As Webbie Octagon sped toward his fate in the Hobbes’s pod, Gharlane rode a lift to the surface of Athena Station. He physically wished to observe the missiles launch. Then he would leave Athena Station and head for the Locke. The main cyborg fleet was gathering, even as the humans attempted their last-minute ploys.
Gharlane knew a moment of disquiet then, and he realized that once again he’d known better. Through the Web-Mind’s wish for one more warship, the biomass brain had possibly lost their advantage of strategic surprise. There were indicators that many of the humans still didn’t understand the situation. But Gharlane doubted the data. The chaos-factor humans from Mars had revealed too much, and the chaos-factor Highborn had added to that knowledge.
Gharlane froze with a sudden thought, a new input. He wondered if he should continue to categorize the Highborn as human, or as a subset of Homo sapiens or as new species. Men and chimpanzees were a different species. The relative differences between Homo sapiens and Highborn were stark. Were Highborn as superior to Homo sapiens as men were to chimpanzees? It was an interesting question. The answer might help the campaign to eradicate both. Was it possible for two species to coordinate? Could men and chimpanzees cooperate as allies? It seemed doubtful. The Highborn might be so superior to Homo sapiens that it was impossible for them to achieve a true alliance. The arrangement under which the Homo sapiens fought for the Highborn pointed to a possible master-slave relationship, however.
The lift slowed and the door opened. Gharlane exited into a large lobby of motionless cyborgs, each hooked by cables into a generator. It was a new technique: hot-shotted cyborgs ramped with overloaded energy. The Web-Mind readied a beta unit of overloaded troops. One cyborg with its cable slotted in its chest jittered, causing its metallic feet to rattle against the floor. Gharlane wondered how long that had been occurring. Then the cyborg’s eyes snapped open.
Recognizing the danger signs, Gharlane drew a laser carbine from the back-sheath on his vacc-suit. A red beam stabbed through the dim lobby. The fatally damaged cyborg screeched as it tore the cable from its chest-slot. Then its neck-armor melted as the beam stabbed through. Expertly, Gharlane sliced upward. As the screeching cyborg attempted a bounding attack, the beam cut the head in two. Electric sparks and loud whining sounds accompanied the hot-shotted cyborg’s clattering death.
Gharlane observed the others. They remained in sleep mode, charging with power. Gharlane was aware of the Web-Mind’s observation and assessment of his action. In three seconds, the Web-Mind’s presence departed, no doubt realizing that Gharlane had acted correctly.
After exiting the lobby and resealing the chamber, Gharlane floated outside. Several kilometers away the bulk of the Voltaire Missiles waited. They were hidden from view by the curvature of the surface and by intervening buildings.
Gharlane expected no less than annihilating victory from this strike. Cyborgs had modified the giant missiles for weeks, as this day had long been anticipated. Some of the missiles remained as before. Most contained advanced electronics, stolen goods from Onoshi Electronics, once one of the primary Houses of the Ice Hauler Cartel in the Neptune System.
Gharlane had a moment to wonder why the Prime Web-Mind hadn’t fully subjugated the Neptune System. It had allowed one massive habitat to survive, a preserve of Homo sapiens. Perhaps it was because of the analysis program that had discovered that the humans of Neptune System produced more technological equipment as free agents than as suborned cyborg units. Gharlane halted as he pondered another input of new thought.
Why didn’t the Prime Web-Mind build mini-Web-Minds as technological agents? Was there some creative process lost in the conversion to a mass mind? That was an interesting possibility. Is that why each Web-Mind used a master unit like himself?
That seemed more than probable. It also seemed like something that the Web-Mind would not want him to dwell upon.
Gharlane checked an internal chronometer. Ah, it was ninety-one seconds to liftoff. He waited, with the anticipation building, while his calculations ran through the known data.
Callisto orbited Jupiter approximately every seventeen days. Athena Station orbited every thirty-one days. Considering the position of Athena Station at the time of launch and Callisto’s continued orbit, the distance between the two in a straight-line flight would take a little over one hundred hours. The Voltaire Missiles possessed fantastic acceleration and of considerable duration, especially considering the relatively short distances between the two points. But the missiles would not use the fantastic acceleration at first. That would come later, when it was too late for the Jovians to react.
As an added bonus, there would be a second wave assault behind the missiles. The second wave contained a dreadnaught, a meteor-ship, a troop-ship and a squadron of patrol boats. The troop-ship would land on the smoldering surface to complete the destruction.
As Gharlane estimated destructive factors, the first Voltaire Missile blasted off from Athena Station. Missile after missile ignited their fusion core and erupted off the blast-pans. The ground under Gharlane trembled because of the mass exodus of missiles.
The first missile appeared—a space-needle with a bulbous warhead. Behind it followed others. Their hot exhausts blazed like fiery blue tails. There was no sound, as vacuum carried none. The missiles appeared as lazy behemoths, their tails rapidly growing to abnormal lengths. As the tails grew, the missiles accelerated. As each missile zoomed for Callisto, they quickly merged into one continuous blur of motion.
The quake ceased as the last Voltaire Missile lofted into the blackness. In short order, the final missile vanished from sight. Soon, the seemingly fast-moving star cluster vanished—the dots of the missiles’ exhaust.
The first strike had been launched. In a little over one hundred hours, the rulers of Callisto and the chief bastion of Jovian power would cease to exist.
Gharlane spun on his heel and headed back for the lift. There was much to coordinate. After his tasks were completed, he would leave Athena Station. He would leave to join his taskforce. A pleasurable sensation filled him, similar to the one he felt in the holographic chamber. He would scour the Jupiter System, ending all resistance. Cyborg victory would be assured.
-7-
Marten and Yakov sat in the Force-Leader’s room, hunched over his desk. On it was displayed the Jovian System, the orbits of the various moons and the known locations of fleet units.
The last few days had built an affinity between the two. Yakov’s calm demeanor, his deliberation and his inner intensity appealed to Marten. Most of all, Marten appreciated Yakov’s thirst for freedom and his desire to rip the shackles from Ganymede. Yakov reminded him of Secretary-General Chavez of Mars. Both men fought for more than just personal freedom, they also fought to free their world. As Marten mulled over the Jovian map, he wondered about that.
Why was he always running into this sort of man? Was… God trying to tell him something?
Marten shifted in his chair. That was too heavy for him. He was just an ex-shock trooper on the run, trying to stay ahead of an overwhelmingly intrusive political system and crazed genetic freaks with delusions of godhood. He’d fled to Jupiter to escape both. Now he was in the middle of another war, a three-way battle for control and maybe for the soul of humanity.
“If we could combine our fleets,” Yakov said, tapping the dot that represented Ganymede.
Marten tried to concentrate on the computer-map. He rubbed his chin and stared at the dots and the various, colored clusters representing warships.