Planet Wrecker ds-5

by Vaughn Heppner

  “Look,” said Nadia.

  An equally thick blizzard of objects detached from the rear asteroids.

  “They’ve gone hot,” she said.

  On the many screens, the cyborg-torpedoes turned from blue to red.

  Time then passed in agonizing slowness, one hour, two. Before the third passed, a quarter of the Luna-launched missiles detonated.

  They were x-ray missiles, one of the deadliest in space combat. Each missile’s onboard AI targeted a single enemy craft. Then a thermonuclear warhead exploded. The mass of x-rays and gamma rays traveled up special targeting rods. Those rods concentrated the rays into a coherent beam that shot at the various targets. As the rods concentrated the x and gamma rays, the nuclear explosion obliterated its own missile and its various components. The shape-charged warhead ensured that the blast all went ahead, instead of in a ball of force in all directions. This protected the rearward missiles from friendly-fire damage.

  “Eighty-three percent devastation,” declared Osadar several minutes later.

  Marten watched as torpedo after cyborg torpedo went from red, to blue and then often winked away. The x-rays destroyed many torpedoes, but not all of them. Those torpedoes—the surviving cyborg devices—now detonated. They were cruder than the x-ray missiles, and depended upon electromagnetic pulse and heat damage. The Highborn-launched objects were hardened against such attacks, but twenty-seven percent of them succumbed to the cyborg explosions.

  Then lasers began to beam from the rearmost asteroids.

  “No,” Nadia whispered. “They’ll destroy the remaining missiles.”

  “Don’t count on it,” Marten said.

  “How can the Highborn stop it?” Nadia asked.

  Her answer came two minutes later. The one-million kilometer-range ultra lasers of the Julius Caesar and the Genghis Khan stabbed at the asteroids turrets.

  “That’s unbelievable,” Nadia said.

  Another ultra-heavy beam stabbed against the asteroids. It came from the Gustavus Adolphus.

  The giant lasers took out enemy turret after enemy turret. But they couldn’t take them out fast enough to keep the cyborg lasers from obliterating another eighteen percent of the x-ray missiles. Then those sleek objects came into range. There was another mass explosion of thermonuclear warheads. The x-rays and gamma rays targeted the many torpedo launch-sites and laser turrets on the rearmost asteroids.

  For a few seconds, masses of lines stabbed on the various screens of the Spartacus command center. When the lines disappeared, the vast majority of the rearward-facing cyborg turrets were dead.

  The expenditure of hardware and firepower left a pall of silence aboard the meteor-ship. There had never been anything like this in the Jupiter System, not in such quantity.

  “What happens next?” asked Nadia.

  Marten swallowed, and said quietly. “Now it’s up to the Orion-ships.”

  -60-

  In Attack-craft Seventeen that rode the Orion-ship Delta with countless other vessels, the klaxon wailed its alarm. There wasn’t any need for the warning, as Captain Mune and his bionic soldiers were already strapped into their crash seats.

  “This is going to be fun,” the unseen pilot said, speaking through their headphones. She piloted Attack-craft Seventeen. If the big Orion-ship made it close enough to the asteroids, the attack-ship would detach with the others to attempt a landing.

  Mune double-checked his straps. Then he went over his vacc-suit’s seals and lastly he rechecked his pod of weaponry. The space inside the attack-craft was cramped, the air close and the heavy-Gs constant.

  “I’ve giving you visual,” the attack-craft pilot said.

  A monitor above the prone couches snapped into life. It meant little to Captain Mune, just masses of stars. He missed Earth. He missed the normal gravity, the heat of the Sun on his skin and he missed the constant vigilance of guarding the most important man in the Solar System. But he was meant to serve in whatever capacity was most needed. Long ago, that had meant painful surgery and retraining with enhanced strength and speed. He’d taken a battery of tests once. It had satisfied highly suspicious people on his loyalty and willingness to serve.

  “Here we go,” the pilot said.

  The Gs switched directions. To Mune, it felt as if a car sat on his chest, making breathing difficult.

