MACK MALONEY

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

STARHAWK: THE FOURTH EMPIRE

An Ace Book / published by arrangement with the author

PRINTING HISTORY

Ace mass-market edition / May 2002

All rights reserved. Copyright © 2002 by Brian Kelleher. Cover design by Jean Pierre Targete.

This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission. For information address: The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Putnam Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

Visit our website at www.penguinputnam.com

Check out the ACE Science Fiction & Fantasy newsletter!

ISBN: 0-441-00926-3

ACE® Ace Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Putnam Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

ACE and the "A" design are trademarks belonging to Penguin Putnam Inc.

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

Also by Mack Maloney

STARHAWK

STARHAWK 2: PLANET AMERICA

CHOPPER OPS

CHOPPER OPS 2: ZERO RED

CHOPPER OPS 3: SHUTTLE DOWN

For more information visit www.MackMaloney.com

THE MIND RING TRIP

Hunter let go with his punch, catching Joxx right on the jaw. The Solar Guards' high prince fell back into the trench. He looked up at Hunter, absolutely astonished.

"Do you know who I am?" Hunter asked in an angry whisper.

Joxx's eyes went twice as wide as before.

"The Earth Race," he was able to say. "You're the last winner. The maccus—Hunter."

"That's right," Hunter told him. "I'm also the guy who just stole your ship."

Joxx was still reeling from the two blows to his head. Where was he? How did he get here?

"Have you implanted something in my brain?" he cried out at Hunter. "Something to create such a mass hallucination?"

"You're on a mind ring trip," he told Joxx quickly. "What the hell do you think that is wrapped around your head? If you try to take it off, I can guarantee you, your skull will explode."

"By what perversion have you brought me in to something like this!"

"Because you have to see what I have seen," Hunter told him. "So you can learn for yourself just what your relatives back on Earth have done ..."

"IN STARHAWK, MACK MALONEY HAS CREATED A CHAMPION OF JUSTICE WHO WILL PROVE TO HAVE WIDE APPEAL."

—Midwest Book Review

For Timmy Gleason

CONTENTS

Part One: 'Last Time Here'

1-2-3-4-5-6

Part Two: The Other Side of Thirty Star Pass

7-8-9-10-11-12-13-14-15-16-17-18

Part Three: The Hole in the Water

19-20

Part Four: Only Heaven Awaits

21-22-23

'Last Time Here'

1

Xronis Trey, Outer Two Arm

The rundown saloon was called the Last Drop.

It was appropriately named. The bar was the only business left on Xronis Trey, the last of three planets revolving around the last star at the end of the second spiral of the Milky Way. Better known as the Two Arm, this spiral extended farther out than any of the Galaxy's other major arms, its star masses petering out for hundreds of light-years before ending in one last, lonely string of planetary systems. Xronis Trey was at the end of that string.

Moonless and rocky, with no vegetation or water, Xronis Trey had an atmosphere so fragile, stars could be seen in the daytime. The planet's space-engineered atmosphere, installed thousands of years before, had fallen below 69 percent, meaning oxygen masks had to be worn on the surface sometimes. Whenever the thin air blew, a bright yellow dust permeated everything. The color was so vivid that, from a few thousand miles out, the tiny planet almost looked like a dying star.

The Last Drop was operated by a half-dozen antiquated robots. They served the drinks, they collected the money, they cleaned up when the long day was done. The barroom's only patrons—indeed, the only human inhabitants of Xronis Trey—were mercenaries from the dilapidated space-dock base just over the hill. This base was so old, no one actually knew when it had been built. It presently consisted of a control house, a barracks, five rotting space gantries, a power tower, and a deep-space antenna. It was protected by an automated space defense system that was designed to shoot down anything within 10,000 miles of the planet. Or at least, that's how it was supposed to work.

The soldiers occupying the base belonged to a notorious space mercenary outfit called the Bad Moon Knights. This aged order of hired guns had been terrorizing the Five Arm, half a galaxy away, for almost a thousand years. The BMK carried a well-deserved reputation for ruthlessness. Their willingness to take on any job—no matter how small, how dirty, or how bloody—was legendary.

However, this lonely outpost was their only known base outside the fifth spiral. Barely a hundred of their soldiers were stationed on Xronis Trey; most had been pulling duty here for more than three centuries. Many of the troopers were approaching four hundred years in age, making the garrison downright elderly. None of them had seen any real combat for many, many years.

The BMK soldiers on Xronis Trey believed their superiors had forgotten them long ago. Messages from BMK headquarters way over on the Five Arm arrived at a rate of one per decade. These communiques were simply prerecorded speeches urging the men to stay on station and in fighting trim, as one never knew when they'd be called to do battle again. Not that they had any choice. The outpost didn't have any starships of its own, so it wasn't like the soldiers were going anywhere.

Nor did the mercenaries know why they'd been assigned to the far-flung base. The BMK certainly didn't build the isolated outpost; the place was much too old for that. The prevailing theory was that the BMK had taken it over from another merc group hundreds of years before. But there didn't seem to be any sense to that, either. Xronis Trey was literally the last planet at this forgotten edge of the Galaxy. The nearest star system was 250 light-years back down the arm, heading in toward the Ball. After Xronis Trey, there was nothing left but the void. Why would anyone put a base way out here?

This was the topic of many drunken arguments at the Last Drop saloon. After so many years in isolation, the soldiers had little interest in anything but getting drunk and cavorting with a pack of tired, worn-out holo-girls, some carrying programs nearly as old as the mercenary group itself. The troopers would routinely get juiced on slow-ship wine, the opiate liquor found throughout the Galaxy, and start arguing about whether their assignment was actually part of some extremely top secret operation, a rumor that had existed here for centuries. If tempers began to flare, a kind of slow-motion, arthritic fistfight would break out between conflicting groups. When this happened, the bar's robots—usually drunk on lubricating oil themselves— would call over to the BMK command center, and one of the base's officers would toddle over the hill and restore peace, at least for a little while. Then everyone, including the robots, would go back to drinking again, like nothing had ever happened.

Thus was life on the last rock of the Galaxy.

There was only one kind of meal served at the Last Drop saloon, a concoction called Greasy Bolt Stew. Made up primarily of synthetic greens and beans, its broth was, no surprise, 100 percent slow-ship wine. The stew was available just once a day: at noon when the bare light of Xronis Trey's forty-one-hour day was at its brightest. Cost of a bowl was one aluminum nickel, which many of the troopers stole back from the creaking robots once the meal was done.

This daily ritual had just begun when things changed forever on Xronis Trey. There were about fifty troopers inside the bar; roughly half had taken stew and returned to their tables to eat. Suddenly, their bowls began shaking. Just a bit at first, but then much more noticeably, even to the most inebriated eyes. Then the stew began spilling out onto the tables. The floor began to tremble. Then the walls, the windows, and the ceiling. Wine bottles went crashing to the floor. Chairs collapsed, some with troopers still in them. In seconds, the entire building was shaking violently. Something very loud and moving very fast went over the saloon an instant later.

Instinct drove the troopers out to the dusty street, the robots close behind. This street was an unusually wide thoroughfare, cracked and cratered now, but holding clues that it had served a grander purpose sometime in the distant past. Some troopers dove for cover into the deep holes in its surface. Others simply lay down flat and covered their heads.

The noise hit again.

Ear-splitting, bone-rattling. Heart-stopping ...

"Doomsday!" one trooper cried out. "Hell has finally come to save us!"

Indeed, at that moment, between the mind-numbing roar and the violent quaking, it did seem as if the planet was shaking itself to death.

That's when they finally saw it. At first it appeared as just a streak of white light turning back toward them out on the southern horizon. But this light was moving at such tremendous speed, it screeched over the saloon a second time not a moment later. The stunned soldiers instinctively began sucking on their oxygen masks, a sure sign of panic. Those who dared to look saw what now appeared to be a fully involved ball of fire make an abrupt turn to the west and then go straight up, disappearing into the thin midday clouds.

All became silent again. The soldiers on the street began to help each other to their feet only to discover the fireball was coming back. Same blinding flash, same frightening noise, it roared out of the east this time and turned sharply over the saloon a third time.

At this instant, the fireball came to a screeching halt. Suddenly it took on a definite shape. The soldiers were astonished to see that this was not some kind of apocalyptic angel above them but an aerial machine, one unlike any they'd ever laid eyes on. Just about everything flying in the Galaxy these days, big or small, was shaped like a wedge. Pointed nose up front, with huge quarters in back. Yet this craft was small, tube-shaped, with two stubby wings sticking out of its midsection, and a tail supporting two smaller wings on the back. It had a bubble-top canopy covering a cockpit that could hold one or maybe two people at the most. It appeared to be painted in splashes of colors and adorned with lightning bolts and stars on its wings.

It hovered, frozen in place, for a moment or two. It was almost as if someone inside was looking down at the troopers, studying their uniforms, their weapons, their numbers. Then there was another frightening screech, and the machine rocketed away again, banking sharply and heading toward the BMK base on the other side of the hill.

The frightened soldiers finally regained their feet. The effects of the slow-ship wine wore off quickly now as the elderly mercs tried to make some sense of what was going on. Then, from over the hill came the wail of a siren, a noise they'd heard only in drills and rarely in the last century.

The drunken soldiers all looked at each other, as if to say, What does that sound mean again?

Then it dawned on them. The siren was blown only in case of an emergency. This could only mean one thing: Their base was under attack.

The soldiers scrambled to the top of the hill to find the ungodly aerial machine had turned around again and was now sweeping through the valley that housed their base.

The facility sat at the edge of a huge, ancient crater, an impact made millions of years before. To the north there was nothing but wide open space. To the south, a vast desert that featured an enormous, solitary butte. To the east, beyond the five enormous, rusting space gantries, a half-dozen mountains ran for ten miles or so. To the west was a series of shallow hills, one of which bordered the small town where the Last Drop stood.

The flying machine was bearing down on the base's 2,500-foot deep-space antenna tower now—the BMK garrison's only link to the outside world. The winged devil screeched across the sky with the same ear-piercing sound, a stream of Z beams spilling out of six blasters attached to its nose. The craft twisted and turned like nothing these men had ever seen before, blasting away at the base's communication cell, shearing off the top of the tower and exploding it into a cascade of bright yellow sparks.

Then the mysterious craft disappeared again. Some of the soldiers thought it had blinked out, vanishing into another dimension. But others claimed it had simply accelerated very quickly and departed the area at incredibly high speed.

No matter. It was suddenly on them again, this time coming from the east. In one long, perfectly executed strafing run, its six blasters tore into the base's ammo dump, its food supply warehouse, and its mess hall, leaving a string of earsplitting explosions in its wake.

But at the same time, a new sound could be heard. The ground began rumbling just in front of the base's huge docking gantries, followed quickly by a massive explosion of dirt and rocks. From this small storm of yellow dust, a huge mechanical monster began to rise.

It was one of the base's recessed Z-gun platforms, part of the antiquated space-defense system. Breaking through the rocky crust of the planet's surface, the enormous platform rose to a height of five hundred feet, its multiple-tube Z guns swiveling in the direction of the bizarre spacefighter.

A cheer went up from the drunken mercs on the hill.

At last, they were fighting back.

But right away, problems arose. The base's huge gun platforms were completely automatic. Their robotic sensors were designed to identify hostile spacecraft many thousands of miles away, focus their targeting systems on the enemy, and then let loose with a stream of Z-beam fire that could prove deadly to even the largest of spaceships. Yet the mysterious craft attacking the base was minuscule compared to any vessel the guns had been built to destroy. What's more, it was capable of accelerating to speeds that the Z guns' targeting systems simply could not keep up with.

So once the flying machine pulled off a strafing run that had carved the base's barracks assembly in two, it veered left, directly toward the gun tower. The platform's Z-beam weapons saw it coming and fired once. A storm of the green destructo-ray flowed from the enormous tube and rocketed harmlessly off into space, missing the swiftly moving aircraft by nearly a half mile. The aircraft was traveling so fast, even the speed-of-light Z beam could not catch up to it.

The huge Z tube began moving again, but it was already too late. The winged craft let loose with a Z-beam barrage of its own, hitting the gun platform's hinged assembly squarely on the turning knuckle, effectively cutting it off at the knees. The platform hesitated for a moment, almost as if it was defying gravity, then came crashing down, slamming into the rocky surface with an explosion so violent, a tiny yellow mushroom cloud emerged from the impact.

But as this was happening, another of the base's gun platforms broke its way through to the surface. It reached its full extension much quicker than the first, its sensors locked on the previous action. It began firing off destructo-beams even before its supporting platform had locked in place.

The roar was tremendous, the emerald Z beams blinding to the unprotected eye, but again, it was a futile act. The flying machine simply turned itself over, deftly avoided the wash of deadly fire, and unleashed another staggering blast from the half-dozen guns in its nose. This barrage hit the top of the second gun platform, vaporizing the weapon in a huge ball of sickly orange flame. Like its predecessor, this platform came crashing down with such force, it caused a series of minor quakes around the tiny planet.

Undaunted, a third gun platform exploded from beneath the surface, then a fourth and a fifth. These huge weapons began firing almost randomly. Suddenly, the thin blue sky was filled with gigantic waves of incredibly powerful Z-beam blasts. It seemed almost impossible that anything could make its way through the wall of emerald fire, but somehow the attacker did just that. It emerged from the firestorm, twisting and turning on its stubby wings, weaving through the river of lethal rays with ease.

It let loose one barrage from its nose weapons, turned quickly to the left, fired off another, then turned again and let go with a third. In lightning quick succession, the three streams of fire found their marks on the three huge gun platforms, severing them all at the hinges. In a trio of successive impacts, the huge platforms came crashing down, sending another series of tremors around the planet.

