Doom Star: Book 05 - Planet Wrecker (25 page)

“Captain Mune,” said Hawthorne.

The bionic captain hurried near, the soles of his boots crunching gravel. Mune had saved him near here from PHC killers.

“Look up,” said Hawthorne.

Mune did so.

“For the first time in many years, near-Earth space will be devoid of Doom Stars,” Hawthorne said.

“Yes sir.”

“I thought I’d be rejoicing over that,” said Hawthorne. “Instead, I find myself wishing them luck.”

Mune lowered his gaze.

Hawthorne frowned. “I have critical decisions to make, Captain. What I choose...it might mean the death or survival of billions of people on the planet. Do I throw everything in support behind the Highborn to stop the asteroids from annihilating human life? Or do I attempt to practice subterfuge in order to wrest conquered territory from the Highborn?”

Mune shook his head. “I don’t know, sir.”

“You and I have been together a long time.”

“Yes sir.”

“You were my jailor once. Do you remember?”

A troubled looked crossed Mune’s heavy face. “Lord Director Enkov was a hard man, sir. He…he made me what I am.”

“You killed him later,” said Hawthorne.

Mune said nothing, but he gave the Supreme Commander a questioning look.

“Do I launch our painstakingly built Orion-ships?” asked Hawthorne. “If so, how many do I send at the asteroids? Should I hold some back to wrest near-orbital space control from the Highborn?”

“Are you asking my opinion, sir?” asked Mune.

“…I suppose I am,” Hawthorne said with a tired smile.

“Sir, I watched the meteors fall to Earth that day here. I would not allow you to act then. My sorrow over my actions—I live with that sorrow everyday.”

“Use everything I have to stop the asteroids?” asked Hawthorne. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“We’re talking about human extinction, sir.”

Hawthorne craned his head, looking straight up. He was a mote in the teeming cauldron of humanity named Earth. In the end, he wasn’t that important. Maybe it was time to risk everything. If the asteroids hit…everything else became moot. If they stopped the asteroids, then there was time enough later to resist the Highborn.

Rubbing his forehead, Hawthorne realized that he was tired to the core of his being. He had to throw everything into the fray to try to eke every percentage point he could. The cyborgs would obliterate humanity otherwise.

“Captain,” Hawthorne said, “I wonder if you’d be interested in directly helping the outcome.”

“Sir?” asked Mune.

“You’re the best soldier Social Unity has. Your fellow bionic soldiers…tell me which elite troops we have who are your superiors.”

Mune tilted his head. “I’ve never thought of it that way, sir. I’m not sure I know who those soldiers are.”

“I’m afraid I don’t either.”

“Afraid sir?” asked Mune.

“Afraid,” Hawthorne said, as he stared up at the clouds. If Earth was to remain serene like this, he had to act with everything he possessed. Anything else would be egotistical posturing. He’d overthrown other Directors in order to save the Earth. Now he had to risk totally or go down as the man who’d lost humanity its existence.

Far away from the Joho Mountains and Earth, a lone meteor-ship hurtled between Jupiter and Mars. It approached the Sun’s orbit, trying to get on the other side of it where the Earth, Mars and the asteroid strike were.

Inside in the
Spartacus’s
command center, Nadia Kluge said, “Get ready for the transmission.”

Marten stood behind his chair, watching the main screen. Jupiter was nearly 750,000,000 kilometers away. At the speed of light, it took a laser lightguide message almost forty-two minutes to reach the ship. A forty-two minute delay was far too long to have any meaningful two-way conversation.

Marten was tense. They had traveled for over eight weeks now. What was going on at Earth? How would the Highborn react to the asteroid strike? The Praetor had helped kill cyborgs. The bastard of a Highborn had given his life to slay the Web-Mind. Would the Highborn sweeping in conquest on Earth feel the same way?

Tan’s image appeared on the screen. She wore a white gown with a golden circuit around her forehead. Her eyes appeared glassy and it seemed her head swayed the tiniest bit. In the background waved the Jovian banner of a lidless eye in the middle of a pyramid.

