Planet Wrecker

-74-

Everyone checked his weapons, taking out damaged parts and fitting in replacement pieces. Then they reloaded as Omi paired depleted squads together. Sometimes only one member of a squad had survived. This was gruesome, bitter work.

“We’ve made it this far,” Marten told them. “And we’ve killed cyborgs. There can’t be that many left.”

He had no idea if that was true or not, but it was good for morale if the men believed it. They’d lost over half the space marines who had made it onto the asteroid. If you counted all the space marines and ship personnel who had made the journey from Jupiter, less than a third had survived this far.

They used stairwells, avoiding lifts, and climbed for the domes. These were the veterans from the cyborg assault in the Jovian System. They’d fought the melded machine-men before and survived, some of them more than once. They’d absorbed Marten’s refined tactics and had trained religiously before and during the trip here. Each knew what to do. Few panicked anymore, and each had his own method for dealing with the aliens from Neptune, in this instance from Saturn, too.

Marten signaled by pumping a gloved fist. He stood near the hatch that by the specs in his HUD said led into the first dome. Then he raised his index finger and made a circular motion. These were Highborn-taught signals that Marten had learned in his shock trooper days in the Sun-Works Factory.

Omi and three other space marines crouched nearby. Each gripped a grenade cluster.

Marten hardened his resolve, braced himself against Osadar and shoved open the hatch. Then Omi and the others lunged forward, hurling their grenade clusters into the room. Flashes occurred, one right after the other.

With a ragged cry, Marten sprang through, his gyroc firing. The room held screens, monitors and a vast computer array. There were clear bubbles with layered tissues of programmed brain-mass in them. Marten counted seven. All around were computer-banks, cryogenic-units and medical facilities. Tubes pulsed with red liquid. Green gels shifted in the bubbles and tiny rays beamed back and forth from odd antenna.

Marten’s trigger finger moved four times before his brain registered the thought: This is a Web-Mind. Even as he realized it, the bubbles shattered and brain-mass exploded outward. Then other space marines added to the mayhem, blowing away computer banks and medical units.

It was a glorious moment, and it made Marten grin harshly. He grinned even as he realized that this moment had been dearly paid for in human blood and agony. He hoped the vile mass of brain-tissue felt pain. He hoped it hurt like hell.