They rode the magnetic lift and Marten’s ears popped twice as he hastily swallowed time after time.
The command room was surprisingly cramped, with a handful of officers clumped around two monitors. A glass partition showed technicians in white lab-coats watching a room-length monitor-board. The board possessed a hundred multicolored lights and displays, a bewildering amount.
Diaz stood in a corner. The major was pale and his eyes staring, as if he’d learned dreadful news. Secretary-General Chavez stood behind the officers around the two monitors. He stared at an unseen point as he sucked heavily on a stimstick. Red, mildly narcotic smoke hung in a haze above him like a broken halo.
Marten and Omi moved quietly. The guards outside hadn’t even questioned them about their sidearms. Each of them wore long-barreled slug-throwers with explosive bullets. Each carried extra clips. These were deadly close-combat guns. Until now, Marten hadn’t used them. Something about the immediate summons had troubled him. A laser pack and rifle would have been more powerful. But Marten didn’t own one and he doubted the guards would have let him shoulder such a weapon.
Omi had asked about the choice.
“Do you notice how empty this place feels?” Marten had asked.
“Now that you mention it,” Omi had replied, “yes.”
“There’s a reason for that,” Marten had said. “And I don’t think it’s a good reason. So we wear the long-barrels.”
In the cramped command center, no one seemed to notice the difference in armament. The officers were too intent on the monitors. Diaz looked pale enough to faint and Chavez was lost somewhere in his thoughts.
After two minutes of inattention, Marten discreetly cleared his throat.
Major Diaz’s head swiveled around. Marten expected a glare. Instead, Diaz looked lost, bewildered.
Chavez took a deep pull on his stimstick. He exhaled through his nostrils as he slowly turned around. Just as slowly, the distant stare departed as he focused on Marten.
“The shock troopers,” Chavez said. The Secretary-General coughed until he took another deep drag on his stimstick. He left it between his lips as his arm swung down to his side, as if it was too heavy to hold onto the smoldering stick anymore. “Major Diaz said you eliminated an airfield and its jets.”
“At heavy cost, sir,” Marten said.
Chavez took another drag as he shook his head. “Frankly, the way events proceed, that was fantastic success. I can only hope to achieve a like result today.”
“Your men have fixed the proton beam?” Marten asked.
“Not entirely,” Chavez said. With the barest flick of his wrist, he indicated the officers and then the worried-looking technicians in the other room. “They’re petrified. So am I, I suppose. Even Major Diaz shows the strain. Juan,” he told Diaz, “I told you to flee to New Tijuana. Take the shock troopers with you. Someone must survive this day.”
“I stay,” Diaz whispered.
“Stubborn fool,” Chavez said without any rancor.
“Why are you here if the proton beam doesn’t work?” Marten asked.
“‘Not entirely’ means it works after a fashion,” Chavez said. He smiled tiredly. “You don’t understand which is entirely understandable. The Battlefleet is arriving at near orbit. Nothing up there belongs to us. It is all theirs. They captured our moons before the main weapons could inflict damage. We have images of incredible space marines, robots or some deranged form of android. They used stealth tactics and took the moons by surprise. It means they obliterated our satellites with hardly a fight. What kind of domination will they inflict on us if we couldn’t even kill a few of them? They will become even more unbearably proud than before. No. We must damage them. We must make them realize they fought a battle. That is why I am here. That is why I have decided to use a half-working proton beam.”
“The battle is over?” Marten asked in dismay.
Chavez slowly shook his head. “It will never be over. The Martians shall always fight. The Planetary Union has given millions of needlers to the workers. Social Unity will face a bloodbath as they attempt to rule us. It will bring fierce retribution, of this, I am certain. But it is better to die a fighting Martian than to submit to invaders from another planet. Mars is for the Martians.”
Marten stared at the officers. All the Martian satellites had been destroyed? That meant the Mayflower—
“We’re trapped on Mars,” Omi whispered into his ear.
“I’m sorry we could not return you to your shuttle, Mr. Kluge. Commander Zapata took the liberty of cracking your code. He fueled your shuttle.” Chavez made a vague gesture. “It must be space debris now, likely destroyed. I am sorry.”
Marten frowned. Zapata had filled the tanks with propellant?
“You must join your commandos and head for New Tijuana,” Chavez said. “If the deep-core mine should erupt or the dynamos overheat, Olympus Mons could receive a new and impressive crater.”
“You’re going to beam the Battlefleet,” Marten said, finally understanding.
“For the future of the Planetary Union, we shall try,” Chavez said.
“When is zero-hour?” Marten asked.
A rail-thin officer looked up. “It’s as ready as its ever going to be, sir,” he told Chavez.
“You have a target?” Chavez asked. There was new life in his voice. He had apparently already forgotten about Marten and Omi.
“A battleship, sir.”
“Their flagship?” Chavez asked with savage hope.
“Can’t tell that, sir,” the officer answered. “But it is one of their heavies.”
Secretary-General Chavez removed the stub of the stimstick from his lips and flicked it into a corner. He took two steps closer to the monitor. At a word from the officer, others hurried out of the way. Chavez raised his hands. They were clenched tightly into fists. “Kill it!” he rasped. “Show them we still have teeth.”
A different officer seated at the other monitor began to enter the firing code.
“We must leave,” Omi whispered, tugging Marten’s arm.
Marten shook his head. He stepped closer to the monitor Chavez viewed. It showed a computer image of an SU battleship. It was near Phobos, which was a little more than 9,000 kilometers away.
A loud and fierce whine began from somewhere in the volcano. It was the dynamos as they converted the deep-core mine heat into proton-beam power. The whine increased as the dynamos pumped the power into the cannon poking out of the giant crater at the top of Olympus Mons. That crater was over 60 kilometers in diameter. The cannon targeted the SU battleship.
Twenty seconds after Secretary-General Chavez gave the order, a deadly-white beam of proton particles lanced upward into the reddish heavens.
-22-
Several SU warships circled Phobos.
The Kim Philby had already collected half the Rebel prisoners. Now that the battle was over, General Fromm planned to use the mine-ship as their supposed ‘interrogation center’. Toll Seven had exported enough equipment to it so three of Fromm’s fellow converts had set up a Web-link. If anybody should ask about the strange equipment, the answer would be that it was a new interrogation technique hot from Earth.
The Alger Hiss supply ship presently maneuvered for docking. In its cargo-holds were tons of laser coils, merculite missiles and other items meant to make the moon bristle with functioning weaponry. Now that Social Unity owned Phobos again, there was no time to waste to make it battle-ready for the Highborn.
The Battleship Ho Chi Minh protected the others. If the Planetary Union should foolishly attempt to send its last orbitals in a kamikaze raid, the Ho Chi Minh would obliterate every fighter. The Battleship’s captain, however, had not taken any undue chances. The heavy particle-shields were all in place. The shields were 600-meters of asteroid rock surrounding the war-vessel. Before any laser or projectile could touch the Battleship’s armored skin, it would first have to pierce the 600 meters of rock.