Doom Star: Book 02 - Bio-Weapon Page 29

  Marten stared at the stars. One year sitting in this seat beside his only friend in the medical unit was how long this was going to take.

  “Here goes,” whispered Marten. He fired the first missile, and was slammed back into his chair as the rocket burned and accelerated them.

  31.

  Marten traveled five hundred kilometers from the Bangladesh when the missiles ordered by General Hawthorne slammed into the vast beamship. The missiles had been fired from the missileships that the experimental beamship had been en route to meet—from the flotilla the beamship was to lead to Mars. The nuclear explosions vaporized much of the mighty structure and radiated everything else. More missiles arrived and detonated, chewing up the mass into finer debris.

  Marten had fled far enough so that the heat and blast from the explosions had no effect upon him or his ship. The electromagnetic pulse however blew his main controls, prematurely detaching the living quarters from the two missiles. Marten and Omi tumbled end over end as the welded missiles sped in the direction of where Earth would be in a year.

  Openmouthed, shocked and uncomprehending Marten stared at the spinning stars. Finally, numbly, he used the hydrogen burners to stop their endless spinning. He wanted to scream, to rave at the injustice and futility of life. Yet he wasn’t vanquished. So he refused to surrender. They still had air and could survive for a long, long time.

  In order that he wouldn’t cry and so he didn’t go berserk, he began to sing the songs his mother had taught him in the Sun Works Factory. A Mighty Fortress is Our God by an ancient called Martin Luther was the song he remembered best. He sang until his throat went raw, and as a lunatic absorbed in his dull witlessness, he stared at the vast star-field the entire time.

  32.

  Sometime later Lycon’s intersystem shuttle sniffed through the Bangladesh’s debris, which maintained their velocity and heading. Scanners searched the junk for signs of life.

  Lycon had studied the shock trooper transmissions sent from the Bangladesh, at least before it had been destroyed. Those who had stormed aboard the beamship had clearly taken losses. Highborn training had given them strict procedures for dead or dying shock troopers. Such individuals were to be injected with Suspend and battlesuited with fully charged tanks and their vents opened to ship air. When the beamship had been destroyed, the air vents would have automatically closed and the battlesuit would have switched to tank-air. Those suits were the best in the Solar System, able to take incredible damage. Lycon’s hope was that a few such premen had survived the nuclear explosions. He needed live shock troopers as examples of the success of his idea.

  A day’s search garnered exactly nothing.

  To go home empty-handed meant at the very best that he would become a trainer of the Neutraloids. Lycon loathed the idea. “Increase the range of our circuits,” he ordered.

  “At once,” said the training marshal acting as pilot.

  They searched a second day and then a third. On the fourth day, the pilot turned to Lycon.

  “I’m picking up a distress call.”

  Lycon lurched to the com-board.

  “I can’t make anything out of it,” said the pilot.

  “Go there,” said Lycon.

  “Are you certain?”

  Lycon laughed harshly. “I grasp at straws because we have nothing else.”

  The pilot set course for the weak distress call.

  33.

  First, Marten saw the braking jets, a bright smear in the darkness of space. Then Marten watched the shuttle visibly grow from a dot to that of a discernable spacecraft.

  A beard covered his face and his muscles had already grown slack. He couldn’t describe his emotion. Birth was indescribable. To float alone in space, drifting, hopeless, rethinking conversations and actions repeatedly, it was a hellish experience. He shuddered and made a sound that many do after crying for a long, long time. He would walk again, talk to people, eat, think, and have plans, hopes and dreams, and fight.

  He tried to concentrate. Training Master Lycon came. Lycon was Highborn. The last time they had spoken Lycon had been unhappy with him. Marten couldn’t marshal his thoughts. Instead, he wiped tears from his cheeks. Oh how he wanted to live.

  “But not on their terms,” he croaked.

  He sipped water from his bottle and shook his head. The stirrings of hatred returned. To be born afresh, that’s what he experienced. Life! What an incredible word it was. What a gift to breathe, play, eat and meet women. Life!

