The Doomed Planet

by L. Ron Hubbard

  The one hundred Death Battalion soldiers, drunk as Lords, were stacked up in a locked pantry, minus arms. The captain was long since well into a completely elsewhere LSD trip.

  “I don’t think we should go yet,” said Flick. “It’s still daylight out there. That’s the real sun. There’s no power on and when it goes down, the place will be as dark as pitch. We can sneak out of here like rats.”

  “On the other hand,” said Flip, “when it’s dark, if those rebel forces post patrols, we’ll be spotted and stopped every ten feet. Look at these caps.”

  “What have caps got to do with it?” said Flick.

  “Well, we’re in Homeview uniforms and these are Homeview caps,” said Flip. “They make them this way because Homeview crews get in the path of blinding lights and reflectors. Watch!”

  She took one of the aqua-green headpieces. She put her long fingernail in a slit. The visor split in half with a pop. The upper part stayed where it was but the lower part snapped vertical in a curve. She put it on: a dark filter covered the upper two-thirds of her face. Looking at her now, you couldn’t see who she was.

  “So just snap your visor bills down, pick up your cameras and equipment,” said Flip, “and simply walk out. They’ll suppose we’re just a Homeview crew doing our jobs: they won’t dream we’re Apparatus. So let’s get on with the parade.”

  “She’s right,” said Flick. “Nobody ever notices a Homeview crew. Come on!”

  There was a pop of visors being lowered and the clatter of equipment and cameras being lifted.

  They found a door that opened into a side park. The fifty people walked out across the dying grass and into the hot glare of the desert sun. They were heading for the open area where they had parked their air-coaches.

  Flick stopped, appalled. A crashed warship, still smoking, had landed squarely on their four vehicles. All that remained of the Model 99 airbus was one angel lying face up on the splintered pavement, grinning vacantly at the sky.

  The crew stacked up behind Flick. He said to Madison, “Chief, we got to scatter out and steal some transportation.”

  But Madison was staring down the boulevard.

  Surrounded and guarded by companies of rebel troops, a procession was coming from the east gate, heading toward the Imperial Palace. In its center, on poles, several rebels were carrying a large casket-sized container that had a cover over it. Prince Mortiiy was walking ahead of it, flanked by two rebel officers. Several Fleet admirals and Army generals were in the group. Hightee Heller and the Countess Krak were helping Prahd carry bottles with tubes that led into the container.

  And there, following behind them with a drawn blast handgun, looking at the palaces they passed, watching very alertly for possible snipers, was Jettero Heller!

  Madison said, “It’s HIM! Oh, boy, at last he’s stolen a whole empire! I got to cover this!”

  Flick tugged urgently at his sleeve. “Chief, for Gods’ sakes, let’s get out of here. I’ve got two thousand identoplates! We can get lost! Nobody can find us!”

  Madison said, eyes round, “Good Lord, think of the headline! Thirty-two point, OUTLAW STEALS CONFEDERACY! Director! Get your crew busy! Plug your cameras into Homeview channel direct by radio. COVER THAT PROCESSION!”

  The director instantly jumped to it and began issuing orders. The whole crew started to get busy. Even the reporters grabbed out notebooks to sketch stories.

  Flick seized Madison by the arm. “Chief, this is insane! If they find out we’re Apparatus, they’ll slaughter us!”

  Madison shook loose. There was a wild, inspired light flaming in his eyes. “He finally DID it! This is my passport to glory!”

  The reporters closed in on the procession and started getting names. The circus girls rushed in to straighten the hats of generals and admirals. A makeup man slapped some tan powder on the face of Mortiiy. Roustabouts flashed reflectors at the procession. The camera lights began to flicker. They had the main channel of all Homeview for the Confederacy.

  “This is coming to you live, live, live from Palace City!” cried Madison into a separate mike, unheard by the procession but heard by everyone else on Voltar. “You are watching the triumphal entry of the outlaw Heller into the Imperial Palace. Exclusive! Live! Live! Live!”

  “We’re dead, dead, dead,” groaned Flick.

  PART EIGHTY-SIX

  Chapter 5

  The Royal corridor had to have the bodies of two generals removed before the procession could go forward. The director prohibited their being touched until he could get close-ups. Then he got a long shot of the great Royal antechamber: two more bodies lay in there. Only then did he station his crew and let the procession enter.

  The director thought it would be more dramatic if three rebels grabbed the big stone desk that stood before the bedchamber door and threw it bodily away. He didn’t like the way they did it the first time, and while another camera covered the waiting admirals and generals, he had roustabouts put the table back. “Now register disgust!” he ordered, and they got their retake with a crash. Very satisfactory.

  At Madison’s whispered instruction, the director got a dolly shot of Heller going in, while Madison into his commentary mike said, “The outlaw Heller visits the scene of his kidnapping crime.” Another whispered instructions to the director who then pointed out to Heller that the bent baton was still lying on the floor. Heller picked it up while a camera did a pan-tilt. “Hello, hello, my baton,” said Heller.

