“It’s like they’re trying to disarm us,” the Admiral said.
“Why would they do that?” asked the First Gunner.
“I bet we’ll know in a minute,” said the Tracking Officer. “I’m picking up activity from those mystery missiles.”
“What do we have left to fight with?” asked the Admiral.
“A few point defense cannons,” someone said. “Maybe in time damage control could get one of the launch tubes fixed.”
“Hold the PD cannons. Don’t fire just yet,” the Admiral said. “And get me an open launch tube!”
“What is it?” asked the First Gunner. “What do you know?”
“Is it a hunch, Admiral?” the Tracking Officer asked.
“They’re playing their mystery card,” the Admiral said. “I just want to have something left in case…”
“In case what, Admiral?”
“We’re not defeated until we’re dead,” said Admiral Sioux. “Remember that. All of you.”
There was silence again as they waited for the mystery to unfold.
9.
The 101st Maniple’s Storm Assault Missile nosed toward the mighty
Inside the missile, the firing chamber opened. Like a shotgun shell, the first torpedo slid into the breach. The chamber clanged shut, and the entire missile shuddered. Within the torpedo, Marten Kluge clenched his teeth. He knew the SA missile would fire his friends one after another.
An invisible hand used the SA like a hunter shooting a rifle.
Despite the intense Gs, with the battlesuit’s servomotors it was possible for Marten to lift his hand. He flicked on the torpedo’s screen. The huge
Good.
Shredded particle shields hung around the vast beamship. Black holes showed where the lasers had pitted the rock.
He literally rode a rocket sled toward the
He was the leader in the sense that he’d been shot first. He aimed at the nearest particle shield. Despite his speed, it seemed that he only inched toward it. This was the most dangerous time. Almost anything could destroy the torpedo. It had solely been built to withstand the shock of impact and burrow deep. A ship’s primary lasers would crisp it in a second. Maybe it could shrug off a few point-defense rounds, but military spacecraft usually spewed thousands of such rounds a second.
Something blossomed brightly to his left.
He hoped it wasn’t anyone he knew.
Then more blossoms flickered all around him.
He cursed the Highborn, for having put him in this position.
Pinprick flares dotted the
Chaff would have been fired from some of the SAs, he knew. Radar jammers were blaring. EMP blasts hopefully had made the beamship stupid. And HB lasers—even to his untrained eye the massive beamship looked badly scarred. So why did he feel so naked? He shivered in dread. He wanted to live. To really live! To run again, to eat steak while sitting at a table, to read a book and to kiss a girl. Maybe he should have slept with Nadia when he had the chance what seemed eons ago. Was it reactionary to want to marry a woman before you slept with her? That’s what Social Unity taught, that his ways were old fashioned and out of style. He flinched as a blossom closer than the others flared beside him. He swore he could feel the torpedo shudder—although he knew that was impossible, unless something actually hit his torp. Then he would be dead, not thinking anymore.
He shouted in an effort to release his stress. The sound was loud in his helmet. He felt naked and vulnerable. He wanted to smash his screen. Instead, he chinned his suit for neurostim. The hypo hissed. Ah! Beautiful.
Chemically induced anger washed over him. It covered his feeling of nakedness. Now he wanted to kill.
He veered more sharply for the pitted particle shield.
The rocket-ride was almost over. The pitted particle shield grew dramatically in front of him. He roared and raved, and at the last minute, he remembered to clench his teeth together. During practice runs, shock troopers had bitten off their tongues. The shock could click one’s teeth together like a guillotine.
The pitted particle shield grew mammoth-sized. Then it was all he could see. Blackness! Shock! And he knew nothing more as he passed out.
10.
“They aren’t exploding!” shouted the Shield Officer.
“I don’t understand,” Admiral Sioux said.
“This doesn’t make sense.”
“Admiral,” said the Tracking Officer.
“What?”
“I…”
“Do you know what those torpedoes are?” asked Admiral Sioux. “What they do?”
“I’m picking up life readings.”
“Are you sure?” asked the Admiral. “Command told us that the HBs hate biocomps.”
“Not that kind of life readings, Admiral. Men.”
“Men? Do you mean like us?”
“Yes, Admiral. Men, humans—soldiers, I should think.”
“They fired soldiers at us?” Admiral Sioux asked in disbelief.
“How could regular men withstand twenty-five gravities acceleration?” asked the Shield Officer. “The say the Highborn can take sixteen. But twenty-five! That’s impossible for anybody.”
“They’re there,” the Tracking Officer said.
“Are you certain the ECM blasts didn’t distort your sensors?” asked Admiral Sioux.
“I’ve picked up life readings, Admiral, of Homo sapiens. And there’s not a thing wrong with the sensors. I already ran two diagnostic checks.”
“So what are soldiers doing on the particle shield?” asked the First Gunner.
Admiral Sioux’s old eyes suddenly widened. Her heart beat hard. “They’re trying to capture my ship.”
“Admiral?”
She scowled, and she thought furiously.
“The soldiers are storming us?” the First Gunner asked. “Like pirates?”
“But…”
“Does that mean we can surrender?” asked a suddenly hopeful officer.
