“Is this a reasoned decision you suggest?” Tan asked.
“…no,” Circe said. “The emotions in me are too strong to control. Nevertheless, this is my suggestion. First, order the two meteor-ships out of Europa’s orbit. We will need every vessel if we are to deflect the two wreckers headed for Ganymede. Then, board every liner and tanker you can with space marines or myrmidons. Take away the Advisor’s options so when he threatens, you can bargain with him, offering him the return of his vessels if he agrees to reason.”
Tan stared up at the lidless eye in the pyramid. “In a week—”
“No,” Circe said. “You have two days to act, no more. Stall while you can and move shuttles and warships into position. Then—”
Tan held up her hand as she dug out a com-unit. She clicked it on and began to give rapid-fire orders. Circe was right. She had to act fast and decisively. These moon-wreckers…the scope of the attack had paralyzed her. But she was the Chief Strategist, a philosopher of Callisto. She would show the Solar System how one with an examined life responded to an extinction-level attack. She would show them because otherwise she would begin to weep for the loss of such a metaphysically beautiful system.
-10-
As signals began to flash between the meteor-ships of the Guardian Fleet, on Earth, Marten Kluge felt nauseous. He tried to walk across a heaving deck, with angry waves tossing whitecaps around their automated cargo vessel. Everywhere he looked the sea churned. His guts churned as well, with seasickness. Cold wind whipped against his face, pelting it with salty spray. Storm clouds raced across the sky so everything was moving, making him dizzy.
He still thought hijacking this automated ship had been a bad idea. No one rode on ships anymore unless they wanted to go on a pleasure cruise. A plane would have been better, but very difficult to access now. Using a train would have been faster than the ship. The trouble was that Social Unity was unraveling as the directors and others jockeyed for position. Already there had been riots, armed police uprisings, incidents of military defense-forces shooting down planes and PHC terrorists blowing up trains.
The greatest blow to Marten was that Turkey Sector had declared for Director Backus, joining Italia Sector and others. They demanded that Backus rule Social Unity, cleansing the Party so it would return to its socialist purity. The problem was that Marten needed to get to Greece Sector, to Athens in particular. Two weeks ago, his Jovian space marines had insisted on finally visiting the ancient Athenian ruins. He’d let them go, never suspecting everything was going to unravel into chaos.
If that wasn’t bad enough, the Director of Greece Sector had “detained” his marines, a little less than one hundred fighting Jovians. In Osadar’s option, Director Delos was trying to keep Greece Sector neutral by holding both Backus and Cone at arm’s length. Delos had quarantined the Jovians, but she hadn’t shot them as Backus wished.
Marten wiped spray from his cheeks. He spied the jagged hills of Crete on the horizon. The hills looked decidedly uninviting. The way the white-capped waves slammed against the automated vessel…
They had slipped away from the train wreck in Lebanon Sector and headed for the nearby coast. With Turkey declaring for Backus, they needed another path to Athens.
“I’m afraid the authorities will arrest us if we enter Turkey Sector,” Osadar had said.
After the PHC attack, Nadia hadn’t wanted to go into any city to try to buy a plane ticket. That meant they could travel across North Africa to get to Spain Sector, and then to Athens, but that would mean traveling through Egyptian Sector. It had strongly declared for Director Backus. The quickest route then—since they couldn’t use the air—was by sea.
With her superior sight, Osadar had pointed out the automated vessels. Most bulk shipments were transported by sea. They found a rowboat, and with her cyborg strength, Osadar rowed them out to the ship. She leapt aboard the present vessel, found rope and hauled them up. For several days, they had endured the ship’s programed route. During that time, Osadar, being part machine, had talked to the vessel’s computer. She’d finally cracked its defenses and was now in control, piloting the ship to Athens.
Osadar still spent most of her time on the computer, monitoring the news-sites. She discovered all sorts of useful, if sometimes daunting, information. The most pertinent was that open fighting had broken out. Cone’s soldiers won most of the engagements, but Backus eroded Cone’s political power with an idea. As Osadar put it, “The idea is like a spark landing on oil-soaked rags.” The oil was the planet-wrecker strike a year ago. According to what she’d found in Hawthorne’s quarters—real opinion polls, for instance—many people believed the cyborgs would conquer Earth. Despair was rampant, and Backus used that. Osadar had read Marten several of the director’s newest slogans: Free Earth of all foreign germs. There was another: Cleanse our planet of its infestation. Then we will grow strong again in purity and defeat our enemies.
The Jovian space marines made excellent symbols. Osadar had predicted a show trial, where Backus’s people stirred up mass hysteria against non-Earthers to a fever pitch.
Marten staggered for the hatch, as he thought, I’m not going to let that happen. He should have never landed on Earth. He’d trusted Hawthorne. After the battle a year ago with the planet-wreckers, what choice had there been? They couldn’t have survived for long, cramped in the two patrol boats. Maybe they should have tried just the same. It would have been better than this.
The deck heaved up and seemed to roll sideways. Marten barely grabbed a rail in time. He was sick of the automated vessel. He was sick of Earth and this endless war. How could men defeat cyborgs and then put down the Highborn?
He grimaced as he slid down the hatch, moving along a corridor toward light. Soon, he staggered into a small cabin with its bunks and shoved-together crates that acted as their table. Nadia slept, with a blanket pulled over her head.
Osadar sat before the computer terminal, bracing herself with her legs. At his entrance, she twisted around.
“Have you considered the possibility that it will prove impossible to free our marines?”
“No,” Marten said.
“Perhaps we should bypass Athens and head for a launch-site under Cone’s control. Let’s get off Earth while we can.”
Marten shook his head.
“You have lost soldiers and friends before,” Osadar said. “Our goal is bigger than a few marines.”
Marten scowled. “I’m tired of seeing my friends die.” He pulled out his gun, hefting it thoughtfully. Then he shoved it back into its holster. “We’re going in and rescuing them.”
“How can we achieve this miracle?” Osadar asked. “We are three people against a city of millions.”
“You forget. I’m the Jovian Representative.”
“Your title failed to impress Juba-Ryder.”
“The Director of Greece Sector wants to stay neutral,” Marten said. “That’s the key.”
“Delos’s neutrality makes her actions predictable,” Osadar said. “She will continue to detain our marines to keep Backus’s people happy, and she will please Cone by refusing to hand them over to an SU tribunal.”
Marten was afraid that Osadar was right. Social Unity…nothing ever changed. Men mouthed pious slogans and then acted as they pleased. Equality for all. Yet the hall leaders, the police chiefs and directors, they lived like princes, dictating to everyone else. If everything was so good under Social Unity, why the need for shock batons, punishment details in the slime pits and torture in the glass tubes? If socialized men were so superior, why did some starve and others become fat on good food? Why did the leaders bicker for supremacy? Why were there so many checkpoints, ID cards, half-truths and endless coercion?