Star Soldier (3 page)

“Splendid. If you’ll retake your seat.”

“I’ll stand if it’s okay with you? Sitting too much….” Marten shrugged. “You know how it is.”

“What I have to say is better discussed if you sit.”

Marten could picture Molly advising, “Sit down, Marten. Don’t be rash.” Despite this common sense and the feeling of weakness in his knees, Marten resisted.

“No. I’ll stand.”

Quirn leaned back in his chair, eyeing him.

Marten smiled, trying to placate the hall leader with a social gesture.

“Hmm.” Quirn sat forward and placed the plastic chart on the desk, smoothing it with his fingers. “Very well, we shall proceed.”

“Good.”

“No, Marten, I’m afraid that it’s not good. And that pains me. Of all the tasks a hall leader performs, this is personally the most difficult. Yet none of us is allowed to shirk his responsibilities. There would be chaos otherwise. Now then, your profile… Marten, it’s taken a decided turn for the worse. It’s come to my attention that you’ve actually missed three hum-a-longs in a row.”

“I-I had a cold,” Marten said, the excuse sounding lame even to his ears. “My throat hurt.”

Quirn’s voice became an octave more menacing.

“During that time you’ve also missed two discussions and quite incredibly failed to fill out any community charts. Now,” he cleared his throat, reaching for one of the drawers. “I will allow you to fill out several charts here this very moment. Particularly, I would like to know how Mr. Beerbower spends his quiet time from four in the afternoon to—”

“Uh,” Marten said, “I’d rather not.”

Quirn looked astonished. “Everybody fills out community charts. We watch out for one another.”

“Yes, but—”

“Now see here, Marten, the entire thrust of Social Unity demands that we
care
about our community. In a time of grave crisis such as this we must be certain that the group functions as smoothly as ever, as one.” Quirn opened the drawer and took out a plex-sheet, holding it across the desk.

Marten hesitated. He could take the plex-sheet and fill in nonsense as he’d done in the past. But that didn’t really matter today, did it? It was a known fact that the hall leader switched partners with amazing regularity, and his partners were always attractive and energetic. Whispers abounded that Quirn saw such couplings as conquests. Few dared refuse his advances. Molly had dodged him the most persistently, and Marten was certain the hall leader now took it as a personal challenge. Quirn was clever, too. He must realize that if he sent Marten to the slime pits, without real justifiable cause, that might embitter Molly. Therefore, the two of them today were going to have to go through a charade.

“This is quite unprecedented, Marten. Failing to fill out the charts shows a decided lack in political duty. Perhaps….” Quirn’s eyes narrowed. “Perhaps you hold heretical views.”

Marten still couldn’t reach out and take the plex-sheet. He knew he couldn’t tell Quirn that he was tired of pretending, especially now that the Highborn attacked Earth. The genetic super-soldiers had rebelled against Social Unity, just as he wanted to rebel. The Highborn had started the civil war, it was said, through an act of rage. Marten squinted. The truth was that he was soul sick, cramped, feeling as if he should have gone down fighting with his Mom and Dad. He’d watched
Quasar
several weeks ago and had seen a documentary on the cave paintings in Southern France Sector. What had fascinated him was the whole idea of cavemen. Free to roam wherever they willed. Hunting for food, really protecting their mates. It had seemed so… alive. He’d imagined himself bellowing at other cavemen, a club in his hands. A man who fought for the well-being of his woman would cherish her. He would treat her as the greatest thing in his free-living life. Like his Dad had treated his Mom. Definitely heretical views.

“No?” Quirn asked icily. “Very well.” He put the plex-sheet back in the drawer, closing it with a thump. Then he folded his hands on his desk, and his mouth quivered with distaste. “I’ve given this much thought, Marten. I’ve talked with Reform through Labor and found that openings are available.”

“You’re sending me to the slime pits?” For a wild instant, Marten envisioned himself leaping over the desk and attacking the hall leader.

Quirn raised a hand. “You know very well that a political crime such as yours—”

“Missing three hum-a-longs is a crime?”

