Doom Star: Book 05 - Planet Wrecker (43 page)

Cracking his knuckles, laying back, Cassius allowed himself a moment of introspection. For him, that meant checking his mental files, opening them and seeing if matters had occurred how he’d desired. Hmm. Yes. He needed to send a call to the Luna Missile Complex. The Senior Tribune there should face a review board. Maybe that would be a good place to transfer Sulla, upgrade him off the
Julius Caesar
.

It occurred to Cassius then that he’d never received a confirmation from the Highborn sent to Kluge’s asteroid.

“Sulla,” he said. “Who was the officer in charge of the Asteroid-E pickup?”

Sulla swiveled to a different console, tapped on the screen and said a moment later, “First Maniple-Leader Felix of Ninth
Iron
Cohort, Commandoes.”

Cassius felt several things at once. The first was the oddness of the tone from Sulla. So he watched the Ultraist. The Highborn turned toward him, glancing at him too carefully, with too much calculation.

“You have something to add to the report?” asked Cassius.

It might have been his imagination, but Sulla’s mouth seemed to twitch. The oily, shiny face held inner gloating.

Cassius felt something else, too. Felix of his chromosomes had gone to collect Kluge. That didn’t seem like a chance assignment. His enemies among the Highborn must have engineered it, hoping for something to occur that would further mar his image as Grand Admiral.

“Has the Maniple-Leader returned yet?” asked Cassius.

“Felix landed long ago,” Sulla said.

The longing to unbuckle from his shell was nearly overpowering. Cassius wanted to beat Sulla’s face into bloody pulp. The tone and implications—this was the next thing to insubordination. Yet the Grand Admiral hesitated. It wasn’t fear of Sulla, but a grim understanding that his rank was under jeopardy. He needed to react with care.

Cassis asked, “In which shuttle-bay did he land?”

Sulla took his time answering. “Oh, the Maniple-Leader never arrived here. I misunderstood you, Your Excellency. I meant he landed on Asteroid E.”

“The Maniple-Leader has captured Marten Kluge?”

“I can hail him and find out,” Sulla said.

“No,” Cassius said. “Return to your tasks.”

Sulla opened his mouth, maybe to say more. Then he smirked and returned to his controls.

Although he shivered convulsively, Cassius otherwise kept a tight reign on his rage. Sulla must die soon, but he couldn’t kill him on the bridge. No, he must do this subtly. His secret enemies among the Highborn, those who craved the highest command for themselves, must sense blood from his wounding, from losing the
Gustavus Adolphus
. He must maneuver with extreme delicacy now in order to keep his leadership and his life.

Twisting around in his shell, he opened a private channel. Asteroid E was far away, although not yet beyond range of the ultra-laser. That laser was now down, however, certain burned-out components being replaced or under repair. Cassius watched a small screen as he practiced a calming technique. There was a time for rage and a time for stalking prey.

A face-burned Highborn appeared on the screen. It was Felix, and it looked as if his left eye was gone.

“This is Grand Admiral—”

“I know who you are,” Felix said.

Cassius pursed his lips. “Have you returned to the
Julius Caesar
?”

“In time, I might.”

Lightheadedness made it difficult to think. Cassius shook off the weakness as he concentrated on the hatred shining in Felix’s single good eye. The boy had gone rogue. He could see that now. There would be no saving of his chromosomes. He should have seen it sooner, but in this, a paternal feeling had blinded him.

“Where is Marten Kluge?” asked Cassius.

“Gone,” said Felix.

“You disobeyed a direct order?” Cassius asked.

“Someday, I’m going to kill you,” Felix said.

Instead of arguing, instead of using verbal trickery to discover more, Cassius cut the connection. Why his chest felt so hollow, he had no idea. In a mental fog, a haze, he unbuckled, exited the shell and left the bridge as he strode down the corridors.

It was some time later that Cassius found himself in his quarters, strapped into an acceleration couch. He had no idea how he’d gotten here. A com-link was open and Sulla was telling him…that it was time.