  “Hurry up,” he whispered, his heart beginning to race.

  34.

  The shuttle eased beside the tiny life-pod, dwarfing it, belittling its crudeness. An emergency tube of flexible plastic snaked from the shuttle and glued over the pod’s airlock. Soon air was pumped into the tube. After a time the pod’s hatch slid up and Marten Kluge floated an inert Omi toward the shuttle.

  Marten peered at the vastness of space surrounding him. He used the plastic railing attached to the inner tube, pushing Omi and pulling himself. The shuttle airlock opened and Lycon waited at the end, his angular face impassive, but his strange energetic eyes filled with questions and it seemed to Marten traces of wonder.

  As Marten pushed Omi to Lycon, the powerful Highborn nodded. Marten nodded back as one would to an equal. They entered the shuttle’s airlock. As the inner hatch opened, Lycon removed his vacc helmet.

  “He has a plasma burn on his chest,” Marten told a waiting Highborn, a seven-foot fellow with a medical tag on his shirt. “If you have any medical facilities—”

  “We do,” said Lycon.

  “Good,” Marten said. He took Omi from Lycon and pushed him to the other Highborn. “Let’s get him hooked in and brought around.”

  The two Highborn exchanged glances. “Yes, a good idea,” Lycon said a moment later. Together the three of them floated Omi to the medical center. There the second Highborn took over, stripping Omi of his filthy clothes, tsking at the sight of the ugly plasma burn across his chest and then securing him into the medical cradle. Drugs, blood and special concentrates surged through the attached tubes and for the first time in weeks Omi’s body quivered.

  The Highborn checked his medscanner. Then he turned it on Marten, sweeping it over him. To Lycon he said, “He should shower, change into clean clothes and take an injection I’ll prepare.”

  Lycon turned to Marten.

  “I heard him,” Marten said. “Just point the way.”

  Lycon hesitated before pointing toward a hatch.

  ***

  Apparent gravity returned to the shuttle as it accelerated at one-G for Earth. Marten relaxed in a chair, sipping coffee. He wore a clean jumpsuit with the shock trooper skull-patch on his right pectoral and left shoulder. The beard was gone and his hair cut to the short buzz of blond hair. He was thinner, with his cheeks gaunt. His eyes had changed. They were hooded, guarded, wary. It seemed too as if part of him still floated alone in space, as if not all of him had returned to the land of the living.

  The exercise room had padded walls and ceiling and several isometric machines. Lycon sat across from Marten. The seven-foot Highborn, with his legs crossed, doodled with a stylus on a portable comp-screen.

  A door opened and the Highborn acting as medical officer poked his head in and reported to Lycon. “It looks like it will be a full recovery.”

  “When can I talk to him?” asked Marten.

  The Highborn scowled, although he said, “Two days, two and a half at the most.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate what you’ve done.”

  The Highborn lifted his eyebrows before he withdrew, closing the hatch behind him.

  “Your experience was no doubt horrifying,” said Lycon. “But you must use correct protocol procedures when addressing us.”

  Marten smiled, but more the way a gang leader would to a cop than with any genuine pleasure. “Yes, Highborn,” he said, saluting him with the coffee cup.

  Lycon frowned. Then he sat a little straighter and tapped t
he tip of the stylus on the portable comp-screen. “I’m curious how Omi and you found yourself in such a makeshift escape pod.”

  Marten crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair. He didn’t stare at the Highborn. Rather, he picked a point on the wall to examine.

  “The Bangladesh’s pods had already been jettisoned, Highborn.”

  “Yes. But how did you come to make your spacecraft?”

  “From an intense desire to leave the beamship, Highborn.”

  “You knew that the missiles were coming?”

  “To my knowledge, Highborn, the shock troops never fixed the beamship’s radar pods. Yet the enemy missiles did seem like a logical move on Social Unity’s part. Logic then demands one find a way to avoid the missiles.”

  “Your craft only has what appear to be hydrogen burners taken off Zero-G Worksuits.”

