The Praetor’s frown deepened, putting creases in his broad forehead.
“I see your doubts concerning my plan, and I accept it. I am blessed with superior sight. I will tell you a secret, Praetor. Sometimes it is a curse to see farther and more clearly than anyone else. Too often in the past, others I hold dear have doubted me. I would like to say that I’ve become inured to it, but that would be a lie. However, I can give you evidence that even you can comprehend, Praetor.”
The Praetor stiffened.
“The Social Unity space attack five days ago occurred in order to send a flotilla of vessels to Mars.”
“So their high command could escape the coming disaster?” the Praetor asked.
The Grand Admiral shook his head. “I’ve heard those rumors, and they’re absurd. If nothing else, these socialists are stubborn. They’ve been in control of human destiny too long to simply give up and flee to the Outer Planets. No. That was a supply convoy, and the majority of it now hides behind a growing prismatic crystal shield. I have ordered a cessation of laser attacks against it.”
“I see,” the Praetor said slowly. “The premen gather their fleet into one force and will capture Mars. We then send… two Doom Stars to smash their fleet and retake Mars.”
“You are almost correct.”
The Praetor’s cheek twitched. When was the Grand Admiral going to offer him command of the Hannibal Barca? “This fleet that lifted from Earth,” he said. “You called it a supply convoy. They will refit their warships?”
“Exactly,” the Grand Admiral said. “They will have surprises that we cannot yet foresee. But we too shall have a surprise.”
The Praetor blinked, waiting.
“It’s your move,” the Grand Admiral said.
It took the Praetor a moment to understand that the Grand Admiral meant the chessboard. He tried to concentrate on the game. The Praetor pondered for only a minute and then swept the Grand Admiral’s castle with his queen. He neatly placed the captured castle in a new, second line of pieces, one behind the smaller pawns.
The Grand Admiral moved immediately, seeming to make a blunder. He took a pawn, but left the Praetor’s queen open to maneuver.
As the Praetor bent forward to examine the possibilities, the Grand Admiral spoke.
“I know you’ve desired a field command in space. Until now, I’ve needed you in charge of supplies at the Sun-Works Factory. It was critical that we kept ourselves well-supplied.”
The Praetor looked up. Here it was, at last. “I am to head the expedition against Mars in the Hannibal Barca?”
“No. That position belongs to Admiral Brutus. He will command the Hannibal Barca. Nor are there any available positions in the other Doom Stars. But if you are agreeable, Praetor, I wish to award you the captainship of our secret weapon.”
Rage washed through the Praetor. He found it hard to speak. “If you would explain the weapon—”
“The Beamship Bangladesh gave me the idea,” the Grand Admiral said. “Even as we speak, a special weapons team is converting a captured missile-ship. They are rapidly adding stealth technology and installing our new drones. Your task, Praetor, will be to take the stealth ship and circle the Sun. The technicians are adding booster pods. As you build velocity, you will shed those pods. It will be a highly uncomfortable time as you circle the Sun, mostly spent on the acceleration couches. At a precise time, you will sling yourself out of the Sun’s orbit and head for Mars. Then you will shut off the engines and coast for the Red Planet. I will tell you now, Praetor, that your ship neither carries particle shields, nor will it employ a prismatic crystal cloud, nor aerosol gels with lead additives.”
“I will be defenseless?” the Praetor asked.
“You will effectively be invisible, a black object hurtling through the empty void of space. Your close approach to Mars will be timed so it coincides with the hard deceleration of the Doom Stars. You will attack with stealth drones dropped from your ship. Your second objective will occur once you’ve passed their positions behind the moons, the planet itself or their prismatic fields. You will then beam critical information concerning their formation to the Doom Stars.”
“They will fire at me once I beam these messages.”
“Their window of opportunity to do you damage will be small. Your speed will be great and the technicians will have supplied your ship with many escape pods.”
“Escapes pods and the ship together will drift at high velocity toward the Outer Planets.”
“Shuttles will already be on their way to pick you up, if that proves necessary.”
“The timing would need to be exquisite for the flyby.”
“I have computed the numbers,” the Grand Admiral said. “It is well within Highborn capacity. Praetor, it is a dangerous mission. It calls for iron nerves and a will to conquer. I know you possess each of those qualities. You will also be in possession of the spaceship that tilts victory hard toward the Highborn. Needless to say, you will be a hero.”
“If I survive,” the Praetor said.
“Glory inherently demands risks.”
“Excellence brings rank,” the Praetor recited.
“Then you accept the assignment?”
“What about my neutraloids?”
“They will train until such time as the Doom Stars leave Earth orbit. I have plans to use them to retake Rebel strongholds on Mars.”
The Praetor wanted to examine the captaincy in detail. Yet he feared hesitating lest the Grand Admiral offer the chance at field command to someone else.
The Praetor forced himself to mutter, “I would be honored, Grand Admiral.”
“I knew it would be so,” the Grand Admiral said. “Now, it’s your move.”
The Praetor examined the chessboard and captured another piece, a bishop. He pressed his fingertips against the top knob of the bishop and ran the edge of his thumbnail through the bishop’s crease. Then he clunked the piece down into his growing row of captures.
“Hm,” the Grand Admiral said. He made another seemingly strange move.
The Praetor captured a pawn.
The Grand Admiral moved his queen and said, “Checkmate in three moves.”
Stunned and disbelieving, the Praetor examined the chessboard. He saw it then. He looked up into the Grand Admiral’s face. It was at that moment a cold icicle of fear stabbed the Praetor’s heart.
The Grand Admiral had outmaneuvered him all down the line. Could the old man be that much more cunning than he was? The thought made the Praetor wonder if this field command was a suicide mission intended to get rid of him, his reward for the failed neutraloid ‘accident’.
Cyborgs
-1-
Marten Kluge sat in the pilot’s chair of the Mayflower. He had renamed the shuttle after a mythical ship of freedom seekers. His mother had told him the story many times. The ancient Pilgrims had left the tyranny of one land, seeking a new country where they could breathe the air and practice their beliefs as their consciences dictated.
Marten considered himself a new Pilgrim in a Solar System seething with tyrants. Social Unity had slain his mother and father. It had forced him to flee to Earth. Then Social Unity had stolen Molly and Ah Chen from him. Day and night, hall leaders, the holoset, the sheep-like philosophies spouted during the hum-a-longs had all tried to grind him down. Social Unity had tried to turn him into a cog to fit into the machine of State. Major Orlov had sent him to the slime pits and later the punishment tube. Every aspect had been calculated to break his spirit and his will.
Marten had refused. He would always refuse. He had learned about freedom and truth from his parents. His mother and father had trumped the State. His first allegiance was to God and to his conscience, then to his family and friends, and lastly to the State.