They trudged toward him. Hawthorne recognized Cone in her black jacket and sunglasses. The big man beside her must be McLeod. He had wild red hair, a mass of freckles and likely possessed a Viking heritage. Even in combat fatigues, the man looked as if he should be captaining a dragon-boat of old. The other one must be Colonel Naga. He was slim, with black hair that almost seemed purple. Dangling from his neck was a pair of goggles.
Soon, Cone raised her hand and shouted a greeting.
Hawthorne waited, watching as McLeod and Naga glanced at each other. Cone spoke to them. McLeod laughed loudly and nodded. Naga glanced back at the hovercraft.
“Stay here,” Hawthorne said.
“Sir, I don’t recommend this,” Manteuffel said.
As he strode down the grassy dune, Hawthorne smiled to himself. Those had been Captain Mune’s favorite words. It brought a pang of nostalgia. Now there had been a bodyguard.
The sand crunched under the soles of his shoes. In moments, he met the trio in the middle of the sandy beach.
Cone introduced him, and then introduced the colonels to Hawthorne. Holding out his hand, Hawthorne shook each of theirs. McLeod had a crushing grip, and seemed compelled to try to break bones by squeezing. The blue eyes showed exactly what McLeod was doing: sizing up the Supreme Commander of Social Unity. Naga bowed slightly at the waist. He had dark hooded eyes like a snake, revealing nothing of his thoughts.
They spoke a few pleasantries. Then McLeod glanced around. “I don’t see any soldiers. Do you think you can take Colonel Naga and me?”
“More importantly,” Hawthorne said, “do you think we can take Earth back from the Highborn?”
McLeod put his ham-like hands on his hips and laughed. “What happened in North and South America, there’s your answer, man.”
“If you don’t think we can defeat the Highborn, why are you here?” Hawthorne asked.
“The Highborn left me to die,” McLeod said. “Me! There isn’t a better soldier on the planet. I left pieces of my flesh on three different continents for them. You’d think they’d be grateful.”
“Are you grateful when a dog injures itself protecting your house?”
“You watch your mouth, Hawthorne.” Colonel McLeod glanced around, and he smirked openly at Hawthorne. “Two steps and I can snap your neck before any of your hidden security teams can do squat.”
“What would that gain you?” asked Hawthorne.
“It would be as good a way to die as any,” McLeod said.
“What would be a good way to live?” asked Hawthorne.
“If the asteroids strike Earth,” Colonel Naga said in a quiet but authoritative voice, “what does any of this matter?”
“That we die free,” Hawthorne said.
“I am free,” said Naga.
Hawthorne shook his head. “You two are just a pair of subhumans to the most bigoted individuals the Earth has ever seen. To the Highborn, you are dogs. That they’ve spent your blood recklessly ought to prove it to you.”
“Your soldiers have died in greater numbers than ours,” McLeod said.
“Our soldiers have died to keep their freedom and their planet. What have your men died for?”
“Glory,” said McLeod.
“How does glory feed your family?” asked Hawthorne. “How does glory keep humanity free?”
“The Highborn have deserted us,” Colonel Naga told McLeod.
“They’re highhanded blokes, no doubt about that,” McLeod said, scowling. “I’d like to stick it in their arses before I’m burned to a crisp. What do you have in mind, Supreme Commander?”
“That you stand with us against them,” Hawthorne said. “They’re highhanded, as you said. They’re arrogant and spit on all of us. I’m tired of it, and I suspect you’re tired of it, too.”
“You are said to possess the entire FEC roster,” Naga said. “Political Harmony Corps desires to march each of us before a brick wall and shoot us.”
“I’ve de-fanged Political Harmony Corps,” Hawthorne said. “If you join us, I’ll delete the lists.”
“…And?” asked Naga.
“And the Free Earth Corps can keep the territories it has conquered,” Hawthorne said. “I’m also willing to recognize you as the highest authority in North America.”
“I’d want South America,” McLeod said. “There are some pretty women in those sectors.”
“Can each of you sway his men?” asked Hawthorne.
McLeod snapped his meaty fingers. Naga made another faint bow.