The soldiers on the hill were all back down on the ground by now, breathing heavily in their oxygen masks, hugging the craggy surface for dear life. The sound of the attacker's power plant and the base's facilities being turned into subatomic dust had caused some of their ears to bleed. Their throats were hoarse from involuntary screams.

Finally, the space fighter left the scene, exiting the area with yet another earsplitting screech. A full minute of silence went by before a few brave souls took their heads out of the sand and actually looked up. Their eyes could not quite believe what they were seeing. Perhaps it was Doomsday after all.

The crater valley was a smoking ruin. The immense flaming wreckage of the five gun platforms was throwing tremendous clouds of smoke into the sky. Fires crackled everywhere. More than two-thirds of the base's structures were either flattened or engulfed in flames. After several thousand years of existence, the base had been practically destroyed in less than two minutes.

But even stranger things were to come.

Not a minute after the space fighter vanished, there came another flash of light above the base.

This one was bright red, blinding in intensity. It was followed quickly by five more. In a blink there were suddenly six enormous starships hovering over the smoldering base.

These ships looked old, like travelers from the past. They were about a quarter mile long, from the needle point to the back of the wedge. Their superstructures had a flared look that had gone out of style early in the last millennium. These ships had a gleaming quality though, deep-space blue with bright superchrome throughout. The weak sun was glinting off all this chrome, making the starships look deadly but dazzling at the same time.

No sooner had they popped into view, when these starships began dispensing hundreds of shuttlecraft. At first, these shuttles looked no different than the standard model used throughout the Galaxy for centuries, essentially a long tube with legs. But very quickly, they showed themselves to be anything but ordinary.

The shuttles swooped down on the burning base and began adding barrages of blaster beams to the already smoldering rubble; indeed, each troop transport was lugging up to two dozen single-tube Z blasters, giving what had always been simply a transportation vehicle a very frightening and lethal pop. Shuttlecraft carrying more than one gun? That was a new one.

The bulked-up shuttles were now landing all over the base. No sooner would they hit the surface, when hundreds of soldiers began sprinting out of access doors lowered even prior to landing.

The drunken mercs watching all this from the crest of the hill couldn't believe their bleary eyes. They'd never seen soldiers move so fast. In seconds, there were at least a thousand troops running throughout the base, securing the few buildings left standing, and dashing up the side ramps, which led to the base's decaying power tower.

It took just a few more minutes for the invaders to reach the oblong bubble that served as a cap for the tower, using back-carried jet packs to carry them up the 750-foot structure. The flying machine returned one more time, doing a mind-numbing, dizzying victory roll above the burning base and past the seized power tower. A cheer went up from those invading soldiers on the ground. Peering up through the mist and the smoke, the stunned BMK mercs saw that the soldiers had raised a flag at the top of the tower.

Using their viz scanners at supertelescopic level, they were able to see this flag up close.

Full of stars and stripes, its colors were red, white, and blue.

Hawk Hunter put his flying machine on its tail and nudged the throttle forward 0.0001 of an inch. The aircraft rocketed up through the thin atmosphere of Xronis Trey, popping into space an instant later. He quickly tapped the throttle back to its original position and turned wings over. Just like that, he was upside down, in a low orbit above the tiny planet, looking down on the burning BMK base.

At last he had a moment to catch his breath.

He checked his instruments package and was relieved to see his flying machine had made it through the attack unscathed: no holes, no leaks, no power drains. All indications were that the surprise attack had gone well. There had been no KIAs reported among the invading forces. All of the major objectives had been taken, and it didn't appear that any kind of SOS had gone out from the seized base.

Hunter took a deep gulp from his oxygen mask and let the air out slowly.

So far, so good, he thought.

Why was he here?

He was still a fugitive from justice. Still AWOL from the Fourth Empire's X-Forces. Still a wanted man.

But he was also still on his quest to find out who he was and how he'd come to be stranded on another very desolate planet, this one at the other end of the Galaxy, the only clue to his identity being his name tag and the red, white, and blue flag he'd found in his pocket.

That had been about a year ago. Since being rescued from that planet, he'd wound up on Earth, where he used his remarkable flying machine to win the Earth Race and garner the tremendous fame and fortune that followed. This included a commission and his choice of any assignment within the Empire's vast military forces. With help from the Princess Xara, the beautiful daughter of O'Nay, the Emperor of the Galaxy Himself, Hunter chose the Empire's Exploratory and Expeditionary Forces—the X-Forces—and was sent on a mission that would bring him close to a near-mythical landmark, a place he knew only as the Lighthouse.

This was important, because evidence long ago suppressed by O'Nay's Fourth Empire had indicated the flag Hunter had found in his pocket was actually the emblem of a place called America—and that he was in fact an American. The Lighthouse was a beacon of sorts that had been set up thousands of years before as a way to call every American lost and wandering in the Galaxy to come home. Hunter felt the tug and eventually found the place where the Lighthouse had once existed and there, the last of a small band of fighters called the Freedom Brigade. These fighters considered themselves Americans, too, and they set him off on a long search for their home planet, leaving all allegiance to the Empire behind.

After a hazardous and, in some ways, magical journey, Hunter found himself in a star system that was not within the vast Milky Way but actually a great distance away, far beyond the Galaxy's boundaries, floating out in the inter-galactic void.

This place was called the Home Planets. And it was here that Hunter found Planet America and 35 other planets representing the other countries and regions of what was once the real planet Earth. It didn't take long to discover that the Home Planets' system was actually a prison, a concentration camp in the sky, space-engineered thousands of years before to be the perfect jail. With the entire system locked inside an ancient time bubble, the people of the Home Planets had precious few clues as to where they had come from originally or who had chosen to lock them up so far away from home.

It was only after the vast army of prison guards lording over this star system attacked Planet America and were defeated by Hunter and his allies did the Americans confirm that the Home Planets were populated by the descendants of the people who had inhabited Earth around the year 3200 a.d.—or 4,000 years before. They had been forcibly removed from Earth by parties still unknown and deported to the Home Planets.

That's when Hunter realized that while Planet America was a place literally of his dreams, it wasn't his home, and it wasn't the home of anyone who lived there. For the descendants of the deportees, only Mother Earth was their rightful home, and it had been taken away from them.

Hunter's pledge now—and the reason he was here, for this, the opening attack on this lonely little planet—was to get it back. Or die trying.

It had taken months to implement the attack on Xronis Trey.

Looking down on the dull yellow rock now, Hunter couldn't imagine a more unlikely target. They had come here from a long way away on little more than a hunch— an educated one, but a hunch nevertheless.

Shortly before the war to free the Home Planets began, Hunter had broken into a top secret security vault on a world called Moon 39, the site of the prison guards' base. Within this vault he came upon a mind ring. This was a device that, when worn, would put the user into a virtual world to experience whatever had been loaded into the ring's memory strings.

The ring gave Hunter a brief glimpse of the mass deportation from Earth. He found himself in the guise of a guard watching fleets of huge spaceships forcibly removing the peoples of the seven continents. The mind ring trip didn't last very long, but it was enough for Hunter to fit another piece into the puzzle that was the Home Planets system.

It was either by fate or bad luck that the mind ring he'd chosen that day proved to be an anomaly. The mind rings they'd secured at the same location after the battle for Planet America had proved to be of little use; they'd mostly contained generic information on how to run the battery of monitoring devices found within the command room of the far-flung Moon 39 base. The one Hunter had selected—it had been kept in its own separate case—proved to be the only glimpse of something that had happened anywhere other than on Moon 39.

But the experience had given Hunter an idea. Moving a vast quantity of people from Earth, which was located on the One Arm, to the tip of the Two Arm, and then across the huge, starless void to the Home Planets must have been an enormous undertaking four thousand years before. Had it been a nonstop trip? No one was sure what kind of space-travel technology was being used in 3200 a.d. Several Dark Ages had intervened since, and nearly all of the history from that time period was lost long ago. But it was certainly before the dawn of the Starcrashers and traveling in Su-pertime. The spaceships Hunter had seen in his brief mind ring trip had been enormous, bulbous, bullet-shaped vessels that showed no indication of being able to go very fast for very long.

So perhaps there had been stops along the way. Maybe dozens, maybe just a few. Maybe just one. But if this was the case, then common sense dictated that one of these way stations would be located somewhere on the edge of the Galaxy closest to the far-off Home Planets system.

Then there was the other important clue: the Moon 39 prison guards themselves, the ones the Americans defeated on Planet America. They weren't just a ragtag army of dopey mercs. In fact, they'd been a long-lost contingent of none other than the Bad Moon Knights, the same people who were sitting on Xronis Trey. Just like the inhabitants of the Home Planets, they, too, had been unwittingly caught inside a time bubble, which gave everyone within the mistaken illusion that time was moving at a crawl.

Putting two and two together, Hunter and his allies came to this conclusion: that for the BMK prison guard contingent to have reached the Home Planets some 900 years before—indeed for anyone to reach the far-flung system— there must have been an advance base of some kind on the outer fringes of the Galaxy closest the Home Planets' position in the sky, a place from which to springboard for the very long voyage out. Xronis Trey was the last planet in the last star system on the end of the very isolated tip of the Two Arm. The Two Arm was the closest part of the Galaxy to the Home Planets, though still an enormous distance away. Therefore, any advance base was most likely located on Xronis Trey.

And if there was a BMK base here, then there might be more information to be found as well, including more mind rings that could assist Hunter in the ultimate goal of uncovering who was responsible for the mass deportation of Earth in the first place.

That's why Xronis Trey was chosen as their target.

Hunter passed through the formation of blue and chrome spaceships now hanging in low orbit just over the horizon. That was another reason he was up here. He had to make sure all was right with them. too. He did quick fly-arounds of all six and found no external problems. No errant Z-beam flashes had reached them; all of their troop shuttles had departed without incident. Another breath of relief.

The war to free the Home Planets had ended about half a year before. Shortly after that, an army had been raised from the populations of the thirty-six formerly captive planets. These troops had trained on Planet America nonstop for two months, learning everything from heavy Z weapons operation to small-unit tactics. Eventually, the soldiers came together in a 40,000-man army crowned the UPF, for United Planets Forces. In reality, though, it was an American-led coalition. Their flag was the American flag.

The six UPF spaceships were corvettes, small cruisers— or at least that had been their designation when they'd been built at least a thousand years before. The wedge-shaped ships looked so old because the BMK garrison from which they'd been taken had been first installed on Moon 39 sometime around the year 6350 A.D., nearly a millennia before. The corvettes didn't have any of the bells and whistles featured on contemporary ion-powered ships, and certainly none of the luxuries carried by Starcrashers, the top-of-the-line, two-mile-long, flying battleships flown by the Fourth Empire's space legions.

It was almost as if someone had locked away six ships in a space hangar somewhere and left them alone for 1,000 years, which was not that far from the truth. They had been reconfigured a bit to make room for the 6500-man UPF space division that rode aboard each one. Their color schemes had been changed, too, so as not to look too much like BMK ships. No surprise that the Bad Moon Knights on Xronis Trey never realized the vessels attacking them were actually ships of their own. The new paint jobs had worked their magic perfectly.

The journey to Xronis Trey had taken the small UPF fleet nearly four months. That was moving at top cruising speed and flying through an ocean of starless void. For the most part, the six ships performed well, though there had been a few hairy moments en route.

But now they were here, and the first step had been taken.

It was time to get on with the plan.

Hunter waited for the tiny planet to turn beneath him again. Spotting the burning base once more, he put his nose down and dove back through the atmosphere.

He reached the base a few seconds later, setting down next to one of the smoldering Z-gun platforms. Nearby, some BMK mercs were being marched across the tarmac by a squad of UPF troops. A holding bubble had been set up next to the base's command cluster. Each captured soldier was frisked, disarmed, and then incarcerated inside the bubble. Piles of confiscated weapons were growing all around the invisible jail.

Hunter climbed out of his machine and made his way over to the smoking command cluster. Two men met him at the front door. They were Erx and Berx, the space pilots who'd rescued him from the isolated planet Fools 6 a year before. Built low .to the ground, with Berx being just slightly taller, they were two very powerful individuals sporting shaved heads and extremely long mustaches, in keeping with the style of the day. Like Hunter, both were officers in the X-Forces. But more recently, they had been sent by Princess Xara to search for Hunter after he went missing following the Battle of Zazu-Zazu, the location of the near-mythical Lighthouse. It was pure luck that Erx and Berx found Hunter when they did, as they arrived just in time to prevent him for being whacked by a hit squad sent out by his enemies back on Earth.

In other words, Hunter owed his life to Erx and Berx— twice.

He greeted them warmly. They were among the first UPF soldiers to land on the battered little planet. He was glad to see they were both still in one piece.

"What were our casualties?" was the first thing Hunter asked them.

"Only a few wounded," Erx reported. "None serious."

Hunter indicated the holding cell full of BMK troops nearby. "And them?"

"Eighteen killed," Berx said. "Eighteen souls the Galaxy is better off without."

"How about their officers?" Hunter asked. "Did we find any?"

"Four captured intact," Erx reported. "Including the base commander. He's being interrogated as we speak."

Hunter clenched his fist in small triumph. This was good news. Securing the commander of this isolated outpost had been an important part of the master plan.

"And how about the search?" Hunter asked them. "Have we found any 'jewels'?"

Both Erx and Berx frowned, their long mustaches nearly dipping to the ground.

"The news there is not so good," Erx finally replied.