“In the name of the Dictates, I hail the Force-Leader and crew,” Tan said softly. “A new adjustment has occurred in the Jovian System. The populaces of Ganymede and Europa agreed to a plebiscite and overwhelming voted me as the new Solon of the Jovian Confederacy. Their faith in my abilities at this critical juncture humbles me. Whatever hesitation I feel accepting the post, I submerge for the good of the all.”

“What happened?” cried Marten’s weapons-officer.

“Quiet!” snapped Marten. “Let me hear.”

“I suspect there is great rejoicing in the
Spartacus
,” said Tan. “At this terrible juncture in history, it must bring soothing relief to know that the moons of Jupiter are safe-guarded by my wisdom. Each of us must do his or her part. I have submerged my will in this in order to work ceaselessly toward our safety. Now you in the
Spartacus
must do likewise. You are guardians of great daring and courage. You represent the Jovian people. In the interest of continued human existence, the Jovian Confederacy has agreed to an alliance with the Planetary Union of Mars, with Social Unity and now with the Highborn. After much deliberation, an over-arching strategy has been achieved.

“It will no doubt interest you to know that the
Spartacus
will play a pivotal role in the coming battle.”

“What’s she talking about?” asked the weapons-officer.

Marten pointed at the officer. “Silence!” he said. Then Marten turned back to the screen.

Small Tan picked up a silver chalice, sipping from it. Smiling at them, she said softly, “After my message, you shall receive strategic data. In a word, you will join in a space marine assault on the asteroids. Marten Kluge is an expert at these sorts of assaults. I point to his attack on the Beamship
Bangladesh
and against the rogue moon Carme.”

Marten scowled.

“I am told the over-arching concept originated with Grand Admiral Cassius of the Highborn,” Tan said. “As the plan is elegant and economical of force, I have concurred. You are hereby ordered to attack the asteroid-cluster and land space marines on planetoid surfaces, to evict any cyborgs there and gain control of the propulsion systems.”

“How are we supposed to reach the asteroids to land on them?” asked Nadia.

“Shhh!” said Marten.

“You will accelerate your ship and pivot around Mars, changing your heading to catch up to the asteroid-cluster,” Tan said. “The coordinates will be forthcoming. It is possibly a suicidal mission, and your courage for the good of the whole is hereby noted and applauded. You will not be alone in this assault, but you alone will represent the best of the Jovian Dictates. Given that truth, I implore you to fight with enthusiasm and show the others the greatness of the Dictates. In such a manner, your deaths will not go in vain.

“To the Dictates,” said Tan, lifting her chalice in a salute.

The main screen flickered afterward. Her image disappeared, and in its place appeared a pyramid with a lidless eye in the center.

Scowling, Marten slid into his chair. Amidst the silence, he began studying the incoming data.

“It’s a suicide mission,” said Omi.

Marten lay on his back, with his torso shoved inside a panel on a patrol boat. Using a pneumatic-wrench, he adjusted a photon cell. When he was finished, he slid out and sat up.

Omi wore a vacc-suit, with the helmet dangling behind him. They were alone in the patrol boat, which sat secure on the surface of the meteor-ship.

“We’re not coming out of this one alive,” Omi said.

Marten picked up the grate, shoved it over the panel and switched on the magnetic locks. He grunted as he stood, and he staggered to the pilot’s chair. Omi sat in the weapons-officer’s seat. They were under heavy and extended acceleration, making movement a chore.

Outside were the
Spartacus’s
rocky surfaces and then the glowing blue exhaust of the ship’s fusion core. Beyond shined the stars. They headed toward the Sun, but the patrol boat’s viewing port was pointed backward.

“This entire assault,” said Omi, “it’s too jumbled.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“Orion-ships from Earth, missiles from the Sun-Works Factory….” Omi shook his head. “It feels scrambled.”

