While Hawthorne and Blackstone debated about the Highborn, Marten Kluge clung to the back of Osadar’s chair. He watched the sensor screen, trying to figure out what was going on around the SU missile-ship.

The William Tell and its companion boat moved silently through space. They had been en route toward the Sun for months, following the five-nine coordinates. Silent running with ears wide and eyes peeled, they looked, listened and measured everything with the mass detector, teleoptics and neutrino tracker.

The void or the space between the Inner Planets was a vast volume. A single ship, a fleet of thirty ships, was still a tiny speck. Finding a quiet enemy vessel was like hunting for a particular piece of plankton in the Atlantic Ocean. Engines burning hot made everything easier in terms of sensors. Unfortunately, the closer to the Sun, the more radiation there was. That blanketed many of the sensors, making it increasingly difficult to pick-up otherwise obvious readings.

With the missile-ship, Marten had known where to head and look. It made a critical difference.

Indicating her screen, Osadar said, “Someone is using jamming electronics, which is affecting my readings.”

Because of the patrol boats’ low speed, they were still days from the missile-ship. It was a big vessel with particle-shielding and fast fusion engines. It was a distance-fighter, shooting missiles or drones and then moving to a new location.

“One of the shield-masses appears to be destroyed,” Osadar said. “That indicates a surprise strike or a sudden and vast strike. Otherwise, the missile-ship crew would have rotated shields until all were equally worn down.”

A cold feeling worked up Marten’s spine. He began counting Highborn shuttles. They appeared to be the same size as the Mayflower, the captured shuttle he’d used to fly to the Mars and Jupiter Systems. Each shuttle could ferry eighty Highborn in comfort.

“I count four,” Marten said. “Four shuttles shouldn’t have been able to defeat a missile-ship, not unless the crew let the Highborn aboard.”

“Four shuttles shouldn’t have been able to in a stand-up fight,” Osadar agreed. “I can’t spot any damage to the shuttles, but the jamming could be blocking that. I don’t see anything unusual on visual. We have to take into account there could be more shuttles on the other side of the missile-ship. Or maybe there’s something else besides a shuttle hiding there.”

With his fingers, Marten squeezed the back of Osadar’s chair. He’d been counting on the missile-ship. The idea of cruising to the Sun Station in the patrol boats while wearing combat-armor…there were better ways to commit suicide, faster ways than radiation poisoning.

“Why are they jamming?” he asked.

“The obvious reason would be to keep any signals from leaving the missile-ship,” Osadar said, “including distress signals or a file about what happened out here.”

“Four Highborn shuttles, a destroyed shield to the SU warship and jamming,” Marten said. “The implication is clear: the Highborn have captured the missile-ship or they are in the process of capturing it.”

A frown appeared on Osadar’s senso-mask. “I hope you are not envisioning another of your mad schemes.”

“We have two patrol boats and a little over eighty space marines.”

“Poor odds against Highborn,” Osadar said. “There are potentially more Highborn than Jovians.”

“Maybe,” Marten said. “Our ace card is that we see them and they don’t see us.”

“That is an assumption.”

“Granted,” said Marten.

“I’m afraid to ask, but what are you suggesting?”

Marten’s features tightened. Ah Chen’s revelation about the Sun Station had changed his thinking back on Earth. It had shown him that at least one Highborn played a deeper game. Before, it had merely been enough to defeat the cyborgs, to keep humanity from extinction. Now he wondered if he could gain a larger victory. Social Unity was breaking apart. The stress of war had shaken the pillars of society. If someone like him could control a Sun Station, maybe he could help affect greater changes. Why did people have to remain slaves to a deadening socialist system or slaves to a so-called master race?

“We need the missile-ship,” Marten said.

“Your reasoning escapes me,” Osadar said. “We need stealth against the Sun Station. How does one sneak up on such a station with a missile-ship?”

“That’s the easy part,” Marten said, “by flanking the enemy.”

Osadar studied him. “You mean maneuvering onto the other side of the Sun as the station, and rushing around it in close orbit?”

“Right.”

“It is a tactically sound idea,” Osadar said. “Providing the ship can withstand the heat and radiation. But I must point out that Highborn presumably possess your needed ship.”

“I read the situation otherwise,” Marten said, with a tight grin. “I spy SU rebels using stolen Highborn craft. We must help our allies and repel the enemy.”

Osadar stared at him. “You don’t really believe that.”

“It will be my story if we fail.”

“If we fail, we’ll be dead.”

“I need the missile-ship,” Marten said, his tone hardening.

“You actually mean to pit Jovian space marines against Highborn commandoes, likely a greater number of Highborn?”

Marten nodded.

“How do you propose achieving victory?”

“We’re going to have to risk using our engines,” Marten said. “We’re going to do it now at the farthest distance possible, nudging us onto an intercept course.”

“If we use the engines, they will detect us.”

“It’s a risk, as I said. But maybe they’re so busy jamming the warship, trying to capture it, that they’ll fail to spot us.”

“That is doubtful,” Osadar said.

Marten ignored her. He’d already made his decision.

* * *

After informing the others of the plan, Marten, Nadia and Osadar took their places. Marten piloted, Nadia ran weapons and Osadar tracked the enemy.

Marten flexed his fingers as a sense of urgency filled him. This was it. He needed the missile-ship. Otherwise, heading to the Sun Station was a suicide mission, something he’d avoided until now. Capturing the Bangladesh had been the nearest thing he’d ever done to a suicide mission, and he didn’t even like thinking about that time.

“Here we go,” he whispered. He engaged the ion engine. There was a hum from the back of the boat. The William Tell began to vibrate and a bump pushed him against his chair. It wasn’t fast acceleration with many Gs, but a gentle pushing as the boat moved onto a new heading.

Every second the engine burned was another second the Highborn could spot them on their sensors.

Nadia tapped a control.

Outside, metallic clamps unlatched. There was another bump from outside and a shudder ran through the boat.

“The decoy has deployed,” Nadia said.

Marten nodded. Their vessel had carried a decoy. The other patrol boat possessed a large S-80 drone, a Social Unity weapon.

The seconds ticked by on the chronometer. Then a light flashed on the screen and Marten switched off the engine. Three seconds later, the other patrol boat did likewise.

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