exact method of death, Gharlane used his initiative. He would kill using cyborg troops. In this way, he would save missiles and bombs. He would need those later against Europa and Ganymede. Athena Station was too far away to re-supply now.
Each patrol boat had a second task, and it was related to Athena Station’s distant location. The landing cyborgs had been ordered to collect radioactive material and fuel.
Gharlane shifted his head, scanning the moon. He’d taken a risk coming to Io. But it was a calculated risk. To reach the inner Galilean moon, the fleet had traveled deep into Jupiter’s gravity-well. Now the warships would have to burn hard to escape up it. The enemy position in the well could give the Jovians possible advantages. Against all reason, however, the main Jovian Fleet remained at Ganymede.
Soothing chemicals kept Gharlane’s thinking level, eliminating the need to emote. He wanted Ionian radioactive material for a tactical reason. The humans reacted badly to terror attacks. If their fleet continued to sit at a single location, then it was time to teach the Jovians another lesson elsewhere.
Gharlane’s head swiveled sharply as his eyes locked onto another white streak. The streak was minuscule compared to the moon’s surface. It showed Gharlane that another squadron of patrol boats entered the atmosphere.
Using patrol boats like this would damage some. Io’s atmosphere was weak, but it was still an atmosphere. The patrol boats were space vehicles, with a limited ability to maneuver anywhere but in vacuum.
Gharlane’s servos whined as he shrugged.
He saved his missiles for the battle with the main Jovian fleet. This would cost him the use of some patrol boats. However, he had a surprise for the Jovians that should negate the negatives here. If the main Jovian fleet remained static for another week—
Gharlane lurched closer toward the viewing port. His plasti-flesh eyebrows contorted as a flash appeared on the moon’s surface.
Gharlane turned to a scope and clicked his hand-unit. A second passed as the scope caused an image to leap into view. It showed a mushroom cloud rising from Io’s surface.
Gharlane stepped to the scope’s board and typed fast, keying information. The nuclear explosion came from Pele Platform Three. The company habitat had a Callisto Corporation number. Ah, it was the Diana-Bacchus Company, and it was first on the cyborg itinerary. Two patrol boats should have landed there.
Gharlane’s eyebrow-contortion smoothed out. It would appear the humans had used a nuclear device. Perhaps one of them had gone insane. That would mean—
Another explosion occurred elsewhere. Probability factors shifted Gharlane’s thinking. One nuclear device indicated a crazed individual. Two explosions indicated a prearranged plan.
Gharlane raised his hand-unit and chattered in high-speed binary.
In a second, he told his communications Web-team: “Abort the landings and order all patrol boats to accelerate for space. I repeat, abort all platform landings. The Ionians are defending with suicidal desperation. Probability factors indicate that they are waiting until the boats disgorge troops. Then they are igniting nuclear devices to annihilate cyborg personnel. Emergency sequencing is ordered. I repeat, abort all landings and return to low orbit.”
As Gharlane chattered at high-speed, another explosion occurred on the moon’s surface. He would have to expend missiles and gravity bombs after all. He would rain destruction from space and obliterate the humans. Then he would reorder select patrol boats down to the surface, there to hunt for survivors. The enemy had finally entered the tertiary mode of the campaign, practicing kamikaze tactics. He should have foreseen the possibility.
More chemicals entered his brainpan, soothing his unease. Without the radioactive materials….
Gharlane turned from the viewing port. He would have to adjust his strategy. On all counts, he must continue to fix the enemy’s attention on the Galilean moons. He must give the Web-Mind time to complete the planet- wrecker and gain the needed velocity. The Web-Mind needed to launch for the Inner Planets in tandem with the Saturn-strike. Nothing must be allowed to delay the master plan.
-10-
Io’s nuclear ambushes stimulated the Web-Mind to a feverish state. Orders went out and on Carme, the activity increased. Time passed as the accelerated teams worked around the cycles. The endless labor worked to death the hardiest Jovians as they stapled power cables, lugged coils and welded lines to the blast-pans.
Then the Web-Mind’s Athena Station convoy landed. Its large, black-matted stealth-capsule entered a tunnel. Carefully, the Web-Mind maneuvered the capsule into an armored chamber specially constructed for survival. Cyborgs had built these tunnels and chambers long ago, as they’d worked in secret for years. At the beginning of the stealth assault, the cyborgs had boiled onto the surface, capturing the Jovians here and attempting to complete the massive task.
The rest of the convoy vessels spilled their cargoes of cyborgs, Webbies, equipment and missiles.
Octagon found himself panting as sweat soaked the inside of his vacc-suit. In a domed chamber seething with motion, he heaved coils into place. Later, he inserted screws with a sonic drill and afterward, he loaded lifters with boxes of point-defense ammunition.
Ten hours after the convoy’s landing, the fateful hour arrived. Every patrol boat entered a hanger as everyone hurried to his or her position.
With other Webbies, Octagon strapped himself onto a long couch. The clicks of their buckles filled the room. The insertion of Web-jacks was a softer sound. It caused many to slump and twitch as they entered a pleasure state.
Elsewhere, with a dozen other labor-survivors, Nadia Pravda lay on a slat. She waited in a metal shed that had been built on a protrusion of rock. It was exposed to any stray meteor or high-speed dust-mote that happened along.
Silver-dome clusters abounded on the uneven surface with its rocks, craters and low hills. Towers arose among them, some with antennas and others with dishes and even more with waiting anti-missiles. Point-defense guns ringed the small planetoid. The massive exhaust-ports dwarfed everything else.
As Carme continued its monotonous orbit, a pulse of plasma blew out of an exhaust-port. Another pulse flowed out of a different port. In a nanosecond, hell erupted, changing everything. The generators poured power through the fusion engines deep in the moon. Blue plasma now spewed from the multiple exhaust-ports. The generators increased output as other engines came online. For several minutes, Carme shivered as if hit with the longest quake in history. Then the generators revved up the scale to maximum output. Massive amounts of power surged through hundreds of cables. A blue brilliant glow of plasma stretched thirty kilometers behind Carme. Slowly, the Jovian moon increased orbital speed as it increased velocity.
The first Jovian planet-wrecker had begun its acceleration. There were no cheers, however, no backslapping cyborgs. The melded bipeds lay on their couches, emotionless and expressionless. They awaited orders from the Web-Mind. The few that possessed minuscule anomalies processed their stray thoughts. Those thoughts did not prevent their full functioning, however.
Among the jacked-in Webbies lying on the long couches, a few frowned. Two laughed and one seethed. Octagon was one of the latter.
Pressed against his couch, Octagon remembered the time in the pod as he’d headed to the
For the first time in ages, Octagon smiled. It was a twisted thing, perverse and perverted. Marten Kluge’s blood, he would bathe in it as the barbarian died. Nothing could feel as good. Marten Kluge, Marten Kluge… Marten Kluge must die a hideous and painful death.
Elsewhere, in a shed on a low hill, Nadia groaned. The massive engines caused Carme to accelerate. Her spine
