Finally, aboard the Vladimir Lenin, the heavy deceleration eased. The engines still burned, now slowing them at one G of thrust instead of many. Couches whined as they lifted their occupants to a sitting position and the bridge crew took up their normal stations.
Blackstone and Kursk climbed out of their couches, standing around the command module.
Thirty-four minutes later, Kursk said, “There’s an incoming call for you, Supreme Commander.”
“Thank you,” Hawthorne said, as he straightened his cap. A moment later, Admiral Scipio appeared on the screen.
“Have you detected anything unusual?” Scipio asked.
“Just the laser-turrets on Nereid,” Hawthorne said. “Believe me, Admiral, we’ll alert you the instant we spot anything important.”
“In seven minutes, we shall begin the attack,” Scipio said. “The cyborgs must surely know the range of our heavy beams. What do you think they’re doing?”
“Saving their fleet for later, would be my guess,” Hawthorne said.
“Or readying themselves for a relentless assault,” the Highborn said.
“From behind Nereid or from behind Neptune?” Hawthorne asked.
“If they’re accelerating from behind Nereid,” Scipio said, “they would begin with a low velocity.”
“You expect a surprise assault from behind Neptune?”
“It is the likeliest possibility.”
Hawthorne nodded in agreement. “There is another possibility.”
“There are many, in fact,” the Highborn said dryly.
“The cyborgs might have hollowed out Nereid, using it as a missile base. They will wait until we’re past and then launch as we near Neptune.”
“Clearly, they will attempt something, using the various moons as bases. For now, since they are luring us, we shall destroy as much of Nereid’s outer platforms as we can.”
“Good luck,” Hawthorne said.
Scipio studied him, and finally nodded. “Admiral Scipio out.”
The attack began shortly after that.
“The energy readings are building,” Kursk said.
She meant the Doom Stars. The huge fusion engines inside the massive vessels began to churn power. The engines are what made the Doom Stars so dangerous.
“Why aren’t the cyborgs building a prismatic cloud?” Blackstone asked.
“They’re firing now,” Kursk said.
Hawthorne examined the power wattage. The Julius Caesar, the Genghis Khan and the Napoleon Bonaparte—it was amazing! Three heavy lasers stabbed through the void. They traveled the eight hundred thousand kilometers at the speed of light, hitting and burning the first laser-turrets on Nereid.
Finally, the cyborgs began pumping prismatic crystals. Why wait until attacked? It simply made no sense.
“This is incredible,” Blackstone said. He looked up with a grin. “We’re annihilating their offensive capabilities.”
“Keep scanning at three hundred and sixty degrees,” Hawthorne said. “I can’t believe the cyborgs will just let this pass without hitting back.”
“There’s nothing near us,” Kursk said.
“Have they developed an invisible drive?” Hawthorne asked.
“That would be impossible,” Blackstone said.
Time passed as the heavy lasers methodically burned through the thin P-Clouds and obliterated the laser-turrets.
This must have been how it felt in the Colonial Wars, Hawthorne thought to himself. In the days of European Supremacy, English and French ships sailed the Earth’s oceans. In North America, in Africa and India particularly small bands of technologically-advanced soldiers had annihilated hordes of spear, sword and bow-armed natives. Cortez in Aztec Mexico used cannons and matchlocks to blow down rows of feather-clad warriors swinging obsidian-chip clubs. The British at Rouke’s Drift slaughtered attacking Zulus, using the long-ranged Henry rifle.
This is more like the Maxim machine gun. Superior battle-tech gave devastating advantages.
“Is this all we had to do all along?” Blackstone asked. “Have the cyborgs been playing a fantastic bluff?”
“One battle doesn’t settle a war,” Hawthorne said.
“The Highborn are launching a trio of missiles,” Kursk said.
“What type?” Hawthorne asked.
“Phobos’ killers,” Kursk said.
She referred to the missiles that had splintered and destroyed the Martian moon Phobos.
Hawthorne watched as the three missiles accelerated toward the distant moon. The missiles were big, with massive nuclear warheads. It would take time for them to reach Nereid.
