Cyborg Assault

That will delay the engagement with the Descartes. You thereby risk losing the remnants of the dreadnaught. We need the crews and we need the vessels, particularly the engines.

“Your objection is noted. And I have reevaluated the situation as we’ve talked. My conclusions have changed. Our presence has already likely been discovered. We must switch from stealth tactics to first-strike attacks. Let the crippled Rousseau do what it can against the approaching ship. I will use our two meteor-ships with others on a mass strike against Callisto. We must assault the heavily-guarded planetoid before their guardians are alerted.”

You are premature. We should continue to subvert the Guardian Fleet.

“The meteor-ship heading for the Rousseau indicates the Jovians know about our presence. Thus, stealth no longer aids but hinders us. It is time for massive strikes.”

Negative.

“If you will examine—”

Further argumentation will push your anomalies to rogue-level status. You will undergo immediate and full systems overhaul.

Gharlane hesitated for a fraction of a millisecond. Then he said, “The two meteor-ships will unite and defeat the Descartes. Any survivors there will face interrogation and conversion as we continue with the stealth assault.”

That is acceptable. On another matter, the cyborg converter needs….

As the Web-Mind continued to communicate with him, Gharlane glanced around the darkened room. The red pinpoint of light indicating the Rousseau blinked wildly. He wanted to remain and walk through the holographic Jupiter System like a divine being. With something akin to a sigh, Gharlane headed for the panel. They should strike Callisto now. He knew it was the wiser course. But the controlling Web-Mind held the final decision. He would prefer to launch missiles at this meteor-ship, but the vessel’s crew would detect the missiles and broadcast the attack throughout the system. No. A close approach by other warships was still the best way to capture the enemy vessel and crew.

Gharlane paused. Maybe there was a third way. Yes, he needed to consider this carefully.

-11-

Omi rolled his shoulders. “A gun would be better.”

“If you’d rather go back and sit in the cell with Osadar…” Marten said.

“No,” Omi said. “I started with knives.” He gripped a stainless steel blade with a razor’s edge on one side and a deadly point on the end.

They floated down a hall, moving toward the myrmidon chamber. Ten feet behind them were three Jovians. They were smaller men, but tough-looking and determined, if scared.

Ship personnel had received face-to-face orders to report to their station or remain locked in their sleep quarters. It meant the passageways were clear. According to Yakov, Octagon, his myrmidons and Tan had not received such orders.

“You remember Stick?” asked Omi.

“I’ll never forget him.”

Omi grunted. “Stick and Turbo, they were loony, but good in a bad spot. Stick loved his knives. He was an artist with a blade. I never viewed knives as he did. They’re a tool. A gun is a better tool. But before I became a gunman, I used to cut people for Big Arni.”

“Surely Highborn knife-tactics are superior to whatever you did in Sydney.”

“Yeah,” Omi said. “But you always remember your first kill. It’s like laying your first girl. You never forget.”

Marten’s nostrils expanded. Omi was nervous, which was a bad sign. Osadar had been telling Omi about the myrmidons. Facing gene-improved killers didn’t sound like a life-extending action. But they’d killed Highborn before. He’d killed a shuttle-full of them through sneaky tactics. That would be the best way to kill the myrmidons. The problem was the myrmidons always expected trouble.

Marten blew out his cheeks as his stomach fluttered. It was a bad feeling. He tried to make himself angry. The myrmidons had collared him, allowing Octagon to shock him many times.

“Yeah,” Marten whispered, his grip tightening on the knife-handle.

“You say something?”

Marten shook his head.

They floated around a corner. Down the companionway, he could see the region of the ship with red and white hall colors. It made Marten’s stomach churn.

“Two on one,” he said. “They’re fast—”

“I know what to do,” Omi hissed. “Zero-G fighting, the crazy way.” He hefted his knife. “A gun would be better, or our needlers.”

“Octagon has them.”

Omi wiped the back of knife-hand across his mouth. Then he took out a small device, holding it in his free hand.

Marten signaled the three Jovians. They curled against the wall and gave him a thumbs-up sign. Marten pushed down to the floor, curling up in a fetal ball, trying to wedge himself at the junction of the wall and floor padding. Omi did the same thing. The Jovians were in position.

“Now,” Marten whispered.

Omi clicked the device.

Three seconds later, the meteor-ship’s engines engaged. After five seconds of thrust, the engines cut out, returning weightlessness to the Descartes.

“Let’s do it,” Marten said, shooting for the red and white part of the hall.

A klaxon rang. Yakov’s voice sounded over the ship’s intercoms. “All hands, report damage and injuries to the proper authorities. Then tighten yourselves for further ship maneuvering.”

Marten aimed an override unit at the door. It was one of Yakov’s achievements to have gained the needed code.

Nothing happened.

Marten scowled and tried again, clicking the button.

The door swished open. Omi shot through. Marten followed and the Jovians hurried to catch up. The chamber was three times the size of Yakov’s wardroom. It contained exercise pulleys and a sparing automaton. A myrmidon tore his arm out of a pulley’s wires, with blood welling and floating around him. He must have smashed into the wires during the short acceleration. There was no sign of the second myrmidon.

The squat man snarled as his dark eyes gleamed with murder-lust. Omi leapt. The Korean had always been the best at zero-G combat. With his free hand, Omi grabbed the myrmidon. The trick was to lock onto an enemy, anchoring for the knife thrust. If one just thrust, he cut minimally and ended up shoving himself away because of the third law of motion.

Omi tried for a leg lock. The bleeding myrmidon struck a savage blow, sending Omi spinning against a wall. Fortunately, the Korean kept hold of his knife and he stayed conscious.

“Attack together!” Marten shouted.

The Jovians flew at the myrmidon, with their free hands outstretched. Their knives were tucked protectively near their chests.

Three seconds later, Marten understood why everyone said myrmidons were unbeatable. The squat man had freed himself and moved with sublime grace. He used his long arms to grabble the first Jovian as he wrapped his legs around the Jovian’s torso. The myrmidon savagely twisted the man’s head. Neck bones snapped. Then the myrmidon was letting go as a knife slashed his side. The myrmidon hissed as he put a hand behind a Jovian’s head and punched with the other, crushing cartilage and breaking teeth.

Then Omi attacked from behind, thrusting his knife into the kidney zone. The myrmidon howled and hurled the