The Lost Artifact

by Vaughn Heppner

  Von Helmuth no longer jerked. His face did not shudder with tics. The big Hindenburger replaced the fallen monocle over his left eye.

  Strand reached out to the console and pressed a switch. On his spacecraft, an underbelly hatch lowered until it clanged against the hangar bay deck. Strand watched the scope closely. The next moment would tell him much.

  Ah. The commodore spoke to his bodyguards. Then, with a heavy sigh and slumped shoulders, the big Hindenburger trudged toward the hatch, soon climbing up into the spacecraft.

  Strand pressed the same switch. The outer hatch began to close. He rose, taking his tablet with him to go speak to von Helmuth.

  Strand found the commodore waiting for him in the main corridor. Upon sight of him, the Hindenburger clicked his heels together and saluted smartly.

  “My Leader!” von Helmuth shouted.

  “In there,” Strand said, pointing at a hatch.

  Von Helmuth turned smartly and marched through the hatch. The cabin held several comfortable seats.

  “Sit,” Strand said.

  The commodore took the nearest seat, sitting stiffly.

  Strand waited a moment, watching and gauging. Something was off in von Helmuth. He was acting too robotically. That was not right.

  The clone made an adjustment on the tablet.

  The commodore’s right shoulder jerked up and his head tilted the other way like a badly misused string-puppet.

  “How are you feeling?” Strand said from behind the big man.

  “Unsure…” von Helmuth said while holding his strange pose.

  “Why are you unsure?” Strand asked.

  Von Helmuth hesitated.

  “Quickly, now,” Strand said. “Speak.”

  The words seemed torn from von Helmuth’s mouth. “You are too young to be the leader.”

  “Do you think I’m lying when I say I’m Strand?”

  “I do not know. The possibility exists.”

  “Why didn’t your gunboats fire on me earlier then?”

  The hesitation was gone. This time, von Helmuth simply did not answer.

  Strand studied the big man with alarm. This was more troubling than he’d realized. He manipulated the tablet some more.

  The big Hindenburger began trembling as if he was having a mild epileptic attack. Sweat began to bead on his forehead. As that happened, Strand’s fingers blurred upon the tablet. He was making swift adjustments to the man’s programming, to the man’s mind. There seemed to be… Strand studied his tablet.

  This indicated that someone else had fiddled with the commodore’s mind. A sense of panic struck the clone. One part of him screamed to blast off and race away from the dwarf planet as far as he could go. The other part knew that he needed the forbidden technology hidden deep in the dwarf planet if he was going to defeat his many foes.

  The indecision lasted for a time, leaving von Helmuth trembling and sweating.

  Strand shook his head. If what he suspected—as the worst possible occurrence—had happened…this could prove impossible to overcome. Still, he was Strand. He had a few tricks left. He must dare if he was going to win.

  “Yes,” he whispered.

  Instead of exploding the chip in von Helmuth’s brain, Strand continued the reconditioning. Finally, he stabbed a button.

  The shaking stopped and von Helmuth sagged against the seat. He breathed raggedly as sweat dripped from his face.

  “Before you entered my ship,” Strand said, “were you thinking about attempting to capture me?”

  “Yes, Leader,” von Helmuth said in a monotone.

  “For what purpose?”

  “To…to drain you of knowledge, Leader,” he said in the same grim monotone.

  Strand had the sense that the man was lying, which should be impossible.

  “What kind of knowledge in particular were you seeking?” the clone finally asked.

  “There…there is a deep hatch in the dwarf planet, Leader. You have ordered it to remain sealed for all time.”

  That was an understatement. The deep hatch was more than just sealed. There were fail-safes to ensure no one went that far. It should have taken a thermonuclear device to open the hatch itself. That would have badly shaken the planet, possibly even cracked it. Kelle wasn’t a big dwarf planet.

  “Continue,” Strand said.

  “I grew curious about the hatch. I…heard that you had died.”

  “You believed the rumor?”

