Star Fortress ds-6 Read online

  “That would be an irrational act on his part,” Tan said.

  “I have studied his psychological profile. The man is irrational and unstable.”

  “I have also found him irritating,” Tan admitted.

  “There are two meteor-ships in orbit around Europa,” Circe said. “I suggest you launch an immediate space marine assault against the defensive satellites or use bombs to incapacitate them.”

  “If we did that it would destroy their ability to deflect the wreckers.”

  “Europa has insufficient military hardware to deflect them,” Circe said. “Their only possibility of affecting the outcome of the situation is vengeance against us.”

  Tan recoiled at the idea of leaving Europa defenseless against the enemy. It was monstrous and she would have no part in it. The horror of the suggestion revived her spirits and cut through the despair.

  She turned to Circe. “What if Europa used all their liners and tankers, building up velocity and crashing them against the moon-wreckers? Before impact, they would have to launch weapons to disable each wrecker’s engine ports so the asteroids could not make any course corrections.”

  On her pad, Circe began to compute the odds. After a time, she looked up. “They would need to send the ships now. The farther away from Jupiter they nudge the asteroids—provided they can knock out the engine ports—the less mass is needed for success.”

  “The problem is that cyborg lasers would likely destroy such space-liners and tankers,” Tan said. “And who would crew the suicide vessels?”

  “It wouldn’t necessarily have to be suicide. Skeleton crews could guide the ships, leaving at the last moment by a shuttle and escaping the impact.”

  “And falling victim to cyborg lasers,” Tan said.

  “The Guardian Fleet would need to join in the assault,” Circe said, “engaging the moon-wreckers in battle. We would attempt to mimic the Highborn and Earthlings as they attacked the Saturn-launched wreckers.”

  Tan bit her lip, worried again about the leader of Europa. “If only the Advisor were a rational man.”

  “The answer is obvious. You must assassinate him.”

  “Who will take his place?” Tan asked.

  “Hopefully someone more malleable,” Circe said.

  “And if he or she does not view the matter as we do?”

  “There are many imponderables,” Circe said, “too many to calculate. We must fight. We must give our system the likeliest chance for survival. Our two asteroids will target the Ganymede wreckers, shepherded to the point of contact by the Guardian Fleet. The people of Europa can do as they wish with their space-liners, tankers and defensive satellites—provided they don’t attack us. Perhaps we can convince them to transfer to Ganymede.”

  “There are not enough spaceships to complete a transfer in time.”

  “It would save many more lives, however.”

  Tan stared at the holoimages, at the faint stellar objects. She was the Chief Strategist. She should devise a strategy for the greatest number of survivors. This certainty of the Advisor’s emotionalism—

  “No,” Tan whispered.

  “Chief Strategist?” Circe asked.

  “I cannot order the Advisor’s assassination,” Tan said. “Neither can I use space marines or myrmidons to denude Europa of a fighting chance. I will have to take a leap of faith on the Advisor’s humanity.”

  “He has not shown good faith in the past,” Circe said.

  “He has not faced extinction before.” Tan leaned forward, letting her forehead sink against her hands. “I don’t know what to do. The decisions…they are too heavy for me. We are facing the end of our hard-built civilization.”

  “Then let us show the Solar System our superiority by facing doom like the philosophers we are,” Circe said. “We lived with equanimity and we shall die the same way.”

  Tan looked up. “That isn’t how Marten Kluge faced the cyborgs.”

  Circe’s serenity faded as her features twisted. She stood abruptly, strode toward the holoimages and then turned around. “Here is my advice. Call the Advisor. Tell him our decision. Let us see how he acts. If he is a Jovian, he will act with calm and we may yet defeat the moon-wreckers. If he panics…” Circe shrugged.

  “Is this a reasoned decision you suggest?” Tan asked.

