Doom Star: Book 03 - Battle Pod (11 page)

Commodore Blackstone lifted a shaking hand and turned on the vidscreen. The
Vladimir Lenin
had a task to perform. He’d never failed before. He studied the Supreme Commander’s operational plan for the reduction of the Rebel Mars Planetary Union orbital defenses.

“Destroy Doom Stars,” Commodore Blackstone whispered later. He was supposed to take Mars in order to lure Doom Stars here. The ache in his bones told of the danger of attempting any engagement with the super-ships.

Blackstone tapped at his desk screen. A simulation of the Mars System appeared. Mars’ average distance from the Sun was 1.52 AU. (An AU was an Astronomical Unit, the average distance of the Earth from the Sun.) The Earth and Mars were on the same side of the Sun presently, so it should have been a short journey for the convoy fleet. The closest the Earth ever came to Mars was 56 million kilometers. Now, however, Mars was nearing its farthest orbital distance from the Sun. It was also 100 million kilometers from Earth and made the convoy fleet’s journey nearly twice as long.

Commodore Blackstone rubbed his bristly chin. He needed a shave. He had forgotten that daily ritual for two mornings now.

He began to read the bulletins and study spaceship velocities. He read deceleration schedules and reports concerning the structure and position of the battle pods these
cyborgs
from the Neptune System came in. Blackstone had seen bionic soldiers before and assumed the cyborgs must have advanced prosthetics. How the cyborgs could benefit the coming assault, he had little idea. Hawthorne’s plans for them were patently absurd.

The scattered units gathered here in far-Mars orbit simply couldn’t do what the Supreme Commander fantasized they could do. Blackstone had toured a missile-ship yesterday that had escaped the Venus System. He had been appalled at the sloppy uniforms, the lackluster salutes and the depleted ship’s supplies. If the other warships were in similar shape, he doubted there would be enough firepower left in his growing fleet to give the Highborn much worry.

How was a commander supposed to gather a dispirited fleet in the far orbit of any planet? Then he was supposed to re-supply them, ship-to-ship, without any base facilities. Then he was supposed to effect repairs, erasing previous battle-damage.

James Hawthorne had always been far too prone to try risky endeavors. It meant that if his plans worked, they were brilliant. But if they failed, they were disasters. Who would be blamed for the disaster this time? Not Supreme Commander Hawthorne. No, it would be Blackstone, Hawthorne’s old comrade from the Academy days.

The thought brought a spark of anger to Commodore Blackstone. The spark showed in his eyes and replaced the sadness that usually dwelled there. It momentarily tightened the sagging flesh on his face.

A loud rap against the wardroom door startled Blackstone out of his anger. He flinched as he looked up. The rapping sound came again, and there was a muffled voice that demanded he unlock the door immediately.

The Commodore was hardly aware that he had locked it. He realized belatedly that the Commissar had ordered every door aboard the
Vladimir Lenin
remain unlocked. Comrade soldiers of Social Unity had nothing to hide from each other. Locked doors implied privacy and that hinted at property and capitalist possessions.

“Enter,” Blackstone said.

The door automatically unlocked itself and swished open. Three-Star Commissar Kursk strode in. She was a fierce woman in an overly tight, brown uniform. She had severe Slavic features that would have appealed to those who lusted after a latex-fetish dominatrix. She wore her cap so the brim was low over her eyes. Those eyes were black, intense and demanding. Surprisingly, she had a flat chest. The rest of her was lean, with just enough curvature to her hips so men turned to watch her walk away. She wore her Order of Solidarity Badge, Second Class. It was big, shiny and pinned on her chest. She’d won it several years ago suppressing
individualist mania
among the space-welders of the Sun-Works Factory.

Behind her followed two enforcers in red PHC uniforms, natural sadists with agonizers clipped to their belts. Their long-fingered hands never strayed far from their stun guns. These two had strange stares.

