control by manning critical rail posts and switchyards with armored shock squads. General Hawthorne’s answer had become routine by the time they reached the last checkpoint.
The tube-trained stopped because cannons trained on the line would, at PHC orders, have destroyed it. The front train doors slid open and a five-man squad in red plastic body-armor stormed aboard. They bore carbines or lasers. Usually a sneering, arrogant PHC major followed, a man or woman used to obedience and seeing others cringe in fear. Waiting bionic men plucked the weapons from the surprised shock squad members and then threw them to the floor. The bionic strength always won against human muscles. Another bionic man slapped the major’s communicator from his hand and put a vibroblade under his chin. At a nod from the MI operative who did the talking, the bionic soldier flicked the blade. Its awful hum and vibrating power so very near the major’s throat had a debilitating effect on the previous arrogance.
A door swished on the last tube-car and out fanned a ten-man bionic commando team. As on so many of these posts along the way, General Hawthorne received the all-clear signal minutes later.
Five bionic men stayed behind at the post or switchyard, with the subdued PHC major to answer any calls from higher headquarters. Whenever the PHC major spoke by comlink or holo-transmission, an ugly hand cannon was aimed between his eyes. So far, the ploy had proven effective. Thus for the last two hundred kilometers, ten of these squads, fifty bionic warriors in all, kept the link to New Baghdad open for Hawthorne to his nearest Army Command Post.
“Let’s hope the next part is as easy,” Colonel Manteuffel said.
“You know it won’t be,” Hawthorne said.
17.
“She won’t budge,” Director Gannel said. He hunched over a communicator in his inner sanctum. Outside his door waited his Venusian security team, people who had been with him since his thorium mine days.
“Tell her the Highborn plan another asteroid attack,” answered Yezhov, Chief of PHC. “That they’re targeting New Baghdad.”
“I did,” said Gannel. “She doesn’t believe it. She asks why I don’t flee then.”
“Maybe you should.”
Gannel laughed. “Oh, no, Yezhov. We’re partners, but no more than that. I’m not putting myself in your custody.”
“A little more faith on your part would greatly oil our plans, Director.”
“So would divine power. But I don’t see any.”
“Then we’ll have to squeeze her,” said Yezhov.
“Dangerous.”
“Yes, at least until the new conditioning is implemented.”
“True, true,” said Gannel. “But…”
“What troubles you, Director?”
“Do you trust the cybertanks?”
“Of course I don’t
“You know what I mean,” said Gannel. “It’s a dangerous expedient using them.”
“Oh, but the mobs fear them so. Frankenstein monsters, they say. Once you’re in charge you must order the Military to turn over all the cybertanks to PHC.”
“Certainly,” said Gannel, who had no intention of doing so. He already feared Yezhov more than any man. Only his lust for the chairmanship kept him working with such a devious schemer.
“Yes, it’s time to squeeze Blanche-Aster,” said Yezhov. “We have to finish this before the mobs become used to running amok. Call her in… an hour.”
“And if that doesn’t work?”
“Then we may be wishing that the Highborn really do drop an asteroid.”
18.
After inexplicably failing to gain control of a selected cybertank, Colonel Manteuffel tucked the compucase under his arm and sprinted down the street as if the devil himself chased him. The small officer dove behind an overturned car. Behind him, rounding the heavy building’s corner where he’d just been, clanked the 100-ton cybertank he’d failed to control. Bricks and twisted girders exploded out of the building’s corner. The edge of the metal monster simply shouldered through, heavy treads crunching over the debris. The 100-ton cybertank then wheeled in its uniquely ponderous way toward Manteuffel
Manteuffel crawled madly, tearing and scuffing his black tanker’s uniform.
Two bionic men lunged from behind another building. They grabbed the Colonel by the arms and pulled him behind their corner. At the same instant, one of the cybertank’s six warfare pods aimed its cannon. A deafening roar issued. The overturned car exploded. Explosive pellets ricocheted off the street, as two antipersonnel pods chugged a thousand rounds.
The bionic men didn’t hesitate. They ran. One of them threw the small Manteuffel unceremoniously over his shoulder. Gears and bionic parts whined as they pumped their legs like pistons. Manteuffel clenched his teeth. The jar of the bionic man’s shoulder thrust against his gut threatened to tear Manteuffel’s stomach muscles loose. Thankfully, however, the heavy, clanking sound of the cybertank receded. They fled several blocks, zigzagging through the city, until they reached where General Hawthorne waited with the bulk of the commandos.
Dumped onto his feet, Colonel Manteuffel leaned against a nearby wall. His pale face winced horribly. When he straightened, it felt as if a knife slashed through his gut. A MI operative thrust something in his face. Oh. Manteuffel nodded, and with a trembling hand, he accepted a bottle of medication.
“Well?” asked Hawthorne. “What happened?”
They stood in a brick-laid plaza, open-air shops surrounding them. Overhead the level’s sunlamps shone at ‘daytime’ brightness.
Manteuffel sipped the soothing liquid.
“If you could spare us a moment, Colonel.”
“It’s like we thought,” Manteuffel said between gasps. “The cybertanks have been tampered with.”
“Yes,” said Hawthorne, “I can see that. But tampered how? You told me before that if anyone tried to breach their brain-case that it would detonate.”
Manteuffel grimaced. “Just like the Air Marshal.”
“Now isn’t the time to get sentimental, Colonel.”
“Sorry, sir.”
Hawthorne waved it aside. He paced as his bionic commandos waited in their teams. They were on the ninth level, very near the Directorate Building and Madam Blanche-Aster’s residence. Unfortunately, cybertanks kept anyone from approaching too closely.
“How did PHC sabotage the CT codes?” asked Hawthorne.
“I’m not sure they did,” Manteuffel said.
“But you just said the cybertanks have been tampered with.”
“Yes, but maybe not in the manner we first envisioned it.”
“Explain.”
“The cybertanks are human.”
Hawthorne raised his eyebrows.
Manteuffel pushed himself off the wall and lowered his voice. “Are the bionic warriors human?”
“Of course they are.”
