Then he heard binary chatter. It came from speakers all around him. Was the Web-Mind trying to speak with him? Was it asking for mercy?
“Never!” he hissed. He squeezed his hand as mass squished between his fingers. Then he began to rip out more.
Marten and Omi exited the dome as binary chatter came over their headphones.
“What is that?” Omi asked.
“Cyborg speech,” Marten said.
“Who is that?” asked a harsh voice.
“What did you say?” Marten asked.
“I didn’t say anything,” Omi said.
“This is the Praetor speaking. I am in the Web-Mind.”
Marten and Omi glanced at each other.
“Where are you?” Marten asked.
“In the Web-Mind’s ship,” the Praetor said with a wheeze. “I’m dying, yet I am killing it.”
“Osadar said—”
“Never mind about your tame cyborg,” the Praetor snarled. “If you see a ship, shoot at it. Destroy the Web- Mind and we might still achieve victory.”
“Look!” Omi shouted. “There! I see a ship.”
Marten looked where Omi pointed. A dark blot of a vessel slid overhead. Marten lifted his IML, and he switched settings. He’d been saving this for the Praetor. Now the arrogant bastard—Marten pulled the trigger before he could finish the thought.
The Cognitive missile exited the tube. Its fuel burned and it shot up at the giant stealth-capsule, heading straight for it.
As the Web-Mind opened all channels and called for cyborg reinforcements, it heard the Highborn and the unmodified humans talk to each other over its communications system.
During that time, more of its brainpower vanished. The destruction was ongoing, and it confused the subsystem deletion program.
The core of the Web-Mind sent delete pulses to the surface. It must delete. It must ensure that no creature capture valuable cyborg technology. Every unit must self-destruct and destroy-destroy-destroy.
The Highborn creature bashed at bio-tanks and life-support equipment.
A missile struck and exploded, opening the stealth-vessel to the vacuum of space. As the Highborn swung his metal strut for the last time, the core of Web-Mind began to die from depressurization.
Then the vessel headed for the accelerating moon, soon smashing against it.
-27-
Carme continued to accelerate. The mighty fusion cores, eighty-seven percent of the coils, the generators and the gargantuan exhaust-ports were untouched by the battle.
Marten, Omi and Osadar reentered a dome. The EMP blasts, enemy ECM, explosive shells, zooming missiles, they had vanished with the Web-Mind’s death. Marten radioed other space marine survivors, all seventeen of them. No Highborn remained, not even the wounded one at the shuttle’s board.
The
A cautious several hours revealed the location of three working patrol boats, several control centers for various Carme-engines and two metal sheds full of unmodified Jovians.
“We should kill them,” Osadar said.
Marten stood with her in the same dome and chamber where the Praetor had first interrogated them. The control unit worked, and Osadar had spent most of her time attempting to master it. Through it, she’d discovered the two sheds and the Jovians.
Marten scowled. “What possible reason could you have for such a barbaric action?”
“Our attack here succeeded,” Osadar said. “Even more amazing, we are still alive and free agents. The universe cannot tolerate that, and therefore it will attempt to screw us. These so-called unmodified Jovians must have latent psychological commands. Given a chance, they will harm us or harm our mission.”
“The screw job is that we’re alive,” Marten said.
Osadar turned around from where she worked on the control unit. She cocked her head.
Marten laughed grimly. “We stopped a planet-wrecker. But there’s still a cyborg fleet in the system. Logically, there are still cyborgs in Neptune and probably more elsewhere. Social Unity remains. The Highborn still possess Doom Stars. Our continued existence means more endless conflict.”
“That is the nature of life, as the universe despises happiness. As long as one breathes, one must fight. Do not expect joy from life, Marten Kluge, or you will be endlessly disappointed.”
Despite the victory, Marten’s chest felt heavy. Maybe Osadar had a point, at least about endless disappointment. Everywhere he went, people died, usually in great numbers. All the space marines he’d picked—all but seventeen of them were dead. Yakov was dead. Every person from the
He knew he should rejoice at their marvelous victory. Instead, he felt soiled, a killer who brought death and destruction wherever he went.
The large airlock hissed and rotated open. Omi stepped through, together with a person in a brown vacc-suit. Maybe it was one of the unmodified Jovians. Omi helped the Jovian, keeping a hand on his or her elbow.
Marten lifted a com-unit. “Is there trouble?”
Omi shook his helmeted head as he brought the Jovian closer.
The Jovian froze then. Omi released the elbow.
“Here is the screw-job,” Osadar said. “I can feel it.”
For some reason, that troubled Marten. He blinked, wondering what this feeling meant, if anything.
The brown-suited person unsealed the locks and then threw off the helmet. It banged on the floor and rolled. She had brown hair and pretty, familiar features. The brown-suited person staggered toward him.
“Marten,” she whispered.
Marten blinked again, and the terrible weight in his chest vanished as he recognized Nadia Pravda. Marten groaned as moisture welled in his eyes. This couldn’t be real.
“Nadia?” he whispered.
She reached him, staggering into his arms, bumping him so he took two steps back. They clutched each other. They hugged fiercely.
“Marten Kluge,” she said, as tears flowed from her eyes.
Marten held her face, and he stared into her eyes. “Is it really you?”
She nodded, and she was laughing and crying all at once.
Marten hugged her again, and then, as gently as he could, he pressed his lips against hers. Nadia Pravda was in his arms. She was his Nadia, and she tasted sweet.
She responded, and together, they kissed in the cyborg-built dome on Carme, the rogue moon, the ex-planet- wrecker.
