Doom Star: Book 04 - Cyborg Assault

by Vaughn Heppner

  ADVISOR: You have a point concerning strategic targets, Controller. Still, your thinking is faulty on two counts. One, Ganymede has four times Europa’s population and five times its industrial capacity. That mandates our moon as the primary defensive establishment. Two, splintering our fleet in the face of the enemy is military suicide. I’m sure the Chief Strategist would agree with me on that.

  CONTROLLER: (with his voice rising) I demand equal protection.

  ADVISOR: To what end do you make these demands? Is it in the interest of Jovian Civilization? Or do you make these demands through a selfish desire for personal safety?

  CONTROLLER: I make the demand for the same reason you do.

  ADVISOR: Surely you jest.

  CONTROLLER: Eighty-five percent of the Jovian System’s water originates on Europa. Can you survive without water?

  ADVISOR: I abhor the thought of the loss of your moon. That is understood, and we obviously need water.

  CONTROLLER: Then send us half the fleet. Guard Europa and guard the water supply.

  ADVISOR: There is a flaw in your reasoning. In the unfortunate circumstance that the cyborgs bombard Europa and destroy you, tankers will still eventually be able to land there and mine the ice.

  CONTROLLER: Irradiated ice? Is that what you wish to drink?

  ADVISOR: The water companies will use distillation systems to purify the liquid.

  CONTROLLER: I deem your thinking as unreasonable and Ganymede-centric.

  ADVISOR: (laughs) There are no philosopher-boards to hear your complaints. Ganymede is the supreme moon, and we control the fleet. You would do better to adjust yourself to the new realities. Instead of berating me, you should try to cajole me. What can you offer Ganymede? Come, Controller, what is your continued existence worth? If Europa decided to become our largest fiefdom—

  CONTROLLER: Are you mad? We have just won our freedom from Callisto.

  ADVISOR: You have won nothing. This freedom was granted you through the cyborg missile strike.

  CONTROLLER: The same holds true for Ganymede.

  ADVISOR: That is completely false. Ganymede citizen-guardians within the fleet boldly took charge of their vessels and—

  CONTROLLER: (shouting) We won’t crawl on our knees to you! Send us warships! Without Europa and with irradiated water you will all die!

  ADVISOR: Calm yourself, sir. Your tirade is unseemly, and it suggests to me that you’re unhinged.

  TAN: Gentlemen, please—

  CONTROLLER: I warn you both. Europa controls a meteor-ship, and—

  ADVISOR: (scoffing) One meteor-ship—you are the weak sister.

  CONTROLLER: We wondered if this day would occur. We had hoped we were wrong, but we’ve long distrusted you.

  ADVISOR: Insults are unadvisable, and in your situation, highly dangerous.

  CONTROLLER: (laughs harshly) Do you believe so? Then let me inform you both that patriots of Europa have planted secret bombs in the warships.

  ADVISOR: This is madness you spout, the fantasies of a deranged mind. You cannot be serious.

  CONTROLLER: Doubt me at your peril, Advisor. We long suspected your trustworthiness. Therefore, we decided to create insurance, giving you good reason to treat us in a civilized manner.

  ADVISOR: How do I know that your statement is true?

  CONTROLLER: Twice you have impugned my good name. I am the Controller of Europa, a governor of tested integrity. You know this to be true because I have spoken and I am an honest man. More insults will result in—

  ADVISOR: No, no, this is a dire thing, you say. A cunning man could make your claims, acting the part of an honest broker. In this, you must confirm your statement.

  CONTROLLER: You mocked me earlier. Now I begin to question your reason. What you ask, I cannot verify it for a simple reason. By its nature, a confirmation invalidates the threat of a secretly-placed explosive. You will have to accept this on faith or face the destruction of your fleet.

  Three seconds of silence ensues.

  CONTROLLER: I repeat my demand. Send half the fleet to Europa.

  ADVISOR: I can understand your desire. You are a true guardian, a valiant servant of your state. However, I would beg you to reconsider. From a purely strategic standpoint, Jovian Civilization can afford to lose Europa. Naturally, we would all deeply regret it. And I hope you did not take my small joke earlier to heart.

  CONTROLLER: That Europa became Ganymede’s prized fiefdom?

