Planet Wrecker ds-5 Page 10

  “Squadron Five is in rotation, sir,” Scipio said.

  Cassius’s features tightened, the only indication that he’d heard the officer.

  “Squadron Seven, sir,” the tall Highborn said after a moment.

  Cassius watched his holoimages. A few minutes later, red lights began to zoom among the wrecked habitats. He had transferred Felix from Ground Command and into orbital duty. The cockerel would be acting as a weapons officer aboard one of the heavy orbitals. They were two-seaters. There was a growing belief among High Command that two-seater orbitals were wasteful of Highborn. Some suggested a phase-out of the heavy orbitals. A few wanted to train premen as weapons operators.

  A warning horn blared on the bridge.

  Cassius swiveled around.

  “Powerful SU sensor sweeps are coming out of stations in Ukraine Sector,” Scipio said.

  Cassius showed his teeth in a grin. “They’re awake down there. Good.”

  Several Highborn chuckled.

  “Let’s give them something to target,” Cassius said. He checked his holoimages, noted the location of Felix’s heavy orbital. With a click of a button, numbers appeared under the various cylinders. “Destroy Targets A-13 and R-11.”

  “Both satellites are deep in the gravity-well, sir,” said Scipio.

  “Exactly.”

  “Their decaying orbit means that some debris will head straight down, sir. The SU operators might think we’ve launched missiles.”

  “I don’t think they’re that stupid,” Cassius said. “But let’s find out.”

  “Shall I order the beginning of a prismatic-shield, sir, or begin spraying aerosol gels?”

  “We are the Highborn,” said Cassius, who watched his command crew sidelong.

  Tall Scipio frowned as his white-gloved hand hovered over his control-board. The Highborn glanced at him, meeting his eyes.

  “Highborn take unnecessary risks?” Scipio asked.

  Cassius mentally marked the Highborn down for promotion as a field commander. A Doom Star was a precious military commodity. There were only four of them in the Solar System, and one of those four was still at the Sun-Works Factory under repair. It would be many more months, maybe even another year, before it was operational again. That left them three Doom Stars, two here in Earth orbit and one around Venus.

  “We do not take foolish risks,” Cassius said. “But it is good for the premen to think that we do.”

  “Sir?” asked Scipio.

  “They will not launch merculite missiles today,” said Cassius.

  “We found out at Mars how dangerous their proton beams are,” Scipio said. “In Eurasia, they have dozens of them. Respectfully, sir, we are much too near Earth’s stratosphere.”

  “Of course we are,” Cassius said.

  Several Highborn glanced at him sharply.

  “I request permission to speak freely, Grand Admiral,” Scipio said.

  “Permission granted.”

  That caused eyebrows to loft. Two Highborn traded glances. Cassius mentally marked them down for profile studies. He wondered if their allegiance to him was wavering.

  “Why are we much too near the stratosphere, risking serious damage to our Doom Star?” asked Scipio.

  “To gauge Social Unity,” Cassius said.

  “We hold the strategic advantage, sir. We should push that instead of risking our most valuable asset.”

  “The Doom Stars are not our most valuable asset,” Cassius said.

  Scipio blinked at him. “Sir?”

  Cassius nodded to himself. Scipio wanted to ask what was, but he was too cautious to do that. He would help Scipio.

  “We as Highborn are our most valuable asset,” Cassius said. “Our fighting spirit, our aggressiveness and sheer ability gives us the military edge.”

  “The Doom Stars help, sir.”

  “Why won’t the premen open fire with proton beams?” asked a different Highborn.

  “An excellent question,” said Cassius. “It is something I’m endeavoring to answer. Now!” he said, signaling Engine Control. “Take us from low-orbit and head fast toward the Atlantic Ocean.”

  “Should I recall the orbitals?” asked Scipio.

  “Tell them to head toward the Pacific Ocean. We will pick them up over North America.”

  “I’m picking up increased deep-core readings, sir.” Scipio looked up. “They’re bringing the proton beams online.”

