Planet Wrecker

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Supreme Commander Hawthorne swam laps in an Olympic-sized pool on the Third Level of New Baghdad. His long arms churned through the water as he fluttered-kicked. Back and forth through the clear water, stroke, stroke, breathe out, turn the head to the side and sip air. He let everything go as he swam through the chlorine-smelling water. The muscles worked and the heart pumped. This was better than stims and allowed him to sleep a solid five hours each night. These days, he couldn’t achieve more. He’d lurch awake in bed, his eyes would snap open and he’d be realize his mind was working over a tactical problem or a strategic conundrum. At that point, it was impossible to get back to sleep.

His fingertips brushed the edge of the pool. He curled his long body, turned and brought his feet around. As he began to push off, he heard a shout. The temptation to keep swimming was strong. This was the one time in the day when his problems slid away. Instead, he stopped and treaded in place. Water ran from his hair and he wiped his eyes.

“Sir,” said Captain Mune, “the cyborgs are trying to obliterate Earth.”

“What?”

Mune began to tell Hawthorne about the asteroids hurtling toward Earth.