“The reference fails me,” said Yakov.
“It doesn’t matter other than this: I’ve fought in the hellholes, both on Earth and in space. I fought on Mars and helped the Planetary Union against Social Unity.”
“Essentially then, you are of guardian class?”
“You’re forgetting my Mars Union credentials.”
“On the contrary, Representative, I have carefully listened to everything you’ve said.” Yakov seemed to measure him as he would a hussade goal. “By your own admission, you betrayed the Highborn, your sponsors.”
“I prefer to say that I got tired of being a slave.”
The faint smile reappeared on Yakov’s lips. There was something feral about it this time. “Why do you believe the cyborgs have infiltrated the War Council and Athena Station?”
“Why as in what is their reasoning for doing it or why as in how did I arrive at my conclusion?”
“The latter,” said Yakov.
“Because you were ordered away from the damaged dreadnaught,” Marten said. “And because cyborgs controlled the Rousseau. Now that I think about it, Osadar said there was a ninety percent probability that your ship was cyborg-controlled.”
“Her statement is obviously false.”
“Not if Athena Station is cyborg-controlled and they sent you orders.”
“Clever reasoning,” said Yakov. He reached into his black uniform and withdrew two colored disks. He set the disks on his desk, sliding them back and forth with his fingers. Possibly, it was a nervous gesture. “Your deprogrammed cyborg strikes me as durable. What is your analysis concerning our common enemy?”
“If I understand your question right,” Marten said, “I think that some of the cyborgs survived the Mayflower’s detonation. You’re heading into terrible danger.”
“You believe that some of the dreadnaught’s armaments are intact?”
“I wouldn’t bet against it. And I’d be ready for vacc-suited cyborgs trying to storm their way aboard your ship.”
“You suggest I shoot any survivors attempting to reach the Descartes?”
“You’re a rational man,” Marten said.
Yakov raised a slender hand. “I am a soldier-guardian. I do not attempt to rise above my class.”
“Force-Leader, let’s cut the crap.”
Yakov waited, remaining stoic. Marten wasn’t fooled anymore, not after seeing the picture of the intense young Yakov with the hussade stick and trophy.
“Why ask me all these questions?” Marten said. “You know what to do. Go in firing lasers, missiles or particle beams if you have them. Kill anything that moves. If you don’t, you risk losing your ship and possibly your lives. Worse, you risk capture and conversion.”
Yakov slid the colored disks back and forth. “Your credentials are from Mars. I must therefore assume you’ve been briefed about our Confederation.”
“No. There was no time for that.”
“That strikes me as illogical.”
“War and emergencies seldom lend themselves to logic,” Marten said.
Yakov put the colored disks back into a pocket. “Tell me, Representative. What do you think the cyborgs hope to gain in our system?”
“I have no idea.”
Yakov studied Marten. “You might be interested to know that I have hailed the Rousseau. They refused to answer. Later I detected ship transmissions to Athena Station. As curious, a gel-cloud hides the vessel from our passive sensor arrays. Why would they deploy such gels if they were stricken?”
Marten shrugged.
“You claim ignorance concerning our Confederation. Therefore, you are likely unaware of the philosophic purity of our rulers.” Yakov glanced at the statuette on his desk. “I am from Ganymede, meaning that I am a realist instead of a philosopher. I fear that our Strategist will make critical blunders once we reach the Rousseau.”
“Who controls the ship-guardians?” Marten asked.
Yakov looked up sharply. “I’ve studied the Mars Campaign. The cyborgs are ruthless and deadly to an inhuman degree. This is no time for philosophers, but for a realist who sees what is and acts decisively in the critical moment. You heard the endless babble in the command chamber.” Yakov shook his head. “I must lead the Descartes into battle, not Tan or Octagon.”
“Your ship-guardians must understand that.”
“How little you know,” Yakov murmured. “If I move openly, it might unleash the Secessionist—” The Force-Leader scowled. “This is a time for unity, not division. However, I’m certain the philosophers will dither and argue until the cyborgs have captured everything. In my heart, I believe this is the moment to act. Yet too many of the crew will hesitate or even turn against me if I attempt what needs doing.”
“That’s why you need me, isn’t it?”
“Explain,” said Yakov.
“Where are my weapons?”
“Ah, I see. You realize that our hammer-guns will not fire on the myrmidons. Octagon also realizes such a thing. He has already confiscated your hand weapons from the security locker. I suspect he has inspected them and wears one now in lieu of his lost palm-pistol. That was a propitious moment, a rare occurrence, when the Strategist disarmed him. I should have acted then.”
“Osadar could defeat the myrmidons for you.”
Yakov shook his head. “I distrust all cyborgs.”
Marten hesitated. Then he blurted, “Let Omi and me do it.”
Yakov studied him, before shaking his head again. “The myrmidons would slaughter you two.”
“I don’t think you understand. Omi and I survived the Japan Campaign and took advanced Highborn-training on the Sun-Works Factory. Give us vibroknives and you’ll see what two ex-shock troopers can do.”
“I’m afraid we have no vibroknives.”
“Force blades?” asked Marten.
“I can give you knives, which mean nothing at all against myrmidons. Ordinary men cannot defeat them.”
Marten frowned. He’d seen them, had felt their grip. The myrmidons were tough, but they hadn’t seemed like supermen. Just how good were they? He said, “Lend us your most trustworthy ship-guardians as backup.”
Yakov looked away. It was a subtle thing, but he seemed worried. After a time, he said, “In cadet school, I was captain of our hussade team. We won the Ganymede Star. Even after our victory, the stylists insisted that ours was the inferior team. And they were right.”
Marten watched the Force-Leader. “How did you win?”
“By risking everything and rushing the pedestal. It was a mad gamble, but it gave us victory. And it gave me this command slot.” Yakov swept his fingers through his silver hair. “I’ll risk everything again, this time on a mad rush to kill the myrmidons and gain control of my ship. Otherwise, philosophic fools will kill us all.”
Yakov picked up the stylus. “I’ll show you the ship’s layout. Then you must help me pick the ambush site.”
Marten nodded, realizing he was in it now.
-10-
Gharlane of Neptune, the prime cyborg of the stealth-assault, stood in his favorite chamber on Athena Station. The station was on a medium-sized, asteroid-like moon. In orbital proximity, its closest companion was Callisto.
Gharlane dressed in Jovian styles, with a governor’s red uniform. He was large and robotic: polished metal merged with plasti-flesh parts and a face capable of only minimal expression. His eyes were golden-metal orbs that moved smoothly in black plastic sockets.
Gharlane didn’t smile, although a strange serenity filled him. His favorite chamber contained the newest in holographic imagery. It showed Jupiter in the center, with the important moons in their orbits and bright pinpoints representing the major warships in the system. Red pinpoints were dreadnaughts, yellow were meteor-ships and blue were clusters of patrol boats. There were fifteen capital ships in the system, fifteen dreadnaughts and meteor-ships.