“These are Highborn,” Blackstone said.
Kursk tightened her grip around him as her breasts flattened against his back. “I forbid you to fear,” she whispered.
He clutched one of her wrists. “Is this technique in your PHC training manual?”
“As a matter of fact…” she said, and she nibbled on his ear.
Blackstone had responded earlier. Now this felt too much like the last request of a dead man. Instead of a meal, he had taken the Commissar. He had wanted to take her for so long. Now… now he felt as if he’d betrayed his ex-wife. The Highborn were superior. The cyborgs, Toll Seven’s plan would fail.
Blackstone tightened his grip on Commissar Kursk’s wrist just the same. In his gut, he knew that death waited. But he was a fighting man, a fighting officer. He had to show a brave front. If nothing else, he had to die well. He could show his crew how to do that. Yes, he would not shout and rave as last time. This time, he was going to kill at least one Doom Star. To kill all the Doom Stars seemed impossible, but at least they could take down one of those damned super-ships.
He turned around, catching Commissar Kursk by surprise. His decision to die well gave him a resumed appetite.
“Where were we,” he murmured as he kissed her.
Amazingly, she giggled. It seemed like an unnatural sound considering the nearness of the Doom Stars. But maybe that was the sound of life. If they could kill one Doom Star, maybe that meant that someday in the future, man would rise again against the nine-foot supermen. Blackstone didn’t know. Instead, he pushed the Commissar onto her back as his hands roved over her thighs, and he tried to enjoy a final moment of love before oblivion claimed him forever.
-13-
Marten Kluge stood alone on the windswept sands of Mars. Behind him over a large dune were the EVA tents, skimmers and plasma cannons.
It was night, with the stars bright in the cloudless sky. Phobos sailed serenely through the blackness, to him, half the size of Luna as seen on Earth. It was hard to believe that outside Mars’ atmosphere waited the SU Battlefleet. Beyond them came the Doom Stars full of arrogant Highborn, which meant arrogant Training Masters, battleoids and super-soldiers with unnatural vitality and the lust to kill.
Something alerted Marten then. He turned and watched an EVA-suited Omi trudge toward him. He knew the Korean’s stride. Omi shouldered a gyroc rifle and had a grenade-launching carbine dangling from his hip.
Marten pointed in the far distance at the giant volcano of Olympus Mons. It dominated the dark landscape. The majestic mountain was uniquely Martian, a thing of towering awe and splendorous beauty. This was a strange, dead world, similar to the ocean on Earth with its life underground.
“Tomorrow,” Omi said over his com-unit.
“You have word on the Doom Stars?”
“Major Diaz did,” Omi said, “from Chavez. Chavez wants to talk to you.”
Marten shrugged. Everything seemed peaceful tonight. Olympus Mons, the red sands, it was beautiful. The wind never stopped blowing. He wondered if he would miss Mars.
Omi and he stood side-by-side in silence, staring up at the stars.
“It’s up there,” Marten said, breaking the calm. Both of them knew he meant the Mayflower.
“Did you try another signal?” Omi asked.
“I’m not pushing my luck more than I need to,” Marten said.
“Since when did you decide that?”
“—We can’t stay on Mars,” Marten said.
“Never said we should,” Omi replied. “I’m just saying that your supply of luck ran out a long time ago. You’re living on borrowed time.”
“That’s the trick.”
“I don’t know what that means,” Omi said.
“I’ve already borrowed more luck than I can ever hope to repay,” Marten said. “Knowing that, I’ve decided to push it and borrow even more. The bank is open as far as I’m concerned.”
“What’s a bank?” Omi asked.
“It’s like a loan shark.”
“Got it,” Omi said. “You’re not worried about an enforcer like me coming along and demanding repayment because you’re too high on DD.”
“What did Chavez want?” Marten asked.
“More diplomatic jargon,” Omi said. “None of it made any sense to me. I think what he really wants is the commandos back in New Tijuana.”
Marten turned toward Omi and stared at his friend’s visor. All he saw was a dark reflection of himself, with his own EVA helmet and suit.
“It’s time we moved closer to Olympus Mons,” Marten said.
“As he listened to Chavez over the radio, Major Diaz looked pretty thoughtful,” Omi said. “He might not agree with you.”
“Yeah,” Marten said. “We’ll see.” And he began trudging through the red sands back to camp.
-14-
“Help us!” a colonel screamed. “Can anybody hear me? They’re pounding us with missiles and beaming everywhere. Commodore Blackstone! Captain Vargas! Please, somebody answer. Somebody—”
A boom sounded over the com-link. There were the noises of things crashing and then came hissing static. It was a terrible and accusing sound.
“Shut it off,” Blackstone whispered.
Belatedly, the Vladimir Lenin’s communications officer snapped forward and broke the link with Deimos. The Mars-facing side of the tiny moon had been under Highborn attack for the past half-hour.
Commodore Blackstone’s hands were greasy with sweat. His dry mouth tasted like bile. As if he went to a funeral, he wore his black uniform with its row of medals. He also wore his officer’s cap at its regulation angle. On the map-module where he rested his hands was the image of the great mass of Mars, the curvature of it. The flock of specks was the SU Battlefleet. For the past three days, the fleet had remained behind Mars in relation to the terrible Doom Stars. Now the Doom Stars had braked again, and they were in near orbit, hunting for the Battlefleet.
The grim silence on the bridge was like a psychic weight.
“There was nothing you could have done,” Commissar Kursk whispered.
Blackstone savagely wiped his eyes. This entire plan had been madness. Now he had let the personnel on Deimos die because otherwise his one chance to hurt the Highborn—
Blackstone’s head snapped up. Listening to those pleas had broken a dam in him. Maybe it had begun long ago when his ex-wife had first filed for divorce. He had bottled up so much pain and so much anguish. That anguish and pain now poured out in a torrent from his heart. He wanted to hurt somebody. He wanted to hurt them badly.
“It’s time to make them pay,” Blackstone said hoarsely.
Stout General Fromm watched him.
Blackstone made a sharp gesture. “The Highborn have come to step on our necks. It’s time to make them understand that we’re men. It’s time to bring them down by destroying the Doom Stars.”
The bridge’s officers had all turned to stare. Commissar Kursk nodded belated agreement.
The communications officer asked, “Do you think we can win, sir?”
“Yes!” Commodore Blackstone said, although he didn’t believe that. His crisp tone, however, caused several officers to straighten. What Blackstone did believe was that he was going to hurt them now. He was done with waiting. With the help of the cyborg stealth-attacks, the Highborn were going to know that they had been in a battle.
The communications officer turned toward her com-board. “What are your orders, sir?”
Commodore Blackstone studied the map-module. Then he began to issue curt commands.
-15-
The SU warships subtlety changed their dispositions. In his command pod and linked to the Battlefleet-net, Toll Seven heard Blackstone’s orders. Soon, Toll Seven began to issue his own commands, to mesh the cyborg plan with the reinvigorated bio-forms.