“Exalted One,” Yakov said, “you’ve already pointed out that the War Council might no longer exist. Given such a possibility….”
“Speak your thoughts,” Tan said.
“If cyborgs control the War Council, shouldn’t we resist rather than meekly accept defeat?”
Tan studied the screen showing the drifting pod. Finally, she faced Marten.
The force of her eyes, Marten found himself drawn to them. Green eyes, exotic features, a tiny but feminine body. What would it be like to hold her?
“You are evidence of some unknown peculiarity,” Tan said. “It is slim evidence for your outlandish statements. But the possibility of cyborgs, the consequent loss of Jupiter and our superior way of life—I have new orders for you, Force-Leader.”
“I await them,” said Yakov.
“Let us establish the fate of the
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Marten, Omi and Osadar endured the ship’s acceleration in the closet-sized holding cell.
Marten had asked that his friends be released, but the distrust of Osadar ran high. Not wanting to leave them in a cell alone, he’d asked to share their confinement. He wished to assure his friends that events moved in their favor, or so he’d told Tan.
Thankfully, the pressing Gs were of short duration, and weightlessness returned. According to Yakov, they were several days from the dreadnaught. The
While in the holding cell, both Marten and Osadar agreed that some cyborgs would have survived the
In low tones, Marten told them what had occurred in the Arbiter’s quarters and in the command room. Then he asked Osadar what point Octagon had been making by saying he was the only one from Callisto.
“Those of Callisto follow the Dictates closer than anyone else in the system,” Osadar said. “Governors, arbiters and almost all force-leaders are from there. They distrust the others for good reason and code weapons on that basis.”
“Meaning what?” Marten asked.
“Hammer-guns will not fire when aimed at myrmidons, arbiters or governors. The palm-pistol you spoke about would not fire against the Strategist. Also, the palm-pistol is likely imprinted to Octagon’s pattern. Only he could shoot it. The Strategist’s rod operates on similar principles.”
“Knives would work against them,” Omi said.
Osadar shook her head. “I could defeat the myrmidons barehanded. No one else aboard ship, including you two, would have a chance against them. They are incredibly strong, fast, well-trained and genetically superior to men.”
“It seems such gene-warping would go against the Dictates,” Marten said.
“The opposite is true.”
“So what are these Dictates?”
“There are many gradations concerning them.” Osadar shook her head. “None of that matters now. It would be more useful for you to learn the nature of the ranks. Highest are the philosophers: the rulers, governors and probationary agents such as arbiters. They have the greatest experience, the most virtue—”
“What does that mean?” Marten asked. “The most virtue? Does that mean someone like Tan never has sex?”
Osadar regarded him with her nearly expressionless gaze. “Ruling is politics. According to the Dictates, it is an art. Just as few have the skills or aptitude to become surgeons, so only a few can make good rulers. A surgeon is trained for many years. He must have a steady hand and the correct equipment. A ruler must have the right aptitude, a good education and then he must have virtue: honesty, integrity and a rational mind. A ruler by necessity must have been steeped in the tenets of the examined life.”
“Does Yakov captain the ship?” Marten asked.
“He is a guardian, a soldier, a man of action or spirit.”
“What’s
“The Dictates divides humanity into three classes,” Osadar said. “It divides them according to their primary motivation. The lowest class is the man of appetites or base desires. To fill his belly, to have sex and other basic wants drive him more than any other need. Artisans make up the large majority of humanity, and they belong to this stratum. Aboard ship, those are the mechanics, engineers and technicians.
“The second class is composed of men and women of spirit or courage. They are the fighters, the warriors. In the Jovian System, they join the Guardian Fleet and the various police agencies on the moons and asteroids. The smallest class is composed of those who are devoted to reason. They are the rulers, the governors and arbiters.”
“So Yakov is a guardian, belonging to the second class?”
“Yes, although the classes are graded more finely than that,” Osadar said.
Marten considered these ranks. “Are arbiters like political officers?”
“No. Arbiters ensure that people conform to the Dictates and that everyone lives a temperate life.”
Marten couldn’t help but think about Tan’s eyes, her face and body, the way she moved. Was she temperate?
There was a clang at the hatch then.
Osadar put a titanium-reinforced hand on Marten’s wrist. It seemed much too skeletal. Hydraulics moved her knees, ankles, wrists and fingers. Many of her movements caused slight
Osadar lowered her plasti-flesh lips near Marten’s ear. “The Arbiter and Strategist are both from Callisto. That is the key. Yakov and his crew are from Ganymede and Europa.”
The hatch began to swing open.
“Those of Ganymede yearn for the leadership, which has been denied them from the beginning. The highest of Callisto suppresses—”
“You are to come with us, Representative Kluge.” The hatch was open and the stern-faced ship-guardian of earlier looked down at them. She held a hammer-gun beside her leg, not aiming it at them, but clearly ready to do so. Others were behind her, equally armed and wearing blue uniforms.
“What about us?” Omi asked. “When do we get out?”
“You will be allowed to exercise later,” the ship-guardian said. “For now, you must show restraint.”
“Where are you taking me?” Marten asked. He floated upright in the cell.
“Force-Leader Yakov would like to query you again.” Before Marten could answer, the ship-guardian grabbed his arm and yanked him out of the holding cell. The woman propelled him to the others. Then the ship-guardian slammed the hatch shut, spinning the wheel to lock it.
Clearly, they feared Osadar. It was a healthy emotion. But it wasn’t going to help him get Osadar out of there.
The ship-guardians marched Marten through a narrow passageway. Slender doors flanked each other on both sides.
“This is the officer’s quarters,” the ship-guardian said. She halted before the end cubbyhole and pressed a