  “The EMP blast from the enemy missiles wreaked havoc on my controls, Highborn. Because of mixed signals the missiles I’d attached to my pod dropped off and rocketed away.”

  “Your heading appears to have been toward Venus or Earth.”

  “To Earth, Highborn.”

  “Shock troop headquarters is on the Sun Works Factory.”

  “The Sun is also much hotter there, Highborn. Among other things I feared radiation poisoning.”

  “What did the others think about your escape plan?”

  “I didn’t ask all of them, Highborn.”

  “They didn’t try to stop you?”

  “For awhile they did, Highborn. Then they said they wouldn’t try to stop me anymore.”

  “What convinced them that what you did was correct?”

  “I worked hard to persuade them, Highborn. I can only think they finally fell to the force of my arguments”

  “Your answers are evasive, Marten. Why is that?”

  “I’m merely stating facts, Highborn.”

  Lycon tapped the stylus once again. “Facts as you deem them or the truth?”

  “Highborn… You consider me a preman. How am I supposed to discover truth?”

  “You are a preman, Marten.”

  Marten remained silent.

  “Ah. You don’t believe that, is that it?”

  “I fought in the FEC ranks, Highborn, and was among the first to storm the merculite missile battery in Tokyo. Because of it, I received a medal and entrance into the shock troops. As such, I led the experimental assault upon the Bangladesh. We conquered the beamship as ordered, but it was destroyed. Omi and I are the only survivors, at least as far as I know. Given these facts it is difficult for me to think of myself as just a preman.”

  “You have done well,” Lycon said, “and you are a gifted tactician. Sometimes I wonder about your loyalty, but as you say, you have worked hard in the service of the Highborn. Such hard service brings rank, as you have learned. The facts also show that you have a touch of excellence. Who else among the shock troops escaped the Bangladesh? That is why as Training Master of the shock troopers I am recommending that you receive the “Hammer of Thor” medallion for excellence in combat.”

  Marten sat up. “You honor me, Highborn.”

  “The Grand Admiral himself will pin you with the Hammer of Thor and Omi with the Crossed Swords.”

  “We head to Earth, Highborn?”

  “We do. And the shock troopers are to be reborn.”

  “But… The beamship was destroyed, Highborn.”

  “The Grand Admiral has a different use for you, one in orbital Earth. Omi and you will each be a commander of an assault force. They will be named, Assault Force Marten and Assault Force Omi.”

  “You’re making us into heroes?”

  “You will be models of what one can achieve if he labors hard in the service of the Highborn.”

  “I… I don’t know what to say.”

  “Highborn,” corrected Lycon.

  Slowly, Marten said, “Yes, Highborn.”

  Lycon rose. “Excellence brings rank, Marten. Ponder that.” He strode out of the room.

  Marten did ponder it. A hero for the beings he hated. They had once thought to castrate him. What was to stop other Highborn from doing it? They had loaded the shock troopers into missiles, as living ammunition. They treated him as an inferior, as a trained animal. These medals were pats on the head.

  Marten squinted. He was on a shuttle, a spaceship. Only three Highborn were aboard. If the Highborn died… he would finally own his own spacecraft.

  Marten’s heartbeat quickened as he began to make plans.

  35.

  It was dark in the shuttle as Marten crept to the medical unit. The ship was under one-G of acceleration. Using the glow of the life-support monitor, he examined Omi lying in the clear cylinder. Tubes were attached to the Korean’s flesh. His chest rose and fell with each breath.

  Marten studied the cylinder. It was airtight. He pressed a switch. There was a beep as a small red light blinked. Clamps appeared, securing the medical unit for emergency ship maneuvers.

  Marten exited the chamber. His features were stern and his heart hammered. Any number of things could go wrong. He knew Highborn arrogance had given him this chance. Surely, they couldn’t believe they were in danger from a lone preman.

  The hatch to Lycon’s sleep cubicle was open. This evening, all the hatches were open. Marten had been busy and had made sure.

