Vaughn Heppner - Planet Wrecker

“Your soldiers have died in greater numbers than ours,” McLeod said.

“Our soldiers have died to keep their freedom and their planet. What have your men died for?”

“Glory,” said McLeod.

“How does glory feed your family?” asked Hawthorne. “How does glory keep humanity free?”

“The Highborn have deserted us,” Colonel Naga told McLeod.

“They’re highhanded blokes, no doubt about that,” McLeod said, scowling. “I’d like to stick it in their arses before I’m burned to a crisp. What do you have in mind, Supreme Commander?”

“That you stand with us against them,” Hawthorne said. “They’re highhanded, as you said. They’re arrogant and spit on all of us. I’m tired of it, and I suspect you’re tired of it, too.”

“You are said to possess the entire FEC roster,” Naga said. “Political Harmony Corps desires to march each of us before a brick wall and shoot us.”

“I’ve de-fanged Political Harmony Corps,” Hawthorne said. “If you join us, I’ll delete the lists.”

“…And?” asked Naga.

“And the Free Earth Corps can keep the territories it has conquered,” Hawthorne said. “I’m also willing to recognize you as the highest authority in North America.”

“I’d want South America,” McLeod said. “There are some pretty women in those sectors.”

“Can each of you sway his men?” asked Hawthorne.

McLeod snapped his meaty fingers. Naga made another faint bow.

“What about other officers, other colonels?” Hawthorne asked.

“There is much anger,” Naga said. “But there is also much fear. How do you propose to defeat the Highborn?”

“I’m not proposing anything fancy,” Hawthorne said. “But I am offering you the chance to rejoin Social Unity and help us kill the genetic supremacists who dare to act like gods among us.”

“They left me to die,” McLeod said. “I can’t ever forget that. I don’t care a whit about Social Unity or your brotherhood of humanity propaganda. But I do want to kill the Highborn and teach them their mistake. They shouldn’t have abandoned Earth or the soldiers who fought so long and hard for them.”

“What guarantees do you have that I will gain North America?” Naga asked quietly.

“My word,” said Hawthorne.

“A word easily broken to those you consider traitors,” Naga said.

“Did you see me flee when you drove the hovercraft at me?” asked Hawthorne.

“You stood your ground like a soldier,” McLeod said begrudgingly.

“What is your point?” asked Naga.

“A man is a man, and he keeps his word.”

“Quaintly stated,” Naga said. “But it does have validity. Yes, I am ready to fight the Highborn. But there are others in FEC who will not join our unity.”

“We’ve our work cut out for us,” Hawthorne said. “You two gentlemen are the kernel toward uniting the Free Earth Corps and Social Unity. Therefore, you two should reap the lion’s share of the reward.”

“Will the Earth survive?” asked Naga.

Hawthorne glanced up at the clouds. So did the others. “That is still being decided,” Hawthorne said.

Aboard the Julius Caesar , Grand Admiral Cassius seethed with pride and elation. With a victorious shout, he leaped from his command shell.

Highborn officers glanced at him. Their eyes radiated intensity as their muscled chests swelled and their biceps repeatedly flexed, making their uniformed sleeves ripple.

“We are the Highborn!” Cassius shouted, slapping his thick chest. “From primordial days, to antiquity, to medieval times, to the Age of Reason—all the way to our modern era, none have possessed our greatness. We crush those who dare to take a stand against us.” As he spoke, Cassius raised his large right hand and curled his fingers into a fist, shaking it and snarling another savage laugh.

“The premen proved too puny for us,” Cassius told his officers. “Therefore, the universe threw up a tougher challenge—the cyborgs. They are hideous creatures, as much machine as flesh, coldly rational and soulless. Their powered strength almost matches our reckless vitality. But they lack our iron will, our relentless need to dominate. Thinking circuitry tireless, they have forgotten that an exalted spirit can fire a warrior to divine acts of glory.”

“Look!” roared Cassius, pointing at his holoimages. “Marvel at what our strength has achieved in such a short time.”

The other Highborn rose to their feet. Like kingly lions, they approached the expanded holoimages. They grinned and laughed aggressively.

Cassius put his hands on his hips and exuded in the achievement of the first phase. His heart swelled with thumping pride. Did the cyborgs think to smash the jewel of Earth? Well, they would have to think again.

Seventeen asteroids or debris-clusters appeared as holoimages. The rearmost five asteroids showed something else—incredibly long exhaust plumes that disappeared into the bridge’s bulkheads.

“We attacked five asteroids,” Cassius said. “We successfully stormed each and conquered each, ripping them out of weak titanium hands.”

“The cyborgs are filth,” a Highborn said.

“They are genocidal freaks,” said a second.

“We have put our boots on their armored torsos,” spoke a third.

“What about the other twelve asteroids?” another asked. “We still have to deal with them.”

Everyone on the bridge turned and stared at the speaker, an older Beta Highborn, a mere seven feet tall. The Beta Highborn scowled as he hunched his head. Stubbornly, he said, “Those twelve are still headed for Earth. And they will soon hit the planet.”

“Ah, Marcus Maximus,” said Cassius.

The other Highborn chuckled. Maximus was Marcus’s nickname, a slur on his inferior size and status. Cassius kept him on the bridge as a reminder that first there had been the Beta Highborn, a weaker subset of a superior breed. Marcus worked hard to maintain his rank, and he provided moments of amusement such as this because he lacked the raw power of a completed Highborn.

“Five isn’t even one third of the asteroid-strike,” Marcus said.

“Tell me, Maximus , what waits in our bays?”

Marcus Maximus’s head hunched just a little more as his scowl deepened, putting lines in his rugged features. “The bays hold armored shuttles, Grand Admiral,” Marcus said.

“And?” prompted Cassius.

“In the shuttles await Highborn commandoes.”

Cassius grinned. The five long plumes showed that on each captured asteroid the fusion cores worked. The plan moved according to schedule.

At that moment, a red flash winked among the holoimages.

“Back to your stations,” Cassius said. “We have a fight to finish.”

As the others returned to their posts, Cassius strode to his shell and reentered it, strapping in. He opened channels, having recognizing the call sign of Admiral Gaius. The Admiral’s holoimage appeared, showing his white uniform, Red Galaxy Medal and the short bill of his cap low over his eyes.

“There’s possible trouble,” Gaius said.

Cassius raised his eyebrows.

“The preman on D have monitored signals from the other asteroids,” said Gaius, “from the cyborg-controlled rocks.”

“And these cyborg rocks show…what?” asked Cassius.

“Interior explosions,” Gaius said, “likely of the fusion cores.”

The fierce joy and exaltation drained from Cassius.

“Given their mass and nearness to Earth,” Gaius said, “it will take many outer explosions to nudge those asteroids off course.”

Cassius thoughts were in turmoil and now flashed from item to item. Perhaps there had been a miscalculation. Or maybe the sequencing of the accelerating asteroids—he snapped forward. “Which captured asteroid first employed the cyborg-engines?”