Star Fortress

“You’re reasoning is sound except for one flaw,” Hawthorne said. “Your implication is that a preman cannot best a Highborn. The stalemate on Earth proves you’re wrong.”

“Stalemate?” Scipio asked. “We hold more of the Inner Planets than you do.”

“As in most things,” Hawthorne said, “the initiative belongs to the one who first attacks. That initiative brings results for a while, as it has done for the Highborn. Now, however—after we’ve taken your measure—the war has stalemated.”

Cato turned his head, likely regarding his fellow admirals. “The preman deliberately attempts to antagonize us. I take this to mean the murder has puffed-up his sense of importance.”

“You owe me a debt,” Hawthorne told the admiral. “In truth, you owe me several debts. The first is that I aided the Highborn. I slew the Grand Admiral and therefore proved his weakness, in that sense strengthening your race. Secondly, you have achieved higher rank through Cassius’s death. Therefore, you hold your new position because of my action. I would expect more gratitude from you instead of this flood of surly words.”

Silently, Cato stared at Hawthorne. Finally, he said, “You obviously feel secure in your battleship.”

“I am secure,” Hawthorne told him.

“For now,” Cato said, as a grim smile stretched his lips. “I will remember your words on the day I tear out your heart.”

“Excellent!” Hawthorne said, as he scanned the three admirals. It caused a stir among them.

“Why are you speaking to us like this?” Scipio asked.

“Because I want to know if you understand the strategic need of my fleet,” Hawthorne said.

“The need is obvious,” Scipio said. “We approach the cyborg concentration of strength and their military power is unknown. Therefore, each additional ship we possess—no matter how weak—could prove critical to us.”

“True,” Hawthorne said. “But I needed to know if Highborn rage would rob you of that knowledge. To set you at ease, I’ll tell you why Cassius lost. I came to the meeting with a surgically-attached prosthetic finger loaded with projectiles.”

“Why would you do that except to assassinate the Grand Admiral?” Scipio asked.

“I did it because I feared him. I would be speaking alone with the Highborn I had thwarted for years. He acted predictably at the meeting and therefore I shot him in self-defense.”

“You play a dangerous game with us,” Sulla said.

“No more than you have played with me,” Hawthorne said. He’d been wondering when Sulla would speak up. Did the admiral fear he would give away his part in Cassius’s death? No, Highborn seldom feared, but Sulla might be uneasy.

“Do not think you can bait me as you have Admiral Cato,” Sulla said, his voice coiled with tension.

How far can I push them? Hawthorne glanced at each of the Highborn in turn. Only Admiral Scipio appeared calm.

“The purpose of this verbal exchange is to show you that I refuse to fear your power,” Hawthorne said.

“You speak mindlessly like an animal,” Sulla said.

A faint smile spread across Hawthorne’s lips.

“He mocks us!” Cato said.

“It is part of his purpose,” Scipio said. “He is driving home the point that we need his ships. He believes that our need gives him immunity, at least temporarily.”

“The cyborgs have dug-in at the Saturn and Uranus Systems,” Hawthorne said. “They will soon have gone to ground in the Jupiter System. You would be wise to desire SU warships in those coming battles just as you desire them in this one.”

“As I said,” Scipio replied, “you have temporary immunity from our wrath. Yet I am surprised you are willing to take it so far. I wonder at your underlying motive.”

“Must we accept his impudence?” Cato asked the others.

“Yes,” Scipio said, as he watched Hawthorne.

“For now,” added Sulla.

“Good,” Hawthorne said. “We’ve cleared the air and can now speak freely. Therefore, it’s time to discuss strategy and tactics. First, who will have overall coordinating authority during the assault?”

“We have a triad of authority,” Sulla said.

“I believe he means: who will give him orders,” Scipio said.

“No,” Hawthorne said. “If each of you is acting independently, then I shall as well.”

“He basks in his impudence!” Cato cried, striking the armrest of his command chair. “It is insulting. We must teach this preman a lesson.”

“Call it what you will,” Hawthorne said. “The point is I control five ships and each of you only controls one.”

“Each of us controls a Doom Star,” Sulla said. “One Doom Star vastly exceeds the power of your five vessels.”

How true is that? Could five of us at close range destroy a Doom Star? When the time comes, we will have to attack them separately. Hawthorne folded his hands on the desk, and asked, “What is our present strategy?”

The Highborn traded glances. Finally, Admiral Sulla spoke up.

“We shall implement a massive deceleration in four days,” Sulla said. “We will crawl into the system, using the superiority of our lasers to outrange the enemy and obliterate local concentrations of strength. That will surely cause the cyborgs to launch their fleet at us. Again, we will outrange and annihilate them. Since the essence of our strategy and fleet is the Doom Stars, your warships will lead the attack. Their primary duty will be to absorb the enemy’s attacks with your particle-shielding. Your secondary duty will be to destroy whatever incoming missiles or ships you can.”

“An interesting plan with many facets to recommend it,” Hawthorne said. “I agree with the heavy application of your ultra-lasers. The only flaw I detect is your use of the SU ships. Especially with collapsium shielding, the Doom Stars possess the superior defenses. Therefore, they should lead the assault, absorbing the initial punishment with minimal damage.”

“This is outrageous!” Cato shouted. “We are the Highborn. He will accept our decisions or face punishments!”

“We can threaten him, of course,” Scipio said, “and we can also destroy his warships. We both know we need the ships to help achieve victory over a superior enemy. Therefore, let us vent our anger against him later.”

“I do not understand his manner,” Cato said, seething. “He knows we will make his ending brutal.”

“I am familiar with their psychology,” Scipio said. “It is clear he hopes the cyborgs will destroy us. Therefore, he does not fear your retaliation. Either that or he is a wonderful actor and hides his fear well.”

Cato glared at Hawthorne.

“Listen to me, Supreme Commander,” Sulla said. “You spoke about minimal damage to the Doom Stars. We have four systems of cyborgs to dig out, to use your terminology. Each amount of ‘minimal damage’ received early lessens our odds of victory later. We must protect the critical vessels at the cost of the ineffective ones.”

“The lessons of history say otherwise,” Hawthorne said.

“He attempts to speak like Cassius,” Cato said. “I find that another strike of offensiveness against him.”

Hawthorne raised his eyebrows. This was interesting. “Did the Grand Admiral also employ historical examples?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Sulla said. “We are a triad.” He raised a hand, as if he could stave off Hawthorne’s objections. “To save time, I will grant you a vote. Let us say in this instance that your five warships equal a Doom Star. It isn’t so, but I suspect in your pride that you believe it. Very well. Our three votes outweigh your objections.”

Hawthorne forced himself to chuckle. It brought a heightened reaction from the Highborn. “I’m afraid a committee fleet doesn’t operate on the principle of votes. It is a matter of persuasion. Remember, I hold the last concentration of SU warships. They are not beholden to you or under your command. They are under my command. You must persuade me to your course. Otherwise, I will do as I deem wisest.”

“The preman is insufferable,” Cato snarled.

Sulla’s eyes had narrowed. “I have stomached your vain talk until this moment. Now you will have to contend