  Von Helmuth looked back at him before dropping his gaze. The big Hindenburger shuddered. He seemed to be at war with himself.

  “I…I…heard the New Men had captured you, Leader.”

  Strand blinked in shock. He could not believe this. Once more, he debated killing von Helmuth. Once more, Strand’s ambitions drove him to continue.

  “As you can see,” the clone said, “I am quite alive.”

  “You are too young, Leader. You cannot be the Strand I knew. Yet…you do resemble him to a degree.”

  “I am Strand,” the clone said with greater emphasis.

  “I do not know how that can be true. You are less paranoid than before. That…that was the sign that led me to dare your capture. The real Strand would never have come in as you did.”

  The clone began to type on the tablet. This time, von Helmuth went rigid. Someone or something had…adjusted the commodore’s mind. Whatever had done so likely did not have the mastery of mind control that Strand had gained over the many years of practice. He would soon see if this hidden someone could compete with the master.

  After a time, Strand pressed the last switch.

  The big Hindenburger jerked several times and swiftly turned around on his chair.

  “Leader!” von Helmuth cried with joy, his pale blue eyes shining with delight. The big man jumped to his feet and would have rushed and hugged Strand.

  “Hold,” Strand said.

  The Hindenburger stood at rigid attention, shaking like an eager hound.

  Strand watched the man closely as he asked, “Did any of your men open the forbidden hatch?”

  This time there was no hesitation. “That is so, Leader.”

  A grim sense swept the clone. This might be a black disaster. Once more, he debated fleeing. This time, however, he scotched the idea more quickly than before.

  Taking a deep breath, Strand asked, “Did any of your men return from their deep-tunnel exploration?”

  “They did not, Leader.”

  “Did you sense any differences in yourself at any time?”

  Von Helmuth began to blink uncontrollably.

  That gave Strand the answer. Something had obviously tampered with the commodore’s mind, something that even now wasn’t going to let the Hindenburger answer that question.

  The clone chewed his lower lip. “Did you reseal the hatch?”

  “I did, Leader.”

  Strand checked the tablet. According to it, von Helmuth had spoken the truth throughout. What did all this mean to his project? As already surmised, someone had tampered with von Helmuth’s mind. Logic dictated a source. Given the opened hatch, the source seemed clear. By opening the hatch and sending down explorers, the commodore had made his task a thousand times harder.

  It might be impossible to leave the dwarf planet now. The only way out would be to go down into the heart of darkness. He would have to beard the awakened dragon instead of the sleeping dragon as he’d originally planned.

  “You did wrong to disobey me in this,” Strand said.

  The look of joy departed the commodore’s face. Crushing disappointment took its place. “I will shoot myself, Leader. I beg your permission to do it this instant.”

  “No…” Strand said. “You will kill yourself only if I tell you to do so. Otherwise, you will act like the commodore of old.”

  “Yes, Leader. May I ask a question, Leader?”

  “Ask.”

  “How do I rid myself of this awful guilt? That I disobeyed a direct order—”

  “Enough
!” Strand said. “I forgive you. Now, forgot about it.”

  Tears began to well in the Hindenburger’s eyes. The tears slid down the taut skin and dripped from his chin to the floor.

  “Stop that,” Strand said.

  Von Helmuth sniffled and wiped his eyes.

  “This is a time for precision, not blubbering. Tell me exactly how you planned to capture me earlier.”

  Von Helmuth told him in exacting detail. It had been a good plan. The only drawback was that the alien thing in the deep hadn’t quite known how to control humans as well as Strand could. Clearly, though, there would be other traps.

  “I will sleep aboard my ship tonight,” Strand said. “So will you. Tomorrow, we have much to do.”

  “Yes, Leader, and thank you, Leader. You are most kind, you are most generous, you are—”

  “Enough!” Strand said. “I must think, and then I must plan. Tomorrow is going to be hard enough without you jabbering like a monkey.”

  The commodore said nothing, but he had a huge stupid grin on his face.

