“I refused. I am a fighting man, not a politician. But she argued that now is the not the time for politics but for rolling up our sleeves, picking up our guns and fighting. ‘Guide us,’ she pleaded. ‘Help me show the other Directors that we must go to the people and tell them the bitter truth.’ I finally agreed, with the proviso that she would remain by my side to help me. She reluctantly agreed, as age has stolen so much of her vigor. Yet I am grateful for her help she can give.
“This is why I have come to you tonight, my dear citizens. As Supreme Commander, I beg for your help and your understanding. In the coming days we will continue to take heavy losses. The Highborn are too powerful for it to be otherwise and they have infected their treachery into too many who should have known better. Yet Social Unity is stronger than mere fighting prowess and without a doubt stronger than base treachery. Our great hearts beat too purely for it to be otherwise. Millions of you will enlist in the armies that push the invaders from Earth. Others will join Space Defense and search and destroy the Doom Stars in our new and improved battle and beamships, while many millions will work overtime in order to build the weapons we need to defeat the so-called Supremacists.
“Citizens of the Four Planets, not all my news is gloomy or about the hardships to come. The Highborn are mighty but they are not invincible. As Supreme Commander, I ordered a space attack on the Sun Works Factory around Mercury. The Ring-factory has become Highborn Central, their processing plant and manufacturing yard. We hit it savagely with our latest beamship, the Bangladesh, a breakthrough design that has challenged all the old ways of space war.
“Many of you have been heard to ask: ‘Where are our space fleets?’ I shall tell you where: Hitting the enemy! Striking him ruthlessly and making him quake with fear! We will go on hitting him until he is defeated. We shall never surrender. Not as long as your hearts are true and as you realize that together, in our united unity, that we shall overcome.
“Thank you, my dear citizens, my fellow cardholders, good night, and may the creative force of our wills continue to shine.”
General Hawthorne peered straight at the camera until the holo-director said, “Cut. That was excellent, General. A fine speech.”
Hawthorne nodded as he rose and strode to the door. Yezhov congratulated him, shaking hands. “Wonderful, General. A splendid speech. The masses will be hardened in their resolve and flood into the recruiting stations.”
Hawthorne nodded, and he shook more hands as he heard more effusive praise. The Chief of PHC worked for him now, although Hawthorne would never trust Yezhov until the man was incinerated and his ashes thrown down a deep-core mine. Bionic Captain Mune stood behind the secret police chief, ready to kill him at the first hint of betrayal.
“I was hoping you could check my latest list,” said Yezhov, edging forward.
“Assassination teams that are to be slipped onto the orbital farm habs?” asked Hawthorne.
Yezhov winced and glanced around. “Please, General, this is a sensitive project. Its success hinges on the fact that it remains secret.”
Only those screened by Hawthorne’s MI teams were allowed in his presence, and his bionic men watched those closely. A glance around showed him seven bulky bionic men. They held gyroc rifles and continually scanned the crowd, making them nervous. Good! Let them all quiver at the thought of treachery.
He and Yezhov had made a deal Slippery Yezhov, the sly and cunning chief of Political Harmony Corps. During his coup attempt, Hawthorne hadn’t the strength to take PHC in a straight shooting match. So he’d made the deal and now worked to chip at their power, just as they tried to chip at his. All the directors had been replaced except for Blanche-Aster for him and Gannel for Yezhov. The others were non-entities. So in a sense the tripod of power in Social Unity had become two: the Military and the Secret Police.
Wait until the Cyborgs arrive was Hawthorne’s policy. He wasn’t sure what Yezhov’s plan was. These assassination teams were part of it, maybe the core. Yet the secret police chief’s plan was ingenious and bold. The assassination teams would infiltrate Highborn areas and kill them. Just like PHC had infiltrated the Joho Command Center and almost kidnapped him. He needed to keep reminding himself how close PHC had come to victory.
A door opened and Madam Blanche-Aster wheeled in on her bulky medical unit. Behind her followed the guard-clone, unarmed these days. Neither the clone nor the director looked happy. Hawthorne excused himself and greeted the Madam Director. He inclined his head, even as he heard Captain Mune clump behind him.
“A fine speech, General,” said Blanche-Aster, only a touch of sarcasm in her voice.
“Thank you, Madam Director.”
“I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
“Can’t it wait?” asked Hawthorne. “I need to meet with the new directors and—”
“It’s about the Bangladesh,” she said.
His eyes narrowed. “Yes?”
“It’s been captured.”
“What?”
People turned and stared.
Hawthorne noticed. He lowered his voice and said, “Come with me.”
23.
Hawthorne clicked off Admiral Sioux’s recorded message and with his bony fingers, he massaged the side of his head.
“It doesn’t appear as if the Highborn themselves stormed aboard,” said Blanche-Aster. She scanned a readout-slate hooked to her chair. “Normal men did this. Which is amazing. According to the Admiral’s report, seventy to eighty space marines captured the Bangladesh. Actually, amazing is probably the wrong word. Treachery is more like it. How can seventy to eighty space marines capture a beamship the size of the Bangladesh?”
Hawthorne sat behind his desk, shaking his head and with his shoulders hunched. Captain Mune stood at attention behind him. The Director’s guard-clone kept her gloved hands on the handles of Blanche-Aster’s medical unit.
“The Admiral called these space marines shock troopers,” said Hawthorne.
“Does that mean anything?”
“It must signify something. Perhaps shock troopers are like our good Captain Mune.”
Blanche-Aster wouldn’t look at the hulking bionic soldier. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think seventy Captain Mune’s could capture the Bangladesh.”
“I strongly disagree,” said Hawthorne.
“I imply no disdain upon these mechanically enhanced warriors of yours, General. But to me treachery seems like the more probable answer.”
“Seventy bionic soldiers could capture the Bangladesh—quite handily in fact,” said Hawthorne. “But I’m not saying that the Highborn have modified people in such a fashion. Their psychology dictates against it.” Hawthorne pursed his lips. “Shock trooper is an interesting term. The same philosopher, Nietzsche, influenced both the ancient Nazis and the Highborn. He espoused the doctrines of the superman and the will to power. Perhaps the Highborn have combed the FEC ranks for superior soldiers and trained them in space marine tactics.”
“That’s all very interesting,” said Blanche-Aster. “But normal men can’t accelerate at twenty-five Gs.”
“You’re missing the point, Director. Why are the Highborn training regular men to fight in space? Have they run low of Highborn personnel?”
“I would think so,” said Blanche-Aster. “And if so, then Yezhov’s plan becomes even more essential.”
Hawthorne regarded the Madam Director. “A momentous decision rests on us.”
Blanche-Aster looked away, troubled.
“I think Admiral Sioux knew that when she sent the message.”