The BMK command cluster was a collection of geodesic domes arranged in a triangular fashion with each supporting the other by means of passageways and flying bridges. It was a very ancient design, which would turn out to be an important clue later on. Hunter had been careful not to hit the structure during his one-man air raid, but the brief fire-fight that followed the landing of the UPF troops had resulted in some damage, most of it from punctured superglass.

Erx and Berx led him into the building and down one particularly debris-filled hallway. Passing by squads of UPF soldiers searching each system dome in the cluster, they soon arrived at a large amphitheater located in the center of the structure. This place looked even older than the exterior of the building. It contained dozens of consoles and control boards and viz-screens, yet none appeared to have been activated in hundreds of years.

Off to one side and up one level, there was a huge room featuring a thick, black, cast-ion door and surrounded by a deactivated ion fence. It was a vault, not unlike the one Hunter had broken into back on Moon 39. This is what Erx and Berx had brought him here to see.

"There is a real mystery in there," Erx said to Hunter as they ascended the rampway to the huge compartment. "It is exactly what we had envisioned, yet just the opposite as well."

Two UPF soldiers were guarding the entrance to the vault. But Hunter could see no excited movement inside, no signs of activity at all. This was not good.

He followed Erx and Berx into the vault and quickly realized that any similarity between this safe and the one he'd visited on Moon 39 ended at the door. First of all, this place was nearly ten times larger. There were thousands upon thousands of floating shelves in here; all of them holding small glass boxes. There were also thousands of these glass boxes stacked in the corners and scattered around the floor. The vault on Moon 39 had been meticulously kept, pristine in atmosphere, with an aura almost like a church.

This place looked like nothing less than frozen chaos.

Within all these boxes was the real prize of Xronis Trey, the "jewels" Hunter and the others had come here for: mind rings. And at first it might have appeared they had found the holy grail of their mission. But something was very wrong here. While there were probably more than 100,000 rings in the vault, they had all been rendered useless. Not by an intentional act on the BMK's part to destroy information once the UPF attack had started; rather, the mind rings had deteriorated due to neglect.

Mind rings were delicate things, and to be preserved, they had to be stored at a temperature close to absolute zero when not in use. Judging by the condition of the holding boxes as well as the vault itself, this had not been done here. Many of the jewel boxes were cracked and broken. Others had simply undergone a process of slow disintegration. Not one of them looked usable.

"Our mistake was to assume these BMK mooks would adhere to some kind of military discipline out here," Berx said angrily. "Any commander worth his salt would have protected these things, even if all they contained was information about how to fix an environmental control cell."

"But the mystery is this," Erx went on, picking up a handful of cracked boxes and looking at the dozens of broken and deteriorated rings inside. "We know there are two kinds of rings: intell rings, which are usually created by military types, and solo rings, which individuals use to record on their own.

"For whatever reason, the majority of rings in here aren't military intell rings as we had envisioned. They are solo rings."

Hunter examined a few of the deteriorated rings. They were gold in color. Intell rings were almost always silver.

"But in any case," Erx said, dropping the glass cases to the floor with a mighty crash, "none of them work. We ran scans over this entire place. They're all dead. Their magic was lost a long time ago."

Hunter felt his heart sink into his boots. He gloomily accepted Berx's offer of his flask and took a long, noisy slug of slow-ship wine. The thick liquor felt good going down his throat, but it did nothing to raise his spirits. It was like they were standing in a mausoleum: cold and dank, just not cold enough.

He took one ring off a nearby shelf and slowly rolled it through his fingers.

"My brothers," he said to Erx and Berx. "This was a long way to come for nothing."

Captain Borx Kyx was sitting on a hovering chair, his hands fastened behind his back, a very bright light shining in his eyes.

He didn't look 499 years old. He was a medium-sized individual, somewhat muscular, with a shaved head and impossibly long sideburns, the fashion of the Five Arm back in the last millennia. Battle scars on his face, especially around his mouth, had left him with a permanent sneer. His right eye was green, the left one was blue, with a tattoo of a teardrop beneath each one. Again, this sort of thing had been the rage on the fifth spiral way back in the mid-sixty-fifth century.

Kyx was the commanding officer of the BMK forces on Xronis Trey. He was the eldest soldier at the base, having flown out from the Five Arm as a lowly private 322 years before. His position here was more a tribute to his longevity than any leadership qualities. He'd simply outlived his superiors, moving up a step in rank every time one of them passed away. His men disliked him intensely. They suspected that he'd been hoarding all the best holo-girl programs from early on and that he'd stolen from them the only premium slow-ship wine replicater on the planet. He'd also forced the garrison to do the mandatory once-a-decade security drills. This amounted to little more than a few days of calisthenics and taking an inventory of all weapons and supplies. Still, in the eyes of his men, it made him the biggest SOB for light-years around.

Kyx and his junior officers had been rounded up within minutes of the surprise attack. They were brought to the infirmary, one of the few structures left intact around the base's command cluster, and given aid for their wounds. They were also relieved of their weapons and ID strings.

After quick examination of the officers' IDs, Kyx was identified as the top man and brought to a smaller room adjacent to the tiny hospital. This is where he was now.

To his eyes, these invaders were a strange lot. Their battle uniforms were not of any design Kyx had ever seen. They were sand colored, with indiscriminately placed blotches of dull red, black, and green. Their footwear was not the standard issue pointed-toe, thick-heeled spaceboot, but rather a heavy-soled canvas shoe with very high backs and laces keeping them on tight. The soldiers wore helmets that looked bulbous and uncomfortable, more like a distorted steel pot than the bubble-top combat hat wom by just about every soldier in this quarter of the Galaxy. Their weapons were odd, too: huge, double-barreled blaster rifles, with dual power packs hanging off each side. Every soldier was carrying an enormous ray gun as a side arm as well.

Were these mysterious soldiers space mercs? A rival outfit seeking to eliminate their competition? Kyx didn't think so. They just didn't have the demeanor of hired guns. And the strange vessels they'd arrived in. They seemed to be from an era even earlier than Kyx could remember—all except the bizarrely configured spacefighter that had torn up his base in just a couple minutes' time. Kyx had never seen anything like that.

Two dark figures were hovering over him now. And they were asking him very odd questions, over and over again.

"How long have the Bad Moon Knights occupied this base?" one voice barked at him.

Kyx could only offer a shrug in reply. "I already told you. I can only guess. Maybe eight hundred, nine hundred years."

"But it was here already before that? This base ..."

Kyx just shrugged again. "Obviously, some of the structures here are much older than a thousand years. Some are ancient. Many ruins are supposed to be found underground."

"When was the last time you heard from your headquarters?"

Kyx laughed in their faces. "I can't remember back that far," he told them.

"And your mission here—what was it supposed to be?"

Kyx just laughed again. "Something tells me you know more about that than I do."

It was at this point Hunter, Erx, and Berx arrived in the interrogation room.

It was so dark inside, it took Hunter's eyes a moment to adjust. Standing on one side of Kyx was Pater Tomm, the priest who had served as chaplain for the Freedom Brigade during the climactic battle of Zazu-Zazu, home of the near-mythical Lighthouse. A diminutive, balding man always found in cassock and white collar, Tomm had led Hunter through the wilds of the Five Arm, helping him in his quest to find the Home Planets.

Beside the priest was Zarex Red. A giant of a man famous throughout the Five Arm both for his gun-running activities and his history-making deep-space explorations, he'd joined up with Hunter and Tomm halfway through their search for the Home Planets. Zarex was almost seven feet tall and had biceps so enormous, they split the sleeves of just about any piece of clothing he wore. His hair nearly reached the small of his back, of a fashion nowhere in the Galaxy. His rocky but handsome face was offset by large, inquisitive eyes.

Standing in the corner of the room was an even more gigantic figure: Zarex's robot, 33418. He was a danker, meaning a robot that possessed bare human characteristics: head, arms, legs, and torso. But he was ten feet tall, with the strength of a hundred men and possessing a destructo-ray beneath his eye visor that nearly equaled in power the six blasters mounted on Hunter's flying machine.

Despite the presence of so much muscle, Hunter didn't think the BMK commander looked very concerned. He was smiling, in fact, almost dissing them. This was a big mistake. For while just the sight of 33418 and Zarex was intimidating, Hunter knew the most dangerous person in the room was the priest, Pater Tomm. The cassock and collar hid many things, many of which Hunter nor anyone else were privy to. One they did know about was the blackjack Tomm always carried in his back pocket. Any adversary not meeting Tomm's expectations of cooperation risked having a meeting with this nasty little piece of iron.

"You claim there are more ruins underground," Tomm was saying to the captured officer now. "And yet you never bothered to go digging around, looking for any of them?"

Kyx just smirked again. "Father, I've been out here for three hundred years. Isolation dulls your curiosity, believe me."

Hunter winced at the officer's words. He saw Tomm's hand reach for his little black friend; the club was quickly twirling between his fingers. But the priest held back—at least for the moment.

Zarex took over. He put the bright light closer to Kyx's face.

"Do you know who the Solar Guards are?"

Kyx shook his head. "No...."

"Do you know where the Home Planets are?"

"Never heard of them...."

"When was the last time a ship docked here?"

Kyx pretended to think a moment. He was a bad actor.

"Sixty, maybe sixty-five years ago ..." he finally replied. "And he landed here by mistake. An off-course ion mover. We collected a penalty fee and sent him on his way."

"Where do you keep your secure communications bubbles?"

Kyx just laughed again. "Communications bubbles? We don't have any. There's nothing important here. God, we haven't even got paid in more than fifty years."

Zarex came even closer to him now. "I'm very familiar with your organization," he huffed at him. "And pay or not, you can't tell me you don't know why you're out here."

Kyx felt a drop of sweat fall into his eye. "You have to believe me," he insisted. "We don't have any idea! I mean, my superiors told me that we were an advance base for some top secret operation, something that could happen at any time. But that was centuries ago—and no one here believes it, anyway. Look at us! Do we appear to be part of a top secret, top-priority operation to you?"

He laughed again. Subtle laughter.

"We've been stuck out here for almost a thousand years, waiting for something to happen," he said. Then he looked up at them and added, "But nothing ever does."

Erx stepped forward now. "How about that vault full of mind rings? Through your neglect, untold amounts of information has been lost."

The smirk left Kyx's face for a moment.

"Those trinkets were dead when I got here three centuries ago," he snapped back. "And if in fact that's all you came here for, well, I'm sorry, but you've embarked on a fool's mission. We have no mind rings here—none that still work, anyway."

At that moment, there was a knock at the door. Hunter reached over and opened it.

A huge UPF soldier came through and saluted smartly.

"All of the BMKs have been searched," he reported to Hunter. "None of them were carrying anything of interest— except these."

He handed Hunter a dozen holo-girl capsules. They were ancient. Hunter looked up at the soldier. "Nothing interesting at all?"

The soldier just shook his head. "I didn't think holo-girl technology was that old," he said, adding, "if you know what I mean."

The soldier saluted and left.

Hunter turned back to the others and just shrugged. The last hope that some of the BMK soldiers would be carrying mind rings of their own had now been dashed. At that moment, the energy seemed to drain from the room. The months of planning, and all that training! What do they do now? Go back?

Hunter looked up and saw that Kyx was smiling thinly at him. The BMK commander's twinkling mismatched eyes told the tale why. If Hunter and the others had intended to kill him, he would have been dead by now. He knew he was going to live through this, and he was happy about it. Happy—and smug.

"I assure you that I'll not say a word to my superiors about this little incident," Kyx began sarcastically. "You boys have a great future ahead of you, especially if you make the trip farther down the Two Arm. I understand it's very wild and uncivilized down there—a good place for your little army to make some real money."

Hunter handed the holo-girl capsules to Zarex and then walked over to Kyx. He looked right into the man's sneering eyes. He was gloating, true. But something else was hidden in there.

"Has anyone body-searched smiley here?" Hunter asked suddenly.

The grin quickly vanished from Kyx's face. Everyone in the room was back to looking at him.

"I don't believe we have," Zarex said slowly.

With that, he nodded to 33418. The giant robot stepped forward, lifted Kyx from his seat, and in one motion turned him upside down. Holding him by his ankles, he began shaking the BMK officer vigorously.

All kinds of stuff began falling from Kyx's pockets and under his shirt, things he'd managed to keep hidden while being frisked. Aluminum coins, miniflasks of slow-ship wine, a couple obviously newer holo-girl capsules. The last thing to come out was another kind of capsule. It was teardrop-shaped, slightly green in color, and maybe half again the size of the holo-girl devices.

It was a Twenty 'n Six, an old, rather simple transdimensional device that, when activated, could move just about anything into the mysterious twenty-sixth dimension, where it could be held in stasis until being recalled again. These mechanisms were created about two thousand years before as a tool for spies to condense purloined information or whatever else they were stealing. These days, they could be found in just about any corner of the Galaxy.

Hunter picked up the Twenty 'n Six and studied it for a moment. Then he held out his right hand and activated the Recall switch. A bright emerald beam spilled out of the capsule, forming a small cloud in Hunter's palm. There was a bright flash, and an instant later, the puff of smoke turned into a small glass box.

It was very, very cold and covered with a layer of green soot. As the others gathered around, Hunter scraped off some dust and they all peered in. Within the six-inch-by-six-inch square box there was a cloud of extremely thick white mist. Not like fog, more like a tiny gathering of cumulus, the making of a small storm, contained within the box.

Floating among the clouds was a shimmering gold mind ring.

2

This place was called Lookout Below.

It was the high mesa located about a mile south of the BMK base on Xronis Trey. The sheer sides of the huge formation provided the name. It was nearly a thousand-foot drop straight down off the south end, where only a hard landing on the flat, desert floor waited below.

