“I controlled the Sun-Works Factory for many months,” the Praetor said. “There I learned the full extent of their ingratitude. We gave the premen discipline and meaning, and they turned on us like sneaking curs, with their tails between their legs as they snapped at us. It is the condition of inferior stock. In this system, I will use their initial gratitude, which sometimes gushes with irrationality. I will use it to begin my rule. Yes, even among premen there are killers. I will seek those out, break their will to mine and build a corps of enforcers.”
“First we must defeat the cyborgs,” Canus said, as he scratched the red burn-scar twisting across his cheek.
“No,” said the Praetor. “First we must stop the Thutmosis III.” He showed his teeth in an aggressive smile. “However, it is also time to begin winning premen gratitude. Show me the warship that destroyed the dreadnaught.”
Through the ship’s powerful sensors, the Praetor soon witnessed the situation between the Descartes and the following meteor-ships. The Praetor ran figures, studied the holographic display and listened a third time to Yakov’s warning to Callisto Orbital Defense. By then, Canus had intercepted the ruling philosophers’ answer.
“Give me the political situation report on the Jupiter System,” the Praetor said.
It came online. Despite the harsh conditions, the Praetor read the report with incredible speed, skipping the non-essentials. During that time, the ship rapidly closed toward the actively hunting Zenos.
“It will take us many circuits around Jupiter to halt our velocity,” the Praetor said thoughtfully. “Before that, we must have chosen sides and gained allies. Otherwise, we risk having both sides trying to destroy us.”
The Praetor balled his mighty hands into fists. He squeezed, letting his nails dig into the flesh of his palm. He was the superior being in this system. The cyborgs, they were no longer human. They did not count, as they were mechanical aliens. As the dominant being here, control and rule would naturally fall to him—if he could reach the levers of power.
“Weapons: heat the laser,” the Praetor said.
“The target?” asked Canus, trying to sound unconcerned as the continuing deceleration caused rattling and high-pitched whines.
“Target those drones,” the Praetor said. “Let us show these premen our gratitude for destroying the dreadnaught for us.”
“They only destroyed the dreadnaught to help themselves.”
“Do not seek to teach me the basics,” the Praetor warned. “I know more than you, more than everyone here combined. We shall give them life. They shall fawn on us because of it, and we shall insert ourselves into their struggle. Our superiority will then give us control of the system.”
Canus nodded grudgingly. “Your plan is well-conceived,” he muttered.
“On my word,” said the Praetor, “target the first drone.”
-22-
Gharlane wore a vacc-suit as he inspected massive Voltaire Missiles on Athena Station’s asteroid surface.
He was like a mote as the missiles towered three hundred meters over him. In effect, they were corvette-sized spaceships. But instead of living quarters and crew, each was double-packed with lethal weaponry to help fight its way to the target. Each also possessed a new and improved artificial intelligence to do the fighting. The payload was hundreds of megatons of thermonuclear power. A fusion core drove each at the highest acceleration of any craft in the Jovian System. A Voltaire seldom hid like the chemically-fuelled Zeno, but came on powerfully to subdue the target through mass, weaponry and superior ECM.
Coils were still attached to many of the gargantuan missiles, and cyborgs scurried everywhere, using the rail-system to make last minute adjustments. Some cyborgs climbed the outer rungs and entered the rockets, manually checking the more delicate systems.
Above the missiles was the blackness of space. Athena Station lacked an atmosphere, causing the stars to shine brilliantly like cold gems. Jupiter hung in the distance, its Red Spot barely visible as the gas giant rotated.
Gharlane turned around. On the asteroid there were squat buildings, laser ports, waiting anti-missile rockets, ready for immediate launching, sand-accelerating guns used to knock down incoming objects and a bewildering forest of antennae. They helped scan the void for anything that might harm the station. The original gaining of Athena Station had been the greatest cyborg achievement to date.
Gharlane had wanted to strike at Callisto Orbital Defense then. The Web-Mind had overridden the desire, and Gharlane had come to see that the Web-Mind had been correct. The Guardian Fleet had been much too strong then and could have possibly converged in time to halt much of a first strike.
Gharlane raised his helmeted head, peering up at a giant missile. The Voltaire was unlike the Jovian dreadnaught, which was smaller than an Inner Planets vessel of a similar type. He read the big letters on the missile’s side.
Voltaire Missile, AE 1029, Article Seven-Ten.
Once activated, the AI would take control of the craft. Gharlane had studied the specs on the AI. It was an advanced artificial intelligence, with breakthrough crystal technology. Presently, the crystal AI lived in a virtual reality world of careful Jovian devising. The AI didn’t realize it lived in a make-believe world. Instead, it went on a hundred different expeditions in the virtual world, gaining experiences that would hopefully stand it in good stead the day it awakened to reality. The day that occurred would sentence it to a quick combat death, one way or another.
Gharlane had never expected such an abundance of military hardware. The Jupiter System was awash in combat vessels, missiles and armored satellites. By studying historical files, it was clear the Jovians had been rebuilding ever since 2339. The annihilating defeat of its expeditionary force to Mars many years ago had horrified them. Since then, they had added ships and hardware every year to insure victory in case Social Unity attacked the Jupiter System.
Attention, Cyborg Gharlane!
“I am ready to receive,” Gharlane said over the radio embedded in his head.
Immediately link to a secure channel.
There was a priority one tone to the Web-Mind’s command.
Gharlane glanced around. He was in a maze of the giant missiles, with crisscrossing rail-lines and busy cyborgs doing a hundred last-minute chores.
Gharlane magnetized his boots and began to run, building up speed. Then he snapped off his magnetic boots and leapt. He flew like a man in a dream, using his hands and feet to propel himself from missile to missile, turning, using his cyborg reflexes to keep him from harm.
In moments, he lightly magnetized his boots. Gharlane ran over metallic surfaces and slowed his speed before entering a single-storey building. He floated into a lift, pressed a red button and rode it down three levels. Hurrying through a dim corridor, he came to an electronic bed with a body depression. Medical monitors on top ran through sequencing numbers, the middle monitor rapidly changing from 1 to 99 in blue numerals. Gharlane shed his vacc-suit and lay down in the depression.
He stiffened as his entire self merged into a direct link with the Web-Mind.
Without any introduction or explanation, the Web-Mind shot a series of images into Gharlane.
First were interferometer shots of the Highborn vessel. Its laser stabbed with precision and destroyed a Zeno. Then a different image invaded Gharlane’s thoughts. Two enemy Zenos activated at the last possible moment, suddenly appearing. The Descartes must have detached them. The first cyborg-controlled meteor-ship chasing the Descartes attempted an evasion tactic. A blinding flash of nuclear energy ended the attempt and effectively ended the much-needed meteor-ship. It was usually a risky maneuver to chase an enemy ship, as it could easily detach drones in one’s path.