Cyborg Assault

“Ah. Yes, of course. Continue.”

“We almost had fuel for a secret spaceship we’d constructed. It had taken us three years of hiding like rats to piece it together, to write the software—” Marten shrugged. “PHC found us. They killed my mother and father. I escaped to Earth.”

“So you have lived under Social Unity?”

“Rather say that I survived in the stifling world of thought control,” Marten said.

Tan’s eyes narrowed. “Do you seek to teach me dialectics?”

Marten glanced around. Octagon watched him avidly. The personnel in the modules looked aghast. Only the black-uniformed man in the command chair seemed unfazed. Marten had made a blunder, but he wasn’t sure what.

“I don’t know your ways,” he said. “If I’ve offended you, it wasn’t intentional.”

“He is a clever barbarian,” Octagon said. “That much I’ve determined.”

“A barbarian,” Tan murmured. “Yes… thank you, Arbiter, for reminding me of his out-system status. He cannot know our ways, nor is he enlightened. He is an ignoramus, straining through life with half-knowledge at the very best. We should pity him, not collar him. Nor should I take quick offense at his unintentionally degrading comment.”

“The Rousseau has gone off-line,” the black-uniformed man in the command chair said.

Tan regarded the man coldly. “We have our orders concerning the dreadnaught.”

The man made no response, nor did he betray any emotion or quirk.

“Still,” said Tan, “events rush forward. You have a point.” She studied Marten. “Do you have a name?”

Marten told her, and he said, “I’ve been a soldier. I’ve learned that sometimes events rush forward with blinding speed.”

Tan seemed amused. “Continue.”

“I was at Mars during the battle. I fought there. Surely you’ve received broadcasts concerning it.”

Octagon made an angry sound.

Tan lofted her eyebrows, waiting. When nothing further occurred from Octagon, she told Marten, “We have received many broadcasts from Mars. But I’m now changing the topic. The Force-Leader just made an excellent point. Your history is quaint, and likely unusual for a barbarian. But none of that explains how you came to be trapped in a Guardian Fleet pod.”

Here it was. Marten had been wondering the best way to tell them he attacked one of their warships. He recalled something Osadar had told him about Jovians—their attachment to form, to rank. Listening to them, observing them, Marten realized Osadar was right. He had something in his zipped pocket that might alter his status with them. As a barbarian—he was beginning to hate the title—he was almost an animal to them.

“He hesitates,” Octagon said, as if making a telling point.

“You must tell us the truth,” Tan told Marten. “Although I am loath to tell you this, we have methods for determining liars. It is unpleasant, as I’m sure you can understand after visiting the Arbiter.”

“I’ve waited before revealing myself,” Marten said.

Tan lifted an eyebrow.

Marten began to unzip a flap on his thigh.

Octagon spoke sharply. It alerted Marten as the myrmidons leapt, propelling themselves with fantastic speed. Weightless, they were able to fly at him in a single bound. But Marten had been waiting for something like that. He flattened onto the deckplates. The two myrmidons flew above him. One, reaching down, managed to grab Marten’s arm. Marten struck the wrist, dislodging the hold.

By that time, Tan said, “Arbiter! End this outrage and restrain your myrmidons.”

Octagon called out.

The two myrmidons had struck modules or bulkheads, halting themselves there. Smoothly, like weightless high-divers, they pushed off and sailed back to their position beside Octagon. The one Marten had struck glared at him, but they hunched their heads in obedience beside the Arbiter.

“If you are removing a weapon,” Tan said, “it is ill-advised.”

“I understand,” Marten said. “I am withdrawing my credentials.”

“Ah. By all means, continue.”

Marten removed the credentials given him almost a year ago by Secretary-General Chavez. Marten held out the booklet.

“That is what exactly?” Tan asked.

“This is from the Mars Planetary Union. If you’ll examine the signature, you’ll see it’s from Secretary-General Chavez himself.”

“Regrettably,” Tan said, “Chavez died in the aftermath of the Highborn Hellburner.”

“All the more reason you should look at this,” said Marten.

“Explain your statement.”

“The Highborn are at war with the Solar System. The Mars Planetary Union and the Jupiter Confederation were allies once. Maybe it’s time to ally again.”

“Against the Highborn?” asked Tan.

“And against Social Unity and the cyborgs,” Marten said.

“Mars lacks extra-planetary fighting capacity.”

“But it has willing soldiers,” Marten said. “I should know. I led some of them into successful battle.”

“Hm,” said Tan. “Let me see that.”

The seated, black-uniformed man pushed off from his chair, taking Marten’s credentials and bringing them to Tan.

She scanned the cover, opened the booklet and studied the contents. “The seals and documentation are in order, and I recognize the former Secretary-General’s signature. Hm. This puts a new light on the matter.” She snapped the booklet shut, returning it to the black-uniformed man.

He returned it to Marten, who put it away.

“I apologize for the Arbiter’s harsh methods earlier,” Tan said, with a new note in her voice.

Marten wasn’t sure, but there seemed to be a hint of promise in it. She was small, but the longer he spoke with her, the more beautiful she seemed.

All that proved too much for Octagon. “I must protest, Exalted One. Like a rogue virus, the interloper was bottled in the Rousseau’s—”

Tan lifted a small hand. Octagon’s words stopped. Without turning to regard him, she said, “He is an accredited representative of the Mars Planetary Union. That makes him part of the governing class. Perhaps… he has been unable to avail himself of a proper Jovian education. Still, the art of governing teaches even the unexamined soul certain critical facets of higher thought. You above all others should accord him the correct honor, Arbiter.”

“You teach me, Exalted One.”

“It is my duty to do so,” she said.

“As it is mine to learn from my superiors, Your Radiance,” Octagon said.

Marten was amazed. A piece of paper, no, a credentialed piece of paper, seals and an inked signature had dramatically shifted his status with these strange people. Osadar had said before that Jovians had a high regard for form. The reality of the situation was much stronger than what Osadar had explained. He’d have to remember that.

“Could you enlighten us regarding your presence in the pod’s pilot chamber?” Tan asked.

“Exalted One,” Marten began.

“Please,” Tan said, “let me… guide you concerning Jovian etiquette. In theory at least, you belong to Mars’ governing class. That makes us equals. As equals, I’m sure I don’t need to point out to you that I am not exalted compared to yourself. Despite the Arbiter’s truth earlier of an unexamined life, for only Jovians truly attempt to decipher the inner workings of the human heart. Even governing inferior humans infuses the governors with unavoidable realities. Those realities teach universal laws or axioms.”

The black-uniformed man gently cleared his throat.

Tan smiled indulgently. “Ah. I wax prolix at a time of crisis. It is an unfortunate habit of the enlightened to examine every angle. Sometimes, a sudden thrust of decisive nature is more suited to the situation.”