“What about other officers, other colonels?” Hawthorne asked.
“There is much anger,” Naga said. “But there is also much fear. How do you propose to defeat the Highborn?”
“I’m not proposing anything fancy,” Hawthorne said. “But I am offering you the chance to rejoin Social Unity and help us kill the genetic supremacists who dare to act like gods among us.”
“They left me to die,” McLeod said. “I can’t ever forget that. I don’t care a whit about Social Unity or your brotherhood of humanity propaganda. But I do want to kill the Highborn and teach them their mistake. They shouldn’t have abandoned Earth or the soldiers who fought so long and hard for them.”
“What guarantees do you have that I will gain North America?” Naga asked quietly.
“My word,” said Hawthorne.
“A word easily broken to those you consider traitors,” Naga said.
“Did you see me flee when you drove the hovercraft at me?” asked Hawthorne.
“You stood your ground like a soldier,” McLeod said begrudgingly.
“What is your point?” asked Naga.
“A man is a man, and he keeps his word.”
“Quaintly stated,” Naga said. “But it does have validity. Yes, I am ready to fight the Highborn. But there are others in FEC who will not join our unity.”
“We’ve our work cut out for us,” Hawthorne said. “You two gentlemen are the kernel toward uniting the Free Earth Corps and Social Unity. Therefore, you two should reap the lion’s share of the reward.”
“Will the Earth survive?” asked Naga.
Hawthorne glanced up at the clouds. So did the others. “That is still being decided,” Hawthorne said.
-80-
Aboard the Julius Caesar, Grand Admiral Cassius seethed with pride and elation. With a victorious shout, he leaped from his command shell.
Highborn officers glanced at him. Their eyes radiated intensity as their muscled chests swelled and their biceps repeatedly flexed, making their uniformed sleeves ripple.
“We are the Highborn!” Cassius shouted, slapping his thick chest. “From primordial days, to antiquity, to medieval times, to the Age of Reason—all the way to our modern era, none have possessed our greatness. We crush those who dare to take a stand against us.” As he spoke, Cassius raised his large right hand and curled his fingers into a fist, shaking it and snarling another savage laugh.
“The premen proved too puny for us,” Cassius told his officers. “Therefore, the universe threw up a tougher challenge—the cyborgs. They are hideous creatures, as much machine as flesh, coldly rational and soulless. Their powered strength almost matches our reckless vitality. But they lack our iron will, our relentless need to dominate. Thinking circuitry tireless, they have forgotten that an exalted spirit can fire a warrior to divine acts of glory.”
“Look!” roared Cassius, pointing at his holoimages. “Marvel at what our strength has achieved in such a short time.”
The other Highborn rose to their feet. Like kingly lions, they approached the expanded holoimages. They grinned and laughed aggressively.
Cassius put his hands on his hips and exuded in the achievement of the first phase. His heart swelled with thumping pride. Did the cyborgs think to smash the jewel of Earth? Well, they would have to think again.
Seventeen asteroids or debris-clusters appeared as holoimages. The rearmost five asteroids showed something else—incredibly long exhaust plumes that disap
peared into the bridge’s bulkheads.
“We attacked five asteroids,” Cassius said. “We successfully stormed each and conquered each, ripping them out of weak titanium hands.”
“The cyborgs are filth,” a Highborn said.
“They are genocidal freaks,” said a second.
“We have put our boots on their armored torsos,” spoke a third.
“What about the other twelve asteroids?” another asked. “We still have to deal with them.”
Everyone on the bridge turned and stared at the speaker, an older Beta Highborn, a mere seven feet tall. The Beta Highborn scowled as he hunched his head. Stubbornly, he said, “Those twelve are still headed for Earth. And they will soon hit the planet.”
“Ah, Marcus Maximus,” said Cassius.
The other Highborn chuckled. Maximus was Marcus’s nickname, a slur on his inferior size and status. Cassius kept him on the bridge as a reminder that first there had been the Beta Highborn, a weaker subset of a superior breed. Marcus worked hard to maintain his rank, and he provided moments of amusement such as this because he lacked the raw power of a completed Highborn.
