Doom Star: Book 06 - Star Fortress

by Vaughn Heppner

  JUBA-RYDER: On what do you base this assumption?

  CONE: My communication with Admiral Sulla.

  JUBA-RYDER: This is an amazing statement. You have spoken with the chief Ultraist?

  HAWTHORNE: At my orders, she has.

  JUBA-RYDER: (Glancing from Hawthorne to Cone). What does Sulla say?

  CONE: There is a fierce battle going on between the Highborn. Cassius has been losing political ground as new commanders rise up. Then several weeks ago, things began to change. Sulla believes Cassius resorted to assassination in order to place one of his people in high command, namely, the newly promoted Admiral Scipio.

  JUBA-RYDER: Is assassination unusual among them?

  CONE: Apparently, it is. It means the Grand Admiral has possibly changed his feelings about murder and now willingly employs it as a tactic. I find that troubling.

  JUBA-RYDER: I find your admission of communication with Sulla troubling. We’ve spoken here about our distrust of Cassius. Sulla is an Ultraist. Yet apparently we have no problem speaking with him. Sulla’s view about us is even harsher than the Grand Admiral’s. For what possible reason could Sulla be speaking with us, and why do you seem to trust him?

  CONE: (Looks at the Supreme Commander).

  HAWTHORNE: (Nods).

  CONE: Our trust comes because Sulla is in an inferior position compared to the Grand Admiral. In addition, Sulla wishes our help in assassinating Cassius.

  JUBA-RYDER: (Sits up). Sir, this communication with the Ultraist could be a trap. Sulla—it seems obvious what is happening. This is a loyalty test by them. The two Highborn work against us, they are testing to see if we are trustworthy.

  HAWTHORNE: The citizens of Social Unity are not their subjects.

  JUBA-RYDER: If we take the Force-Leader’s words at face value, the Highborn believe we are animals. An Ultraist would have an even lower opinion about us. We must tread with caution and keep out of their political battles.

  CONE: The Director’s unease mirrors my own feelings. I find myself at a loss in this situation. I distrust both Sulla and Cassius. If I had to choose, I would believe the Grand Admiral before the Ultraist. But I would not want to make the choice. Therefore, in this instance, I must agree with Force-Leader Kluge. Sir, do not meet with the Grand Admiral.

  JUBA-RYDER: As long as we refrain from entering into their political maneuverings, I do not see what we can lose from your meeting with Cassius.

  MARTEN: (to Juba-Ryder) Have you ever been in combat with a Highborn?

  JUBA-RYDER: Obviously not. I am a political representative of the people, not a soldier.

  MARTEN: Then you have no idea what you’re talking about. Even without weapons, Highborn are extremely dangerous.

  JUBA-RYDER: (Slaps the conference table and opens her mouth to retort).

  HAWTHORNE: (speaking quickly) Could you elaborate, Force-Leader?

  MARTEN: The Highborn are amazing soldiers, and they are daring to an intense degree. I wouldn’t discount the idea that they are trying to assassinate you, sir.

  JUBA-RYDER: Why would they want to kill our Supreme Commander? It would shatter the alliance. The cyborgs would win then and we would all lose. Humanity would die.

  MARTEN: That’s just it. Realizing humanity would die, wouldn’t you still work with the Highborn even after they killed the Supreme Commander? The stakes would be too high to face the cyborgs alone.

  JUBA-RYDER: There would be no more trust.

  MARTEN: Is there any now?

  CONE: Not much, Force-Leader, but a little, yes.

  MARTEN: That’s your first mistake. Never trust a Highborn.

  CONE: We trusted them to help us with the planet-wreckers, and we were right to do so.

  HAWTHORNE: Suppose I do go to Low Earth Orbit, Force-Leader? What would you suggest?

  MARTEN: Take a gun.

  HAWTHORNE: The Grand Admiral stipulated that neither of us go armed.

  MARTEN: Then carried a concealed weapon.

  HAWTHORNE: They have detectors for that sort of thing.

  MARTEN: Use an implant. Those are nearly impossible to detect.

  JUBA-RYDER: That is preposterous. You wish to alter the Supreme Commander of Social Unity with a bionic part?

  MARTEN: These are unusual times and call for unusual actions.