Blackstone suspected their stares were from post-hypnotic commands and an over-indulgence of
glaze
. Blackstone had heard rumors that some Political Harmony Corps enforcers and slime pit operators developed strange psychosis after eliminating too many enemies of the State. Many of them turned to
glaze
, which helped for a time but eventually made most users paranoid.

“Your door was locked,” Commissar Kursk complained. There was a hint of the agonizer in her voice. It made Blackstone wince.

“Having you been taking your tablets?” Commissar Kursk asked.

The Commodore nodded his bald head.

“You are not above discipline.” Kursk unclipped a keypad and typed until a warning beep sounded. “I have added a mark to your profile. I am also duty-bound to inform you, that another three marks will result in a half-minute of agony.”

Blackstone blinked at her. Could she be so rash? With Supreme Commander Hawthorne’s rise to power, the authority of the political officers had dwindled. It was true that Commissar Kursk commanded an abnormal number of enforcers. She also had a formidable personality. But to use an agonizer on him as the commanding officer of the assault….

Blackstone opened his mouth to protest.

Commissar Kursk planted herself before his desk, putting her hands on her hips. “Forget about that for now. I have something more important to discuss. I have toured three of the newest warships and have spoken with their political officers. What I found amazed me. I know you’ve also toured two vessels. Surely, you have seen the same thing.”

“Everyone needs shore leave,” Blackstone said.

Kursk scowled. “Social Unity is fighting for its life! Shore leave is the least of anyone’s concern. This fleet represents one of the most potent forces left to us. Yet what do I find? There is a sullen quality to shipboard ideological fervor. For too many months now, these warships have sulked like isolationists in dark corners. Instead of yearning to come to grips with our bigoted enemies, they plot how to survive what they see as a catastrophe.”

“The Highborn aren’t a catastrophe?” Blackstone asked.

“Your tone is defeatist. I’m tempted to add another mark against your profile. You are the chief officer of this endeavor. You must exude confidence in order to pour it into your underlings. They in turn must motivate the crews with fierce ideological certainty of our coming victory. Anti-cooperative supremacists cannot defeat a socially aware humanity. I demand that you hold immediate court-martial proceedings and weed out the defeatists. You must stiffen everyone’s spine, Commodore.”

“Yes,” Blackstone said listlessly.

Commissar Kursk’s features turned glacial. “I have been timing the extended periods that you spend alone in here. Your personal misfortunes can no longer be allowed to interfere with your responsibility to Social Unity. The Directorate of Inner Planets has thought fit to use your martial abilities for the betterment of humanity. I recognize that human frailty sometimes worms into our responsibilities. At this critical juncture, however, I will not allow that to happen to you. Commodore Blackstone, the Directorate sent me to instill socially responsible behavior into you. I would be derelict in my duty if I failed to prod you to maximum efficiency in this grave hour.”

“If it’s any consolation,” Blackstone said, “I have been studying the attack plan.” He turned the vidscreen to show her the orbital positions of moons and satellites.

Kursk scowled. “You surprise me, Commodore. You molder in here like an isolationist, thinking that some revelation will elevate you above the rest of us and give you military insights. You should be with your staff, debating ideas and formulas and obtaining a group consensus.”

“No doubt you’re right,” Blackstone mumbled.

Commissar Kursk made an explosive sound as she blew out her cheeks. She leaned toward him, putting her hands on his desk. Her black fingernail polish seemed to suck the light from the room like mini-black holes.

“What is wrong with you? The cyborg battle pods are near, the supply convoy is less than four weeks away and twelve major warships have matched orbital velocity with the
Vladimir Lenin
. You should have visited each ship, counted supplies and demoted the inefficient. Your malaise is close to criminal sentimentality.”

A flicker of annoyance entered the Commodore’s sad eyes. He sat up, jerked once on his uniform to straighten it and almost lurched to his feet. “You overstep your bounds, Commissar.”

“I’ll trample well outside my bounds to save Social Unity,” she said. “My allegiance is to humanity’s future greatness. That can only be achieved through realizing the perfection of equality, the core of the human spirit.”

