Doom Star: Book 05 - Planet Wrecker (17 page)

“The rest of our ship’s supplies come in a day,” Marten said.

“Aboard a military vessel,” said Osadar.

“Wrong. It’s aboard a liner. You read the orders.”

“A conscripted liner full of Chief Strategist Tan’s people,” Osadar said. “Arbiter Neon and more myrmidons are among them. Without those supplies, our ship will not make it to Mars.”

“I’ve trained our space marines,” Marten said. “I’ve fought with them and understand their capabilities. Taking enemy ships is what I do.”

Osadar began to object.

“Remember,” said Marten, “I stormed onto the
Bangladesh
. Taking a Jovian liner—” He snapped his fingers.

“We would be branded outlaws for such an act,” said Osadar.

“Not if we play it right.”

“Chief Strategist Tan—”

“Sent Circe here to do Heaven knows what to me,” Marten said. “Okay. Tan made her play. Now it’s my turn.”

“She will be expecting something like this,” said Osadar.

“Tan is a brilliant strategist,” Marten agreed. “But she isn’t a god. She can’t have sent the Sub-Strategist, expecting her to fail.  If we act fast and without hesitation, we can storm the liner, take our supplies and be out of the system before they can react.”

“I find two flaws with your reasoning,” said Osadar. “Tan can always order hunter-killer missiles after us. And our space marines will not commit terrorism against their own government.”

“I’ve heard enough defeatism,” Marten said. “Our space marines are from Europa and Ganymede. They have no love for Callisto or Tan’s desire to revive the Dictates. Once I show the men the evidence—”

“Dead myrmidons?” asked Osadar.

“Some worry is good,” Marten said. “Too much is debilitating. We’re in a tight spot. Now we have to fight our way out.”

Osadar’s senso-mask showed thoughtfulness. “Perhaps that is so. Yes. We have little to lose now. If we die, we die.”

“Exactly,” said Marten. “Now come on. We have a lot of planning ahead of us.”

Twenty-nine and half hours later, three patrol boats lifted off the half-repaired meteor-ship. The best patrol boat was a battered craft that had survived Carme. Marten piloted it. Each boat had its own problems, and each needed further repairs.

They moved in a triangular formation toward the teardrop-shaped liner. This one was fifty percent larger than the
Thaliana
and it orbited closer to Callisto. New relay stations on the Galilean moon would give it quick contact with the
Erasmus
, which was on the other side of the planetoid. A good third of Marten’s people had fought with him aboard the
Erasmus
. No doubt, their positions had been filled with handpicked people beholden to the neo-Dictates.

The patrol boats approached the big liner. The ship’s com-officer asked why three boats. The orders had just called for one. Marten talked about his sick personnel. And he added that two of his boats had reactor problems that they couldn’t repair on his ship. It was a flimsy lie and the com-officer complained, but she finally gave them clearance.

The boats docked beside huge bays. Big tubes deployed, attaching to the emergency hatches of the boat. Marten and his space marines readied their gyrocs and slugthrowers. Circe’s myrmidons had taught him the foolishness of trying to play games. When you fought, you went in to kill and conquer. His instructions to the space marine sergeants had been simple. “Gun down anyone who resists.” He didn’t like to give that kind of order against a Jovian vessel, but he’d do what he had to.

They sealed their vacc-suits and entered the docking tube. Three space marines could march together at a time in this one.

Marten’s stomach seethed as he first climbed the rungs and then floated toward the airlock. He’d taken point. It wasn’t the right place for him. The commander was supposed to make decisions, not get in the first gunfights. But this was a commando operation. The first moves were often the critical ones. Smash and grab. He was afraid some of his Jovians might not be willing to smash fast enough.

Why was it always so hard to breathe at times like this? Marten drew his gyroc, wishing his hand would steady out. Then he changed his mind, holstered the gyroc and took out his slugthrower.

“Ready?” he asked over his com-unit.

The many clicks in his headphones told him the answer.

