Vaughn Heppner - Star Fortress

“Force-Leader Marten Kluge?” the officer asked.

Marten stepped forward as he nodded.

“I am Commissar Cleon of the Athens Peacekeepers: Third Level, Fifth Precinct.”

“Glad to meet you,” Marten said, holding out his hand.

Commissar Cleon kept his hands at his side, and his features stiffened. “Director Delos wishes to inform you that she cannot accept your presence here in the city or anywhere in Greece Sector.”

Marten hadn’t anticipated this.

“Therefore—”

“A moment,” Marten said. He raised his hand and indicated Osadar.

She wore a large jacket and senso-mask, and that helped conceal the fact she was a cyborg. Unfortunately, it couldn’t totally hide her strangeness. She now walked to them, and her difference became more pronounced.

Commissar Cleon took a step back as his face paled. “She’s a cyborg?”

“One of the few to break their conditioning,” Marten said.

Cleon glared at Osadar, and his gun-hand dropped onto the butt of his weapon. “I’ve read reports. They say cyborgs can convert people into their likeness.”

“Osadar began as a Jovian,” Marten said.

“You mean those others—the space marines—they’re hidden cyborgs?”

“No. I mean Director Delos must speak with me. I am one of the few people who know how to detect pre-converted people.”

“What does that mean?”

“Have you read the reports of the Third Battle for Mars?” Marten asked.

Cleon shook his head.

“I have reason to believe the cyborgs have targeted Director Delos for infiltration tactics. It is why I sent my space marines to Athens. Surely, they made their report.”

“I know nothing about this,” Cleon said.

“It’s worse than I thought,” Marten told Osadar. “We must leave at once.”

“Why?” asked Cleon.

Marten glanced at the commissar sidelong. “If you’re wise, you’ll join us, you and your men. We could use them.”

“Do you mean to tell me that Director Backus is right?” Cleon asked. “The contamination has already occurred?”

“Yes,” Marten said. “We must flee. Go!” he told Osadar. “Back into the hold with you. There is little time left.”

“Wait,” Cleon said.

“There’s no time,” Marten told him.

Cleon drew his gun. It caused a stir among the peacekeepers on the pier. Several jumped onto the cargo vessel, hurrying near, with their machine pistols trained on Marten and Osadar.

“You will wait,” Cleon said. He pulled out a com-unit and walked away from Marten. The commissar spoke urgently, listened and spoke even more urgently. Finally, he put away the unit, approaching Marten once more.

“Director Delos believes you are lying about the cyborg danger,” Cleon said. “However, you have intrigued her. You will accompany me to the Director’s Building. Your cyborg and the woman will stay here as hostages for your good behavior. They will not be permitted to land on Greece Sector soil.”

Marten nodded.

“Give me your weapon,” Cleon said.

Hoping he was right and knowing things could go very wrong, Marten began unbuckling his gun-belt.

“Guard them,” Cleon told a peacekeeper. “Shoot them rather than letting them step onto a pier.”

“Yes, Commissar,” the guard said.

“Come with me,” Cleon told Marten.

“Good-bye, Marten Kluge,” Osadar said.

Marten nodded, and he glanced at his wife. There were tears in her eyes. It was possible he would never see Nadia again. He nodded once more, to her, and he turned away, hurrying for the pier.

Even though it was a sector capital, Athens was in worse shape than New Baghdad. Level after level, the buildings looked old and rundown. Their lift groaned and lurched and the air tasted stale. Too many sunlamps were missing in the ceilings, sometimes creating dark or shadowed zones. Potholes abounded, and garbage lay in heaps, sometimes worked upon by grungy men with rakes and wheelbarrows. Police with drawn guns watched them. Old women swept the streets and the children—they were skinny like Martians.

It was a little better on the Governmental Level, with more lights, less garbage and a battalion of street-sweepers in their mid-twenties. There were too many red-suited peacekeepers. Instead of machine pistols, however, the police wore shock-rods, although the higher-ranked had needlers.

Marten and Commissar Cleon moved at a brisk pace along the sidewalks. There were a number of official people about, most in hall leader uniforms or maroon, sector-bureaucrat colors.

“There,” Cleon said. With his chinstrap, the commissar pointed at the seven-story Director’s Building. It stood above the smaller buildings around it and the park on the other side. The building was octagonal in shape with several armored cars parked in front. A knot of peacekeepers stood near the glass entrances. The majority of them wore regular police body-armor.

Once again, Cleon showed his pass. A guard joined them, keeping his needler aimed at Marten’s back. They entered the building, and the guard turned them over to black-suited gunmen.

For the seventh time today, the commissar showed his ID card and the guards checked their slates.

Instead of one guard, three black-suited gunmen joined them. They rode up an armored lift to the fourth floor. More gunmen lined the halls.

“There been a lot of trouble lately?” Marten asked.

Hostile glances were his answers.

Finally, they marched into a large gray room. Marten and Cleon sat for several minutes. Then new black-suited gunmen appeared. They ushered the two into an even larger room. A red carpet on the floor, paintings on the walls, a Parthenon replica six feet high and deep couches decorated it. There was a large glass window on the far side of the room. The window showed gardens and promenades down below, with other governmental buildings beyond.

An older woman with gray hair sat behind a desk. She had an alert expression, with dark eyes and a wide mouth.

“Force-Leader Marten Kluge,” she said.

“Director Delos?” he asked.

“Commissar, you may return to the cargo ship,” she told Cleon. “You will await my orders to shoot the cyborg and the woman.”

Marten stiffened. The gunmen noticed, all of them drawing their weapons.

“Alexander,” Delos said, who ignored her gunmen’s reaction. “Your men may sit down.”

Commissar Cleon opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something.

Director Delos raised an eyebrow. “You’re still here?” she asked.

Cleon must have thought better about speaking. He turned smartly and marched out the door. The gunmen moved to nearby couches, sitting down. They each placed their gun on their lap as they stared at Marten.

“Please, have a seat,” Delos said, indicating a single chair before her desk.

“That woman you’re speaking about is my wife,” Marten said. “She’s innocent of any wrongdoing and is not deserving of death.”

Delos sat back in her chair. “I doubt that, Mr. Kluge. She is in your company. That is crime enough.”

Marten silently counted to five before he asked, “Have you spoken with Security Specialist Cone?”

“I’ve done even better than that. I’ve watched a rare video of a fool and a madman.”

Marten frowned.

Delos sat up and turned a computer screen on her desk. It showed an evil scene with several large glass tubes, surrounded by medical devices and medical personnel. In the nearest giant tube was a naked and obviously exhausted Marten Kluge, pumping a handle up and down as blue water gushed onto his head.

With an oath, Marten lurched toward the screen. That caused several gunmen to leap up, training their weapons at him. Marten was unaware of their reaction. His gut tightened as he stared at the video. A snarl curled his lips.