“Please don’t interrupt. And the answer is yes, for refusing to join your friends and neighbors in sanctioned political harmony, for willfully staying away, that is a political crime. And that translates into an assault upon humanity. Almost as repugnant are your thought-crimes—surely you have some. Fortunately, for you, Marten, the guidelines unequivocally state that thought-crimes occur to most citizens at one time or another—thus the need for a firm teaching party like Social Unity. Yes, a stint in the 'slime pits ' as you put it might be in order.”

Quirn let the threat hang in the silence for a moment while he watched Marten narrowly.

“However, in your case I don’t believe that would help. And in these trying times even heretics like you must pull their weight. Marten, you need to understand that the State wants to correct your bad tendencies so that you can become fully functional again. So, I’ve thought of the perfect job that I believe will help teach you this.”

Marten stared at the hall leader, wondering what the man’s devious mind had thought up.

Quirn shoved a small slip of plex-paper across the desk.

Marten picked it up.
Biocomp engineer
, it read. Then he noticed the hours: Early morning shift.

“I’ll have to get up when everyone else is asleep.”

“Yes,” said Quirn.

Marten understood. With these new hours, he wouldn’t be able to spend as much time with Molly. In other words, she’d have more time alone. And because he hadn’t been sent to the slime pits, Molly would surely be grateful to the hall leader. Very neatly done, Marten thought sourly. He looked at the slip of plex-paper again: Biocomp engineer.

…Interesting.

3.

OFFICE OF THE SUPREME COMMANDER

PLANS AND OPERATIONS DIVISION

BEIJING, EAST ASIA SECTOR

TOP SECRET

14 April 2349

Directive No. 1

For the prosecution of the war

“Ultimate victory demands objectivity. Due to their bioengineering, the Highborn rebels automatically have certain advantages. These can neither be wished away nor ignored. Simply stated, man for man the Highborn are smarter, quicker, stronger and perhaps even wiser. Their intense training also heightens their military advantages. Breakthrough ship design and technology has armed them with craft superior to any in the Solar System. Combined with a surprise assault, the genetic super-soldiers have gained mastery of Earth-Luna space.

“It can be expected that total enemy space-fleet control of Venus and Mercury will occur in short order.

“Recommendation: All fleet units randomly retreat into deep space until our superior production gives us a two to one advantage in ship tonnage.

“Army Units, it should be noted….”

***

The microphone snapped off. Even thought he couldn’t see them, Secret Police General James Hawthorne stared steely-eyed where the ancient men and women of the Directorate were sitting. Or he assumed they sat behind the polished surface in front of him. Otherwise, he sat alone at a table, a spotlight shining in his eyes and a mike in front of him.

Whoever sat behind the polished wall had been given the chance of a lifetime. The orbital bombardment that had destroyed Geneva had also slain the entire Social Unity Directorate and the SU General Assembly. These new members were a mystery to him and the world at large. He’d carefully studied the files of two aged women who had made it onto the Directorate. They were products of extreme longevity treatments. The others on the Directorate were still blanks to him, although he assumed most of them to be old. In any case, they had gained supreme rank in a single amazing bound. Which of them would come to dominate the Inner Planets hadn’t yet been thrashed out.

General Hawthorne wore the green uniform with red piping along the sleeves of Directorate Staff Planning. He was tall and gaunt with wispy blond hair, and many said he had the emotions of granite.

The wall speakers warbled into life.

“Our military ships are to flee?”

Whether a man or woman had spoken was impossible to tell. The shiny, metallic wall confronting General Hawthorne gave him no clue. Such caution bespoke the Directorate’s fear. Not fear of the Highborn, necessarily, but fear of his access to secret police files. The Geneva bombardment had stirred a hornet’s nest of intrigue and deadly political jockeying. No one trusted anyone—not that anyone really ever had. It was just many times worse now.

For all that, General Hawthorne had a war to run. He leaned toward the mike. “A strategic retreat, yes.”

“Don’t be fatuous, General.”

“That wasn’t my intention.”

“Humph! Do you care to explain this, this
treason?
”

“Don’t they say he’s a military genius?” asked someone else.

