The Arbiter groaned.
“Close the door,” Marten said.
As Omi hurried to comply, Marten searched the Arbiter, extracting what could possibly be dangerous devices. Then a thought struck.
“Hurry to the myrmidons,” he told Omi. “Search their uniforms for any hidden devices.”
“What sort of devices?”
“Something keeps hammer-guns from firing. If we can find those and put them on ourselves—”
“Right,” Omi said. He headed out.
Marten kept searching. He found a gray disk attached to the Arbiter’s stomach. Marten peeled it off.
Omi returned shortly, holding two similar gray disks.
“Was it on their stomachs?” Marten asked.
Omi nodded.
Marten ripped open drawers. He found Omi’s needler and a hammer-gun. “Take this,” he said, giving Omi the hammer-gun. “Then put a disk on a dead myrmidon and see if the gun shoots or not.”
“Does it shoot now?” Omi asked.
Marten aimed it at a bulkhead and pulled the trigger. The gun jerked in his hand as a heavy pellet dented the wall.
“It works,” Marten said.
Omi took it and hurried out again.
Marten continued to search the Arbiter’s desk. He discovered a monitor-board that showed areas of the ship. He moved toggles and heard voices from those areas. This was a spy-board.
Omi returned, with a grin on his puffy, bruised face. “I attached the disk to a corpse, aimed and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. I backed up and tried it again. Again nothing. Then I aimed at the other corpse and put a hole in him. These work. Or they make it so the hammer-guns don’t work.”
“Put one on,” Marten said, as he attached a disk to his stomach. “We’ll give Osadar the last one.”
“She’s still in the cell.”
“We’re breaking her out.”
“Your new friends aren’t going to like that,” Omi said.
“Yakov will stay happy,” Marten said. “We’ll remove Tan and give him control of his own ship.”
“He might turn on us after we give him what he wants.”
Marten pondered that. This desk, this room, might contain more surprises. “Okay. You have a point. This is going to be our headquarters. One of us must always be here, monitoring the crew.” Marten explained what he’d discovered.
“Got it,” Omi said. “What do we do with him?”
Marten studied the unconscious Arbiter. “Tie him tight like a hostage. Then figure out this desk better, particularly the audio-feeds throughout the ship. I’ll get Osadar.”
“You’d better hurry.”
“I know. Surprise and speed are two of a soldier’s best weapons. I was listening that day.” Marten headed for the hall.
-12-
Marten steeled his resolve as he floated ahead of Osadar. He would have liked to talk with Tan, get to know her better as he studied her exotic features. The woman stirred him. Was that because he had been cooped up with Osadar and Omi for nearly a year? Or was it because he genuinely found the Strategist exciting?
Tan made muffled, protesting sounds.
Marten scowled. Was he doing the right thing?
Osadar cradled Tan like a small child, with a titanium hand clamped over the woman’s pretty mouth. Osadar had proven faster than the Strategist, who had tried to draw her shiny rod as they’d entered her quarters. Now cyborg strength proved overpowering against the small woman’s muscles.
Marten floated ahead of them. He had out his Gauss needler, but he hoped to achieve this without killing any of Yakov’s crew. He’d chosen to deal from strength, and by freeing Osadar he might have chosen wrongly. But an apropos Highborn maxim said to make your decisions decisively. Even if it was the wrong decision, it was better to be bold about it than to hesitate. It made no sense to let qualms guide him, not with the dreaded cyborgs loose in the Jupiter System. Gilded philosophies meant nothing against graphite bones and tanglers. He needed plasma cannons and fusion-driven lasers.
Fortunately, the narrow corridors were still empty.
Marten holstered his needler and unclipped a medkit. Soon, he hefted a pneumospray hypo. It held Suspend, a drug that slowed biological functions. It was a perfect drug for the badly injured, organ-thieves and kidnappers.
They reached the holding cell. Marten typed in the code and turned the wheel. With a noisy thump, he opened the hatch and turned around.
Tan stared at him above Osadar’s metal hand. She stared with a mixture of fear, rage and indignation. She looked small and helpless in Osadar’s skeletal arms. She looked beautiful.
Marten scowled as he rolled up one of Tan’s sleeves. “Your philosophies will get us all killed. I know, because I’ve fought the cyborgs before. This will knock you out for a time,” he said, showing her the hypo. “Afterward, we will revive you. You will live, and hopefully the cyborgs will have been destroyed by that time.”
Tan made muffled sounds against Osadar’s hand, and she squirmed, or she tried. With a whirr of sound, Osadar tightened her grip. Tan cast an accusatory look at Osadar and another at Marten.
“This gives me no joy,” Marten muttered. He pressed the hypo against the Strategist’s pale skin. Air hissed.
Tan made a louder muffled sound.
Marten turned away as he shook his head. He’d rather be kissing the woman, holding her. But he had to act wisely, and he had to do it now.
“She’s out,” Osadar said.
“Put her in the cell.”
Osadar laid her down, using restraints to secure the limp woman so she wouldn’t injure herself during acceleration.
Marten shut the hatch, turned the wheel and reset the code to one only he knew. Now—
“We are making a mistake,” Osadar said.
Marten cocked an eyebrow.
“I am a cyborg and Omi and you are shock troopers. We three could gain control of the ship for ourselves.”
“That’s a bit ambitious.”
“We could achieve it nonetheless.”
“Then what?” asked Marten.
“Then we have a capable military vessel under our control.”
“We three would have to fix all damage, ensure the fusion engine remained—”
“We would keep a skeleton crew,” Osadar said.
“We could never trust them.”
“Trust would not be the issue, but effective control.”
“Omi, you and me—”
“Highborn methods could achieve control,” Osadar said.
“Maybe,” Marten said. “Yakov is a sly man. I’d hate to have him plotting against me.”
“We would have to drug him as you have Tan.”
“Again,” Marten asked, “to what end?”
“Escape to Saturn or Uranus.”
Marten chuckled grimly. “I don’t see why you think the planetary systems closer to Neptune would have escaped the cyborgs’ notice.”
“The Jovians have no chance against the cyborg infiltration. That is the issue.”
“You keep forgetting Mars,” Marten said.
“Doom Stars demolished the Mars Assault. The Jovians have these cramped vessels. We must flee while we can or face certain death.”
“Aren’t you getting tired of running away?” Marten asked.
“Flight is a primary survival tactic.”
“So is fighting. It’s time to fight, Osadar. It’s time to kick the cyborgs in the teeth. Besides, we’re running out of fleeing room. We have a military ship and the hope of others. That means a fleet.”
“The cyborgs will have a bigger and better fleet.”
“They’re plasti-flesh, steel and enhanced bio-brains, but they’re not magic. You escaped their programming. The Highborn killed an entire planetary attack force.”
“The Highborn are many times superior to the Jovians,” Osadar said. “For us, here, I foresee doom.”
“When haven’t you foreseen doom?”
“We should take possession of the ship and live free for as long as it is possible. Any other choice is unrealistic.”