by Mack Maloney
It was so close, Cronx could read its serial numbers as it swept by.
And by this he was stunned.
" This is impossible.?" he shouted.
The ship's serial number was X3O499.
That number belonged to one of the six cargo 'crashers stolen by the Two Arm invaders, a ship the SG claimed it destroyed near this very spot in space, not a month ago…
The ship named the Resonance 133.
10
The gigantic crevice was located a mile south of the ancient pyramid. It was hidden from view on one side by a set of craggy mountains. On the other was a huge impact crater that, at two billion years, was nearly as old as the pyramid itself.
The crevice was virtually bottomless. It was 2,000 feet at its widest and three miles long. Streams of putrid gases, rising from geostrophic activities near this tiny moon's inner core, further obscured the immediate area. Long shadows from two nearby suns only added to the permanent murk.
There was no atmosphere here. This dirty little rock had been bypassed by the Ancient Engineers when they puffed the Galaxy thousands of years before simply because of the presence of the pyramid.
It was considered fatally bad luck — then and now — to set foot on any body that held a pyramid.
Problem was, there were many of them throughout the Galaxy.
The name of this moon was Bad News 666. It orbited the dead world of Megiddo. It was located just inside the No-Fly Zone, was home to the pyramid and the huge hole in the ground. For all these reasons, it was the perfect place to hide a starship.
This had been the first goal, to get to this place, the same forgotten rock where Joxx the Younger had hidden his super-starship, the ShadoVox, during the battle against the Two Arm invaders for Megiddo below. They knew the Starcrasher would fit into the crevice and would be covered by the gas plumes, the shadows, the forbidding terrain, and the curse of the pyramid. If they successfully passed through the Vanex Door and crossed over from Paradise, they agreed this was the first place they would go.
And this was where the Resonance 133 lay now.
That the ship appeared in the middle of one of the largest, most terrible battles ever fought in the history of the Empires — that was just an odd coincidence. That it had been hit many times with stray destructo-rays fired by both sides, mortally wounding it, well, that was a random event, too, part of the joke, so to speak. By all rights the ship should not have been able to fly after that, or even stay in one piece. But it did. That it reaehed here, the place it was supposed to go, without any of its power systems working, without any sort of flight controls intact, with a dead star engine and a blown prop core, that was near miraculous.
From the instant the ship had flown through the Vanex Door, Nature sought to rain nothing but chaos upon the Resonance 133.
An entire bus of control room string circuits burst the moment the ship left Paradise and entered the far side of the Twenty 'n Six field. A violent subatomic pulse went through the vessel 1/1,000,000,000 of a second later, killing all internal illumination, tanking the gravity screens, and knocking out both the primary and the secondary environmental systems. Everyone aboard should have died at that point. But they didn't.
It took the ship exactly thirty-three seconds to pass through the twenty-sixth dimension. Because the place was filled with ghouls and undead and the trash of an entire civilization floating in a kind of starless void, all kinds of debris slammed up against the huge vessel in that horrible half minute.
Then the big cargo ship finally popped out the other side, only to find itself in the middle of the historic battle. There were a series of mind-blowing concussions caused by the shock waves from the fighting; they battered the cargo 'crasher the instant it emerged. The two-mile-long ship then plowed its way through the storm of Z-beam fire, taking hundreds if not thousands of direct hits. It forged on, however, powerless, and quickly left the battle area, with no one in pursuit. It reached Bad News 666 just moments later.
The interior of the ship was still dark. There were only seven souls aboard now; they had left with eight. One hundred percent of the ship's internal systems were glitched for good. The only light within was pouring through the lower part of the ship's superglass bubble. It was coming from the reflection of the devastated world of Megiddo nearby.
But even the light from the dead planet had turned strangely golden.
They remained still in silence for hours, not believing what they were seeing, not believing what had happened to them as soon as they'd crossed over. It shouldn't have been that much of a surprise to them, though. It even made sense, in a way.
It wasn't just that the Resonance 133 flew here with no power, no controls, no good reason to do so.
The seven souls within had changed, too — radically. They looked different. Their bodies were different.
Their spirits were different. They didn't question it; they didn't have to. After a while, they knew the reason for their transformation. A child could have figured it out, though, could have told them it would happen. But the seven had been so caught up in everything else on the other side, the thought had never come to any of them that this might occur upon their return. And certainly not to Pater Tomm, who, of them all, should have been the expert on it.
Soon enough though, they'd begun to get used to it.
If that was possible.
"So, he was right," Tomm said finally, his voice cutting through the darkness of the ship's planning and control center.
"That the SF and SG were fighting each other?" Zarex said, his voice no longer booming. "Yes, he certainly was."
"Did anybody actually see him…?"
Everyone indicated no. Except Calandrx.
"He may have been right beside me when we left. He may have been beside me when we passed through the twenty-six. But as soon as we passed back over, he was gone. And I think now, he will be gone forever."
