Doom Star: Book 03 - Battle Pod Page 9
The SU fleet units in far-Mars orbit are entirely peaceful in intention and defensive in orientation. We have agreed to the Secession Accords and have sent an emergency convoy fleet to begin evacuation of SU personnel that you presently hold captive.
We demand, however, as a sign of your good faith, that you immediately halt your ground assaults on the North Polar Region. Further, we demand that you cease space-borne laser attacks on the Valles Marineris Canyon.
May I also point out that what you call excessive numbers of fleet units in far-Mars orbit is simply an example of our caution. We have come to appreciate when dealing with Mars the need for an appeal to strength. Therefore, we have concentrated our fleet units to assure a peaceful exchange of prisoners as per the Secession Accords and to assure the safety of our emergency convoy fleet.
February 8
From Secretary-General Chavez:
The hard acceleration of your so-called emergency convoy fleet has led our military analysts to conclude it is an attack fleet meant to augment the continued gathering of your spaceships in far-Mars orbit.
I will refrain from further recrimination concerning past Social Unity lies, misinformation, intimidation tactics, murder sprees and mass repression of human dignity. However, I cannot help but inform you that the manufactured outrage of the oppressor at finally feeling the sting of retribution from the oppressed left me nauseated. The inhumanly oppressed are justified using any means necessary to tear off the cruel yoke of tyranny. What cannot be tolerated is the breakage of inter-planetary protocols painfully hammered out through the centuries. To wit: when two sovereign entities engage in political discourse, honesty is an assumed prerequisite. Past Social Unity dishonesty toward the original Martian Planetary Union has led to our present suspicion.
We shall warm the primary lasers on Phobos and Deimos for instant beaming. However, as per your request, we shall turn the orbital platforms away from the Valles Marineris Canyon—from which Social Unity launches daily air raids—and toward your far- orbital gathering.
Mars shall meet any further additions to the gathered far-orbital fleet with missile and laser attacks.
February 8
From Director Danzig:
Any attacks on SU space vessels will result in an immediate repudiation of the Secession Accords!
Think well on what this would mean, Secretary-General. Mars and Inner Planets would engage in needless war while the Highborn supremacists solidify a repressive regime based on a master-slave relationship. We would both weaken ourselves in a time of planetary and solar-wide crisis. In a year, two years or even three, the genetic bigots might well sweep aside whatever remnants Mars retains in space defense capabilities and conquer your union.
I realize the Martian Rebels believe they have many outstanding grievances against Social Unity. The lack of high social consciousness among the citizens of the Red Planet has long been noted. Now isn’t the time to address such a failing in you or such a failing you think to perceive in us. I have studied the situation and have begun to wonder if in the past Political Harmony Corps failed the citizens of Mars by applying insufficient rigor.
What I wish to point out, Mr. Secretary-General, is that the Directorate of Inner Planets never pre-sanctioned the harsh Highborn retaliation during the Second Battle of Far-Mars orbit in 2339. Why is that important now in 2351? Because twelve years ago the Highborn slaughtered Martian personnel in that regrettable incident. What the genetic supremacists did once, they will likely attempt again.
Let me reiterate. Any attack on SU space vessels will result in an immediate repudiation of the Secession Accords. To show our good will, the Directorate has issued an immediate halt to the air assaults from the Valles Marineris Canyon. We ask in return that you halt the North Polar Region attacks.
February 9
From Secretary-General Chavez:
We are not the Martian Rebels, but the sovereign Mars Planetary Union.
We have noted that no new SU air assaults have originated from the Valles Marineris Canyon. Thus, we have halted the North Polar Region attacks.
I wish to point out, however, that our orbital defenses are on high alert. Any movement toward the planet from the spaceships in far-Mars orbit will be met with fierce resolve.
Your comments concerning the Highborn have been noted. We also note that Social Unity geneticists engineered the Highborn. And we note that Highborn atrocities in 2339 were committed while they wore Social Unity uniforms, as they fought under your control.
