Silver-dome clusters abounded on the uneven surface with its rocks, craters and low hills. Towers arose among them, some with antennas and others with dishes and even more with waiting anti-missiles. Point-defense guns ringed the small planetoid. The massive exhaust-ports dwarfed everything else.
As Carme continued its monotonous orbit, a pulse of plasma blew out of an exhaust-port. Another pulse flowed out of a different port. In a nanosecond, hell erupted, changing everything. The generators poured power through the fusion engines deep in the moon. Blue plasma now spewed from the multiple exhaust-ports. The generators increased output as other engines came online. For several minutes, Carme shivered as if hit with the longest quake in history. Then the generators revved up the scale to maximum output. Massive amounts of power surged through hundreds of cables. A blue brilliant glow of plasma stretched thirty kilometers behind Carme. Slowly, the Jovian moon increased orbital speed as it increased velocity.
The first Jovian planet-wrecker had begun its acceleration. There were no cheers, however, no backslapping cyborgs. The melded bipeds lay on their couches, emotionless and expressionless. They awaited orders from the Web-Mind. The few that possessed minuscule anomalies processed their stray thoughts. Those thoughts did not prevent their full functioning, however.
Among the jacked-in Webbies lying on the long couches, a few frowned. Two laughed and one seethed. Octagon was one of the latter.
Pressed against his couch, Octagon remembered the time in the pod as he’d headed to the Rousseau. Marten Kluge had done that to him. Marten Kluge—Webbie Octagon grinded his molars together. It was a vile sound. Despite his new way of examining reality and his plugging into the Web-Mind, he yearned for revenge. He yearned to hurt Marten Kluge. If only he could cut Marten’s flesh. If only he could reach in and pull out the kidneys and then the liver and finally the heart as it pumped hot blood all over his hands.
For the first time in ages, Octagon smiled. It was a twisted thing, perverse and perverted. Marten Kluge’s blood, he would bathe in it as the barbarian died. Nothing could feel as good. Marten Kluge, Marten Kluge… Marten Kluge must die a hideous and painful death.
Elsewhere, in a shed on a low hill, Nadia groaned. The massive engines caused Carme to accelerate. Her spine ached as it pressed against the metal sheet and her heart beat faster.
Am I having a heart attack?
Breathing hurt and she arched as a spasm made her scream. Then her beating heart slowed to its normal rhythm. Nadia panted as sweat poured from her heated skin. After a time the sensation passed. She slumped on her sheet. Within a minute, she slept.
Nadia dreamed of suffocation, which was horrible. But for the first time in weeks, she slept for more than a four-hour stint.
Nadia woke once in the darkness, feeling Carme tremble with its new life. Maybe the worst horrors were over. She smiled at the thought and fell back asleep.
-11-
Marten stood beside Yakov in an otherwise empty patrol boat. The Force-Leader sat at the controls as the craft lifted off the Descartes’ meteor-shell.
Marten swayed as the patrol boat lurched, able to shift his weight as needed.
Yakov gave him a sidelong glance, but otherwise made no comment on his standing.
Lines of strain showed on Marten’s angular face. This morning, he’d found his first gray hair. He’d plucked it, staring at the offensive sight. Then he’d thrown the hair into the chemical sink before shaving.
Yakov’s small hands played across the controls. The patrol boat lurched again, changing heading.
Marten shifted his weight without being aware of it. He glanced out of the polarized window. From here, Jupiter appeared as the brightest star by several magnitudes. The Descartes was already out of sight as the patrol boat headed toward the taskforce’s second meteor-ship. Yakov wanted to inspect it before they began the hard deceleration for Carme.
“I asked you to join me for a reason,” Yakov said.
Something in the Force-Leader’s voice warned Marten. “Should I sit down first?” he asked.
Instead of answering, Yakov turned on a vidscreen. He pressed another key, and the wide face of the Praetor appeared.
Marten lifted an eyebrow.
“The Highborn in our system have been in communication with Tan,” Yakov said.
“I’d expected that.”
“Tan believes the Highborn stormed onto the Demeter Depot, killing everyone there, allowing them to restock their missile-ship.”
“That sounds like the Highborn,” Marten said.
Yakov gave him another sidelong glance. “Tan’s tactical team thinks the missile-ship was badly damaged during the Battle for Mars. It must have headed out of the Solar System and barely turned around to reach Jupiter.”
“If the ship was so badly damaged, how did it fight its way onto Demeter?”
“I asked the same thing. Tan believes the Demeter Force-Leader foolishly attempted to lure the Highborn there in an attempt to capture the vessel.”
Marten laughed harshly. “The Praetor is a bastard’s bastard.”
“Maybe. He has agreed to help us storm Carme.”
Marten’s gut hardened.
“We definitely need the help,” Yakov said, as he pressed another computer key.
A grainy shot of an asteroid appeared with the name Carme written underneath it. It had a long, blue plasma tail. Yakov used a unit, clicking it. A white arrowhead appeared on the screen. The arrow moved to a dot a little above the asteroid’s horizon.
“This was taken several hours ago,” Yakov said, “by interferometers on Pasachoff.”
“Where?”
“Pasachoff is another moon of the Carme group.”
Marten nodded.
Yakov pointed at it. “Tan thought the cyborgs might move the dreadnaught toward the Galilean moons. As you can see, it still guards Carme.”
“We’ll take care of it,” Marten said.
Yakov took his time responding. “Two meteor-ships will have a difficult time defeating a dreadnaught with such a defensive position.”
“Difficult or not, you must do it so we can land.”
“Can space marines defeat cyborg troops?”
“If we can’t,” Marten asked, “why are we out here?”
“Highborn battleoids will assist us.”
Marten’s features tightened. “I’m surprised the Praetor is willing to risk it.”
“Tan believes the Praetor spoke with their Grand Admiral on Earth. The Grand Admiral likely instructed the Praetor to destroy the planet-wrecker. What makes that interesting is that Tan is sure the Praetor would rather head in-system.”
“What does any of that have to do with our attack on Carme?”
Yakov sat back in the pilot’s chair. “Thirteen years ago in the Mars System, many in the guardian class lost family to the Highborn.”
“Okay,” Marten said, waiting.
“For his help, the Praetor demanded command of the Carme assault.”
Marten blinked, digesting that. “So what did Tan tell him?”
“She agreed,” Yakov said. “She agreed because we need his ship and battleoids.”
“We’re really going to take orders from the Praetor?” Marten asked, starting to become angry.
“We are, for at least long enough to fight our way onto Carme.”
“What about afterward?”
Yakov gave him a level gaze. “If we defeat the cyborgs, a doubtful possibility, then we must escape Demeter’s fate.”
Marten pressed a key, bringing back the Praetor’s image. The Highborn were in the Jovian System, and now the bastard who’d wanted to castrate him led the assault. He was actually going to take orders from a Highborn again. They had excellent memories. He had no doubt the Praetor would remember his face.
Marten tapped his fingers on the console.
“What are your thoughts?” Yakov asked.
“I need something to pull my space marines together, to help them forget about getting slapped, and to forget about Pelias and her boyfriend.”