Vaughn Heppner - Star Fortress

Then he centered on the flipped IFV. A cyborg crawled out of it. Ricardo fired his remaining gyroc rounds, killing the wretched thing.

As he slid back inside his vehicle, one of the Commandos said, “Gomez is on the com, sir.”

Ricardo turned on the screen.

“You’d better get back here,” Gomez said. “There are more on the way.”

Ricardo’s momentary elation dimmed. Couldn’t they ever catch a break?

“You were right,” Gomez said.

“What are you talking about?”

“The Pancho Villa is ready for liftoff. The techs say it’s ready to go.”

A strange feeling worked through Ricardo’s chest. It made it difficult to breathe. This couldn’t be true. He must be hearing things.

“I thought the techs needed another two days before they were ready,” he said.

“The Pancho Villa is good enough for liftoff,” Gomez said. “That’s what they said. Now is probably the last window of opportunity we’re going to get. They said a few more systems could be improved, but what would it help anyone if they were all dead.”

“I’m on my way,” Ricardo said. “Let’s do this.”

Forty-nine minutes later, Captain Ricardo Sandoval strapped into his acceleration couch aboard the Pancho Villa . Once the last buckle clicked shut, he looked around at the command crew.

Men and woman wearing Planetary Union space uniforms lay on couches in a circular chamber. They worked feverishly, checking and rechecking systems as the countdown began.

A red light blinked on Ricardo’s screen. He switched it on. “I’m sorry to bother you, sir, but more enemy planes are coming in.”

Ricardo swallowed in a dry throat. “How many are there?”

“Radar says its five transports and seven fighters. They’re all former Martian Air Force craft.”

Ricardo felt like asking what else it could have been. Then he silently berated himself. The SAM operator was staying behind, fighting the enemy, giving the Pancho Villa the chance to escape.

“Concentrate your fire on the transports,” he said.

“Yes, sir, and good luck.”

He wanted to thank her. He wanted to acknowledge her courage. He found that sweat beaded his forehead. Why did it have to be such a close-run thing?

“I’m getting a priority call, sir,” the com-officer said.

“Who from?” Ricardo asked.

The com-officer stared at him. “From a cyborg, sir.”

“How did a cyborg get hold of our priority—” Ricardo fell silent. It was obvious how they had gotten hold of the channel. Mars Command had found people with slots or jacks in their heads. They were proto-cyborgs, plants, spies, assassins. For a time, everyone had to submit to a head check.

“Put it on,” Ricardo said. He had never spoken with a cyborg before.

The screen wavered and then a cyborg stared at him. The thing was a strange combination of machine and man. It made Ricardo’s flesh crawl and revulsion to churn in his guts. He’d read plenty of files on the melds and he’d met them in combat, but to have one actually looking at him…

Its metal optical implants twitched. There was red pin-dot light in them. How could metal and flesh coexist? Then Ricardo berated himself. Men had been putting batteries in their hearts and screws in their joints for a long time. Cyborgs merely heightened the process and enslaved the brain, marrying it to computer functions.

“You possess a warship,” the cyborg said in an inflectionless voice.

Ricardo’s lips moved, but no sounds issued.

“Our indicators show you will attempt flight in the warship,” the cyborg said. “This is unacceptable.”

“What do you mean?” Ricardo managed to whisper.

“We desire the warship intact. You will remain in place while we secure the vessel.”

Ricardo gave a low-throated laugh. “Why would we do that?”

The cyborg blinked several times as if processing the question. “You cannot escape, but you can damage the warship. This is unacceptable.”

“Then don’t attack us,” Ricardo said.

The cyborg’s head twitched. It happened very fast, making him think of a humanoid insect. “The warship cannot leave Mars. We desire it for our use.”

Ricardo’s mouth was dry. “A moment please,” he said. He switched back to the SAM operator. “Are the planes still closing in?”

“They’re almost in range, sir. Do you have further commands?”

“Not yet,” Ricardo said. “Just make sure you destroy the transports first.”

“I will try, sir.”

Ricardo nodded, and switched the cyborg back onto his screen. “You must call off your attack while I meet with my commanders.”

“Leave the warship and file into an assembly area,” the cyborg said. “We will thereby process you more smoothly.”

“We don’t want to be processed. We want to keep ourselves just as we are.”

“Your wants and desires are meaningless.”

“Not to us,” Ricardo said.

The cyborg now spoke slowly. “We will… bargain for the warship,”

“Yes, we can bargain. First, call off the planes heading to Salvador Dome.”

“The Web-Mind has agreed to process you last. You will therefore maintain your identities longer than other converted Martians.”

“I’m afraid that’s not good enough.”

“Explain.”

“You have to move your planes away—”

“They’re firing,” someone said in the command center.

“Excuse me,” Ricardo said. He switched off the cyborg and turned on outer scanners. Veracruz missiles sped at the enemy. All of them were launching. The cyborg response was immediate. The fighters roared into the lead, and they let their anti-missiles fly. In seconds, there were explosions all over the sky.

Ricardo groaned. So did others.

Cyborg troopers ejected from the transports. Their jetpacks burned brightly as they floated toward the ground.

Now cyborg-controlled fighters exploded as SAMs made it through the barrage. In seconds, several transports became orange fireballs.

“Too many cyborgs are touching down onto the surface,” an officer said.

“We need liftoff!” Ricardo shouted, switching to engineering.

A harried man looked up at him. “There’s a glitch, sir. The ship might explode if we ignite now.”

“It doesn’t matter!” Ricardo roared. “If the cyborgs reach us, we’ll be dragged to the converters. Fire the engines. If we explode, at least it will be a clean death.”

The chief engineer stared at Ricardo, finally nodding. “Yes, sir. Ignition systems engaged!” he shouted.

Ricardo’s chest hurt. This was too close. He remembered the cyborg then and switched back to the thing.

“You must vacate the warship,” the cyborg said.

“Yes, yes, I agree,” said Ricardo. “We’re afraid, however, that you are lying to us. To show us good faith, you must call off your troopers.”

“Humans tell lies. This is known data.”

“Cyborgs tell lies, too,” Ricardo said.

“The concept is meaningless. You must vacate your warship immediately or face termination.”

“You will lose the warship then.”

“No. We desire the warship. We have a bargain.”

“It’s not good enough. My people need assurances.”

“You are dissembling,” the cyborg said. “I have been monitoring your eye movement and your facial changes. You are Captain Ricardo Sandoval of the Martian Commandoes and acting Captain of the Pancho Villa . I am instructed to tell you that dissembling will result in extreme pain once you are in our custody.”

Ricardo’s features hardened, and he cursed at the thing. Then he switched it off. He felt as if he understood Sub-Strategist Circe now. Ricardo would give just about anything to be in the Neptune System as he launched nuclear weapons at the Prime Web-Mind.