-54-
Marten sat in his badly shaking command chair. Around him, metal screeched in complaint and loud groans occurred that sounded like wounded whales. The vibration of the fusion core became so horrible that his head felt like it was coming part. He sank into the cushions of his chair, forced there by the heavy Gs.
Mars filled the main screen. It had begun as a dot and grown with incredible speed.
No one tried talking, or if he or she did, no one else could hear. Marten endured. Likely, so did everyone else. He didn’t even try to turn his head to see how Nadia fared.
The Red Planet filled and then vanished from the screen. He thought about Diaz. He thought about floaters and fighting in the deep valleys of Mars. Most of all, he thought about the nearly hopeless fight inside Mons Olympia. Cyborgs were terrible foes. Diaz had died while fighting them. Omi and he would have become cyborgs except that Osadar had broken her programming.
What chance did they really have on the asteroids? Little to none was the real answer. In the Jovian System, they’d had numbers on their side. How many cyborgs were on the asteroids?
At that moment, the shaking ceased. So did the terrible groaning of the metal of the ship’s struts. The vibrations from the fusion core lessened. His head hurt, but he could hear voices again.
“…Marten?”
“I’m here,” he said, swiveling his chair.
Nadia stared at him from her cubicle. Pasty-colored, she looked frightened. Everyone in the command center did. He needed to calm them.
“We passed the ordeal,” Marten said. “Now let’s recheck our equipment. I don’t want anything to malfunction so we fail to kick these cyborgs’ butts.”
One man managed a sickly grin. The others grew more frightened.
Marten swiveled back toward the main screen. He was the Force-Leader, and he was taking them to their deaths. Too bad Yakov wasn’t here. He’d know what to say.
Marten tapped an armrest with his fist. Then he surged to his feet. “This is why we came,” he said. He turned toward them. “We have allies, the Highborn in case any of you have forgotten. The Praetor helped us defeat the cyborgs on Carme. Now other Highborn will help us kill these cyborgs.”
“Do we have a chance?” asked an officer.
“The living always have a chance,” Marten said. He wanted to believe that, he really did. But ever since he’d gone over the data from the Mars Battlefleet….
He looked back up at the screen. They’d made it past Mars. Now it was simply a matter of catching up with the cyborg asteroids, landing and fighting for their lives.
-55-
The Spartacus was under hard deceleration and had been ever since rounding the Red Planet. It was also under greater deceleration than the Highborn’s battle-plan called for.
The decision had come easily to Marten. In these types of battles, one didn’t want to be the first ship to attack the enemy. He’d been through more than his share of combat to value foolish heroics. There was a time for courage and a time for caution. If he could help it—and he could—he’d slip his space marines onto the asteroids after the first several waves of Highborn and Social Unity soldiers had already tried.
He was speaking quietly to Omi, discussing landing techniques, when Nadia spoke up from her cubicle.
“You have an incoming message from Grand Admiral Cassius,” Nadia said.
Marten looked up shocked. Then he swiveled his chair toward the main screen. “Put him on,” he said.
Omi stood beside him, with one hand resting on the butt of his gun.
The image of Cassius came online. The big Highborn had bristly iron-colored hair and fierce intensity in his eyes. He wore a military cap and a blue uniform. There was something magnetic about Cassius and something dementedly dangerous. Behind him, other Highborn sat at their stations.
“Who is this?” demanded Cassius.
Marten stiffened at the tone.
“Careful,” whispered Omi.
Marten glanced at his friend.
“He’s in a Doom Star, with the power to destroy us if we anger him,” Omi whispered.
“I know that,” Marten whispered out of the side of his mouth.
“Just thought you might need a reminder,” Omi said.
“Preman, do I have your attention?” Cassius asked coldly.
“I am Force-Leader Marten Kluge of the Meteor-ship Spartacus.”
“Those are Jovian terms?” asked Cassius.
“We are a Jovian warship.”
Cassius leaned toward him. “I know perfectly well what you are. Why are you decelerating so hard?”
A sharp retort came to Marten’s lips, but he hesitated. The Grand Admiral seemed many times deadlier than the Praetor or Training Master Lycon.
“Your action smacks of cowardice,” said Cassius.
Marten’s eyes narrowed. He’d been taking crap from Highborn for far too long. Their arrogance grated just as much now as it ever had.
“Have you fought cyborgs before?” Marten asked.
It was like watching a wild beast. The reaction was swift, the curl of the lip and a minute widening of his eyes. If they’d been in the same room, Marten had no doubt the Grand Admiral would have attacked him.
“You will answer my questions, not bombard me with yours,” said Cassius. “Any deviation from that and you risk annihilation once my ship is in range of yours.”
“I understand you think of yourself as my genetic superior,” Marten said. “But that holds no value with me.”
Omi made small, urgent motions, no doubt nonverbally suggesting that Marten watch what he say.
“We have journeyed all the way from Jupiter to aid in your assault against the cyborgs,” Marten said. “The least you could do is show some gratitude.”
“You are Marten Kluge?” said Cassius.
