“Speed and surprise,” Marten said.
“And savagery,” added Omi.
“Right,” Marten said. “That’s all we’ve got.”
“It probably doesn’t hurt then that we’re shock troopers,” said Lance.
They neared the lift building as Kang started blinking. He’d been in a near trance, eyes staring as he moved like a sleepwalker. “What’s going on?” he muttered.
“Hansen is double-crossing us,” Omi said.
“The little maggot?” Kang said.
“What—” Lance started to say.
“Sir!” said a policeman, stepping in front of Marten.
Omi used Vip to shield the projac from the crowd and shot the cop with two sleep needles. They pushed the falling policeman aside and hurried through an imitation, vine-covered archway.
“Stop them!” shouted a man on the street, a janitor who dropped his broom and pulled out a communicator and gun.
“Run!” shouted Marten.
The five-man team knocked people flying. Kang bellowed in delight. Vip giggled. Omi, Lance and Marten concentrated with grim intensity. They skidded and almost tripped as they hit the lifts. Marten dug out his card. Omi twisted around and snapped off shots at three monitors running at them. Two fell. The last monitor, shorter than the other two and with wide shoulders—it was Ervil from Smade’s—threw himself prone, drew and fired back. Vip grunted and slammed against the lift as the door opened. Lance dragged him in and they all hugged the floor. The door slid shut as needles prickled the back wall.
“I’m hit,” Vip said, touching his thigh. Then his eyes drooped shut.
“This is too much,” said Lance. “Either way the HBs are gonna know about it.”
“Maybe not,” Marten said.
“In any case,” said Lance, “the monitors will be waiting for us.”
“Hansen can’t have that many crooked monitors,” Marten said. “Besides, he just woke up and must be trying to pull them all together.”
“Yeah, right” said Lance. He checked Vip and turned back to Marten. “Where did you get the bug?”
“What bug?” Kang said.
“He stole it from Hansen,” Omi said.
“We’re slowing down,” Marten said.
They braced themselves, projacs drawn as they knelt on either side of the door. It opened—the hall was empty.
“Go, Kang,” whispered Marten. “Take Vip. Use him as a shield.”
“Hey,” said Lance. “That’s—”
Kang charged with the unconscious Vip in his arms. Two big men in black suits stepped from around a corner, firing. It was Dalt and Methlen, the original duo from Smade’s. One had a bloody mouth and he was missing two front teeth. Someone must have found the sleeping due, reported it and medics had probably given them wake-up and stims.
Omi and Marten began to fire.
One of the monitors slid to the floor. The other, who was missing his teeth, must have been wearing a vest.
Kang roared as he charged.
The last monitor snarled, lifted his projac—
Marten dove out of the lift for a better angle, firing, hitting the man’s arm. The man dropped his weapon. Then Kang was on him.
“Go,” Marten said, jumping off the floor.
“Is he hit again?” Lance asked Kang as they sprinted down the corridor.
“He’s still breathing. Here.” Kang tossed little Vip. Then the four ran even harder. Behind them, lift doors opened and angry men shouted. Pounding feet told of a hotly contested chase.
“Kang!” shouted Hansen, probably using an amplifier. “This isn’t the end of it, Kang!”
Kang laughed. “We can take them,” he said.
“Go, go,” Marten said.
They raced toward the docking tube, Marten in the lead. He forgot what Lycon had told them about shuttle procedure. He didn’t know if the tube doors would only open when their leave was over or whether they could come back early and get in.
“Here we go,” Marten said, pitching his projac to Kang. Marten hit the tube door with a grunt, fumbled with the slot and slid the card through. “Open,” he pleaded.
“Here they come,” Omi said.
“Try it again!” snarled Lance.
Marten slid the card again, and again. He cursed, turned the card and slid it through a last time. The door opened. They piled through, Marten last of all. He glanced back. Three monitors with guns raced into view, one of them short wide-shouldered Ervil together with his taller, dark-haired companion. Hansen, his thin hair disheveled and his face flushed and sweaty, came up behind them.
“Stop!” shouted Hansen.
The door closed and Marten raced up the boarding tube to catch up with the others. Finally, he passed the airlock and entered the military shuttle.
“What are you going to do about your weapons?” whispered Lance. “We can’t take them to the barracks.”
“Wait,” Marten said, who took his projac from Kang.
A minute went by, two, three and four more.
“We made it,” Omi said. “We’re safe—for now.”
Marten heaved off his knee where he’d hidden beside the airlock. He slid into a seat and grinned. “I’ll tell you what we’re going to do.” He raised his projac. “We’ll break them apart and flush them down the toilet once we take off.”
Lance shook his head. “Sure hope it works.”
“Yeah,” Marten said. “Me too.”
11.
Earth—Joho Mountains, China Sector
Taking a billion civilian casualties hardly seemed like a victory, especially when added to the loss of the Japanese home islands, the evaporation of 700,000 trained soldiers and the destruction of Earth’s naval and air fleets. In return, they had only bled the Highborn by several thousand personnel, a couple hundred orbital fighters and a nearly crippled Doom Star, the Genghis Khan. Still, to date, it was the best Social Unity had been able to achieve against their genetic superiors, and the tactics that had allowed it were the brainchild of General James Hawthorne.
Thus the Earth government’s propaganda mills proclaimed him the Savior of Social Unity, and the Directorate of Inner Planets, led by Madam Director Blanche-Aster, granted him vast powers for the further prosecution of the war.
That had been six months ago. Now General Hawthorne paced in his office in China Sector as he spoke via comlink with Director Blanche-Aster. The tall, gaunt Supreme Commander with his wispy blond hair and aristocratic bearing had worn a long path in his carpet. He thought best while pacing, a nervous habit. He wore a green uniform with red piping along the crease of his trousers.
“I can’t help you there, General,” said Madam Director Blanche-Aster. The holo-screen was blank. She had been operated on yesterday, and had said she didn’t feel like having people stare at her, gauging her health.
“Political Harmony Corps chips away at my authority,” said Hawthorne. “Six months ago PHC worked hand in glove with me. Now they’ve thrown a blizzard of red tape and bad will in my face.”
“You’ve scared them, General. You’ve shown them a Social Unity world where they wield diminished power.”
“Nonsense!”
“General Hawthorne,” she said. “For the last time. I can’t help you there. You must accept the reemergence of PHC hostility and concentrate on military matters. I hesitate to tell you this, but the other directors—Director Gannel has gained a following. I must tread carefully when arbitrating between you and PHC. There’s nothing more I can say.”
Hawthorne swung his long arms behind his back. So it had come to this. It was going to make everything that much harder.
“About the Bangladesh,” said Blanche-Aster. “The attack must not fail.”
“No military endeavor is without risks.”
“But you assured me we would catch the Highborn by surprise.”
“I still believe we shall,” said Hawthorne. “Yet a good commander has contingency plans. I cannot simply point my finger and say: Here I will win.”
“Don’t be fatuous, General.