Bio-Weapon

“To my knowledge, Highborn, the shock troops never fixed the beamship’s radar pods. Yet the enemy missiles did seem like a logical move on Social Unity’s part. Logic then demands one find a way to avoid the missiles.”

“Your craft only has what appear to be hydrogen burners taken off Zero-G Worksuits.”

“The EMP blast from the enemy missiles wreaked havoc on my controls, Highborn. Because of mixed signals the missiles I’d attached to my pod dropped off and rocketed away.”

“Your heading appears to have been toward Venus or Earth.”

“To Earth, Highborn.”

“Shock troop headquarters is on the Sun Works Factory.”

“The Sun is also much hotter there, Highborn. Among other things I feared radiation poisoning.”

“What did the others think about your escape plan?”

“I didn’t ask all of them, Highborn.”

“They didn’t try to stop you?”

“For awhile they did, Highborn. Then they said they wouldn’t try to stop me anymore.”

“What convinced them that what you did was correct?”

“I worked hard to persuade them, Highborn. I can only think they finally fell to the force of my arguments”

“Your answers are evasive, Marten. Why is that?”

“I’m merely stating facts, Highborn.”

Lycon tapped the stylus once again. “Facts as you deem them or the truth?”

“Highborn… You consider me a preman. How am I supposed to discover truth?”

“You are a preman, Marten.”

Marten remained silent.

“Ah. You don’t believe that, is that it?”

“I fought in the FEC ranks, Highborn, and was among the first to storm the merculite missile battery in Tokyo. Because of it, I received a medal and entrance into the shock troops. As such, I led the experimental assault upon the Bangladesh. We conquered the beamship as ordered, but it was destroyed. Omi and I are the only survivors, at least as far as I know. Given these facts it is difficult for me to think of myself as just a preman.”

“You have done well,” Lycon said, “and you are a gifted tactician. Sometimes I wonder about your loyalty, but as you say, you have worked hard in the service of the Highborn. Such hard service brings rank, as you have learned. The facts also show that you have a touch of excellence. Who else among the shock troops escaped the Bangladesh? That is why as Training Master of the shock troopers I am recommending that you receive the “Hammer of Thor” medallion for excellence in combat.”

Marten sat up. “You honor me, Highborn.”

“The Grand Admiral himself will pin you with the Hammer of Thor and Omi with the Crossed Swords.”

“We head to Earth, Highborn?”

“We do. And the shock troopers are to be reborn.”

“But… The beamship was destroyed, Highborn.”

“The Grand Admiral has a different use for you, one in orbital Earth. Omi and you will each be a commander of an assault force. They will be named, Assault Force Marten and Assault Force Omi.”

“You’re making us into heroes?”

“You will be models of what one can achieve if he labors hard in the service of the Highborn.”

“I… I don’t know what to say.”

“Highborn,” corrected Lycon.

Slowly, Marten said, “Yes, Highborn.”

Lycon rose. “Excellence brings rank, Marten. Ponder that.” He strode out of the room.

Marten did ponder it. A hero for the beings he hated. They had once thought to castrate him. What was to stop other Highborn from doing it? They had loaded the shock troopers into missiles, as living ammunition. They treated him as an inferior, as a trained animal. These medals were pats on the head.

Marten squinted. He was on a shuttle, a spaceship. Only three Highborn were aboard. If the Highborn died… he would finally own his own spacecraft.

Marten’s heartbeat quickened as he began to make plans.

35.

It was dark in the shuttle as Marten crept to the medical unit. The ship was under one-G of acceleration. Using the glow of the life-support monitor, he examined Omi lying in the clear cylinder. Tubes were attached to the Korean’s flesh. His chest rose and fell with each breath.

Marten studied the cylinder. It was airtight. He pressed a switch. There was a beep as a small red light blinked. Clamps appeared, securing the medical unit for emergency ship maneuvers.

Marten exited the chamber. His features were stern and his heart hammered. Any number of things could go wrong. He knew Highborn arrogance had given him this chance. Surely, they couldn’t believe they were in danger from a lone preman.

The hatch to Lycon’s sleep cubicle was open. This evening, all the hatches were open. Marten had been busy and had made sure.

He eased onto his stomach and slithered past the hatch. Soon on his feet again and in another section of the shuttle, he used a stolen electronic key, opening the suit locker. With practiced speed, he donned his old vacc suit. He tried to be quiet, but there were clunks and clatters. Finally, he sealed his helmet and shuffled to the airlock.

A fierce grin spread across his face. The Highborn had been careless. He was only a preman. What could he do to them?

Marten produced an override unit, one he’d tampered with the past few hours. He licked his lips and entered his code. Then he engaged the manual override. Numbers flashed on the unit. A klaxon should have sounded, but Marten had overridden it with his stolen unit.

There was a hiss as the inner hatch slid open. Marten worked feverishly, applying clamps, making sure it was impossible for the inner hatch to close. With the last clamp in place, he stepped into the airlock. He switched on the vacc suit’s magnetic hooks to full power, securing himself to the wall. Then he manually opened the outer hatch.

Immediately, air hissed past as it rushed out into the vacuum of space. Then the airlock was open all the way and the sound became a gale-force shriek.

A stylus with a purple tip shot past Marten. Then cups and cutlery flew past as they tumbled into the colds of space.

Marten heard screaming. Almost too fast to notice, the Highborn pilot flew past him. Marten resisted the impulse to lean out and watch. Instead, he remembered how shock troopers had tumbled off the Bangladesh’s particle shields. Now their arrogant, uncaring commanders would pay.

The medical Highborn flew outside next.

Then Lycon the Training Master appeared. The seven-foot Highborn managed to latch his fingers onto the hatch clamps. He strained to hang on, his massive body inches from Marten. In a feat of amazing strength, Lycon tore off a clamp. With desperate will, he began to work on the second.

Then the rapidly dropping air pressure began to tell on Lycon. His body and face began to bloat as his blood and other bodily fluids began to turn into water vapor and form in his soft tissues. The ebullism occurred even more strongly in his lungs. The escaping water vapor cooled around his open mouth and nostrils, creating frost.

Then, as he was magnetically secured, Marten began raining body blows against Lycon’s horizontal and now grotesquely swollen torso.