“Five isn’t even one third of the asteroid-strike,” Marcus said.
“Tell me, Maximus, what waits in our bays?”
Marcus Maximus’s head hunched just a little more as his scowl deepened, putting lines in his rugged features. “The bays hold armored shuttles, Grand Admiral,” Marcus said.
“And?” prompted Cassius.
“In the shuttles await Highborn commandoes.”
Cassius grinned. The five long plumes showed that on each captured asteroid the fusion cores worked. The plan moved according to schedule.
At that moment, a red flash winked among the holoimages.
“Back to your stations,” Cassius said. “We have a fight to finish.”
As the others returned to their posts, Cassius strode to his shell and reentered it, strapping in. He opened channels, having recognizing the call sign of Admiral Gaius. The Admiral’s holoimage appeared, showing his white uniform, Red Galaxy Medal and the short bill of his cap low over his eyes.
“There’s possible trouble,” Gaius said.
Cassius raised his eyebrows.
“The preman on D have monitored signals from the other asteroids,” said Gaius, “from the cyborg-controlled rocks.”
“And these cyborg rocks show…what?” asked Cassius.
“Interior explosions,” Gaius said, “likely of the fusion cores.”
The fierce joy and exaltation drained from Cassius.
“Given their mass and nearness to Earth,” Gaius said, “it will take many outer explosions to nudge those asteroids off course.”
Cassius thoughts were in turmoil and now flashed from item to item. Perhaps there had been a miscalculation. Or maybe the sequencing of the accelerating asteroids—he snapped forward. “Which captured asteroid first employed the cyborg-engines?”
“…I believe it was Asteroid E,” Gaius said.
“The Jovians,” whispered Cassius. His eyes narrowed. Marten Kluge led them, the ex-shock trooper.
“Do you suspect treachery?” asked Gaius.
Cassius stabbed a button. “Attention, Admiral Gaius of the Genghis Khan, Admiral Octavian of the Gustavus Adolphus and Vice-Admiral Mandela of the SU Fifth Fleet, report at once for a four-way.”
-81-
CASSIUS: By destroying each asteroid’s fusion core, the cyborgs have locked their rocks on a collision course for Earth. Fear obviously motivates them, as they recognize our ability to storm and capture the individual asteroids. They have sabotaged our ability to reroute the remainder of the planet wreckers.
OCTAVIAN: This means their asteroids cannot deviate from their course.
CASSIUS: Your tone indicates you believe that is beneficial to us.
OCTAVIAN: Yes! They can no longer maneuver in any fashion.
CASSIUS: At this late date, that is a limited asset.
OCTAVIAN: Yet it is something we must take into account. Like a good judo expert, we must use their maneuvers against them.
CASSIUS: (shaking his head) Time now operates against us. We shall therefore bore straight into their formation, obliterate all offensive capabilities and storm each asteroid. Afterward, we shall use nuclear pulse propulsion to deflect the planet wreckers from Earth.
MANDELA: Please forgive the interruption, Grand Admiral. But what do these landings gain us now? Earlier, we landed to take over the controls and reroute the asteroid through their own motive power.
GAIUS: Do not waste our time stating the obvious, preman.
MANDELA: I-I object to that term, Admiral.
CASSIUS: (to Gaius) Preman is a pejorative word and benefits none of us here. We shall need every vessel and nuclear weapon in our arsenals. Vice-Admiral Mandela, we must clear each asteroid in order to place precisely what will now be nuclear pulse propulsion, as I’ve stated. Some asteroids may also contain more nuclear bombs, which we need to find. What I now need from you, are the warheads from every one of your remaining missiles. They will be more beneficial to us as propulsion units than in their limited combat capabilities as SU weaponry.
MANDELA: That will only leave us with our lasers, which are shorter-ranged than yours. How, therefore, do you propose that we—
CASSIUS: We lack the time to engage in debating rituals. Our object remains the same. The methods have changed slightly. Perhaps you are unused to this, Vice-Admiral, but we Highborn adjust to new situations with fantastic speed. It is one of our many superiorities. The Julius Caesar will lead the attack. After shuttling us the warheads, the Fifth Fleet will follow in the rear, keeping a Doom Star between each of its ships and the enemy. Admirals, are there any questions?
