Star Fall

by David Bischoff

  This was the spiritual and biological home of mankind, the iridescent jewel of life in all this ocean of nothingness.

  Now, his goal of destroying it only minutes away, Ort Eath regarded them coldly with dead-fish eyes.

  “My long awaited moment has come. I wish to share it with you, my cherished enemies. For years, no one but I has known the shape of this future I am molding before your eyes. It has been a long time shaping me—and me, it. Tracy, my sibling.”

  Angharad’s eyes betrayed her surprise. “So you know. How long—?”

  “Since I interrogated Blicia. You have done a masterful job concealing yourself as one of my aides. I commend you and your colleagues.” He nodded sagely at Todd. “I do not have full comprehension of how you have accomplished this ... but, then, this is one of the reasons that I’m keeping you alive. For now.”

  Sneering, she looked over at the Azinatins who clustered about them, armed and ready. “You just want somebody who appreciates the horror of what you’re doing. Someone to make a speech to. To give definition and contrast to your mad victory. If you actually do win.”

  “Perhaps you are quite right. Sometimes I do not understand the forces that have forged me into what I am, and I seek self-expression that I’ve never known. And to whom better than yourself, Tracy Marshack. I thought you dead ... but now, alive, you understand me better than any living being. Or my origins, at least.”

  “You’ve taken great pains to conceal those origins. You’ve had surgery to make you look more like a Morapn, haven’t you?”

  “But of course. I must have some racial identity for a guise. If the Terrans knew the truth, they never would have allowed the mastery I have gained over the Star Fall.”

  “And the Morapns knew about you all the time, then. But I daresay they’ve no idea of what you plan. Why are you doing this, Isaac? Do you hate humans so much that you would destroy billions? Is that what it is? Revenge?”

  “I detect your lingering hope that I will be defeated. Do not count on your Mr. Amber and company. In time, perhaps it might be accomplished. But time is nothing that is in ample supply. Surely you do not believe that simply flicking off a switch will stop the detonation.” The orgabox made a gagging sound—an attempt at laughter. “Do not deceive yourself. The triumph is mine.” He gazed over to the orgabox. Immediately, digital readout numbers blinked to life. Ten minutes, twenty-nine seconds.

  Twenty-eight seconds.

  Silently the screen ticked down the moments to destruction.

  “I do not expect you to understand me, Tracy. I did not ever expect anyone to understand me, after our father could not.” Ort Eath stood quickly, dramatically raising a pointing finger. “I have long since learned to expect no understanding much less compassion from human beings. All I request is that you just listen. Listen to my plan. A plan not to wreak havoc on the human race—and not to serve as some emissary of Death to the Morapns, my adopted but sadly de-evolving race.” He made a semblance of a fist and shook it. “No. Though my tools are those of destruction and death, and my methods are, I admit, extreme, there is no other hope for the continuance of both races. No other hope but what I am doing now.

  Todd spoke. “But how can good ever come out of destruction?”

  “If chaos is properly plied,” said Ort Eath, “It can form order. You see, it’s very simple. There are invisible barriers in this universe for the expansion and growth of intelligent life. They have not been detected by the human race as yet ... just as the Morapns never detected them until it was too late, and apathy set in.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Angharad.

  “Underspace,” said Ort Eath. “The Bridge to the stars. We understand so little about it—only how to navigate through it; use it for cosmic short-cuts of great distances. But it wrests a subtle toll on the race that uses it. It is filled with negative force. Filled with some influencing energy that restructures the natural instincts of intelligent life to strive toward perfection. It alters the DNA of those who pass through it so eventually, after centuries, the gene-pool changes ... the race becomes listless, unambitious ... withers on the vine. Just as the Morapns are doing.”

  “But you’ll be destroying civilization, not saving it,” Angharad cried. “Is your thinking so convoluted not to realize this?”