We demand full planetary sovereignty and an exit of all military, space-capable vessels from the Martian System. The continued Social Unity military presence on the planet can only result in the eventual resumption of hostilities in space.
If the gathered war vessels in far-Mars orbit are not directed against us, what is their military objective? How does the Directorate suggest we end all hostilities so both sovereign governments can plan against future Highborn aggression?
February 10
From Director Danzig:
After an emergency meeting with the full Directorate, I am authorized to offer a fully accredited envoy to Mars to discuss peace talks and possible defensive treaties.
February 11
From Secretary-General Chavez:
We welcome an accredited envoy and wish to guarantee his or her safety. However, as unpleasant as this may sound, I must reiterate the Mars Planetary Union warning. Any SU military vessel that enters near-Mars orbit will be targeted and destroyed.
As much as we agree that ultimate Highborn objectives remain unknown, we also acknowledge past Social Unity actions and must react accordingly.
I hope this clarifies our position.
February 11
From Director Danzig:
As the spokesman for the Directorate of Inner Planets, I applaud the Martian Planetary Union’s good sense. Our convoy fleet shall join the gathered military vessels and thus stay out of near-Mars orbit. All prisoner exchanges shall occur by shuttle.
On all accounts, we must refrain from mutual destruction while the genetic supremacists expand their master-slave regime.
-4-
General-Secretary Chavez smoked a stimstick as he listened to the last lightguide message in his office deep underground Olympus Mons. The bite of the smoke felt good in the back of his throat, comforting and steadying him. Chavez was a thin man with a long head and delicate fingers. He had a goatee and wavy dark hair that surrounded a worn face.
The Social Unity bosses on Mars had been ruthless. The Martian Unionists had been cleverer and had lived in hiding and through secrecy for many years before the present Martian self-liberation.
Chavez replayed the last message, studying Director Danzig the entire time, as if he could probe the director’s thoughts.
“He’s lying,” Chavez told his secretary. The secretary was an even thinner man with gaunt cheeks. He wore a dark tunic and held a computer stylus and a blue slate on his lap.
Chavez clicked off the vidscreen. With a trembling hand, he put the stimstick between his lips and puffed. Red smoke trickled from the glowing end. The smell of the stimulant permeated the room, a sweet odor.
“They’re buying time until the convoy reaches their military vessels.” Chavez dragged deeply on the stimstick before mashing it out in an overflowing ashtray. Then like some delicate dragon, he blew red smoke out of his nostrils. “If only the Highborn had left us warships. Our orbital defenses can’t match the SU fleet, not in our present state of disrepair.”
Chavez’s fingers brushed his goatee as he stared at some unseen point. “Take this down: The technicians have two months. Then the proton beam must be ready.”
General-Secretary Chavez referred to the proton beam installation on Olympus Mons. It had been badly damaged during the recent Mars Rebel liberation and had been taken offline. Technicians worked day and night attempting repairs. Whether it would be ready in two months was highly questionable.
“At least
they stopped their air attacks out of the Valles Marineris Canyon,” Chavez said. “So we can begin to use the Harrington Launch Sites. Take that down. We must ferry more missiles and repair each laser focusing system in turn on the orbital stations. Social Unity will try to swamp us. We have to make it too costly for them. We have two months at the most. I fear, however, it will be less than four weeks. It’s simply not enough time.”
Chavez opened a drawer and shook another stimstick out of a half-crumpled pack. He put it between his lips and inhaled it into life. “Are you ready for more?”
The secretary nodded.
Chavez continued dictating, “To the Shop Steward of the Phobos Local, I send these emergency instructions…”
***
As he swam laps in an indoor pool in New Baghdad, Supreme Commander James Hawthorne listened to Director Danzig. Captain Mune stood farther off near the diving board.
