is that it?”
“You are a clever man, Force-Leader. Who taught you to dialogue as you do?”
Marten pushed himself beside the command chair. This was going entirely the wrong way. These two obviously hated each other. “You Jovians are the oddest people I know,” he said.
Su-Shan’s left eyebrow twitched, which for her placid mannerisms amounted to wild emotionalism. “You are a barbarian, given to animalistic outbursts. Still, you are an accredited representative and in theory belong to the governing class of Mars. Would you care to clarify your statement?”
“Your system is under massive assault and the two of you bicker over philosophy,” said Marten. “Who fired the Zenos at us? Who ordered those ships to attack? No one in the Guardian Fleet did, meaning that cyborgs ordered it. You’ve seen our data. The Rousseau really attacked the Descartes’ pod and likely stranded an arbiter in space.”
“You expect me to believe that obvious fabrication? I am insulted, Representative. The pod’s destruction was a clear ploy to murder your arbiter and create a sensation. Yakov achieved both. Now he and his kind will pay the penalty for trying to destroy perfection.”
“Have you spoken with Athena Station lately?” asked Marten.
“Of course,” said Su-Shan. “The controller there assured me that nothing unwarranted has occurred. And let me add, and this will dismay you: the War Council at Athena Station has decided to act decisively. They will shortly launch needed munitions, sending them to Callisto. Did you hear that, Force-Leader? Your rebellion is doomed.”
“What supplies?” Yakov asked.
A faint smile slid onto Su-Shan’s face. “Your rebellion has failed before it could truly begin. Disarm, Force-Leader, and save your people in the Galileo Regio.”
“Wait!” said Marten. “Athena Station is sending supplies to Callisto? Is that what you said?”
She gave him a level stare, with the faintest hint of a sneer. She looked at him as if he were a buffoon who had committed some buffoonish offense. “I am not in the habit of lying, Representative. Frankly, your insinuations weary me. And it causes me to wonder how you gained your credentials.”
“I already told you,” Marten said, “the hard way.” He was sick of being called a barbarian and fed up with her airy manners. “I gained them by putting my life on the line, by bleeding in combat and by killing armed enemies.”
“Gross barbarism,” Su-Shan said. “It shows your brute nature and likely your Highborn affinity that you revel in battle. You boast about fighting and killing and thereby show your lack of sensitivity and desire for reasoned dialogue.”
“Maybe,” Marten said. “But I earned my credentials.”
“Your insinuation is that I failed to earn mine. You disappointed me, Representative.”
“Have bullets ever whizzed past your ears? Have you ridden a torpedo into a particle shield and stormed your way aboard a warship?”
“I am a governor,” said Su-Shan, as she lifted her elfin chin. “I am not a brute guardian. Please, cease these veiled insults.”
“You use reason?” Marten asked, stung now. He wanted to break her placid manner, to see if she was human.
Su-Shan gazed at him coldly, as if he emitted a foul odor.
Marten shook his head, berating himself. He was as bad as Yakov and the others. Arguing with the Chief Controller was madness. He cleared his throat, deciding to try a different approach. “The Highborn commander has broadcast his data. He is the former Praetor of the Sun-Works Factory.”
“I have heard his proclamation, yes,” Su-Shan said. “It is bombastic twaddle. And it confirms my suspicion concerning the so-called Highborn. They are like our myrmidons: genetic aberrations, brutes in love with
fighting. The Highborn are bigger than our myrmidons and display greater reasoning abilities, but their days are numbered because they’re too emotive. Perhaps you are not aware that emotions are irrational.”
“What about the cyborgs?” Marten asked. “You must have watched the files from Mars.”
“They are strange,” Su-Shan said, “a decided mistake in forced evolution. But that has no bearing on our present situation.”
“You’re wrong,” Marten said. “The cyborgs are here in your system. They’ve already taken control of many of your warships. I killed three as they tried to board my ship, and I helped destroy a dreadnaught filled with them.”
“You have joined the rebels? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Your hatred is blinding you to the facts,” Marten said.