Another silence. Their thoughts were bouncing all around the dark room. Off the tables and the chairs. Off the blackened, scorched walls. They did not need the light. Or the furniture. Nor did they have to speak. But at the moment, it seemed like the best thing to do.
"I suspect we will be able to talk about all things war now," Gordon said. He was perched on the edge of the room's huge planning table. Not sitting, but simply balancing perfectly on its tip.
"Talk about war again?" Tomm replied. He was hanging from the ceiling. "Aren't we the lucky ones."
"At least now we know how and where the REF managed to disappear to," Berx spoke up. He, too, was perched on the edge of the big table, a very comfortable position for him. "And why each time they come and go, things get that much more worse."
"I fear there will be a gathering of forces soon," Klaaz said, his voice strong. He, too, hung off the ceiling. "Them against us, and they will be overwhelming if we don't act. Our mission here is now different, but at the same time, it is exactly the same."
"Yes, we still must carry out the plan," Erx said, invisible in a darkened corner. "Just because this…
this has happened to us, doesn't mean we don't have things to do. In fact, we'll have to do much, much more. There is still a cause to be won. Missions we must see through. Places we all have to go."
A murmur of agreement.
"All true," Tomm said, adding, "But at least now we won't have to take the ship."
11
No light. No sound either. The thick smell of iodine and seared cloth. A trace of burned apples…
Hunter's heart was in his boots, his soul was split in two. He was still on the beach in Paradise, touching Xara's face, his lips pressed up against hers. But at the same time, he found himself here, sitting in the stink and the dark.
He had never felt this low. He didn't want to be here. As the scenes of Paradise slowly faded, leaving only the murk, what he wanted was to go back immediately, to be in the warmth and light again. To kiss her again. And this time to stay there with her forever and not make the same mist
ake twice. But how?
How could he pass back over? How could he return so quickly that he might find her still standing on the beach? Then it hit him. Yes, there was a way to do it and do it fast. All he had to do to was unstrap the blaster rifle from his shoulder, insert the muzzle into his mouth, and pull the trigger. With his head blown off, he would surely be on his way back to Heaven. True, there was no guarantee that he'd wind up in Happy Valley. But at the moment, he was willing to take the chance.
He didn't think about it for a second longer. He took the weapon off his arm, put the barrel in his mouth… and pulled the trigger.
The gun didn't go off.
He tried again. Nothing.
A third time. Still nothing.
He reached down the weapon's barrel, his fingers fumbling for the gun's power knob. It was turned off.
Idiot…
He couldn't even do this right. His spirits plunged even further, if that was possible. But at the same moment, a more rational part of his psyche kicked in. There would be plenty of opportunities to dance with death in what he was about to do. And people were counting on him to stay alive, at least a little while longer. To take the pipe now would leave a lot of them hanging, and a lot of them in danger, too.
He pushed the gun away from him. He owed it to everyone else in the UPF to see this thing through just a bit longer.
But where was he exactly? In the complete darkness, it was impossible to tell. He reached out and touched the nearest thing to him. It was a wall, cold and damp. He took some of the moisture onto his fingertips, then pressed it to his tongue. Bingo… It tasted of atomic hydro-gas, the lifeblood of any Starcrasher.
So, he was aboard a vessel belonging to the Empire; that much was established. He took out his quadtrol, the universal handheld device that could give a reading on just about anything. Luckily, it had survived the ride back intact. He asked the quadtrol to determine the speed of the vessel he was on. The response came back: "Point nine Supertime." This meant the ship was flying at about nine-tenths the speed of Supertime. He asked the quadtrol the name of the ship he was on. The reply: "The ShadoVox."
That sealed it. Just as advertised, the Echo 999.9 had returned him to the exact spot from which he'd departed. He was back in his prison cell. Before he left, though, there had been a bare light in his jail. But not now…
How much time had passed? Had he been gone a month? Had Vanex's time-advance solution worked? Or had he been transported back just a few moments after he'd left, just long enough for the cell light to burn out? If that was true, then he was still on his way to his execution, and his chance to see Xara again might come very soon after all.
All he had to do was rub his face, though — that's how he got his answer. He was sporting at least four weeks of stubble. And the hair on his head was much longer, too. Vanex's manipulation of the Echo 999.9's time element had worked. It was now about a month and a few days after the battle that never was.
He retrieved the blaster rifle and located its power knob again. He finally turned it on properly, but only to its lowest setting. He intended to use the glow that would result on the weapon's tip for illumination, so he could at least see his immediate surroundings. But he did not hear the customary hum of the weapon warming up, nor was its power tube crackling as it would if the weapon had held its full charge. This was not good. If the gun crapped out now, it would be a bad start to what was already sure to be a hazardous journey.
It took what seemed like forever, but finally the tip of the weapon began glowing, albeit very faintly. It was just enough light for him to check his environs. Yep, same old jail cell. Walls, floor, ceiling, locked door. He put the glowing muzzle down near his wrist, so he could see his ancient flight watch. People in the Galaxy weren't really into time; its measurement was relative to wherever you were standing at the moment, so trying to keep track of it galaxy-wide was nearly impossible. But Hunter was a time freak; it meant everything to him. And at the moment, knowing the correct time was crucial for what lay ahead.