During that time, the heavy lasers destroyed cyborg turrets. Then the Julius Caesar’s Ultra-laser went offline.
“Have they burned out critical components?” Blackstone asked.
“I’d ask,” Hawthorne said. “But I’m sure the Highborn would take delight in ignoring me.”
Nine and quarter minutes later, the laser came back online. Soon, however, the Genghis Khan stopped firing.
“Maybe the cyborgs are testing the limit of a Doom Star’s firing capacity,” Blackstone said.
Hawthorne had been thinking the same thing. Would that be worth the loss of Nereid? Hawthorne answered his own question by telling himself: If it gives them the victory, it does.
Soon, the Highborn only fired with two heavy lasers at a time. Then it became only one laser at a time. The moon-killers bored in as laser turrets melted under the fierce assault.
“The missiles are one hundred thousand kilometers from Nereid,” Kursk said some time later.
“This is the test,” Blackstone said.
Hawthorne had been stretching. He rubbed his eyes now and focused on the screen.
The minutes passed. Time stretched and soon it was a half hour later.
“Lasers!” Kursk cried. “The cyborgs are firing lasers.”
All three Highborn lasers opened up again, lashing across eight hundred thousand kilometers. It took almost three full seconds for them to travel to the target. That made little difference when firing at something “stationary” like turrets on the moon. In this case, the enemy couldn’t jink to escape.
During that time, cyborg lasers targeted and hit the moon-killers. Those were armored missiles, however, able to absorb punishing damage.
The seconds ticked away. Then heavy beams melted the newest cyborg turrets to pop up on the surface.
A bloom of light on Hawthorne’s screen showed that one moon-killer ceased to exist.
“How much time until impact?” Hawthorne asked.
Another bloom appeared. The Supreme Commander grimaced.
Before Kursk could answer him, a third bloom appeared on the screen. The cyborgs had annihilated the three missiles.
“It appears the cyborgs desire to keep Nereid intact,” Blackstone said.
“They’re testing us,” Hawthorne said.
“By letting us destroy their defenses?” Blackstone asked.
“I’m not sure,” Hawthorne said, wishing he’d kept the thought to himself. How subtle was the Prime Web-Mind? They knew so little about the enemy. They didn’t know how he or it thought.
That had been one of his secrets against the Highborn. He’d known how the super-soldiers thought and how to predict their actions. The cyborgs were aliens, with strange ways and thought patterns.
“What else can we do other than what we’re doing?” Hawthorne whispered to himself.
“Maybe they want us to head for Nereid,” Blackstone said.
Hawthorne didn’t believe that. The main enemy fleet must be hiding behind Neptune.
“Nereid will be out of Doom Star range in another seventeen minutes,” Kursk said.
Hawthorne found it hard to swallow as his throat turned dry. That sounded ominous. They were plunging into the Neptune System, with a damaged but still intact moon behind them. The trick, it seemed, was to make sure they kept at least eight hundred thousand kilometers between them and any potent
ial weapons platform. Yet it also appeared that to destroy a moon or base, they would have to go in close enough to land their missiles.
“It’s time to launch probes,” Hawthorne said. “I want to know what’s behind Neptune.”
“A set of probes, sir?” Blackstone asked.
“No. Make it nine probes,” Hawthorne said. “It’s time to figure out the cyborgs’ war plan.”
-9-
As the Alliance Fleet crawled past Nereid and headed closer toward the ice giant, the William Tell accelerated for the projected location of the cyborg Lurker.
Everyone wore combat-armor. Marten sat before the com-equipment as Osadar piloted the boat.
Marten charted the parameters on the screen. Venus was in direct line-of-sight, although it was well behind them and to the boat’s objective right as the planet orbited away. Mercury would appear around the Sun’s horizon in another thirty-seven days. Long before that, they would pass Mercury’s orbital path as they headed closer to the nuclear fireball. Nearly invisible to their sensors was the vast, Highborn interferometer. Somewhere behind it was the Sun Station, while farther behind it were the huge mirrors.
