Vaughn Heppner: Star Fortress

The rest of the flight proved uneventful. They soon taxied down a runaway, put on their masks, climbed out and entered an APC. The military vehicle took them to a large garage separate from the dome.

There Ricardo parted company from the pilot and soon found himself alone on a chair in an empty room. It was more of a large box with a metal floor and walls. There was a faint drone coming from somewhere and the slightest vibration against his feet. Ricardo was used to this: move here, go there, hurry up and wait. It surprised him High Command hadn’t kept him on the ground searching for more cyborgs. Had the generals decided the capsule was a first landing attempt?

Ricardo’s stomach growled, but then it often did. He was always hungry, even though he ate sumptuously according to Martian standards. Before it could growl again, one of the doors opened.

To his amazement, Secretary-General Gomez entered. He recognized her from the news blogs, particularly as she wore her customary green uniform. She was a tall woman with darker-than-average skin. She had tight curls, wore sunglasses and moved stiffly, using a cane as she dragged her left foot. Long ago, she had been a gunman in the Resistance. Nine, Political Harmony Corps guards had died on Martian streets due to Gomez’s firing. The tenth PHC guard had worn the latest body-armor and returned fire, sending three explosive slugs into Gomez’s frame. Reconstructive surgery had saved her life, but she lived with constant pain these days.

“Captain Sandoval,” she said in a strong voice.

Ricardo lurched to his feet at attention as he saluted crisply.

“You recognize me, do you?”

He nodded.

The faintest of smiles appeared on Gomez’s thin face. “You are Mars’s great Cyborg Slayer, are you not?”

“I killed one in a sandstorm.”

“And thereby saved one of your Commandos,” Gomez said. “I read the report. You bayoneted it to death. From what they tell me about cyborgs, that is most impressive.”

“The cyborg was already damaged and lacked modern weaponry,” Ricardo said.

“It also slaughtered your men as if they were children,” Gomez said. “Under the circumstances, your feat was amazing.”

Ricardo nodded brusquely.

Gomez tapped the floor with her cane. “Tell me, Captain. What is your estimate of the war?”

“I’m not certain I follow you.”

“Then you are not the man I need and this entire situation was a costly waste of time.”

“You mean the wider war, the one against the cyborgs.”

“At the moment, it is the only war that matters.”

“I agree,” Ricardo said.

“How gratifying,” Secretary-General Gomez said dryly.

Ricardo refused to let that bother him. “We are losing the war,” he said.

Gomez became alert. “What is the probable outcome?”

“The maxim is simple,” he said. “To win, one must attack. We do not attack. Therefore, we will lose until we successfully take the offensive.”

“And we should attack where do you think?”

“The heart of the cyborgs lies in Neptune. You must attack there. I thought Social Unity and the Highborn planned exactly that.”

“Not Social Unity, Captain,” Gomez said. “Social Unity is merely one component of our allied front. The Jovians, Martians and Earthmen have formed an alliance of regular men, don’t you remember?”

“The Highborn, Social Unity and the Jovians have warships. We do not.”

Gomez leaned on her cane toward him. “Does our lack of a fleet bother you?”

Ricardo grew puzzled. If seemed as if his answer was important to her. What possible reason…his face grew slack. “We’re building warships,” he whispered. “Is that what this is about?”

Pain creased her features, and the fist holding the cane knotted. “Where did you gain this information? You will tell me, Captain. We have learned from our enemies and will resort to whatever means necessary to find what we must.”

“I fail to…” Ricardo saw it then—the reason why they had put SAMs here. Yes, the reason they had chosen Salvador Dome for a secret project.

“Secretary-General Gomez,” he said, “no one has informed me of anything. I merely added two and two together. Your line of questioning, the defensive perimeter erected here and the operator’s willingness to destroy a Martian jet all points to some highly secret project. Your last question points to the nature of the secret.”

“Go on,” Gomez said.

“Both Inner Planets and the Jovians have warships. Mars has none. The war for survival is the critical action now if humanity is to survive the next few years.”

Gomez lifted the cane, pointing it at Ricardo. “I have read your blog, Captain. You thrive on this war, on your association with Marten Kluge. You have a quick and agile mind. I seek those needed qualities. Even more, as you often point out in your blog, potential means nothing. The man of action who has proven himself capable should lead others into combat against the enemy.”

“You’re talking about my advancement because I killed the cyborg?”

“Exactly,” Gomez said. “You fulfilled Kluge’s maxims to a nicety. In the face of danger, you took a simple tool—your bayonet—and finished killing the meld. Mars needs men of your caliber, men who take what they have instead of complaining they lack the proper equipment. With the tools at hand, you achieved the needed goal. Mars has little to add to the armada. In many ways, I believe both Social Unity and the Highborn would torpedo our attempt to act the part of soldiers.” Gomez shook her head. “Mars will not be denied its place in the Sun. We will join hands with the others, helping kill the common enemy. Captain, you will come with me.”

Gomez turned around and limped out the door. Ricardo hurried after her. They moved down a steel corridor, toward the sound of humming and increasing vibration. Entering an elevator, they went down, the noise increasing the entire time.

The elevator stopped, the doors swished open and the two of them walked onto a balcony with a railing. Beyond was a cavernous area. Ricardo gripped the rail and carefully peered over. It was a good three hundred meters to the floor. Cables snaked everywhere and carts hurried here and there.

Ricardo swallowed as he gazed at a huge missile-shaped vessel. Metal scaffolding encompassed it. Most of the vessel was girders and fierce welding sparks. Workers crawled everywhere over it.

“The planet’s resources are badly stretched,” Gomez shouted into his ear. “Many of our people starve. The satellite defense is incomplete—the reason the cyborgs could slip their capsule through our net. Nearly every piece of military hardware on Mars is old and decaying. We should do everything else except build a warship. As we know, those are built in space, the best ones at the Sun-Works Factory.”

Ricardo tore his gaze from the skeletal vessel, staring into those dark sunglasses. “Mars will join the attack?”

“Many of the Local Bosses are against this,” Gomez said. “If the cyborgs launch a stealth fleet against us…”

“I understand,” Ricardo said. “I also know that to win you must attack. The cyborgs are winning. Humanity is going down to defeat unless we can turn this war around. We won’t turn it around building defensive satellites.”

“You speak the truth,” Gomez said.

Ricardo heard the fatigue in her voice. He saw the lines in her face. The Secretary-General was taking a risk, risking an entire planet on the edge of collapse. She likely risked her political career as well.

“What can I do to help you?” Ricardo asked.

Gomez limped to the railing, putting one hand on it. “You are a man of action, Captain. You are not a political infighter. There is little you can do to help me.”