Bio-Weapon

power. His hand attached to the armor. The clamps were also on his elbows, belt, knee and toes. Like a fly, he attached himself to the beamship. Slowly, with a clang, clang, clang he crawled along the surface.

“Move,” he said to the others.

The ship underneath him shuddered. Marten looked over his shoulder. The struts trembled. Then his eyes opened wide. The struts, the giant girders, blew off and out of the ship’s grooves. The particle shield detached, and it began to tumble away in seeming slow motion. Over the comlink, shock troopers screamed in rage and fear. Some tried to jump, their thrusters burning hard, spewing out hydrogen particles. For a second a man actually crossed the meter of distance he needed to go. Then he stopped and flipped back hard into space.

In silence, the handfuls of shock troopers on the beamship’s armored skin watched their comrades recede into space. As the particle shield faced them, they saw other shock troopers leap off the shield as their thrusters burned. It was a pitiful sight. Hydrogen spray spewed out the packs, but it was much too little. They dropped farther and farther behind as the Bangladesh continued its acceleration at eight gravities.

“Poor bastards,” said Lance.

“What’s going to happen to them?” asked Vip.

“What do you think?” snarled Omi.

Then Kang reached them. His normally slit-shut eyes were as wide open as theirs. Through his helmet visor, he looked terrified.

“Wu is gone,” Marten said. “So now you’re second in command.”

“If Mad Vlad still lives that is,” said Lance. “If he’s dead then you’re the mission commander.”

“What do we do now, Kang?” asked Marten.

Kang licked his lips. He peered at the tumbling particle shield. Soon he faced Marten. “You got any suggestions?”

12.

Cheers and wild whooping filled the Bangladesh’s command capsule.

“Ha-ha, look at them go!” shouted the Pakistani First Gunner. “Bye, bye, you traitorous scum.”

“I love it. They’re trying to jetpack their way to us.”

“Good luck,” said the Tracking Officer.

“Enough of that,” Admiral Sioux said.

“What’s wrong, Admiral?” asked the Second Gunner.

“They’re soldiers just like us,” Admiral Sioux said. “We defeated that batch. And I’m glad for it. But let’s not mock brave soldiers.”

“They’re the enemy,” the First Gunner said.

“Traitors to Social Unity,” said someone else.

“Admiral, I detect enemy on the inner armored skin.”

“See,” the First Gunner said. “They’re still going to kill us.”

“Or they’re going to try,” said the Tracking Officer.

“That’s what I meant,” the First Gunner said. “I hate traitors. If we defeat them, I plan to cheer while Security teams hold them down and slit their throats.”

“What about re-education?” asked the Tracking Officer.

“Not for traitors,” said the First Gunner.

Admiral Sioux only half-listened. She couldn’t find it in herself to hate the enemy soldiers. Fight them, oh yes. But hate? She studied the situation through her VR-goggles. Some of the HB missiles had passed the Bangladesh. They rotated and watched, but didn’t’ fire the lasers. Why?

“Launch Tube Twelve in operative condition, Admiral,” a damage control officer said.

“Here are another swarm of missiles,” the Tracking Officer said.

The First Gunner swore in frustration. “Slitting their throats would be too good. Torture them first.”

“Better hope they don’t play back the bridge vid,” the Second Gunner said.

“Belay that sort of talk, mister,” the Admiral said. “No one is taking my ship.”

“Yes, Admiral. I’m sorry, sir.”

Admiral Sioux suddenly thought she understood the enemy’s plan. The HB lasers and other missiles weren’t firing because these soldiers were on the beamship. Not very many were on, but as long as the soldiers tried to breach the Bangladesh, it was safe from HB missile attacks.

“Pilot,” the Admiral said. “Get ready to rotate the Bangladesh one-hundred and eighty degrees.”

“Admiral?”

“Do it at my command,” said Admiral Sioux.

“What are you planning, Admiral?” the Tracking Officer asked.

“How much fuel do you think those missiles have left?”

“Not much,” the Tracking Officer said. “But what does it matter? It was enough to reach us.”

“Ready,” the Pilot said.

“Now,” said Admiral Sioux.

The Bangladesh’s mighty engines turned off. Side jets fired. The massive beamship rotated in space. Soon the front of the Bangladesh was aimed where the engines had been burning these many days. They were aimed at the Sun. Then the huge engines engaged, pushing at eight gravities as the beamship braked hard.

The HB missiles coming upon the Bangladesh sped that much more quickly at the beamship.

“Enemy torpedoes are firing like before,” said the Tracking Officer.

“PD cannons ready,” said the First Gunner.

“Don’t fire!” shouted Admiral Sioux. “Let the enemy torps hit us.”

“There are fifty torpedoes, Admiral,” the First Gunner said.

“I can count, mister. Just make certain you don’t fire. Shield Officer, adjust Shield Three. Don’t leave any gaps between them.”

“Yes, Admiral.”

The huge beamship shuddered as the majority of the torpedoes slammed into Particle Shield 4, or what was left of it.

“They’ve landed,” said the Tracking Officer.

“Yes, thank you,” said Admiral Sioux. “Pilot, rotate us ninety degrees.”

“Rotating.”

The beamship’s main engines quit again. Side jets fired. Ponderously, the mighty Bangladesh rotated ninety degrees.

“Detach Shield 4,” ordered Admiral Sioux.

“Detaching,” said the Shield Officer.

On their VR goggles, they watched the huge hunk of rock blow off the Bangladesh and tumble away, although not very far. Some enemy soldiers leaped off the particle shield and jetted for the beamship. Both the shield and the beamship kept relative speeds.

“PD cannons fire at will,” the Admiral said.

“Firing,” growled the First Gunner.

All along the Bangladesh’s side spat PD cannons. Shock trooper plasma globs rolled at them, together with battlesuit rifle lasers. The PD cannons shrugged off the small lasers. The superheated plasma was another matter. It took out cannon after cannon. But not fast enough. Soon all the soldiers were dead, blown apart by point defense shells.

“Do we brake or flee?” asked the Pilot.