Star Fortress ds-6 Read online

  “Director Delos is letting me go?” Marten asked.

  “You fail to grasp the situation,” Cleon said. “You are about to overpower me and my men and free your marines. Then you will run outside and overpower the guards holding several magnetic lifters. In a daring attempt, you will escape from Athens and likely head for Albania Sector.”

  Marten saw that Albania Sector was lightly green-colored. Ah, the lighter colors were only nominally for Backus and Cone, while the deep red and deep green represented strongly for that person.

  “Why is Delos doing this?” Marten asked.

  “Spain, France and Bavaria Sector are all strongly with Cone,” Cleon said. “They also hold the major European military units.”

  Marten knew that had been to stop a possible amphibious invasion from Highborn-held England Sector.

  “The nearest launch-site is in Geneva,” Cleon continued. “They are still boosting from there and supplying the fleet. Director Delos suggests you attempt to escape Earth from there.”

  “What about Italia Sector?” Marten asked. He knew there were launch-sites there, too.

  “That is the complication. The military units stationed there have gone over to Backus. They’ve also gone on the offensive to take Austria and Slovenia Sectors, presumably, which presently side with Cone.”

  Those last two sectors were lightly green, Cone’s color.

  Cleon looked up from where he knelt on one knee. “Backus has called on all the police and peacekeepers everywhere to do their duty to Social Unity. He asks that they help suppress the renegade military forces that refuse to acknowledge the duly elected government. He means himself, of course. It looks like this is war, real civil war.”

  “Who does Delos side with?” Marten asked.

  Cleon became thoughtful. “At one hundred and twenty-seven years of age, Delos is among the oldest directors. She prefers to play a waiting game and to let the two sides court her. Therefore, she is unable to release you. But she has grown tired of the pressure Backus keeps putting on her to hand you and your marines over to him. Luckily for you, she doesn’t wish to anger Cone, who has the stronger military, at present.”

  “I see. That’s why we’re escaping?”

  Cleon rolled the computer scroll and climbed to his feet. “The hour is dark. Those are Delos’s words to you.” The commissar frowned. “I actually saw a real cyborg,” he said quietly, “your pet creature. The idea of cyborg armies landing on Earth—it terrifies me. You fought them, and your marines fought them. Now you want to go back out there and fight them again?”

  “It’s better than being converted.”

  The police commissar with the single eyebrow studied him. “Can we defeat them?”

  “If we band together,” Marten said.

  “Do you really believe that?”

  “I’ve beaten them before.”

  Cleon nodded. “I’ve watched the video of you in the glass tube. The director, she’s watched it many times, I’ve heard. She made us watch it. She says you’re mad. That only a lunatic would keep pumping while he’s exhausted when all he has to do to escape further punishment is talk. She said that only a lunatic who doesn’t know when to quit might have a chance of stopping the cyborgs.” Cleon grinned. “I think your madness has won you a reprieve, Force-Leader.”

  “You said magnetic lifters. Why shouldn’t we use the same automated cargo vessel and return to Lebanon Sector. There is a launch-site—”

  “The Black Sea Flotilla has declared for Backus. Submarines have already entered the Aegean and Mediterranean Seas. You could try that route, but you’d risk capture and a possible trial. That’s what Backus keeps demanding.”

  The com-unit on Cleon’s belt beeped. “It’s time,” he said. “Follow me.”

  * * *

  The magnetic lifters were big, although not as large as a cybertank. Each vehicle had three warfare pods, with heavy cannons and anti-air missile launchers. The lifters had an inertialess drive but were slower than helicopters. They were still faster and more maneuverable than tracked vehicles. They would need to refuel several times if they were to reach Geneva. Cleon had downloaded the information, showing them possible supply depots open to them.

  The Jovians with Osadar, Nadia and Marten were evenly spread among the nine magnetic lifters.

  Thus, at two in the morning, in the darkness, Marten’s magnetic lifter rose several feet into the air. Around him were other lifters painted in camouflage white. Jovians manned the guns and weapons ports. Armed and armored Jovians waited inside on berms.