She unclipped her keypad and began to type. “You will join the scheduled hum-a-long at 1400 hours and tomorrow at 2600 hours.”

Commodore Blackstone frowned, and he opened his mouth to protest.

“Your malaise increases in direct proportion to your time spent in isolation,” she said. “You must mingle with the soldiers and derive your solace from unity. That will charge you with renewed zeal for victory. I am adamant on this and I will brook no disobedience. Have I made myself clear?”

Blackstone barely nodded.

“I demand an audible affirmation.”

“This is really too much,” he said.

“Commodore, it will pain me to apply it, but I will order my enforcers to use the agonizer on you. You are not alone, either in your pain or in exclusion from punishment. I am your conscience, and I refuse to fail in my duty to you and to Social Unity.”

“Very well,” Blackstone said. “I will join the hum-a-longs.”

“Excellent!” Kursk turned to go, but paused and looked back. “I think you shall be surprised at the hum-a-longs’ efficiency in soothing your pains.”

“No doubt true,” he muttered.

Commissar Kursk snapped her fingers and pointed at one of the enforcers. “See that the Commodore remains here no longer than another twenty minutes. Then call me and we shall implement the punishment.”

Commissar Kursk thereupon marched out of the wardroom in the company of her second enforcer. Despite her severity, Blackstone watched her hips sway and knew a stab of longing. He would like to run his hands over her butt, and give it a good squeeze. As the door swished shut, the second enforcer moved around the desk so he stood behind the Commodore and could see what he looked at on the vidscreen.

If Commissar Kursk had planned to irritate the Commodore until he exited his wardroom, she was successful. Blackstone remained in his wardroom only long enough to turn off the vidscreen. Without acknowledging the enforcer’s presence, he left to go to his sleep cubicle and shave.

Transcript #17 of SU Directorate-Mars Planetary Union talks: an exchange of messages between Director Danzig representing Inner Planets and Secretary-General Chavez representing the Martian Rebels. Dates: February 7 to February 11, 2351.

Note: the messages were exchanged via the Larson-Rodriguez Lightguide System, with an approximately five and half minute time lag between the sending and receiving of the priority messages.

February 7

From Secretary-General Chavez
:

Our core memories store pleasant and unpleasant data with equal facility. We have therefore not forgotten Social Unity’s trickery prior to the 2339 Sneak Attack. Then as now, Mars had to be ever vigilant to maintain its freedom from the tyranny of Social Unity. We were foolish enough to believe the Directorate’s stated policy of joint peace between our sovereign entities then and sent our representatives to Earth. After twelve years, their flesh still rots in the slime pits of your injustice and insincerity. I ask the director to forgive me my passion, but such savagery and double-dealing is difficult to expunge from our collective hearts.

It will thus surely not surprise you to realize our qualms concerning the continued rendezvous of SU warships in far-Mars orbit. The numbers exceed reason and we can only conclude that after twelve years Social Unity plans another assault against our native planet.

February 7

From Director Danzig:

Need I remind the honored Secretary-General of the true historical record? More than thirteen years ago, the mass Martian assaults against SU Peacekeeping personnel brought a wave of terror and butchery to thousands of innocent people. The notorious 2334 assassinations of SU fleet personnel in Martian jurisdiction left a scar that still poisons relations between us. Now the recent Martian wave of planetary terror-attacks on SU space-defense facilities has left us shocked at your perfidy. Worse, your joint tactical campaign with the Highborn supremacists has deeply wounded our belief that you possess any social consciousness worthy of the name.

The SU fleet units in far-Mars orbit are entirely peaceful in intention and defensive in orientation. We have agreed to the Secession Accords and have sent an emergency convoy fleet to begin evacuation of SU personnel that you presently hold captive.

We demand, however, as a sign of your good faith, that you immediately halt your ground assaults on the North Polar Region. Further, we demand that you cease space-borne laser attacks on the Valles Marineris Canyon.