went empty-handed. She was on a mission, certain that she had learned various technological secrets for a reason. That the last piece of the puzzle had come from Quirn…it made the many nights in his disgusting embrace less shameful.
At this point in her life, she had to take what she could get.
-6-
Marten seethed inwardly as he pulled Nadia away from a cybertank. The hulking vehicle threatening them was one hundred tons of lethal destruction, with six warfare pods. An anti-personnel turret presently aimed at him. The giant tank blocked the arched brick entrance to the Supreme Commander’s Mansion, where Osadar was presently under house arrest.
“I can’t see anyone on the grounds,” Nadia said, craning to look past the huge tracked vehicle.
There was an ominous clack from the warfare pod aimed at them.
“We’re leaving!” Marten shouted at the cybertank. He yanked Nadia beside him.
“I have logged your attempt to gain access to a restricted area,” the cybertank said in its mechanical voice. “Now I am radioing the authorities. Do not make such an attempt again or I shall take immediate action.”
Marten turned away from the giant tank. Nadia and he were in the Governmental Area of New Baghdad, the third level. Here there were monumental buildings set along wide plazas and avenues, while the sunlamps blazed at twice the normal ceiling height.
In the distance was the octagonal Directors House where debates raged. Hawthorne hadn’t returned from orbit and his “disappearance” had thrown the highest levels of government into disarray.
Marten and Nadia hurried away from the Supreme Commander’s Mansion. It was an imitation of the ancient Palace of Versailles near Paris. They passed artifacts meant to celebrate various facets of human history: fountains, statues and various plinths and arches. At the end of one promenade, there was even a Sphinx.
The Nancy Vance interview had shaken Marten from what he now considered as his complacency. He didn’t belong on Earth, not an Earth ruled by Social Unity. He had come down to the surface as the Jovian Representative, hoping to drum up greater support for a united war against the cyborgs. With Hawthorne’s disappearance…
Marten’s few SU friends were in space with the fleet. His plan was simple now. He would free Osadar, get his space marines at Athens and find Omi. Then he would return to his patrol boats in orbit and join the fleet before it set out for Neptune.
“Why is Osadar a prisoner?” Nadia asked.
“That’s a good question,” Marten said. The idea of leaving Osadar behind—he didn’t like it. “We have to get her out of there.”
“How?”
Marten strode to a set of fountains, sliding his butt onto the lip of a smaller one. The air was cooler here, although the sounds of tinkling water did nothing to soothe his anxiety. He had to come up with a plan. He needed a way past the cybertank.
“Oh-oh,” Nadia said. “I think someone took the cybertank’s report seriously.”
Looking up, Marten spied a tall woman wearing a bright orange, flowing robe of African design. The woman also wore an orange turban, and there seemed to be something familiar about her. She had long, purposeful strides.
“Director Juba-Ryder,” Marten said, snapping his fingers. “She must have hurried out of the Director’s House. Yes, I think you’re right. She received the cybertank’s report.”
Behind Juba-Ryder followed three strange humans wearing heavy body-armor. They were big men, with outsized handguns holstered on their belts. The way they walked and the ease with which they carried the armor —
“Bionic guards,” Marten whispered.
He slid off the fountain. Social Unity Military altered a very few of its best soldiers, turning them into a super elite. They were all loyal to the Supreme Commander, however.
“I’ve heard rumors of this,” Nadia said.
Marten glanced at his wife.
“Osadar told me about it,” Nadia said, “illegal modifications to select bodyguards. It’s supposedly done in secret.”
“Cyborg agents would know how to help alter bodyguards,” Marten said.
“If cyborgs are on Earth, then we’ve already lost.”
Marten shook his head. “You only lose when you’re dead.” His hand dropped onto the butt of his holstered slugthrower. The bullets might not penetrate body-armor, but they would smash though skull-bone. Only cyborgs had armored brainpans.
“Juba-Ryder has never liked me,” Marten said. “If she thinks I’m a traitor to Social Unity—” Marten scowled. “I’m done being anyone’s prisoner. Get behind me.”
“Marten—”
“Let’s not argue,” he said. “Just do as I say.”
Nadia moved behind him as Marten took a wider stance. He hated fancy maneuvers, so he kept his hand on the butt of his weapon. If Omi was here with him or better yet Osadar—he shook his head. This was his play, and if he did it wrong, it could be the end of him and his wife. He rolled his right shoulder, trying to loosen it for quick-draw firing.
Juba-Ryder smiled triumphantly as she strode near. Each of the bodyguards had hard features and cold eyes. Their armor clattered. They wore dark helmets, with forehead and cheek protectors. They watched him closely, intently—predatorily.
It made the hairs on the back of Marten’s neck bristle. These three meant to kill him or to pulverize his flesh with their fists.
“Marten Kluge,” Director Juba-Ryder said. “I am here to inform you—”
Marten drew his .38. The three bodyguards had holstered guns, with flaps over the weapons. Despite their size and the bulk of their muscles, they moved with bionic speed. As Marten aimed at Juba-Ryder, the three guards aimed .55 caliber hand-cannons at him.
“They can blow me away,” Marten said tightly, “but I’ll still riddle your body with bullets.”
“I am a director,” Juba-Ryder said, outraged. “I have immunity against violence.”
“Yeah? Then you shouldn’t have made this tactical error. You should have just sent them, not come yourself.”
Juba-Ryder stiffened. “Lay down your weapon and submit to my authority.”
“Not a chance,” Marten said.
“You will die.”
“Yeah, but so will you.”
“I can fire at his gun-hand,” one of the bodyguards said. “I will destroy it before he can shoot.”
Before Juba-Ryder could answer, Nadia gasped.
“What is it?” Marten asked, refusing to take his eyes off the director.
“A fighting robot,” Nadia said, “a floating one.”
“Those are illegal here,” Juba-Ryder said. “Is this your doing?”
“Right,” Marten said, feeling a sense of helplessness. Three bionic bodyguards and now a fighting robot—he debated killing Juba-Ryder while he still had a chance. He could get off one shot, maybe two, but no more than that. The .55 caliber bullets would knock him flying.
Juba-Ryder moistened her lips.
“We can destroy the robot,” one of the bodyguards said.
“I wouldn’t try,” the robot said.
Marten saw it now out of the corner of his right eye. The robot floated, probably propelling itself through magnetic lifters, using the city grid. The robot looked like an elongated metal egg the size of a man. If he looked
