Battle Pod

had been a pilot that had escaped to Saturn and then to Neptune. She used to be human. Someone named Toll Seven had captured her and her ice-hauler crew, and on a Neptune habitat, she had been turned into a cyborg. It was a horrifying tale.

As Marten sat waiting for Chavez, he realized that Osadar Di had been trapped worse than he ever had been. No one had ever ripped his humanity from him. Yet the more Marten thought about it, the more he wondered if that was so. She wasn’t like Blake, the Bioram Taw2. Blake’s mind had been sliced and rearranged. It sounded as if Toll Seven had left Osadar her original mind, reprogramming it in certain ways and vastly changing her form. But if she had her brain, wasn’t she still Osadar Di, still the human from the Jupiter System? It was hard to decide. The interesting point was this: She knew the Jupiter System. She had lived there before escaping to the Neptune System where the cyborgs had caught and transformed her. He knew nothing about Jupiter, or almost nothing. If he was ever going to find Nadia Pravda there, he could use a native Jovian. But if he was ever going to reach his shuttle, the Mayflower—

Marten’s head twitched. He didn’t even want to think about that right now. It was his secret. He hadn’t even told Omi.

There was a truth about secrets. If you told them to someone, others soon learned about them. The only way to keep a secret was to keep it secret. And that meant to tell no one. Marten knew that, and he was the only one who needed to know about the secret—for now. Besides, he couldn’t make a stab for the Mayflower just yet. Mars orbit swarmed with a Social Unity Battlefleet. The fact there hadn’t been any space bombardments or city invasions or food-dome invasions meant the rumor must be true. Major Diaz had told him about the rumor a day ago. The Highborn were heading to Mars with three Doom Stars.

As Marten sat waiting, he brooded. Three Doom Stars would keep the Battlefleet busy.

His mood shifted and Marten lurched to his feet. He hated slouching in the soft chair. He began to pace. A plush carpet covered the floor and strange, no, bizarre paintings hung on the walls. He could feel Omi’s eyes on him. Marten wondered if hidden cameras recorded his actions.

Marten needed Osadar Di. He needed the cyborg because what he planned was madness. Getting the cyborg out of Unionist hands would be hard, however, if not impossible. The Unionist scientists had taken Osadar Di and according to Major Diaz had run her through a battery of tests and asked her thousands of questions. Also according to Diaz, the cyborg had become stubborn and now remained silent.

Would Chavez continue to feel grateful that the cyborg had saved his life? Marten was grateful. Maybe as importantly, he sympathized with Osadar’s extraordinary resolve to gain freedom. Despite the metallic quality of her voice, the few times he’d talked with her, he’d felt connected. He’d understood her. Marten suppressed a shudder. If Osadar Di hadn’t killed the other cyborgs, would Omi and he now be cyborgs? The thought was terrifying. Whatever else happened, Marten knew he had to get off Mars. He had to get out of the Inner Planets. Cyborgs verses Highborn verses Social Unity—the Inner Planets might become cinders before such a war ended.

When faced against overwhelming odds, one either had to fight for honor or run away. It was time to run away to live to fight another day. But to do that, he was going to have fight better than he ever had in his life. He could have used Kang, Vip and Lance. He would have loved to see Stick or Turbo again and hear their voices.

The door opened. Marten whirled around. A stunningly beautiful woman stood there. Her hair was done up in an appealing style and her lips were glossy. She wore a wraparound dress, the hem all the way to the floor, even hiding her feet.

“The Secretary-General will see you now,” she said. “But he can only give you five minutes. So it will have to be brief.”

“I understand,” Marten said.

She gave him a quick study, nodded pertly and said, “If you would follow me, please…”

* * *

“That’s insanity,” Chavez said, “pure insanity.”

Marten and Omi sat in low chairs before the Secretary-General’s huge desk. Red smoke drifted through the room. The walls held a hundred plaques, photos and more of the bizarre paintings of swirls and thick ink. Chavez leaned back in his swivel chair, a stimstick dangling from his lips. Several bronze busts of old Unionist leaders rested on his desk. Outside the door to the spacious office waited a five-man security team.

Chavez took a deep drag on his stimstick. “We have one cyborg. One! The scientists need it for study.”

“She saved our lives,” Marten said quietly, trying to keep calm.

“Did she?” Chavez asked.

“Do you remember being tangled?” Marten asked.

Chavez snapped forward and placed his elbows on the desk. He mashed the stimstick in an ashtray, and from his greater height, he looked down at Marten sitting low in his chair.

It reminded Marten too much of Hall Leader Quirn, and that made his stomach queasy.

“The scientists have postulated an interesting theory,” Chavez said. “Did the cyborgs plant a spy among us? Did this Osadar Di destroy the other machines in order to win my gratitude?”

“They’re not just machines, sir, but living things.”

“They were living things,” Chavez said.

“They still have brains.”

Chavez frowned. “I’m not here to argue with you, Mr. Kluge. Your five minutes were up some time ago. I appreciate all that you’ve done for us, but—”

“Tell me this,” Marten said. “Why would Social Unity put a cyborg spy in your midst?”

Chavez’s frown deepened. “The answer is obvious.”

“Mr. Secretary-General, from what I’ve seen of your military, you have nothing that can stand against the cyborgs or against a full military attack. The only reason you won your freedom before was that the Highborn defeated Social Unity for you.”

“That is quite enough, Mr. Kluge.”

Marten stood up. He hated sitting in that low chair. He hated looking up at the skinny Secretary-General.

“Where are your military weapons?” Marten asked. “My commando team has Gauss needlers. Those are a joke.”

Looking stricken, Chavez sank back in his chair. “The enemy has already defeated and retaken our military equipment. I refer to the space stations, the orbitals and the proton beam. All we have left are the needlers, a few gyroc rifles and some plasma cannons. It stings our pride, but the truth is the Highborn freed us the first time, as you said. Now we’re depending on them again to free us.”

“That’s what I’m trying to change,” Marten said.

Chavez stared at him. “Your plan is suicide.”

“Freedom only comes at the price of blood,” Marten said. “The Highborn paid last time. I know. You’ve fought a guerilla war against PHC for years. And that meant you had pride because many of your noblest fighters had fallen. The pride allowed you to man the space defenses and fire the proton beam. Just like last time, you can’t solely rely on the Highborn. You must hurt Social Unity. You must help the Highborn and thereby stake your claim to freedom. Otherwise, sir, the Highborn might decide to remain as your masters.”

“That would be intolerable,” Chavez said. “We would fight for a thousand years to prevent that.”

“Then you must show the Highborn and Social Unity that you still have fight left. As importantly, you must show them that you can still hurt your enemies.”

Chavez folded his thin hands on the huge desk, and something seemed to leak out of him. His eyes become hollower and there was that Martian slouch to his skinny shoulders.

“What happens if Social Unity begins to beam our food-domes? What happens if they unleash the cyborgs on us?” Chavez wearily shook his head. “We must wait for the Highborn to appear.”

Marten stepped up to the huge desk and planted his knuckled fists on it. He learned toward Chavez so the Secretary-General leaned back in his swivel chair.

“I can understand that,” Marten said. “At the same time, you can still allow me to train the commandos. And now I’ll have time to train them in unit tactics. If they’ll fight as a team, they’ll be five times as deadly.”