“We have earned it,” said Yakov, his gaze boring into hers.
“No. You have acted as philistines and destroyers. We of Callisto serve as watchdogs over Jovian humanity. We use our teeth as it were and our valor to build. You have committed yourselves to the annihilation of things you cannot achieve. Perhaps you do not even understand what you’re attempting to destroy.”
“That’s why you plan to murder thousands of innocents,” Yakov said, his sarcasm heavy. “You’re proving your philosophic superiority, is that it?”
“You are a clever man, Force-Leader. Who taught you to dialogue as you do?”
Marten pushed himself beside the command chair. This was going entirely the wrong way. These two obviously hated each other. “You Jovians are the oddest people I know,” he said.
Su-Shan’s left eyebrow twitched, which for her placid mannerisms amounted to wild emotionalism. “You are a barbarian, given to animalistic outbursts. Still, you are an accredited representative and in theory belong to the governing class of Mars. Would you care to clarify your statement?”
“Your system is under massive assault and the two of you bicker over philosophy,” said Marten. “Who fired the Zenos at us? Who ordered those ships to attack? No one in the Guardian Fleet did, meaning that cyborgs ordered it. You’ve seen our data. The Rousseau really attacked the Descartes’ pod and likely stranded an arbiter in space.”
“You expect me to believe that obvious fabrication? I am insulted, Representative. The pod’s destruction was a clear ploy to murder your arbiter and create a sensation. Yakov achieved both. Now he and his kind will pay the penalty for trying to destroy perfection.”
“Have you spoken with Athena Station lately?” asked Marten.
“Of course,” said Su-Shan. “The controller there assured me that nothing unwarranted has occurred. And let me add, and this will dismay you: the War Council at Athena Station has decided to act decisively. They will shortly launch needed munitions, sending them to Callisto. Did you hear that, Force-Leader? Your rebellion is doomed.”
“What supplies?” Yakov asked.
A faint smile slid onto Su-Shan’s face. “Your rebellion has failed before it could truly begin. Disarm, Force-Leader, and save your people in the Galileo Regio.”
“Wait!” said Marten. “Athena Station is sending supplies to Callisto? Is that what you said?”
She gave him a level stare, with the faintest hint of a sneer. She looked at him as if he were a buffoon who had committed some buffoonish offense. “I am not in the habit of lying, Representative. Frankly, your insinuations weary me. And it causes me to wonder how you gained your credentials.”
“I already told you,” Marten said, “the hard way.” He was sick of being called a barbarian and fed up with her airy manners. “I gained them by putting my life on the line, by bleeding in combat and by killing armed enemies.”
“Gross barbarism,” Su-Shan said. “It shows your brute nature and likely your Highborn affinity that you revel in battle. You boast about fighting and killing and thereby show your lack of sensitivity and desire for reasoned dialogue.”
“Maybe,” Marten said. “But I earned my credentials.”
“Your insinuation is that I failed to earn mine. You disappointed me, Representative.”
“Have bullets ever whizzed past your ears? Have you ridden a torpedo into a particle shield and stormed your way aboard a warship?”
“I am a governor,” said Su-Shan, as she lifted her elfin chin. “I am not a brute guardian. Please, cease these veiled insults.”
“You use reason?” Marten asked, stung now. He wanted to break her placid manner, to see if she was human.
Su-Shan gazed at him coldly, as if he emitted a foul odor.
Marten shook his head, berating himself. He was as bad as Yakov and the others. Arguing with the Chief Controller was madness. He cleared his throat, deciding to try a different approach. “The Highborn commander has broadcast his data. He is the former Praetor of the Sun-Works Factory.”
“I have heard his proclamation, yes,” Su-Shan said. “It is bombastic twaddle. And it confirms my suspicion concerning the so-called Highborn. They are like our myrmidons: genetic aberrations, brutes in love with fighting. The Highborn are bigger than our myrmidons and display greater reasoning abilities, but their days are numbered because they’re too emotive. Perhaps you are not aware that emotions are irrational.”
“What about the cyborgs?” Marten asked. “You must have watched the files from Mars.”
“They are strange,” Su-Shan said, “a decided mistake in forced evolution. But that has no bearing on our present situation.”
“You’re wrong,” Marten said. “The cyborgs are here in your system. They’ve already taken control of many of your warships. I killed three as they tried to board my ship, and I helped destroy a dreadnaught filled with them.”
“You have joined the rebels? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Your hatred is blinding you to the facts,” Marten said.
Su-Shan stiffened. “How dare you accuse me of emotionalism? Reason guides me. Logic governs my actions. That you fail to understand this and insist on showering me with insults proves your brutishness. We are done dialoguing.”
“You must alert your orbital defenses,” Yakov said.
“They are alerted,” Su-Shan said, “never fear.”
“You’re likely going to need every warship you possess,” said Yakov. “I suggest you recall what you can from Ganymede.”
Su-Shan laughed softly. “Your ploy is obvious and fruitless, Force-Leader. The warships approach a low-Ganymede orbit. You must tell me quickly, what is your decision?”
“The cyborgs have arrived,” Yakov said. “On my oath, it is the truth.”
Su-Shan waved a small hand. Golden wires were wrapped around her delicate fingers. “Do you truly expect us to believe that you timed your rebellion with a cyborg assault upon Jupiter? The odds—”
Yakov leaned forward in his chair as he struck an armrest. “Can’t you understand?” he asked.
“You have spirit and possess a willingness to fight. None can doubt that. Now, however, you must make a momentous decision. Will you surrender your vessel and save Ganymede from precision strikes?”
Yakov glanced at Marten. It was the nearest to helplessness that Marten had seen from the Force-Leader.
Then it hit Marten, a possible key to turning the Chief Controller. He asked, “What if I show you an actual cyborg?”
“How could you achieve this feat?” she asked.
Marten unclipped a two-way, using his thumb to press a button and open a channel with Osadar. The device crackled more than before, and Marten wondered if the enemy gamma rays had caused that.
“Is there trouble?” Osadar asked.
“Hurry to the command room,” Marten said.
“Will you present me with an actor in a suit?” asked Su-Shan.
“You can decide that for yourself,” Marten said, as he clipped the two-way back onto his belt.
A minute passed. Then Osadar entered the room, causing command personnel to recoil. Osadar floated to Marten and stood before the main screen. Her melded torso, the branded OD12 on her forehead, the skeletal arms and legs, and the plasti-flesh cyborg features—Osadar stared at the small Chief Controller.
“It appears compelling,” Su-Shan admitted.
“What if Strategist Tan confirmed the cyborg’s reality?” Marten asked.
Su-Shan blinked rapidly. “Tan lives?” she whispered.
The strain in Su-Shan’s voice startled Marten. He nodded, and said, “Of course.”
Su-Shan turned away, and she brushed something out of her left eye. Soon, her small shoulders squared under her sheer robe and her chin lifted. When she regarded them again, she seemed colder than before.