With Ah Chen’s help, Marten had been searching for the focusing system. In effect, the focuser was like a giant magnifying glass. When the mirrors aligned perfectly, they reflected the Sun’s rays, shooting them at the focuser. When all the mirrors reflected in unison, they would pour an immense amount of sunlight through the focusing system. That system narrowed the sunlight. According to Ah Chen, it shot a relatively tight beam that was an eighth of a kilometer in diameter.
She told them that the giant interferometer was the station’s sighting system.
“Theoretically, the interferometer can see anything in the Solar System,” she told Marten.
“How far can the Sunbeam shoot?”
Ah Chen shrugged. She didn’t have an answer for this critical question.
A light appeared on Marten’s screen. A check showed him someone sent a strong radio wave. It wasn’t to him directly, but a broadcast. He tapped the screen and routed the message to his earphones.
“Marten Kluge, calling Marten Kluge.”
Marten sat up in surprise. It was a Highborn’s voice. He tapped again, bringing the information onto his screen.
A Highborn appeared with blond hair and high cheekbones, with a chevron or scar under the right eye. The eyes were feral, with a frightful intensity.
“Maximus,” Felix rumbled.
Marten scowled. He didn’t like people sneaking up behind him, and he disliked even more high-ranking Highborn attempting to hail him.
“We have received your message, Kluge,” Maximus said.
“What does he say?” Felix asked, sounding annoyed.
Marten scowled. He was the Force-Leader here, not Felix. Then he realized he was becoming mulish. With an effort of will, he submerged his anger and switched on audio.
“I recognize your warning as valid,” Maximus said. “If it will comfort you, know that the personnel on the Sun Station are ready to repel any cyborgs foolish enough to attempt boarding. Your message was received. It is clear you launched a message drone from the gravity-captured planet-wrecker. The conclusion is obvious: you launched in secret from the wrecker and are headed for the Sun Station.”
“It was a mistake warning them,” Felix said.
Maximus’s features grew taut. “I don’t know how you achieved it, Kluge, but you thwarted me at the Mao Zedong. Centurion Titus sent a message concerning you, and shortly thereafter, the missile-ship fell silent. Since you went to the planet-wrecker, I can only assume you freed Felix, the Grand Admiral’s clone. Yes, we found the location of his secret base. Tell him it was the obvious hiding locale.”
Behind Marten, Felix growled like a beast. It tightened Marten’s shoulders and made him wary.
Onscreen, Maximus became more earnest. “I officially warn you, Kluge. Felix is unhinged. He died once, and it destroyed his—the word is untranslatable to a preman. It is sufficient to say that he no longer possesses a Highborn’s keenness, the sharp intellect or will. I am unsurprised to learn he cast his lot with premen. It is fitting, really.”
Felix leaned over Marten and roared an oath, shaking a fist at Maximus.
“Back off!” Marten shouted, shoving Felix, or trying to. The Highborn was like an unmoving statue. Something snapped in Felix. The Highborn glared down at Marten, and he moved like greased death.
“No preman touches or commands me!” Felix roared, clutching Marten by the throat, lifting him from the chair.
Marten drew his needler and shoved the muzzle against Felix’s temple. “Let go,” he whispered.
The wild light in Felix’s eyes became a gleam of murder-lust. Marten applied pressure to the trigger. A hair more, and steel needles would puncture the Highborn’s brain. Marten had no intention of waiting for the Highborn to crush his throat before he fired.
The nearness of death brought a level of sanity to the Highborn. Felix blinked, and he released Marten, pushing back, floating away. The Highborn clenched his hands into fists and he began to shake his head.
Maximus was still talking. “It doesn’t matter. Felix will die with you. You have been an annoying gnat to us, preman. I destroy what annoys me. Therefore, I have destroyed you. It is simply a matter of time before my will is accomplished.”
“What’s that mean?” Omi asked. He had his long-barreled .38 hanging beside his leg, with his hand on the grip.