He floated to the airlock. Twenty men at a time could fit in this one, a bulk loading lock.

“Come on,” he said quietly, typing in the entrance code. To his relief, the big door rotated open. He floated in and so did the marines behind him. Soon, the door rotated closed. When it clanged, the airlock’s speakers burst into life.

“Marten Kluge?” they said.

“Yeah?” asked Marten. He wondered why the man’s voice sounded familiar.

“Did the Sub-Strategist give you any messages for me?”

Was this a trick question?

Marten’s air-conditioner unit began to blow cool air over his prickly skin as his gut knotted. Had he just led his men into a trap?

“Must I repeat the question?” the man asked.

Marten remembered the voice now. It was Arbiter Neon from the dreadnaught.

“No messages,” Marten said, liking this less than ever.

“Ah, I see,” said the unseen Neon. “Then I am most sorry to inform you that you will be under arrest when the airlock opens.”

Marten glanced back at the space marines packed behind him. He saw the mirrored visors in their helmets and suited men gripping their weapons more tightly. This had to be a trap.

“Why am I to be arrested?” asked Marten, who added a whine to his voice.

“Ah, you are not so arrogant now, are you, barbarian?” Neon said.

The big airlock swished open. Three myrmidons moved forward with stunners and a pair of sonic-manacles. A sneering, white-haired Arbiter Neon stood behind them. His eyes widened in astonishment.

“Lay on the floor now!” shouted Marten, his vacc-suit’s speakers at full volume.

“Y-you,” Neon stammered.

The myrmidons’ hesitation lasted only a second longer. Then they charged, and they died. Arbiter Neon attempted flight and fared no better as a dum-dum bullet blew open his back.

Marten felt sick gunning down a running man. But this wasn’t a game. If Neon had escaped—

In the centrifugal-gravity, the space marines trampled past the dead arbiter and the blood splashed on the walls. Marten never halted to mourn. He raced at the head of his commandoes. They had to secure the liner and get the needed supplies to his ship now. He hoped Osadar and Omi’s team had been similarly successful. One way or another, he’d find out soon enough.

A miracle occurred. Marten said it was due to their boldness. After capturing the liner, forty-nine hours passed before anyone else learned what they had done.

Living on stims for the next forty-nine hours, allowed Marten and his crew to ferry the needed supplies to the meteor-ship which he had renamed, the
Spartacus
. As a youth, he’d heard an ancient legend about a man by that name. The gladiator-hero had fascinated him. Sometimes, he saw himself as Spartacus, a lone man trying to fight an oppressive system.

The end of the forty-nine hours found Marten in the command center. He sat in his chair, wired, wide-eyed and exhausted. The
Spartacus
was under one-G acceleration, heading away from Callisto and toward distant Mars. First, they would have to leave the Jovian System. Marten knew that might be the most difficult item on the agenda.

“There is an incoming signal,” Nadia said from her cubicle. “It’s a priority one, with a Seneca clearance.”

Marten had been waiting for this. It was the Chief Strategist.

“Put it on the main screen,” Marten said. He sat back as Nadia complied, and he knuckled his eyes. There was no use asking for a cup of coffee or taking another stim-shot. As it was, he was too wired.

Tan appeared on the large screen on the wall. She was composed, as her dark eyes peered hard into his. Behind her were several paintings. She wore a stylish red jacket with a large collar. Serene music played in the background. Marten found it irritating.

“I have read a disturbing report concerning you, Force-Leader,” Tan said.

Marten waited. Because of the stims, he wanted to laugh and taunt her. His face felt hot, too. He wanted to dig his fingernails against his skin, but resisted the impulse.

This was the delicate moment he’d been dreading. He wondered if it wouldn’t have been wiser to rest while the others loaded the
Spartacus
. It wasn’t just about him now, or him, Omi and Nadia. This was about his crew. No. This was about the Solar System, and ridding it of the greatest menace mankind had ever faced.