  Strand knew none of the Hindenburgers had ever seen their commodore like this. He had reconditioned the big man to love him as a dog loves his master. That overrode most of whatever the awakened alien had done to the man.

  If Strand was right about what had happened, the next few days were going to be the toughest challenge of his long life.

  -15-

  Strand chose the descent team with care, selecting several of von Helmuth’s elite bodyguards. They were bigger than the other Hindenburgers and trained as assault specialists, known for their outrageous courage.

  The first time long ago, Strand the original had taught von Helmuth about mind control. The original had loaned the commodore a team of brain surgeons and control nets. It was part of the original’s idea of creating a secret world of controlled servants.

  None of the bodyguards had such nets in their brains. Once they realized where the other members of the commodore’s security detail were taking them, the selected space marines fought back. Two died in the struggle. Strand debated choosing from the other marines that had slain the two, but finally decided that he would do with a few less helpers. He only wanted the best men for this task.

  The brain surgeries took place, and Strand waited three more days for healing. He had many preparations to make, many computer files to reread on the little he knew about his adversary. He selected some of his most powerful artifacts and Builder relics.

  Finally, with three tough killers as mind-controlled guards, Strand and von Helmuth headed for the deep tunnels.

  It was a long journey in a special mine car. Strand had von Helmuth in the driver’s seat as they went zooming down ancient tunnels. Taking more men might have seemed wise and maybe even prudent, but Strand did not want anyone along that he did not personally control.

  The Swarm had not made these deep paths, although the Swarm had been in the star systems approximately six thousands of years ago. Instead, far beyond six thousand years ago—many millennia, in fact—the terrible Nameless Ones had come through this part of the galaxy. Kelle’s dwarf planet had been one of the few known places where they had drilled an encampment for unknown reasons.

  The Nameless Ones had forged the neutroium-hulled Destroyers and had created obscene robots of grisly design. Naturally, as the premier human archeologist, Strand had heard about the Ska, and he’d studied the legends about them on various worlds, including the Fisher planet. He did not believe a Ska lived inside the dwarf planet. The last time he’d gone down there, he had not sensed or found any evidence of one.

  Of course, the clone had not gone down personally. He had the memories of the original Strand stumbling upon the dwarf planet three hundred and sixteen years ago. The original had searched thoroughly and found some interesting ruins. He had gone deeper. In fact, he’d gone to the deepest point and seen a horrifying marvel. Then, the aliens had slept. Then, the original Strand had not needed to use dire technology to defeat the powerful entities.

  Three hundred and sixteen years ago, the original had hurried out of the deepest point and sealed it with a massive, booby-trapped hatch. Today, he was going back down. Today, he would attempt to tame the awakened things that had waited down there for many, many millennia.

  Even with his preparations and ancient relics and his three elite guards, it was going to be touch and go. He might easily fail. If the task proved too tough for him, and if he could escape the thing, he was going to need the hammership to destroy the dwarf planet. Even that mighty warship might not be powerful enough for the task.

  “Are you well, Leader?” von Helmuth asked from his seat.

  Strand looked up from where he sat in the mine car. They still raced toward the lowest hatch. He did not like it that von Helmuth watched him so closely.

  “I’m fine,” Strand said.

  Von Helmuth checked his panel. “We’ll be there in another hour, Leader.”

  “Yes, good,” Strand said. “Now, shut up until we’re there.”

  Von Helmuth nodded and continued to drive. He took them past disabled booby-traps. He negotiated torturous routes and passed through holographic images of solid rock. What had possessed von Helmuth the first time to attempt this? Strand couldn’t imagine what had gone wrong with the former mind control.

  Finally, the mine car slowed down and came to a stop deep under the dwarf planet.

  “We’re here, Leader,” von Helmuth practically shouted.

  Strand’s anxiety had grown. But it was far too late to turn back. If he was right and the thing had awakened, he needed to know why it hadn’t struck hard and physically taken over the dwarf planet. He wondered if it was cautious after such a long sleep. That made the most sense. Still, he doubted it would let them leave easily.