MANDELA: I would like to point out—
CASSIUS: I’m sorry, Vice-Admiral, I was speaking to the Admirals of the Doom Stars. You already have your orders. Now remain silent until we have configured the exact attack sequence. Well, Highborn, do you have anything further to add?
GAIUS: We’re wasting time. We must attack.
OCTAVIAN: Attack!
CASSIUS: It shall be so.
-82-
Cassis gave the orders. The mighty Julius Caesar began to accelerate toward the asteroids. Behind it by several thousand kilometers followed the Genghis Khan and now the Adolphus Gustavus, which had matched velocity and heading with its fellow Doom Stars. Farther behind came the two battleships and missile-ship comprising the SU Fifth Fleet.
Cassius used his time configuring shuttle attack sequencing. It was an elementary tactical problem. He needed to obliterate whatever offensive space-weaponry the cyborgs had managed to keep after the first phase. Then he needed to bring the Doom Stars in close, decelerate and launch the shuttles in a wave assault. The less time the shuttles spent in open space, the less chance any surviving cyborg weaponry had in destroying them. Highborn were precious, a limited commodity in the sea of premen and growing cyborg populations. After a short but intense flight, the shuttles would land and disgorge battleoid-armored Highborn. Cassius had studied the data of the first-phase and now configured optimal combat ratios in order to sweep each asteroid as quickly as possible. He also read critical reports, refining tactical procedures versus cyborg infantry.
While halfway to the asteroids, the chief bridge officer spoke up. “There’s a message from Asteroid E, Your Excellency.”
Cassius clicked pause on a battle report. The nature of the asteroid-strike—its suicidal quality—seemed to have affected the cyborgs troops. According to several accounts, the cyborgs used what he had come to mentally term as banzai charges to try to kill the invaders before they could establish themselves on the asteroids.
While blinking, Cassius shut his interest on the tactics of asteroid capturing. He concentrated on the officer’s words. Asteroid E…. “Is it Marten Kluge calling?” he asked.
“I don’t know the speaker’s name, Grand Admiral.”
Cassius scowled.
“All premen look alike to me,” the chief bridge officer explained. His name was Sulla. Three red chevrons braided his right sleeve. He oiled his face and exuded a bright intensity—what Highborn termed a warrior’s glow or shine. Sulla was an open Ultraist, believing in premen extermination. The Ultraists spoke about purity to the Race, an elimination of the premen infection. They worried about the possible seepage of the weak emotions of mercy, kindness and humility from too much contact with the bleating subhumans.
Sulla told Cassius, “I find it difficult to distinguish male premen from the females. They are each equally soft and both exhibit extreme submissiveness in a superior’s presence.”
“Inability to distinguish premen can lead to possible misjudgment,” Cassius said. “You must retrain yourself and learn the art.”
“You might as well ask me to distinguish one rabbit from the next,” Sulla said.
“I have not asked,” said Cassius in a dangerous tone.
Sulla’s oiled features became taut. Curtly, he inclined his head. “Is there a mnemonic trick to this art?”
“Indeed,” said Cassius. “Search for an obvious defect such as an abnormally large nose, a crinkled forehead or ears canted at a right angle. Such defects abound among the subhumans, often pointing to the genetic weaknesses in them. Despite these faults, it is critical to be able to tell important premen apart.”
“Important premen, Your Excellency?”
“Do not let your zealousness confuse the issue. Despite their puny size and stunted intellects, some of them like this Kluge have rabid tendencies. They bite at the most inopportune times. Consider, even a fly can distract a Highborn driving a vehicle enough to cause an accident.”
“Such a Highborn deserves death,” Sulla said. “It weeds out the weak and thereby purifies the Race.”
“Pray you are never ill among your Ultraist brethren,” Cassius said. “Now connect me with the speaker.”
A glowering Sulla complied.
Before Cassius appeared a bristle-haired preman with stubborn features. The Grand Admiral recognized Marten Kluge. As a holoimage, the preman stared at him with insolence.
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