Vaughn Heppner - Bio-Weapon

“You have done well,” Lycon said, “and you are a gifted tactician. Sometimes I wonder about your loyalty, but as you say, you have worked hard in the service of the Highborn. Such hard service brings rank, as you have learned. The facts also show that you have a touch of excellence. Who else among the shock troops escaped the Bangladesh ? That is why as Training Master of the shock troopers I am recommending that you receive the “Hammer of Thor” medallion for excellence in combat.”

Marten sat up. “You honor me, Highborn.”

“The Grand Admiral himself will pin you with the Hammer of Thor and Omi with the Crossed Swords.”

“We head to Earth, Highborn?”

“We do. And the shock troopers are to be reborn.”

“But… The beamship was destroyed, Highborn.”

“The Grand Admiral has a different use for you, one in orbital Earth. Omi and you will each be a commander of an assault force. They will be named, Assault Force Marten and Assault Force Omi.”

“You’re making us into heroes?”

“You will be models of what one can achieve if he labors hard in the service of the Highborn.”

“I… I don’t know what to say.”

“Highborn,” corrected Lycon.

Slowly, Marten said, “Yes, Highborn.”

Lycon rose. “Excellence brings rank, Marten. Ponder that.” He strode out of the room.

Marten did ponder it. A hero for the beings he hated. They had once thought to castrate him. What was to stop other Highborn from doing it? They had loaded the shock troopers into missiles, as living ammunition. They treated him as an inferior, as a trained animal. These medals were pats on the head.

Marten squinted. He was on a shuttle, a spaceship. Only three Highborn were aboard. If the Highborn died… he would finally own his own spacecraft.

Marten’s heartbeat quickened as he began to make plans.

It was dark in the shuttle as Marten crept to the medical unit. The ship was under one-G of acceleration. Using the glow of the life-support monitor, he examined Omi lying in the clear cylinder. Tubes were attached to the Korean’s flesh. His chest rose and fell with each breath.

Marten studied the cylinder. It was airtight. He pressed a switch. There was a beep as a small red light blinked. Clamps appeared, securing the medical unit for emergency ship maneuvers.

Marten exited the chamber. His features were stern and his heart hammered. Any number of things could go wrong. He knew Highborn arrogance had given him this chance. Surely, they couldn’t believe they were in danger from a lone preman.

The hatch to Lycon’s sleep cubicle was open. This evening, all the hatches were open. Marten had been busy and had made sure.

He eased onto his stomach and slithered past the hatch. Soon on his feet again and in another section of the shuttle, he used a stolen electronic key, opening the suit locker. With practiced speed, he donned his old vacc suit. He tried to be quiet, but there were clunks and clatters. Finally, he sealed his helmet and shuffled to the airlock.

A fierce grin spread across his face. The Highborn had been careless. He was only a preman. What could he do to them?

Marten produced an override unit, one he’d tampered with the past few hours. He licked his lips and entered his code. Then he engaged the manual override. Numbers flashed on the unit. A klaxon should have sounded, but Marten had overridden it with his stolen unit.

There was a hiss as the inner hatch slid open. Marten worked feverishly, applying clamps, making sure it was impossible for the inner hatch to close. With the last clamp in place, he stepped into the airlock. He switched on the vacc suit’s magnetic hooks to full power, securing himself to the wall. Then he manually opened the outer hatch.

Immediately, air hissed past as it rushed out into the vacuum of space. Then the airlock was open all the way and the sound became a gale-force shriek.

A stylus with a purple tip shot past Marten. Then cups and cutlery flew past as they tumbled into the colds of space.

Marten heard screaming. Almost too fast to notice, the Highborn pilot flew past him. Marten resisted the impulse to lean out and watch. Instead, he remembered how shock troopers had tumbled off the Bangladesh’s particle shields. Now their arrogant, uncaring commanders would pay.

The medical Highborn flew outside next.

Then Lycon the Training Master appeared. The seven-foot Highborn managed to latch his fingers onto the hatch clamps. He strained to hang on, his massive body inches from Marten. In a feat of amazing strength, Lycon tore off a clamp. With desperate will, he began to work on the second.

Then the rapidly dropping air pressure began to tell on Lycon. His body and face began to bloat as his blood and other bodily fluids began to turn into water vapor and form in his soft tissues. The ebullism occurred even more strongly in his lungs. The escaping water vapor cooled around his open mouth and nostrils, creating frost.

Then, as he was magnetically secured, Marten began raining body blows against Lycon’s horizontal and now grotesquely swollen torso.

With the last of the ship’s air shrieking past his bloated face and whipping his hair, Lycon peered blindly at Marten. The Highborn must have realized he was dying. Maybe he wanted to take Marten with him. His clothes had shredded off him and blown into space. Bare Highborn fingers reached for Marten. Marten desperately slapped the freakishly large hand. Lycon’s frost-covered lips moved soundlessly. Then the huge Highborn lost his grip and he shot out into space. Marten leaned out and watched the Training Master tumble away into the void.

Marten closed the outer hatch. Next, while breathing hard, he turned off his magnetic hooks. Then he removed the clamps and let the inner hatch hiss shut. The shuttle immediately began to pressurize.

A terrible laugh escaped Marten as he removed his helmet. He owned a spaceship and he was free. Free! Now he had to decide what he was going to do with his hard-won freedom.