Vaughn Heppner - Star Fortress

Marten’s few SU friends were in space with the fleet. His plan was simple now. He would free Osadar, get his space marines at Athens and find Omi. Then he would return to his patrol boats in orbit and join the fleet before it set out for Neptune.

“Why is Osadar a prisoner?” Nadia asked.

“That’s a good question,” Marten said. The idea of leaving Osadar behind—he didn’t like it. “We have to get her out of there.”

“How?”

Marten strode to a set of fountains, sliding his butt onto the lip of a smaller one. The air was cooler here, although the sounds of tinkling water did nothing to soothe his anxiety. He had to come up with a plan. He needed a way past the cybertank.

“Oh-oh,” Nadia said. “I think someone took the cybertank’s report seriously.”

Looking up, Marten spied a tall woman wearing a bright orange, flowing robe of African design. The woman also wore an orange turban, and there seemed to be something familiar about her. She had long, purposeful strides.

“Director Juba-Ryder,” Marten said, snapping his fingers. “She must have hurried out of the Director’s House. Yes, I think you’re right. She received the cybertank’s report.”

Behind Juba-Ryder followed three strange humans wearing heavy body-armor. They were big men, with outsized handguns holstered on their belts. The way they walked and the ease with which they carried the armor—

“Bionic guards,” Marten whispered.

He slid off the fountain. Social Unity Military altered a very few of its best soldiers, turning them into a super elite. They were all loyal to the Supreme Commander, however.

“I’ve heard rumors of this,” Nadia said.

Marten glanced at his wife.

“Osadar told me about it,” Nadia said, “illegal modifications to select bodyguards. It’s supposedly done in secret.”

“Cyborg agents would know how to help alter bodyguards,” Marten said.

“If cyborgs are on Earth, then we’ve already lost.”

Marten shook his head. “You only lose when you’re dead.” His hand dropped onto the butt of his holstered slugthrower. The bullets might not penetrate body-armor, but they would smash though skull-bone. Only cyborgs had armored brainpans.

“Juba-Ryder has never liked me,” Marten said. “If she thinks I’m a traitor to Social Unity—” Marten scowled. “I’m done being anyone’s prisoner. Get behind me.”

“Marten—”

“Let’s not argue,” he said. “Just do as I say.”

Nadia moved behind him as Marten took a wider stance. He hated fancy maneuvers, so he kept his hand on the butt of his weapon. If Omi was here with him or better yet Osadar—he shook his head. This was his play, and if he did it wrong, it could be the end of him and his wife. He rolled his right shoulder, trying to loosen it for quick-draw firing.

Juba-Ryder smiled triumphantly as she strode near. Each of the bodyguards had hard features and cold eyes. Their armor clattered. They wore dark helmets, with forehead and cheek protectors. They watched him closely, intently—predatorily.

It made the hairs on the back of Marten’s neck bristle. These three meant to kill him or to pulverize his flesh with their fists.

“Marten Kluge,” Director Juba-Ryder said. “I am here to inform you—”

Marten drew his .38. The three bodyguards had holstered guns, with flaps over the weapons. Despite their size and the bulk of their muscles, they moved with bionic speed. As Marten aimed at Juba-Ryder, the three guards aimed .55 caliber hand-cannons at him.

“They can blow me away,” Marten said tightly, “but I’ll still riddle your body with bullets.”

“I am a director,” Juba-Ryder said, outraged. “I have immunity against violence.”

“Yeah? Then you shouldn’t have made this tactical error. You should have just sent them, not come yourself.”

Juba-Ryder stiffened. “Lay down your weapon and submit to my authority.”

“Not a chance,” Marten said.

“You will die.”

“Yeah, but so will you.”

“I can fire at his gun-hand,” one of the bodyguards said. “I will destroy it before he can shoot.”

Before Juba-Ryder could answer, Nadia gasped.

“What is it?” Marten asked, refusing to take his eyes off the director.

“A fighting robot,” Nadia said, “a floating one.”

“Those are illegal here,” Juba-Ryder said. “Is this your doing?”

“Right,” Marten said, feeling a sense of helplessness. Three bionic bodyguards and now a fighting robot—he debated killing Juba-Ryder while he still had a chance. He could get off one shot, maybe two, but no more than that. The .55 caliber bullets would knock him flying.

Juba-Ryder moistened her lips.

“We can destroy the robot,” one of the bodyguards said.

“I wouldn’t try,” the robot said.

Marten saw it now out of the corner of his right eye. The robot floated, probably propelling itself through magnetic lifters, using the city grid. The robot looked like an elongated metal egg the size of a man. If he looked closer, Marten was sure he would make out sealed ports. Those could open for a laser nozzle or the tip of a machine gun barrel. The fighting robots belonged to the Cybernetic Corps, presently under Manteuffel’s control.

A large upper port opened then, revealing a screen. The face of Security Specialist Cone appeared on the screen. She had a sharp beauty and wore dark sunglasses.

“What is the meaning of this?” Juba-Ryder demanded.

“Before I answer,” Cone said onscreen, “I prefer to learn your intentions.”

“They are simple,” Juba-Ryder said with an imperious gesture. “I am here to arrest Marten Kluge. As you can see, he is resisting arrest. I demand that you assist me with that machine of yours.”

“I would be glad to assist,” Cone said. “However, he is the Jovian Representative and has diplomatic immunity.”

“He was born under Social Unity and thus remains subject to our laws and customs,” Juba-Ryder said. “Just as important, he is a traitor to the People.”

“Possibly true,” Cone said.

“Possibly?” asked Juba-Ryder. “How can you doubt it?”

“I don’t so much doubt it as I don’t think it warrants any action at this time. Despite his SU birthplace, he has become a Jovian and he is their representative to us. This is the critical factor.”

“I cannot agree,” Juba-Ryder said. “As my first order of business, I plan to make a clean sweep of traitors.”

“Could you elaborate please on what you mean by: my first order of business?”

Juba-Ryder eyed Marten and then the robot. “The Supreme Commander is gone.”

“Gone,” Cone said, “but we both know he is alive.”

The director shook her turbaned head. “That is inconsequential. You have read his resignation.”

“He is tired and weary,” Cone said. “Give him several weeks rest and then he will—”

“You think to honor him by this… loyalty ?” Juba-Ryder asked. “No. You are disobeying his last command. James Hawthorne has stepped down from power and—”

“Hawthorne will lead the Human Fleet to the Neptune System,” Cone said.

“You are incorrect on several counts,” Juba-Ryder said. “Firstly, it is Social Unity’s Fleet, not the Human Fleet. Secondly, he cannot lead. If the Highborn learn he is alive, they will annul our alliance or demand his death. Therefore, he must remain incognito. Frankly, in the interest of cementing our alliance, James Hawthorne should surrender himself to the Highborn.”

“You are a political animal,” Cone said. “To cement your power, you would willingly give up a human to the genetic freaks. And not just any human, but the military genius who had kept us free from the Highborn. ”