  ADVISOR: Hearing you repeat the joke causes me to wince. My humor was definitely ill-advised. Now that I’ve admitted that, I ask you to reconsider your ‘demand’. We must examine strategy in light of future Jovian Civilization. Our system cannot afford to lose Ganymede, to lose its highly-trained population and nearly sole heavy industrial basin. Therefore, to protect the system, we must ensure Ganymede’s survival. Then we must carefully husband our strength to defeat the cyborgs when and where they attempt another decapitating strike. That means, naturally, that the fleet will do everything in its power to protect Europa.

  CONTROLLER: Yes, by parking warships in mid-Europa orbit.

  TAN: Gentlemen, if I could intervene in your argument.

  ADVISOR: I’m not sure your interruption is warranted, Chief Strategist. The Controller and I are politically chosen representatives of our sovereign moons. You are a cipher in the antiquated Guardian Fleet. You must obey the new political authorities. While it is true the Controller and I have disagreed on some minor points just now, we do so in a legal and ethical manner. Your intrusion into grand strategy—no, it is unwarranted.

  TAN: Speak to the cyborgs about ethics.

  ADVISOR: Is that a threat?

  TAN: The cyborgs will soon attack Io. Knowing this, the strategically sound move that protects both Europa and Ganymede is clear. We must send the entire fleet on an intercept course and live or die by that battle.

  ADVISOR: That is sheer hysteria.

  CONTROLLER: I don’t agree. Her proposal interests me.

  ADVISOR: My dear sir, surely you see her trickery. She cares nothing about Ganymede or Europa, but wishes to cement her place at the head of the fleet. Then she will blackmail us both into a subservient position.

  TAN: Perhaps I wish to defeat the enemy.

  ADVISOR: Do you take us for fools? Do you think we lack the understanding of basic deception?

  TAN: If you would listen—

  ADVISOR: It is clear that the cyborgs are ruthlessly cunning. They use their fleet to lunge at Io, attempting to lure our fleet out of position. Once that occurs, they shall burn at a harder acceleration than any human could endure. Oh, I’ve studied their last attack in detail. I know beyond doubt that they desire a nuclear bombardment of Ganymede. They hope to finish the war with one more strike.

  CONTROLLER: I have a counter-proposal.

  ADVISOR: My dear sir, we must unite on strategy so the Chief Strategist doesn’t divide and then exploit us through Dictate-derived guile.

  CONTROLLER: First, let me remind each of you that secret obliteration devices reside in the warships.

  ADVISOR: I feel driven to point out that activating the devices will leave Europa at the mercy of the cyborgs.

  CONTROLLER: I understand. But I refuse to passively stand by and watch Europa’s destruction. If the second Galilean moon dies, the fleet perishes.

  ADVISOR: Forgive me for saying this, but that strikes me as a selfish attitude.

  CONSTROLLER: Nevertheless, it is my attitude. However, I no more desire death than you do. Therefore, if you refuse to split the Combined Fleet into equal parts, then I demand that you move the fleet into a position halfway between Europa and Ganymede. In this way, if the cyborgs lunge at either moon, the Combined Fleet will rush in to protect that target.

  ADVISOR: In no way do I wish to disparage your intelligence. Yet a simple understanding of space mechanics will show you the folly of such a proposal. A fleet needs a gravity-well to help it accelerate and slingshot at its targeted destination. Since the C
ombined Fleet already rests at the—at a primary defensive post, it should logically remain here. If the fleet were already at Europa, I would suggest the same thing.

  CONTROLLER: Your statement is questionable.

  ADVISOR: I am unused to anyone calling me a liar, even someone as noble as you are, sir.

  TAN: Gentlemen, please, this bickering is useless. The cyborgs are on the verge of destroying us, of bombarding Europa and Ganymede.

  ADVISOR: Our fleet stands in their path.

  TAN: Gentlemen, let me outline the cyborg strategy.

  ADVISOR: (scoffing) You claim to understand them?

  TAN: I understand how I would act given their situation.

  ADVISOR: If your highly vaunted insight reigns so supreme, why didn’t you foresee the strike against Callisto?