  The unseen, overly-cheery pilot of the attack-craft was an unmodified human. Only the cargo was bionic.

  Now the sudden thuds began again that meant nuclear bombs exploding as fuel. Their Orion mother-ship decelerated. If they didn’t decelerate, they’d hit the asteroids too hard and crush the attack-craft.

  “How long is this going to last?” asked one of the men.

  Mune shrugged. He had no idea.

  “Who decided the order of the advance?” asked another soldier.

  “We live to serve,” Mune said. It had become his creed, and he’d found comfort in it. Hawthorne was the only man he knew who could defeat the Highborn and now these genocidal cyborgs. To help Hawthorne and to save Earth, he’d volunteered for the mission.

  “In case you’re wondering,” the pilot said into their headphones, “that little dot there is our destination.”

  A blue circle appeared around a dot fractionally brighter than the stars around it.

  “If the Orion-ship is turned around so it can decelerate, how can we see the dot?” asked a soldier

  “Rearward facing cameras,” the pilot said. “Are there any other bright questions?”

  A massive explosion occurred to the left in the screen. It filled the monitor with intense white light. Some of the soldiers near Mune shouted in alarm. He flinched, and to his surprise, he found himself trembling.

  “What was that?” a soldier shouted.

  “Scratch one of our Orion-ships, good buddies,” the pilot said, her voice sounding strained for the first time.

  “Lasers?” asked Mune.

  “Not a chance,” said the pilot, “not against an Orion blast-shield. That was a whale of a torpedo.”

  Another huge explosion and fiery white light filled the monitor.

  The pilot cursed loudly in their headphones, letting them know it was another lost Orion-ship.

  “We should have stayed on Earth,” a soldier said.

  “We serve here,” said Mune. He wasn’t aware of it, but his face was contorted into a horrible grimace.

  “Give us just a few more minutes, you freaking machines,” the pilot hissed.

  The next few minutes saw blooms of orange explosions in the distance. There were stabbing red rays and a thick column of sparkling light. The small dot had expanded now into the greatest thing in the void, about something fist-sized as seen on the monitor.

  “We’re going to detach,” the pilot said.

  A sudden jolt caused Mune to shift heavily to his left.

  “We did it!” the pilot whooped. “Now we have a chance. Are you boys ready?”

  “Ready,” Mune said hoarsely.

  “Then hang on,” the pilot said. “We’re going in.”

  -61-

  “Grim,” said Omi.

  Marten was bent forward in his seat. He had been watching the battle, with an elbow on a knee and his fist clenched. The cyborgs had destroyed two Orion-ships before the attack-craft could detach. Then attack-craft from four big Orion-ships spayed outward like shotgun pellets.

  Omi’s comment came from the fate of the four surviving Orion-ships. After launching their attack-craft, the big nuclear-bomb-powered vessels accelerated once again. They accelerated faster than at any time in the journey. A torpedo took out another one. But the three surviving ships crashed into asteroids.

  “People piloted those,” Marten whispered.

  “Better than being captured by cyborgs and turned into one,” said Omi.

  Now the Orion-launched attack-craft decelerated, attempting to land and unload their soldiers. On too many asteroids, however, point-defense cannons opened up, and counter-missiles ros
e up to destroy the landing craft.

  “It’s all suicide,” said Omi.

  Even though he knew he should try to remain calm, Marten couldn’t tear his eyes from the screen. The ultra-lasers from the Doom Stars still smashed into the asteroids. And now another mass wave of HB missiles came up.

  Marten squinted. With an effort of will, he uncurled his fingers and moved toggles. He wanted to know what kind of missiles those were. The information startled him, although he knew it shouldn’t. “Those hold Highborn commandoes,” he whispered.

  “Huh?” asked Omi.

  “The next wave,” said Marten, “the new missiles. They’re filled with Highborn shock-troopers.”

  “Great. After that mass expenditure of cyborg-hardware, at least a few of them should get through to the asteroids.”

  Marten glanced sharply at Omi.

  “Trouble?” asked the Korean.

  Marten glared at the main screen. “The self-centered hypocrite, he planned for this.”

