20.
Marten stumbled into the reactor room. A small, nude Chinese woman lay in a sweaty heap on the floor. A pot-bellied red-suit straightened, clutching a nerve lash in his dirty hands. Major Orlov sat back in a chair. Her big boots were propped up on a com-board. With obvious relish, she watched the Chinese woman.
Marten took in the scene at a glance. More torture, more PHC brutality. Something snapped in him. This was his last chance anyway. He kept stumbling and allowed himself to trip over his own feet. He fell to the floor, and while lying on his stomach, he reached to his boot and drew the vibroknife. His thumb settled onto the on/off switch.
“Marten Kluge?” the major asked, as if heaven had sent her the gift of a lifetime.
“Can you believe it?” asked Drang.
“Where did you find him?”
“In the halls.”
“Amazing. No, shocking.” Major Orlov chuckled. “This… This is simply wonderful. Marten! Marten, dear, did you miss mommy?”
“I thought you’d want to see him again,” said Drang.
“Doctor,” said Orlov, “do you have any more hyperaesthesic left?”
“Certainly.”
“Doesn’t the system specialist need a rest?” suggested the major.
“Your sense of timing is impeccable, as always,” the Doctor said. “I was just about to suggest a cooling off period. She’s reached the tertiary point, in any case.”
“Gentlemen,” said Major Orlov, “I pronounce our deeds approved. For if there is any Higher Form after death—”
“You can’t really believe that?” Drang asked.
“Don’t interrupt me.” Major Orlov cleared her throat. “As I was saying, if there is any Higher Form after death, He can only be showing us His approval by gifting me with these two. Oh yes, Marten and a young pretty. This is splendid!”
“If I’m to inject him I want him standing,” said the Doctor.
“Marten. Oh, Marten,” called Major Orlov.
Marten lay on his belly, waiting, willing them closer.
“What’s wrong with him?” asked the major.
“Perhaps he’s finally succumbed to deep pressure,” the Doctor said.
“Well, get him up!” snapped Major Orlov.
Drang approached Marten.
“Be careful,” said the major.
Drang grabbed Marten by the shoulder, the pistol digging into his back. “On your feet, slum-dog.”
Marten groaned, but he allowed himself to be pulled up. Then he twisted around, flicked the knife on and drove the vibroblade into Drang’s belly. The blade dug in with ease, singing all the way. Marten sidestepped and jerked the blade out sideways, slicing the laser coil just as Drang clicked the trigger. Substance spilled from the coil, burning Drang, who howled. Marten chopped at the man’s head. He had no idea of the blade’s power. It sawed through part of the skull, spraying brain and gore. The corpse pitched forward.
Ah Chen screamed.
Marten turned. The Doctor thrust at him with the nerve lash. Marten parried, cutting the lash in two. With a croak of dismay, the Doctor drew back his ruined torture device. Marten snarled, hewing at the Doctor’s chest. The knife whined in high glee, punching into the chest. Blood sprayed and drenched Marten. The vibroblade was a messy weapon.
Major Orlov had leaped to her feet and clawed at her holster.
The small Chinese technician, still lying on the floor, used her tiny foot to kick the major’s boot at the ankle. The major cried out and momentarily lost her balance. She both drew her pistol and let go at the same moment. The pistol clattered to the floor. Marten whooped savagely, attacked and thrust. Major Orlov, for all her bulk and unbalance, twisted and dodged the singing, bloody blade. She then pivoted on her heel and swung a ham-like fist. Marten heard a rib crack as the air whooshed out of him. The major’s touch hurt horribly. She followed with another smashing blow. It rocked him backward and stole his breath. She was incredibly strong, with more than twice his mass.
“Little man!” she snarled.
Marten backpedaled to give himself time, and almost slipped on all the blood and gore.
Orlov checked herself, then turned and lunged for her gun.
Wildly, Marten threw the vibroblade. Orlov dodged. It hit a panel, singing loudly as it buried itself into it. Marten followed. Major Orlov laughed and crashed upon him like an auto-sweeper. They wrestled on the floor. The slick of blood made it hard for either of them to get a good hold. Orlov had size, strength and weight. Marten was faster. She tried to twist his head around, but her hands keep slipping off. He dug his fingers into her nose. She moaned, and bit his wrist. He jabbed with his other hand, using his thumb like a pick. Bone, bone, he jabbed deeply into an eye, digging until Major Orlov shrieked, using her hands and feet to hurl him away. He landed heavily and rose off the floor. So did she, with ichor dripping from her ruined left eye.
“Hey!” cried Ah Chen. Marten glanced at her. The small Chinese woman handed him the vibroblade. It was turned off.
“No!” howled Major Orlov, charging.
Marten sidestepped to her blind side, flicked on the blade and chopped. Like a thing alive, the blade hummed. It seemed satisfied beyond measure. Major Orlov’s head separated from her body and thumped onto the floor. The huge torso jetted blood everywhere. Then it crashed onto the deck, spent, finished, ended forever.
Ah Chen clutched Marten, burying her face in his chest and crying.
He couldn’t believe it. He stood there dazed, looking at the carnage. Finally, it came to him that he held a naked woman in his arms and that they were both covered with other people’s blood. He flicked off the knife and pitched it aside.
Sydney had been saved from annihilation. Marten wondered if he’d be able to do the same for himself.
21.
Transcript #30,499 Highborn Archives of an exchange of notes between: Paenus, Inspector General, Earth, and Cassius, Grand Admiral of Highborn. Dates: December 15 to December 20, 2349.
December 15
The training schedule must be accelerated. Hawk Assault Teams and panzer crews are especially needed for the pending Australian Sector Campaign.
Your Excellency is surely aware of the lack of qualified recruits. Combined with enemy sleeper agents, worldwide anti-Highborn propaganda and terrorist assassinations makes the accelerated training program, especially for these elite units, a daunting, perhaps a hopeless task.
December 17
Surely not hopeless my dear Inspector General.
Your Excellency must know that most of my recruits are herded to me at gunpoint. As fodder for bombs and lasers, they excel. As warriors, they are sadly lacking. Hawk Assault Teams and panzer crews require a certain
December 18