  “…no,” Circe said. “The emotions in me are too strong to control. Nevertheless, this is my suggestion. First, order the two meteor-ships out of Europa’s orbit. We will need every vessel if we are to deflect the two wreckers headed for Ganymede. Then, board every liner and tanker you can with space marines or myrmidons. Take away the Advisor’s options so when he threatens, you can bargain with him, offering him the return of his vessels if he agrees to reason.”

  Tan stared up at the lidless eye in the pyramid. “In a week—”

  “No,” Circe said. “You have two days to act, no more. Stall while you can and move shuttles and warships into position. Then—”

  Tan held up her hand as she dug out a com-unit. She clicked it on and began to give rapid-fire orders. Circe was right. She had to act fast and decisively. These moon-wreckers…the scope of the attack had paralyzed her. But she was the Chief Strategist, a philosopher of Callisto. She would show the Solar System how one with an examined life responded to an extinction-level attack. She would show them because otherwise she would begin to weep for the loss of such a metaphysically beautiful system.

  -10-

  As signals began to flash between the meteor-ships of the Guardian Fleet, on Earth, Marten Kluge felt nauseous. He tried to walk across a heaving deck, with angry waves tossing whitecaps around their automated cargo vessel. Everywhere he looked the sea churned. His guts churned as well, with seasickness. Cold wind whipped against his face, pelting it with salty spray. Storm clouds raced across the sky so everything was moving, making him dizzy.

  He still thought hijacking this automated ship had been a bad idea. No one rode on ships anymore unless they wanted to go on a pleasure cruise. A plane would have been better, but very difficult to access now. Using a train would have been faster than the ship. The trouble was that Social Unity was unraveling as the directors and others jockeyed for position. Already there had been riots, armed police uprisings, incidents of military defense-forces shooting down planes and PHC terrorists blowing up trains.

  The greatest blow to Marten was that Turkey Sector had declared for Director Backus, joining Italia Sector and others. They demanded that Backus rule Social Unity, cleansing the Party so it would return to its socialist purity. The problem was that Marten needed to get to Greece Sector, to Athens in particular. Two weeks ago, his Jovian space marines had insisted on finally visiting the ancient Athenian ruins. He’d let them go, never suspecting everything was going to unravel into chaos.

  If that wasn’t bad enough, the Director of Greece Sector had “detained” his marines, a little less than one hundred fighting Jovians. In Osadar’s option, Director Delos was trying to keep Greece Sector neutral by holding both Backus and Cone at arm’s length. Delos had quarantined the Jovians, but she hadn’t shot them as Backus wished.

  Marten wiped spray from his cheeks. He spied the jagged hills of Crete on the horizon. The hills looked decidedly uninviting. The way the white-capped waves slammed against the automated vessel…

  They had slipped away from the train wreck in Lebanon Sector and headed for the nearby coast. With Turkey declaring for Backus, they needed another path to Athens.

  “I’m afraid the authorities will arrest us if we enter Turkey Sector,” Osadar had said.

  After the PHC attack, Nadia hadn’t wanted to go into any city to try to buy a plane ticket. That meant they could travel across North Africa to get to Spain Sector, and then to Athens, but that would mean traveling through Egyptian Sector. It had strongly declared for Director Backus. The quickest route then—since they couldn’t use the air—was by sea.

  With her superior sight, Osadar had pointed out the automated vesse
ls. Most bulk shipments were transported by sea. They found a rowboat, and with her cyborg strength, Osadar rowed them out to the ship. She leapt aboard the present vessel, found rope and hauled them up. For several days, they had endured the ship’s programed route. During that time, Osadar, being part machine, had talked to the vessel’s computer. She’d finally cracked its defenses and was now in control, piloting the ship to Athens.

  Osadar still spent most of her time on the computer, monitoring the news-sites. She discovered all sorts of useful, if sometimes daunting, information. The most pertinent was that open fighting had broken out. Cone’s soldiers won most of the engagements, but Backus eroded Cone’s political power with an idea. As Osadar put it, “The idea is like a spark landing on oil-soaked rags.” The oil was the planet-wrecker strike a year ago. According to what she’d found in Hawthorne’s quarters—real opinion polls, for instance—many people believed the cyborgs would conquer Earth. Despair was rampant, and Backus used that. Osadar had read Marten several of the director’s newest slogans: Free Earth of all foreign germs. There was another: Cleanse our planet of its infestation. Then we will grow strong again in purity and defeat our enemies.