From this vantage point, in the dim light of Xronis Trey's long afternoon, the isolated planet's sun Pepsicus appeared as a sad-eyed red ball sinking slowly into the south. It barely generated enough heat to keep itself going, never mind the three rocks that orbited it. One of those planets, Zinc & Tin, could also be seen from here. It hung about fifty degrees above the horizon, just to the left of the dying red star. It was a heavily cratered ball of dirty orange and musty green, the color of rust from a half million miles away.

One of the UPF space shuttles now sat atop the mesa. Erx and Berx were behind its controls: Zarex and Pater Tomm were out of the shuttle and standing close to the edge of the butte. Hunter was with them, looking out over the precipice as well. He was still in his flight suit, an oxygen supply tank on his back. He was not hooked up to his bubble-top space helmet, though. At the moment, he was breathing just fine, if a little anxiously.

In his hand he held the one last surviving mind ring, the one they found on Captain Kyx. It was marked simply: "Last Time Here." They had no idea what the title meant or what the ring contained or even if it contained anything at all. Mind rings could be strange things. They weren't always uniform and sometimes presented characteristics that could only be described as moody. The technology emerged around the year 3000 a.d., creators unknown, and had managed hang on through many galactic upheavals and at least three Dark Ages. While closer in toward the Ball, mind rings were considered ancient by now—thought drops had replaced them centuries before—billions of trillions of them were still floating around the fringes of the Milky Way.

This one was a solo ring, the kind created by individuals of their own accord, to keep personal recollections or to pass them on to others as a way of correspondence. That's really the only thing they knew about it.

"One last time, brother," Zarex asked Hunter now, surveying the rather bleak surroundings. "Are you sure this is a good idea? I mean, one ring out of hundreds of thousands? There is no telling what it might hold."

"It must contain something unusual," Hunter replied. "There has to be a reason why Kyx held it so close to him. We have to take the chance that it might hold some information valuable to us. Even if it is just one clue—something that would make all our efforts just a little worthwhile at least."

"But are you sure this is where you want to be?" Zarex pressed him. "I've always thought mind ring manipulation should be done in a controlled environment."

Hunter just shook his head.

"Brother, for me this is a controlled environment," he said. "Empty. Lifeless. Not much to interfere with my other senses. My gut tells me I'll get a better reading if I do it this way. Out here and alone for a while."

Zarex just shrugged, and so did Tomm. That Hunter possessed a highly advanced form of extrasensory perception was a given to them now. They knew whenever their friend got a feeling in his gut—or in his head—it was best that they all just go along for the ride. His instincts were never wrong. Or at least not so far.

"There is a beauty to this place, I suppose," Tomm said with a sigh. "Being a long way from nowhere sometimes has its advantages."

"I guess we'll soon find out." Hunter said.

Tomm and Zarex shook his hand and then climbed back aboard the bulked-up shuttle.

"We will return for you in exactly one hour's time, my brother," Berx yelled from behind the controls. "Not a second more."

"But should you need us before that, just whistle," Erx added. "And we'll be here immediately."

Hunter saluted them and stood back as the shuttle's engines kicked in. The vehicle went straight up, very quickly, leaving a small storm of dust and pebbles behind. It turned 180 degrees about 500 feet up, then was gone in a flash.

Hunter looked around. The dull red sun, the dirty orange and green planet, a few stars, and the empty desert were all that was before him. He really was alone now.

He sat down on a flattened rock about ten feet from the edge and took out his quadtrol. "At least I think this is how it should be done," he mumbled to himself.

He took off his helmet and placed the ring on top of his head. It fell briefly to his nose before adapting to its most efficient size, about an inch above his ears. Hunter took a gulp of the thin air and then tapped the ring twice. This was the universal activation signal for mind rings.

He sat back against the rock and concentrated on the red ball of Pepsicus, hanging just above the far horizon. When he'd worn the mind ring inside the vault on Moon 39, the "trip" had begun right away. But more than a minute later, Hunter was still staring at the dying red star and feeling no effects at all.

What was wrong? Maybe the ring wasn't as good in quality as the one he'd used on Moon 39. Or maybe it, too, had lost its ion charge. Or its magic.

Or maybe it was just a little slow....

Hunter felt his eyes begin to water as he became mesmerized by the curious red sun. Did it seem a bit brighter all of a sudden? And maybe a little bigger? Was that a bit of warmth he was feeling on his face, carried there by a sudden breeze?

He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again.

Flash!

What was once a stark desert before him had suddenly turned into a lush river valley, with miles of emerald grass flowing like waves on an ocean. The sky above him was now cobalt blue. The ragged planet of Zinc & Tin, still visible, now shimmered like a rose-colored gemstone. The whole landscape of Xronis Trey had changed. Life seemed to be everywhere, basking in light from the rejuvenated sun.

Hunter breathed in. The air was thick and sweet.

Wow...

The mind ring had kicked in.

He studied his immediate surroundings. He was in the same place, sitting atop the same butte, leaning against the same rock. He was dressed differently, though. He'd embarked on the mind ring trip wearing his flight suit; now he was dressed in a bright orange tunic, wide green pants, high white boots, and a helmet with a little circular antenna sticking out of it. It was a military uniform of some sort, but not one designed for combat. Though he was carrying a puny ray gun in a side holster, Hunter guessed he was supposed to be a worker, a drone. He quickly inspected every part of his new outfit but could find no badges, emblems, or insignias that might tell him exactly what army he was in. No matter, it was an outfit that would have looked ridiculous in any time or dimension.

He activated his quadtrol, the handheld device that just about everyone in the Galaxy carried. It could analyze anything, anytime, anywhere. He asked it what year he was in. The answer came back: approximately 3237 a.d.

Hunter just stared at the readout screen. He couldn't believe it. This was the same year the deportation of Earth had taken place. It was exactly where he wanted to be.

He checked with the quadtrol again, even though the devices were never wrong. What year was he in? The answer bounced back the same: 3237 a.d.

He almost didn't want to believe it, almost didn't want to be this lucky, because he knew astonishing luck could run in both directions. Maybe this meant something. Maybe the cosmos was doing him a huge favor here. Or maybe it was making him the butt of some huge cosmic joke. The question was, how soon would it be before he could tell?

A sudden deep roar filled his ears, breaking through his thoughts. He looked up to see an enormous spaceship passing overhead. It was moving very slowly and was so big, it blotted out all light from the crimson sun.

This vessel was more than a mile long, with a blunt snout, a bulbous midsection, and a slightly tapered tail holding four ridiculously small fins. The ship was painted bright green. It looked old and new at the same time.

Hunter's heart started racing now. He'd seen such a ship before. In his previous mind ring experience back on Moon 39, during which he'd witnessed a tiny portion of the deportation of the Earthlings he'd seen if not this vessel, then many more just like it. It was onto these green monsters that the people of Earth were being herded for their final flight out. A dark sensation ran through him now, suddenly things weren't as bright as just a moment before. Joke or not, Hunter knew he was about to see things he could never, ever forget.

He turned to watch the green ship pass over and got another surprise. The tiny backwater base occupied by the BMK was now a massive, sprawling military facility. Weapons bunkers, spacecraft hangars, command and control buildings, troops and vehicles on the move everywhere. The base was so big it encompassed the mesa itself; a forest of deep space antennas was now in place up here. And even beyond the mesa, the base's perimeter seemed to stretch for miles.

Even more startling, there was a huge city located right next to the base. All soaring towers and floating structures, its skyways were filled with air cars, its streets bustling with thousands of people. Who would have guessed this? An overflowing metropolis in an area that now housed nothing more than the broken-down saloon called the Last Drop. An enormous military base where now there was little more than a few aging buildings and some very old mercs. How things had changed.

Hunter scrambled to the other side of the butte to get a better look at the huge base below.

The five space gantries were still in place. Standing tall and shiny now, they towered over the tallest buildings in the city next door. Five green ships were already in the gantries. All appeared to have just recently landed. Long lines of people were being herded out of these rocket ships, down a series of descending walkways to the ground below. Hunter snapped his fingers and was immediately holding a telescopic viz lens. He could see these people were all skinny, horribly underfed, their clothes hanging off them in tatters. There were mothers and kids and old people and youths. Middle-aged men, carrying elderly parents on their backs. Grandmothers clutching infants to their chests. Many were holding tightly onto bags no doubt containing what few possessions they owned. Every last one of them looked terrified and bewildered.

Once down on the ground, the lines of people converged into one long stream that led out of the landing area and into the heart of the base itself. Thousands of individuals made up this despondent flow of humanity. They were being force-marched by heavily armed guards toward the entrance of a gigantic dead-gray building located in the center of the huge expanded base; this area was condoned off by several security perimeters, rings of electric-blue fencing strung like barbed wire around a prison. The ominous box-like structure in the middle of all this was at least a half mile long, nearly half that wide. It looked like a warehouse with large openings at either end.

Hunter turned his viz scope toward the entry point of this building and saw squads of guards pushing people through. Men, women, children—everyone got the same rough treatment. He focused the viz scope on the opposite side of the building. The people coming out this end were no longer wearing their ragged clothes. Instead, they were dressed in dreary one-piece prison suits. Their heads had been shaved and their meager possessions were nowhere to be seen. Their demeanor was even gloomier than before.

Hunter felt his throat tighten up. His heart began pounding very fast. He knew who these people were. They were the people of Earth. His people. During the mind ring trip back on Moon 39, he had witnessed the front end of this atrocity, the herding of Earth's inhabitants on to the huge green ships. Now, purely by fate or just damn good luck, he found himself looking down on the next-to-last phase of this deportation: the final processing point. And he had no doubt where these unfortunates would be going from here.

After another half-mile walk under the hot, red sun, the deportees were being prodded into an enormous corral. Ion-powered sky lifts had been put in place at several points around this holding pen. These rocket-boosted elevator platforms had been used in the distant past to bring personnel and goods up to spaceships hovering several miles above the surface, thus saving the time and expense of bringing such huge vessels down to the ground. These particular sky lifts had been adapted to squeeze in as many as a thousand people at a time. Once full, the elevator would shoot straight up to a place beyond the clouds.

Squinting through his viz scope now, Hunter followed one power lift up until he saw it stop next to a vessel that was partially hidden by the puffy, fair-weather cumulus. These clouds moved just enough for Hunter to see the vessel was actually a space barge, a massive rectangular ship more commonly used to move iron ore and slag off of mining planets. These disgusting vehicles were now being loaded with the people of Earth. As soon as one was filled, another was moved in to take its place. Soon, a string of six of the gigantic vessels began climbing up into the stratosphere, being towed by an ancient-looking ion-ballast space tug.

Hunter's fists were tight with rage by now. His jaw felt locked in the clenched position. The direction taken by the barses was unmistakable. Thev were heading toward that empty piece of space, very far away, that contained the celestial prison known as the Home Planets.

He came down off the butte via a floating walkway on the north side. Many workers dressed just like him were walking along the extended concourse just below. They all looked to be in fine health up close, even a little overfed. There was an air of smugness and wealth down here, too. No one seemed to notice his arrival on level ground though. He immediately blended in.

He began walking, testing the new environment as he moved along with the crowd. A certain feeling of uneasiness had set in once he'd reached the ground. This was not like those times in the past when he'd performed his ten-minutes-from-now recon missions, when he became, in effect, invisible. No, this all felt real, and it looked real, too. But there was static crackling around the edges of the periphery, an indication of chronic mind ring overuse. This file corruption was giving everything a strangely flat, almost two-dimensional feel. It was as if Hunter could reach up to touch the sky and actually feel something hanging there. It was almost claustrophobic in a way. Even his thoughts seemed to become weighed down, his brain function dull and ordinary.

He had to keep reminding himself that these were someone else's perceptions he was living here, recorded for whatever reason on this particular day, so long ago. And that the mind ring program, this grandiose reenactment of real life, wasn't necessarily free of the personal kinks of someone else's mind. He knew there had to be some reason Captain Kyx had guarded this particular ring. The merc officer hadn't cared to answer that question once the device had been found on him. But clearly the BMK flunky was no history scholar. Something else was loaded on here, something more than the big ships, the misery of the disenfranchised, and the massive undertaking of shooting them all out of the Galaxy. Something else had whet Kyx's appetite in this strange world.

Hunter began walking at a quicker pace. The deportation station was located within a perimeter inside the base itself. A small army of heavily armed soldiers was standing near what looked to be an auxiliary entryway to the deportation area. Most of these soldiers were on the other side of a huge electric-blue fence, which demarcated the processing site from the rest of the base, but a few were on the outside as well.

Hunter didn't want to wander too close to these soldiers; he had to remain inconspicuous. Yet when he spotted a small building just on the other side of this isolated entrance—it was a strange little place, standing alone, with a bright green door—Hunter felt his legs start moving him in that direction. He tried to steer himself back into the stream of workers, but no matter what he did, he always found himself heading the other way. The desire to do so was overwhelming.

Finally, he stopped fighting it. Why had Kyx coveted this particular mind ring? Hunter knew he was about to find out.

He wound his way through the line of workers, a shift change of sorts was in the works. One small group of soldiers was standing just outside the entryway to the cordoned-off processing area. A small clutch of workers was lingering in the shadows close by.

As he drew closer, Hunter saw one worker extend his hand and give something to one of the soldiers. Whatever it was, the soldier pulled back the cordon, and the worker was allowed to pass through. He walked quickly to the small adjacent structure and disappeared behind the building's green door.