Hawthorne swam strongly and despite his lankiness, with grace. Director Danzig walked along the side of the pool, reiterating his conversations with Secretary-General Chavez.
“I doubt we convinced him,” Hawthorne said as he flipped onto his back, doing a long-limbed backstroke. A small amount of chlorine-tasting water trickled into his mouth.
“They’re trying to buy time,” Danzig said.
“Obviously, and so are we. The question for us is: what do they need the time for? …have we intercepted any Rebel messages to the Highborn?”
“Just that the Rebels have appealed to them, not the nature of the queries.”
Hawthorne stopped and stood up in the pool so water sloshed around his waist. There was too much chlorine in it. The harsh odor stung his nostrils. He’d have to have a word with the manager. The man must know that he took a swim at this time everyday.
“The important thing is they’re not molesting our individual warships as they decelerate and match orbital speeds with Blackstone,” Hawthorne said. “It must mean Martian orbital defenses are weaker than we suspected. That’s both good and bad.”
“General?” Director Danzig asked.
“It’s a phony peace as we both prepare for war.” Hawthorne laughed. “We caught them flat-footed with the convoy fleet. That must be the truth of it. They didn’t expect us to appear at the Mars System so soon. Yes, they must be using the time for emergency repairs and re-supply. Let’s just hope the Highborn are as surprised.”
“Do you really think they are?”
Hawthorne examined the middle-aged director. The air was humid and Danzig’s suit was damp. The director looked tired. The man probably needed to exercise more. Hm. The Highborn had a plan. They always did. For a moment, Hawthorne had the chills as he wondered if the Highborn had already outthought him.
No. Such thinking was debilitating. He had to believe it was possible to outwit the super-soldiers.
“Of course the Highborn are surprised,” Hawthorne said. “The savagery of their space-borne attacks these last weeks on Eurasia prove it, as does their storming of half the habitats. We’ve enraged them, and that’s the best sign there is that we’ve gained a step on them.”
Director Danzig grinned. “That’s good to hear, sir. We need this victory.”
“We do at that,” Hawthorne said, and he began to wade toward the steps. The chlorine bothered his eyes. He was going to find the manager and have a word with him.
-5-
The long weeks passed in worry and hard deceleration for the clone Lisa Aster. She was in the safest central cargo-ship of the Earth convoy fleet, the Alger Hiss. She thus had the highest probability of surviving the grueling journey. The oppressive G-forces caused by the deceleration stopped. During the half-hour intervals of weightlessness, Lisa could float to the facilities, eat and flex her limbs without the bone-crushing pressure. She complained to stout General Fromm, Mars Supplies, with whom she shared the acceleration/deceleration area.
The general sat on his couch eating salted herring, a delicacy he ate regularly. It left a horrible fishy odor in the module. In the interest of politeness, Lisa kept her intense dislike of the smell to herself. However, she floated near the ceiling, as far away from the offensive odor as she could go.
“This trip has nothing to do with our sensibilities,” said General Fromm. Despite the relish with which he ate his herring, he had been losing weight. He’d become increasingly pale and somber. “The trip has everything to do with speed. We have accelerated and now decelerate near the acceptable limits of human endurance. Battlefleet Mars desperately needs these supplies.”
“The journey is killing us,” Lisa said.
“…yes,” General Fromm said after he’d torn off another length of dried herring with his teeth. He chewed thoroughly and swallowed. “…but eighty-five percent of us should survive. You’re healthy and young, so you should recover quickly from any debilitating effects.”
“Killing ourselves is foolish,” Lisa said.
General Fromm checked his chronometer. “Five minutes to continued deceleration. You’d better strap yourself in.” He slid the remaining herring into a container, sealing it. Then he lay back on the couching, strapping himself in and settling down for another six hours of pain and torment.
Lisa continued to float near the ceiling and waved her hand before her nose as the general occupied himself with his straps.
