“I can hail him and find out,” Sulla said.
“No,” Cassius said. “Return to your tasks.”
Sulla opened his mouth, maybe to say more. Then he smirked and returned to his controls.
Although he shivered convulsively, Cassius otherwise kept a tight reign on his rage. Sulla must die soon, but he couldn’t kill him on the bridge. No, he must do this subtly. His secret enemies among the Highborn, those who craved the highest command for themselves, must sense blood from his wounding, from losing the Gustavus Adolphus. He must maneuver with extreme delicacy now in order to keep his leadership and his life.
Twisting around in his shell, he opened a private channel. Asteroid E was far away, although not yet beyond range of the ultra-laser. That laser was now down, however, certain burned-out components being replaced or under repair. Cassius watched a small screen as he practiced a calming technique. There was a time for rage and a time for stalking prey.
A face-burned Highborn appeared on the screen. It was Felix, and it looked as if his left eye was gone.
“This is Grand Admiral—”
“I know who you are,” Felix said.
Cassius pursed his lips. “Have you returned to the Julius Caesar?”
“In time, I might.”
Lightheadedness made it difficult to think. Cassius shook off the weakness as he concentrated on the hatred shining in Felix’s single good eye. The boy had gone rogue. He could see that now. There would be no saving of his chromosomes. He should have seen it sooner, but in this, a paternal feeling had blinded him.
“Where is Marten Kluge?” asked Cassius.
“Gone,” said Felix.
“You disobeyed a direct order?” Cassius asked.
“Someday, I’m going to kill you,” Felix said.
Instead of arguing, instead of using verbal trickery to discover more, Cassius cut the connection. Why his chest felt so hollow, he had no idea. In a mental fog, a haze, he unbuckled, exited the shell and left the bridge as he strode down the corridors.
It was some time later that Cassius found himself in his quarters, strapped into an acceleration couch. He had no idea how he’d gotten here. A com-link was open and Sulla was telling him…that it was time.
Time for what?
At that moment, the ship engaged its huge engines. A thrumming tremble caused his couch to shake as the noise levels rose. Then a ten-G-burst deceleration slammed Cassius against his couch. That cleared his mind, and he turned on an outer video.
The Julius Caesar and the Genghis Khan sharply pulled away from the asteroids headed for Earth. The blue-green ball was huge now, less than a quarter-of-a-day away at these speeds.
The three zooming asteroids and the mass of debris surrounding them kept on a straight collision course for the planet. Much of the debris could theoretically cause billions to die if they hit.
Aboard the Julius Caesar, Cassius began to plot. He wanted to tame Kluge, and he would someday in a brutal fashion, but he had bigger problems to tackle now. Felix—Cassius shook his head. He’d worry about Felix later. Now he had to hold onto his supreme station. His position was gravely weakened if his own bridge crew maneuvered behind his back.
He judged his odds for survival as Grand Admiral. They were bad. His only chance was if the Earth survived the asteroids. Then he had to strike first and strike hard. He had to outmaneuver his hidden enemies. If the cyborg-objects annihilated premen-existence on the homeworld, his challengers would likely pull him down like dogs ravaging a de-fanged lion.
He had a moment to wonder if Kluge was responsible for Felix’s rebellion. Cassius snarled, vowing to capture Kluge someday and turn him into a docile and obedient beast.
Then another high-G burst slammed him against the couch, slowing the warship so it could soon enter near-Earth orbit.
-98-
Deep in the Joho Command Bunker, Hawthorne watched the Doom Stars decelerate. He, along with everyone else monitoring near-orbital space on the screens, knew the moment had come.
“Open channels with Vice-Admiral Mandela,” Hawthorne said.
Soon, a black-skinned man with curly-white hair appeared before Hawthorne’s sight. The man had large eyes, a stern expression and a badly rumpled uniform.
“Use the approaching asteroids as shields,” Hawthorne said, forgoing pleasantries. “Flee from the Highborn while you have the opportunity. Whether the rocks hit the Earth or not, use the planet as an even bigger shield. Keep yourself from those ultra-lasers. You must keep your fleet intact.”
