Planet Wrecker

Cone pursed her lips. “You acted swiftly against me, sir. It was a lesson in commando and coup operations. If you’re going to beat the Highborn that way, you’ll to need to strike before they do. The Highborn are frighteningly good. But their arrogance is their weak point. They will know the perfect moment to strike, and act accordingly. You are gifted at these sorts of calculations. Try to think like a Highborn, see what they see, and then strike just a little too soon. In that manner, you might possibly catch them by surprise the first time. But you’re only going to get one chance to surprise them. So you have to make it count.”

“If you were attempting to change their allegiance, what would you offer the Free Earth Corps?”

“More than what they already have,” said Cone. “Let them keep their formations and give them governmental control of the areas they already posses.”

“I’d have set up a competing government.”

“You’ll have gained allies and weakened the Highborn accordingly,” said Cone.

“Why won’t the Highborn simply bombard the planet themselves then?” Hawthorne asked.

“Because they’ll have a greater task to complete,” Cone said.

“Being?”

“The destruction of the Neptune and Saturn Systems,” Cone said.

“I doubt they’d agree with you.”

“They’re realists. They’ll have Mercury and most of Venus. Social Unity will have Earth, and the Planetary Union will control Mars.”

“How would you approach the FEC people?”

Cone smiled coldly.

First setting the metal ball into a felt container, Hawthorne said, “I’m adjusting your position from ex-Security Specialist to FEC coordinator.”

“Meaning what?”

Hawthorne pushed a scroll-pad across the desk. “Meaning you begin negotiations with the various FEC formations.”

Tilting her head, Cone examined Hawthorne. Then she picked up the scroll-pad. “These numbers here only represent a quarter of my former people.”

“Which I’m sure is more than you thought I’d give you,” said Hawthorne.

“Yes,” admitted Cone. “I expected to be shot.”

The frankness of the admission startled Hawthorne. “I don’t like to shoot useful people. I don’t like to shoot anyone, but I particularly hate to waste someone like you. Will you accept the new position?”

“I don’t have much choice.”

“Give me a straight answer,” said Hawthorne.

“Yes, I accept,” said Cone.

Hawthorne nodded. He’d have to keep a close watch of her. He trusted Cone less now than before. “Do you have any questions?”

Cone shook her head.

“Good luck,” said Hawthorne, standing. Cone stood too. They shook hands across the desk. She had a firm grip. Then the former Security Specialist took her leave.

Sighing, Hawthorne turned to Manteuffel. “That’s the problem, Colonel. The truly effective people are always the most dangerous.” He sank into his chair and turned back to the screen. “What do I do with the Fifth Fleet? I wish I knew the answer to that.”

“Sir?”

“War isn’t only about winning, but about winning the peace that comes afterward.”

“Don’t we first have to win the war before worrying about the peace?” asked Manteuffel.

“That’s what makes this such a difficult decision. How you win the war—if you can—will determine much of the peace. For instance, if we destroy the asteroids but lose all our spaceships, it puts us at a severe disadvantage against the Highborn.”

“What if we fail to use our spaceships well enough and the asteroids destroy life on Earth?” Manteuffel asked.

“Ah,” said Hawthorne. “Now you’re beginning to understand my dilemma. And that’s what makes Cassius so dangerous. I think he’s better at these calculations than anyone else is.”

“Maybe what we need is luck, sir,” Manteuffel said.

“Luck is for fools and madmen. No, what we need is to make the right decisions.” Hawthorne stared at the monitor and began to rub his forehead. What should he do with the Fifth Fleet? He needed to decide soon, because no decision was still a decision. What should he do? Why couldn’t he make his choice?

-64-

“Time’s running out for Earth,” Marten said.

Nadia sat beside him in a patrol boat, which was parked on the surface of the meteor-ship. Nadia was in the patrol boat’s pilot’s chair and wore an armored vacc-suit like everyone else. Her visor was open and her pretty features were strained.

As the space fighting continued, the asteroids reached the halfway point between Mars and Earth. All the commando missiles had either perished or disgorged their cargos. EMP blasts, hard radiation, x-rays, gamma rays, lasers—radio communications with others had become nearly impossible. Maybe as bad, the sensors picked up little more than harsh static.

“Are you ready?” Marten asked.

A red light flashed on Nadia’s board. She groaned fearfully.

The patrol boat had a direct link to the Spartacus’s controls. No one remained aboard the meteor-ship. They’d all crammed into the patrol boats that so far were still parked on the Spartacus’s outer shell, on the side farthest from the asteroids. In the end, mass made the best shield against lasers and against the big cyborg torpedoes.

Marten adjusted the controls of his screen. Their targeted asteroid was ten kilometers in diameter. It was deeper in the field and thus partly shielded by bigger asteroids. It still had lasers turrets and now several torpedoes lifted from it, accelerating for the Spartacus.

“Osadar!” Marten shouted, using a tight-link to a different patrol boat.

“I see them,” Osadar said. “And I’m launching.”

Even through the patrol boat, Marten felt the Spartacus shudder. It meant Zenos had blasted off the meteor-ship. The Spartacus decelerated, slowing its velocity as the asteroid loomed ever closer. The patrol boats still lacked enough thrust and fuel to decelerate hard enough to land. If the Spartacus died too soon….

“We should have decelerated before this,” Nadia whispered.

“Not a chance,” Marten said. “It would have left us exposed too long.”

Behind him in the patrol boat, space marines rustled as they adjusted their armored suits. Each vacc-suit was composed of articulated metal and ceramic-plate armor. A rigid, biphase carbide-ceramic corselet protected the torso, while articulated plates of BPC covered the arms and legs. Weapons clacked, boots shuffled and men breathed too heavily.

Through the tight-link, Osadar cursed.

Marten studied his board. Another flock of torpedoes zoomed toward them from deeper in the asteroids. How many cyborgs had toiled like ants to achieve those launches? In Marten’s opinion, there were simply too many asteroids to capture and redirect and too little time in which to do it.

“Light up the defenses,” said Marten.

Osadar in her patrol boat controlled some of the meteor-ship’s functions. Nadia controlled others and Omi the remaining aboard his patrol boat.

On his screen, Marten watched. The Spartacus’s point-defense cannons began to