  Marten slid into the commander’s chair. He clicked on the restraints and gave the nod. The engine revved, and the lifter sped for Albania Sector.

  Marten glanced at Group-Leader Xenophon, who manned a turret. Like the other Jovians, he was a tough space marine, although he didn’t look the part. Xenophon was a small man with a round face and blond fuzz for hair, but he was fast and deadly, especially with a gyroc rifle. He glanced down at Marten. “Glad you came for us, sir.”

  “Glad you’re back,” Marten said.

  * * *

  By mid-morning, they reached the Adriatic Sea along the coast in Albania Sector. The lifters were parked alongside a road overlooking the slate-gray water. Marten stuck his head out of the hatch. The water was rough, with higher whitecaps than the previous Mediterranean voyage.

  Despite the blistering cold, it was good to climb outside and walk around the lifters, listening to the crunch of snow. He was sick of sitting.

  Osadar hurried to him, looking intent.

  “What do you have for me?” Marten asked.

  Director Delos had provided a new and improved senso-mask in Athens. It could emulate any face, provided one had a photograph to scan through the mask’s computer. After searching the databanks, Osadar had found a picture of herself from her days in the Jovian Guardian Fleet. That had been many years ago, however. Now the senso-mask showed her former features as a young pilot. She had possessed a small nose and open face, with a light sprinkling of freckles. During their ride in the lifter, Marten had watched Osadar continually examining her new face in a mirror.

  As interesting as the simulation of her former features, the senso-mask could track moods. Unfortunately, Osadar no longer had moods like a normal person, nor could the senso-mask “read” them from her skin. By tapping a sensory interface-pad on her arm, however, Osadar could change settings to happy, angry and surprised, and she could meld a variation of the different moods.

  “I have several items of note,” Osadar said.

  The wind howled and snow flurries swirled around the fighting machines. Dead trees stood on the nearby slope.

  “First,” Osadar said, “There is heavy fighting in the Po Valley. Cone sent armored units from Switzerland Sector and they have crossed the Italian passes. I suspect Cone wishes to secure the proton beam in Milan.”

  “Omi visited Milan,” Marten said.

  “If Omi were wise, he will have already escaped to a more peaceful region. If he didn’t escape, there is little likelihood of our ever seeing Omi again.”

  “There has to be something we can do,” Marten said.

  “Cone is attempting to capture Milan, but I believe it is costing her politically. She is using cybertanks, as the police units have little that can face them. Backus’s propagandists are calling the cybertanks ‘cyborg troops.’ Because of that, some military colonels have switched sides, complicating our situation.”

  “I don’t know why Cone doesn’t request help from the battleships in orbit,” Marten said.

  “Didn’t you hear?” Osadar asked. “The SU battleships have left orbit for Luna. They are joining the Doom Stars and will begin acceleration for Neptune in a week.”

  “What?” Marten shouted. “Next week? That doesn’t give us much time to get to our patrol boats and join them.”

  “Should we join the fleet?” Osadar asked.

  “What else should we be doing?”

  Osad
ar shook her head. “I do not think we will make the Luna rendezvous in time.”

  Marten scowled as he gazed at the whitecaps. Too many good space marines had died killing cyborgs in the Jupiter System and en-route to Earth on the planet-wreckers. He wanted to finish it. He wanted to root out the Prime Web-Mind on Neptune as the Praetor had destroyed one on Carme. Now the fleet was planning to leave without him?

  “Come on,” Marten said. “Let’s gather the others. I want to move while there’s still time to join the expedition.

  The next twenty-four hours was a blur of travel and fighting as they sped through sectors that had declared for Backus. Fortunately, as elsewhere, the countryside was almost devoid of people. They lived in the underground cities. The only ones allowed outside were farm workers, military personnel and those who paid for the privilege of vacationing on the surface or those with the political pull to do as they pleased. Police units patrolled the roads.

  It meant for some ugly sights. Several times, they passed a single, half-charred body. The corpse dangled by wire from a tree. One could only presume the man had been judged a saboteur or a traitor. The police must have sentenced him to torture and death.