  “Interesting,” said Cassius. His gut began to churn. It made him feel alive. “Strap in, gentlemen. Engine Control, give us emergency speed. Scipio…order an increase in satellite targeting. I want them to rain debris on Eurasia. Since they’ve brought the protons online, let’s give them something to shoot at.”

  “Enemy sensors are locking onto us, sir,” Scipio said.

  Cassius’s heart-rate increased. The Julius Caesar was a huge ship, the biggest in the Solar System. So the premen wanted to frighten him off, did they? Or maybe they thought they could take potshots at his ship. There were personal enemies among the Highborn who would snap at the opportunity to bring him down. If the Julius Caesar should take serious damage because of a slip in a routine pass….

  “Launch a spread of nuclear missiles,” Cassius said in a clam voice. “Use Green Pattern-E. Then begin spraying the upgraded aerosol-gel.”

  It was a new gel, made specifically to slow proton beams.

  A sigh of relief seemed to fill the bridge.

  Cassius leaned forward as he studied the holoimages. Ports opened in the kilometers huge Doom Star. Space-to-land missiles launched toward the planet. Each had a MIRVed nosecone—multiple reentry vehicles. It meant that each missile shot a spread of five nuclear warheads.

  He switched settings. The heavy orbitals also launched missiles, but at the floating cylinders, the former farm habitats. Checking range and distances, Cassius quickly calculated debris drop-rates.

  “They have battle-level wattage online,” Scipio said.

  From Eurasia, from Kiev, Berlin and Milan, proton beams stabbed upward at the Julius Caesar. The white beams hit the heavy lead-additive aerosol-gels, chewing through them with unbelievable speed.

  “Emergency pumping,” Scipio growled.

  Grand Admiral Cassius leaned back in his command shell, watching the crew. They moved with efficiency, with calm speed. That was another reason he’d dipped so near the stratosphere and over Eurasia. It had been a long time since these warriors had been in space combat. An unused sword became rusty.

  “There is a breakthrough,” Scipio said.

  Cassius returned attention to his holoimages. A weakened proton beam burned through the gels. It struck the Doom Star’s outer plating. It wasn’t the original plating, but a collapsium coating. It was a breakthrough technology, very hard to make. The Julius Caesar was presently the only warship with it, a coating micro-microns thick. Collapsium was hard and dense, and similar in nature to the core of a white star. The electrons of an atom were collapsed on the nuclei so the atoms were compressed so they actually touched. Lead in comparison was like a sponge.

  The collapsium shielding held long enough for the Julius Caesar to begin rotation. No point on the ship received the hellish proton-beam longer than a second. Soon, more gels sprayed, absorbing the beams, giving the huge warship enough time to speed around the Earth’s curvature and out of line-of-sight first from Kiev, then Berlin and finally Milan.

  “The proton beams are retargeting, sir,” Scipio said. The tall Highborn looked up. “They’re burning orbitals, sir.”

  “Point-defense installations are opening up on the surface,” a different Highborn said.

  “All orbitals are to take evasive action,” Cassius said.

  “They’ve already begun do so, sir,” said Scipio.

  The Grand Admiral nodded. That was the Highborn way, to take matters into your own hands. If a Highborn didn’t have the initiative to disregard a foolish order, he wasn’t worthy of the exalted status of super soldier. If a Highborn d
isregarded a wise order, however, he could be shot. A preman might fold under that kind of pressure. A Highborn thrived, exalting on the knife-edge of existence.

  “There are new point-defense establishments!” an officer shouted.

  “I can hear you quite easily, thank you,” Cassius told him.

  “There are hits in the Po Valley,” Scipio said.

  “None on Milan?” asked Cassius.

  “It was too heavily defended.”

  Cassius switched settings on his command shell, which switched his holoimages. A mushroom cloud rose in the Po River Valley. That was prime agricultural land. Good, good, that would hurt them in the belly.

  “More nuclear warheads are detonating,” Scipio said.

  “What percentage made it through their defenses?” asked Cassius.

  “Fourteen point three-seven percent,” Scipio said. “No, make that fifteen point three.”

  “So little?” asked Cassius.

  “The number of point-defense establishments has dramatically risen.”