  TAN: The cyborgs are trying to annihilate important, strategic targets in turn, hoping to paralyze us into inactivity. If we let them bombard Io, we are that much closer to the abyss of extinction. We must meet their fleet, risking life or death. Otherwise, we give them the strategic initiative.

  CONTROLLER: Could you explain that, please?

  ADVISOR: She speaks Dictate-style gibberish in an attempt to confuse us. I advise against listening to her.

  CONTROLLER: No. I would hear her insight. After all, she was a Chief Strategist under the old rule.

  ADVISOR: Don’t let her deceive you. She was a junior strategist elevated to the highest rank through the simplest expedient of being the sole survivor of the War Council.

  CONTROLLER: Nevertheless, she was trained in war theory and execution.

  ADVISOR: That means she is highly cunning and deceitful.

  CONTROLLER: Then let us use her deceitful practices to deceive the cyborgs.

  ADVISOR: That is mere sophistry, sir, which I had thought died with Callisto’s passing.

  CONTROLLER: (his voice hardening) I insist on hearing her insights, sir.

  ADVISOR: Bah! It is a waste of our precious time. However, to show you that I am capable of bending over backward to please an ally, I will submit to her diatribe.

  TAN: (serenely) This is no diatribe, gentlemen, but an assessment of the strategic situation. The cyborgs threaten us with the horns of a dilemma, thereby hoping to pin our mobile elements into static non-movement.

  ADVISOR: You’re speaking strategic gibberish to blind us to your political goals.

  TAN: In my first days at the Academy, we read an ancient book called Strategy. B.H. Liddell Hart wrote it.

  ADVISOR: I am unaware of the author and suspect you are deviating from the true topic of our three-way.

  TAN: Strategy is a treasure trove of military insights. What I find interesting is that the cyborgs seem to be applying the strategy of an ancient soldier named General Sherman. He termed the phase, ‘on the horns of a dilemma,’ which I just elucidated. In his ‘March to the Sea’ through a place called Georgia, General Sherman always took a line of advance that left his enemies in doubt of his destination. Would he march on Macon or Augusta next, or later on Augusta or Savannah? He forced his enemies to defend multiple places. The place left open, he destroyed. In this way, he annihilated the productive areas in a land called ‘The South.’

  Now, the question for us is this. Do we park our fleet in a single place, waiting? Do we allow the cyborgs to burn through the Jovian System as General Sherman burned his way through Georgia? If we answer in the negative, if we hope to thwart our fate, we must strike boldly. We must use everything we possess to smash the enemy and regain the initiative.

  CONTROLLER: The risks are great, and perhaps you are wrong. Do the cyborgs truly wish to destroy Io? If they attempt it, it will put their warships deep in Jupiter’s gravity-well.

  ADVISOR: I believe the cyborgs hope to lure our fleet out of position. I find that I agree with the Controller. We must wait.

  TAN: Haven’t you been listening? Io isn’t the target, but a possibility. The cyborgs have put us on the horns of a dilemma. We cannot possibly defend everything. Therefore, we must risk the fleet and our moons to attack instead of waiting to die piece by piece.

  ADVISOR: Controller, your words have convinced me. We must wait. We must hold and defend. Unfortunately, I lack complete authority regarding the Combined Fleet. My vote, however, is to place the fleet in far-Ganymede orbit, thereby putting it closer to Europa, ready to dash to your moon in its savage defense.

  CONTROLLER: A mid-point between our moons would be better.

  ADVISOR: I believe if you confer with your space tacticians, you will find that an inadvisable proposal.

  CONTROLLER: …I will confer with them.

  TAN: Gentlemen, the cyborgs will destroy Io if we do nothing. Then they might well send patrol boats into Jupiter’s upper atmosphere and bombard the floaters. They might also strike the inner group, the processing moons, blowing up the storage facilities there. Several year’s-worth of helium-3 and deuterium are at risk.

  ADVISOR: You cannot know these things with such certainty. They are illusions built to suit your political aspirations.

  TAN: My words are recorded, gentlemen. I will stand by them. Then all will see that I could have saved Io and whatever else we shall lose, while you two dithered, too filled with fear to make the bold move.

  CONTROLLER: Your insults leave me cold, Chief Strategist. Advisor, I must confer with my tacticians concerning these space mechanics you mentioned.

