Planet Wrecker

-97-

Aboard the Julius Caesar, Cassius gave the order. The two Doom Stars pulled away laterally from the final planet wreckers.

From in his command shell, Cassius closed his eyes. Despite his vast reservoir of energy, he was tired. He’d pushed the crews of both ships. They’d fired the ultra-lasers for so long that key components had gone critical. Cassius had also used up almost every shell of the point-defense cannons, blowing up the larger pieces of debris.

With a lurch and the snapping open of his eyes, he hailed the Sun-Works Factory through his communications. The fight against the cyborg-launched objects was nearly over. He had to be ready for whatever happened afterward. That meant a total re-supply of the Doom Stars, including point-defense cannon shells, missiles, reflex plating, collapsium slabs, coils, meld-synapses and key laser parts. It might be time to head for the Sun-Works Factory for a major overhaul. He doubted the war would give him that luxury.

Cracking his knuckles, laying back, Cassius allowed himself a moment of introspection. For him, that meant checking his mental files, opening them and seeing if matters had occurred how he’d desired. Hmm. Yes. He needed to send a call to the Luna Missile Complex. The Senior Tribune there should face a review board. Maybe that would be a good place to transfer Sulla, upgrade him off the Julius Caesar.

It occurred to Cassius then that he’d never received a confirmation from the Highborn sent to Kluge’s asteroid.

“Sulla,” he said. “Who was the officer in charge of the Asteroid-E pickup?”

Sulla swiveled to a different console, tapped on the screen and said a moment later, “First Maniple-Leader Felix of Ninth Iron Cohort, Commandoes.”

Cassius felt several things at once. The first was the oddness of the tone from Sulla. So he watched the Ultraist. The Highborn turned toward him, glancing at him too carefully, with too much calculation.

“You have something to add to the report?” asked Cassius.

It might have been his imagination, but Sulla’s mouth seemed to twitch. The oily, shiny face held inner gloating.

Cassius felt something else, too. Felix of his chromosomes had gone to collect Kluge. That didn’t seem like a chance assignment. His enemies among the Highborn must have engineered it, hoping for something to occur that would further mar his image as Grand Admiral.

“Has the Maniple-Leader returned yet?” asked Cassius.

“Felix landed long ago,” Sulla said.

The longing to unbuckle from his shell was nearly overpowering. Cassius wanted to beat Sulla’s face into bloody pulp. The tone and implications—this was the next thing to insubordination. Yet the Grand Admiral hesitated. It wasn’t fear of Sulla, but a grim understanding that his rank was under jeopardy. He needed to react with care.

Cassis asked, “In which shuttle-bay did he land?”

Sulla took his time answering. “Oh, the Maniple-Leader never arrived here. I misunderstood you, Your Excellency. I meant he landed on Asteroid E.”

“The Maniple-Leader has captured Marten Kluge?”

“I can hail him and find out,” Sulla said.

“No,” Cassius said. “Return to your tasks.”

Sulla opened his mouth, maybe to say more. Then he smirked and returned to his controls.

Although he shivered convulsively, Cassius otherwise kept a tight reign on his rage. Sulla must die soon, but he couldn’t kill him on the bridge. No, he must do this subtly. His secret enemies among the Highborn, those who craved the highest command for themselves, must sense blood from his wounding, from losing the Gustavus Adolphus. He must maneuver with extreme delicacy now in order to keep his leadership and his life.

Twisting around in his shell, he opened a private channel. Asteroid E was far away, although not yet beyond range of the ultra-laser. That laser was now down, however, certain burned-out components being replaced or under repair. Cassius watched a small screen as he practiced a calming technique. There was a time for rage and a time for stalking prey.

A face-burned Highborn appeared on the screen. It was Felix, and it looked as if his left eye was gone.

“This is Grand Admiral—”

“I know who you are,” Felix said.

Cassius pursed his lips. “Have you returned to the Julius Caesar?”

“In time, I might.”

Lightheadedness made it difficult to think. Cassius shook off the weakness as he concentrated on the hatred shining in Felix’s single good eye. The boy had gone rogue. He could see that now. There would be no saving of his chromosomes. He should have seen it sooner, but in this, a paternal feeling had blinded him.

“Where is Marten Kluge?” asked Cassius.

“Gone,” said Felix.

“You disobeyed a direct order?” Cassius asked.

“Someday, I’m going to kill you,” Felix said.

Instead of arguing, instead of using verbal trickery to discover more, Cassius cut the connection. Why his chest felt so hollow, he had no idea. In a mental fog, a haze, he unbuckled, exited the shell and left the bridge as he strode down the corridors.

It was some time later that Cassius found himself in his quarters, strapped into an acceleration couch. He had no idea how he’d gotten here. A com-link was open and Sulla was telling him…that it was time.

Time for what?

At that moment, the ship engaged its huge engines. A thrumming tremble caused his couch to shake as the noise levels rose. Then a ten-G-burst deceleration slammed Cassius against his couch. That cleared his mind, and he turned on an outer video.

The Julius Caesar and the Genghis Khan sharply pulled away from the asteroids headed for Earth. The blue-green ball was huge now, less than a quarter-of-a-day away at these speeds.

The three zooming asteroids and the mass of debris surrounding them kept on a straight collision course for the planet. Much of the debris could theoretically cause billions to die if they hit.

Aboard the Julius Caesar, Cassius began to plot. He wanted to tame Kluge, and he would someday in a brutal fashion, but he had bigger problems to tackle now. Felix—Cassius shook his head. He’d worry about Felix later. Now he had to hold onto his supreme station. His position was gravely weakened if his own bridge crew maneuvered behind his back.

He judged his odds for survival as Grand Admiral. They were bad. His only chance was if the Earth survived the asteroids. Then he had to strike first and strike hard. He had to outmaneuver his hidden enemies. If the cyborg-objects annihilated premen-existence on the homeworld, his challengers would likely pull him down like dogs ravaging a de-fanged lion.

He had a moment to wonder if Kluge was responsible for Felix’s rebellion. Cassius snarled, vowing to capture Kluge someday and turn him into a docile and obedient beast.

Then another high-G burst slammed him against the couch, slowing the warship so it could soon enter near-Earth orbit.