“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.
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.
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 catch 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?”
Cone shook her head.
“Good luck,” said Hawthorne, standing. Cone stood too. They shook hands across the desk. She had a firm grip. Then the former Security Specialist took her leave.
Sighing, Hawthorne turned to Manteuffel. “That’s the problem, Colonel. The truly effective people are always the most dangerous.” He sank into his chair and turned back to the screen. “What do I do with the Fifth Fleet? I wish I knew the answer to that.”
“Sir?”
“War isn’t only about winning, but about winning the peace that comes afterward.”
“Don’t we first have to win the war before worrying about the peace?” asked Manteuffel.
“That’s what makes this such a difficult decision. How you win the war—if you can—will determine much of the peace. For instance, if we destroy the asteroids but lose all our spaceships, it puts us at a severe disadvantage against the Highborn.”
“What if we fail to use our spaceships well enough and the asteroids destroy life on Earth?” Manteuffel asked.
“Ah,” said Hawthorne. “Now you’re beginning to understand my dilemma. And that’s what makes Cassius so dangerous. I think he’s better at these calculations than anyone else is.”
“Maybe what we need is luck, sir,” Manteuffel said.
“Luck is for fools and madmen. No, what we need is to make the right decisions.” Hawthorne stared at the monitor and began to rub his forehead. What should he do with the Fifth Fleet? He needed to decide soon, because no decision was still a decision. What should he do? Why couldn’t he make his choice?
“Time’s running out for Earth,” Marten said.
Nadia sat beside him in a patrol boat, which was parked on the surface of the meteor-ship. Nadia was in the patrol boat’s pilot’s chair and wore an armored vacc-suit like everyone else. Her visor was open and her pretty features were strained.
As the space fighting continued, the asteroids reached the halfway point between Mars and Earth. All the commando missiles had either perished or disgorged their cargos. EMP blasts, hard radiation, x-rays, gamma rays, lasers—radio communications with others had become nearly impossible. Maybe as bad, the sensors picked up little more than harsh static.
“Are you ready?” Marten asked.
A red light flashed on Nadia’s board. She groaned fearfully.
The patrol boat had a direct link to the
Spartacus’s
controls. No one remained aboard the meteor-ship. They’d all crammed into the patrol boats that so far were still parked on the
Spartacus’s
outer shell, on the side farthest from the asteroids. In the end, mass made the best shield against lasers and against the big cyborg torpedoes.
Marten adjusted the controls of his screen. Their targeted asteroid was ten kilometers in diameter. It was deeper in the field and thus partly shielded by bigger asteroids. It still had lasers turrets and now several torpedoes lifted from it, accelerating for the
Spartacus
.
“Osadar!” Marten shouted, using a tight-link to a different patrol boat.
“I see them,” Osadar said. “And I’m launching.”
Even through the patrol boat, Marten felt the
Spartacus
shudder. It meant Zenos had blasted off the meteor-ship. The
Spartacus
decelerated, slowing its velocity as the asteroid loomed ever closer. The patrol boats still lacked enough thrust and fuel to decelerate hard enough to land. If the
Spartacus
died too soon….
“We should have decelerated before this,” Nadia whispered.
“Not a chance,” Marten said. “It would have left us exposed too long.”
Behind him in the patrol boat, space marines rustled as they adjusted their armored suits. Each vacc-suit was composed of articulated metal and ceramic-plate armor. A rigid, biphase carbide-ceramic corselet protected the torso, while articulated plates of BPC covered the arms and legs. Weapons clacked, boots shuffled and men breathed too heavily.
Through the tight-link, Osadar cursed.
Marten studied his board. Another flock of torpedoes zoomed toward them from deeper in the asteroids. How many cyborgs had toiled like ants to achieve those launches? In Marten’s opinion, there were simply too many asteroids to capture and redirect and too little time in which to do it.