cyborg strength proved overpowering against the small woman’s muscles.
Marten floated ahead of them. He had out his Gauss needler, but he hoped to achieve this without killing any of Yakov’s crew. He’d chosen to deal from strength, and by freeing Osadar he might have chosen wrongly. But an apropos Highborn maxim said to make your decisions decisively. Even if it was the wrong decision, it was better to be bold about it than to hesitate. It made no sense to let qualms guide him, not with the dreaded cyborgs loose in the Jupiter System. Gilded philosophies meant nothing against graphite bones and tanglers. He needed plasma cannons and fusion-driven lasers.
Fortunately, the narrow corridors were still empty.
Marten holstered his needler and unclipped a medkit. Soon, he hefted a pneumospray hypo. It held Suspend, a drug that slowed biological functions. It was a perfect drug for the badly injured, organ-thieves and kidnappers.
They reached the holding cell. Marten typed in the code and turned the wheel. With a noisy
Tan stared at him above Osadar’s metal hand. She stared with a mixture of fear, rage and indignation. She looked small and helpless in Osadar’s skeletal arms. She looked beautiful.
Marten scowled as he rolled up one of Tan’s sleeves. “Your philosophies will get us all killed. I know, because I’ve fought the cyborgs before. This will knock you out for a time,” he said, showing her the hypo. “Afterward, we will revive you. You will live, and hopefully the cyborgs will have been destroyed by that time.”
Tan made muffled sounds against Osadar’s hand, and she squirmed, or she tried. With a
“This gives me no joy,” Marten muttered. He pressed the hypo against the Strategist’s pale skin. Air hissed.
Tan made a louder muffled sound.
Marten turned away as he shook his head. He’d rather be kissing the woman, holding her. But he had to act wisely, and he had to do it now.
“She’s out,” Osadar said.
“Put her in the cell.”
Osadar laid her down, using restraints to secure the limp woman so she wouldn’t injure herself during acceleration.
Marten shut the hatch, turned the wheel and reset the code to one only he knew. Now—
“We are making a mistake,” Osadar said.
Marten cocked an eyebrow.
“I am a cyborg and Omi and you are shock troopers. We three could gain control of the ship for ourselves.”
“That’s a bit ambitious.”
“We could achieve it nonetheless.”
“Then what?” asked Marten.
“Then we have a capable military vessel under our control.”
“We three would have to fix all damage, ensure the fusion engine remained—”
“We would keep a skeleton crew,” Osadar said.
“We could never trust them.”
“Trust would not be the issue, but effective control.”
“Omi, you and me—”
“Highborn methods could achieve control,” Osadar said.
“Maybe,” Marten said. “Yakov is a sly man. I’d hate to have him plotting against me.”
“We would have to drug him as you have Tan.”
“Again,” Marten asked, “to what end?”
“Escape to Saturn or Uranus.”
Marten chuckled grimly. “I don’t see why you think the planetary systems closer to Neptune would have escaped the cyborgs’ notice.”
“The Jovians have no chance against the cyborg infiltration. That is the issue.”
“You keep forgetting Mars,” Marten said.
“Doom Stars demolished the Mars Assault. The Jovians have these cramped vessels. We must flee while we can or face certain death.”
“Aren’t you getting tired of running away?” Marten asked.
“Flight is a primary survival tactic.”
“So is fighting. It’s time to fight, Osadar. It’s time to kick the cyborgs in the teeth. Besides, we’re running out of fleeing room. We have a military ship and the hope of others. That means a fleet.”
“The cyborgs will have a bigger and better fleet.”
“They’re plasti-flesh, steel and enhanced bio-brains, but they’re not magic. You escaped their programming. The Highborn killed an entire planetary attack force.”
“The Highborn are many times superior to the Jovians,” Osadar said. “For us, here, I foresee doom.”
“When haven’t you foreseen doom?”
“We should take possession of the ship and live free for as long as it is possible. Any other choice is unrealistic.”
“We damaged the dreadnaught, remember?”
“Through incredible good fortune,” Osadar said.
“Wrong!” Marten said. “We outthought and in the end we outfought them. What we’ve done once, we can repeat.”
“You have false hope.”
“Isn’t that better than full-blown pessimism?”
“No. I am never disappointed by an outcome, because I expect the worst. When events prove beneficial, I am amazingly surprised.”
“Wouldn’t you agree that by following my plans you’ve been surprised more often than not?” Marten asked.
Osadar appeared uneasy. “It is tempting fate to answer your question in the positive.”
“I need your wholehearted support,” Marten said.
“It is still yours.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Now let’s hurry.”
“There is a change in plans,” Yakov said over the Arbiter’s desk-screen.
Marten sat at the desk, with the others out of sight. He had turned the statuette. It now faced him with the upraised arm and the finger pointing nowhere. He’d done it to remind him the Jovians viewed things differently than he did.
By the vidshots on the wall behind Yakov, the man must be in his wardroom. The Force-Leader attempted to look calm, but strain showed on his face.
“A change?” asked Marten.
“I have hailed the
“You actually saw her?” Marten asked.
“I did.”
Marten blinked in consternation. “Cyborgs boarded my shuttle. I killed them.”
“I have no doubt concerning that.”
“But the officer—”
Yakov made an abrupt gesture. “The gel-cloud confirms my suspicion. And that the officer said the ship had a fusion-core leak.”
