“A human officer aboard the dreadnaught,” Marten said. “Are Jovians allied with the cyborgs?”
“I consider that a strong possibility,” Yakov said. “One of the lesser moons yearning for freedom from the Dictates may have decided to trust the cyborgs. It complicates matter. Therefore, before walking into a trap, I will send probes.” Yakov stared out of the screen. “You have captured the Arbiter?”
“And the Strategist,” Marten said.
The skin seemed to stretch across Yakov’s face. “I have altered a military pod. The Arbiter will enter it, fly to the
“That will take days.”
“There are too many parameters that I do not understand,” Yakov said. “Therefore, I will proceed with caution, using probes and fallbacks.”
“Why will the Arbiter report anything to you?” Marten asked.
Yakov smiled grimly. “In reality, he will report nothing. The pod’s cameras will report.”
“So why send the Arbiter?”
“I wish to rid my ship of him, and his ‘act of courage’ will impress certain of the crew. His coming death will then inspire them, making my military decisions easier.”
Marten wondered what the real reasons were, or if Yakov told him the truth. “What if the
Yakov shook his head. “I have altered the pod. He will not survive the journey.”
Marten glanced at Octagon, trussed from head to toe in black tape. Had the Arbiter heard all that? Or was the man still unconscious?
“You must take him to the pod,” Yakov said.
Was the Force-Leader trying to draw him out of the Arbiter’s chamber? Did Yakov know he’d freed Osadar?
“Time is critical,” Yakov added.
“I’m on my way,” said Marten. Then he cut the connection.
Marten pushed the mummified Octagon through the companionways. Twice, he passed ship-guardians with hammer-guns. They eyed him closely, although neither they nor he said a word.
Omi had trussed Octagon with black tape. It was an old hostage-taking trick. From heel to the crown of his head, Octagon was wrapped with black strands of tape. There was a slit for his mouth and nose so he could breathe. Otherwise, he looked like an ancient Egyptian mummy. Even wrapped tight, Octagon attempted speech.
“Save it,” Marten said, pushing against the man’s heel, propelling the weightless form toward the pod hanger.
Octagon made more noise.
“Quiet,” Marten said, using the butt of his needler to strike Octagon’s shin. That brought a groan. “If you insist on speech, I will have to use pain to modify your behavior.”
Octagon remained quiet throughout the rest of the journey.
A nervous technician waited by an open hatch, one marked as the entranceway to a pod. The man had stringy hair, bulging eyes and a crumpled gray uniform with grease stains on the left sleeve. He didn’t strike Marten as competent or efficient.
“Well?” Marten asked.
“What?” the technician asked.
“You’re Yakov’s man, aren’t you?”
“Y-Yes.”
“Did you reconfigure the controls?”
The technician bobbed his head.
“You’re sure you know what you’re doing?”
That brought the first spark of belligerence to the technician. “Commander, I am eighth ranked among the technical staff, a specialist Diamond Grade in communications and—”
“Good enough,” Marten said. “Lead the way.”
“Force-Leader Yakov ordered me to—”
“I’m giving you new orders,” Marten said, as he waggled the needler. “Do I need to explain to you how shock troopers deal with disobedience?”
The technician’s eyes widened with fright. “No, Commander. I obey.”
Maybe Yakov was willing to lose a technician to trap a dubious ally in the pod with Octagon, but maybe not. Maybe Yakov meant everything he’d said. Marten hadn’t dealt long enough with Jovians to know.
“Get shears or scissors and start cutting out the Arbiter,” Marten said.
The technician moved as Marten stood guard by the hatch.
Soon, the technician cut busily, starting at the feet as Marten had instructed. The shears made
Soon, Octagon’s arms were free. He shoved the technician away and peeled the black tape from his face. The various pieces floated in the pod’s control module.
“You will rue this, barbarian,” Octagon hissed.
Using his needler, Marten waved for the technician to come float near him by the hatch.
The technician hurried to comply.
“I will beg the authorities to give you into my care,” Octagon said. “Then you and I shall have long conversations concerning this barbaric display of ingratitude and indignity. The pain you shall receive—”
“Will be nothing compared to the exalted feeling I’m receiving now,” Marten said.
“You dare to use such a word? Strategist Tan is
“Look at my bare neck, Arbiter. There’s no shock collar now. A free man dares whatever he wants.”
“Your neck will wear a collar soon enough, rest assured.”
“That’s how you like it, isn’t it? You’re not man enough to fight your own battles. You need the myrmidons to terrorize others. Then you sit in safety and press a button to hurt people. You’re a deranged sadist, Octagon. But I’ll tell you what this barbarian offers. You have a bitter fate waiting for you. Come at me if you desire, and we’ll fight.”
“Fight like animals?” Octagon sneered.
“Fight however you want to fight,” Marten said. “It doesn’t matter to me. Trade blows with me and kill me with your bare hands if you’re able. In turn, I’ll try to kill you barehanded. You won’t get a better bargain anywhere. It’s more than you offered me.”
“So speaks the barbarian elevated only a little higher than the wild beasts. I spit at your offer to tussle like artisans or to wrestle like a myrmidon. I am a refined man, a philosopher.”
“You’re a cowardly sadist and a hypocrite of the worst sort. But you’re still a man. I’ll give you that. This is your last offer.”
“Bah!”
Marten holstered his needler. “You’re headed for the damaged dreadnaught.”
Shivering with hatred, Octagon glared at Marten. “You are a fool, barbarian.”
“I’ve been called worse.” Marten pursed his lips. “It grates against me offering you advice. You shocked me, and I remember that too well. But you are a man and they’re cyborgs. If it looks like they’re going to capture you, space yourself.”
“Suicide is against the Dictates.”
“Yeah, well, it’s just advice. You follow your philosophical conscience if you want. I’m just saying, if you want to avoid Osadar’s fate, you’ll let vacuum kill you fast. Good-bye, Arbiter.”
“We shall meet again, barbarian. This I vow by the Dictates.”
Marten had an impulse to shoot. He disliked leaving a hated enemy alive who promised vengeance. Maybe it had become too easy these past years killing people. Whatever the case, Marten suppressed his instinct, and he