It looked very suspicious; Hunter had to see more. Another worker repeated the actions of the first. Money was being exchanged, the worker was allowed to pass between the lines. Hunter reached inside his pocket and found a handful of aluminum coins—so convenient he was sure Kyx had somehow programmed them to be there. He pushed his way through the knot of workers, walked up to the biggest soldier he could find, and gave him his pocketful of coins. The soldier looked at him just long enough for Hunter to wonder if he'd just made a huge mistake, but then he stepped aside and pushed Hunter through the invisible barrier.

Hunter stumbled along for a few feet, surprised by his sudden access. He tripped going through the green door that led into the small adjacent building. It was here he discovered why Kyx had enjoyed this mind trip so much, why he'd frayed the program by overuse, and why the BMK officer had taken great pains to hide this last ring.

The room was filled with young female deportees. Teenagers some of them, others in their twenties, but none much older than that. Beauties all, they were standing in irregular rows, held in place by some kind of localized force fields. All of them looked nervous and intense. They, too, had been relieved of their Earthly clothing, but the drab smocks issued to them were cut very high on the thigh and low on the chest. No one here had gotten her head shaved, either. There were probably a hundred girls jammed into the holding room. Two soldiers were slumped in hovering chairs at the back. Both were sound asleep.

The two workers who'd preceded Hunter into the building were looking over the females like customers might view a new shipment of spaceboots. Finally, one worker stepped forward and yanked a young girl out of the first row, causing a crackle of electricity as she was released from her force field. She went with the man, very reluctantly, toward an even smaller room nearby. When the worker opened the door to this room and pushed the girl inside, Hunter heard a chorus of squeals coming from within. None seemed to be cries of pleasure.

It didn't take an interstellar genius to figure out what was going on here. Hunter's thoughts streamed back to Kyx, sitting in the interrogation room, looking so smug—until they relieved him of his precious mind ring.

That freak...

The second worker selected his prize and literally dragged the girl to the next room. All eyes now turned to Hunter. He felt his hand reach out to grab the girl being held nearest him, but with all his strength, he managed to pull it back. He started to say something to the captives but found no words would come. What was there to say? This was real, but not real. He seemed powerless to stop it; all he could do was drink it in. He hesitated for another moment, but finally he knew he had to leave. He turned on his heel and made a quick exit from the building.

Through it all, the two soldiers sleeping at the back of the room never moved.

He hurried away from the small building, passing back through the soldiers without a word, and falling into the stream of workers once again. He tried to comprehend everything he'd seen so far: the sprawling base, the electric city, the processing station, the small room off to the side. This ring depicted some version of actual events, Hunter felt certain of that. Kyx had somehow stumbled upon it or more likely taken it off the cold body of the commanding officer he'd managed to outlive and replace. Then Kyx had used it over and over again, just to take advantage of what was happening behind the green door. The ring had survived then, not as a historical document but simply as a vehicle for lust.

But the strange trip also confirmed what Hunter and the others had speculated all along: that Xronis Trey had once been a thriving planet, vital and even booming, due solely to the fact that all of Earth's former inhabitants had passed through here on their way to jail. Yet the ring trip had not yet resolved the number-one question, the mystery above all others: Who were the people responsible for deporting the Earthlings in the first place? Hunter had seen no flags here, no signs or emblems or uniform insignias that might lend a clue as to who was committing these enormous acts of barbarism.

So, even though he was certain that Kyx had never bothered to go beyond this point in the trip before, Hunter had to press on.

He was soon walking along the eastern edge of the base; the main part of the warehouse where the deportees were being processed—and relieved of their clothes, their belongings, and their dignity—was now directly off to his left. Even though the blue-light electrical field separated the huge way station from the rest of the base, it was easy to see through the ion field and follow what was happening on the other side.

The processing station appeared capable of moving thousands of people a minute; the stream of deportees trudging in and out of the place just never stopped. There was a network of clear, superglass jet tubes running along the ground all around the structure; most were about two feet in diameter. Hunter could see all kinds of things blowing through these tubes. Clothes, baggage, hats, shoes, you name it—the lives of the hapless deportees being sucked right out of them. But where was all this stuff going? These overlords didn't seem the type to throw anything away; they seemed intent on stealing everything they could from the deportees in their desperate hour and were being very methodical about it. The network of jet tubes told that tale.

The tide of workers slowed down. Ahead there was an official checkpoint of sorts, a main ingress station through which workers could pass and get into the heart of the processing area itself. The command cluster was located here. The structure actually looked new to Hunter now. Its twelve domes were gleaming white and were not the sickly pale hue they were today. Several soaring passageways swirled around them like a jeweled crown. Rather than a poor-cousin castoff hanging on by the edge of a huge crater, the cluster was now the center of attention at the sprawling space base.

Because of the apparent shift change, two huge streams of drones, going in opposite directions, were funneling through the nearby checkpoint. Hunter simply went with the flow, squeezing in slightly as he passed through the opening in the electric-blue fence. Suddenly he was inside the last perimeter of the base; the jet tubes were flowing all around him. He veered off from the formation of workers and went to inspect the massive tangle of see-through superglass conduits.

Some ran along the edge of the cordoned-off area and out to the western edge of the base. A dumping ground of sorts was located out there. Some tubes ran through the command cluster itself, terminating at a point just below the main dome. But most continued right through the middle of the base, past the space gantries and beyond, to the eastern terminus of the facility. Back on present-day Xronis Trey, what lay east of the BMK outpost were a half-dozen small mountains. In the mind ring though, these were six domed structures that were almost as big as mountains. The jet tubes were leading directly into these buildings, each tube apparently delivering only certain types of items to what were obviously huge storage facilities.

Hunter walked up to one tube, which was slightly smaller in diameter than the rest. Like the others, it was made of clear superglass; seeing inside it was no problem. While the other tubes seemed to be moving along the generic essentials of life—clothing and so on—this narrow tube was carrying something else. Hunter could just barely make out a few of the items as they went flying by, but these things were very telling. This tube was carrying very personal items, valuable things: coins, gemstones, jewelry, and even some paper currency. And turning within this swiftly moving stream of booty, Hunter saw something else: many, many mind rings.

"Hey, mook—what the hell are you doing?"

Hunter spun around to find an enormous individual had suddenly come up behind him. This man towered over him and was an especially rough-looking character. A heavy beard covered his chin, a slimy mustache adorned his upper lip. Contempt was etched in his face.

"Did you hear me?" he growled at Hunter again. "What the hell are you doing way out here?"

This man was obviously some kind of boss, a foreman, Hunter guessed. He was wearing a jet-black combat suit of an almost satin quality. There were lightning bolts splashed all over it, the first ornament Hunter had seen on anyone here.

"I'm on my break," Hunter finally managed to say. "I'm just stretching my legs...."

The foreman screwed up his face in an expression of pure bewilderment.

"Break?" he said, mouthing the word as if he'd never heard it used in this context before. "What the hell do you mean?"

Hunter tried to recover. "You know, a break ... from my job? I'm taking a few minutes off."

"Taking a few minutes off?" the foreman roared. "You just came on duty!"

The foreman took three steps toward Hunter. He must have weighed at least three hundred pounds, probably more. Hunter wondered what would happen if he had to duke it out with this guy. Could you get hurt inside a mind ring? How about a mind ring that was suffering from chronic overuse?

"We've got a goddamn ship to land," the foreman spat at him, pointing to another huge space vessel that was passing over their heads. "And you're in an area off limits to mooks. So turn around and get back to the crew pit, or I'll break your back with one hand."

"OK, OK, I'll get right on it," Hunter said, pushing his way past the foreman. He made a quick U-turn and tried to go back through the perimeter gate. But two heavily armed guards were suddenly blocking his way. Both were about the same size as the foreman.

"ID ..." one of them demanded.

"I'm the new guy," Hunter tried to lie.

"I said, let me see your ID, wiseass," the guard growled at him. "No one gets out without showing it."

"I lost it..." Hunter shot back.

"Lost it?" the second guard barked. "It's imprinted on the back of your head."

At this point, Hunter decided to just walk away, hoping the guards would simply fade into the swirl of the mind ring trip.

And that's what happened. But then the foreman was behind him again. This part of the program was persistent.

"Hey, wait a minute!" the foreman yelled at him. "Who the hell are you, anyway?"

Hunter turned around just as the foreman was pulling a huge ray gun from his belt.

"No ID, in an unauthorized area," the foreman was growling. "You're a security risk. Probably one of them angels in disguise, I'll bet."

Once again, Hunter just turned his back and tried to walk away, hoping the mind ring would absolve itself. But the foreman was suddenly right in front of him. And this time, he had his ray gun pointing directly between Hunter's eyes.

"Move again, and you're dust," the foreman told Hunter.

At that point, everything seemed to stand still. Hunter found himself studying the foreman's uniform. Black, shiny, with tiny double lightning bolts on the collar and on the sleeves. It was starting to look familiar....

Back in the future, there were two major branches of the Fourth Empire's military: the Space Forces, which were the Empire's far-flung Army, Navy, and Air Service, and the Inner Defense Forces, the Emperor's vast and murky personal army, which was charged with protecting the original Solar System from the Pluto Cloud in, but in reality could be found in just about every corner of the Galaxy. They were also known as the Solar Guards.

There were some very dark elements within the Solar Guards: Hunter knew this from personal experience as a hit team of Guardsmen had been dispatched from Earth to take him out just as he was leading the forces on Planet America to victory. It seemed crazy now—because the history books said the Solar Guards had only been in existence for only four hundred years or so—but this guy's uniform was starting to look like those worn by the SG.

Hunter just couldn't resist challenging him. "Who do you work for?" he asked the foreman directly. "Who's your boss?"

The foreman never replied. He just pulled his trigger. Hunter was able to dive away at the last moment; still, the blast hit him high on the left shoulder, throwing him back a good ten feet or more. He hit the ground hard, scattering those images around him. He knew in that instant that he was in big trouble. He could feel real pain in his shoulder; he was bleeding, too. This mind ring was corrupted beyond belief—and now the foreman was aiming his weapon again.

Hunter went up to one knee, his shoulder felt like it was on fire. He reached across to his side holster and instantly, his gun was out and pointing at the foreman's chest. But then Hunter hesitated. Did he really want to shoot this guy? What consequences would result? Though the foreman had just shot him, the man wasn't real. Not really real. If Hunter fired back at him, he might wind up blowing a hole right through the program.

But then the foreman fired again.

Hunter actually saw the stream of fire coming right at him. He dove off to his left. The blast of green fire went right over his head. The foreman took two giant steps forward and aimed once again. This time, Hunter didn't blink. He raised his gun and pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

He tried again. The gun fizzled.

It was empty. Dead. Without a charge.

The foreman fired again. Two blasts. One hit Hunter's right arm, knocking the useless gun from his hand. The other ricocheted off his dopey helmet. He felt like someone had dropped an asteroid on his head. He literally saw stars swirling before his eyes.

The foreman aimed again. Hunter couldn't believe this was happening. He was now bleeding heavily, and it felt like life was just oozing out of him.

And this next blast would be a death blow___

But suddenly the foreman wasn't looking at him anymore. Instead, he was aiming at something—or somebody— over Hunter's right shoulder. An expression of complete shock had washed over the foreman's face.

Then came a bright flash of green light, and the foreman's head disappeared in a cloud of subatomic dust.

Everything went black after that.

"Hawk? Can you hear me?"

Hunter tried to open his eyes but couldn't. It was just too painful.

Where was he? He knew he was flat out on his back. A couple sharp rocks were poking him in the kidneys. And the smell of burnt fabric was filling his nostrils. The mind ring was no longer around his head; he knew that as well. But the taste of metal and blood was thick in his mouth.

He finally managed to open his eyes and discovered that he was back on top of the butte. Four faces were staring down at him: Tomm, Zarex, Erx, and Berx.

"Are you still with us, brother?" Tomm asked him uncertainly.

Hunter tried to move his body. Every bone hurt.

"You tell me," he finally gasped. "Am I still in one piece?"

"That has yet to be determined," Erx murmured gravely.

Hunter was lying next to the flattened rock, his arms and legs crumpled like a broken space doll. Berx lifted his head up and pressed a flask of slow-ship wine to his mouth. Hunter drank greedily.

"What the hell happened to you?" Tomm exclaimed in a whisper.

Hunter shook his head; even his eyelids hurt. "I'm not really sure...." was all he could reply.

He drank some more wine, then in short bursts, he recounted watching Xronis Trey revert back to its previously lush state. The waving fields of grass. The pleasant blue sky. The bustling metropolis where now just the Last Drop stood, the sprawling base, its space docks soaring into the low-hanging clouds.

More wine was poured into him. Hunter told diem about his stumbling upon the room behind the green door, the young female deportees, and how the workers had paid off the soldiers in order to take advantage of the situation.

"That's why Kyx was hiding it," he went on, coughing out his words. "He used it over and over and over again because it was an easy way for him to find pleasure...."

More wine. Hunter then told them about his encounter with the foreman, the man's Solar Guards-style uniform, and the one-sided gun battle that transpired.

"But then something really strange happened," he concluded. "This guy was about to blast me again ... and I think... I think someone shot him before he could shoot me...."

Hunter paused and looked up at the four faces again. There was deep skepticism in all four. Even in his battered state, Hunter knew it was hard to blame them. Feeling pain? Fighting with images? Images coming to the rescue? These things just weren't supposed to happen inside mind rings.

"But I am wounded," Hunter said to them suddenly, as a way to plead his case.

They ripped off his tunic, looked at his shoulder, then his injured arm. Incredibly, real blood was flowing from both.

The four men were astonished. Tomm examined the wounds closely. "This is outrageous! It appears you've actually sustained injuries within a mind ring...."

"Or he could have been flailing about these sharp rocks, in the throes of the dastardly thing...." Zarex whispered in Tomm's ear.