  “Please allow me to finish.” A trace of sincere emotion crept into his voice. “By accident, our father stumbled upon the answer—but it is an answer that neither the human civilization nor the Morapn would ever accept or allow. Just as I have never been accepted. For you see, I am unaffected by this effect I describe. I am impervious.

  “And so will be my progeny.”

  “But father said that you could never regenerate life with human or Morapn ... you’re sterile and always will be.”

  “I am not so stupid as to believe that I could create a new race by that method. Greater forces must be used. I must have control of both the Morapn and Terran civilizations to effect the plan on the grand scale it demands. I must rule it all. All power in the known galaxy must belong to me to forge a new, better order of life equipped to master the universe! They must truly be godlike—as I am!”

  Understanding showed in Angharad’s expression. “You’re starting a war! Of course. Earth, destroyed by a seeming Morapn ... There would be massive retaliation upon the Morapn sectors. A vast galactic war!”

  “You see! Thus, I awaken my true race, the Morapns, from their collective fugue, their stupor. Under my leadership, every human planet will be absorbed into the Morapn sphere. In a thousand years, I will have bred a new Race of Destiny, Children of the Stars. And the Galaxies will be in their hands, the stars shall burn in their hearts!”

  The man/alien’s face had turned a beet-red. His breathing rasped loudly in the narrow room.

  “Through me, Life will continue and spread and grow. I am the first of a new breed. And I have been chosen by the ways of fate to be a Creator!”

  Todd stared at this wretched, deluded being before him ranting, raving, seething with rationalized madness. He stared, his movement frustrated by the harness gripped about his limbs, and he understood it all now.

  He understood Ort Eath, for now he understood himself.

  All the things that Angharad had told him about little Isaac, the not-man, the not-Morapn. It all made sense now. The desperate creature here was not unlike he had been.

  How many times had he, feeling helpless, worthless, out of control of his life, daydreamed of power. Power over his parents, power to kick the hell out of his tormentors ... and most of all power to make others care about him? How often had he fantasized scenarios in which he controlled things? And he had played out these fictive visions, in his head, in the fictions he’d read and watched, much as he had lived out diverse experiences these months aboard the Star Fall.

  Ort Eath—Isaac Marshack—had been cursed with a crippling heritage, an emotional difference greater than any living being had ever known. No doubt he had wished for power like Todd, but, unlike Todd, he had the intellect and resources within to actually attempt to mold the reality about him. And so this was what he set about doing. This being before him was more truly alone than any other creature had ever been. He wanted his own people.

  “And the Star Fall was my only way,” continued Ort Eath. “I saw the opportunity immediately and took it! What other way could I smuggle a planet-destroying device through to the very heart of Terran civilization than this? Diverted by this ship of unreality, of the fictive dreams, of useless imagining—the ultimate in decadence of intelligence, a symbol of its destruction as well, if you will—l slip the poison in with the sweet-tasting beautiful candy. My dreams I make real—for they are useless otherwise.”

  “So that is why you took such pains with the real-fic system ... the simulated adventures ... the gala attractions. Subversion. Diversion,” said Angharad. “The long-awaited S
tar Fall. Starliner of dreams, with deadly reality nestled in its belly. Remember, Isaac, when you were very young? Have you hardened so much that destroying billions of lives means nothing to you?”

  Ort Eath turned away. The orgabox’s voice gentled. “There is no other way. I must not think of individuals, I must think of the collective hope and soul of my children.” He turned back to glare directly at Angharad. “And why should I care? I am not human. I am nothing now but a will and a vision. But soon this will—this vision will be transformed into abundant reality and flesh ... and abundant future!”

  Desperately, Angharad looked around at the Azinatins, “Are you just going to stand here and allow this? You’re fellows are aboard the Star Fall. They’ll be destroyed too!”

  Not a finger twitched, nor an eyelid blinked among them.