  “Who did?” asked Omi. “What are you talking about?”

  “The order of attack,” Marten said. “This is Grand Admiral Cassius’s plan. Do you remember he berated me for slowing down?”

  “Sure I remember.”

  “He engineered it this way,” Marten said.

  Omi gave him a blank look.

  “He sent the Orion-ships in first to take the hits,” Marten said. “He used them to absorb damage so his precious Highborn wouldn’t take any scratches.”

  Omi’s features hardened. “He was trying to use us.”

  “It’s time we changed that,” Marten said.

  “How?”

  “Yeah, that’s going to be the trick,” said Marten.

  -62-

  As Hawthorne looked up, small Colonel Manteuffel entered the underground Joho office. The officer wore a gun and a grim expression.

  “Cone wishes to speak with you, sir,” Manteuffel said.

  “Have you enlisted the other officers yet?” asked Hawthorne.

  “I have. But Cone, sir, she’s angry, and I think more than a little worried.” Manteuffel hesitated.

  Hawthorne had been watching the space battle through the monitor on his desk. This was a cramped room, lacking windows because it was underground. The recycled air was too cold and felt too much like a morgue.

  “In your estimation,” Hawthorne said, “is Cone worried enough to do something rash?”

  “I’m not a security expert, sir.”

  “You’d better become one, Colonel, and quickly.”

  “Why me, sir?” asked Manteuffel. “I still don’t understand. I’m a cybertank expert.”

  These past days, Hawthorne had made some swift and critical security changes. Cone remained underground here in the Joho Command Bunker. But her people no longer guarded anything. In fact, they were no longer her people, as Hawthorne had stripped her of authority. Colonel Manteuffel was now the Chief of Hawthorne’s Personal Security. Manteuffel’s people were all higher-grade officers, and daily practiced at a firing range to gain needed proficiency.

  “The easy answer is that I trust you,” Hawthorne said.

  “Because of what happened with the cybertank several years ago?”

  “That’s right,” Hawthorne said. “You were with me in the bleak days. You risked everything then because you believed in me and in my plan. I want true believers around me, people I can implicitly trust, and who make wise decisions.”

  “I’ll do my best, sir.”

  “What does Cone have to say to me?” asked Hawthorne.

  “It’s concerning the Free Earth Corps.”

  Hawthorne sat back, picking up a smooth metallic ball. Rolling it in his palm, he wondered what was the correct course of action. After watching the space battle and the destruction of the Orion-ships, he realized that Cassius was too clever for him. It wasn’t only the order of the landings, but the use of the Doom Stars. It was obvious now that Cassius meant to stand back and beam the asteroids with the ultra-heavy lasers. The Grand Admiral wasn’t going to risk his super-ships. The Fifth Fleet remained with the Gustavus Adolphus. If the battleships wished to fight, they’d have to close in and likely face destruction. If the battleships remained where they were, after the fight with the asteroids, those SU warships would be hostage to the Doom Star.

  “I have to strike before Cassius does,” Hawthorne said.

  “Sir?” asked Manteuffel.

  “But if I strike too soon, Cassius might decide to let the asteroids hit Earth.”

  “I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” Manteuffel said.

  “No? Well, let Cone in. Then you stand in the corner over there and listen to our conversation. Afterward, I’m sure you’ll understand. Oh, by the way, make sure she’d unarmed.”

  “Yes sir,” Manteuffel said, saluting, striding for the door.

  -63-

  Ex-Security Specialist Cone entered the office with Manteuffel. She reminded Hawthorne of Blanche-Aster’s bodyguard clone. Today, Cone had taken off her dark sunglasses. Her pale eyes seemed eerie, and her sharp features added to the affect. There was something frighteningly effective about Cone. It was the chief reason Hawthorne had originally selected her.

  She sat in the chair across from the desk, her synthi-leather jacket crinkling.

  Opening a lower drawer enough so he could see the shiny pistol there, Hawthorne wondered how good Manteuffel’s pat-down had been. Cone was dangerous. Once more, Hawthorne missed Captain Mune. It had been a mistake letting him go on the mission. It had been a mistake sending all the bionic soldiers. Too many of them had died in the space-battle, never getting the chance to prove themselves as ground fighters.

