Bio-Weapon

the same type used in Earth’s May 10 Defense, would fire and travel at 300,000 kilometers per second. It would reach the target about 1.7 minutes later. Of course, the proton beam could reach farther than that. The truth of that made it important to know if any friends were behind what one attacked. In this case, that wasn’t going to be a problem. The reason 30 million kilometers was the practical range-limit was that the proton beam spread over distance (its dissipation range) and that the Bangladesh lacked a more accurate targeting system.

Thus, as a matter of reality, because spaceships jinked, shifted and changed headings, lasers were close-in weapons, usually used at a distance no greater than 100,000 kilometers. She recalled her training teacher and his comparison reference. The average distance of the Moon from the Earth was 385,000 kilometers. Under 100,000 kilometers, the time lag of the speed of light became much less of a tactical military problem.

Long-range missiles, although infinitely slower than beam weapons, became the tools of choice in distance- duels because of their self-adjusting abilities. A missile was launched toward a cone of probability: to where the enemy ship would most likely be at the time of the missile’s arrival. Then the nearness to the target would allow more accurate readings and the missile could readjust. Sometimes there were laser-firing missiles, and sometimes—

Admiral Sioux shook her head and scrunched her brow. The entire point of a 30 million-kilometer flyby was that by the time they first fired their beam, the Highborn would be unable to launch any missiles from Mercury that could reach them before the missile’s fuel exhausted itself. The Bangladesh’s head start would make missiles catching them a near impossibility. Or rather the ship’s much greater velocity, as it shot past the planet, would do that. But if the Highborn knew where they were now… This radar ping might turn the entire mission into a close run thing.

“Do we kill the radar probe?” whispered the First Gunner.

“Ship’s AI has backtracked the pulse?” asked Admiral Sioux.

The First Gunner pointed at his screen.

“If we kill it,” she said, “the HBs will have no doubt that we’re hostile.”

“In my opinion, Admiral…”  The First Gunner trailed off as she peered at him.

“Yes? For the record, First Gunner?”

He swallowed, perspiration slicking his brow.

“You don’t want to stick out your professional neck, is that it, mister?”

The First Gunner licked his lips and said, “They already know we’re a ship, Admiral.”

“I agree,” she said. “Destroy the radar probe.”

His hands flew over the controls.

Admiral Sioux shouted to propulsion. “Warm up the engines. We’re going to jink.” She peered at her screen. Then she turned sharply. “Everyone out of their vacc suits, and let’s take showers, people. This place smells like a gym.”

22.

Marten strolled down a corridor, one they were allowed to use during a break period such as this. He checked for spy-sticks, to see if they’d put in a new one. He’d deactivated the one already in place. Satisfied, he pried open a secret wall panel and took out his recorder and clicked it. Nadia had secured another bug in place of the one he’d used on Hansen. The bug was linked to this device.

He clicked on the recorder.

NADIA: It’s fueled and ready to go. All I need is the entrance code and you and your friends. Then… Well, you know what I mean. I love you. Please hurry. Out.

He hefted the recorder, smiling, and then shook his head. After all this time, it was really going to happen. His features hardened. He wasn’t aboard yet. So he erased the message and replaced the recorder.

He checked his chronometer: forty-five minutes until the end of break. With a rueful smile, he strode to a hatch at the end of the corridor. It was specially coded, but he’d cracked that several weeks ago. It was with surprise that he now saw it open. He didn’t know of anyone else who used it.

Hansen stepped through, together with Ervil and two other backup men. The backup men were big and tough looking. One of them had a nasty scar across his forehead and two obviously false teeth. They aimed projacs at Marten, grinning the entire time.

“Marten Kluge,” said Hansen. “This is a surprise. Well, a surprise for you, I would imagine. I’ve been itching to speak with you again. So have Dalt and Methlen. They’ve reminded me more than once than they owe you several beatings.”

“This is a restricted area,” Marten said.

“Is it now?” asked Hansen. He glanced about. “Who enforces the restriction?”

“There are spy-sticks recording every move,” Marten said.

“How can that be?” asked Hansen. “You removed them. Or should I say you short-circuited them?”

Marten glanced at the projacs. If he made a break—

Ervil stepped near, reaching. Marten struck the wide hand. Ervil moved with the economical speed of a close- combat expert and used his other hand to grab. He caught Marten’s sleeve and jerked Marten toward him. Marten lowered his head and butted Ervil’s nose.

A whistle blasted.

Hansen hissed.

Ervil released Marten’s sleeve and stepped back. Marten jumped away, warily eyeing the projacs. Ervil held his bloody nose and eyed Marten with those strange, dead eyes.

A whistle blasted again, and a beta Highborn marched into the hall.

“Hurry to the auditorium!” the Highborn shouted at Marten.

Marten backed away from Hansen.

“I know what you’re up to, Mr. Kluge,” Hansen said, just loud enough for Marten to hear. “Unless I get my product back I’ll blow the whistle on your little game.”

“You premen,” the Highborn said, “you aren’t shock troopers. Identify yourselves.”

“Chief Monitor Hansen, Highborn.”

“Why are you in shock trooper territory?”

“We came at the Praetor’s express orders, Highborn. We enforce the curfew.”

Marten paused.

“Yes,” said Hansen quietly. “I’m the new Chief Monitor.”

“Training Master Lycon enforces the curfew,” the Highborn shouted.

“I beg your pardon, Highborn. In my zeal I have perhaps overstepped myself.”

“Hurry, shock trooper,” the Highborn told Marten. “The entire corps will be addressed in fifteen minutes. It is an A-One priority message.”

“Do you request further investigation of our actions, Highborn?” Hansen asked.

“No, but leave at once.”

“Yes, Highborn.”

Hansen sneered at Marten before motioning his men.

23.

The shock troopers stared silently, eyes forward. Each black beret was perfectly aslant and their black boots the regulation twelve inches apart as they sat in the auditorium seats. Two white-coated techs stood by the front screen. Ten beta Highborn stood against the walls, heavy blasters holstered on their belts. Training Master Lycon