  “Beautiful,” said the director, complimenting his acting, and moved a camera in to get a close shot of the inscription.

  “Outlaw confesses kidnapping,” said Madison into the commentary mike. “Admits the evidence left on the scene of the crime is his.”

  Some rebels pushed the massive bed aside and the bearers placed the fluid-filled container in its place. The Countess Krak and Hightee Heller were still holding bottles: Prahd made sure the tubes weren’t tangled. The director moved the three to the far side of the container.

  Heller moved forward to the side of the tub. He lifted the cover and exposed the face of Cling.

  “Outlaw gazes gloatingly on face of victim,” said Madison.

  Heller and Prahd were checking to make sure the tubes were all in place. The director got a close-up of the face of Cling the Lofty, very old, still unconscious. Then he pulled the cameraman back to a two-shot, Heller and the Emperor.

  Madison was about to make another commentary when his script went all to pieces.

  Heller had pulled a tube away from across Cling’s chin. Suddenly Cling opened his eyes. He looked around, evidently registering the golden frieze in the ceiling of his bedchamber. He turned his head and saw who was standing close to him. He frowned. Petulantly, he said, “Officer Heller! I told you to take me out of here!”

  An audible sigh came from the Fleet and Army officers in the bedchamber. With relief they understood it had not been a kidnapping: therefore, by siding with Heller in this fight, they were not rebels!

  Madison tried to think fast. He wished he had cut the cameras off. But it was too late. The damage had been done. His outlaw had suddenly become simply a Royal officer obeying orders. Frantically, he wracked his wits for some way to recover from this blooper. Well, all was not lost; he would somehow handle it.

  “Your Majesty,” said Heller. “We have found that it was Hisst who killed your sons and successors to the throne.”

  “Hisst!” said the Emperor in alarm. “Is he here?”

  “We have him in a safe place,” said Heller. “You are completely secure and in no danger now. I would like to point out that Hisst also caused your youngest son, Mortiiy, to rebel. The prince has been in constant attendance upon you, night and day.”

  “And he didn’t kill me?” stared Cling.

  “Your safety and continued rule have been Mortiiy’s only concern for months, Your Majesty. You owe the vanquishment of Hisst to him.” Heller reached toward Krak who handed him a sack. Heller said to the Emperor, �
�I have your Royal seal here. Could I suggest that we rescind the rebel proclamation?”

  The Emperor looked at Mortiiy. The prince was smiling.

  Cling said, “You mean I’ve still got a son?”

  “If you say so, Your Majesty,” said Heller.

  The Emperor reached for Mortiiy. Tears began to roll down the withered cheeks. “Come here, son,” he said.

  Mortiiy moved over and knelt. Cling gripped the back of the prince’s hand. Brokenly, he said, “If I had listened to you, this never would have happened. I am too old and too sick and too silly to rule. Anyone who can stand off the combined forces of Voltar for five years deserves to rule. Take the throne. I abdicate.”

  A sigh of relief went up from the rebel troops and officers in the room. Even though they sided with Mortiiy, they were not rebels now.

  Mortiiy gripped his father’s hands. “I will try to be worthy of you, Sire.”

  Heller knelt and said to Mortiiy, “Your Majesty,” and handed him the bag of regalia. Then Heller stood. “I had better go out and put that mountain back so we can get some power on.”

  Mortiiy looked up from where he knelt beside the container. His black beard suddenly bristled. “No you don’t, Lord Heller! Leave that to the Corps of Engineers. Somebody else can play with mountains. Immediately assemble an Officers’ Conference. We’ve got to settle several burning questions and decide some fates. You’ve got to help me get to the bottom of what tore this Confederacy to bits!”

  PART EIGHTY-SIX

  Chapter 6

  The Grand Council hall was quite a mess. In the last druggy days of Hisst, nobody had even bothered to dust it. Heller had dug the staff out of the basement where they had been prisoners and tried to bring some order to the place. There were no lights, the sun no longer hammered through the round upper windows: he rigged some construction-site floods he found.

  The Apparatus seemed to have stolen the gold and jeweled cloths and the diamond-studded banners; the place looked pretty bare. He thought he was lucky to be able to get the dust off the hundred-foot-diameter table and find enough unbroken chairs.

  But what impeded him most was people: they kept coming in, arriving from the cities. Heller commandeered a company of Fleet Marines from a battleship landed outside the east gate and told the captain to stop this influx, but the captain, although he had the huge entrance door blocked, kept letting people in.

  In answer to Heller’s challenge, the captain said, “But they’re all important people of the realm, sir. Actually we’re only getting what the Army doesn’t filter out at the gates.”

  The room would hold a couple thousand in a pinch: Heller gave it up.

  A Homeview crew was interviewing every notable that appeared. They also always seemed to have a camera on Heller.

  “Chief,” said Flick to Madison, “this is madness. Please, please let me steal some cars so we can split.”

  “No!” said Madison. “This isn’t over!”