  JUBA-RYDER: You dare to hurl that in the Supreme Commander’s face. I find that offensive. Pray that nothing happens to our leader, Marten Kluge.

  HAWTHORNE: You will desist at once with threats, Director!

  JUBA-RYDER: Yes, sir. I’m sorry, Force-Leader. I wish you a long and socially useful life.

  MARTEN: That’s great.

  HAWTHORNE: As usual, we have had a spirited meeting. I appreciate the candor. Know that I have decided. I will meet with Grand Admiral Cassius.

  MARTEN: Good luck. You’re going to need it.

  HAWTHORNE: The meeting is adjourned. Security Specialist Cone, if you would remain a moment longer, please…

  End of File #13

  -3-

  Several hours later, Grand Admiral Cassius piloted an armored shuttle toward an old command station in geosynchronous orbit above the Earth. Three other Highborn rode in back as his security team. The Vladimir Lenin, a SU battleship with particle shielding, was interposed between the station and the Julius Caesar ten-thousand kilometers away. In Cassius’s opinion, letting the premen have a protective battleship was an excellent method of lulling the enemy.

  The Earth hung below and masses of heavy clouds hid the majority of the surface. The cloud-cover was thick enough that surface-based lasers would prove ineffectual against the station. The proton beams were another matter. Cassius respected them. They could punch through the clouds and annihilate the station. Nevertheless, he had a plan for that and for the battleship. Checking his chronometer, he saw that he had nineteen minutes to kill Social Unity’s Supreme Commander James Hawthorne. With him out of the way, chaos would result. In the chaos, the Highborn would achieve in weeks what they had been unable to do in years: complete conquest of Earth. Once he possessed unity of command in Inner Planets, he would be ready to destroy the cyborgs.

  It would be enjoyable to interview the preman. One of Cassius’s fantasies was to go back in time to speak with Alexander the Great. Another fantasy he mentally indulged in was the idea of what he could have done with one hundred Highborn during Ancient Times. He would have conquered the Earth, swinging an axe and leading an army of subservient premen.

  Cassius decided that conquering the Solar System would have to do. He chuckled. The heavy lifting of his plan had already been achieved. James Hawthorne walked…floated to his death at the station. A video cam recorded it and a chemical sniffer had made its analysis: the preman was unarmed.

  “Thirty premen security people are on the station,” he told his guards.

  “Thirty cattle,” the chief guard said. The Highborn wore combat-armor and had bristly white hair.

  Cassius frowned. “Listen to me. You must avoid overconfidence. We are superior, but arrogance holds a trap for the unwary.

  “Yes, Commander.”

  “This is a delicate mission and we must perform at the height of our powers. The preman are soldiers, and they have held us at bay for years. We will not underestimate them, especially with the Vladimir Lenin nearby.”

  “We hear you, sir.”

  “At my signal, you will draw your weapons and ruthlessly destroy all thirty guards. Those of you who fail to enter the shuttle in time will die. The premen will surely destroy the station in retaliation for the Supreme Commander’s death and we must be gone by then.”

  “Those of us who fail to enter the shuttle deserve to die,” the chief guard said.

  “I have longed for this day,” Cassius said. “The clever preman has played his last card against me. Now is the hour of the Highborn as we consolidate our power.”

  Cassius clicked the shuttle’s controls. Seconds later, thrusters blasted, slowing the armored spaceship
as they began docking procedures.

  ***

  James Hawthorne floated before the chamber’s viewing port of ballistic glass. It had been a long time since he’d been in space. He felt queasy floating here. It felt as if he was constantly falling. Because of that, his stomach roiled and he was afraid he would vomit.

  He wore a silver vacc-suit. The helmet hung behind his head and he’d taken off the magnetically-sealed gloves. The chamber was spacious, a former carbon-scrubbing station. Some time ago, workers had removed the wrecked filters and patched the breached bulkheads. Outside, the view was spectacular. The stars shined brightly and the grim bulk of the Vladimir Lenin orbited nearby. Commodore Blackstone was the commanding officer, back at last from Mars. 600-meters of particle mass provided the warship’s main shielding. The oblong-shape of the warship showed it was a man-made construct and not just stray matter. It had been a long time since SU warships had been parked in Earth orbit. Beyond the battleship and out of visual range was the Julius Caesar.

