The referees positioned themselves in the middle of the court, while the opposing team gave the ball to one of their players. Each opposing team now made their wild guess as to whom had the ball, as each player was now hiding his hands in his shirt. The nine-member opposing teams faced each other for the duel. A referee then blew his whistle, and the players marked their opponents. It did not take a few seconds before the Martian hitter tried to draw first blood; he missed the Earthling captain by half a yard. The Earthling retaliated by hitting the Martian guard in the chest. A referee blew his whistle, telling the Martian guard to vacate the field, leaving only eight active Martian players. Hence, the Martians fought back by chasing the Earthling acrobat artist. The Earthling ran very fast, unmindful of the quagmire.
“The Martians began to employ some rough tactics by deliberately blocking the path of the escaping Earthling, sending the Leopard crawling to the ground. When the pursuing Martian was ready to strike his ball, a referee blew his whistle, charging the Earthling with an offensive foul and awarding a free shoot to the Martian, sending the Leopard into the twelve-meter firing range. The acrobat artist acknowledged the foul and positioned himself inside the six-feet-in-diameter firing range situated halfway down the court. There was a rule that prohibited the defensive player from getting out of the circle within the regulation time of ten seconds; or he would be technically out.
“On the other hand, the offensive player would forfeit his bonus if he couldn’t release the ball before the time elapsed. The Vulture tried to trick the dancing Leopard by making some unnecessary action, play-acting to throw the ball without releasing it. In response the Leopard rose to the occasion by using his body movements, jumping, bending his body swiftly, to the delight of the crowd. The Martian was irritated at the fancy action of his colorful opponent and released the ball, missing the Earthling by an inch. After thirty minutes of rough and arduous play, the Leopards won the game with a high percentage scored by the five survivors. The Martian emir was very disappointed by the outcome of the game. He glanced at his visitor and asked, “How do you find the game, General?”
“It's quite interesting. . .. If only I were kid I would enjoy it very much,” Gen. Knud Bokolov replied. “Is there another game aside from this? One more action-oriented?”
“Yeah . . . there’s . . . but it’s the same type. I assure you this time it won’t be a sleepy game. It is full of surprises!”
The 15,000-seat stadium was now filled up.
“Ladies and gentlemen, for the grand finale . . . the game of stamina and cleverness between the Earthling Blizzards and the Martian Dynamites! At stake in this game is: if the Earthlings win, then all the political prisoners shall be released!” the announcer declared.
The Earthlings welcomed the news; they knew that they had a fighting chance with this kind of game. It’s just a simple ball game, some thought.
The people cheered for the emerging combatants. First to appear were the Earthling Blizzards, in their twenties with their all-white uniforms, led by a pretty lass in gala attire riding a white stallion. The Earthling refugees stood up and applauded their red-and-white uniforms, wearing masks and full padding on their bodies. The applause reverberated in the stadium.
The referee now presided over the affair. He called up the captains of both teams and said, “These balls are not ordinary balls . . . these are disposable kegs. At every time-out we’ll provide you with a new ball until the games end.”
The Martian captain just smiled while the Earthling captain smelled something fishy and referred the matter to his coach.
“You just concentrate on your defense. Keep your eyes on your opponents at all times. Never blink. If you’re hesitant, keep out of throwing distance, don’t forget to run as fast as you can, and beat the clock at all costs, OK?”
“Yes, Coach!” the combatants chorused.
The Martian occupation banner flew in their corner; likewise, the Earthlings placed theirs in their comer. The referee’s whistle signaled the start of the game. The combatants formed columns facing each other and shook their opponents’ hands. The combatants positioned themselves, marking each other, waiting for the right moment to come, while the people were expecting the same brand of boring game of hitting and running.
The Earthling who had the ball hidden in the back of his shirt found the golden opportunity; he found the right target: a fat Martian. The ball handler made a signal to his peers for the strike; in an instant he hit the marked man in his torso. To the Earthlings’ complete surprise, the ball exploded, dropping the victim shaking to the ground, his flesh scattered.
