Planet Wrecker

-60-

In Attack-craft Seventeen that rode the Orion-ship Delta with countless other vessels, the klaxon wailed its alarm. There wasn’t any need for the warning, as Captain Mune and his bionic soldiers were already strapped into their crash seats.

“This is going to be fun,” the unseen pilot said, speaking through their headphones. She piloted Attack-craft Seventeen. If the big Orion-ship made it close enough to the asteroids, the attack-ship would detach with the others to attempt a landing.

Mune double-checked his straps. Then he went over his vacc-suit’s seals and lastly he rechecked his pod of weaponry. The space inside the attack-craft was cramped, the air close and the heavy-Gs constant.

“I’ve giving you visual,” the attack-craft pilot said.

A monitor above the prone couches snapped into life. It meant little to Captain Mune, just masses of stars. He missed Earth. He missed the normal gravity, the heat of the Sun on his skin and he missed the constant vigilance of guarding the most important man in the Solar System. But he was meant to serve in whatever capacity was most needed. Long ago, that had meant painful surgery and retraining with enhanced strength and speed. He’d taken a battery of tests once. It had satisfied highly suspicious people on his loyalty and willingness to serve.

“Here we go,” the pilot said.

The Gs switched directions. To Mune, it felt as if a car sat on his chest, making breathing difficult.

The unseen, overly-cheery pilot of the attack-craft was an unmodified human. Only the cargo was bionic.

Now the sudden thuds began again that meant nuclear bombs exploding as fuel. Their Orion mother-ship decelerated. If they didn’t decelerate, they’d hit the asteroids too hard and crush the attack-craft.

“How long is this going to last?” asked one of the men.

Mune shrugged. He had no idea.

“Who decided the order of the advance?” asked another soldier.

“We live to serve,” Mune said. It had become his creed, and he’d found comfort in it. Hawthorne was the only man he knew who could defeat the Highborn and now these genocidal cyborgs. To help Hawthorne and to save Earth, he’d volunteered for the mission.

“In case you’re wondering,” the pilot said into their headphones, “that little dot there is our destination.”

A blue circle appeared around a dot fractionally brighter than the stars around it.

“If the Orion-ship is turned around so it can decelerate, how can we see the dot?” asked a soldier

“Rearward facing cameras,” the pilot said. “Are there any other bright questions?”

A massive explosion occurred to the left in the screen. It filled the monitor with intense white light. Some of the soldiers near Mune shouted in alarm. He flinched, and to his surprise, he found himself trembling.

“What was that?” a soldier shouted.

“Scratch one of our Orion-ships, good buddies,” the pilot said, her voice sounding strained for the first time.

“Lasers?” asked Mune.

“Not a chance,” said the pilot, “not against an Orion blast-shield. That was a whale of a torpedo.”

Another huge explosion and fiery white light filled the monitor.

The pilot cursed loudly in their headphones, letting them know it was another lost Orion-ship.

“We should have stayed on Earth,” a soldier said.

“We serve here,” said Mune. He wasn’t aware of it, but his face was contorted into a horrible grimace.

“Give us just a few more minutes, you freaking machines,” the pilot hissed.

The next few minutes saw blooms of orange explosions in the distance. There were stabbing red rays and a thick column of sparkling light. The small dot had expanded now into the greatest thing in the void, about something fist-sized as seen on the monitor.

“We’re going to detach,” the pilot said.

A sudden jolt caused Mune to shift heavily to his left.

“We did it!” the pilot whooped. “Now we have a chance. Are you boys ready?”

“Ready,” Mune said hoarsely.

“Then hang on,” the pilot said. “We’re going in.”