Tomm gave Zarex a very troubled look. The priest knew what he meant right away. Whatever the cause, Hunter's physical injuries were apparent. But could the mind trip have caused some mental damage as well?

Berx had retrieved the ring, cast aside in the last moment of the mind trip.

"This device must be so deteriorated, it's to the point of massively skewing the program," he said, studying the ring. "With the age of this thing, and the fact that Kyx went back there so many times, it may have lost its synaptic integrity."

"Any guesses how that might have affected his perceptions?" Zarex asked.

Berx just shrugged. He knew a bit about mind rings.

"It could have been presenting him with an entirely skewed program," the cannonball spaceman replied. "Maybe one containing things he wanted to see ... like the deportees, the Solar Guards ..."

"Not a good situation for him or us," Erx added worriedly.

"This thing is even more dangerous than we feared," Zarex said, taking the ring from Berx. "There's no way we can ever use it again. Not if this is the result."

Hunter began to protest, but Tomm gently put his hand to the pilot's bloody lips. "Enough talk, brother," he told him. "We should have never left you out here in the first place. Now we must get you to the sick bay immediately."

Erx and Berx lifted the injured pilot off the ground and started to carry him to the waiting shuttle. Through bleary eyes, Hunter spotted the six small mountains east of the BMK base.

"In those ..." he said, barely able to point with his one good hand. "We have to clear away the dirt that's covering them... and see what's hidden inside."

His four friends looked at him with very grave concern now.

"You have our promise, brother," Erx finally told him, as they placed him aboard the shuttlecraft. "While you go on the mend, we will move the mountains for you."

3

What was left of the BMK officers' quarters had been turned into a makeshift jail.

The eighty-eight remaining soldiers were divided into four holding cells; Kyx and his three surviving officers were confined to a fifth. This cell was located at the eastern end of what was once a fairly elaborate building called the superior billet, an extension of the command cluster. It had three small windows, now adorned with a latticework of reionized steel bars. These windows looked out onto the base's broken-down space gantries.

Two of the invaders' starships sat in very low orbit overhead, reflecting the dull light of the setting red sun like a pair of tiny moons. The ships were actually moving very slowly across the sky, as Xronis Trey turned beneath them. But just as soon as this pair disappeared, another pair would appear over the horizon. This was how the invaders did it. Two of their starships were in sight overhead almost all the time.

The last of the long sunset bathed the dilapidated space docks in dull crimson. The gantries were each 950 feet tall; it was not unusual for clouds to gather around their tops, even in this thin atmosphere. Each one looked like a gar-gantuan steel cage, a sky full of girders and trusses and spiraling passageways.

Anyone moving around them on the ground looked very tiny by comparison.

Captain Kyx was standing on the jail cell's bench, his chin pressed up against the window bars. His sneer was firmly set in place.

"These invaders are such fools," he declared. "They give off this air of being invincible, but they are nowhere near as strong as they would have us think. They are not supermen. They might strut around like they have a million-man army, but gentlemen, we all know that those ships cannot be holding more than 40,000 men combined."

His three junior officers were playing dice in a corner nearby. None looked up.

But this did not deter Kyx. He hadn't stopped complaining since being incarcerated.

"You know what I think?" he went on, talking only to himself. "I think they're a cult. A religious cult—zapheads we used to call them. You saw the priest. And those other strange characters. They all have stars in their eyes. But they are just a sad collection of deluded individuals who somehow, some way, excel in getting more dimwits to join their cause.

"I mean, asking serious questions about the Home Planets? Pul-leeze. My father used to put me to bed with that fairy tale. Now these poor zapheads really believe that child's story is true."

Again, the three officers playing dice did not respond in any way. Dissing Kyx with their silence had become a science for them by now. But they would have to agree with him on at least one point: The invaders were at no loss for curious behavior.

Just why anyone would invade this long-lost rock was baffling enough. But since coming here, the invaders had been up to some very strange things. They seemed to be always searching for something—the buildings, the grounds, even in the Last Drop saloon over the hill. Searching, always—but for what?

And though they had obviously succeeded in capturing the pathetic little space base, they seemed intent on keeping most of their troops up in the orbiting spacecraft. As if they planned on leaving as quickly as they had come.

But there was no more mysterious behavior than their activity around Space Dock #1, the structure closest to the command cluster. Since arriving on Xronis Trey, the invaders had stationed a man at the very top of this tower. Reaching the perch by jet pack, this soldier would simply sit atop the highest girder, eyes apparently gazing out into deep space, a slowly blinking yellow orb at his side.

What could he be looking for?

"Why do they send someone up that space gantry every other hour?" Kyx started up again. "I'll tell you why: because they think it puts them closer to God. I guess spinning around in low orbit isn't enough. They have to have a man up there at all times, braving the elements. I guarantee you that man is praying as hard as he can. And if they all pray hard enough, God will send them an army of angels to get them out of this fix."

Finally, one of the other officers piped up.

"Maybe they are considering revitalizing the structure," he said.

Kyx let out a guffaw. "Revitalizing it!" he laughed. "In God's name what for?"

"Maybe to use it again for the reason it was intended," the officer shot back. 'To land more spaceships. Or to repair an old one, or perhaps even build a new one."

Now another junior officer joined the discussion. "My theory all along is that they are a pirating crew in disguise, and all this odd behavior and questions about the Home Planets is just to distract us. I'll wager that they're establishing a base here from which to launch their own operations. And as it will be at least ten years before any of our superiors even know something has gone wrong, we are simply the losing pawns in their game."

Kyx laughed again. It was that cruel laugh of fake superiority he did so well.

"Lieutenant!" he roared. "We are at the end of the Two Arm. There is no one out here to rape, no place out here to pillage or burn. There is no one out here to steal from. What space pirate in his right mind would set up a base out here?"

The junior officer lowered his head, properly admonished. The others did, too. Kyx was right, a painful admission for all three.

The commander turned back to the scene beyond the window, grabbing the bars as if he had enough strength to bend them.

"And besides, they don't have nearly enough men to actually build a ship or even repair one," he went on in a loud voice. He shook his head in a very self-satisfied manner.

"They might have big plans," he said, "but there is no way they can accomplish them. They lack manpower, and that means, eventually, they will lack willpower, too.... We all know it's a big Galaxy out there. Forty thousand troops can get swallowed up pretty quickly."

The three junior officers went back to their game of dice.

They really hated it when Kyx was right.

At that moment, the floor of their cell began shaking. All four men froze. One of the junior officers was in the process of throwing the dice when the rumbling began. They all looked at each other. This was not the heart-stopping roar they'd heard in the opening moments of the attack earlier in the long day. Still, it unnerved them.

"What the hell was that?" Kyx exclaimed.

The cell shook again. "Maybe this dirty little place is finally doing itself in," one officer said, throwing the dice again.

His companions just scoffed.

"How many times do I have to tell you," one said, as they all felt the floor of the cell shake once again. "We will never be that lucky."

"It seems to be coming from the mountains," Kyx noted, straining to see around the corner of the command cluster to the six mountains beyond. "Why would they be blowing holes out there?"

None of his officers cared to reply. It was just one more odd thing the invaders seemed prone to do. The officers just went back to their game of chance.

"Well, I for one am glad I am not walking among them," Kyx went on again. "I'm glad I'm in jail. I hear that cult stuff can wear off on you. Just being around these types can make you stupid and prompt you into doing stupid things over and over and over again. And who needs that?"

Again, none of his officers replied. They'd tuned him out completely now. The floor of the cell rumbled again. Overhead, two more of the invaders' spaceships came into view.

Kyx sighed and unconsciously thrust his hand deep into his uniform's pocket. He hoped that miraculously the Twenty 'n Six holding his precious mind ring would be there.

But there would be no miracles this night.

At least not inside the tiny jail.

Five Miles to the East

Erx and Berx put their hands over their ears and nodded to the UPF officer standing next to them.

The officer in turn gave a signal to a sergeant kneeling on the ground nearby. He was hovering over a small sonic-gun radio set. The weapon itself was set up about twenty feet away, its four legs sunk deeply into some recently melted rock.

"Let it rip!" the officer told the sergeant.

The man immediately pushed a button on the radio set. The gun ripped a sonic current through the air; it hit the side of the mountain about one thousand yards away not a second later. A huge explosion resulted as several tons of rocks and dirt were blasted to dust. The UPF officer then scanned the blast site with his viz scope.

"Nothing ..." he reported.

Erx rolled his eyes and handed Berx a wine flask. Berx drank heartily.

"Let's try it again," Erx told the UPF officer.

Another blast, but with the same result. An explosion of dirt and rocks, another section of the mountain disappearing in a swirl of yellowish dust. But that was all.

"Still nothing ..." the officer reported. •

'Try it again," Erx told him.

The rugged terrain east of the BMK base looked natural. Lots of rocks, lots of craters. The six small mountains meshed very well on this world's uneven terrain. At that moment, it really did seem unlikely they were anything but.

The officer looked to Erx and Berx again. They reapplied their hands to their ears, and another sonic explosion went off. More yellow dirt, more craggy rocks. Another hole blasted in the side of the low cliff. But still, the place looked like a mountain.

They had been at this for more than an hour now, with absolutely no results. The long, chilly night was closing in.

"I fear that I am coming to the mind that everything inside that mind ring was skewed," Erx suddenly said to Berx. "And brother Hawk just imagined it all."

Berx breathed in deep the gathering gloom. "That would be a shame for him," he said softly.

Another explosion. More dirt, more rocks. Nothing more.

This was not good, and they both knew it. It wasn't just the fact that nearly everything Hunter claimed stood here in year 3237 was long gone. With the exception of the gantries and the command cluster, there was little evidence of anything else ever being here at all. The huge processing station. The remains of the huge military base. The bustling metropolis. The UPF had sent down nearly a thousand of its soldiers to scour the area for signs of any of these things. Besides a very wide road in front of the Last Drop saloon, no evidence of any of it had been found.

So this was the last gasp. If nothing could be unlocked inside these mountains, then everything Hunter had seen during the mind trip would have to fall into question.

Another explosion. Nothing ...

"It's just the way this whole trip has gone," Erx said now. "We certainly came here with high hopes, and true, the rings were here. They just weren't any good. Then our brother nearly loses his life inside that insane mind trip—

and it's looking as if the overused program filled his head with visions that just weren't true."

Berx nodded in slow agreement.

"Brother Hunter will need some time to get over this one," he replied. "His quest. His dream."

Another blast. More dirt, but nothing more.

"If he asks my counsel, I plan to make many suggestions to him," Erx said. "But in reality, I hope to talk him into returning to the Home Planets, at least long enough for us to petition Princess Xara on the situation."

Another explosion shook the ground; the face of the mountain barely moved. No rocks this time, and only a swirl of dirt.

"A wise plan!" Berx said. "We can both speak well of him and the courage he's displayed way out here. Xara obviously has a soft spot for him. If she can get to O'Nay before those mugs in the SG do, perhaps the Emperor will dispense all charges against him and allow Hunter to stay a free man within the Home Planets system."

"It would make a fitting compromise," Erx agreed. "He could be happy there. I think ..."

Another explosion went off.

Still nothing...

4

The six ships that made the voyage on from the Home Planets had been divided among the army raised by the UPF. The ships had been named accordingly: Europa, Africanus, Pacifica, South Atlantis, and lndia-Nepuso.

The sixth vessel was called America. It was the flagship of the small fleet.

These vessels were solid, reliable and, in a strange way, beautiful. Compared to the current wedge designs, these were a bit more styled. Where the modern ships seemed intent on meeting every angle with another right angle, these ships tended to round off every curve and blend it into the body. The exteriors were a combination of brightly polished chrome and deep blue superaluminum. Many current warships featured dull gray finishes, sinister in appearance. Finally, the bubble-top control stations—they being the massive cockpits located just aft of the needle nose—were made of superglass, of course. But on these ships they were about twice the size of contemporary ion-powered cruisers, and the bubbles were flared back, not concentric, as with modern models. All this gave the ex-BMK ships a classic design.

The only negative in all this was that the original BMK garrison on Moon 39 had been equipped with twice the number of these ships when it was sent out to the Home Planets system so long ago.

The other six had been shot down during the war on Planet America and completely destroyed.

Steve Gordon's office was located on the sixth deck of the America.

It was a small compartment; extra room was a premium on the corvettes. The office barely held a desk, a few chairs, a couch, and a small lamp in the corner. A few pictures adorned the otherwise plain white walls. The rug was standard gray. The office was actually a half-sized re-creation of Gordon's suite inside Weather Mountain back on Planet America, right down to the three letters painted on his door: CIA.

Gordon had been one of the top men in that highly secretive intelligence-gathering organization back on Planet America. He'd been a key player in the stunning victory over the BMK forces of Moon 39. Now he was part of the United Planets' invasion force. His job would be to analyze any intelligence the UPF gained from its occupation of Xronis Trey. So far, that had been very little.

The CIA agent had spent most of the voyage out from the Home Planets in this tiny office, debriefing anyone who would talk to him in order to get a familiarity with life in the Galaxy beyond. To say his own life had changed dramatically over the past six months was like saying a star was hot. He was fifty-eight years old when he left Planet America. Balding, with a slight paunch, 40/70 vision, and a habit of getting heartburn with just about everything he ate. He'd lived his half century-plus within the time bubble that was eventually revealed to encapsulate the entire Home Planets system. As with all the soldiers in the newly formed UPF, there had been some concern as to what would happen to Gordon physically once the six ships of the invasion force broke out of the time-slowing bubble. Would he suddenly age a thousand years or more? Would he crumble away into a pile of dust and bones? Would anything happen at all?

