Planet Wrecker

-17-

Eights days later between Luna and Earth, an orbital fighter zoomed out of a bay in the Julius Caesar. It was one of two Doom Stars in the Earth System. The other presently hid behind the Moon.

The orbital fighter was an ugly craft, triangular-shaped and squat, with cannon ports and extra fuel tanks. It was a single-seater, and it held the Grand Admiral of the Highborn, Cassius. He wore a battleoid-suit. Behind his visor, he ground his teeth in anger.

The Julius Caesar was much nearer Earth than Luna. Cassius had brought the Doom Star into near-orbit as a threat against Eurasia. He had been doing this for the last three months. There was a reason for it, historical in nature.

Despite his rage, Cassius worked out ship-vectors, rates of laser-fire, proton-beam pumping and prismatic chaff levels. Eurasia and Africa had become bristling fortresses. The Supreme Commander down there was good, too good for a preman. Storming North America was still taking much too long. Cassius attributed it to Hawthorne.

The nine-foot Grand Admiral shrugged within his battleoid-suit. Because he wore it, it was badly cramped within the orbital fighter. He looked around at the stars. They shined brightly. To his side was the great blue-green ball of Earth. There were drifting clouds above Mexico, where he was headed, toward Mexico City specifically.

Cassius had been moving the two Doom Stars near Earth and over Eurasia in imitation of Alexander the Great. Alexander was arguably the greatest warlord the premen had ever produced or likely ever would produce. Naturally, Cassius knew he could have easily outfought and outgeneraled Alexander. Maybe the reason the young Macedonian held such fascination for him was that Cassius believed he was the Highborn Alexander. He was the greatest military genius among the greatest military soldiers the Solar System had ever seen. The truth of that was obvious.

With his big hands, Cassius shifted the fighter’s controls. The squat craft plunged toward the stratosphere. Almost immediately, the heat-shield began to glow as the fighter began to rattle and shake.

The ploy with the Doom Stars was just like Alexander’s maneuvers before the Hydaspes River. It had tactically been Alexander’s most brilliant large-scale battle. Alexander had marched, for him, to the ends of the Earth—in reality, India. There King Porous had waited with an army of chariots, archers and elephants. Porous had spread out his army, covering the various fords over the Hydaspes River. Alexander had marched back and forth on his side, accustoming Porous’ soldiers to his presence. Finally, the day came where Alexander’s phalanxes did as they always had. Elsewhere, however, a picked company of cavalry crossed the river, making it because the enemy had grown lax.

Cassius was accustoming the soldiers of Social Unity to the near presence of the Doom Stars. It was risky, because at any time, Hawthorne might order a vast barrage of proton beams, merculite missiles and whatever orbital fighters they had been secretly constructing to attack the Julius Caesar and its sister ship.

Despite the heat-shield, the fighter’s solid construction and the battleoid-suit, Cassius heard the howling wind outside his craft. He dropped at combat speed toward Mexico City.

The radio crackled, and a FEC lieutenant came online, asking for identification.

Cassius was surprised. Have we stretched ourselves so thinly that premen run sectors of air-defense?

The FEC soldier could easily activate the air-defense over the city and region. With a single finger, the preman could achieve what many SU soldiers had been unable to do—kill the commander of the Highborn.

There were loyalty tests, to be certain. The lieutenant manning the air-defense-net had a stake in the Highborn victory. Still….

Cassius punched in the fighter’s code.

“Acknowledged, SA-12,” the FEC lieutenant said over the radio. “You are cleared for a scanning pass.”

Cassius grimaced. He’d do more than that. Before he was through, high-ranking Highborn would be on the air-defense-net. Maybe it would be a lesson to them all. But he was more concerned that the young cockerel bearing his chromosomes would realize the foolishness of his action. Yes, Felix was about to discover that with such a grand genetic heritage as he possessed came responsibilities.

Gripping the controls, Cassius kicked in the afterburners. Time was critical. He might already be too late. With a lurch, he slammed deeper into the cushions, his fighter screaming down toward the surface level of Mexico City.