  “Hmm,” said Cassius. Yet again, he redirected his holoimage, noting that Felix’s two-seater had interposed a drifting habitat between itself and Eurasia. Was the cockerel foolish enough to think he could remain there? Ah, no, the heavy orbital headed for deeper space. Maybe the youth could think after all.

  “Begin battle analysis,” Cassius told Scipio.

  “…Yes, sir,” said Scipio.

  “Speak your mind.”

  “Not all the orbitals have escaped the danger zone.”

  “Notice the nuclear warhead patterns,” Cassius said. “Now direct your vectoring—”

  “Oh,” said Scipio. “Yes, I see, sir. The warheads have affected SU defense, giving our orbitals cover. I will begin the battle analysis.”

  Cassius switched off his holoimaging. How was it that he could see these things more quickly than other Highborn? Was it merely his superior genes? Or did his intense study of military history have something to do with it? Felix had his chromosomes and he’d received full Academy training. Would Felix be able to see as quickly? It was an interesting question, and one that Cassius planned to study in depth.

  -20-

  The raid over Eurasia had repercussions in Highborn High Command. Soon, Cassius found himself under criticism.

  Item: He had revealed the existence of collapsium. The axiom concerning a technological advantage was simple. It should remain a secret until a substantial number of units were deployed in order to achieve a strategic victory.

  Item: To a lesser degree but with the same logic, the upgraded gel had been demonstrated. Now SU Command realized their proton beams lacked their former punch. They would likely compensate accordingly.

  Item: The raid had achieved no appreciable advantage, and Highborn deaths had occurred. The deaths likely heartened the enemy. And even if only minimally, the deaths certainly weakened deployable military strength.

  Cassius had weathered each criticism with a repeated counter-argument. Unfortunately, as the Solar System’s supreme strategist, he realized that the cumulative effect of the attacks had weakened his position among the Highborn as Grand Admiral.

  The counter-argument was simple: the best ones usually were. Social Unity was on the defensive. Pressure had continuously mounted against them. The raid over Eurasia had added more pressure because a) superior technology had foiled the surprise proton-beam attack. And b) nuclear strikes had hit Eurasian food supplies despite the massive addition of point-defense systems. That meant c) nothing Social Unity did could prevent its ultimate demise. This had brought about d) demoralization and likely growing apathy among the SU leadership. In other words, the raid kept the pressure high. Soon, Cassius had predicted, there would be large-scale ruptures within Social Unity. That might well give them the Earth in one fell swoop.

  It had been a heated meeting. Cassius now jogged through the corridors and hallways of the Julius Caesar to unwind. He wore a sweat suit, with a towel around his thick neck. His iron-colored hair was short and slicked with perspiration. With long, even strides and calm breathing, he’d raced two kilometers already.

  He was getting older, but he still credited himself as the most dangerous Highborn alive. Not only was he a strategic genius, but in his opinion, he had few equals and no superiors in hand-to-hand combat. Physically, he feared no entity. It didn’t mean he was foolish or took foolish risks.

  He saw the monofilament line stretched across the corridor. It was nearly invisible and a quarter-meter off the deckplate. Conceivably, it was meant to sheer through his ankle and deprive him of a foot. The implications were ominous.

  Unfortunately, he saw the line too late to halt—he was running too fast through the ship corridor to stop on the spot. So he jumped over the monofilament line. While passing over it, he entered a hyper-state of readiness. Every sense tingled with awareness. His muscles rippled under his skin as his eyes shined with murder-lust. A yearning to kill surged through him as adrenalin hit him like a love-drug.

  “Hello, old man.”

  Cassius spun to his right, toward a viewing port. Through the ballistic glass was pockmarked Luna. There was a big black spot seemingly on the moon. It was the position of the Genghis Khan in orbit around it. Stars shined like a blanket of gems in the background.

  After noting Luna and the Doom Star, Cassius promptly gave his full attention to the Highborn striding toward him. It was Felix.