Something did happen, and it was somewhat unexpected. Gordon actually grew younger. Within fifteen minutes of breaking through the invisible bubble—all that was heard was a loud pop that had somehow made its way into the America's, intercom system—Gordon's hair began growing back. His stomach began shrinking, and he was able to discard his eyeglasses. By the time the transformation was complete, his body was rock solid with muscle, his eyes were like laser beams, and he was sporting a long, flowing mane. Similar effects had taken place among the UPF soldiers as well; this was one reason why they all seemed so big, so muscular, so youthful.

Gordon was still fifty-eight years old. But in a Galaxy where people living four hundred years or more was not uncommon, he was now a young man, and in its mysterious way, the cosmos had seen fit to reward him with this new, durable, mortal coil. Some people around the ship had even taken to calling him "the kid."

The only question that remained was this: What would happen to him—and the others—if they ever returned to Planet America?

Gordon was in place behind his desk, a large magnifying glass in hand.

His forte in the CIA had been in two areas. First, he had a brilliant mind for intelligence analysis, stats and numbers. He was also an expert at undercover operations.

Before him now, though, was something quite baffling yet, like the corvettes, oddly beautiful in a way. It was the mind ring Hunter had used, the one called "Last Time Here." Gordon had never seen a mind ring long enough to actually study it. They were strange-looking things. On one hand, they appeared to be little more than a simple gold ring—or more accurately, a gold headband—shaped almost like a piece of jewelry. Yet, close up, Gordon could see that the ring wasn't solid at all. It was more like hard liquid, if there could be such a thing. Solid yet fluid at the same time. Somehow, a mind ring was able to keep its shape when not in use yet could adapt immediately to whatever head it found itself on.

Being from Planet America, Gordon had very little un-derstanding of such things. The technology on his world had stopped once the automobile had been invented. Such things as mind rings and solid liquids and spaceships were beyond him. Or at least they used to be.

He held the magnifying glass closer to his eye. He could clearly see that the ring's liquids were running in two different directions: one band was moving clockwise, the other was going in the opposite way. Occasionally they would collide, almost like waves crashing into each other. There were traces of red mixed into the gplden waves. It was particularly stunning to see when magnified. And it looked very, very old.

As fascinating as the ring was, Gordon knew that it represented what might ultimately lead to the abrupt cancellation of the entire mission. He'd heard everything about Hunter's near-disastrous mind trip. Heard the crazy things the pilot believed he'd experienced while under the influence. It was his understanding that this ring was so old and so overused, it was not only useless but highly dangerous as well. Without any solid leads on the information they had come all this way for—that was, who was responsible for the deportation of most of Earth's inhabitants nearly four thousand years ago—it would be foolhardy to proceed any further. Even he knew six ships and a small army would not go very far out here.

Yet the real trouble had to do with simpler things, like distance, time, fuel, and gravity. The Milky Way was itself speeding through space, as were the Home Planets. But they both weren't necessarily going in the same direction. The Home Planets were actually veering away from the Galaxy, slowly but surely. The UPF fleet had left its home port on Planet America carrying enough ion-ballast fuel to reach Xronis Trey and make the return trip home, should something go wrong. Well, something had gone wrong, and every minute they lingered here now meant the Home Planets would be that much farther away from them if they had to make the trip back. The original plan was to lay solid on Xronis Trey and replicate an ion-ballast fuel plant. Ironically, this would take almost all of the fuel they had on hand for the return trip.

So even though the UPF still had a few tricks up its sleeve—the words "second wave" were only still whispered around the ship—it would be just plain dumb to expend everything they had if they had nothing to go on.

In other words, Gordon knew he might be returning to Planet America sooner than he thought.

He detected a sudden movement and looked up to find Pater Tomm was standing in front of him. Gordon jumped an inch out of his seat. It was as if the priest had come out of nowhere.

"Father ... you startled me. Did I hear you come in?"

Tomm just shrugged. "Your door was open, and you seemed totally immersed. I did not want to disturb you— until I had to, that is."

Gordon thought about that for a moment, then invited Tomm to sit down. He went back to studying the mind ring.

"They are the oddest things, aren't they?" he said, going back to his magnifying glass. From the perspective across the desk, it looked like he had one enormous eye. "I just can't stop looking at it. And I can't imagine how they work...."

"I share your mystery with them," Tomm said. "Like many things we take for granted in the Galaxy, no one is quite sure who invented these things or how they do what they do."

Gordon snapped his fingers, and a bottle slow-ship wine appeared out of thin air. He'd just mastered this particular technique. He snapped his fingers again; two mugs now came into being. He poured out a healthy shot for both of them. Gordon sipped his—he was still getting used to the sweet, opiate quality of the slow-ship. Not so shy, Tomm drained his mug in one huge gulp.

"And there's no doubt these things can be dangerous," he said to the monk. "Hunter's experience proved that."

"It's a pity, really." Tomm sighed. "To come all this way, thinking we might find a treasure trove of these things, and then finding just this one, only to learn it's so unstable, we can never use it again. I believe that BMK officer would have gone blind had he used it even a few more times—

and he never went anywhere near as deep into as Hunter did."

Gordon sat back, pushed a button under his desk, and the curtains covering the far wall of his office disappeared. Beyond was a huge, arched window made of superglass. Rivets and metal sheeting made up its frame. A control panel of blinking lights was located below. The window gave a startling view of space all around them, stark, almost completely starless. The planet Xronis Trey was slowly turning below.

"Well, it was a nice trip while it lasted, I guess," Gordon said. "A dream certainly. Hunter's dream, that is. But it became ours as well, for a short time, anyway. I'm just not sure if we were little more than fools to chase k."

They looked down on the cracked, ugly landscape of the dirty little planet. "It is a strange place for it all to come to an end," Tomm said, shaking his head.

There was a long silence between them. They knew plans were already being formulated to retrieve any UPF soldiers still down on the surface and plan the long voyage back to the Home Planets.

Only one tough job remained.

"Who's going to tell Hawk?" Gordon asked Tomm.

The priest continued to stare out the window. "Who do you suggest?"

The CIA man just shrugged. "Frankly, I think it would be too emotional for Erx or Berx. I think Zarex, too, might be too heartbroken to deliver such news."

Tomm finally turned back to him.

"That just leaves either you or me," he said.

Gordon nodded. "Want to flip a coin?" he asked.

Tomm picked up the old mind ring and studied it for a moment.

"No need," he said finally, putting the ring in his pocket. "I'm supposed to be the holy man around here. The expert in comforting souls. I'll do it."

Tomm caught a shuttle going down to Xronis Trey ten minutes later. The shuttle landed, and the priest got off, making way for the first of the UPF soldiers who were being withdrawn from the planet's surface. Tomm gave them a quick blessing, then walked over to the battered command cluster. Entering by the main door, he made his way to the same hospital room where Captain Kyx had been interrogated earlier. This was where Hunter was recuperating from his near-tragic mind trip.

Tomm found the pilot not lying in bed as per the UPF doctor's orders, but standing next to his huge, oval window, looking out on the dark night and the near-empty space beyond.

He still looked as if he'd just rolled down a mountain. He had many tubes and wires hovering around him. His healing aura was still in place, it trailed behind him like a faint yellow ghost anytime he moved.

Tomm walked over to him and shook his hand.

"Did I catch you deep in thought, my brother?" he asked.

Hunter just shrugged. "I don't think my life has ever been any other way, Padre."

There was a moment's pause. Then, "I want to go back," Hunter suddenly announced.

Tomm just stared at him. "Go back where?" the priest asked in reply. He really didn't know. He thought maybe Hunter was referring to returning to the Home Planets.

"Back ... into the mind ring," Hunter said.

Tomm almost laughed. Then he just shook his head.

"Brother Hawk," he began slowly, "as I believe they used to say on old Earth, 'No freaking way.' "

Hunter turned his eyes back out at the empty night. "Why not?" he asked.

"Brother, you know why not," Tomm replied quickly, his voice rising a notch. "You were quite nearly killed for real inside it the first time. We analyzed it, and its integrity is breaking down even as we speak. Take a look at yourself. You're a mess. And I should know, if you don't know it yourself. You've been through a major conflict on Planet America, you fought on Zazu-Zazu. You ran the Earth Race and God knows what else in your lifetime. Take it from me, brother. You took more of a beating in that mind-trip than in all those actions put together."

"But it doesn't matter if I get killed," Hunter said. "I won't be able to rest ever if I give up now."

The priest took a moment to collect his thoughts. This was going to be harder than he thought.

"Brother Hawk," Tomm began again. "You have come so far, you and Erx and Brother Berx. And Zarex. They are, to a man, people who care for you. And I traversed the Five Arm with you—and by magic went to the Home Planets with you. What I am saying is that we are your comrades, and sometimes we know what is best for you."

"I thank you for the good words, Padre," Hunter replied. "But you must admit the very reason we have come this far could still be buried on the deteriorating ring.

"Whose hands were piloting the ships that were taking the people of Earth away? Who ordered their deportation in the first place? These are probably the biggest riddles in the Galaxy—right up there with the secrets of Supertime and the Big Generator. It was what we came here to find out.

"There is still very valuable information contained in that device. I know if I go back, I can manipulate it more. Move around more. Learn more. Padre, I've taken risks before. ..."

Tomm took the ring itself out of his pocket and held it up to Hunter's bleary eyes. "Can you see how badly this thing has faded?" the priest asked him sternly. "Would you let any of us—or any soul at all—use it?"

Hunter took the ring and looked at it warily. It was barely holding its shape by now.

"Father, I appreciate your concern," he replied sincerely. "And I admire my friends Erx and Berx—and Zarex, and you Father, my good friend. But in a way, this is not really your fight. Though you all sprang from the same family tree of Earth, so to speak, this is more of a personal thing with me.

"We have spoken of our strategy many times over the past months. And we knew from the beginning that finding intelligence on who were the original perpetrators of the deportation of Earth's population was the key to the whole affair. Without that, we have only suspicions and educated guesses. It's just not enough to wage a war on. A war that could be over very quickly or be one of the most tumultuous events in history. We have never bothered to fool ourselves on the gravity of what lies before us.

"But we must have the proof, and we must have the goods on the right people. The correct villains. Only then can our cause be rightly determined as a just one. We do not as yet have that proof. We were right in assuming that this place would have a collection of mind rings. What we didn't consider was that those rings would be worthless. So the proof we need is still out of our grasp."

He looked the priest right in the eye.

"But Father, I think there is a way—just one more way— that we can try to find it."

Tomm was still shaking his head no. "My brother, any good field commander knows that prudent withdrawal is as smart as a brilliant attack. Our strategy was sound, true. But in its original form, we thought we would have dozens or hundreds, not to mention thousands of rings for our use. Even if you went back into the ring—which you are definitely not—what good would it do? What more could you learn? We already know the parameters of your trip. For all we know, the originator of this ring was actually killed by a foreman the day he was making it. And it was probably only by dumb luck that the clown prince Kyx never made it any further than the room behind the green door."

"But it is precisely what you said, Padre," Hunter told Tomm. "We have thousands of mind rings here; they just don't work. But if they are here now, then they were here then, back when the workable mind ring was programmed."

Hunter let those last few words just hang in the air for a moment.

As they slowly sank in, Tomm began sputtering.

"You are not... you can't actually be suggesting, that..."

Hunter nodded gravely. "That's exactly what I'm suggesting."

"But what you are proposing is both preposterous and dangerous," Tomm replied powerfully.

"No, actually, it's really simple," Hunter said. "I'll go back into the mind ring trip, make my way to the command cluster's main suite, and find the mind ring vault again. The thousands of mind rings should be there. If they are, and if as we now suspect they are the personal property of the deportees, they should be in working order. I can access their information that way. Think of the wealth of knowledge that they hold___"

Tomm put his hands to his ears, pretending that he was not hearing Hunter's words. "Brother, are you actually proposing that you go on a mind ring trip within a mind ring trip?"

Hunter nodded. "Yes, I am."

Tomm was almost beyond words. "Hawk, my brain is beginning to hurt just thinking of such a thing."

"Are you saying it's impossible?" Hunter asked.

"Impossible is a word not used much anymore," Tomm said. "But, in truth, I don't think I've ever heard of such a thing before. The danger, from many fronts, is simply overwhelming."

Hunter straightened up. "But just think: an entire library of thoughts and recollections of the original people of Earth. The original deportees. It would be an intelligence coup of major proportions for us. It will give us the history, the reasons—the villains—for the biggest crime of the ages."

Tomm took the ring from Hunter's hand and put it in his pocket. He'd had enough of this.

"Brother, that is a crime that someone else will have to solve," he said. "We have already started in motion a plan to retrieve all of our soldiers from the planet's surface. I suggest you make arrangements to be brought up to America as soon as possible. We have a long ride home ahead of us, and the sooner we get to it, the better."

With that, he gave Hunter a warm embrace and then walked out of the room.

5

Night finally fell on Xronis Trey.

Most of the BMK prisoners had taken their sleeping drops and had bunked down for the night. Even Kyx had finally scraped himself from the cell window and lay down on his air bubble at the opposite end of the room where his three junior officers were sleeping.

There were a few fires still smoldering around the BMK base, even now, nearly twenty-one hours after the surprise invasion. They were left to die natural deaths in the very thin night air.

About fifty UPF troopers were still standing guard around the loose perimeter surrounding the base. Many of their colleagues had already been recalled to the waiting UPF ships. Those who remained were equipped with little more than blaster rifles and long-range viz scopes, a very shoestring operation for this first and, quite possibly, last night of guard duty. Their only job was to search the skies endlessly looking for friend and foe alike. Being so far out of the way, way at the end of the Two Arm, they knew the chances of seeing either anytime soon were very low. Still, they remained vigilant.