  The Jovian space marines made excellent symbols. Osadar had predicted a show trial, where Backus’s people stirred up mass hysteria against non-Earthers to a fever pitch.

  Marten staggered for the hatch, as he thought, I’m not going to let that happen. He should have never landed on Earth. He’d trusted Hawthorne. After the battle a year ago with the planet-wreckers, what choice had there been? They couldn’t have survived for long, cramped in the two patrol boats. Maybe they should have tried just the same. It would have been better than this.

  The deck heaved up and seemed to roll sideways. Marten barely grabbed a rail in time. He was sick of the automated vessel. He was sick of Earth and this endless war. How could men defeat cyborgs and then put down the Highborn?

  He grimaced as he slid down the hatch, moving along a corridor toward light. Soon, he staggered into a small cabin with its bunks and shoved-together crates that acted as their table. Nadia slept, with a blanket pulled over her head.

  Osadar sat before the computer terminal, bracing herself with her legs. At his entrance, she twisted around.

  “Have you considered the possibility that it will prove impossible to free our marines?”

  “No,” Marten said.

  “Perhaps we should bypass Athens and head for a launch-site under Cone’s control. Let’s get off Earth while we can.”

  Marten shook his head.

  “You have lost soldiers and friends before,” Osadar said. “Our goal is bigger than a few marines.”

  Marten scowled. “I’m tired of seeing my friends die.” He pulled out his gun, hefting it thoughtfully. Then he shoved it back into its holster. “We’re going in and rescuing them.”

  “How can we achieve this miracle?” Osadar asked. “We are three people against a city of millions.”

  “You forget. I’m the Jovian Representative.”

  “Your title failed to impress Juba-Ryder.”

  “The Director of Greece Sector wants to stay neutral,” Marten said. “That’s the key.”

  “Delos’s neutrality makes her actions predictable,” Osadar said. “She will continue to detain our marines to keep Backus’s people happy, and she will please Cone by refusing to hand them over to an SU tribunal.”

  Marten was afraid that Osadar was right. Social Unity…nothing ever changed. Men mouthed pious slogans and then acted as they pleased. Equality for all. Yet the hall leaders, the police chiefs and directors, they lived like princes, dictating to everyone else. If everything was so good under Social Unity, why the need for shock batons, punishment details in the slime pits and torture in the glass tubes? If socialized men were so superior, why did some starve and others become fat on good food? Why did the leaders bicker for supremacy? Why were there so many checkpoints, ID cards, half-truths and endless coercion?

  “We have one power,” Marten said. “No, we have two.”

  “Do you care to enumerate them?” Osadar asked.

  “I need to speak with Cone. Can you patch me through to her?”

  “The automated ship has given us anonymity, allowed us to travel unseen. Broadcasting in the open might jeopardize that.”

  “Can you do it?” Marten asked.

  Osadar swiveled to the computer. “The key is our priority clearance, which is linked to the Security Specialist’s code.” Osadar began to tap the screen. It took a little over an hour, but finally she turned to Marten.

  “Are you ready for the Security Specialist?” Osadar asked.

  Marten had been listening the last few minutes as Osadar spoke to increasingly powerful underlings. Now he was going to get his chance to speak with Cone. He shoved a crate near Osadar, sitting down and moving the computer screen to face him. Maybe twenty seconds later, Cone appeared.

  She wore sunglasses, had slicked-back hair and sat before a sunburst symbol. “Marten Kluge?” she asked, sounding surprised.

  “Thank you for speaking with me,” Marten said.

  Cone’s lips twisted into a half-grin. “The reports of your death are highly exaggerated, it appears. I was told you were dead, killed during a train hijacking.”

  “Who gave you the report?”

