“This is a restricted area,” Marten said.
“Is it now?” asked Hansen. He glanced about. “Who enforces the restriction?”
“There are spy-sticks recording every move,” Marten said.
“How can that be?” asked Hansen. “You removed them. Or should I say you short-circuited them?”
Marten glanced at the projacs. If he made a break—
Ervil stepped near, reaching. Marten struck the wide hand. Ervil moved with the economical speed of a close-combat expert and used his other hand to grab. He caught Marten’s sleeve and jerked Marten toward him. Marten lowered his head and butted Ervil’s nose.
A whistle blasted.
Hansen hissed.
Ervil released Marten’s sleeve and stepped back. Marten jumped away, warily eyeing the projacs. Ervil held his bloody nose and eyed Marten with those strange, dead eyes.
A whistle blasted again, and a beta Highborn marched into the hall.
“Hurry to the auditorium!” the Highborn shouted at Marten.
Marten backed away from Hansen.
“I know what you’re up to, Mr. Kluge,” Hansen said, just loud enough for Marten to hear. “Unless I get my product back I’ll blow the whistle on your little game.”
“You premen,” the Highborn said, “you aren’t shock troopers. Identify yourselves.”
“Chief Monitor Hansen, Highborn.”
“Why are you in shock trooper territory?”
“We came at the Praetor’s express orders, Highborn. We enforce the curfew.”
Marten paused.
“Yes,” said Hansen quietly. “I’m the new Chief Monitor.”
“Training Master Lycon enforces the curfew,” the Highborn shouted.
“I beg your pardon, Highborn. In my zeal I have perhaps overstepped myself.”
“Hurry, shock trooper,” the Highborn told Marten. “The entire corps will be addressed in fifteen minutes. It is an A-One priority message.”
“Do you request further investigation of our actions, Highborn?” Hansen asked.
“No, but leave at once.”
“Yes, Highborn.”
Hansen sneered at Marten before motioning his men.
23.
The shock troopers stared silently, eyes forward. Each black beret was perfectly aslant and their black boots the regulation twelve inches apart as they sat in the auditorium seats. Two white-coated techs stood by the front screen. Ten beta Highborn stood against the walls, heavy blasters holstered on their belts. Training Master Lycon wore his blue dress uniform with a gold “Magnetic Star” First Class on his chest.
“Men,” said Lycon, in his bear-deep voice.
The shock troopers swiped away their berets in a single, fluid motion.
Lycon inclined his head and cleared his throat. “Men, the moment has arrived to put theory to the test, to see if practice matches reality. You have trained these many months and you are now more capable than any human before you could have dreamed possible. Most of you were already combat veterans. Clearly, you are the best of the best that Homo sapiens have to offer. But,” he held up a single finger. “How will you react in space combat? Does our faith in you always have to rely upon possibilities and probabilities? No, it does not. The enemy—”
Training Master Lycon closed his eyes. His lip-less mouth twitched. Then he regarded them, peering at his shock troopers.
“I shall be frank. There are those on the Grand Admiral’s Command Staff who feel that it is unworthy of us to allow… to allow the Homo sapiens among us. They do not mean on the planets. The FEC Armies are useful allies. But in space, where the Highborn are supreme, do the… the Homo sapiens truly belong here as well?
“Certainly we shall soon find out,” Lycon said. “This great test, this honor. It is difficult to express the glory put upon you. As your trainer I am keenly anxious.” He smiled. “Yes. Sometimes Highborn can know the flutter of uncertainty. Have you soldiers been able to absorb my theories, my lessons so painstakingly given you? In that sense, I am anxious about the outcome of your coming combat. Naturally, only the best maniples will be chosen for this assignment, although I understand that if you could fight among yourselves for this privilege, that no doubt not one of you would be left standing.
“Now. I have but a single question. What is the ingredient for true glory?”
The Training Master scanned the throng. Not a shock trooper moved. “Come now, this is rare moment. I have given you leave to speak. Surely, one of you… ah, very good.”
An arm stretched.
“Marten Kluge, Leader of the 101st Maniple. Speak.”
A sinking, dreadful feeling made Marten reckless. “Training Master,” he said, too loudly perhaps, “HB glory is gained through insane risks.”
A profound silence descended upon the auditorium.
Marten glanced about and then snapped his head forward to stare in regulation pose at Lycon. “Um. Please forgive me, Training Master. Not HB, I meant Highborn.”
Lycon’s eyes seemed to glitter.
A cold sweat broke over Marten. Beside him, Omi dug the toe of his boot into his leg. Otherwise, no one moved or looked at the doomed maniple leader.
“Because I have selected you and your maniple as first team, Marten, this… this breach of protocol will be treated as not to have occurred.”
Shock troopers widened their eyes in disbelief. Such a gesture was unprecedented.
“Lights,” said Lycon.
One of the techs touched his wrist. The auditorium went dark.
Click.
On screen blazed the Sun, with swirling dark sunspots and spewing solar flares.
Dwarfed by the image of the Sun, Lycon stood beside the screen, clicker in hand, as he spoke.
“The Highborn Battlefleets have swept the four inner planets of orbital enemy. However, for good or for ill, the various units as well as single ships of the SU Space Fleets fled precipitously. Some have gone to the Jupiter Confederation, and there been confiscated and incorporated into the Jupiter navy. Others hide in the void between the planets. A few crept near Venus to ply a misguided guerrilla-duel. Those perished. One ship in particular has been hiding here, very near the Sun.
“This ship has now dared leave its sanctuary and try a sneak-run to points unknown. Cleverly, most of our robot radar probes near the Sun have been destroyed. But one probe arriving on station a mere few hours ago spotted them. Before the probe was destroyed we learned among other facts the ship’s configuration.”
Click.
A strange sort of spacecraft filled the screen. It was massive, oblong-shaped, with heavy particle shields making it look like a smooth asteroid with engine nozzles in the rear. When the 600-meter shields rolled away—like a visor on a helmet—big laser tubes and missile launch systems would be visible.
“The spotted ship’s mass conforms to the Zhukov-class Battleship you see on the screen, but with several interesting peculiarities that are of little matter to you. Further analysis of this ship has led the Grand Admiral’s Command Staff to a single clue, a name.”
Click.
X-Ship Bangladesh.
“An experimental spacecraft of battleship size,” said Lycon, “the Bangladesh. Again, it is meaningless to you, but of great interest to the Grand Admiral. Apparently, SU Military Intelligence has been able to keep this ship’s capabilities secret. We have reason to believe that our greatest interest lies in the ship’s ability to orbit near enough to the Sun to hide from our detectors. That is a feat of value and the reason why the Grand Admiral wants this ship intact.”
Click.
The Sun Works Factory circling Mercury leaped onto the screen.
“If it keeps its present heading, the Bangladesh will flyby Mercury at 30 million kilometers when Mercury reaches perihelion.”