Planet Wrecker

Tan’s image appeared on the screen. She wore a white gown with a golden circuit around her forehead. Her eyes appeared glassy and it seemed her head swayed the tiniest bit. In the background waved the Jovian banner of a lidless eye in the middle of a pyramid.

“In the name of the Dictates, I hail the Force-Leader and crew,” Tan said softly. “A new adjustment has occurred in the Jovian System. The populaces of Ganymede and Europa agreed to a plebiscite and overwhelming voted me as the new Solon of the Jovian Confederacy. Their faith in my abilities at this critical juncture humbles me. Whatever hesitation I feel accepting the post, I submerge for the good of the all.”

“What happened?” cried Marten’s weapons-officer.

“Quiet!” snapped Marten. “Let me hear.”

“I suspect there is great rejoicing in the Spartacus,” said Tan. “At this terrible juncture in history, it must bring soothing relief to know that the moons of Jupiter are safe-guarded by my wisdom. Each of us must do his or her part. I have submerged my will in this in order to work ceaselessly toward our safety. Now you in the Spartacus must do likewise. You are guardians of great daring and courage. You represent the Jovian people. In the interest of continued human existence, the Jovian Confederacy has agreed to an alliance with the Planetary Union of Mars, with Social Unity and now with the Highborn. After much deliberation, an over-arching strategy has been achieved.

“It will no doubt interest you to know that the Spartacus will play a pivotal role in the coming battle.”

“What’s she talking about?” asked the weapons-officer.

Marten pointed at the officer. “Silence!” he said. Then Marten turned back to the screen.

Small Tan picked up a silver chalice, sipping from it. Smiling at them, she said softly, “After my message, you shall receive strategic data. In a word, you will join in a space marine assault on the asteroids. Marten Kluge is an expert at these sorts of assaults. I point to his attack on the Beamship Bangladesh and against the rogue moon Carme.”

Marten scowled.

“I am told the over-arching concept originated with Grand Admiral Cassius of the Highborn,” Tan said. “As the plan is elegant and economical of force, I have concurred. You are hereby ordered to attack the asteroid-cluster and land space marines on planetoid surfaces, to evict any cyborgs there and gain control of the propulsion systems.”

“How are we supposed to reach the asteroids to land on them?” asked Nadia.

“Shhh!” said Marten.

“You will accelerate your ship and pivot around Mars, changing your heading to catch up to the asteroid- cluster,” Tan said. “The coordinates will be forthcoming. It is possibly a suicidal mission, and your courage for the good of the whole is hereby noted and applauded. You will not be alone in this assault, but you alone will represent the best of the Jovian Dictates. Given that truth, I implore you to fight with enthusiasm and show the others the greatness of the Dictates. In such a manner, your deaths will not go in vain.

“To the Dictates,” said Tan, lifting her chalice in a salute.

The main screen flickered afterward. Her image disappeared, and in its place appeared a pyramid with a lidless eye in the center.

Scowling, Marten slid into his chair. Amidst the silence, he began studying the incoming data.

-42-

“It’s a suicide mission,” said Omi.

Marten lay on his back, with his torso shoved inside a panel on a patrol boat. Using a pneumatic-wrench, he adjusted a photon cell. When he was finished, he slid out and sat up.

Omi wore a vacc-suit, with the helmet dangling behind him. They were alone in the patrol boat, which sat secure on the surface of the meteor-ship.

“We’re not coming out of this one alive,” Omi said.

Marten picked up the grate, shoved it over the panel and switched on the magnetic locks. He grunted as he stood, and he staggered to the pilot’s chair. Omi sat in the weapons-officer’s seat. They were under heavy and extended acceleration, making movement a chore.

Outside were the Spartacus’s rocky surfaces and then the glowing blue exhaust of the ship’s fusion core. Beyond shined the stars. They headed toward the Sun, but the patrol boat’s viewing port was pointed backward.

“This entire assault,” said Omi, “it’s too jumbled.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“Orion-ships from Earth, missiles from the Sun-Works Factory….” Omi shook his head. “It feels scrambled.”

“The cyborgs caught everyone napping,” said Marten.

“Highborn and Social Unity, they’ve been tearing out each others throats for years,” Omi said. “Now it turns out we all should have been fighting the cyborgs. Now it may be too late.”

Marten switched on the pneumatic-wrench, feeling it hum in his hand. This entire mission…ever since Tan’s message, his gut had been tightening. The mission reminded him too much of the Storm Assault Missile fired at the Bangladesh. It had seemed soon as if the bulkheads of the Spartacus were closing in around him. So he’d grabbed Omi and climbed outside, entering a patrol boat. There were moments he felt like lifting off and just heading away, anywhere without Highborn, cyborgs and crazy political leaders. While sitting Marten switched the pneumatic-wrench on and off repeatedly. Then he switched it off for good and clipped it back to his tool-belt.

“It’s a suicide mission,” said Omi.

Marten nodded as he stared out of the window into space. “We don’t know anything about the asteroids. At least, if anyone knows, they aren’t telling us.”

“You know the asteroids will be swarming with cyborgs.”

Marten glanced at Omi.

“We’ve learned from our past mistakes,” Omi said. “I bet the cyborgs have, too. On Carme, they didn’t have enough troops. This time I bet they will.”

The churn in Marten’s gut grew. Unclipping the pneumatic-wrench, he switched it on. The worst horror of his life had been the ride out to the Bangladesh and then storming onto it. He’d never wanted to do something like that again. Yet here he was, accelerating toward death.

“Do we even have a chance?” asked Omi.

“What else can we do?” Marten whispered.

“I’ve heard about your idea of heading to Neptune.”

“Run away?” asked Marten.

“Isn’t that better than suicide?”

Marten clipped the pneumatic-wrench back onto his belt. “We’ve been in a lot of fights, you and me. Others around us die, but we keep going.”

Omi became quiet.

“None of the battles we’ve been in have mattered like this one.” Marten clapped his hands. “Everything on Earth dies. Sydney disappears. The islands of Japan burn to a crisp. Korea vanishes. We’re fighting for our home- world, Omi.”

“The Spartacus is our home.”

“Is that how the men feel?”

“They’re not stupid,” Omi said. “They’ve fought the cyborgs before and know the odds. Everyone understands we were lucky to get off Athena Station alive. Counting force-levels is easy enough. You’ve seen the number of asteroids, and you can image the number of cyborgs that must be on each. This fight is fatally stacked against us. The cyborgs are making sure they win this time.”