Vaughn Heppner - Planet Wrecker

Sulla took his time answering. “Oh, the Maniple-Leader never arrived here. I misunderstood you, Your Excellency. I meant he landed on Asteroid E.”

“The Maniple-Leader has captured Marten Kluge?”

“I can hail him and find out,” Sulla said.

“No,” Cassius said. “Return to your tasks.”

Sulla opened his mouth, maybe to say more. Then he smirked and returned to his controls.

Although he shivered convulsively, Cassius otherwise kept a tight reign on his rage. Sulla must die soon, but he couldn’t kill him on the bridge. No, he must do this subtly. His secret enemies among the Highborn, those who craved the highest command for themselves, must sense blood from his wounding, from losing the Gustavus Adolphus . He must maneuver with extreme delicacy now in order to keep his leadership and his life.

Twisting around in his shell, he opened a private channel. Asteroid E was far away, although not yet beyond range of the ultra-laser. That laser was now down, however, certain burned-out components being replaced or under repair. Cassius watched a small screen as he practiced a calming technique. There was a time for rage and a time for stalking prey.

A face-burned Highborn appeared on the screen. It was Felix, and it looked as if his left eye was gone.

“This is Grand Admiral—”

“I know who you are,” Felix said.

Cassius pursed his lips. “Have you returned to the Julius Caesar ?”

“In time, I might.”

Lightheadedness made it difficult to think. Cassius shook off the weakness as he concentrated on the hatred shining in Felix’s single good eye. The boy had gone rogue. He could see that now. There would be no saving of his chromosomes. He should have seen it sooner, but in this, a paternal feeling had blinded him.

“Where is Marten Kluge?” asked Cassius.

“Gone,” said Felix.

“You disobeyed a direct order?” Cassius asked.

“Someday, I’m going to kill you,” Felix said.

Instead of arguing, instead of using verbal trickery to discover more, Cassius cut the connection. Why his chest felt so hollow, he had no idea. In a mental fog, a haze, he unbuckled, exited the shell and left the bridge as he strode down the corridors.

It was some time later that Cassius found himself in his quarters, strapped into an acceleration couch. He had no idea how he’d gotten here. A com-link was open and Sulla was telling him…that it was time.

Time for what?

At that moment, the ship engaged its huge engines. A thrumming tremble caused his couch to shake as the noise levels rose. Then a ten-G-burst deceleration slammed Cassius against his couch. That cleared his mind, and he turned on an outer video.

The Julius Caesar and the Genghis Khan sharply pulled away from the asteroids headed for Earth. The blue-green ball was huge now, less than a quarter-of-a-day away at these speeds.

The three zooming asteroids and the mass of debris surrounding them kept on a straight collision course for the planet. Much of the debris could theoretically cause billions to die if they hit.

Aboard the Julius Caesar , Cassius began to plot. He wanted to tame Kluge, and he would someday in a brutal fashion, but he had bigger problems to tackle now. Felix—Cassius shook his head. He’d worry about Felix later. Now he had to hold onto his supreme station. His position was gravely weakened if his own bridge crew maneuvered behind his back.

He judged his odds for survival as Grand Admiral. They were bad. His only chance was if the Earth survived the asteroids. Then he had to strike first and strike hard. He had to outmaneuver his hidden enemies. If the cyborg-objects annihilated premen-existence on the homeworld, his challengers would likely pull him down like dogs ravaging a de-fanged lion.

He had a moment to wonder if Kluge was responsible for Felix’s rebellion. Cassius snarled, vowing to capture Kluge someday and turn him into a docile and obedient beast.

Then another high-G burst slammed him against the couch, slowing the warship so it could soon enter near-Earth orbit.

Deep in the Joho Command Bunker, Hawthorne watched the Doom Stars decelerate. He, along with everyone else monitoring near-orbital space on the screens, knew the moment had come.

“Open channels with Vice-Admiral Mandela,” Hawthorne said.

Soon, a black-skinned man with curly-white hair appeared before Hawthorne’s sight. The man had large eyes, a stern expression and a badly rumpled uniform.

“Use the approaching asteroids as shields,” Hawthorne said, forgoing pleasantries. “Flee from the Highborn while you have the opportunity. Whether the rocks hit the Earth or not, use the planet as an even bigger shield. Keep yourself from those ultra-lasers. You must keep your fleet intact.”

Mandela blinked in seeming bewilderment. “W-we’re practically weaponless,” he finally stammered.

“Do as ordered,” Hawthorne told him. “Social Unity is going to need that fleet.”

Mandela hesitated before saying: “The Highborn will disapprove of such actions.”

What had happened to the man? Once, Mandela had been tough. Maybe the years drifting between Venus and Earth had taken a psychological toll on him. Maybe working under the Highborn had sapped whatever had remained of his will. It was time to shove some steel into the man.

“Vice-Admiral Mandela,” said Hawthorne, “will you obey my lawfully given order?”

Mandela tried to stare Hawthorne down, at least the Supreme Commander felt like the Vice-Admiral did. Then Mandela glanced right and left. Likely, he studied his bridge crew. The old man seemed to wilt in his chair.

“Your plan is risky,” Mandela whispered.

“I need that fleet intact and away from the Highborn,” Hawthorne said. “I need spaceships so I have something to threaten them with later.”

“Supreme Commander—”

“If you cannot obey me, Vice-Admiral, I will relieve you of command and order you shot.”

Mandela scowled. Hawthorne took that as a good sign. The old man still had some will left. Then the Vice-Admiral nodded. “I have my orders, sir. Is there anything else you want to tell me?”

“Yes,” Hawthorne said. “Good luck.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll need it.”

The SU Fifth Fleet—two battleships and a missile-ship—accelerated. Cassius watched it on his images. The Julius Caesar and the Genghis Khan continued to slow down. Between them, the asteroids and debris zooming at Earth acted as a screen.

Cassius hailed Vice-Admiral Mandela and soon spoke to him screen-to-screen.

“Where do you go in such a hurry?” asked Cassius.

“I have my orders, Grand Admiral,” Mandela said, as he stood before his chair. The preman seemed nervous. “It has been a pleasure fighting under your inspired leadership. I hope we can fight together again and destroy the cyborg menace.”

“Help us stop these objects,” Cassius said.

“I’m afraid we need more military stores to do that.”

“Ah,” said Cassius, “I see. If you decelerate, we shall re-supply you.”

“That’s a generous offer, Grand Admiral. But I cannot. I’ve been given my orders straight from Supreme Commander Hawthorne of Social Unity. I dare not disobey him.”

Cassius adjusted the transmission. Everything was turning against him at once. Did the universe mean to test his greatness to the limit? Somewhere, he needed events to move in his favor. Cassius scowled. A superior man forced events to move in his favor. The preman Vice-Admiral seemed badly frightened about something. It was time to play on his worst fears.