the gene-warped warriors.
“The Dictates—” Neon began to say.
“Died with Callisto’s passing,” Marten said.
Neon stiffened. And that made the senior myrmidon growl menacingly.
“You spout inanities,” Neon said harshly. “You—”
On the ceiling, a red light flashed near one of the spy-sticks. Neon’s head twitched. He clamped a thin hand over his right ear. He must have had an implant there. He frowned, and he gave his head the slightest negative shake.
“New orders, eh?” asked Marten.
Neon opened his mouth. He never uttered his chosen phrase. A door swished open at the head of the corridor. Tan stood there.
She was a tiny woman, with smooth, bio-sculpted features. She was beautiful in an elfin way, with dark hair wound around her head. She wore a red robe, with red slippers and with red rings around her small fingers.
“Chief Strategist,” Neon said.
“You and your myrmidons shall stand guard outside my door,” Tan said. Her gaze flickered over Omi. “I didn’t ask for your bodyguard.”
“You asked to see both of us,” Marten said.
Tan had dark eyes. They seemed to turn a shade darker as she stared at him. “Tell him to return to his quarters.”
“She’s separating us,” Omi whispered.
“The Chief Strategist has given you instructions,” Neon said. “Instant obedience is expected, along with proper protocol. You will address her as—”
“What kind of protocol did you give the cyborgs on Athena Station?” Marten asked.
“What?” Neon said.
“Did you land with us?” asked Marten, sick of behind-the-lines policemen.
“I’m not an animal that grubs among the beasts,” Neon said, outraged.
“Enough,” said Tan.
“But Your Excellency—” Neon said, turning toward her.
“I have spoken,” said Tan.
Neon stiffened, and the twin spots of color reappeared on his cheeks. After a half-second’s delay, he flicked his right hand at the myrmidons. They spread out in the corridor and then crouched low, ready like defensive robots.
“Are you expecting trouble?” Marten asked.
“Order your bodyguard back to his quarters,” said Tan. “Then tell him to disarm. You may give your sidearm to him as well.”
“…Not just yet,” Marten said.
Arbiter Neon’s head swiveled toward him. The man placed his hand on his palm-pistol.
“I have given you an order,” Tan said.
“We’re still in a combat zone,” Marten said. “Soldiers don’t disarm under those conditions.”
“You dare to engage me in a dialogue?” asked Tan.
“I’m a soldier and this is a combat zone. That means—”
“All the cyborgs are dead,” said Tan. “You will obey me at once.”
Marten didn’t like the direction of the conversation. His only true friends had died or waited aboard the
“Chief Strategist,” Marten said. “I request your permission to keep my sidearm. If you refuse, I will relinquish my command and return at once to the
“You are in no position to give me terms,” Tan said.
Suddenly, Marten was weary of the bickering. It reminded him of Major Orlov, of Training Master Lycon and Arbiter Octagon, of everyone who’d tried to tell him what to think.
“I’m not giving you terms,” Marten said. “I’m telling you what I’m going to do.”
“You will adjust your tone while addressing me,” said Tan.
Marten squinted at the small woman. She controlled the bulk of the military vessels in this planetary system. She was the de facto ruler. But Marten no longer cared. She was playing games he didn’t understand, and through the arbiter, she’d just tried to disarm them.
“Did you wish to see me?” Marten asked.
Tan’s mouth grew firm, and three seconds passed. “Your bodyguard will return to his room.”
“And?” asked Marten.
“And you and I shall speak within,” said Tan.
“Sure,” Marten said, recognizing that she’d dropped any reference to his disarming, at least for now. He’d won this round. Now he’d have to make sure he walked out of her chamber a free man.
-5-
In Tan’s chamber, a statue mused in a corner. The statue depicted a fawn of a woman with wisps of cloth heightening her semi-nudity. The statue stared into an unseen distance, as if thoughtfully concerned over the fate of the world. A golden lyre hung on a wall, as did several faint, brushstroke paintings. Brown and teal silk hung from the ceiling in a complex pattern of loops.
Tan knelt on a cushion before a low table. On the table was a small dispensary, with a silver chalice beside it. Smoothing her robe, Tan indicated that Marten should sit across from her. Then she picked up the chalice and pressed a button on the dispensary. A blue pill appeared. With tiny fingers, Tan slipped the pill onto her tongue, sipping it down with wine.
Feeling like a giant, Marten sat cross-legged on a cushion. He had to adjust his holster to do so. The table was metallic and smooth, with controls near Tan’s hands. No doubt, she could project images on it.
“You leave me in a quandary,” said Tan.
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“It would trouble me if you did,” said Tan, sipping more wine.
“I don’t want to give you trouble,” Marten said. “Look, you’ve just destroyed the last cyborgs in the system. You should be rejoicing. Then you should figure out how to take the fight to the enemy.”
“Ah,” she said, setting the chalice onto the table without making a sound. “You reached that conclusion even faster than I’d expected you to do. But then, you are a monomaniac.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“The obvious: that you’re a single-minded soldier. I might add that you thrive on mayhem, on chaos and instability.”
“You call fighting to stay alive mayhem?”
“I’ve studied you, Marten Kluge. You’re more than a soldier. You are a killer, an atavistic throwback to man’s earliest times. You would have done well in a suit of armor on a horse and with a sword.”
“If this is about the kidnapping—”
“You once laid hands on my person,” said Tan, with a trace of emotion. “Believe me, I haven’t forgotten the event.”
“Good. Then you’ll also remember that you planned to go to Athena Station. If I hadn’t stopped you, you would have unknowingly given yourself to the cyborgs.”
Tan smiled indulgently. “You claim to have kidnapped me for my greater good?”
“Chief Strategist,” said Marten.
Tan held up a small hand. “That day, your actions were beneficial to me. I concede you the point. No. This