“My God, we’re using explosive balls!” the Blizzard striker said. In his university days on Earth he used to play baseball and he was twice chosen MVP, as he was an excellent pitcher and hitter.
The spectators were shocked. They were unprepared to see this kind of game served to them by the ruthless emir. General Bokolov’s eyes grew big; this game, no doubt, curdled his blood. The Martians who at first felt shock chased their opponent while still hiding their hands in their shirts. The Earthlings had already freed themselves from throwing range of their opponents. When ‘the regulation time elapsed, the buzzer sounded. The Dynamites retreated to their corner. The Blizzards were given a new ball and conferred with their coach.
“Don’t give them a chance to hit you!” the coach cautioned. “George, you shout a new password to your group. Say, ‘now!’ and the others must run while the one who holds the ball must strike at once and run for safety, OK?”
The game resumed while the audience was holding their breath. Those who couldn’t swallow the heart-wrenching game had elected to leave the stadium. The combatants, on the other hand, were facing each other ready for a kill. The Martian Dynamites struck a wild throw, and the ball exploded on the ground. The Blizzards made a hot pursuit and cornered one Martian; before the time elapsed the ball handler had knocked down the Martian, who was crawling to the dunes. The buzzer sounded, and the Blizzards rushed to their coach.
“Coach, that one there crawling is a robot!” said Nick.
“What?" the coach was shocked. “They’ve cheated us again."
“Shall we go on?"
“I think yes, if we win this game, our brothers who are languishing in the dungeon shall see freedom,” the captain said.
“That is, if the emir honors his word,” one Blizzard said suspiciously.”
The game resumed again. The Blizzards, who at first displayed the determination to attain glory, had become cold. The striker threw a wild ball that enabled the Dynamite striker to hit one of the Blizzards on the right leg, which left the latter on the dunes feeling the pain as blood flooded from his body.
“I think, Coach, I cannot go on with it; this is not a game,” said one player. Three Blizzards wanted to quit the game, leaving only five against seven Dynamites.
Then Kubinak tried to raise the morale of his team.
“Sir, we’re quitting the game; we’re fighting against robots!”
“What . . . It’s not fair; that bloody emir wanted to satisfy his violent whims at the expense of our people and the Earthling refugees," the charismatic leader said.
“Our people are cheering for you to win . . . do you understand, guys?" Kubinak said.
The players positioned themselves again, giving the Martians an edge with seven players while the Blizzards had five. The official scorer sounded the buzzer, signaling the resumption of the game.
The Martian ball carrier found the opportunity to strike a Blizzard’s head. The hit was fatal; the Earthling’s brain scattered in the air while the headless body dropped slowly to the ground. The scene emitted shock waves to the Earthlings’ supporters, and some became hysterical.
“Now, General, how do you feel about the tempo of the game?” the emir asked. '
The general couldn’t utter any words at once, so he took a glass of cold water to relieve the tension.
“It’s a violent game; can we bring this
bloody game to a halt?” the general urged.
“I think it’s too late already, General; we’re already at its climax,” the emir replied. “General, this type of game is very similar to one enjoyed by the Roman aristocrats . . . remember? During the reign of Julius Caesar, they utilized prisoners as gladiators to fight each other and it was very brutal. Sometimes there were mismatches. What you’re witnessing now has a set of rules. The referees’ judgment I would say is very commendable. They're very fair to both teams, and no complaints so far. This game is just a test of our guts, how we react when we witness our defiant Earthling brothers blasted by our missiles.”
General Bokolov couldn’t swallow this bloody show; he could feel his bones shaking.
Yet, again, the game resumed. The Blizzards’ skipper released the ball, missing his target badly. They ran fast, eluding their foes, and stopped only when the clock ran out. The skipper looked for fluid to drink while gasping for breath. The way things looked, the Blizzards were dead tired.