  Squinting, Cassius interpreted the monofilament line to mean that Felix had been monitoring him and analyzing his patterns. Given Felix’s chromosomes, it was possible the cockerel had predicted his run through this very corridor. The look of rage on the young Highborn’s face confirmed Cassius’s belief that Felix had meant the line to cut off a foot. Maybe as bad, the fool held an old-fashioned sap—a piece of synthi-leather filled with shot. Premen criminals used saps in the underground cities to beat each other to death.

  Cassius’s options were limited. He noted the hardness of the youth’s muscles. They were like steel cables and fresh with youthful vigor. Likely, the cockerel was stronger than he was and quite likely Felix would prove faster.

  It was an interesting tactical problem.

  Mentally fanning his options like cards, Cassius chose with lightning speed. Suiting thought to action, he put his hands on his hips and laughed contemptuously.

  Felix’s blue eyes squinted. The young god was the very image of anthropomorphic retribution. He wore combat-training fatigues and armored shoes, giving him yet another hand-to-hand weapon advantage.

  “You’ve meddled in my life once too often, old man,” Felix said. “Now I’m going to beat you to death. Then I’m going to shove your carcass through a garbage-chute so they can never revive-to-life a piece of sewage like you.”

  “You tried to hurt me once before,” Cassius said. “Do you remember?”

  “I haven’t forgotten, old man.” Felix took another step closer. “This time you aren’t encased in combat armor.”

  “But you’re still as lacking in wit,” Cassius said.

  Felix spat on the deckplate, and he shook the sap. “You had your chance stranding me out there in the orbital.”

  “The monofilament line and its strategic placement prove that you can reason at a high level,” Cassius said. “Why then do you insist on infantile statements?”

  “Do you deny ordering an out-of-sequence launching of my squadron?”

  “Why would I deny what is plain on the battle-tapes?” asked Cassius.

  “What other rationale could you have for doing that other than trying to engineer my death?” asked Felix.

  Cassius shook his head contemptuously. “Your grades were among the highest in Training Academy history.”

  “They were the highest, old man. Believe me, I checked.”

  “The records you checked were not complete.”

  “You can’t know that!” snarled Felix. “You’re making that up.”

  “I’m the Grand Admiral. Ther
e is nothing about the Highborn—”

  “Just answer me this, old man. Why do you want me dead?”

  “Come,” said Cassius, motioning Felix toward him. “Kill me if you can.”

  “Oh, I can.”

  “Because of your combat advantages?” sneered Cassius.

  Felix grinned as he hunched his shoulders. “Good try, old man, but no one is talking me from discarding my advantages.”

  “Good. That is one point in your favor.”

  “Are you so old and senile that you don’t realize I’m about to kill you?” Felix asked.

  Cassius leaped, and he shot his left foot out in a flying kick. The sap connected with the foot, instantly numbing it, and Felix twisted in the narrow corridor, allowing Cassius passage. The Grand Admiral landed heavily on his hip and shoulder, and he rolled right, bumping against a bulkhead. An armored shoe whistled past his head, kicking the bristles but missing his skull. With heightened speed, Cassius caught the foot and twisted. Felix grunted, letting himself roll so he smashed against the other bulkhead. Releasing the boy, Cassius jumped to his feet. So did Felix.

  “I want you to think,” Cassius said. His numbed foot made it hard to maneuver, but he’d make do.

  Instead of thinking, Felix chopped. And for the next few seconds they engaged in blows and counter-punches. Each time the sap struck flesh, it deadened muscles or pulped skin and bruised bones. It was then Cassius realized the cockerel was good. Maybe as good as he was at hand-to-hand. With the sap and armored shoes, the young Highborn might even be better. A glance into Felix’s eyes showed him the cockerel knew it, too.

  “I killed the girl to save your life,” Cassius panted.

  “What irony then that your nobility is about to get you killed.”

  “Your talents were wasted in ground combat. It was the reason I moved you into Space Command.”

  “I liked it where I was, old man. You should have left well enough alone and lived another few years in High Command. Now it’s too late for that.”

  Another flurry of blows produced low-throated grunts, the meaty sounds of fist or sap striking flesh and the crack of ribs.