Marten didn’t like the way the Highborn asked that. “I’ve decelerated harder than you suggested because—”
“I beamed you orders,” said Cassius, “not suggestions.”
“I am in command of a sovereign vessel from the Jovian Confederation,” Marten said. “That makes us allies. It doesn’t make me your subordinate.”
Cassius had turned his head. He now stared at Marten with greater malevolence than before. “You are a shock trooper and formerly belonged to the Free Earth Corps. You fought in the original Japan Campaign. How did you manage to flee to the Jupiter System?”
“Grand Admiral, that is all history.”
“Answer my questions, preman.”
“How about you answer mine?” Marten said with heat. “What gives you the right to threaten me and act in such a highhanded manner?”
“I have the ability to obliterate you.”
“So might makes right?”
“That is a truism of nature,” said Cassius.
“Fine,” said Marten. “I left Highborn service because my might proved superior to that of Training Master Lycon.”
“You are a fool, preman. Your meteor-ship is of infinitesimal value in the coming battle.”
“Then why bother calling us?” snapped Marten.
A chilling smile spread across Cassius’s face. “Are you deliberately attempting to goad me into destroying your spaceship?”
“No. I’m just sick of your arrogance, of your highhandedness. We’re risking our lives to join this fight. No one has come as far as we have to kill cyborgs and save Earth. Instead of berating us, you should be asking for pointers in how to defeat them. I’ve fought cyborgs on many occasions. Heck, I’ve probably faced cyborgs more than any other person in the Solar System has.”
“You are delusional,” said Cassius.
“I want to land my veteran, cyborg-killing space marines on the asteroids. I’m not going to do that charging in first. I’m a lone ship, while you’re hitting them en mass. Fine. My plan is to land after you’ve softened them enough and gained their attention. From my perspective, that’s sound military practice.”
Cass
ius had turned away, perhaps reading from a side-screen again. He now studied Marten anew. “You once stormed onto the Beamship Bangladesh.”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“And you fought on Carme.”
“These space-landings have become my specialty,” Marten said.
Cassius sat motionless as he stared at Marten. “You are a unique preman. I wonder if there has been a miscalculation concerning your abilities.” Cassius nodded curtly. “Send me your recommendations for asteroid-storming against cyborgs. If you’ve gained a tactical insight, I shall glean it from your writings.”
“What?” Marten asked.
Cassius checked his chronometer. “You have two hours to transmit me the report. Grand Admiral Cassius out.”
The main screen went blank, and after a second, Marten sagged against his chair.
“You’re crazy,” whispered Omi.
Marten shrugged.
“But for some reason, Highborn like crazy,” Omi said. “What are you going to tell him?”
Marten sat up. “Get me Osadar,” he told Nadia. To Omi, he said, “Do you realize what this means?”
“That the most powerful Highborn of them all now wants to rip out your throat,” Omi said.
“That all our battles against the cyborgs have meaning,” Marten said. “We just have to distill the most important aspects. Then the Grand Admiral will likely employ what we’ve learned to help save Earth.”
“Do you know what will happen after that?” Omi asked.
“Victory?”
“Cassius will hunt you down like a dog for killing Training Master Lycon. They never forget, Marten.”
“Maybe it’s time we never forgot,” Marten said. “Where’s Osadar?” he shouted at Nadia. “We don’t have much time.”
“Know what I think?” Omi asked.
Marten shook his head.
“That the Highborn gave you the wrong stamp.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Back in Australian Sector they stamped a “2” on your hand. It should have been a “1”, seeing as you’ve done more than hit Highborn. You’ve killed them.”
“Now it’s time to start killing cyborgs,” Marten said. Then he took out a recorder and began to think. He had two hours to write or dictate his report and send it to the Grand Admiral. Before Osadar appeared, he started talking into the recorder.
-56-
As the Spartacus continued its hard deceleration, the cyborgs reacted to the meteor-ship.
Ship’s sensors picked up several blips detaching from the main asteroid-pack.
“What are those?” asked Marten.
During some shifts, Nadia doubled as the sensor-operator. “I don’t detect any radiation or heat signature from them,” she now said.
“What caused the separation?” asked Marten.
Osadar was in the command center, standing at the former arbiter station. “They might have been catapulted off,” she said.
“How?” asked Marten.
“By a rail-gun possibly,” Osadar said. “Because the vehicles are asteroids, the cyborgs have large surface areas to work with. They might have installed kilometer-long rails.”
“They’ve lit up!” Nadia said.
On the main screen, the blue blips turned bright red, indicating motive power.
“They have fusion cores,” said Nadia.
“Torpedoes,” said Marten. “How many are there?”
“I’m counting ten,” said Nadia. “No, make that twelve. They’re big torpedoes, too, with over five times the mass of our patrol boats.”
“Say again?” asked Marten.
Nadia’s fingers tapped her screen. She nodded shortly. “Five times the mass, Force-Leader. They’re huge.”