Time for what?

At that moment, the ship engaged its huge engines. A thrumming tremble caused his couch to shake as the noise levels rose. Then a ten-G-burst deceleration slammed Cassius against his couch. That cleared his mind, and he turned on an outer video.

The
Julius Caesar
and the
Genghis Khan
sharply pulled away from the asteroids headed for Earth. The blue-green ball was huge now, less than a quarter-of-a-day away at these speeds.

The three zooming asteroids and the mass of debris surrounding them kept on a straight collision course for the planet. Much of the debris could theoretically cause billions to die if they hit.

Aboard the
Julius Caesar
, Cassius began to plot. He wanted to tame Kluge, and he would someday in a brutal fashion, but he had bigger problems to tackle now. Felix—Cassius shook his head. He’d worry about Felix later. Now he had to hold onto his supreme station. His position was gravely weakened if his own bridge crew maneuvered behind his back.

He judged his odds for survival as Grand Admiral. They were bad. His only chance was if the Earth survived the asteroids. Then he had to strike first and strike hard. He had to outmaneuver his hidden enemies. If the cyborg-objects annihilated premen-existence on the homeworld, his challengers would likely pull him down like dogs ravaging a de-fanged lion.

He had a moment to wonder if Kluge was responsible for Felix’s rebellion. Cassius snarled, vowing to capture Kluge someday and turn him into a docile and obedient beast.

Then another high-G burst slammed him against the couch, slowing the warship so it could soon enter near-Earth orbit.

Deep in the Joho Command Bunker, Hawthorne watched the Doom Stars decelerate. He, along with everyone else monitoring near-orbital space on the screens, knew the moment had come.

“Open channels with Vice-Admiral Mandela,” Hawthorne said.

Soon, a black-skinned man with curly-white hair appeared before Hawthorne’s sight. The man had large eyes, a stern expression and a badly rumpled uniform.

“Use the approaching asteroids as shields,” Hawthorne said, forgoing pleasantries. “Flee from the Highborn while you have the opportunity. Whether the rocks hit the Earth or not, use the planet as an even bigger shield. Keep yourself from those ultra-lasers. You must keep your fleet intact.”

Mandela blinked in seeming bewilderment. “W-we’re practically weaponless,” he finally stammered.

“Do as ordered,” Hawthorne told him. “Social Unity is going to need that fleet.”

Mandela hesitated before saying: “The Highborn will disapprove of such actions.”

What had happened to the man? Once, Mandela had been tough. Maybe the years drifting between Venus and Earth had taken a psychological toll on him. Maybe working under the Highborn had sapped whatever had remained of his will. It was time to shove some steel into the man.

“Vice-Admiral Mandela,” said Hawthorne, “will you obey my lawfully given order?”

Mandela tried to stare Hawthorne down, at least the Supreme Commander felt like the Vice-Admiral did. Then Mandela glanced right and left. Likely, he studied his bridge crew. The old man seemed to wilt in his chair.

“Your plan is risky,” Mandela whispered.

“I need that fleet intact and away from the Highborn,” Hawthorne said. “I need spaceships so I have something to threaten them with later.”

“Supreme Commander—”

“If you cannot obey me, Vice-Admiral, I will relieve you of command and order you shot.”

Mandela scowled. Hawthorne took that as a good sign. The old man still had some will left. Then the Vice-Admiral nodded. “I have my orders, sir. Is there anything else you want to tell me?”

“Yes,” Hawthorne said. “Good luck.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll need it.”

The SU Fifth Fleet—two battleships and a missile-ship—accelerated. Cassius watched it on his images. The
Julius Caesar
and the
Genghis Khan
continued to slow down. Between them, the asteroids and debris zooming at Earth acted as a screen.

Cassius hailed Vice-Admiral Mandela and soon spoke to him screen-to-screen.

“Where do you go in such a hurry?” asked Cassius.

“I have my orders, Grand Admiral,” Mandela said, as he stood before his chair. The preman seemed nervous. “It has been a pleasure fighting under your inspired leadership. I hope we can fight together again and destroy the cyborg menace.”