Su-Shan stiffened. “How dare you accuse me of emotionalism? Reason guides me. Logic governs my actions. That you fail to understand this and insist on showering me with insults proves your brutishness. We are done dialoguing.”
“You must alert your orbital defenses,” Yakov said.
“They are alerted,” Su-Shan said, “never fear.”
“You’re likely going to need every warship you possess,” said Yakov. “I suggest you recall what you can from Ganymede.”
Su-Shan laughed softly. “Your ploy is obvious and fruitless, Force-Leader. The warships approach a low-Ganymede orbit. You must tell me quickly, what is your decision?”
“The cyborgs have arrived,” Yakov said. “On my oath, it is the truth.”
Su-Shan waved a small hand. Golden wires were wrapped around her delicate fingers. “Do you truly expect us to believe that you timed your rebellion with a cyborg assault upon Jupiter? The odds—”
Yakov leaned forward in his chair as he struck an armrest. “Can’t you understand?” he asked.
“You have spirit and possess a willingness to fight. None can doubt that. Now, however, you must make a momentous decision. Will you surrender your vessel and save Ganymede from precision strikes?”
Yakov glanced at Marten. It was the nearest to helplessness that Marten had seen from the Force-Leader.
Then it hit Marten, a possible key to turning the Chief Controller. He asked, “What if I show you an actual cyborg?”
“How could you achieve this feat?” she asked.
Marten unclipped a two-way, using his thumb to press a button and open a channel with Osadar. The device crackled more than before, and Marten wondered if the enemy gamma rays had caused that.
“Is there trouble?” Osadar asked.
“Hurry to the command room,” Marten said.
“Will you present me with an actor in a suit?” asked Su-Shan.
“You can decide that for yourself,” Marten said, as he clipped the two-way back onto his belt.
A minute passed. Then Osadar entered the room, causing command personnel to recoil. Osadar floated to Marten and stood before the main screen. Her melded torso, the branded OD12 on her forehead, the skeletal arms and legs, and the plasti-flesh cyborg features—Osadar stared at the small Chief Controller.
“It appears compelling,” Su-Shan admitted.
“What if Strategist Tan confirmed the cyborg’s reality?” Marten asked.
Su-Shan blinked rapidly. “Tan lives?” she whispered.
The strain in Su-Shan’s voice startled Marten. He nodded, and said, “Of course.”
Su-Shan turned away, and she brushed something out of her left eye. Soon, her small shoulders squared under her sheer robe and her chin lifted. When she regarded them again, she seemed colder than before.
Yakov looked up from his armrest. A small screen was embedded there. He’d been scrolling through something, reading data. “I’d forgotten,” he whispered to Marten out of the side of his mouth. “Our Strategist is the Chief Controller’s cousin.”
“Will that make a difference?” Marten whispered.
Yakov glanced at the main screen, and he rubbed his jaw so his hand partly covered his mouth. “Callisto law is firm, and there are few children among the governors. I doubt Su-Shan has any other relatives in the same generation. Yes. It is important.”
“Bring the Strategist into view,” Su-Shan was saying. “I would speak with her.”
Marten cleared his throat. “I’d gladly do it, but she’s presently under Suspend.” Suspend slowed all biological functions, putting its recipient into a hibernating state.
Su-Shan’s beautiful features turned pasty. “Barbarians,” she whispered. “You shall….” With a small finger, she rubbed the inner corner of her left eye as if removing a speck. Then she glared at them, and her eyes glistened. “Revive her at once. Let me speak to her face to face.”
“First,” said Yakov in his normally calm manner, “you must postpone the bombardment.”
“A Chief Controller cannot be blackmailed,” Su-Shan said slowly.
Yakov shook his head. “No blackmail is intended. We simply wish to prove our point, to prove the validity of our argument.”
“Yes,” Su-Shan whispered. “I will grant you an extension. Now hurry, bring me my cousin—I mean, revive Strategist Tan this instant.”
-5-
Small Strategist Tan lay nude on a medical slab with a med-officer hovering over her. He removed a tube from her side and sprayed the wound with quickheal. He had drained much of Tan’s blood, heating it and pumping it back into her. Then he had shocked her several times. Each shock had caused her to jerk and her thighs to quiver.