  ADVISOR: Yes, excellent. I must also depart and relate this meeting to our Quorum. Chief Strategist, if you will excuse me, and Controller, if I have your leave.

  CONTROLLER: You do, for now. But I will expect an elevation of Europan fleet personnel into command positions. This must have occurred by our next meeting. If you find that unacceptable, then a substantial number of warships must be en route to our moon. Otherwise, the destruct codes will be activated. I suggest you both think carefully on that.

  ADVISOR: You are a bold man, Controller. I welcome you as my ally in these harrowing days.

  TAN: Unless you gentlemen agree to my strategy, our extinction is a real probability.

  ADVISOR: Your days are numbered, Chief Strategist.

  TAN: No more than yours, Advisor.

  CONTROLLER: (a static line).

  The end of the three-way.

  -7-

  On Carme, Nadia Pravda crawled through a claustrophobically tight tunnel. She wore a rebreather with tank and a pressurized slick-suit. A headlamp washed over asteroid-rock with sharp points and dust on the uneven floor.

  Nadia stapled a thick power cable into place. Her arms ached from lugging the stapler and her body throbbed with fatigue and desperate lack of sleep.

  Out of an original bin of sixty unmodified humans, Nadia was one out of few to have survived this long. Haulers brought in more captured humans, along with needed equipment. The humans withered like leaves. They withered from overwork, undernourishment and despair.

  Nadia’s breathing was harsh. Through the rebreather’s ballistic glass mask, there were dark circles around her eyes and a strange, haunted quality. A cyborg had shaved her head and sprayed her with burning chemicals. She had survived this long because she practiced several vile expedients.

  She crawled on her elbows, carefully searching the floor and then the tight walls around her. She’d found dead workers before, their slick-suits torn by rock. The slightest cut could kill, allowing vacuum to finish her.

  Nadia pressed the stapler against the cable and pulled the trigger. The unit trembled, and it pushed sharply against her hands as it drove a staple over the power-cable and into the rock. She dragged herself another few feet and repeated the process. She’d been in this tunnel for over sixteen hours. She had another eight to go. The cyborgs worked people in twenty-four hour cycles, with a four-hour sleep and eating period.

  Nadia had survived because she stole nutrients from the dazed, the dispirited and the dying. When she found a dead worker, she slept for twenty or thirty minute periods. Then she claimed
whatever work the dead had accomplished as her own. She did this because the cyborgs killed anyone who failed to reach their work-quota.

  Nadia had been here since the Occam patrol boats died. She refused to quit. She’d beaten Hansen, the Highborn and Ervil and now she was going to beat the cyborgs. It was an act of futility. She understood that. She wondered if Marten Kluge had influenced her with something of his essential nature.

  As she pressed the stapler against the cable and pulled the trigger—her hands lifted upward—she frowned. That pained her eyes. They burned all the time, and it hurt to blink. The sound of her breathing—she scraped her armored elbows across the gritty rock floor. She dragged herself over the cable and as she brushed up against the rock walls.

  Nadia froze then, and slowly backed up. With blurring eyes, she stared at a sharp, rocky protrusion. Her stomach tightened as she checked her slick-suit. There was a line where the rock had pressed against it. But the suit hadn’t torn—she almost wept in relief.

  She realized in a foggy way that she’d almost killed herself. Slowly, she lowered herself onto the floor. She needed to think. She had to collect herself. The cable made it impossible to relax, but she needed a few seconds of peace.

  A new thought… it seemed profound as it welled into life. In the escape-pod traveling to Jupiter, she’d given up. Listlessness had been her constant companion. Here, on this hellish surface and with nightmarish overlords, she struggled to live. That didn’t make sense. It was a hundred times more painful here. She ached to sleep. She was hungry all the time. Instant death, it plagued her every move in these horrible tunnels.

  This tunnel snaked endlessly into the darkness. She was alone down here, and she could possibly wedge herself at any turn. Here she fought on through mind-numbing horrors. Why hadn’t she fought on with similar courage against the loneliness of the escape-pod?

  Her mind was too blurred to understand. With a groan, she forced herself up. She had to keep working or she might fail quota. If that occurred, a cyborg would simply rip off her mask and pitch her quivering body aside. She’d seen cyborgs do it over a hundred times to other unmodified humans.