“I think it’s time now to throw in the towel,” one charismatic leader suggested. “We could fight them in another kind of game . . . that is, if they’ll fight our own brand of game.”
“Sir, if we win this game, hundreds of our brothers in the dungeon could join us in the event of uprising. This is our only chance!” the skipper explained.
“Yes, I do understand what you feel, they’re indeed our assets, but how long can your stamina last?” Kubinak asked. “Over fatigue is your enemy now. I’m afraid if you go on . . . there’ll be an impending massacre.”
The three Blizzard deserters were just looking at each other, shaking their heads.
“Sir, we'll replace the three frozen Blizzards; we’re ready to face those bloody Martian Dynamites!" said the skipper of the Earthling Leopards, accompanied by the acrobat artist and one outstanding player. Kubinak was very delighted by the offer of the young Leopards.
“I want to see my father alive,” the colorful acrobat artist aid. The three were ready to enter the arena when the three blizzard deserters pulled them. “Stay away, kids! You don’t know what you’re fighting!" shouted the former baseball MVP of the Earth, and the three rejoined the fighting team. The Earthling refugees and the Martian sympathizers shouted in jubilation upon seeing the three Blizzards enter the arena.
“Give me that ball, George!” one of the deserters requested.
When the fresh Blizzard had possession of the ball, he ran toward the position of the Martians with the other two acting as decoys. The Martians were caught flat-footed. Those who had no ball abandoned their positions, leaving behind their ball carrier, an easy prey to the smoking Blizzards. At close range the Blizzards masterfully engaged their lone enemy, sending the helpless Martian to the ground. From there on there was no stopping the Blizzards’ successful offensive.
The emir was very upset.
“Your Excellency, have you noticed how those Earthlings played? . . . They’re employing some surprise strategy. We’re expecting that kind of tactic when we invade Earth,” the general quipped. “They're ready to give up their life; high morale is their number one asset.”
XIV
Starshield
The Privy Council of the Earth had expressed deep concerned regarding the fate of the Stargeon. Their last contact with the starship was Commander Krispov's last report, that it had successfully repulsed the violent attacks of the space enemy. These greatly damaged their communication system, which required immediate repairs by the crews. Since then it had signed off the air.
“Still no signal coming in?” asked the worried emperor.
“So far negative, sir,” Professor Kalavich responded. “Your Excellency, the Starship’s doubtful journey hasn’t impeded the high fighting spirit of the people working the Starshield Complex . . . at this juncture we’re already 95 percent complete with the work program; ' we’re just rectifying some defects in the generating units," said the professor.
The Earthlings had been constructing a sophisticated bunker to shelter the populace. The structure was watertight, highly insulated to withstand intense heat, and above all seismic-proof. It was geometrically designed in the form of a five-pointed star on a plane, resting above the thick massive concrete slab footing. It had a high oblong tube perimeter wall encircling the complex. The interior was subdivided into different sub-bunkers. The center, which maintained the shape of a pentagon, had been made into a biological field where fast-growing plants were sprouting. To augment the possible shortage of meat supply, they utilized a quarter of the area as a poultry and livestock section, provided with an adequate food and water supply. The waste would be recycled and turned into a bio-gas energy. The complex also had a hospital, food stocks to last at least two years, and well-ventilated surroundings. For the time being, marital relationships were being discouraged.
Absolutely no pregnancies were allowed. Their conversation was interrupted when the emperor received a message from the Earth Peripheral Defense Command. “Sir, we have a visitor from the IPO High Command led by General Bokolov. They want an audience with you, sir," said the radioman. “Shall we let them in?” the emperor asked his Privy Council. “If they come here for the sake of peace, then why not?” replied Madame Ming Ling. “But we’ll not give them the impression that we’re falling to our knees and begging," were the tough words of one hardliner. General Bokolov and his party arrived with an unarmed spaceship convoy. The top-brass gentleman was wearing a dark gray space suit, his chest decorated with rows of gold medals and some fancy patches. “Nice meeting you, General," the emperor greeted him. “Your Excellency, I ’m General Bokolov of Jupiter.