  Flick pointed to a backflow monitor the director had had set up so he could know how Joy City was cutting in his own scenes. Real Homeview crews, all through the Confederacy, were shooting shots of people in the streets, screaming their lungs out, “Long Live His Majesty Mortiiy!”

  “It looks awful over to me!” said Flick.

  “That’s the point!” said Madison. “We’ve lost our riots! You’ll never make a PR man, Flick. I’ve lost client exposure. Somehow I’ve got to try to make it up and repair the image!”

  “You’re crazy,” said Flick.

  “Of course,” said Madison. “That’s why I’m a genius. As soon as this conference convenes, I can keep a running commentary going and, hope against hope, regain the initiative! All is not lost, Flick. Don’t despair. I’ve still got a chance to make Heller an immortal outlaw yet!” And he went off to give the director some camera angles.

  Emperor Mortiiy came in. He was still in his fighting clothes but he had the chains of office around his neck, wore the crown and held the scepter. “What a mob!” he said to Heller.

  “I think the senior officers of most services are present, Your Majesty,” said Heller. “We can’t dig up any of the Lords: they’re either too slugged up with dope to move or they ran away.”

  “Well, this isn’t a Grand Council meeting,” said Mortiiy. “It’s an emergency Officers’ Conference to dispose of matters of state prior to forming a government. What a MOB!”

  Mortiiy walked up to the dais. Somebody tried to blow a trumpet and the note went sour. Somebody else dropped the cymbals. Mortiiy, beard bristling, yelled, “This Officers’ Conference is called to order!”

  People drifted to the table but the hall was still a commotion. Mortiiy yelled, “Blast it! Shut up and sit down!”

  At that moment some new notables burst in the front door and everything remained in a hubbub.

  “Heller!” yelled Mortiiy, “For Gods’ sakes, get up here on the dais and take the post of Viceregal Chairman of the Crown! Maybe you can be heard above this mess!”

  Heller blinked. It was the most senior aristocratic post of the realm. But, obediently, he jumped up on the dais beside Mortiiy. Heller raised his voice, using the piercing tone of a Fleet officer, “The meeting is called to order!”

  Somebody else came bursting in the door, collided with one of Madison’s cameramen, and two Homeview lights fell down with a crash. The hubbub continued.

  Heller drew his hand blastgun, set it to “noise” and fired it in the air. There was instant quiet.

  “The meeting is started!” said Heller.

  Madison gave a sigh of relief. He purred into the commentary mike, “The outlaw Heller is calling his bandit crew to order!”

  Mortiiy started to speak but people were sitting down now and it was noisy. Heller reversed the handgun, held it by the muzzle and hit the table sharply three times.

  “Beautiful,” said the director as he telephotoed in on the handgun.

  PART EIGHTY-SIX

  Chapter 7

  Mortiiy was finally able to be heard. He swept a glance around the faces at the vast table and then across the hall.

  “In 125,000 years,” he said, “we have never had such turmoil. We’ve had a few traitors, we have had a few civil wars, but nothing to compare with this.

  “I’ve had an estimate that there are a million civilians dead in the streets, that property damage has mounted to tens of billions of credits. We also almost lost a planet—Calabar—which endured more than five years of heavy attack. I believe that that is also connected with this present scene.

  “Before we can reorganize the government, we have to root out this disease and handle it or it could just happen all over again. I may have ideas of what was behind it, but I am not going to start my rule with guesses and prejudice. I mean to isolate exactly what caused this chaos and that is the first business of this conference.”

  The senior admiral of the Fleet Admiral’s staff shouted from his place at the table, “It was Hisst!”

  A snarl of agreement coursed throughout the crowded hall.

  “One man?” said Mortiiy. “I’m more inclined to believe it was a conspiracy. But, all right, it’s as good a place as any to start. Who knows anything about Hisst?”

  A savage roar swept through the room. Notables they might be and conservative to the core, but they had one thing in common: a violent hatred for Hisst. The Homeview monitors which were playing on the far wall were suddenly cut to crowd shots under the glaring lights of the streets where people were watching the conference on portable sets and viewers in store windows. The sound volume roared with hate.

  Heller pounded his gun butt on the upper split-level of the table. He bent over to Mortiiy and indicated to him a young Fleet officer who, behind the row of admirals, was waving for attention.

  “Bis?” said Mortiiy. Heller nodded. “Officer Bis,” shouted Mortiiy. “You have our attention.”

  An admiral made room so Bis could get to the edge of the table. “Your Majest
y,” said Bis, “I have an Apparatus clerk who knew Hisst when he was a young Apparatus officer. This man has been very helpful. As a matter of fact he’s under the conference table right now with Fleet technicians trying to get temporary power to the individual surface screens at the conference table seats and to the large center viewer here. We’re trying to shunt in Apparatus and other data banks for conference use.”

  Bis bent over and yelled into the cavity under the table, “Hey, Bawtch. His Majesty wants to talk to you. Come out.”