Battle Pod

“You’re talking about pitting men in EVA suits and gyroc rifles against cyborgs.”

“Yes!” Marten said.

“That’s suicide,” Chavez whispered.

“Not if we learn what the cyborgs can and cannot do.”

“That’s what the scientists are finding out.”

“In the lab,” Marten sneered. “What we need to know is in the field where it counts. Even better, Mr. Secretary-General, you will be honoring the woman who saved your life. Despite what your scientists tell you, unless Osadar Di had showed up, you and I would be cyborgs now.”

With a trembling hand, Chavez opened a drawer, tore open a new pack and popped another stimstick between his lips. He took a deep drag, inhaling it into a red glow. He began to cough and blew out a stream of smoke.

“The men fear her,” Chavez whispered.

“That’s another reason I need her for training,” Marten said. “I need to accustom my commandos to them.”

“Why do you want to throw away your life?” Chavez asked.

Marten straightened. He turned away. Mars was doomed one way or another. Was that something you could tell a man? Could he lie to Chavez? Marten sneered at himself, glanced at Omi and faced Secretary-General Chavez.

“I’ll tell you why, sir,” Marten said. “Then you can decide whether to let me attempt this. Mars is doomed. But I think you already know that.”

“Doomed?” Chavez whispered.

“You saw the cyborgs. You’ve seen the Highborn. The time of man… maybe our era is over.”

“You believe that?”

“I don’t know,” Marten said. “Maybe. Does that mean I’m going to accept it? No. But it means I know when to run.”

“There is no place to run,” Chavez said.

“Not for an entire planet, no,” Marten said as he began to pace before the huge desk. “Look. I’m going to be honest. I’m not going to lie to you. I wanted to bypass Mars. But I couldn’t. I needed fuel. We bought fuel with our service. Now I want to get to my shuttle and head to Jupiter.”

“Your shuttle has been destroyed,” Chavez said.

Marten stared Chavez in the eye. “You can give me diplomatic power. I’m willing to represent you. I’ll go to the Jupiter System and see if I can drum up support. If terror of the cyborgs can’t unite humanity, nothing can. We need a fleet of freemen to face… these aliens.”

“Your shuttle was destroyed,” Chavez said.

“No,” Marten said. “I sent it a coded signal a week ago and received one back, just one single beep. My shuttle is up there, floating like debris. You said Zapata filled the tanks with propellants. I plan to reach my shuttle and head to Jupiter.”

“How can you reach your shuttle?” Chavez asked.

“I’ll need an orbital fighter.”

“You can fly one?”

“Osadar Di can,” Marten said.

Chavez blinked at him. “And you think there are orbitals at Olympus Mons?”

Marten nodded.

“You want me to loan you Martian commandos so you can flee and stay alive?” Chavez asked in disbelief.

“You buy my service by providing me a service,” Marten countered. “I hit the enemy for you when the Highborn attack. I show the Highborn and the cyborgs that the Planetary Union can still strike. Your men provide me with my one chance of returning to my spaceship. In return, I train your men to the best of my Highborn- training. That training is more valuable to your Union than plutonium.”

“We attempt to take out the proton beam and help the Highborn,” Chavez said thoughtfully.

“You give them something they can really appreciate.”

Chavez swiveled around and stared at one of the bizarre paintings. He slowly shook his head. “We must fight like men if we hope to be treated like men.”

“That’s part of it,” Marten said. “The other is that you kill your oppressors.”

“Or run away,” Chavez said.

“Give me diplomatic credentials and it might turn my going away into drumming up human reinforcements and allies.”

“Does that ease your conscience, Mr. Kluge?”

“Maybe,” Marten said. “It also gives me a worthy goal.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I saw the cyborgs. I’ve been a slave to the Highborn and I’ve worked like an ant for Social Unity. I want to make the Solar System a place where people like me can thrive. That means I need a side, and a side that can win. Maybe that means I’m a seed that begins to link the free human outposts into a grand alliance to save all of us.”

“That sounds like megalomania,” Chavez said.

“That’s better than waiting to die.”

A wintry grin spread across the Secretary-General’s narrow face. “Diplomatic credentials, eh? Yes. I agree. It is a gesture, if nothing else. It says that I believe Martians will always fight to be free.”

“I’ll need the cyborg.”

“You’ll need more than that, Mr. Kluge, much more.”

-5-

Two weeks after Marten’s meeting with Secretary-General Chavez and many millions of kilometers away, the Praetor’s pink eyes glowed with fierce hatred. His sharply angled face was taut with the unholy zeal that filled him. His thick dark hair was cut short to his scalp so it seemed like fur. He sat in his command chair, a giant of a Highborn, fourth-ranked in the competitive world of super-soldiers. At other consoles sat other Highborn. Like him, they were strapped in. Like him, they had regained their health during their weightless period of flight.

Five weeks ago, the terrible acceleration around the Sun had ceased. For weeks, they had hurtled through the empty voids of space. The Grand Admiral’s Doom Stars had a much shorter distance to travel to reach Mars, 100 million kilometers. From the Sun, it was almost 250 million kilometers to Mars, since the Red Planet was at aphelion, at its farthest orbital distance.

Out of all the planets in the Solar System, Mars had the third most elliptical orbit, a 9 percent variation. At perihelion, at its closest point, Mars was approximately 208 million kilometers away from the Sun. It was a difference of 46 million kilometers between the two extremes. For comparison, Earth had a difference of 5 million kilometers between perihelion and aphelion.

For five weeks, the Thutmosis III had sped at over two and a half times the speed of the Grand Admiral’s Doom Stars. That calculated out to over five million kilometers per Earth day.

In several hours, the Thutmosis III would catch the Grand Admiral and pass the Doom Stars.

The Praetor slipped VR goggles over his eyes and slipped on twitch gloves. He used outer video cameras and carefully examined his stealth-ship. It was as black as the voids it hurtled through, with heat shields and an anti- radar coating. For weeks now, Highborn had hunched over their consoles, listening for radar and other detection pings sent by the enemy. To spot the Thutmosis III with teleoptic scopes should be nearly impossible until the stealth-ship was right on top of Mars. And that was something the Praetor had no intension of doing. The engines were silent so there was no telltale engine burn. Since leaving the Sun’s orbit, they’d moved on velocity alone. Since no enemy probes or vessels had been anywhere near the Sun, it was