Star Fortress

everything was going to unravel into chaos.

If that wasn’t bad enough, the Director of Greece Sector had “detained” his marines, a little less than one hundred fighting Jovians. In Osadar’s option, Director Delos was trying to keep Greece Sector neutral by holding both Backus and Cone at arm’s length. Delos had quarantined the Jovians, but she hadn’t shot them as Backus wished.

Marten wiped spray from his cheeks. He spied the jagged hills of Crete on the horizon. The hills looked decidedly uninviting. The way the white-capped waves slammed against the automated vessel…

They had slipped away from the train wreck in Lebanon Sector and headed for the nearby coast. With Turkey declaring for Backus, they needed another path to Athens.

“I’m afraid the authorities will arrest us if we enter Turkey Sector,” Osadar had said.

After the PHC attack, Nadia hadn’t wanted to go into any city to try to buy a plane ticket. That meant they could travel across North Africa to get to Spain Sector, and then to Athens, but that would mean traveling through Egyptian Sector. It had strongly declared for Director Backus. The quickest route then—since they couldn’t use the air—was by sea.

With her superior sight, Osadar had pointed out the automated vessels. Most bulk shipments were transported by sea. They found a rowboat, and with her cyborg strength, Osadar rowed them out to the ship. She leapt aboard the present vessel, found rope and hauled them up. For several days, they had endured the ship’s programed route. During that time, Osadar, being part machine, had talked to the vessel’s computer. She’d finally cracked its defenses and was now in control, piloting the ship to Athens.

Osadar still spent most of her time on the computer, monitoring the news-sites. She discovered all sorts of useful, if sometimes daunting, information. The most pertinent was that open fighting had broken out. Cone’s soldiers won most of the engagements, but Backus eroded Cone’s political power with an idea. As Osadar put it, “The idea is like a spark landing on oil-soaked rags.” The oil was the planet-wrecker strike a year ago. According to what she’d found in Hawthorne’s quarters—real opinion polls, for instance—many people believed the cyborgs would conquer Earth. Despair was rampant, and Backus used that. Osadar had read Marten several of the director’s newest slogans: Free Earth of all foreign germs. There was another: Cleanse our planet of its infestation. Then we will grow strong again in purity and defeat our enemies.

The Jovian space marines made excellent symbols. Osadar had predicted a show trial, where Backus’s people stirred up mass hysteria against non-Earthers to a fever pitch.

Marten staggered for the hatch, as he thought, I’m not going to let that happen. He should have never landed on Earth. He’d trusted Hawthorne. After the battle a year ago with the planet-wreckers, what choice had there been? They couldn’t have survived for long, cramped in the two patrol boats. Maybe they should have tried just the same. It would have been better than this.

The deck heaved up and seemed to roll sideways. Marten barely grabbed a rail in time. He was sick of the automated vessel. He was sick of Earth and this endless war. How could men defeat cyborgs and then put down the Highborn?

He grimaced as he slid down the hatch, moving along a corridor toward light. Soon, he staggered into a small cabin with its bunks and shoved-together crates that acted as their table. Nadia slept, with a blanket pulled over her head.

Osadar sat before the computer terminal, bracing herself with her legs. At his entrance, she twisted around.

“Have you considered the possibility that it will prove impossible to free our marines?”

“No,” Marten said.

“Perhaps we should bypass Athens and head for a launch-site under Cone’s control. Let’s get off Earth while we can.”

Marten shook his head.

“You have lost soldiers and friends before,” Osadar said. “Our goal is bigger than a few marines.”

Marten scowled. “I’m tired of seeing my friends die.” He pulled out his gun, hefting it thoughtfully. Then he shoved it back into its holster. “We’re going in and rescuing them.”

“How can we achieve this miracle?” Osadar asked. “We are three people against a city of millions.”

“You forget. I’m the Jovian Representative.”

“Your title failed to impress Juba-Ryder.”

“The Director of Greece Sector wants to stay neutral,” Marten said. “That’s the key.”

“Delos’s neutrality makes her actions predictable,” Osadar said. “She will continue to detain our marines to keep Backus’s people happy, and she will please Cone by refusing to hand them over to an SU tribunal.”

Marten was afraid that Osadar was right. Social Unity…nothing ever changed. Men mouthed pious slogans and then acted as they pleased. Equality for all. Yet the hall leaders, the police chiefs and directors, they lived like princes, dictating to everyone else. If everything was so good under Social Unity, why the need for shock batons, punishment details in the slime pits and torture in the glass tubes? If socialized men were so superior, why did some starve and others become fat on good food? Why did the leaders bicker for supremacy? Why were there so many checkpoints, ID cards, half-truths and endless coercion?

“We have one power,” Marten said. “No, we have two.”

“Do you care to enumerate them?” Osadar asked.

“I need to speak with Cone. Can you patch me through to her?”

“The automated ship has given us anonymity, allowed us to travel unseen. Broadcasting in the open might jeopardize that.”

“Can you do it?” Marten asked.

Osadar swiveled to the computer. “The key is our priority clearance, which is linked to the Security Specialist’s code.” Osadar began to tap the screen. It took a little over an hour, but finally she turned to Marten.

“Are you ready for the Security Specialist?” Osadar asked.

Marten had been listening the last few minutes as Osadar spoke to increasingly powerful underlings. Now he was going to get his chance to speak with Cone. He shoved a crate near Osadar, sitting down and moving the computer screen to face him. Maybe twenty seconds later, Cone appeared.

She wore sunglasses, had slicked-back hair and sat before a sunburst symbol. “Marten Kluge?” she asked, sounding surprised.

“Thank you for speaking with me,” Marten said.

Cone’s lips twisted into a half-grin. “The reports of your death are highly exaggerated, it appears. I was told you were dead, killed during a train hijacking.”

“Who gave you the report?”

“Does it matter?” Cone asked.

“Did they tell you a cyborg killed the PHC terrorists?”

Cone frowned. “Do you have a point?”

“I’m on my way to Greece Sector.”

“Where are you now?”

“I understand that you’re in a difficult situation,” Marten said. “With Hawthorne’s removal, the upheaval has begun. It comes at the worst possible moment: when humanity is about to launch its counter-offensive. My space marines represent a tiny portion of that combined force, but they do represent an earnest of Jovian cooperation with the rest of humanity. Who knows when Jovian warships might hold a critical advantage for the rest of humanity?”

Cone held up a hand. “My time is short, as you’ve correctly surmised by going straight to the point. You want help freeing your marines. Is that right?”

“I’m trying to convince you of their importance.”

“Civil war has broken out, Force-Leader. I can hardly concern myself with one hundred marines.”

Marten shook his head. “For your own sake, you must do everything you can to keep my Jovians out of Backus’s hands. It he shoots them…if he publicly tries them and brings them before a videoed firing squad—”

“Hmm, yes,” Cone said, interrupting. “That would stir the masses and show his apparent strength and my weakness. Yes, I see what you mean.” She pursed her lips. “Greece Sector is rather small and unimportant compared to more pressing matters. I don’t know how to pressure Director Delos any more than I already