  “Earth-to-space traffic has increased again in the Highborn-controlled territories,” Hawthorne said.

  Cone nodded carefully.

  “These liftoffs had little to do with the former farming habitats,” Hawthorne said.

  “The Highborn are fleeing Earth?” asked Cone.

  First glancing at Manteuffel, Hawthorne asked, “How did you learn this?”

  “I didn’t. It’s a guess.”

  “It’s a good guess,” Hawthorne said. “To the best of our knowledge, yes, this is the case. The Highborn are fleeing Earth.”

  “It makes sense,” said Cone.

  “Perhaps,” said Hawthorne. “It might also be a mistake on their part.”

  “Not if the asteroids hit Earth.”

  “No, obviously not then,” Hawthorne said. “But let us suppose for the moment the asteroids don’t hit Earth.”

  “In that case,” said Cone, “with all the Highborn in space it’s time to appeal to the Free Earth Corps left on Earth.”

  “Are you suggesting I give them all free pardons?” asked Hawthorne.

  Cone shook her head.

  “…Well?” asked Hawthorne. “What do you suggest?”

  “Sir,” said Cone, “I’m not sure it’s in my best interest anymore to give you advice.”

  “And why would that be?” asked Hawthorne.

  “You already know why.”

  Manteuffel took a step toward Cone.

  Hawthorne ignored the colonel, watching Cone instead. “Suppose you tell me just the same.”

  “I’ve lost your trust,” said Cone. “Now, if I give you advice that sounds too devious, your distrust of me will grow accordingly. It might lead me to the firing squad.”

  “This is nothing personal between us,” Hawthorne said. “I just don’t like jailors.”

  Cone pursed her lips. “You acted swiftly against me, sir. It was a lesson in commando and coup operations. If you’re going to beat the Highborn that way, you’ll to need to strike before they do. The Highborn are frighteningly good. But their arrogance is their weak point. They will know the perfect moment to strike, and act accordingly. You are gifted at these sorts of calculations. Try to think like a Highborn, see what they see, and then strike just a little too soon. In that manner, you might possibly ca
tch them by surprise the first time. But you’re only going to get one chance to surprise them. So you have to make it count.”

  “If you were attempting to change their allegiance, what would you offer the Free Earth Corps?”

  “More than what they already have,” said Cone. “Let them keep their formations and give them governmental control of the areas they already posses.”

  “I’d have set up a competing government.”

  “You’ll have gained allies and weakened the Highborn accordingly,” said Cone.

  “Why won’t the Highborn simply bombard the planet themselves then?” Hawthorne asked.

  “Because they’ll have a greater task to complete,” Cone said.

  “Being?”

  “The destruction of the Neptune and Saturn Systems,” Cone said.

  “I doubt they’d agree with you.”

  “They’re realists. They’ll have Mercury and most of Venus. Social Unity will have Earth, and the Planetary Union will control Mars.”

  “How would you approach the FEC people?”

  Cone smiled coldly.

  First setting the metal ball into a felt container, Hawthorne said, “I’m adjusting your position from ex-Security Specialist to FEC coordinator.”

  “Meaning what?”

  Hawthorne pushed a scroll-pad across the desk. “Meaning you begin negotiations with the various FEC formations.”

  Tilting her head, Cone examined Hawthorne. Then she picked up the scroll-pad. “These numbers here only represent a quarter of my former people.”

  “Which I’m sure is more than you thought I’d give you,” said Hawthorne.

  “Yes,” admitted Cone. “I expected to be shot.”

  The frankness of the admission startled Hawthorne. “I don’t like to shoot useful people. I don’t like to shoot anyone, but I particularly hate to waste someone like you. Will you accept the new position?”

  “I don’t have much choice.”

  “Give me a straight answer,” said Hawthorne.

  “Yes, I accept,” said Cone.

  Hawthorne nodded. He’d have to keep a close watch of her. He trusted Cone less now than before. “Do you have any questions?”