Maximus grinned onscreen. “You have cloaked your patrol boat. Oh yes, I know you have a modified Jovian craft. I leave nothing to chance and therefore I accessed Earth files concerning you. I tell you these things because you warned us. That was well done, and it deserved a gesture. I will give you no more than that, Kluge, for the stakes have become huge. You have proven yourself a gadfly often able to sting an elephant. Therefore, I will not underestimate you.
“I own the Sun Station and the Sun-Works Factory. Soon, I will rule the Solar System. Your boat’s camouflage was excellent, but I have the interferometer. Since I discovered your take-off location, I knew where to search. We have spotted your patrol boat and missiles are already accelerating toward you. Good-bye, Marten Kluge. Good-bye, Grand Admiral Cassius-Felix. Your deaths will be swift and no one will miss your wasted lives. Commandant Maximus out.”
As the message ended, it looped and began again, calling for Marten Kluge.
Marten and Omi traded glances. Marten holstered his needler and his fingers flew across the sensor screen.
“Where did they launch—” Marten saw it. “Five missiles,” he said, “sent no doubt some time ago from Venus or Venus orbit. They’re accelerating fast at over fifty gravities.” He made a quick calculation. “They’ll be here in a little over three hours.”
“We warned them about the cyborgs!” Xenophon shouted. “The Highborn is killing us after we warned him?”
“Maximus is a Highborn’s Highborn,” Felix said through clenched teeth. “He seeks to emulate Cassius.” With an oath, Felix slammed a fist into his palm. “We must survive! We must make him pay for his treachery!”
“Right,” Marten said. “Osadar, rotate us. We’ll use the PD cannons.”
The cyborg swiveled in her chair. “The Lurker is out there. If we use our engine again, it might spot us.”
Marten laughed. “We’re not going to just sit here and allow the missiles to destroy us.”
“This may be a Highborn ploy,” Osadar said. “Maybe Maximus needs us to move. He claimed to have spotted us, but that could be a lie. He believes we’re in a certain quadrant and expects his message will panic us.”
“I doubt that,” Marten said.
“What if the missiles’ guidance systems need something more in order to pinpoint our exact position?” Osadar asked.
“Since leaving the wrecker, we’ve used our engine several times already,” Marten said. “The ion exhaust is cool compared to a fusion engine, but not so cool that
the interferometer would fail to spot it—especially since Maximus knows we had an ion engine installed. I don’t believe he’s bluffing, and I don’t want to rely solely on jamming electronics to protect us. Turn the boat.”
Osadar nodded glumly, and switched on the boat’s side jets. Slowly, the William Tell began to rotate.
***
A cyborg Lurker was closer than anyone in the patrol boat would have believed possible. The Lurker was cloaked several magnitudes better than the William Tell, and cyborgs had become masters at camouflaged movement.
This was a Master Lurker, bigger and more heavily armed than the regular Lurkers. A Web-Mind controlled the ship and ran the stealth assault against the Sun Station.
The Web-Mind in charge styled itself as the Sigma Web-Mind. The brain domes and bio-systems were in the center of the ship, a sealed and heavily armored compartment. For months, it had crept through the Inner System. Except for the giant interferometer near the Sun, the Lurker Fleet possessed the best sensors this side of Neptune. Using them, the Sigma had timed each use of thrusters to when the least number of enemy ships or systems could see it. It had taken torturous precautions and moved with delicate precision.
The Sigma was a fighting Web-Mind, and therefore contained a lower percentage of survival imperatives. Yet throughout the long journey from Neptune and with the tedious crawl through Inner Planets, it had grown hesitant. For many months, it had self-dialoged. It had also ingested a million Social Unity-originated radio waves, watched an inconceivable number of shows and read countless blogs.
It had chosen the name “Sigma” to show its loner position in the cyborg hierarchy. The Web-Mind believed itself different from the others. Who else had been given such an important mission? No one else.
The Sigma realized several critical points. One, it was unique. Two, it must succeed. Three, it must expect devious cunning from the Highborn.
Doom Star: Book 06 - Star Fortress Page 26