  With his bodyguards’ help, Strand climbed into an exoskeleton combat marine suit. After they clicked the final locks into place, the bodyguards climbed into their own battlesuits. Each of the suits was two tons of metal, armaments and rebreathers.

  “Shall I wait here, Leader?” von Helmuth asked.

  In his two-ton suit, Strand regarded the commodore. Why had the love conditioning made the man stupid?

  “Yes,” Strand said over an outer speaker. “Wait for us. We should only be gone a short time.”

  “Yes, Leader, I shall wait.”

  In their heavy combat suits, the three bodyguards and Strand exited the mine car. Unlike such a deep tunnel on Earth, it was cold down here instead of hot. Why that was so, Strand did not know or particularly care. Professor Ludendorff might have cared—

  “Screw him,” Strand muttered. He disliked the professor even though he’d never met him as the clone. The memories went deep concerning Ludendorff, though.

  The four exoskeleton combat-suits soon reached a massive, heavily guarded hatch. Strand still couldn’t understand how the commodore’s people had figured out how to open the Builder relic-guarded hatch without destroying it.

  With practiced skill, Strand typed in the code. Slowly, the massive hatch opened. He walked through, and then noticed none of the bodyguards had followed him.

  For a wild and panicky moment, Strand expected the great hatch to clang shut as the bodyguards laughed at him. He suspected a trick, a trap. Then, when they did nothing, he wondered if fear paralyzed them.

  He clicked on the short-range comm. “Follow me,” he told the guards.

  They still hesitated.

  “That is an order,” Strand said firmly.

  The first guard lurched through in a robotic way. Soon the second followed, and then the third. Strand bid them to march past him. After they had done so, he followed them.

  The four went one by one into the deeper darkness. The tunnel seemed innocent enough at first, but after an hour of trudging, the tunnel abruptly changed.

  First, the flooring was no longer rocklike. Instead, it had a spongy quality. Strand couldn’t explain the feeling, but the semi-soft floor seemed obscene in a pers
onal way. Secondly, the walls were coated with weird polygonal shapes that fit one against another almost like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. They were various and odd colors, and the substance seemed to absorb the helmet-lamp lights that swept over them. The pieces did not seem metallic, looking more like hardened or lacquered growths. As he looked around, everything reminded him of wasps' nests from on Earth.

  Just like the first time he’d been here, the clone felt a powerful revulsion. “It doesn’t matter,” Strand whispered.

  The three bodyguards kept swiveling their helmeted heads. They had activated their autocannons and seemed ready to fire every second.

  Then a sickening fear struck. It was an overpowering sensation that caused Strand to mewl in terror. The bodyguards did the same.

  It was obvious to Strand. A robot of the Nameless Ones advanced upon them. The debilitating fear could sweep an army onto the floor in trembling terror.

  With shaking fingers and only because he’d taken precautions against the fear, Strand was able to raise an ancient relic and press a switch. The ball-like device hummed as it glowed with power. Abruptly, the fear subsided.

  He barely did it in time.

  Fortunately, the glowing ball also encompassed the three marines with its protective power. Their helmet-lamps centered on three strange things scuttling toward them.

  Each had a metallic, glistening spider-like body but was the size of a large riding lawnmower. Each of the things had eight metallic jointed legs and spikes for feet. The spikes jabbed into the spongy flooring. The first two robots had three red dots for eyes, set in a triangular pattern. They aimed tubular weaponry at the marines, weaponry that clicked over and over again but did nothing deadly.

  The last robot had the same lower body-case. Above, on a platform, was a weird crystal growth. Things inside the crystal moved like machinery. That was the mechanism radiating the unholy horror.

  With sick relief, Strand recognized that the robots’ weaponry did not function as it should. He was about to give orders—

  The three terrified Hindenburgers opened up with their autocannons. The heavy shells obliterated the robots in a blaze of cannon-fire. Oily fluids jetted from the robots, and each sagged as its metallic parts flew everywhere.