  He eased onto his stomach and slithered past the hatch. Soon on his feet again and in another section of the shuttle, he used a stolen electronic key, opening the suit locker. With practiced speed, he donned his old vacc suit. He tried to be quiet, but there were clunks and clatters. Finally, he sealed his helmet and shuffled to the airlock.

  A fierce grin spread across his face. The Highborn had been careless. He was only a preman. What could he do to them?

  Marten produced an override unit, one he’d tampered with the past few hours. He licked his lips and entered his code. Then he engaged the manual override. Numbers flashed on the unit. A klaxon should have sounded, but Marten had overridden it with his stolen unit.

  There was a hiss as the inner hatch slid open. Marten worked feverishly, applying clamps, making sure it was impossible for the inner hatch to close. With the last clamp in place, he stepped into the airlock. He switched on the vacc suit’s magnetic hooks to full power, securing himself to the wall. Then he manually opened the outer hatch.

  Immediately, air hissed past as it rushed out into the vacuum of space. Then the airlock was open all the way and the sound became a gale-force shriek.

  A stylus with a purple tip shot past Marten. Then cups and cutlery flew past as they tumbled into the colds of space.

  Marten heard screaming. Almost too fast to notice, the Highborn pilot flew past him. Marten resisted the impulse to lean out and watch. Instead, he remembered how shock troopers had tumbled off the Bangladesh’s particle shields. Now their arrogant, uncaring commanders would pay.

  The medical Highborn flew outside next.

  Then Lycon the Training Master appeared. The seven-foot Highborn managed to latch his fingers onto the hatch clamps. He strained to hang on, his massive body inches from Marten. In a feat of amazing strength, Lycon tore off a clamp. With desperate will, he began to work on the second.

  Then the rapidly dropping air pressure began to tell on Lycon. His body and face began to bloat as his blood and other bodily fluids began to turn into water vapor and form in his soft tissues. The ebullism occurred even more strongly in his lungs. The escaping water vapor cooled around his open mouth and nostrils, creating frost.

  Then, as he was magnetically secured, Marten began raining body blows against Lycon’s horizontal and now grotesquely swollen torso.

  With the last of the ship’s air shrieking past his bloated face and whipping his hair, Lycon peered blindly at Marten. The Highborn must have realized he was dying. Maybe he wanted to take Marten with him. His clothes had shredded off him and blown into space. Bare Highborn fingers reached for Marten. Marten desperately slapped the fre
akishly large hand. Lycon’s frost-covered lips moved soundlessly. Then the huge Highborn lost his grip and he shot out into space. Marten leaned out and watched the Training Master tumble away into the void.

  Marten closed the outer hatch. Next, while breathing hard, he turned off his magnetic hooks. Then he removed the clamps and let the inner hatch hiss shut. The shuttle immediately began to pressurize.

  A terrible laugh escaped Marten as he removed his helmet. He owned a spaceship and he was free. Free! Now he had to decide what he was going to do with his hard-won freedom.

  The End, Book #2

  The story continues with

  Battle Pod

  (Book #3 of the Doom Star Series)

  Read on for an exciting excerpt from the next book in the Doom Star Series.

  -1-

  The first thing Marten Kluge did with his freedom was shut off the shuttle’s engines. Then he sat in the pilot’s chair, before a bank of color-coded controls. He eyed the vidscreen and the single polarized window that showed him the awesome beauty of the stars. The moment the engines cut out, acceleration died and weightlessness returned to the shuttle.

  Marten grinned harshly. He was a lean ex-shock trooper with a blond crewcut and angular cheeks. He had survived horrible ordeals, and it may have been that full sanity hadn’t yet returned to him. Sitting there staring into space was his first moment of relaxation in….

  Marten frowned, a frown that stayed with him until later when he found he was still staring at the stars. He shook his head. He had to concentrate, to try to become a normal human being again.

  From the control panel, Marten began to run diagnostic tests on the engines, the life-support system, and the ship’s radar and teleoptic scopes. He was free, which meant he had to rely upon himself now. He owned a shuttle, a spaceship that could possibly take him anywhere in the Solar System.