Planet Wrecker

-96-

On Earth and deep underground in the Joho Mountains, Supreme Commander Hawthorne shrugged on his jacket. His fingers felt stiff as he buttoned it. He was so tired. He felt like an old man and his eyes burned from reading endless reports.

The probabilities and projections—

Hawthorne sagged into his chair, opened a bottom drawer and took out a small flask of old Scottish whiskey. Unscrewing the cap, he put it to his lips and threw back his head. The liquid slid down his throat, and it burned. Then warmth burst in his stomach and moved throughout his body. It made him shiver. Waiting a moment, he did it again. He was thinking about a third slug, when someone rapped at his door.

Screwing on the cap, he put the flask in the drawer. Then he hesitated. Maybe he should keep it with him. A second knock occurred, more insistent this time. With a clunk, Hawthorne dropped the flask and slammed the drawer closed.

“Enter,” he said.

Manteuffel opened the door, sticking in his head. “Cone would like a word with you, sir.”

Hawthorne blinked several times before the words registered. He nodded as he straightened his tie.

Frowning, Manteuffel hesitated before he asked, “Sir, are you well?”

“No,” said Hawthorne. “I’m sick with worry, with fear that we’re all about to die.”

“But the merculites, the proton beams,” Manteuffel said. “The news sites all declare an easy victory.”

“The probabilities and projections were altered for publication,” Hawthorne whispered. “They were propaganda lies.”

“What was that, sir?” asked Manteuffel.

“Nothing,” Hawthorne said. He wanted another sip of whiskey, a long one. He flattened his hands on the desk instead, spreading his fingers. “Let her in.”

Manteuffel nodded, withdrew and then followed Cone into the room. She moved briskly to a chair before the desk. Then she glanced at Manteuffel, who had taken his place in a corner.

“You wished to see me?” asked Hawthorne.

Cone took off her sunglasses. Her pale eyes added to her beauty. If only she could smile occasionally. She was like an ice queen. Hawthorne suspected her smile might transform her.

“Colonel Naga is having second thoughts,” Cone said.

It was difficult for Hawthorne to wrap his thoughts around the FEC traitors today.

“Naga says his men and tanks will be exposed to the asteroid-strike if they move today,” Cone said. “They’ll be on the surface.”

“It’s why he’ll take everyone by surprise,” Hawthorne said.

“I know that,” Cone said. “But we’re not the ones who are going to be on the surface. He is.”

“What can I do about it?” Hawthorne asked, irritation entering his voice.

“Talk to him,” said Cone.

Hawthorne frowned at his spread fingers. Slowly, he shook his head. “I don’t have the strength. I’m going to need it all for the battle against the asteroids.”

“Then empower me,” Cone said.

Hawthorne looked up as Manteuffel cleared his throat. Cone stared at him with those pale eyes. They hid her thoughts, but he recognized her thirst for power. How he envied Cone her relative youth. Was his time for command over?

“Empower how?” Hawthorne asked.

“Reinstate me as your Security Specialist,” she said.

Manteuffel tried to signal him with his eyes, but Hawthorne ignored the man.

“This is the moment to strike, sir,” Cone said. “I can motivate Colonel Naga, but I’ll need a position of authority to do it.”

“Very well,” said Hawthorne.

Manteuffel shook his head.

Hawthorne took out a scroll-pad and began to tap in the needed electronic-work. Doing it gave him energy. This was a risk. But the Earth needed hard, ambitious people. It might not survive the next twenty-four hours. If it did, then their window for retaking the planet from the vacant Highborn would be small indeed. Now was the time for energetic climbers to strike. Now was the moment for someone like Cone.

“There,” Hawthorne said, as he stood. “You’re back in, Security Specialist.”

Cone stood too. “You won’t regret this, sir.”

He already did, but the die was cast.