Vaughn Heppner: Cyborg Assault

“Come on,” Marten muttered, moving toggles. He expected the screen to waver, flicker and then he would see his first Jovian.

The warship Rousseau was a dark blot, several kilometers away. According to the specs Marten had been studying, it was an Aristotle- class dreadnaught. That made it the largest class of ship produced in the Jovian System. It was roughly spherical, a giant ball bearing with asteroid-like particle shields. It dwarfed the Mayflower and contained hundreds of crewmembers. Marten had read somewhere that Aristotle -class dreadnaughts had been built to operate and fight on their own, not just as part of a fleet.

“ Rousseau —” Marten began to say.

“Prepare for a boarding inspection, Mayflower .”

Marten opened a channel to Omi’s room. “You’d better get up here,” he said.

“I’m coming,” Omi said.

Marten tapped the console. The free Martians had been beaming endless shots of the cyborgs that had died in the Mars System nearly a year ago. The Jovians must understand the cyborg danger. Marten grimaced. How was he supposed to explain Osadar to them?

“Is your communications equipment faulty?” Marten asked. “I’m not picking up any video images.”

“There is a malfunction, yes,” the Rousseau’s com-officer said.

Oh. “How many people are you sending?”

“One officer.” A clanging noise occurred over the radio-link. “We have launched the pod, Mayflower . Prepare for boarding in twenty minutes. Rousseau out.”

Marten cut the link, and he stared out of the window at the dark blot of the warship. Yes, he could visually make out a flare, the pod’s exhaust.

His heart rate quickened. Maybe he could hide Osadar and keep that little surprise for later. He knew he should have radioed ahead about her. He’d asked Osadar about it, since she’d grown up in the Jupiter System. She’d rejected the idea. When he’d asked her why, she had said that events would squash all their hopes. But why accelerate the day of doom?

The cyborg had reason for her pessimism, but Marten didn’t share it. However, a long life of bitter surprises had taught him caution concerning authorities—any authorities.

Marten opened a channel to Osadar’s room.

“The time has come,” Osadar said in her strange voice, speaking before he could.

“You’ve been monitoring the conversation?”

“I have already armed myself,” she said.

Marten unbuckled his straps, wondering if he should order Omi to hurry. They’d been avoiding each other for weeks. Cramped quarters for these endless months had put a strain between them. It was probably inevitable. It was human.

Marten glanced at the flaring engine again, signaling the approach of Rousseau’s pod. His gut twisted with nervousness. They’d reached a new system, a free system and a rich one. Would the people here accept Osadar’s strange story?

Marten pushed for the hatch, floating in the weightlessness. It was time to meet his first Jovian.

Marten and Omi floated near the Mayflower’s airlock. Omi seemed much like before with his muscled shoulders and bullet-shaped head. Each of them wore a Gauss needler. The metallic, sliver ammunition was ejected through magnetic impulse. The needlers were set on low so that the slivers would not puncture the shuttle’s skin. Each of them had donned a vacc-suit, minus the helmet, as the suits were their cleanest garments.

“What do the Jovians look like?” Omi asked.

Marten unhooked a handscanner, which was keyed to the ship’s computer. The computer controlled the video cameras outside the shuttle.

As Marten watched, the pod braked with hot exhaust. It was tear-dropped-shaped, and its polarized window was black, hiding the Jovian pilot. Slowly, the pod eased beside the Mayflower , which was many times larger than the pod.

“I don’t see anyone yet,” Marten said.

“I mean when they first hailed us,” Omi said.

“Their com-equipment was faulty. It didn’t show any vid-shots.”

“That sounds suspicious,” Omi said.

Marten shrugged as he studied his handscanner. Trust an ex-gang enforcer to be distrusting.

Omi leaned near and glanced at the tiny screen. That annoyed Marten, but he still moved the scanner, allowing Omi a better look.

“Their boarding tube’s snaking out,” Omi said.

Marten tilted the scanner back to him. Sure enough, a docking tube stretched between the pod and the Mayflower’s outer hatch. That was quick work, seeing as how the pod had barely matched velocity with them. On the scanner, the pod seemed motionless, but both space vehicles moved in an orbit around Jupiter. Both ships thus had an appreciable speed. Usually, it took time for pilots to adjust velocities just right between two spaceships. The stretching tube was flexible, but it could only flex so much. That the pod’s pilot already sent the docking tube… it spoke of extreme self-confidence.

“These Jovians are good,” Omi said.

Marten nodded. The magnetized flex-tube made noise against the Mayflower’s hull. He heard faint hissing sounds as the tube pressurized.

“See anyone moving?” Omi asked.

“The tube is dark.”

Omi glanced at Marten.

Marten kept his eyes on the scanner. He’d gotten tired of looking at Omi several months ago.

“Seems like they’re going to a lot of trouble to keep themselves from being seen,” Omi said.

“I suppose,” Marten said.

“Are Jovians usually this paranoid?”

By the movement in it, someone was already in the flex-tube, maybe more than one. Marten recalled that the Rousseau’s com-officer had said one boarding-officer would inspect them. The first worm of doubt now seeped into his gut.

“How many sets of feet do you see?” Marten asked. He meant feet pressing against the flex-tube.

Omi studied the scanner. “Three,” he said.

A clang outside the Mayflower’s hull startled Marten. The outer hatch was opening. Why would the com-officer have lied about the number of people boarding the shuttle?

“—Move!” Marten shouted.

Both ex-shock troopers propelled themselves away from the airlock. Omi jammed on his helmet, sealing it. Marten was only seconds slower. Each squeezed through the nearest hatch. Omi turned and began to close it.

“Wait,” Marten said. Clamped onto the wall was a heavy plasma cannon. In Earth-like gravity, the cannon would need a tripod mount for a soldier to use. Because of weightlessness, it was possible for one man to wield it here.

The airlock began to open.

Marten chinned his visor shut and moved away from the hatch. Omi eased the hatch so it was almost closed. Both men stared at Marten’s upheld handscanner.

Instead of one, three tall beings stepped aboard the Mayflower . Their helmet visors were black. Each figure looked quickly around. One reached up and undid his helmet’s clamps.

Marten moistened his mouth as he activated the plasma cannon. He felt it vibrate and heard it hum. It was a wicked weapon, obviously not meant for such confined quarters. The cannon shot a superheated charge of plasma. Such a charge would destroy the airlock and open the Mayflower to space.

Omi cursed softly.

On the small screen of the handscanner, a cyborg swiveled its plasti-flesh features back and forth in tiny, machine-like jerks.

Marten and Omi traded startled glances. Marten nodded curtly. Omi only hesitated a moment, then he swung open the hatch. Marten dropped into position and aimed the plasma cannon at the cyborgs.

It was a frozen moment.