“Do I have your attention, Force-Leader?”

“Fully,” he said.

Tan glanced at something just out of sight down by her hands. Her manner hardened as she looked up. “You killed Arbiter Neon and his myrmidons. According to what I have read, you killed Sub-Strategist Circe and her myrmidons.”

“Circe is alive,” Marten said.

“Yes, her body lingers in a bestial state,” said Tan. “But her mind is gone. You as good as killed her.”

“Respectfully, Chief Strategist, you’re the one who sent her to my ship. What orders did you give that she would attempt such heinous acts?”

Tan’s lips became thinner. “I order you to return to Ganymede. There, we shall finish this conversation.”

“I am obeying your original orders,” Marten said, “and heading to Mars.”

“No,” said Tan. “I will no longer abide your foolish antics. I hereby relieve you of command. Those of you who hear my voice, and are still loyal, arrest him.”

No one moved.

“We are the Jovian warship
Spartacus
,” Marten said, who despite his best efforts, grinned at Tan. “I am in command here. My mission is to unite humanity against the cyborgs. Among my crew are people from Mercury, Earth and the Jupiter System. Some here have also fought the cyborgs at Mars.”

“I’m not interested in your dogmatic cant,” said Tan. “You will relinquish your command or I will have Zeno missiles fired at your ship.”

“That is illogical,” said Marten.

Tan laughed. It was a short, sharp sound. “You are unhinged, barbarian. Your attempts to ape civilized behavior fools none of your crew. It certainly doesn’t fool me. By killing an arbiter, a sub-strategist and willfully destroying myrmidons, you have shown yourself a destructive beast and a chaosist.”

Marten leaned forward in his chair. “Listen to me, Tan. Build your Dictates, your philosophic paradise. Run rings around the controllers of Ganymede and Europa and the Helium-3 Barons.”

“Are you attempting a dialogue?”

“I’m talking sense,” Marten said. “I have a warship heading to Mars. I will follow your directions when they’re in the greater good of humanity against the cyborgs.”

“You’re no philosopher to be able to judge so finely.”

“You have a choice,” Marten said. “No. I take that back. You don’t have a choice. You’re too smart, too cagey not to really see what’s going on. Okay. Through proxies, you tried to take back this ship. You failed to do it. But what have you really lost?”

“You’re a madman, a killer and—”

“Yes!” Marten said. “I’m a killer.” He was still feeling guilty about shooting Neon in the back. “A killer is the best kind of human to send at the cyborgs.”

“You’re not heading to Neptune.”

“Not yet,” Marten said. “First, we have to stop them.”

“You now claim to know the cyborgs’ next strategic goal?” Tan asked.

Marten took a deep breath. “I am the Force-Leader of the Jovian warship
Spartacus
. This ship is headed to Mars to help Social Unity. Do you really want to destroy one of mankind’s few warships?”

Tan stared at him for several seconds. Finally, she sighed. “You know that I do not.”

“I didn’t want to kill Neon, but he tried to run,” Marten said. “It was either kill him or fail in the greater task. The myrmidons…I don’t think they know how to surrender.”

“You are correct. It is not coded in their genes.”

“Circe took—”

Tan interrupted. “I am not curious about her. You left her aboard the liner, and I have read the report. She pleads now to be allowed to join you. She fiercely wishes to help.” The Chief Strategist slowly shook her head. “You are an enigma, Marten Kluge.”

“I don’t think so.”

“For all your barbarism, you are strangely logical at times. You will adhere to my commands?”

“In the common good, yes,” Marten said.

“That is an equivocal answer. But I accept it. After all, you killed the cyborg in my quarters. You also successfully…well, never mind now. Go to Mars, and let us see if you can forge an alliance with Social Unity and the Planetary Union.”

“I will send you weekly reports,” Marten said. “I would also like to know the next reported sighting of cyborgs.”

“Never fear,” said Tan. “We are searching the void for them. But so far, their agenda has remained hidden to us.”