Marten transferred the specs onto the main screen. There was nothing secretive about these torpedoes. The attack used brute power and numbers. Marten shook his head in sudden doubt. This wasn’t like ground combat, which he knew to a nicety. This was space war with lengthy time-margins and extreme distances. What he decided now would take hours to unfold. Because of his lack of experience in these matters, throughout the journey he’d been studying ship tactics. The Spartacus had point-defense cannons and small counter-missiles. The size of the torpedoes troubled him, however. It did appear as if they were traveling in a pack.
“It’s time for our Zeno-missiles,” Marten said. The Spartacus had a limited number of the big ship-killers. But he didn’t think the meteor-ship was going to survive this battle for long. If it reached the asteroid surfaces, the spaceship would have served its purpose.
“How many Zenos do you desire launched?” asked Osadar, who presently acted as the weapons-officer.
Marten had been computing size, likely torpedo armor and spread. “…Six should do it,” he said.
“That leaves us with only three Zenos in reserve,” said Osadar. “Perhaps you are too generous with your missile expenditure?”
Marten glared at the screen, at the accelerating torpedoes. Maybe he was being too generous. No, this was a matter of weight, armor and numbers, of mathematical formulas. “I’m figuring one Zeno per two enemy torpedoes,” he said.
“I only hope the cyborgs do not launch any more,” Osadar said.
“Let’s worry about one problem at a time,” Marten snapped.
Without another word, Osadar clicked toggles on her board. Soon, the meteor-ship shuddered. It continued to do so as the big missiles launched from the outer surface.
-57-
The hours passed as the cyborg torpedoes built up velocity. The Zenos continued their advance to combat. Finally, the two sets of projectiles neared proximity. One after another, the Zenos detonated. After the sixth big missile blew its thermonuclear warhead, only two enemy torpedoes survived. One accelerated at half its former speed. The last one homed in on the Meteor-ship Spartacus.
“Warm the main laser,” Marten said.
The fusion core increased power. On the ship’s surface, a large focusing mirror began to move. The calibration took five minutes of careful preparation.
“Fire!” said Marten.
Fusion power surged through the coils. Coherent light flashed through the focusing mirror. A thick beam of laser-light stabbed through the darkness of space. It struck the torpedo. The torpedo jinked out of the path of destructive light. It took another three minutes of calibration and retargeting. Then the laser stabbed again. Again, the torpedo jinked. At the third attempt—
“It detonated!” shouted Nadia.
Marten cursed softly under his breath. But the distance was too great for more than minor x-ray damage. Those x-rays burnt out a point-defense cannon and two space marines who had disobeyed orders and remained on the surface.
“What were they doing out there?” Marten shouted.
“Boredom,” said Omi.
“That’s two casualties we shouldn’t have taken.”
“It will be a lesson to the others,” Omi said.
“I want that other torpedo,” Marten said. Two dead space marines. He had a feeling they were going to miss those two soldiers before this was through.
“The laser is ready,” Osadar said.
“Kill it,” Marten said.
The laser fired, and the enemy torpedo didn’t jink out of the path of killing light. Maybe the blasts from the Zenos earlier had damaged a critical component. Whatever the case, they slagged the last torpedo of the first cyborg salvo.
-58-
Cassius read the shock trooper’s report in his wardroom while lying on an acceleration couch. The writing style was simplistic, but certain insights impressed Cassius. For the next hour, he recorded his musings. Then he listened to the musings three times. Afterward, he began to implement a supplement to the invasion tactics of the initial landings.
Marten Kluge…if the impossible happened and the preman survived the asteroid-landings, he was going to have a grueling interview with the Homo sapien. There would be some life-lessons learned, may
be the last things this Marten Kluge would ever experience.
Deciding it was time to close that file and subject in his mind, Cassius concentrated on the approach to the asteroids. On more than one occasion, he’d likened his mind to a computer. He could close a file and open one at will, completely concentrating on the problem or subject at hand. When he closed all the mental files, he went to sleep.
After studying the probable attack sequence, Cassius went to sleep. He awoke six and-a-quarter-hours later to a klaxon. First showering, eating and donning his uniform, he hurried to the bridge. He seethed with impatience and kept clenching and unclenching his fists. This was the battle of his life. This would determine many things.
It was survival of the fittest in a war of extinction. Cassius barked a harsh laugh. Then he strode onto the bridge and entered his shell. He activated his holoimages and began to study the situation. At last, it was the time for truth.
-59-
“It’s like a blizzard,” Marten said in awe.
It was quiet in the command center as the people watched their screens. The Spartacus raced almost directly behind the asteroids, still catching up fast—although not as quickly as before. As seen from the meteor-ship, the first wave of Luna-launched missiles zoomed in at an oblique angle from the left.
Each missile was three times the size of a Zeno. Behind them came another wave, the giant Orion-ships and more missiles. Behind that were the majestic Doom Stars, two of them. The third Doom Star approached from a different angle.
“Look,” said Nadia.
An equally thick blizzard of objects detached from the rear asteroids.
“They’ve gone hot,” she said.
On the many screens, the cyborg-torpedoes turned from blue to red.
Time then passed in agonizing slowness, one hour, two. Before the third passed, a quarter of the Luna-launched missiles detonated.
Doom Star: Book 05 - Planet Wrecker Page 23