“What I’m about to suggest is conjecture on my part,” Marten said, trying to frame this in the Jovian manner. “But it seems the cyborgs want to gain control of all military vessels in this system. They likely have a limited capacity to alter humans into cyborgs. Gaining military control of space would be the most strategic use of their limited numbers.”
“Given your premise,” said Tan, “your reasoning is sound.”
“Might the greatest strategic asset be control of the War Council?” Yakov asked softly. “And after that, control of the Grand Chamber?”
“I must protest your statement,” Octagon said, sharply.
Tan waved him aside. “Not now, Arbiter. This is a crisis, one way or another. If you are a saboteur,” she told Marten, “we need to know for whom. And if your fantastic story is true—”
“Please, Exalted One,” Octagon said, “permit me to interject a comment.”
“Refrain,” said Tan.
Octagon clutched his monitor-board, obviously struggling to maintain silence. His myrmidons threw savage glances everywhere.
“May I ask you a command question?” Yakov asked Tan.
Tan gave the Force-Leader a cool glance. “Permission granted,” she said slowly.
“Why do you suppose Athena Station ordered us to immediately report to Fleet Headquarters?” Yakov asked.
“I am to attend the emergency War Council meeting. You know that. If you would be so kind as to make your point, Force-Leader….”
“Why has Athena Station ordered a different ship to the Rousseau’s last known location when we’re much closer to the stricken vessel?”
“That is for Fleet Headquarters to decide,” Tan said stiffly, “not for flag officers of guardian status to question.”
“Under regular conditions, I agree,” Yakov said. “My question has a subtler twist.”
Octagon’s head snapped up as he stared at the Force-Leader.
“Proceed,” Tan said slowly.
“Suppose Representative Kluge has spoken accurately,” Yakov said. “Cyborgs control the Rousseau. Suppose one takes it a step further, and cyborgs control Athena Station.”
“That is a preposterous premise,” Tan said.
“Exalted One,” Yakov said, “I retreat before your superior virtue.”
Tan studied the silver-haired Force-Leader.
The personnel in the modules busily studied their screens or monitors. Octagon wore a hungry expression, anticipatory. He clicked several toggles on his board.
Marten noticed a black bulb in the ceiling. Was that a camera? Did Octagon record the events here?
“You’ve aroused my curiosity,” Tan said at last. “A guardian with a subtle point. Very well, proceed with your line of reasoning.”
“As you wish, Exalted One,” Yakov said.
Marten now noticed that Yakov’s right hand had gently slid open a small panel on his chair’s armrest. The Force-Leader’s fingers hovered over a set of black buttons.
“If in some insidious manner Athena Station was controlled by cyborgs,” Yakov said, “that would give them an advantage, allowing the infiltration of other warships.”
“An obvious conclusion,” Tan said.
“It would also explain why we weren’t sent to help the stricken dreadnaught, but a ship many more days away was.”
“Given this absurd premise,” said Tan, “you’re right.”
Yakov’s features tightened. To Marten, it seemed the Force-Leader’s right hand stiffened, as if getting ready to press buttons.
Tan must have noticed something. She said, “You have an unorthodox comment to make. Please, grace us with your wisdom.”
Yakov nodded as his right hand inched away from the armrest buttons. “If Athena Station is cyborg-controlled, that would mean the War Council has ceased to exist.”
“Continue,” said Tan.
“If that is true, you and any delayed strategists would constitute the new War Council. Possibly, you are the new Chief Strategist.”
“Mutiny,” Octagon whispered. His hand dropped to his belted palm-pistol.
Yakov swiveled around. “I have appealed to the highest authority aboard the Descartes, Arbiter. Mutiny occurs when the lower-ranked seeks to strip his or her superior of authority.”
“Athena Station logged a direct order to the Descartes,” Octagon said. “You seek to contravene that order. That is mutiny.”
“Strategist Tan supercedes military command,” Yakov said.
“She does not supercede the War Council. It has logged a direct order for her.” Octagon dipped his head toward Tan. “You shine in authority, Exalted One. But the War Council—”
“Is not here,” said Tan. “It might well be infested with cyborgs as the Force-Leader suggests.”
“Surely you do not accept the barbarian’s outlandish story,” Octagon said.
“Have a care, Arbiter,” Tan warned.
“Exalted One,” Octagon said, straightening behind his monitor-board. “I fear I must protest. While I hold your authority in supreme—”
“No more,” said Tan. She drew a shiny rod from her jacket, aiming it at Octagon. “You will leave your palm-pistol on the monitor and take your myrmidons to their chamber. There you shall await my word.”
Octagon blinked. Then he scowled. “I wish to state article five of the governing—”
“If you continue flaunting my authority,” Tan said, “I shall terminate you. Either obey me or die. The choice is yours.”
With a jerky motion, Octagon unclipped his palm-pistol and hooked it to the monitor-board. Without glancing right or left and with his chin high, Octagon marched out of the command center, with the two myrmidons trailing him, growling to each other.
After the Arbiter had left, Tan glanced at Yakov. The Force-Leader dropped his gaze. Frowning, the elfin Strategist sheathed her shiny rod.
The seconds passed. Finally, she asked, “What do you propose?”
“I wish to test Representative Kluge’s assertion,” Yakov said.
“How so?”
“In the most direct manner possible. We will head to the damaged dreadnaught and see what sort of survivors we find.”
“Which is dire mutiny,” Tan said, “as it is in direct disobedience against logged Athena Station orders.”
“Perhaps you could give me new orders,” Yakov said softly.
“You heard the Arbiter. The War Council has given me its orders.”
“Exalted One,” Yakov said, “you’ve already pointed out that the War Council might no longer exist. Given such a possibility….”
“Speak your thoughts,” Tan said.
“If cyborgs control the War Council, shouldn’t we resist rather than meekly accept defeat?”
Tan studied the screen showing the drifting pod. Finally, she faced Marten.
The force of her eyes, Marten found himself drawn to them. Green eyes, exotic features, a tiny but feminine body. What would it be like to hold her?
“You are evidence of some unknown peculiarity,” Tan said. “It is slim evidence for your outlandish statements. But the possibility of cyborgs, the consequent loss of Jupiter and our superior way of life—I have new orders for you, Force-Leader.”
“I await them,” said Yakov.
“Let us establish the fate of the Rousseau.”
-9-
Marten, Omi and Osadar endured the ship’s acceleration in the closet-sized holding cell.
Marten had asked that his friends be released, but the distrust of Osadar ran high. Not wanting to leave them in a cell alone, he’d asked to share their confinement. He wished to assure his friends that events moved in their favor, or so he’d told Tan.
Thankfully, the pressing Gs were of short duration, and weightlessness returned. According to Yakov, they were several days from the dreadnaught. The Rousseau’s velocity had taken the damaged vessel away from the location of the attack and the pod had traveled away in the opposite direction for many days.