  “You’re wasting your time there,” said Ort Eath. “These are my special troops about me—all fifteen of them.” He tapped his skull casually. “Implanted with mind-control devices, all of them. I took the time to make sure I had loyal servants. I can see it is well that I did.”

  “And what about the Morapns?” said Angharad, grasping at straws.

  “Their environmental section is a part of this new vessel. I would not destroy them.”

  “No. That’s not what I meant. Do they know what has happened? Surely, they are not so stupid to allow you to assume commandership of their worlds with what they know of you.”

  “This has all been taken under consideration—and will all be dealt with in due time.” His sucker-like mouth seemed to grow as though in attempt to smile. “As you will be, sibling. You and your friend. How mistaken I was to allow you to live. But things have come to the best, nonetheless.” He gestured to the screen, and with his other hand stepped down the magnification factor. The wall-length image flashed to a greater panorama: the edge of the moon was just sliding into the left of the picture, like the white pitted dome of a death’s head. Hanging beyond was the globe of Earth. “I think it best to seek a shield.”

  Todd glanced briefly at the screen—but his eyes would not stray long from their morbid fascination with the digital time readout.

  Five minutes twenty seconds left till detonation, it said.

  5:19

  5:18

  How quickly the seconds winked into one another, counting down the last moments of Earth.

  “The antimatter, once released from its super-magnetic hold,” Ort Eath was saying conversationally, almost as though talking to himself, savoring the coming triumph, “will immediately cause a chain reaction in the molecules of the Star Fall. The vessel is large enough that the resultant reaction will reach out to touch the atmosphere ... and a fire storm of worldwide intensity will erupt. According to my calculations, the force itself of the exploding Star Fall—”

  It was too much. To have regained all his self-esteem and then to lose it second by second, watching the sand drip from the hourglass of destruction, draining Todd of all he thought he had tried to become ... better a quick death, fighting, than a slow mental one, watching. There must be powers he owned that lay untapped in this body—sand in his soul.

  With every ounce of strength in him, Todd hurled himself toward Ort Eath and the Azinatins.

  SWEAT DRIPPED from Philip Amber’s brow, partly from the strain, partly from the laser fire that crackled closer and closer down the hall.

  “If this isn’t it, Cog,” he murmured, setting the dials to the last possible magnetic combination. “We’re cooked.”

  —All calculations indicate that it indeed is the proper setting, answered Cog. —Your complement of guards is waiting behind you. I strongly suggest, however, that you also ready your own weapon.

  “Don’t worry on that score,” replied Amber, pushing the button to implement the demagnetizing sequence. Green light, red light—a whirring and “zinging” sound. Amber wrinkled his nostrils at the burning stench that wafted down the corridors. He sincerely hoped it was Azinatin and not human flesh. Grimly he pulled his energy pistol from its holster.

  I’m gonna do this or die trying, he thought grimly. But then, he thought with a touch of humor, those were the only alternatives he had.

  The sounds of bolts plunging back into the door rang clearly in the corridor. Immediately the lights dipped. Amber, keeping low, put a shoulder to the door and pushed. Hard.

  The door arced back; hit the wall with a metallic boom. A thick bastard, Amber vaguely noted as he dived to the interior floor and leaped up, gun aimed.

  A single Azinatin stood guard. The creature looked confused. “Don’t shoot,” he growled. “I am not holding a weapon. I do not make threat.” He held his arms in the air in supplication.

  Amber had to hold himself back from the automatic response of many years dodging angry bullets.

  He had himself under control. In this, he mused, at least I’ve succeeded.

  “Why don’t you clue your friends in,” Amber suggested irritably. “We’re doing this for their health as well. You’ve been guarding a bomb that’s going off in five minutes. Eath has flown the coop.”

  “I suspected something was amiss.” The Azinatin gestured a chunky paw toward the squat conglomeration of blocked mechanism with windows of thick, particolored glassteel. “This… feels wrong. I did not know what to do. I only obey orders…”

  “I’ll say.” Amber motioned the others in. “Take this guy out. See if he can convince his cronies to stop trying to blow their way in here.”

