CIRCE: My myrmidons are immune to such ideas.
TAN: The barbarian lacks Jovian mores. If he believes himself threatened, he will kill the myrmidons without hesitation.
CIRCE: Whatever he is, he is male.
TAN: That is why I sent you. Hmm. I could almost pity him.
CIRCE: You say he has a lover.
TAN: Her name is Nadia Pravda. She escaped from the Sun-Works Factory. I believe he has taken to calling her his wife.
CIRCE: They are married?
TAN: I believe he preformed the rite himself.
CIRCE: This is interesting. Where?
TAN: I do not know. Is it important?
CIRCE: As I’m sure you’re aware, I have perfected the Cleopatra grip. He is a fighting male, filled with testosterone, and I have already initiated a strong response in him. Among my myrmidons, I find that is an irresistible combination.
TAN: You…engage in liaisons with your myrmidons?
CIRCE: Like many of the martial arts, the Cleopatra grip demands constant practice in order to maintain a high level of competency. It also reinforces their loyalty to me.
TAN: But with an animal….
CIRCE: They are theoretically human. They have a heightened musculature, vigorous responses and a therapeutic effect upon me.
TAN: Doesn’t it produce emotionalism in you?
CIRCE: We are philosophers, and we have learned to subdue the proto-urges. During the act, I redirect the pleasure sensations and practice isometric exercises. It helps me maintain perfect body tone.
TAN: You risk become a sensualist.
CIRCE: The bodily arts demand risk. Yet you have a point. I believe some of my practices have delayed my ascension into the highest ranks.
TAN: Hmm, undoubtedly. On a tangential note, I wish you to realize that this will be a difficult assignment. Despite his barbarism, Kluge has accurately stated the situation. His ship contains the worst dissenters and agitators.
CIRCE: My own reading of the data has led me to a similar conclusion. I therefore suggest a redirection of effort. As the meteor-ship heads for Mars, send a flock of ship-killing missiles after it.
TAN: That is a logical thought. I have considered it for some time. Three factors have rendered it moot. One, Jovians hostile to the Dictates might well witness the meteor-ship’s destruction and correctly conclude I ordered the act. Two, Marten Kluge is a dangerous man. He might discover a way to thwart the flock of ship-killers. Who knows what his response would be after that? Three, our Solar System faces a hideous threat in the form of the cyborgs. We need every warship possible. Therefore, it is illogical to destroy the meteor-ship.
CIRCE: Kill Marten Kluge.
TAN: Again, that would be a difficult act.
CIRCE: My myrmidons could easily achieve it.
TAN: Difficult to achieve successfully in the dark, I mean. As an official act, it would be simplicity itself. But that would harm my Chief Strategist position and force my political enemies to unite against me. No. You are my answer, Circe. You must practice the Cleopatra grip on him and control the barbarian through your sexuality.
CIRCE: His…wife might already have a fierce grip on him. I note they practice the olden custom. That implies she has some form of dominance over him. Why otherwise would he agree to such an antiquated practice?
TAN: That is beyond my area of expertise.
CIRCE: To achieve your mandate, I may have to eliminate her.
TAN: Do what is necessary to gain control of Marten Kluge. The mission is too important to leave to random factors. He is a barbarian and therefore unaware of our philosophic ruthlessness and purity. We seek to achieve the highest good for the greatest number. Nothing will be allowed to stand in our way.
CIRCE: I consider him little more than an intelligent barbarian.
TAN: I caution you against underestimating him.
CIRCE: Noted.
TAN: I feel I must also warn you against letting him or anyone else aboard the vessel knowing about your liaisons among the myrmidons.
CIRCE: Perceptions are critical. I am aware of that.
TAN: Hmm, yes. I do not mean to imply that you do not. As a side note, this taking of a wife…I find that troubling.
CIRCE: Wife or not, I shall subdue him. He is only a man after all. What about the cyborg?
TAN: When the time comes, kill it. No one will mourn its loss. In this purpose, I am determined: the eradication of the cyborg infestation. With their passing, the Dictates will flourish, in time, throughout the entire Solar System.
CIRCE: Long live the Dictates.
TAN: May they guide us forever. Chief Strategist Tan signing off.
-17-
Eights days later between Luna and Earth, an orbital fighter zoomed out of a bay in the Julius Caesar. It was one of two Doom Stars in the Earth System. The other presently hid behind the Moon.
The orbital fighter was an ugly craft, triangular-shaped and squat, with cannon ports and extra fuel tanks. It was a single-seater, and it held the Grand Admiral of the Highborn, Cassius. He wore a battleoid-suit. Behind his visor, he ground his teeth in anger.
The Julius Caesar was much nearer Earth than Luna. Cassius had brought the Doom Star into near-orbit as a threat against Eurasia. He had been doing this for the last three months. There was a reason for it, historical in nature.
Despite his rage, Cassius worked out ship-vectors, rates of laser-fire, proton-beam pumping and prismatic chaff levels. Eurasia and Africa had become bristling fortresses. The Supreme Commander down there was good, too good for a preman. Storming North America was still taking much too long. Cassius attributed it to Hawthorne.
The nine-foot Grand Admiral shrugged within his battleoid-suit. Because he wore it, it was badly cramped within the orbital fighter. He looked around at the stars. They shined brightly. To his side was the great blue-green ball of Earth. There were drifting clouds above Mexico, where he was headed, toward Mexico City specifically.
Cassius had been moving the two Doom Stars near Earth and over Eurasia in imitation of Alexander the Great. Alexander was arguably the greatest warlord the premen had ever produced or likely ever would produce. Naturally, Cassius knew he could have easily outfought and outgeneraled Alexander. Maybe the reason the young Macedonian held such fascination for him was that Cassius believed he was the Highborn Alexander. He was the greatest military genius among the greatest military soldiers the Solar System had ever seen. The truth of that was obvious.
With his big hands, Cassius shifted the fighter’s controls. The squat craft plunged toward the stratosphere. Almost immediately, the heat-shield began to glow as the fighter began to rattle and shake.
The ploy with the Doom Stars was just like Alexander’s maneuvers before the Hydaspes River. It had tactically been Alexander’s most brilliant large-scale battle. Alexander had marched, for him, to the ends of the Earth—in reality, India. There King Porous had waited with an army of chariots, archers and elephants. Porous had spread out his army, covering the various fords over the Hydaspes River. Alexander had marched back and forth on his side, accustoming Porous’ soldiers to his presence. Finally, the day came where Alexander’s phalanxes did as they always had. Elsewhere, however, a picked company of cavalry crossed the river, making it because the enemy had grown lax.
Cassius was accustoming the soldiers of Social Unity to the near presence of the Doom Stars. It was risky, because at any time, Hawthorne might order a vast barrage of proton beams, merculite missiles and whatever orbital fighters they had been secretly constructing to attack the Julius Caesar and its sister ship.
Despite the heat-shield, the fighter’s solid construction and the battleoid-suit, Cassius heard the howling wind outside his craft. He dropped at combat speed toward Mexico City.
The radio crackled, and a FEC lieutenant came online, asking for identification.