  Hawthorne had seen Cassius’s shuttle, at least he had seen its intense exhaust. Now he heard loud clangs from outside and vibrations against the floor.

  I’m finally going to meet Grand Admiral Cassius. This was a historic moment. After all these years, all the enemy’s strategic plans…he was going to meet their author. As a student of military history, he understood the value of a genius. Frederick II of Prussia had once simultaneously fought France, Austria, Russia, the Holy Roman Empire, Saxony and Sweden. Collectively that represented a coalition of 70,000,000 people against 4,500,000 Prussians, fought in an era of flintlocks, cavalry and cannons. Napoleon had said of the king: “It is not the Prussian army which for seven years defended Prussia against the three most powerful nations in Europe, but Frederick the Great.” The Highborn were incomparable as soldiers. The Grand Admiral made them even greater.

  Hawthorne swallowed in a dry throat, and he flexed his fingers. Had he guessed correctly or was Marten Kluge right? Infighting among humans and Highborn with the cyborgs threatening everyone, it would be suicidal madness. Surely, Cassius couldn’t be that arrogant.

  The stars shined so brightly up here. It was beautiful and serene. Hawthorne frowned as he studied the stars. It came to him that he was more than weary of leading Social Unity. The weight of responsibility was crushing. The deaths of so many soldiers that he had ordered into hopeless situations…

  It is time I risked my life against the cyborgs instead of just ordering others to their deaths.

  The combined Highborn-Human Fleet would soon begin the long journey to Neptune. It would take over eight months to reach the enemy system.

  I must go with them. The stooped Supreme Commander nodded, and he took a deep breath. Who would lead Earth in his absence? Who had the fire, the cunning and desire to match wits against the—

  Behind him, the door swished open. Hawthorne turned his head. His eyes widened.

  A nine-foot-tall super-soldier filled the entrance. The Highborn wore combat-armor, which was against their agreement. With a clang of magnetized boots, the Highborn walked into the chamber. Behind him, the door swished shut.

  “Grand Admiral Cassius, I presume.”

  The visor rotated open, and a wide face filled the helmet. The eyes with their oily film and the slash for a mouth, combined with the sharp planes of the face…Hawthorne understood Kluge’s objections better now.

  “This is a pleasure,” the Highborn said.

  Hawthorne tightened his slack muscles in order to suppress a shudder. The voice was inhumanly deep and rich with authority. This was a soldier born to command. He felt inadequate standing in the Highborn’s presence.

  “I am Grand Admiral Cassius. You are James Hawthorne?”

  Hawthorne nodded as the feeling of inadequacy grew. The sheer vibrancy of the Highborn awed him, the coiled intensity of the soldier…

  “I am glad we can finally meet,” Hawthorne managed to say.

  “You have come unarmed?”

  “I have,” Hawthorne said.

  “Excellent. I knew you were an honorable man. You have fought a good fight, preman. You held us at bay from Eurasia longer than I believed possible. It is the reason we are in this fix.”

  “You wanted to speak about Admiral Sulla, I believe.”

  Cassius checked a chronometer on his armored wrist. “We have little time, which is a pity. Never fear, Sulla’s days are numbered. He would eliminate you premen, a strategic piece of folly that I cannot allow. As a species, you are too needed in order to work the factories, at least until the cyborgs are destroyed.”

  The direction of the conversation…it made Hawthorne sick. He had guessed wrong, it seemed. Marten Kluge had been right. He should have listened to the expert on Highborn. With a gentle shove, the Supreme Commander of Social Unity pushed himself off the ballistic glass toward Cassius.

  “You understand what must happen,” Cassius said. “I see the knowledge in your eyes. With you gone, Social Unity will split into factions. In their fear of death and dishonor, the weaker factions will turn to us for help. Using that, I shall easily occupy Eurasia and Africa, completing my conquest of Earth.”

  Hawthorne shuddered. The Highborn were killers. It was their genetic heritage.

  “Even as you attempt to be brave, you show your fear,” Cassius said. “It is the great preman weakness.”

  “What about my security team? You can’t hope to fight past them?”

  “Thirty premen against three Highborn?” Cassius asked. “Bah. The odds are stacked in our favor. We cannot lose such an encounter.”