He pushed a series of buttons along the watch dial and then set the countdown function. He was giving himself five minutes since arriving here, and exactly an hour between the time he left and when the Resonance 133 had started its trip back across. That meant if the R133 made it safely, then the rest of the UPF fleet would arrive exactly six days, twenty-two hours, and fifty-five minutes from now.
Much had to be done in that short amount of time.
His watch set, Hunter cranked up the power knob on the gun. His next intention was to blast the lock off the prison door. But not only was the weapon not wanning up, the faint glow was growing even fainter. His heart sank further. There hadn't been enough pop in this thing to give his tongue a flesh wound, never mind blow his brains out. As for blasting his way out of the jail cell, that was now out of the question. It was as if all the gun's lethality had been drained out of it back in Heaven.
He made one desperate attempt to blow the lock, but it was hopeless. By pulling the trigger, he only managed to kill the weapon's meager power supply even quicker. A moment later, he was plunged back into complete darkness again.
Damn…
He slumped back against the wall, reached into his pocket, and came out with one of the apples. It was burning hot. He dropped it to the floor, but it bounced right back up and into his hand again.
Strange…
Why was there no light in his cell? Maybe there was a power problem on the ship itself. He retrieved the quadtrol again and asked how many people were on board. In typical quadtrol language, the reply came back: "Less than three." Besides himself, that meant only one other person. Was that possible?
He asked the quadtrol to gauge the condition of the ship. The reply was unsettling: "Overall integrity soon to fail."
Not good…
He asked the quadtrol why. This reply was startling: the ship was on a collision course with a class-M planet.
Hunter was beginning to think the quadtrol had become skewed in the crossover, too, though the devices were almost never wrong. He asked it a summary question: Was it true that there was one other person on board the ship, and that person was allowing it to crash into a planet?
The answer came back as yes.
Hunter put his back up against the damp wall again, trying to figure out exactly what this meant. He was locked in the cell, in complete darkness, as the ship, apparently with a mad-man at the helm, was heading right for a planet at close to Supertime speed.
Could it get any worse than that?
Almost unconsciously, he brought the apple up to his mouth and took a huge bite.
Good thing he brought them along, he thought. Wouldn't want to get hungry now.
Twenty-two Decks Above
The sixteen aluminum medals on the wall of the ShadoVox's luxurious command cabin had become tarnished.
They were hanging next to twelve jewel-encrusted swords; like the medals, they'd been awarded for bravery and valor. But they, too, were looking dull. Between the two largest swords was a once-brilliant star-pearl combat helmet, over-sized by one-third, as if the designer knew extra room would be needed to contain the owner's considerable ego. It was also showing the early signs of rust. Below the helmet, a pure white combat suit hung limply. The costume, once feared by many a foe, now looked curiously small and empty.
At one time, the trophies and the clothes were subjected to thrice-daily cleaning and repositioning, as their proud owner never wanted them to be a millimeter out of place. But now they were out of alignment, especially the medals. Any time the ShadoVox moved right or left, the medals would sway, but not in unison.
This was all that was left of the shrinking world of Joxx the Younger, son of the Supreme High Commander of the Solar Guards, nephew to the Great O'Nay, and at one time just three notches away from being Emperor of the Galaxy itself.
The musty control room was the brains of the most powerful, most advanced, most feared ship in all of the Solar Guards' spac
e fleets. But now it was a mess. In the comers were piles of discarded transdermal injectors. On just about every flat surface, the tell tale leftover stains from a recently consumed pile of jamma, the highly addictive drug favored by the Empire's lower elements.
And sitting in the chair in the deck's observation bubble was Joxx himself, a pile of recent unwrapped jamma staring him in the face.
There was a time when Joxx had been considered the brightest star in the Empire's military. He bore chiseled good looks, a long mane of light-blond hair, and a natural swagger others would have died for.
Just thirty years old, he was a youngster compared to his relatives, those lucky enough to have the Holy Blood in their veins. Despite his young age, he was the most highly decorated field officer in the SG, indeed, in all of the Empire's forces. He had won hundreds of battles against renegade mercenary armies and outer Fringe space pirates. He had conquered not just individual star systems but entire star clusters.
In fact, Joxx and his super starship had never lost a battle.
Until recently, that is.
And while his close relatives would live to six or seven hundred years or even more if they played their cards right, at the moment, Joxx didn't look like he'd live to see another day.
Few knew what really happened to him after his failed attempt to stop the Two Arm invaders while defending the planet of Megiddo.
The official report, distributed to the masses, said Joxx had been kidnapped by the invaders, although briefly, and had somehow managed to escape from them. But three things were less well-known: that Joxx had been taken on a bizarre mind ring trip by Hawk Hunter during his short captivity, that Hunter was in fact the leader of the invaders, and that upon returning from the mind ring trip, Joxx was rescued by his own forces and Hunter was captured, imprisoned, and secretly sentenced to death.