“The IPO has commissioned me to discuss very important matters of your government regarding the ongoing crisis.”
“I think we can talk this matter, together with my staff,” the emperor responded. The conference was held in the emperor’s private villa. “Sir, the IPO leadership has urged me to persuade you to abandon Earth immediately, before it is too late,” said the general. “The IPO’S irrevocable decision has been upheld lately by the head of all the planets.”
“You see, since the beginning of the crisis we’ve made our stand clear . . . that we'll stay on this planet whatever happens, and our people are hopeful that soon they’ll see a healthy planet,” the emperor replied.
“Perhaps you’re aware, General, that we’ve an ongoing expedition to get the ultimate medicine for our ailing planet," Madame Ming Ling interrupted.
“How's the progress of the expedition, Your Excellency?” the general inquired.
“It’s encouraging,” Professor Kalavich answered.
“Ladies and gentlemen, for your information, the IPO High Command has already made the first delivery of two super Omega bombs to Mars and some more are on the list for transport, together with thousands of super advanced spaceships to be manned by volunteer Space fighters,” the general disclosed.
“We are prepared at all times, General, for your invasion,” came the stinging response of the emperor.
“Sir, in my humble opinion I would prepare to wait and see if your ideas show a promising result, but the politicians see it differently," the general revealed. “But rather the IPO has given the Martian monarch a legal option, that he can invade Earth once the arms buildup is completed. The Omega missile has a very special feature; it can bore into the fifty-mile Earth crust before it explodes, and you yourselves can imagine the effect of this bomb on your beloved planet.”
Some members of the council were shaken, while the emperor remained calm.
“I admire the superior evil planning you are preparing to implement, but all of this will not change our position. I’m telling you, first all our brave space fighters must be smitten before your bombs reach our land surface,” the emperor replied sternly. “I think we will adjourn this fruitless discussion; it has not solved our problems. General, if you don’t mind, my deputies have very productive work to attend to.”
“Thank you very much
for giving me an opportunity to talk to you, sir,” General Bokolov said and shook the hand of his host.
“I promise you, sir, that I’ll do all I can to prevent the emir from invading your planet prematurely.”
“Thank you for your kindness, General; we look forward to it,” the emperor responded.
“Sir, some of my men want to explore some hidden beauty of your planet. It you don’t mind. they will take a few souvenirs with them; that may require them to stay for few days.”
"Yes, why not? They’re welcome; we’re not hiding anything. They can see what they want . . . provided that they don’t create any trouble. They can stay as long as they want; we can provide them with expert guides.”
“Thank you, Sir. They can take care of themselves,” the General replied.
“You want to see our Starshield Complex?" the emperor asked.
The general toured the nearly completed complex and admired the rigidity of the structures for civilian use in time of peace.
“To me this shelter seems useless when war comes. It could not guarantee the safety of your people,” the general cautioned.
“No, this complex is not meant to protect our people from the war. This was mainly built as a refuge for our people once the Embryo of the Star comes,” the emperor stressed.
A few hours after the general ate lunch, he left.
The emperor again summoned his Privy Council to a closed-door meeting.
“I think that general is playing poker,” said the emperor. “What do you think . . . he’s bluffing?”
“That's my impression also, Your Excellency,” said one lawmaker. “No doubt, he is a gullible bastard.”
“Can we do something in order to break the IPO coalition?” the emperor asked.
“Sir, we could pin our hope on Kareen Sandover, the editor of El Mundo. She says that the purpose of her journey to Uranus was not to run away, but to test the water of public opinion there,” the professor said, “and try to work in our favor."
The Embryo of the Star Page 16