  “With the cyborgs ready to destroy us,” Hawthorne said, “killing me is a mistake.”

  “The cyborgs are the reason I must kill you. To defeat them, I need unity of command.”

  “We’re already allied.”

  “Loosely,” Cassius said. “I need obedience in order for my genius to flower. You made your greatest strategic error today in coming here. Otherwise, you fought brilliantly.”

  “Are you armed?” Hawthorne asked.

  “I have my hands,” Cassius said, lifting them. “They will be more than enough to twist your neck. For a preman, you fought better than anyone could have believed. However, I will take pleasure in this. My genetic imperative and greatness relentlessly leads me to the ultimate prize—victory!”

  Hawthorne took a deep breath as he drifted near Cassius. The Supreme Commander raised his left arm and pointed his index finger at the Highborn’s face.

  “Do not beg, preman, and do not preach to me concerning preman morals. Fight me and go down to death as a soldier should—struggle until the last breath leaves your pathetic frame.”

  With his middle finger, Hawthorne pressed the pad embedded within the skin of his palm. He had undergone emergency surgery. The left index finger was a functional prosthesis. The tip of skin blew away as a dum-dum bullet fired from the finger mount.

  Cassius might have shown surprise. It happened so quickly, however, that Hawthorne couldn’t tell if the Highborn knew what was happening. The dum-dum slug entered the Grand Admiral’s face under the right eye. As that occurred, the piece of mercury in the hollow part of the slug was flung against the lead. That caused the slug to fragment like a grenade as it entered the Highborn’s face. The slug exploded, instantly killing the soldier.

  A hidden transmitter in the palm-pad trigger also alerted the security team outside. They were not ordinary humans, but bionic soldiers. This was another clear violation of the agreement they had made. The bionic soldiers attacked the three Highborn, who proved themselves marvelous fighters. Cassius’s three guards killed fourteen soldiers before they died, but die they did.

  Afterward, the surviving members of the security team entered a pod and dropped for Earth. James Hawthorne strapped a propulsion pack to his shoulders, sealed his vacc-suit, entered a lock, waited until the chamber rotated into space and launched for the Vladimir Lenin.

  ***

  Aboard the Vladimir L
enin, Commodore Blackstone stood at the command module as the chamber was bathed in red light. He watched the pod drop toward the heavy cloud cover. A tiny blip on the screen showed him Hawthorne’s position.

  “Propulsion,” Blackstone said, “give me bearing seven mark ten. Put us between the Julius Caesar and the Supreme Commander.”

  There was a lurch aboard the battleship as subsystems fractionally moved the multi-million-ton vessel.

  How much time will they give us? Blackstone asked himself. The answer came almost right away.

  “Highborn weapons systems are hot,” Commissar Kursk said. She monitored the situation from her part of the module as she stood near him. “I think they know what happened to their Grand Admiral.”

  Blackstone gripped the module’s sides. “Are they targeting us?”

  “They’re not responding to our calls,” Kursk said.

  Blackstone flinched as he watched the module’s screen. A laser on the Julius Caesar activated. It was a stab of brilliant light that caused the small vessel to wink out of existence, killing the bionic soldiers aboard. Then a floating, and up until this point, invisible stealth-missile appeared on the module’s screen. The missile’s exhaust brought it to glaring notice.

  “Should I intercept?” Kursk asked. “The missile is heading for the station.”

  “Leave it,” Blackstone said. “Let the Highborn think they’re getting revenge.”

  “There’s a probability that an exploding fragment from the station will kill the Supreme Commander.”

  “It’s a risk he’ll have to take,” Blackstone said.

  He had received a communication from Hawthorne an hour ago. The orders had been sketchy, but Commissar Kursk had helped the Commodore fill in the gaps. Blackstone knew what he needed to do now. If the Doom Star targeted the Vladimir Lenin, they were all dead. It was madness fighting another warship at such close range, especially a warship with collapsium shielding. Collapsium was an incredible advantage.

  “Sir,” Kursk said. “An officer on the Julius Caesar is hailing us.”

  Blackstone tapped his screen, putting the picture onto his portion of the module. It showed an angry Highborn. They all looked alike to him, big and volatile. This one had a scar on his forehead that disappeared into his hairline. Had this Highborn died before?