The door opened. Marten whirled around. A stunningly beautiful woman stood there. Her hair was done up in an appealing style and her lips were glossy. She wore a wraparound dress, the hem all the way to the floor, even hiding her feet.
“The Secretary-General will see you now,” she said. “But he can only give you five minutes. So it will have to be brief.”
“I understand,” Marten said.
She gave him a quick study, nodded pertly and said, “If you would follow me, please…”
“That’s insanity,” Chavez said, “pure insanity.”
Marten and Omi sat in low chairs before the Secretary-General’s huge desk. Red smoke drifted through the room. The walls held a hundred plaques, photos and more of the bizarre paintings of swirls and thick ink. Chavez leaned back in his swivel chair, a stimstick dangling from his lips. Several bronze busts of old Unionist leaders rested on his desk. Outside the door to the spacious office waited a five-man security team.
Chavez took a deep drag on his stimstick. “We have one cyborg. One! The scientists need it for study.”
“She saved our lives,” Marten said quietly, trying to keep calm.
“Did she?” Chavez asked.
“Do you remember being tangled?” Marten asked.
Chavez snapped forward and placed his elbows on the desk. He mashed the stimstick in an ashtray, and from his greater height, he looked down at Marten sitting low in his chair.
It reminded Marten too much of Hall Leader Quirn, and that made his stomach queasy.
“The scientists have postulated an interesting theory,” Chavez said. “Did the cyborgs plant a spy among us? Did this Osadar Di destroy the other machines in order to win my gratitude?”
“They’re not just machines, sir, but living things.”
“They were living things,” Chavez said.
“They still have brains.”
Chavez frowned. “I’m not here to argue with you, Mr. Kluge. Your five minutes were up some time ago. I appreciate all that you’ve done for us, but—”
“Tell me this,” Marten said. “Why would Social Unity put a cyborg spy in your midst?”
Chavez’s frown deepened. “The answer is obvious.”
“Mr. Secretary-General, from what I’ve seen of your military, you have nothing that can stand against the cyborgs or against a full military attack. The only reason you won your freedom before was that the Highborn defeated Social Unity for you.”
“That is quite enough, Mr. Kluge.”
Marten stood up. He hated sitting in that low chair. He hated looking up at the skinny Secretary-General.
“Where are your military weapons?” Marten asked. “My commando team has Gauss needlers. Those are a joke.”
Looking stricken, Chavez sank back in his chair. “The enemy has already defeated and retaken our military equipment. I refer to the space stations, the orbitals and the proton beam. All we have left are the needlers, a few gyroc rifles and some plasma cannons. It stings our pride, but the truth is the Highborn freed us the first time, as you said. Now we’re depending on them again to free us.”
“That’s what I’m trying to change,” Marten said.
Chavez stared at him. “Your plan is suicide.”
“Freedom only comes at the price of blood,” Marten said. “The Highborn paid last time. I know. You’ve fought a guerilla war against PHC for years. And that meant you had pride because many of your noblest fighters had fallen. The pride allowed you to man the space defenses and fire the proton beam. Just like last time, you can’t solely rely on the Highborn. You must hurt Social Unity. You must help the Highborn and thereby stake your claim to freedom. Otherwise, sir, the Highborn might decide to remain as your masters.”
“That would be intolerable,” Chavez said. “We would fight for a thousand years to prevent that.”
“Then you must show the Highborn and Social Unity that you still have fight left. As importantly, you must show them that you can still hurt your enemies.”
Chavez folded his thin hands on the huge desk, and something seemed to leak out of him. His eyes become hollower and there was that Martian slouch to his skinny shoulders.
“What happens if Social Unity begins to beam our food-domes? What happens if they unleash the cyborgs on us?” Chavez wearily shook his head. “We must wait for the Highborn to appear.”
Marten stepped up to the huge desk and planted his knuckled fists on it. He learned toward Chavez so the Secretary-General leaned back in his swivel chair.
“I can understand that,” Marten said. “At the same time, you can still allow me to train the commandos. And now I’ll have time to train them in unit tactics. If they’ll fight as a team, they’ll be five times as deadly.”
“You’re talking about pitting men in EVA suits and gyroc rifles against cyborgs.”
“Yes!” Marten said.
“That’s suicide,” Chavez whispered.
“Not if we learn what the cyborgs can and cannot do.”
“That’s what the scientists are finding out.”
“In the lab,” Marten sneered. “What we need to know is in the field where it counts. Even better, Mr. Secretary-General, you will be honoring the woman who saved your life. Despite what your scientists tell you, unless Osadar Di had showed up, you and I would be cyborgs now.”
With a trembling hand, Chavez opened a drawer, tore open a new pack and popped another stimstick between his lips. He took a deep drag, inhaling it into a red glow. He began to cough and blew out a stream of smoke.
“The men fear her,” Chavez whispered.
“That’s another reason I need her for training,” Marten said. “I need to accustom my commandos to them.”
“Why do you want to throw away your life?” Chavez asked.
Marten straightened. He turned away. Mars was doomed one way or another. Was that something you could tell a man? Could he lie to Chavez? Marten sneered at himself, glanced at Omi and faced Secretary-General Chavez.
“I’ll tell you why, sir,” Marten said. “Then you can decide whether to let me attempt this. Mars is doomed. But I think you already know that.”
“Doomed?” Chavez whispered.
“You saw the cyborgs. You’ve seen the Highborn. The time of man… maybe our era is over.”
“You believe that?”
“I don’t know,” Marten said. “Maybe. Does that mean I’m going to accept it? No. But it means I know when to run.”
“There is no place to run,” Chavez said.
“Not for an entire planet, no,” Marten said as he began to pace before the huge desk. “Look. I’m going to be honest. I’m not going to lie to you. I wanted to bypass Mars. But I couldn’t. I needed fuel. We bought fuel with our service. Now I want to get to my shuttle and head to Jupiter.”
“Your shuttle has been destroyed,” Chavez said.
Marten stared Chavez in the eye. “You can give me diplomatic power. I’m willing to represent you. I’ll go to the Jupiter System and see if I can drum up support. If terror of the cyborgs can’t unite humanity, nothing can. We need a fleet of freemen to face… these aliens.”
“Your shuttle was destroyed,” Chavez said.
“No,” Marten said. “I sent it a coded signal a week ago and received one back, just one single beep. My shuttle is up there, floating like debris. You said Zapata filled the tanks with propellants. I plan to reach my shuttle and head to Jupiter.”
“How can you reach your shuttle?” Chavez asked.
“I’ll need an orbital fighter.”
“You can fly one?”
“Osadar Di can,” Marten said.
Chavez blinked at him. “And you think there are orbitals at Olympus Mons?”
Marten nodded.
“You want me to loan you Martian commandos so you can flee and stay alive?” Chavez asked in disbelief.
“You buy my service by providing me a service,” Marten countered. “I hit the enemy for you when the Highborn attack. I show the Highborn and the cyborgs that the Planetary Union can still strike. Your men provide me with my one chance of returning to my spaceship. In return, I train your men to the best of my Highborn-training. That training is more valuable to your Union than plutonium.”