Bio-Weapon

“What?”

People turned and stared.

Hawthorne noticed. He lowered his voice and said, “Come with me.”

23.

Hawthorne clicked off Admiral Sioux’s recorded message and with his bony fingers, he massaged the side of his head.

“It doesn’t appear as if the Highborn themselves stormed aboard,” said Blanche-Aster. She scanned a readout-slate hooked to her chair. “Normal men did this. Which is amazing. According to the Admiral’s report, seventy to eighty space marines captured the Bangladesh. Actually, amazing is probably the wrong word. Treachery is more like it. How can seventy to eighty space marines capture a beamship the size of the Bangladesh?”

Hawthorne sat behind his desk, shaking his head and with his shoulders hunched. Captain Mune stood at attention behind him. The Director’s guard-clone kept her gloved hands on the handles of Blanche-Aster’s medical unit.

“The Admiral called these space marines shock troopers,” said Hawthorne.

“Does that mean anything?”

“It must signify something. Perhaps shock troopers are like our good Captain Mune.”

Blanche-Aster wouldn’t look at the hulking bionic soldier. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think seventy Captain Mune’s could capture the Bangladesh.”

“I strongly disagree,” said Hawthorne.

“I imply no disdain upon these mechanically enhanced warriors of yours, General. But to me treachery seems like the more probable answer.”

“Seventy bionic soldiers could capture the Bangladesh—quite handily in fact,” said Hawthorne. “But I’m not saying that the Highborn have modified people in such a fashion. Their psychology dictates against it.” Hawthorne pursed his lips. “Shock trooper is an interesting term. The same philosopher, Nietzsche, influenced both the ancient Nazis and the Highborn. He espoused the doctrines of the superman and the will to power. Perhaps the Highborn have combed the FEC ranks for superior soldiers and trained them in space marine tactics.”

“That’s all very interesting,” said Blanche-Aster. “But normal men can’t accelerate at twenty-five Gs.”

“You’re missing the point, Director. Why are the Highborn training regular men to fight in space? Have they run low of Highborn personnel?”

“I would think so,” said Blanche-Aster. “And if so, then Yezhov’s plan becomes even more essential.”

Hawthorne regarded the Madam Director. “A momentous decision rests on us.”

Blanche-Aster looked away, troubled.

“I think Admiral Sioux knew that when she sent the message.”

“I don’t understand why she didn’t self-destruct the ship,” said Blanche-Aster. “That she didn’t validates my theory that treachery, not some new combat species, lost the beamship.”

“Circumstances may have warranted against self-destruction.”

“You saw the Admiral as she dictated the message. She wore armor and held a las-rifle. Her officers surrounded her and they stood in the command capsule. Unless… do you think these shock troopers had broken the destruction-link?”

“Who can know,” said Hawthorne. “Perhaps not all the officers had agreed to self-destruct.”

“I realize that too much emphasis on training the intellect and not enough on social responsibility has left much of our military weakened. But these officers were our best, the elite. When the moment came that the Bangladesh fell into enemy hands they should have pleaded with the Admiral to destroy it. At the very best, the Highborn will break them in reeducation camps. They gutted sections of the Sun Works Factory. The Highborn will savage them. No. It makes no sense to wish to live through that. Treachery, General, if you had all the facts you would see that treachery overcame the Bangladesh.”

Hawthorne appeared thoughtful. “Maybe the enemy gave them generous terms. They have after all become adept at turning captured soldiers into their own creatures.”

“That’s what I’m saying. How could an officer steeped in social responsibility possibly consider surviving the capture of his ship?”

“The will to live is strong,” Hawthorne said philosophically. “It may be that not all the officers were up to the task.”

“Treachery piled upon treachery. This is a terrible blow, unfathomable, mysterious and sinister. We can’t allow the Highborn to tow the Bangladesh to the Sun Works Factory.”

Hawthorne began to pace. “If you’ll excuse me, Madam Director, I must see the new Space Commander and get his recommendations on how to achieve our goal.”

Blanche-Aster motioned to her guard-clone. “I’m sorry to have brought this news, General. My recommendation is to look into each of the officer’s records. Somewhere is the clue as to who sold his comrades to the Highborn.” The guard-clone wheeled the Madam Director away.

Hawthorne turned to Captain Mune.

For the first time during the conversation, the hulking bionic soldier seemed other than a statue. His steely eyes flickered over the hunch-shouldered General. “It has to be done, sir.”

“You’re right, Captain. But it’s a filthy business.” Hawthorne knew he had to order the Bangladesh destroyed, to kill his own people, those who had survived the storm assault.

“That’s why they pay us, sir, to do the dirty work the civilians won’t.”

Hawthorne smiled painfully, putting his hand on Captain Mune’s shoulder. “Let’s get this over with, shall we.”

“Yes, sir.”

The two men headed down the corridor to Space Command.

24.

With his battlesuit powered on low Marten crept through a corridor.

For 72 hours, he had won the cat and mouse chase. First, he’d modified his battlesuit, removing its electronic ID tag and switching the setting of his Friend or Foe selector. Then he’d jury-rigged Bangladesh damage control crawlers, setting them on automated hunt and fix. The massive inner destruction to the beamship kept them busy. They thus constantly moved, which showed up on the Bangladesh’s motion detectors. Said detectors Marten destroyed with religious fervor, along with destroying ship’s cameras. Then a virus—preset by Admiral Sioux—shutdown the beamship’s computers and engines. From their comlink chatter Marten learned that the shock troops gave first priority to restarting the engines, then to hunting him and finally to inserting new Override software.

For the past 72 hours Marten had lived on stims, Tempo and by drinking plenty of water. He had debated about walking into of group of his old comrades and explaining reality to them. They could listen or gun him down. He’d abandoned the idea when he couldn’t think around the fact that they would simply capture him and leave him for the HBs. Then in a recreation room he’d found several recorders. He went outside the ship and carefully thought out his options. After a half-hour, he recorded a message.

MARTEN: I’ve given this a lot of thought, longer probably than any of you realize. The Highborn mean to rule us, the premen herds. They won’t stop with the premen herds of Earth or Venus, but go on to the Jupiter, Saturn,