  Once they spotted an old woman gathering sticks. On sight of them, she shrieked, dropped her sticks and hobbled away. At least three times, they saw a red-uniformed peacekeeper. One had been hacked to death. Another had three sharpened sticks in his body. More people must have slipped out of the cities than Marten had realized.

  In Bosnia Sector, an attack-jet screamed down at them, launching rockets. The Jovians were ready and sent up a hail of anti-rocket fire, bringing down all but one missile. That missile took out a warfare pod and injured a marine. Xenophon launched a SAM at the jet. There was an explosion in the air, and a burning jet plummeted earthward.

  Several hours later, under Marten’s command, they scattered a battalion of police trying to block their path. It was a lopsided fight. With the greater numbers, the police should have easily destroyed the lifters. But they were unused to combat, to having people fire back. The Jovians sent the police running, although it cost them two marines and several wounded.

  “The attrition will wear us down long before we reach Geneva,” Osadar said.

  “I think the police units are still getting used to maneuvering outdoors,” Marten said. “And I don’t think they’re in any hurry to reach Italia Sector and face cybertanks. If we keep moving fast, we should be able to reach Cone territory before the police learn what to do.”

  The next few hours were uneventful as the lifters zoomed across the terrain. Then Nadia swiveled in her seat and mutely handed Marten a hand-computer.

  He took it, and goosebumps jumped onto his arms. Omi stared out of the screen. The muscled Korean had his patented blank look, with a .38 in his hand. He was obviously on the run when this picture had been taken.

  “Look at the next one,” Nadia said, with an odd note in her voice.

  Marten touched the screen, and his eyes widened. “Ah Chen,” he said.

  “So you do know her,” Nadia said.

  “What?”

  “The caption says it’s your girlfriend.”

  Marten looked up, seeing Nadia glaring at him. He began to read the report. The police had picked up Ah Chen in Russia Sector. She had made it halfway across the Eurasian continent. At first, the police believed her to be a Highborn spy, as she had come from Sydney, which was in occupied territory. Under interrogation, she admitted that she searched for Marten Kluge, the Jovian Representative.

  “Why is she looking for you?” Nadia asked.

  “I have no idea,” Marten said, puzzled and bemused.

  Nadia folded her arms, her features hardening.

  Marten knew the trouble signs, but he kept reading. Ah Chen had been transported to Italia Sector, joining Omi in detainment. Their execution had been set for tomorrow. During the fighting in the Po Valley, however, Omi had made his escape, taking Ah Chen with him. Now the two fugitives were on the run. Any person with information was to report it to the authorities. The last known whereabouts of the two was near the outskirts of Venice.

  Marten checked. Venice was one of the few places in Italia Sector that had declared for Cone. That’s probably why Omi had been running for it. The Security Specialist had sent several vessels there, unloading troops to help in the attack in the Po Valley.

  “We have to change course,” Marten said.

  “So we can pick up your girlfriend?” Nadia asked.

  “I helped her once,” Marten said. “She doesn’t mean anything to me now.”

  “Then why did she cross half of Eurasia looking for you?”

  “That’s a good question.”

  “She’s beautiful,” Nadia said.

  “Omi is on the run,” Marten said. “We have to go back for him.”

  Osadar had been listening to the exchange. She now swiveled around. “We may not reach Geneva in time if we do.”

  Marten read the reader, seeing what else the article had to say. He began shaking his head. “If we don’t help our friends, we’re useless. We’re heading for Venice.”

  “It’s a possible hot zone,” Osadar said.

  “There is fighting near Milan. But I don’t think it has reached Venice yet.”

  “This is a risk,” Osadar said.

  “What do you want me to do?” Marten asked, looking from Osadar to Nadia. “We stick together or we’re no good. Force-Leader Yakov taught us that.”

  Nadia frowned, but she began to nod. “We have to go back for Omi.”

  Osadar threw up her hands. “I cannot counsel you on this. You know my thinking.” She turned to her computer.

  Marten picked up his com-unit and began to issue orders.

  * * *

  It was anti-climactic in one sense. They didn’t run a gauntlet for Omi. They spoke no lies and forewent trading shots and shells with police units or Army battalions that had declared for Director Backus.