Finished spraying, the med-officer draped a thin blanket over Tan’s nakedness.
Tan shuddered suddenly and inhaled sharply. The monitor-board clicked, beeped and flashed lights and various numbers. The med-officer observed them as he studied Tan. She eased into a relaxed position and breathed normally. Then her fingers twitched and her eyelids snapped open.
“Lie still,” said the med-officer. He wore a yellow smock, with a yellow cap over his round head. He had soft hands and stroked her nearest arm, which lay on the blanket.
Tan blinked at him, and she frowned.
“You can’t talk yet,” he said. “Your mind is thawing. You’ll be fine in several minutes.”
It seemed as if she wanted to answer. She stared up at him. Her blinks were earnest and her eyes straining.
Marten watched the proceeding. The entire situation was a mess. The Confederation’s philosophical rulers were odd and strangely blind for people who prided themselves on using reason to solve each problem. Instead, it seemed as if they’d cut themselves off from their humanity, or as if they’d failed to consider their emotions. Thinking to become wise, they’d become foolish in bizarre ways. People weren’t creatures of cold reason, although people could reason. For instance, why did a man fall in love with a woman? Did that have anything to do with reason? No. It was passion, desire—it was a basic need that erupted with volcanic power.
Marten shook his head. The odds this time were piling against him. Callisto had more warships. The cyborgs had even more. The Secessionists side was the weakest of all. Maybe Osadar had it right. They should flee to Saturn and start over.
“Where am I?” whispered Tan.
“You’re aboard the Descartes,” the med-officer said. “You’re in the medical room.”
“I can’t remember what happened,” she whispered.
“It will come back to you.”
“Was I sick?”
“No.” The med-officer glanced at Marten.
Marten shook his head.
“Then why—” Tan groaned, and she strained to sit up.
The med-officer gently pressed her against the slab. “Wait a few more minutes.”
“The barbarians pumped me full of Suspend,” Tan whispered. “I have to warn—” Tan stopped talking as she lifted her head and spotted Marten.
“You’re helping them,” Tan accused the med-officer. “You will be demoted for this, possibly mind-scrubbed and sent to Io.”
The med-officer removed his hands
from her, stepped back and glanced at Marten.
Marten eased near. “Your cousin is online, wishing to talk with you.”
“Su-Shan?” asked Tan.
“There have been a few changes,” Marten said. He told her about recent events.
Tan sat up groggily as she wrapped the blanket around her. “If what you say is true, why would Su-Shan order a bombardment of the Galileo Regio?”
“You can ask her,” Marten said, trying to forget that she was naked underneath the blanket.
Tan rubbed her face. When she lowered her hand and turned to the med-officer, she said, “I need a drink and something to eat.”
He gave her a bottle and some wafers. Once finished eating, she slid onto the deckplates and leaned against the med-slab for support.
“I need some clothes,” Tan said.
“Yes,” said the med-officer. “I’ll get them.”
***
“Are you under duress?” Su-Shan asked. She spoke through a wall-screen in Octagon’s former chamber.
Marten sat behind the desk. Osadar stood to the side. Strategist Tan faced the wall-screen.
“I am in the Arbiter’s room,” Tan said. “No one points at gun at me and no one has threatened me. But they did kidnap me from my quarters and hold me hostage under Suspend.” She glanced at Marten. “However, I no longer sense hostile intentions.”
“How can I be sure of that?” Su-Shan asked.
“Do the bands of Jupiter leak into space?” Tan asked.
A quick grin flashed across Su-Shan’s face.
Marten wondered what that signified. Was the phrase a code sequence?
“Where is Force-Leader Yakov?” Su-Shan asked.
“He’s indisposed,” Marten said.
“Ah,” said Su-Shan. “You mean he is busy plotting with the other ingrates. We shall soon break into their signals, never fear. Now, I demand that you escort Tan to Callisto.”
“First we must come to an understanding about the cyborgs,” Marten said.
Su-Shan hesitated. “What is your analysis concerning these cyborgs?” she asked Tan.
Doom Star: Book 04 - Cyborg Assault Page 16