“We’re not killing ourselves to set speed records,” Fromm said, finally looking up. “We’re trying to outwit the Highborn. Our window of opportunity to defeat the Mars Rebels and reorganize the orbital defenses in time to face and destroy Doom Stars is narrow indeed. Our supplies are critical to the refitting of our united fleet.” He checked his chronometer again. “You really should strap-in.”
Lisa grinned tightly. General Fromm meant well. He was a brooder and a deep-thinker. He never took risks if he could help it, but carefully thought out the best way to do everything. She hated lying on the couch and she was unbelievably bored. Timing her landing on the couch and strapping-in to the exact second of the re-igniting thrusters had become one of her sole games. Having a brooder to scold her only made the game more enjoyable.
“Ms. Aster,” the general said, “your risk of debilitating injury far outweighs any juvenile pleasure you might gain in waiting so long. You must strap yourself in now.”
At least the general had learned not to try to order her. She was the Blanche-Aster now, even if she was the only one to acknowledge it. Despite the handicap of being a clone, she would climb the ranks of Social Unity into the rarified heights of leadership.
“Thirty seconds to deceleration,” General Fromm said testily.
Lisa grinned at him, and she shuddered at the idea of another six hours of labored breathing and straining just to scratch her nose. Her face itched abominably during deceleration. What made it even worse was that she would have liked to study the files on the cyborgs and study the Supreme Commander’s attack plan. She had tried quizzing the general, but extended conversations soon become too tiring under the high Gs pressing against their bodies.
“Ten seconds,” General Fromm said.
Lisa yawned as if bored.
“Ms. Aster, this is absurd. I demand you strap-in now.”
“I didn’t hear you say please.”
“Seven seconds,” he said. “Please, hurry.”
“Very well,” she said. Now her pulse pounded. Now it was almost too late. If she pushed off wrong and missed her acceleration couch, she could break bones. If a rib punctured a lung, she would quickly bleed to death.
Lisa smoothly shoved off the ceiling, sailed to her couch and hit so she grunted. She spun around fast and made the fabric squeak. She barely managed to settle into position. Then the mighty thrusters switched on. A horrible, grinding weight slammed against her, shoving her down into the padding of the acceleration couch. It was a straining effort to bring the straps across her body. Buckling them left her wheezing at the exertion.
“Was—that—worth—it?” General Fromm wheezed.
> Lisa tried to make herself more comfortable. Someday, she was going to kill cyborgs. Originally, her motives were vengeful, as the cyborgs had engineered her mother’s death. Now it was for this brutal journey. Lisa closed her eyes, already longing for the next half-hour of weightlessness.
***
As Lisa Aster and the convoy fleet decelerated into far-Mars orbit, the many months journey aboard the Mayflower were ending for Marten Kluge and Omi.
They decelerated, but at a fraction of the convoy fleet’s rate. They had been traveling at a much slower speed.
Omi had given Marten a haircut. Marten’s hair was short and his manner was alert. He felt as he had during his best times as a shock trooper. Marten’s muscles were hard again and his stamina had built back up from endless exercises on the machines.
Omi had gained weight and he was no longer so dreadfully thin. He hadn’t regained his original muscle-mass, but this last week had seen him hit the machines much more vigorously than before. Unfortunately, it had become stale throughout the shuttle. To conserve water, they had long ago stopped taking showers. Before leaving the shuttle, they would each shower thoroughly. Until such time, each endured the other.
The Mayflower was a shuttle, hardly big enough for extended flights between the inner planets. To the distant outer planets, it would have almost been impossible.
The shuttle lacked a warship’s detection equipment and the accompanying squads of trained personnel using such equipment around the clock. Still, the Mayflower possessed limited radar gear and limited teleoptics. Using the teleoptics, Marten easily discovered the hard-decelerating convoy fleet. The constant burn and plethora of fusion engines created a discernable image against the cold backdrop of space. The number and size of the war-vessels impressed Marten.