Mandela blinked in seeming bewilderment. “W-we’re practically weaponless,” he finally stammered.
“Do as ordered,” Hawthorne told him. “Social Unity is going to need that fleet.”
Mandela hesitated before saying: “The Highborn will disapprove of such actions.”
What had happened to the man? Once, Mandela had been tough. Maybe the years drifting between Venus and Earth had taken a psychological toll on him. Maybe working under the Highborn had sapped whatever had remained of his will. It was time to shove some steel into the man.
“Vice-Admiral Mandela,” said Hawthorne, “will you obey my lawfully given order?”
Mandela tried to stare Hawthorne down, at least the Supreme Commander felt like the Vice-Admiral did. Then Mandela glanced right and left. Likely, he studied his bridge crew. The old man seemed to wilt in his chair.
“Your plan is risky,” Mandela whispered.
“I need that fleet intact and away from the Highborn,” Hawthorne said. “I need spaceships so I have something to threaten them with later.”
“Supreme Commander—”
“If you cannot obey me, Vice-Admiral, I will relieve you of command and order you shot.”
Mandela scowled. Hawthorne took that as a good sign. The old man still had some will left. Then the Vice-Admiral nodded. “I have my orders, sir. Is there anything else you want to tell me?”
“Yes,” Hawthorne said. “Good luck.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ll need it.”
-99-
The SU Fifth Fleet—two battleships and a missile-ship—accelerated. Cassius watched it on his images. The Julius Caesar and the Genghis Khan continued to slow down. Between them, the asteroids and debris zooming at Earth acted as a screen.
Cassius hailed Vice-Admiral Mandela and soon spoke to him screen-to-screen.
“Where do you go in such a hurry?” asked Cassius.
“I have my orders, Grand Admiral,” Mandela said, as he stood before his chair. The preman seemed nervous. “It has been a pleasure fighting under your inspired leadership. I hope we can fight together again and destroy the cyborg menace.”
“Help us stop these objects,” Cassius said.
“I’m afraid we need more military stores to do that.”
“Ah,” said Cassius, “I see. If you decelerate, we shall re-supply you.”
“That’s a generous offer, Grand Admiral. But I cannot. I’ve been given my orders straight from Supreme Commander Hawthorne of Social Unity. I dare not disobey him.”
Cassius adjusted the transmission. Everything was turning against him at once. Did the universe mean to test his greatness to the limit? Somewhere, he needed events to move in his favor. Cassius scowled. A superior man forced events to move in his favor. The preman Vice-Admiral seemed badly frightened about something. It was time to play on his worst fears.
“What if I said that I shall fire on your ships unless you decelerate?” said Cassius.
Mandela glanced about as if for moral support. There was whispering around him, maybe directed at him. Mandela nodded and took a tentative step forward. “Speaking theoretically, sir, it would mean our alliance was at an end.”
“Ah,” said Cassius, “speaking theoretically. Go then, preman. I grant you leave.” The ultra-lasers were still under repairs. He would never forget this preman’s treachery, however. After he had fought so hard for them, they acted like ingrates and ran away.
Hours pa
ssed. In time, the three SU warships accelerated far away from the asteroids.
From Earth, the first salvo of merculite missiles ignited off the blast-pans and headed for the stratosphere, rising to do battle with the mass of potential kinetic death to every living organism on the planet.
Cassius watched the lone planet, and he wished in that moment he possessed the ancient premen superstition of a belief in God. He would have liked to ask someone to help him for a change. But if God was real, He kept silent. God had never spoken to the Grand Admiral of the Highborn. Therefore, because he was alone, Cassius desperately hoped the dice of fate rolled in his favor. He needed the Earth intact, and then he needed to outmaneuver his Highborn enemies.
-100-
Supreme Commander James Hawthorne stood with his hands clasped behind his back. Deep underground in the Joho Mountain Bunker, he watched the screens. Around him, officers and operators murmured among themselves. It had been calculated that the planet wreckers would likely smash into South America. They had to stop that. The many screens showed many different things.