  Two men flanked the bulky Azinatin, and marched him out.

  Amber retrieved his sack of equipment, which he placed before the machine. “Okay, Cog. This is all Greek to me. I’m going to let you guide me. But keep me informed—and involved—sometimes I get inspired with machinery.”

  —I’ll keep that in mind, replied Cog. —Your dexterity will come in handy.

  A cluster of lights blinked almost mournfully on the block housing the antimatter, a funeral dirge rhythm in their timing. Lengths of alloy tubing snaked from the top to a large spherical container clefted with a small console of keys and a readout screen.

  Tentatively, Amber tapped out STOP OPERATIONS on the board—but the immediate response was PROGRAM LOCKED. CODE SEQUENCE CLOSED. NO ACCESSIBILITY POSSIBLE.

  The screen blanked.

  Streams of smoke issued from the keyboard. Sparks crackled their airy electrical dance ... and then the machine was dead.

  “Okay, Cog,” said Philip Amber, digging into the satchel of tools. “Where do we go in at?”

  —I daresay the device is booby-trapped.

  Amber shrugged. “So’s been my whole life. Let’s get down to it, huh?”

  He picked out the laser torch, and he began work.

  * * *

  The reaction was immediate.

  Five laser-lines flicked from Azinatin guns, licking brilliantly over the braced torso. It was what Todd had hoped for,

  The rays split seams in the braces ... only one hit skin, and that only glancing, on the shoulder. A moment of pain and then his body’s defenses closed that out.

  Todd hit the floor hard. The topmost brace split clean. Burning himself, he shrugged it off and made a grab for Ort Eath.

  Who was no longer on the couch.

  “Hold your fire,” rose the now familiar voice. The Azinatins halted their firing, but kept their rifles pointed.

  Todd craned his neck looking for Eath. The Morapn stood by Angharad, with a small derringer-shaped weapon against her temple. “I do not wish to destroy your body, Todd Spigot. I will no doubt find much use for it eventually. Do not force me to treat you to the death of your friend.”

  Todd rolled over, exhausted and defeated. It had been a gesture of futility.

  “Very well,” he said. “Take the gun away.”

  “More braces,” ordered Eath. “I don’t want another foolish at
tempt. I want to preserve the MacGuffin.”

  Two Azinatins detached themselves from the others and stomped off to obey the order.

  Todd lay still, staring hopelessly at the readout screen on the orgabox, attentively squatting beside Ort Eath.

  4:10

  Ort Eath released Angharad and stepped back, as she fell to the floor, his form dark against the screen, outlined by the brightness of the growing lunar sphere. Standing there, he did seem in control. Almost godlike indeed.

  Watching. Waiting. Exuberating.

  “At last,” he murmured through the orgabox. “At last. My pain will be gone. My purpose made reality.”

  Angharad inched her way painfully over to where Todd lay. She leaned her head on his shoulder. She said, “I want you to know, Todd, that I really have ... do care for you. At first ... well, at first I just used you. That I’ll admit. But I have grown to love you, through all this. No matter what happens ... you should know that.”

  Feeling nothing but numbness, Todd put his arm around her.

  Somehow, though, he could feel the warmth of her sincerity.

  The seconds blurred into one another like a writhing, agonized ghost.

  * * *

  So far no traps, booby or otherwise.

  Which didn’t mean they had succeeded.

  They’d gone in at the side. The metal siding there was relatively thin duralloy. It took sixty-nine seconds of flying sparks and scathing heat glowing from the piercing fire-arc to cut a rough hole through it, to get at its guts.

  Pretty fast, thought Amber, but then relative to the time they had left, it was an eternity. Maybe subjective time elongated close to Death’s precipice.

  Silicon wiring. Mini-nodes. Microchips. Unimaginably tiny circuitry swathed in layers and layers of white cryogenic insulation.