“The cyborgs caught everyone napping,” said Marten.

“Highborn and Social Unity, they’ve been tearing out each others throats for years,” Omi said. “Now it turns out we all should have been fighting the cyborgs. Now it may be too late.”

Marten switched on the pneumatic-wrench, feeling it hum in his hand. This entire mission…ever since Tan’s message, his gut had been tightening. The mission reminded him too much of the Storm Assault Missile fired at the
Bangladesh
. It had seemed soon as if the bulkheads of the
Spartacus
were closing in around him. So he’d grabbed Omi and climbed outside, entering a patrol boat. There were moments he felt like lifting off and just heading away, anywhere without Highborn, cyborgs and crazy political leaders. While sitting Marten switched the pneumatic-wrench on and off repeatedly. Then he switched it off for good and clipped it back to his tool-belt.

“It’s a suicide mission,” said Omi.

Marten nodded as he stared out of the window into space. “We don’t know anything about the asteroids. At least, if anyone knows, they aren’t telling us.”

“You know the asteroids will be swarming with cyborgs.”

Marten glanced at Omi.

“We’ve learned from our past mistakes,” Omi said. “I bet the cyborgs have, too. On Carme, they didn’t have enough troops. This time I bet they will.”

The churn in Marten’s gut grew. Unclipping the pneumatic-wrench, he switched it on. The worst horror of his life had been the ride out to the
Bangladesh
and then storming onto it. He’d never wanted to do something like that again. Yet here he was, accelerating toward death.

“Do we even have a chance?” asked Omi.

“What else can we do?” Marten whispered.

“I’ve heard about your idea of heading to Neptune.”

“Run away?” asked Marten.

“Isn’t that better than suicide?”

Marten clipped the pneumatic-wrench back onto his belt. “We’ve been in a lot of fights, you and me. Others around us die, but we keep going.”

Omi became quiet.

“None of the battles we’ve been in have mattered like this one.” Marten clapped his hands. “Everything on Earth dies. Sydney disappears. The islands of Japan burn to a crisp. Korea vanishes. We’re fighting for our home-world, Omi.”

“The
Spartacus
is our home.”

“Is that how the men feel?”

“They’re not stupid,” Omi said. “They’ve fought the cyborgs before and know the odds. Everyone understands we were lucky to get off Athena Station alive. Counting force-levels is easy enough. You’ve seen the number of asteroids, and you can image the number of cyborgs that must be on each. This fight is fatally stacked against us. The cyborgs are making sure they win this time.”

“We’re fighting for Earth!”

“I understand,” said Omi, “but if Earth is doomed, it’s doomed.”

Marten smacked a fist into the palm of his hand. His gut churned just as much as it ever had, and he hated the feeling. Omi was right. This one had the stink of doom to it, especially their being in a lone ship that was supposed to come up on the enemy’s backside. Marten could envision all too well a bank of laser-turrets and a salvo of missiles obliterating the
Spartacus
.

“Tan might have a point about our essential nature,” Marten said.

“Meaning?”

“You know how she says we’re guardians, fighters. That fighting is what we know and do best. Maybe, however, the smart thing is to turn away. Maybe we should do what the SU Fifth Fleet did. If we hang out here in the void, we might be the last ones to die to the cyborgs. But then what are we living for?”

Omi shrugged. “Do we need a reason?”

“…I need meaning,” said Marten. “My life has to count for something.”

“Committing suicide gives you meaning?” asked Omi.

Marten shook his head. “Fighting for what I believe in gives me meaning.”

Yawning, blocking it with his hand, Omi said, “You keep your meaning. I just want to live so I can eat, drink and bed women.”

Marten frowned. He had Nadia to worry about now. That was so beautiful, being with the woman he loved. Maybe he could send her away in an escape pod. As he thought about it, he realized she would never agree to that. The trip from the Sun-Works Factory to Jupiter had scarred her emotionally due to the long-term isolation. She would never willingly make such a long and isolated trip again.