In Bavaria Sector, giant ferroconcrete bays opened. Slowly, giant merculite missiles appeared. Seconds ticked by. The image shook as one after another, the merculite missiles began to lift off. Yellow flames burned behind them as they moved slowly and then quickly accelerated to escape-velocity and faster.
Another screen showed the outskirts of Kiev, the flowing wheat fields with their critical food growth. A giant tube poked out of the main proton generating station. The tube aimed into the heavens. Below it underground and out of sight, the city’s deep-core mine supplied power. Then a milky-colored beam lanced into the sky.
Other proton beams flashed. More merculite missiles flew. On other screens, cannons began to spew defensive shells. Highborn orbitals flew up from North and South America. Everything Earth possessed in way of space-defense exploded, beamed or kinetic-force smashed against the incoming asteroids and the masses of meteor-debris.
The rocky chunks of matter launched long-ago in the Saturn System now approached near-Earth orbit. The long journey was almost over. They had passed through vast reaches of empty space and survived ultra-lasers, Highborn-fashioned nukes, ricocheting habitats and magnetic-induced shoves. The cyborg trajectory calculations had proved flawless. Now these objects headed straight for South America at immense velocity.
Sirens wailed in the Joho Bunker. Warning bells rang. Men and women stood up as they watched the possible end of life on Earth.
The proton beams were devastating, consuming the smaller objects one after another. The merculite missiles held upgraded warheads. They nudged the big asteroids, and finally caused them to crack, splinter and burst apart. All the while, however, the objects came closer, closer.
A big chunk of the former fifteen-kilometer rock stubbornly shrugged off a nuclear missile. It had a solid nickel-iron core. A proton beam washed it and burned away mass, but the nickel-iron took time to destroy. The object obliterated a cylindrical habitat maneuvered into its path, sending a spray of metal toward Earth.
“Sir!” a woman shouted.
“I see it,” said Hawthorne. “What’s its mass?”
“It’s just under four kilometers in diameter,” a man said. “If it keeps on this course, it will hit in upper South America.”
“That ought to keep Colonel Naga happy,” Hawthorne whispered.
“Sir?” the man asked.
Hawthorne shoulders slumped. “Never mind,” he said.
On the screen, more objects kept coming. Some smashed through other habitats, a few of the smaller meteors deflected from the atmosphere.
“Milan has gone offline!” a woman moaned.
“There’s a deep-core burst in Cape Town. They pushed too hard.”
“Help us!” Hawthorne shouted, as he threw up his hands and implored the Unknown One.
“Here it comes,” a woman said. “Nothing can stop it now.”
-101-
There were various objects under thirty-five meters. Each burned through the upper atmosphere. The first one became visible to the naked eye at one hundred and five kilometers high. Air friction began to heat the rocky object. Gasses burned off the meteor and the denser air turned it white hot. The increasing friction and heat caused the Saturn-rock to break apart into seven different pieces. Those burned faster, creating a glowing tail visible in the daylight to those craning and watching the doom of Earth. Because of its rocky nature, this object burned up at fifty-seven kilometers above the surface.
The other small meteors also burned up in the atmosphere.
There came one big object, the nickel-iron asteroid slightly under four-kilometers in diameter. Its velocity had taken it from Saturn to its destiny here over South America. It appeared at one hundred and five kilometers above the surface, smashing down through the thin atmosphere. Soon, gasses boiled off the increasing heated object. A gigantic tail appeared and remained like a jet’s exhaust as a streak of grim finality. Still the massive object sped down. At seventy kilometers from the surface, it blazed at four thousand degrees Fahrenheit. At fifty-five kilometers, the ear-splinting booms began. It roared and blazed like a projectile from Hell as it headed for the Amazon Basin in Brazil Sector. At twenty-two kilometers, it cast a shadow on the surface like a targeting dot.
