Planet Wrecker

Sun. The meteor-ship had built up tremendous velocity, a speed even greater than the fast-approaching asteroids. Those asteroids sped on a straight collision course for Earth’s projected position. It was obvious now that the asteroids had originated in the Saturn System. That was something over 1,400,000,000 kilometers away, nearly twice the distance between Jupiter and Earth. As far as Marten knew, those asteroids had not accelerated since they’d shot out of Saturn’s orbit and begun their fatal journey.

“Marten,” said Nadia.

They lay on the bed in his Force-Leader’s quarters. At two-Gs, both of them needed to practice caution, particularly Marten, or any man for that matter. Each man wore a special cup around his privates. Extended two-Gs for days on end could cause possible rupture.

Marten lay stretched on the bed with his wife. He stroked her face as he lay on the pillow. Gently, the two of them kissed.

“My dearest,” he whispered.

“I love you,” she said.

He embraced her and they continued to kiss. Soon, carefully, they made love…. Afterward, Marten slept with Nadia.

He dreamed he was back in the Sun-Works Factory, running through the endless corridors. Instead of PHC chasing him, giant Highborn did. He heard Training Master Lycon and the Praetor. They shouted to each other about his coming castration. Just before they rounded a corridor to grab him, cyborgs dropped from somewhere, even though Marten knew it couldn’t have been the ceiling. The strange beings dropped, the Highborn appeared and everyone drew guns and began blasting.

Marten woke up with a start. Nadia’s head lay on his chest, with her hair sprawled in disarray. He stroked her head and squeezed his eyes closed. What an awful dream. Soon, however, it was going to be reality as Highborn and cyborgs were together again in a confined space. Blowing out his cheeks, Marten listened to the soft thrum of the fusion core.

“Uh, what time is it?” Nadia whispered.

“Shhh,” Marten said, touching her cheek.

She looked up into his eyes. He looked back. Then he gazed at her perfect butt and her long legs.

“You beast,” she said in a sleepy voice.

“Yeah, that’s me.”

She turned serious then. “I’m frightened, Marten. We’re going to be near Mars soon. Then we have to turn, to shift onto a new heading. I’m not sure the Spartacus can take the strain.”

“We have to try,” he said.

“I’ve been studying the projected forces. We’re hardly anything compared to all the Highborn missiles and Doom Stars.”

“I know,” said Marten.

“If we fail to show up, no one will miss us.”

“Maybe,” he said.

“Which is our side again?” she asked.

“I hate Social Unity and I hate the Highborn. But the cyborgs aren’t even an option. If the Jovians are to survive, they’ll need allies. In this, a man has to choose the lesser of two or three evils. After the war is won, however, I’ll go back to fighting Social Unity.”

“So first we save Earth?”

“If we can,” he said.

She looked up into his eyes. Hers were haunted. “Hold me,” she whispered.

He stroked her hair, wondering how this would all turn out.

-50-

The four Zhukov-class battlewagons from Mars approached tactical laser-range with the enemy. They were in a line abreast, with the Vladimir Lenin on the subjective left as seen from Earth. A thick prismatic-crystal cloud was between the ship and the asteroids. The P-Cloud protected each battleship, and each taskforce presently moved through velocity alone.

Commodore Blackstone stood at the map-module, with Commissar Kursk across from him. The other officers of the Vladimir Lenin sat at their posts, monitoring their boards. Red light bathed the bridge, with quiet noises from communications predominating.

“Why haven’t they responded?” asked Blackstone.

Kursk shook her head.

“Our missiles have been in enemy range for almost an hour,” he said.

Blackstone adjusted the module’s settings. The missiles launched many days ago now neared the front asteroids. The cyborgs had seemingly ignored every rule of space combat, neither building their own prismatic- crystal cloud nor attacking the missiles.

“We’ll reach laser-range in ten minutes, sir,” said the weapons-officer.

The Vladimir Lenin had an effective one hundred thousand kilometer range. Because its targets were asteroids with a precise velocity, a refined targeting technique was being employed.

“Yes,” said Blackstone. “Inform the others and ready our mirror.”

The weapons-officer bent over his board.

Blackstone touched the map-module.

The four battleships moved on a near-collision course toward the asteroids. Given their present heading, they would pass the asteroids with about seven thousand kilometers to spare. The prismatic-cloud presently glittered in front of the four battleships, acting as a screen in case the cyborgs fired heavy lasers. It also prevented the battleships from directly firing at the asteroids.

Now four large mirrors moved away from the battleships but parallel with the protective cloud. These mirrors had special hardened coating and precise targeting features. Once in position, each tilted at a perfect angle, able to see the asteroids because the prismatic crystals were no longer between them and the targets.

The Vladimir Lenin began to rotate, so the heavy lasers were pointed at its particular mirror.

“Enemy lasers, sir!” shouted the weapons-officer, a squat Asian man named Wu, noted for his extreme devotion to his weapons.

Commodore Blackstone hunched his shoulders. “Are the lasers firing on us or—”

“Against our missiles, sir!” shouted Wu.

Almost one hundred thousand kilometers separated them from the cyborg taskforce. That meant the information was several nanoseconds old. The missiles launched many days ago were less than nineteen thousand kilometers from the enemy. Surely, the cyborgs lasers could reach farther than that. So why had they waited so long before firing?

“Do you have an estimate of the enemy wattage?” asked Blackstone.

“The readings are coming in now, sir,” said Wu.

“…Well?”

“They’re similar to our heavy lasers, sir,” said Wu.

“Not near Doom Star laser power-levels?” asked Blackstone.

“Negative, sir,” said Wu.

“That’s something at least,” Blackstone whispered to Kursk. “Give me more data,” he told Wu. “What are the other missiles doing?” he asked the missile-officer.

“They’re all firing, sir!” shouted Wu.

“What, our missiles?” asked Blackstone.

“I’m sorry, sir. The cyborgs lasers are all firing.”