Planet Wrecker

-82-

Cassis gave the orders. The mighty Julius Caesar began to accelerate toward the asteroids. Behind it by several thousand kilometers followed the Genghis Khan and now the Adolphus Gustavus, which had matched velocity and heading with its fellow Doom Stars. Farther behind came the two battleships and missile-ship comprising the SU Fifth Fleet.

Cassius used his time configuring shuttle attack sequencing. It was an elementary tactical problem. He needed to obliterate whatever offensive space-weaponry the cyborgs had managed to keep after the first phase. Then he needed to bring the Doom Stars in close, decelerate and launch the shuttles in a wave assault. The less time the shuttles spent in open space, the less chance any surviving cyborg weaponry had in destroying them. Highborn were precious, a limited commodity in the sea of premen and growing cyborg populations. After a short but intense flight, the shuttles would land and disgorge battleoid-armored Highborn. Cassius had studied the data of the first-phase and now configured optimal combat ratios in order to sweep each asteroid as quickly as possible. He also read critical reports, refining tactical procedures versus cyborg infantry.

While halfway to the asteroids, the chief bridge officer spoke up. “There’s a message from Asteroid E, Your Excellency.”

Cassius clicked pause on a battle report. The nature of the asteroid-strike—its suicidal quality—seemed to have affected the cyborgs troops. According to several accounts, the cyborgs used what he had come to mentally term as banzai charges to try to kill the invaders before they could establish themselves on the asteroids.

While blinking, Cassius shut his interest on the tactics of asteroid capturing. He concentrated on the officer’s words. Asteroid E…. “Is it Marten Kluge calling?” he asked.

“I don’t know the speaker’s name, Grand Admiral.”

Cassius scowled.

“All premen look alike to me,” the chief bridge officer explained. His name was Sulla. Three red chevrons braided his right sleeve. He oiled his face and exuded a bright intensity—what Highborn termed a warrior’s glow or shine. Sulla was an open Ultraist, believing in premen extermination. The Ultraists spoke about purity to the Race, an elimination of the premen infection. They worried about the possible seepage of the weak emotions of mercy, kindness and humility from too much contact with the bleating subhumans.

Sulla told Cassius, “I find it difficult to distinguish male premen from the females. They are each equally soft and both exhibit extreme submissiveness in a superior’s presence.”

“Inability to distinguish premen can lead to possible misjudgment,” Cassius said. “You must retrain yourself and learn the art.”

“You might as well ask me to distinguish one rabbit from the next,” Sulla said.

“I have not asked,” said Cassius in a dangerous tone.

Sulla’s oiled features became taut. Curtly, he inclined his head. “Is there a mnemonic trick to this art?”

“Indeed,” said Cassius. “Search for an obvious defect such as an abnormally large nose, a crinkled forehead or ears canted at a right angle. Such defects abound among the subhumans, often pointing to the genetic weaknesses in them. Despite these faults, it is critical to be able to tell important premen apart.”

“Important premen, Your Excellency?”

“Do not let your zealousness confuse the issue. Despite their puny size and stunted intellects, some of them like this Kluge have rabid tendencies. They bite at the most inopportune times. Consider, even a fly can distract a Highborn driving a vehicle enough to cause an accident.”

“Such a Highborn deserves death,” Sulla said. “It weeds out the weak and thereby purifies the Race.”

“Pray you are never ill among your Ultraist brethren,” Cassius said. “Now connect me with the speaker.”

A glowering Sulla complied.

Before Cassius appeared a bristle-haired preman with stubborn features. The Grand Admiral recognized Marten Kluge. As a holoimage, the preman stared at him with insolence.

“I thought you might want to know,” Marten said. “The lead asteroids are rotating.”

“You found this out how?” asked Cassius.

“Just as you would,” Marten said, “through sensors.”

“Insolence,” hissed Sulla. Several other Highborn turned from their boards to watch the exchange.

Hiding his irritation with Kluge and his bridge-crew, Cassius said, “It was my understanding that the cyborgs had dismantled each asteroid’s fusion core.”

“So that’s what was happening,” Marten said. “Nadia read some strange sensor—”

“If the cores have been dismantled,” Cassius said, “how are the asteroids managing this rotation?”

“I have no idea,” Marten said. “In fact, it doesn’t matter how, just that it’s happening.”

“You should punish the preman,” Sulla said.

Cassius muted the holoimage and cast a cold eye on Sulla. This was a delicate balancing act. One must never accede to an inferior’s demands. Yet he couldn’t let Kluge speak to him this way. The bridge-crew observed, and they reported almost everything in time to others.

“You must learn that premen are tools,” Cassius said. “Ultraist creed would deprive us of these tools at this critical juncture in the war.”

“We must live or die on our own abilities,” Sulla said. “To rely on others implies weakness in our own strength.”

Cassius laughed and shook his head, making Sulla bristle. “You wear a battleoid-suit into combat. It amplifies your strength. Likewise, you marshal weaker premen into a force to multiply power. Our strength allows us to do this. Yet you are correct about Kluge. He has irritated me once too often. I will capture and strenuously retrain him so the preman learns his place.”

“Better to kill him,” Sulla said.

“I would rather make him suffer,” Cassius said, “and turn a rebellious tool into an efficient instrument. Now attend to your tasks.” Not waiting to see if Sulla obeyed him, Cassius switched off mute. He asked Kluge, “In your estimation, why are the asteroids rotating?”

“I don’t know for sure. But it’s my guess that most of the enemy lasers and torpedo-bays are aimed primarily in one direction. Those in the back were aimed back. Those in front—”

“Were aimed in front,” Cassius finished. Despite his insolence, the preman was clever. This was going to be a bigger fight than he’d anticipated.

“The rotation shows me they don’t like your Doom Stars coming in,” Marten added.

Trust a preman to state the obvious. Hmm. He needed to increase the assault forces, to use the troops already landed on the first five asteroids. “Are any of your patrol boats operational?” Cassius asked.

An evasive look swept over Kluge’s features. “They’re pretty beat up,” he said.

How crude their attempts to dissemble. Premen were like children in their simplicity. “You must board your least damaged boat and await my signal.”

“I not sure we have enough space marines left to take another asteroid,” Marten said.

Sulla slapped his panel.

Cassius refused to let either Sulla or Kluge irritate him further. Still, it was unimaginable that a subhuman should speak to him this way, and in front of his bridge-crew. Premen had endless examples of Highborn superiority and should know by now how to snap to obedience at the slightest order. Kluge—when the time came, he would retrain the subhuman harshly.

“You will join in the assault or face punishment,” Cassius said.

Marten glanced away, and there were muffled sounds. Likely, someone off-screen spoke to the preman. When Marten faced him again, a hooded look had transformed the subhuman’s features. The cleverness had taken an ugly turn, giving Kluge the look of a liar.

“We await your orders,” Marten said.

Cassius bared his teeth. The blatant subterfuge didn’t fool him. But there would be time enough to deal with Kluge. Now he needed to concentrate on the rotating asteroids. It appeared as if he was going to have to fight his way to the Saturn-launched planet wreckers. He’d have to fight and guard his shuttles in order to keep Highborn causalities to a minimum.