Planet Wrecker

-42-

“It’s a suicide mission,” said Omi.

Marten lay on his back, with his torso shoved inside a panel on a patrol boat. Using a pneumatic-wrench, he adjusted a photon cell. When he was finished, he slid out and sat up.

Omi wore a vacc-suit, with the helmet dangling behind him. They were alone in the patrol boat, which sat secure on the surface of the meteor-ship.

“We’re not coming out of this one alive,” Omi said.

Marten picked up the grate, shoved it over the panel and switched on the magnetic locks. He grunted as he stood, and he staggered to the pilot’s chair. Omi sat in the weapons-officer’s seat. They were under heavy and extended acceleration, making movement a chore.

Outside were the Spartacus’s rocky surfaces and then the glowing blue exhaust of the ship’s fusion core. Beyond shined the stars. They headed toward the Sun, but the patrol boat’s viewing port was pointed backward.

“This entire assault,” said Omi, “it’s too jumbled.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“Orion-ships from Earth, missiles from the Sun-Works Factory….” Omi shook his head. “It feels scrambled.”

“The cyborgs caught everyone napping,” said Marten.

“Highborn and Social Unity, they’ve been tearing out each others throats for years,” Omi said. “Now it turns out we all should have been fighting the cyborgs. Now it may be too late.”

Marten switched on the pneumatic-wrench, feeling it hum in his hand. This entire mission…ever since Tan’s message, his gut had been tightening. The mission reminded him too much of the Storm Assault Missile fired at the Bangladesh. It had seemed soon as if the bulkheads of the Spartacus were closing in around him. So he’d grabbed Omi and climbed outside, entering a patrol boat. There were moments he felt like lifting off and just heading away, anywhere without Highborn, cyborgs and crazy political leaders. While sitting Marten switched the pneumatic-wrench on and off repeatedly. Then he switched it off for good and clipped it back to his tool-belt.

“It’s a suicide mission,” said Omi.

Marten nodded as he stared out of the window into space. “We don’t know anything about the asteroids. At least, if anyone knows, they aren’t telling us.”

“You know the asteroids will be swarming with cyborgs.”

Marten glanced at Omi.

“We’ve learned from our past mistakes,” Omi said. “I bet the cyborgs have, too. On Carme, they didn’t have enough troops. This time I bet they will.”

The churn in Marten’s gut grew. Unclipping the pneumatic-wrench, he switched it on. The worst horror of his life had been the ride out to the Bangladesh and then storming onto it. He’d never wanted to do something like that again. Yet here he was, accelerating toward death.

“Do we even have a chance?” asked Omi.

“What else can we do?” Marten whispered.

“I’ve heard about your idea of heading to Neptune.”

“Run away?” asked Marten.

“Isn’t that better than suicide?”

Marten clipped the pneumatic-wrench back onto his belt. “We’ve been in a lot of fights, you and me. Others around us die, but we keep going.”

Omi became quiet.

“None of the battles we’ve been in have mattered like this one.” Marten clapped his hands. “Everything on Earth dies. Sydney disappears. The islands of Japan burn to a crisp. Korea vanishes. We’re fighting for our home-world, Omi.”

“The Spartacus is our home.”

“Is that how the men feel?”

“They’re not stupid,” Omi said. “They’ve fought the cyborgs before and know the odds. Everyone understands we were lucky to get off Athena Station alive. Counting force-levels is easy enough. You’ve seen the number of asteroids, and you can image the number of cyborgs that must be on each. This fight is fatally stacked against us. The cyborgs are making sure they win this time.”

“We’re fighting for Earth!”

“I understand,” said Omi, “but if Earth is doomed, it’s doomed.”

Marten smacked a fist into the palm of his hand. His gut churned just as much as it ever had, and he hated the feeling. Omi was right. This one had the stink of doom to it, especially their being in a lone ship that was supposed to come up on the enemy’s backside. Marten could envision all too well a bank of laser-turrets and a salvo of missiles obliterating the Spartacus.

“Tan might have a point about our essential nature,” Marten said.

“Meaning?”

“You know how she says we’re guardians, fighters. That fighting is what we know and do best. Maybe, however, the smart thing is to turn away. Maybe we should do what the SU Fifth Fleet did. If we hang out here in the void, we might be the last ones to die to the cyborgs. But then what are we living for?”

Omi shrugged. “Do we need a reason?”

“…I need meaning,” said Marten. “My life has to count for something.”

“Committing suicide gives you meaning?” asked Omi.

Marten shook his head. “Fighting for what I believe in gives me meaning.”

Yawning, blocking it with his hand, Omi said, “You keep your meaning. I just want to live so I can eat, drink and bed women.”

Marten frowned. He had Nadia to worry about now. That was so beautiful, being with the woman he loved. Maybe he could send her away in an escape pod. As he thought about it, he realized she would never agree to that. The trip from the Sun-Works Factory to Jupiter had scarred her emotionally due to the long-term isolation. She would never willingly make such a long and isolated trip again.

“I need your help,” Marten said, as he stared at the stars. “The men respect you.”

Omi squinted. “Tell me this. Can we survive?”

“Ultimately, we all die.”

“I mean can we defeat the cyborgs.”

“…I don’t know,” Marten said. “I….” He shrugged.

After a time, Omi nodded. He drew his gun, examined it and then shoved it back into the holster. “Let us fight then.”

“You’re with me?” Marten asked, as he stared at the stars.

Omi turned toward the window. He nodded.

Marten saw that out of the corner of his eye. His gut still churned, but it was good to know that Omi backed him. A man needed friends. There was none better than Omi.

“We’ve got work to do,” Marten said.

“Work,” said Omi. “Maybe that’s what this is all about.”

Marten glanced at Omi.

“Some men repair ships,” said Omi. “Some pilot tugs. We’re soldiers. So our work is fighting.”

“We’re guardians like Tan says?” asked Marten.

Omi shrugged. “I don’t know nothing about that.” He fast-drew his gun. “But I know something about this.” He stared at Marten. Then he holstered the gun, put on his helmet and turned toward the hatch.