  “Does it matter?” Cone asked.

  “Did they tell you a cyborg killed the PHC terrorists?”

  Cone frowned. “Do you have a point?”

  “I’m on my way to Greece Sector.”

  “Where are you now?”

  “I understand that you’re in a difficult situation,” Marten said. “With Hawthorne’s removal, the upheaval has begun. It comes at the worst possible moment: when humanity is about to launch its counter-offensive. My space marines represent a tiny portion of that combined force, but they do represent an earnest of Jovian cooperation with the rest of humanity. Who knows when Jovian warships might hold a critical advantage for the rest of humanity?”

  Cone held up a hand. “My time is short, as you’ve correctly surmised by going straight to the point. You want help freeing your marines. Is that right?”

  “I’m trying to convince you of their importance.”

  “Civil war has broken out, Force-Leader. I can hardly concern myself with one hundred marines.”

  Marten shook his head. “For your own sake, you must do everything you can to keep my Jovians out of Backus’s hands. It he shoots them…if he publicly tries them and brings them before a videoed firing squad—”

  “Hmm, yes,” Cone said, interrupting. “That would stir the masses and show his apparent strength and my weakness. Yes, I see what you mean.” She pursed her lips. “Greece Sector is rather small and unimportant compared to more pressing matters. I don’t know how to pressure Director Delos any more than I already am.”

  “I’m not asking for that.”

  “What are you asking for then?”

  “Call Director Delos,” Marten said. “Show her the latest video from Jupiter. Remind her that humanity’s back is against the wall. Promise her more grain shipments if she will simply do her duty and free Social Unity’s allies.”

  “Grain is difficult to come by these days.”

  “It is hard currency during a famine,” Marten said. “That’s why you should offer it. I suppose I could point out that promises are not the same as shipments, but I’m not going to do that.”

  Cone’s eyebrows lifted. “I did not realize you were an intriguer.”

  “I’m not,” Marten said. “I’m desperate. I’m tired of running away and even more tired of losing. I want my Jovians and then I want to hit the enemy hard.”

  “Yes, yes, we must fight the greater enemy. Your point is valid. Suppose I give you a hundred commandos to take with you into space, would that be enough?”

  “I appreciate the offer, but I want my trained space marines.”

  “We don’t all get what we want.”

 
“True,” Marten said. “The key is that my marines have been fighting cyborgs a long time now. They’re veterans against a foe who usually kills everyone. My marines have fought on Carme, on Athena Station—those names may not mean much to you, but they were hellholes. The veterans who survived those places: their fighting knowledge may make a great difference someday soon.”

  “Doubtful,” said Cone. “It’s what they represent that is critical. If Backus should acquire them… I will do as you request, Force-Leader. How soon until you reach Greece Sector?”

  “Several hours,” Marten said.

  Cone turned, listening to someone off-screen. When she faced Marten again, she said, “An automated cargo vessel—very clever, Force-Leader, and resourceful. Once again, I wish you luck.”

  “And I you,” Marten said.

  Cone nodded, rising as the connection ended.

  * * *

  Twenty peacekeepers in riot gear waited for Marten, Nadia and Osadar in Piraeus, Athens’s port. Each of the police hefted a machine pistol as they stood on the nearing pier.

  “Notice,” Osadar said from the cargo vessel’s deck. “They lack shock batons.”

  “They’re Director Delos’s troops,” Marten said.

  “They are police.”

  “It shows you why Cone has any chance at all,” Marten said.

  It had been like that in New Baghdad: few military personnel in the city. The reason was that Hawthorne hadn’t wanted the military caught underground, nor had he wanted them to fraternize with the people, in case he needed the military to put down rioters. The independent Soviets a year ago had shown the Supreme Commander the answer to dealing with citywide rebellion. Until now, Hawthorne’s method had worked. It meant that most military personnel were on bases instead of in the cities. Hawthorne had wanted the military were he could maneuver them against invading Highborn. It meant the directors had little access to military personnel, although they had large police forces.