  Three hours after changing course, Nadia received a radio signal from Cone. She informed Marten.

  He straightened his uniform and found a cap, fitting it over his head. Then he turned on his screen.

  “Hello, Security Specialist,” Marten said.

  Cone wore her sunglasses but her skin looked slack. There was an old-fashioned bookshelf behind her. With a start, Marten realized it was Hawthorne’s old quarters. The Supreme Commander had given recorded talks from the room. Maybe Cone thought it would give her authenticity if people saw her there.

  “I am Vice-Chairman Cone,” she said, “the acting representative of Supreme Commander Hawthorne.”

  “An interesting choice,” Osadar said quietly.

  “Congratulations,” Marten told Cone. “Does this mean Hawthorne is alive and is broadcasting from the battleships?”

  Cone gave the smallest of head-twitches, which could have meant anything. “I’m sure you are aware of the fighting between the illegal police units and the military backing me.”

  “Sure,” Marten said.

  “Force-Leader Kluge, while I appreciate all you’ve done, you have become too…politically charged to remain on Earth. I’m afraid I will have to insist that you depart the planet.”

  “Let’s not play games,” Marten said. “You’re fighting for control of Earth and Director Backus is challenging you.”

  “He has been illegally elected, as Supreme Commander Hawthorne still governs Social Unity.”

  Marten knew Hawthorne had written a resignation, but it looked like Cone had decided to ignore that. This woman thought fast on her feet. If the people wouldn’t accept her, maybe they would accept a deputy acting in Hawthorne’s name.

  “You don’t have to convince me,” Marten said. “I’m with you. I don’t forget the people who helped me.”

  “I’d rather not speak about that,” Cone said. “This communication may be monitored.” Cone pursed her mouth before she said, “You must immediately head for Geneva and leave Earth.”<
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  “I’ll do that as soon as I pick up Omi.”

  “There is no—” Cone glanced to her left off-screen and listened as someone spoke. She faced the screen again. “My people have contacted your friend. Actually, it appears he raced into one of their encampments in the company of a woman.” Scowling, Cone glanced left again as someone spoke urgently. “What? Oh, I see.” Cone faced Marten. “The woman is a Highborn spy.”

  “I doubt that,” Marten said. “Her name is Ah Chen. I saved her life once in Sydney during the initial Highborn invasion.”

  “I see,” Cone said. “You lead an interesting life, Force-Leader.”

  “If you give me my two friends,” Marten said, “I’ll be on my way and headed for Neptune.”

  Cone nodded. “The faster you leave Earth, the better. I hope you will not hold this against us.”

  “Not at all,” Marten said. “Where are they?”

  Cone gave him the coordinates, adding, “You’d better hurry. The fleet begins acceleration in several days.”

  As Cone signed off, Marten wondered why the little engineer had come hunting for him. It seemed strange, not at all like her.

  The answer came an hour and forty-seven minutes later. The lifters halted at the defensive perimeter of a tank brigade. The lifters touched down beside a wall of sandbags, with skeleton trees on the hill behind the perimeter. He noticed there weren’t any bio-tanks, but low-built vehicles with monstrous cannons.

  Marten climbed down the lifter and spoke with the brigadier, a youngish man in a black uniform and low-billed cap slung low over his eyes. Soon, Omi and Ah Chen stepped out of a bunker, escorted by grim-eyed soldiers with machine guns.

  “Didn’t think I’d see you anytime soon,” Marten said, fiercely gripping Omi’s hand.

  Omi nodded as if nothing mattered, although he gripped Marten on the shoulder, squeezing painfully.

  “Are you ready for our last run against the cyborgs?” asked Marten.

  Omi gave him a blank look, one he had perfected long ago in the slums of Sydney. Then he jerked his thumb at Ah Chen. “Remember her?”

  She looked small and demure, if a little older than Marten recalled. There were wrinkles at the corners of her eyes that hadn’t been there several years ago. She stared at him, and she seemed burdened. He remembered seeing her naked as he decapitated Major Orlov of PHC hundreds of kilometers underground of Sydney.