“First you’re going to have to survive the cyborgs.”
“You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Cassius said. “To survive the cyborgs, you’re going to have to kill all of them. Do you think you can do that?”
Felix turned his head. There was something more than mere rage there.
Cassius looked away, and he stood up. He suddenly felt very tired and alone. It was a dull ache.
“Running away, old man?”
“You have the very best genes,” Cassius whispered.
“I can’t hear you. Why don’t you bend your ear near here by my teeth?”
“You must suppress your fury,” Cassius said. “For you, indulging your anger will bring eventual madness. You must cultivate your higher reasoning abilities and learn to lean on them.”
With a groan, Felix struggled to rise. Old Gaius could have done it, Cassius realized. But Gaius did it through willpower. Felix’s mind had been damaged in death or during resuscitation. There had to be a way to fix that.
“Good luck against the cyborgs, my boy.”
“I’m not your boy. I’m your death waiting to happen.”
The pang of hurt touched Cassius heart again. With a deep breath, he buried that hurt. He steeled himself to the tasks at hand. Then he headed for the door, never once looking back, not even as Felix groaned, fighting to get up.
-46-
Unlike the Highborn in the Luna Missile Complex, Cassius slept an average of five hours a night. It was impossible to go days on end with stims without experiencing mental fatigue. As Grand Admiral, he needed mental acuity.
He presently rowed in a machine, his nine-foot body lathered in sweat. The rowing machine was in his quarters aboard the
There had been a particularly effective Marshal of the Soviet Union during World War Two. His name had been Georgi Konstanitinovich Zhukov. He’d been a hard preman and an outstanding general. Partly due to his tireless energy and ruthlessness, the Soviet forces had halted the dreaded German panzers before the gates of Moscow. Even more impressive, Zhukov had carefully husbanded his forces so he could unleash a devastating winter campaign on the exhausted German armies. During the fateful seven months of 1941 and the German blitzkrieg into Russia, Zhukov had been the chief troubleshooter for Dictator Stalin. One of Zhukov’s most successful ploys had been to shoot those generals and colonels who failed on the battlefield. The preman had ruthlessly dominated the situation by constantly demanding the impossible from his immediate underlings. Due to their fear of Zhukov, generals found themselves able to achieve feats surpassing their old performance levels.
As Cassius rowed, panting heavily, he was determined to shape reality by the power of his will. Time ticked away as the asteroids sped for Earth. More than ever, he needed strength and fierce will. Then he needed imagination to outthink the cyborgs.
There was a loud
Cassius released the handles and climbed out of the rowing machine. “Give me forty seconds,” he said.
“As per your request, the Supreme Commander of the Premen will be online in twenty.”
“I require ninety seconds,” said Cassius. “Make sure he stays connected.”
“Yes sir.”
Still breathing heavily, Cassius tore off his clothes, tossing them onto his cot. Then he entered the shower. A hot needlelike spray jetted against his sweaty skin and against scars and old bruises. There was a particularly nasty one on his left shoulder-blade, shiny tissue there showing where a force-blade had once cut him to the bone. He lathered shampoo in his bristly hair and then let the hot water wash it out. Seconds later, he exited the shower, toweled dry and stood before a blower. Cold air caused his skin to prickle. He gasped, and he felt alive. Soon, he put on a shirt, buttoning it fast, and he put a dress jacket over that. He strode to his desk, sat and ran his big fingers through his hair. Facing a video camera, he waited for the seconds to tick away.
“I’m ready,” he said.
The screen came to life, and Supreme Commander Hawthorne faced him. There was a bookshelf behind the preman. Cassius mentally made a note to check the titles of those books later, possibly giving him greater insight into the Supreme Commander. Then Hawthorne surprised Cassius by speaking first and immediately to the issue.
“We need to adjust the attack,” said Hawthorne.
Cassius practiced calm, staring at the preman. Maybe it would be better to hold these meetings in person. Let the preman feel his presence and the thin specimen would have to deal with physical fear. That might help curb the sub-human’s tongue.
“As we’ve scheduled it,” said Hawthorne, “there are too many possibilities for errors, for mistakes at precisely the wrong moment.”
“I summoned you for an entirely different reason,” Cassius said.
Hawthorne shook his head. “Grand Admiral, we are like two men fighting in a room to the death. Now a pack of wolves has crawled through the windows to kill us both. We have been forced to stand back-to-back and fight together. Otherwise, we shall both die.”
“I have no time for analogies.”
“Social Unity is one of those men,” said Hawthorne. “You Highborn are the other. There is still much hatred between us, much distrust. That hatred and distrust might flare up on the battlefield. Therefore, we must change the parameters in order to forestall such an event. Instead of attacking as a united force and mingling together, I suggest we each accept specific spheres of action. You conquer your sphere and we shall conquer ours.”
“Have you forgotten?” asked Cassius. “We attack cyborgs. They will destroy your Homo sapien troops. Then we Highborn shall have to conquer both your sphere and ours. It is better if you Homo sapiens are stiffened with Highborn officers and fighters among you.”
“How easily did you conquer North America?” Hawthorne asked.
“No, no, that is the wrong example. In North America, in every battlefield on Earth, Social Unity enjoyed a vast numerical preponderance. Against the cyborgs, we have a limited number of elite units. It is a given that you lack such troops. And that is the nature of my call. The date is late. But I suggest that you allot half your Orion-ships to me. I will fill them with more Highborn commandoes. That will give us a greater margin of superior troops on the asteroids.”
“That’s out of the question,” Hawthorne said.
“The survival of Earth is at stake. What possible reason could you have to object to such a reasonable request?”
“Earthmen will ride the Orion-ships to do battle against our enemy,” said Hawthorne. “And instead of fighting under your command, they will fight separately under their own officers.”
“Unity of command is a primary principle for victory,” said Cassius.
“We are allies,” said Hawthorne. “We will fight as equals, not under Highborn dominance. In this, every director, field marshal and general has agreed.”
“Never!” said Hawthorne.
