wore his blue dress uniform with a gold “Magnetic Star” First Class on his chest.
“Men,” said Lycon, in his bear-deep voice.
The shock troopers swiped away their berets in a single, fluid motion.
Lycon inclined his head and cleared his throat. “Men, the moment has arrived to put theory to the test, to see if practice matches reality. You have trained these many months and you are now more capable than any human before you could have dreamed possible. Most of you were already combat veterans. Clearly, you are the best of the best that Homo sapiens have to offer. But,” he held up a single finger. “How will you react in space combat? Does our faith in you always have to rely upon possibilities and probabilities? No, it does not. The enemy—”
Training Master Lycon closed his eyes. His lip-less mouth twitched. Then he regarded them, peering at his shock troopers.
“I shall be frank. There are those on the Grand Admiral’s Command Staff who feel that it is unworthy of us to allow… to allow the Homo sapiens among us. They do not mean on the planets. The FEC Armies are useful allies. But in space, where the Highborn are supreme, do the… the Homo sapiens truly belong here as well?
“Certainly we shall soon find out,” Lycon said. “This great test, this
“Now. I have but a single question. What is the ingredient for true glory?”
The Training Master scanned the throng. Not a shock trooper moved. “Come now, this is rare moment. I have given you leave to speak. Surely, one of you… ah, very good.”
An arm stretched.
“Marten Kluge, Leader of the 101st Maniple. Speak.”
A sinking, dreadful feeling made Marten reckless. “Training Master,” he said, too loudly perhaps, “HB glory is gained through insane risks.”
A profound silence descended upon the auditorium.
Marten glanced about and then snapped his head forward to stare in regulation pose at Lycon. “Um. Please forgive me, Training Master. Not HB, I meant Highborn.”
Lycon’s eyes seemed to glitter.
A cold sweat broke over Marten. Beside him, Omi dug the toe of his boot into his leg. Otherwise, no one moved or looked at the doomed maniple leader.
“Because I have selected you and your maniple as first team, Marten, this… this breach of protocol will be treated as not to have occurred.”
Shock troopers widened their eyes in disbelief. Such a gesture was unprecedented.
“Lights,” said Lycon.
One of the techs touched his wrist. The auditorium went dark.
On screen blazed the Sun, with swirling dark sunspots and spewing solar flares.
Dwarfed by the image of the Sun, Lycon stood beside the screen, clicker in hand, as he spoke.
“The Highborn Battlefleets have swept the four inner planets of orbital enemy. However, for good or for ill, the various units as well as single ships of the SU Space Fleets fled precipitously. Some have gone to the Jupiter Confederation, and there been confiscated and incorporated into the Jupiter navy. Others hide in the void between the planets. A few crept near Venus to ply a misguided guerrilla-duel. Those perished. One ship in particular has been hiding here, very near the Sun.
“This ship has now dared leave its sanctuary and try a sneak-run to points unknown. Cleverly, most of our robot radar probes near the Sun have been destroyed. But one probe arriving on station a mere few hours ago spotted them. Before the probe was destroyed we learned among other facts the ship’s configuration.”
A strange sort of spacecraft filled the screen. It was massive, oblong-shaped, with heavy particle shields making it look like a smooth asteroid with engine nozzles in the rear. When the 600-meter shields rolled away— like a visor on a helmet—big laser tubes and missile launch systems would be visible.
“The spotted ship’s mass conforms to the
X-Ship
“An experimental spacecraft of battleship size,” said Lycon, “the
The Sun Works Factory circling Mercury leaped onto the screen.
“If it keeps its present heading, the
The edge of the Sun filled one end of the screen, Mercury the other.
A bright dot appeared a bit over a third of the way from the Sun to Mercury.
“The
A dotted line went from the
“As is well known, effective beam range is one hundred thousand kilometers. During a recent wargame, however, the Doom Star
The Training Master let that hang. Then he smiled, the way a tiger might as it appraised a baby deer.
“Men, Social Unity is getting desperate. Command believes this new ship to be a missile carrier of unique capacity. To try to sneak past us as near as 30 million kilometers—no, the SU Fleet is much more cautious than that. The nearness can only signal one thing. This must be another attempt to duel via missile. They hoped to slip this X-ship very near the Sun Works Factory and launch a surprise attack. Normally a quick spread of our missiles would take care of such folly. However, this is no ordinary ship. This is perhaps the most secret and modern weapon developed by the former lords of Inner Planets.”
Training Master Lycon fixed the shock troopers with an eagle-like stare.
“Grand Admiral Cassius wants this X-ship.”
A squat sort of missile-ship hybrid filled the screen.
“The Storm-Assault Missile,” Lycon said.
Clothes rustled in the darkness as shock troopers squirmed. They’d heard about this missile, none of it to their liking.
On screen, a swarm of missiles flew in perfect formation. In front were EMP Blasters and X-ray Pulse Bombs. Behind them came ECM drones, used to jam enemy radar and optics, and finally followed twenty Storm-Assault Missiles.
“There are those on the Grand Admiral’s Command Staff who don’t believe that… that Homo sapiens are capable of combat-precision feats. I argued otherwise. Highborn of exalted rank were swayed by my impassioned