“Help us stop these objects,” Cassius said.

“I’m afraid we need more military stores to do that.”

“Ah,” said Cassius, “I see. If you decelerate, we shall re-supply you.”

“That’s a generous offer, Grand Admiral. But I cannot. I’ve been given my orders straight from Supreme Commander Hawthorne of Social Unity. I dare not disobey him.”

Cassius adjusted the transmission. Everything was turning against him at once. Did the universe mean to test his greatness to the limit? Somewhere, he needed events to move in
his
favor. Cassius scowled. A superior man
forced
events to move in his favor. The preman Vice-Admiral seemed badly frightened about something. It was time to play on his worst fears.

“What if I said that I shall fire on your ships unless you decelerate?” said Cassius.

Mandela glanced about as if for moral support. There was whispering around him, maybe directed at him. Mandela nodded and took a tentative step forward. “Speaking theoretically, sir, it would mean our alliance was at an end.”

“Ah,” said Cassius, “speaking theoretically. Go then, preman. I grant you leave.” The ultra-lasers were still under repairs. He would never forget this preman’s treachery, however. After he had fought so hard for them, they acted like ingrates and ran away.

Hours passed. In time, the three SU warships accelerated far away from the asteroids.

From Earth, the first salvo of merculite missiles ignited off the blast-pans and headed for the stratosphere, rising to do battle with the mass of potential kinetic death to every living organism on the planet.

Cassius watched the lone planet, and he wished in that moment he possessed the ancient premen superstition of a belief in God. He would have liked to ask someone to help him for a change. But if God was real, He kept silent. God had never spoken to the Grand Admiral of the Highborn. Therefore, because he was alone, Cassius desperately hoped the dice of fate rolled in his favor. He needed the Earth intact, and then he needed to outmaneuver his Highborn enemies.

Supreme Commander James Hawthorne stood with his hands clasped behind his back. Deep underground in the Joho Mountain Bunker, he watched the screens. Around him, officers and operators murmured among themselves. It had been calculated that the planet wreckers would likely smash into South America. They had to stop that. The many screens showed many different things.

In Bavaria Sector, giant ferroconcrete bays opened. Slowly, giant merculite missiles appeared. Seconds ticked by. The image shook as one after another, the merculite missiles began to lift off. Yellow flames burned behind them as they moved slowly and then quickly accelerated to escape-velocity and faster.

Another screen showed the outskirts of Kiev, the flowing wheat fields with their critical food growth. A giant tube poked out of the main proton generating station. The tube aimed into the heavens. Below it underground and out of sight, the city’s deep-core mine supplied power. Then a milky-colored beam lanced into the sky.

Other proton beams flashed. More merculite missiles flew. On other screens, cannons began to spew defensive shells. Highborn orbitals flew up from North and South America. Everything Earth possessed in way of space-defense exploded, beamed or kinetic-force smashed against the incoming asteroids and the masses of meteor-debris.

The rocky chunks of matter launched long-ago in the Saturn System now approached near-Earth orbit. The long journey was almost over. They had passed through vast reaches of empty space and survived ultra-lasers, Highborn-fashioned nukes, ricocheting habitats and magnetic-induced shoves. The cyborg trajectory calculations had proved flawless. Now these objects headed straight for South America at immense velocity.

Sirens wailed in the Joho Bunker. Warning bells rang. Men and women stood up as they watched the possible end of life on Earth.

The proton beams were devastating, consuming the smaller objects one after another. The merculite missiles held upgraded warheads. They nudged the big asteroids, and finally caused them to crack, splinter and burst apart. All the while, however, the objects came closer, closer.

A big chunk of the former fifteen-kilometer rock stubbornly shrugged off a nuclear missile. It had a solid nickel-iron core. A proton beam washed it and burned away mass, but the nickel-iron took time to destroy. The object obliterated a cylindrical habitat maneuvered into its path, sending a spray of metal toward Earth.