Soon thereafter, the terrible asteroid struck the surface of the Earth, releasing incredible kinetic energy. A circular shock wave of obliterating proportions flattened everything for half the continent. Trees, buildings and even mountains blew down, apart and often into the air. Earthquakes shook the planet. Billions of tons of debris billowed upward in a vast cloud that dwarfed anything ever seen on Planet Earth.
In South America, moments after impact and continuing in a ripple-like wave, over five billion people died in the crumbling underground cities. Billions more were going to die as the planet entered a new era of weather patterns and cycle of seasons.
The cyborgs had made their annihilating mark, creating the hugest crater on Earth. Likely, it would become a new lake in the middle of South America. The cyborgs had also achieved a first: the greatest single death toll of any one particular action.
Some time later in the Joho Mountain Bunker, Hawthorne slowly picked himself off the floor.
“What happened?” someone asked nearby.
Hawthorne worked his mouth, but no words issued. His mind was numb.
“Sir!” a man shouted. It was Manteuffel. The small ex-cybertank colonel sat at a communications board. Blood leaked from Manteuffel’s nose. “Sir, Grand Admiral Cassius of the Highborn is hailing you.”
Hawthorne limped near the screen. On it, he saw Cassius and the proud manner of the Highborn leader.
“I’m glad you’re alive,” Cassius said. “Our Doom Stars shall reach near-Earth orbit soon and assist you in any way we can.”
All Hawthorne could do was stare at the Grand Admiral.
“They hit South America,” Cassius said. “I doubt much lives there now. You’re lucky none of the pieces hit the oceans and created tidal waves.”
Hawthorne frowned, trying to absorb the thoughts.
“Earth is going to be a harsh place to live,” the Highborn said.
“Death,” Hawthorne said. His mouth was dry. So was his heart.
“Excuse me, Supreme Commander?” asked Cassius. “What did you say?”
“Death to the cyborgs,” Hawthorne whispered.
“Yes, it is time for a real alliance,” Cassius said, nodding. “Through these past weeks, we’ve seen that we can work together. And we’ve learned to trust each other.”
Hawthorne stared at the Grand Admiral, believing nothing the Highborn said.
“You need us,” Cassius said. “And we need to concentrate on the real enemy before the cyborgs obliterate us both.”
Hawthorne’s head swayed as the idea struck home. Likely everyone in South America and maybe even Central America was dead because the cyborgs had launched asteroids at Earth. Wh
at he saw from some satellite cams….
Was it possible to trust the Highborn? Earth couldn’t survive a second strike like this.
“We must unite,” Cassius said.
It felt like there were cobwebs in his mind. Hawthorne tried to think. He said, “You are the Highborn and we’re premen. Can we work together without you trying to dominate us?”
“I’m the only chance you have,” Cassius said. “Agree to a real alliance, and I can hold my position as Grand Admiral. Believe me, Supreme Commander, there are officers among us who wish your species’ destruction. I do not agree with them. If nothing else, this strike shows that we don’t have the time to subjugate or annihilate you. We must turn our effort against the cyborgs, or risk total defeat.”
“I have work to do,” Hawthorne said. “The world needs me now. Maybe we can speak again later.”
Cassius lurched closer until his face filled the screen. “Listen to me, Hawthorne. You just lost billions of your fellow humans. If you want to save the rest, you need me so together we can kill these genocidal cyborgs.”
Hawthorne stared into those feral eyes. Cassius was the Highborn Grand Admiral. The Highborn could change course with amazing speed and decision. Did Cassius see something new after this strike? Maybe Social Unity no longer had a choice. South America—
“Yes,” Hawthorne whispered, “a true alliance. Together, let us kill the cyborgs.”
-102-
Two Jovian patrol boats headed for Earth. In the first one, Marten sat at the controls with Omi. It was packed within the spaceship.
“Well?” Omi asked.
“The cloud movement is crazy,” Marten said. He scanned Earth with a long-distance telescope. “But the indicators—”
“I have an incoming message,” Nadia said.
“From Earth?” asked Marten.
Surprised, Nadia looked up. “It’s from their Supreme Commander.”
Doom Star: Book 05 - Planet Wrecker Page 32