General Hawthorne wished he had complete biographical data on these ultra ambitious men and women. A misstep could land him in the Brutality Room. His eyes tightened, and he dared ask, “Am I on trial?”

“Yes.”

“Then—”

“We will set the agenda, General.”

His bowels turned hollow. But General James Hawthorne clamped down on his fear.

A stylus moved against a plex-pad somewhere behind those polished surfaces. An audible
click
issued from the wall speakers. They were recording his trial—a bad sign.

***

Transcript of Directorate Interrogation of Secret Police General James Hawthorne #4

10.9.2349

Q. Why do you recommend that our space fleets flee?

A. So they won’t be destroyed.

Q. Why do you assume automatic destruction?

A. The Highborn are superior to us, Director. We cannot ignore that basic fact.

Q. Nor am I—not that I accept your assumption. But for the sake of argument let us pretend I accept it. Why did you not suggest suicide tactics?

A. Too inefficient.

Q. (sarcastically) Granted I’m not an expert on strategy, General. But ultimate victory sometimes entails an inefficient use of resources. It’s better than giving up.

A. Agreed.

Q. Maybe you’d better explain yourself.

A. The Highborn have certain advantages, Director. What I wish to avoid is playing into those advantages.

Q. For instance?

A. For instance, they are superior soldiers in every conceivable way. Their strategies and tactics will probably prove superior throughout the conflict.

Q. Are you saying we can’t win?

A. Not at all.

Q. But if their strategies are superior, if they themselves are too… I don’t see how we can win.

A. History supplies us with several answers.

Q. By all means, please enlighten us, General.

A. We could liken the Highborn to the Spartiates of the ancient Greek world.

Q. Don’t you mean the Spartans?

A. No, Director. Spartiates were the full-fledged Spartans, the only ones with complete political rights and decision-making powers. They formed the core of the dreaded Spartan army, which was primarily composed of allies and
perioeci.

Q. I’m afraid you’ve lost us, General.

A. Sir… Director, the Spartiates as a class dwindled over the centuries. As they dwindled, so did the efficiency of the dreaded Spartan army. Like the Spartiates, the Highborn are few in numbers.

Q. You call over two million few?

A. In comparison to us, yes. My point is this, Director: When the Athenian General Cleon took one hundred and twenty Spartiates prisoner on the island of Sphacteria—

Q. (interrupting) While we appreciate your historical acumen, General, please tell us in plain language what you’re trying to say.

A. (pause) The historical records tell us how to defeat superior soldiers, soldiers who lack sufficient numbers. The primary method is to trick or force them into attrition warfare. In other words, we must fight battles where the Highborn themselves, personally, take crippling losses. For instance, Roman Dictator Fabian defeated the Carthaginian Hannibal in just such a way as I’m suggesting. To state briefly, Hannibal’s superior cavalry obliterated Rome’s legions whenever they marched onto the plains. So Fabian kept the legions in the hills. He fought siege battles against cities that had gone over to the Carthaginians, sieges conducted behind carefully built earthen outer walls and trenches to nullify Hannibal’s cavalry in case they showed up. In the end, Fabian bled his deadly foe to the point where Rome could deal with him in the open. Hence the term:
Fabian tactics
. Or in modern terms, delaying tactics.

Q. Yes, we see your point.

Q. (different Director) Wait! What bearing does any of this have on the treasonous suggestion that our fleet units scurry into deep space?

A. Space battles are the wrong place for our attrition tactics, Director. This being so, we should save what fleet units we possess until such a time as the odds rework into our favor.

Q. (icily) I see.

Q. (different Director) Where do you suggest we stand and fight, General?

A. Planet-side. On Earth, Venus and Mercury.

Q. But that’s nonsense. They’ll simply bombard us from orbit.

A. Will they?

Q. We’re asking the questions. (pause) Why don’t you believe they’ll simply bombard us from orbit?

A. They need the Inner Planets. They need our industrial might in order to keep their fleet in being. Thus, ground troops will have to land to secure these things. That’s when we fight them.

Q. But orbital bombard—