A squad of UPF soldiers was in place around the command cluster as well but, as many of them had taken part in the initial assault earlier in the day, they had been given permission to go to sleep.

Inside the cluster, it was more of the same. About a hundred support soldiers had bunked down wherever they could find an open spot. The last part of the long voyage here had been a very hairy proposition, with half of the elderly corvettes nearly losing all power and propulsion— and life supports—several times in the closing hours. The excitement of the invasion and its aftermath had taken its toll, too, as had the thought that it might have been all in vain and that a long trip back to the Home Planets was awaiting them. All this gave way to exhaustion, and now all of them were asleep, too.

All except Hunter. He was wide awake.

He was lying on his air bubble, old-fashioned bandages now covering his right arm, his left shoulder, and the upper half of his face.

Unlike just about everyone else, he had not taken his sleeping drop—the tiny bubble of liquid that guaranteed up to an entire day of slumber, complete with only pleasant dreams, and an almost opiate-like feeling of refreshment upon awakening. Hunter disliked sleeping, induced or not. It was a little too close to death for him, and such a waste of time. And even though in the past his dreams had proven very helpful—and startlingly prophetic at times—they were not always pleasant. Another reason not to surrender to the underworld.

But he was awake now for a different reason. This was his new plan, formed by a conspiracy of one. He was sure his friends were convinced that they'd drilled some sense into him and ended his notion of taking the mind ring trip again.

In reality, though, nothing could have been further from the truth.

He lay on his bubble, counting the seconds away for two hours. That was his time frame for an all clear. He'd also spent the time reassuring himself that what he was about to do was the right thing for the cause. He knew it was, down deep, in a place that the others maybe could not see or feel. It was dangerous, no doubt about that. But he'd faced danger before; it was called risk assessment. Weigh the risk against the goal, and go from there.

This was, after all, his fight. His quest. His plan. His madness. There was no real reason any of the other principals should even be here. If it was up to someone to take a big gamble, that mantle lay only with him.

The two-hour mark finally came, and Hunter slowly rolled off the air bubble. It was now the equivalent of midnight on Xronis Trey. It was a very cool evening with only the bare light of the rising Zinc & Tin to cast anemic shadows across the stark landscape. He looked out his room's only window and saw two guards stationed about fifty feet from the front entrance to the command bubble, alert, weapons up, while their colleagues slept around them.

Hunter discontinued all of the medical devices so only the bandages remained. He climbed into a new camo uniform, then retrieved his crash helmet and boots from his hovering locker and quickly put them on. He snapped his fingers, and soon a jet pack materialized on the floor in front of him. He quickly put it on as well. Then he let his hand hesitate over his ray gun and holster. The chances were good that he might get hurt where he was going— that much he knew. But did he really want to bring a weapon into it? Would such a weapon work if he did?

His gut told him yes.

A few minutes later, he was at the back door of the command cluster. There were no guards on duty here. He stepped out into the still night, crossed his fingers, and activated the jet pack. In a burst of power and smoke, he was soon rising straight up above the base.

This was a new technology for him, and he had an almost comical moment trying to stop his ascent. He finally came under control around 1,500 feet. The air was even thinner up here, so his first order of business was to get back down to a reasonable altitude.

This done, he turned away from the base and commanded the pack to move him forward. The next thing he knew, he was zooming above the empty spaces to the south.

Not five minutes later, he made a successful if bumpy landing on the southern edge of the mesa called Lookout Below.

He took off the jet pack and then located the exact rock where he had started the first mind ring trip.

Then he reached inside his pocket and took out the deteriorating mind ring. More than once he'd wondered if in his previous life, he might have been some sort of a thief, because the ease with which he'd picked Tomm's pocket of the mind ring was a bit frightening.

He studied the device closely now in the dim light of Zinc & Tin.

Was he really going to do this?

He'd gone into the mind ring trip the first time without the benefit of knowing exactly where he was. Now that he knew the lay of the land, so to speak, would this work to his advantage? There was no way he could tell from here. He stared at the ring for a long time; indeed, he could see it deteriorating right before his eyes. He drew in a long breath of the thin air. Corrupted or not, it was their last opportunity, their last hope to get any real answers here. He had to take the chance.

He wasted no more time. He put himself into the exact position as the first trip. Then he put the ring on the crown of his head. It quickly transformed to the optimum shape.

He tapped it into activation, sat back, and waited.

Flash!

The trip started much quicker this time.

The desolate valley filled in, the sky became bright blue. The clouds appeared and, in the distance, he saw the huge metropolis spring up, and then the large military base. The monstrous space gantries appeared on cue as well.

He checked his quadtrol. What year was he in? It was 3237, once again.

Hunter jumped to his feet. The idea here was to get moving as fast as possible.

He looked down at his clothes and saw he was wearing the same gaudy uniform again. Still no markings, no emblems. He took out his tiny pistol, pulled the trigger, and heard it fizzle again.

"Maybe it was just a toy all along," he thought, throwing the gun away.

No matter. He reached into his boot and came out with his own massive double-barreled ray gun. He checked its control panel and was relieved to see that it had passed through with him intact. He pressed the trigger; two very reassuring blasts of green fire spewed out. A nearby rock melted away.

This wasn't supposed to be happening, but it was. His shoulder and arm still hurt, his head still felt like someone was banging it with an electron hammer. That wasn't supposed to be happening either—but it was.

He pushed the ray gun's intensity drive up to 111 percent and then returned the weapon to his boot holster.

At least this time, he'd come prepared.

He moved down off the mesa via the same floating walkway, and in the same manner, mixed in with the crowd of workers.

As before, the sea of deportees was passing him on the left beyond the electric-blue fence. If anything, the faces of the dispossessed looked even gloomier than before. In fact, everything about this trip seemed darker so far, more uncertain than the first time. There was more static around the edges, too, and many of the colors were starting to skew. A very creepy feeling was now dominating the program.

Hunter pressed on.

He found himself being drawn back over to the crowd of soldiers huddled near the entryway to the building with the green door. Reality was really blurring within the program now—and inside his head as well. Before he could even think about it, he found himself pushing his way through the stream of workers again—they looked much dirtier this time—and walking up to the soldiers. Each one looked twice as large this time; their weapons were larger, too. Hunter did not hesitate. He reached into his pocket, pulled out the handful of coins, and slammed them into the wide-open palm of the nearest soldier.

The man literally picked him up and over the invisible barrier, setting him down with a crash on the restricted other side. Hunter did not react at all. He simply stood up and walked quickly over to the building with the green door.

As before, two workers were in line ahead of him. If anything, the room within looked even more dingy, the lines of young girls more frightened.

Hunter did not allow the first man to select his victim this time. Instead, he walked up to the man and dropped him with a fist to the face and a knee to the scrotum. Then he turned and did the same to the second guy, even before his first victim had hit the floor.

This time, a few screams came out of the crowd of captives, and this in turn woke the two soldiers lazing at the back. Hunter reached down and retrieved his double-barreled blaster. The soldiers made their way through the crowd of frightened girls and confronted him with very puzzled looks. Both were carrying not-so-puny blaster rifles.

"Who are you?" one asked him, legitimately confused. Hunter didn't say a word. He simply lifted his ray gun and fired off two blasts, one at each man's chest. The soldiers were stunned. They looked down at their bodies and saw a hole going right through them. Obviously, this type of thing had never happened in the program before.

It was darkly comical for a moment: the two soldiers, standing calmly, each with a gaping hole in his chest.

One managed to croak out, "This is not the way it is supposed to go...." Then both simply faded away, deleted by the program.

Hunter walked right through their bodies and kicked in the door to the adjacent room. Inside, there were dozens of floating beds. Only a few were occupied, each with a young prisoner and a guy in a worker's outfit. Hunter fired one blast from his ray gun into the ceiling. This got everyone's attention. Then he calmly picked off every worker inside the room, a total of seven, causing them to fade into oblivion. With that, the girls all fled to the larger room, Hunter close behind.

He rushed over and opened the huge gate that led back out to the tarmac. The long stream of deportees was passing by not a hundred yards away.

"Go!" Hunter yelled to the female prisoners, pointing toward the slow parade of humanity. "Find your parents, your relatives, your friends. Stay close to them, and you'll be all right... but hurry!"

It took a few seconds to sink in, but finally the girls started streaming out of the building and melting into the long line of people moving toward the space barge power lifts. One stopped and gave Hunter a tearful hug. Another kissed him on the cheek. Her lips felt lifeless and cold.

"Hurry..." he urged them along, looking in all directions for any other soldiers but thankfully seeing none. "You'll be better off out there."

Once the room was cleared, Hunter closed the huge gate and then went back out the green door. He passed by the soldiers without a word and rejoined the stream of shift-changing workers. His heart was beating like a drum. Had he just done the right thing? Had he done anything at all?

He positioned himself deeper into the flow of workers and this time passed through the gate into the inner perimeter without a problem.

He walked quickly past the gaggle of jet tubes, confirming that the slimmer conduit through which all of the deportees' valuables were blowing—including many, many mind rings—was shooting directly into the command cluster itself.

There were no checkpoints, no guardhouses after this. Hunter walked right up to the front door of the cluster and stepped inside.

The place was bustling with activity. Soldiers, workers, and technicians crowded the passageways, each one in a great hurry to get someplace else. It surprised him, though it shouldn't have, that the interior of the building now looked less like a military control station and more like a bank. There were vaults everywhere; each geodesic dome held at least one. Within, he saw stacks of aluminum coins, jewels, the funny-looking paper money. The order and obvious efficiency of the entire operation was mind-boggling. He'd been right about one thing. These overlords were very methodical about stealing from their victims.

Hunter simply surrendered to the flow of workers and made his way to the center of the structure. He reached the main amphitheater with no problem, pausing at its huge glass door for a moment. Inside, he could see the usual mix of soldiers, workers, and technicians buzzing around—a strange sight because in his real memory, the amphitheater resembled a tomb. This place seemed to be the storage house for stolen items that were valuable but not necessarily used as currency. He saw stacks of expensive clothing for instance, projection machines, beautifully crafted musical instruments, works of art, some of it 3-D, some of it not. All these things were to be labeled, categorized, and stored away by the small army of blank-faced workers.

Across the concourse and up the second-story walkway, he could see the entrance to the mind ring vault. It, too, was alive with activity. He could see workers carrying trays containing mind rings up the walkway and into the vault. Judging from the telltale sparkle coming from each one, the rings were all still alive, just as he hoped. And judging from the care and almost reverence the workers were using in their transport, it was obvious that back here, in the year 3237 a.d., the collection of these rings had been of some importance. Again, it was a strange sensation, which clashed with Hunter's real memory of this place.

The vault was guarded with two heavily armed, ridiculously dressed soldiers. This didn't bother Hunter. He intended on approaching them carefully and low-key. But once he was close enough, he would pull out his ray gun and—

"Hey, what the hell are you doing now?"

Suddenly, someone grabbed Hunter's shoulder from behind. He spun about and found himself face-to-face with a very large, very sweaty person.

Damn...

It was the foreman.

In the next split second, Hunter vowed not to make the same mistake twice. He would not try to reason with this character, nor would he try to ignore him. He didn't have enough time to reach for his ray gun, however, so he sucker punched the foreman instead. His fist sank into the man's face like he was putting it in ice water. But it had the intended effect. The foreman staggered back, his eyes crossing then uncrossing themselves several times. When he recovered enough to focus back on Hunter, the pilot took one step inside of the amphitheater, pushing its heavy su-perglass door ahead of him. The foreman took a step forward as well, and Hunter let the door slam shut, hitting the man right in the face.

This impact did more to startle the man than Hunter's right hook. He staggered backward again. This time, real-looking blood began spouting from his nose and mouth. He lunged for Hunter, who simply let go the heavy door again. It hit the foreman so hard, he fell backward, toppling to the hard floor with a thud.

It was with that sound that Hunter took off. He was running now, across the concourse and up the walkway to the vault. Those images around him paused and pointed and stared, but no one tried to stop him. He reached the vault in just a matter of seconds, and this time his ray gun was out and ready for use. The two soldiers saw him approaching but looked at him more out of befuddlement than anything else. Running? Why was someone running up here? It did not compute.

Hunter reached the rampway leading into the vault and, without stopping, squeezed off two blasts from his side arm. As with the guards in the holding area, these discharges both hit in midchest. The soldiers were startled— a little more than his previous two shooting victims. They raised their rifles and tried to take aim on him as he rushed by, but before they could activate their triggers, they did the quick fadeaway. Not killed, deleted.

Hunter ran past them and into the vast vault. Now this place looked just as his real memory recalled it. Hundreds of floating shelves held tens of thousands of mind ring boxes. Each box held up to a hundred rings. He took down the closest box, peered inside, and saw the small cloud formation which indicated the rings were still alive. This part of his plan had worked!

"Don't move!"

Hunter froze. He recognized the voice by now. He looked up and saw the foreman, bloody nose and all, point-ing a very big ray gun at him. Hunter raised his own side arm in an instant.

What followed was a two-way battle of ray gun fire. The foreman was shooting wildly at Hunter, the very deadly beams bouncing around the vault, hitting mind ring boxes and ricocheting with ear-splitting ferocity. Hunter was trying to somehow pump out his own ray gun blasts through this intense barrage. He was being hit all over, some just glancing blows, others direct blasts to his arms, legs, and body. He never stopped squeezing his trigger.

This proved his undoing, though, as a ricochet blast bounced off the floor, off the ceiling, and then hit his right hand with a bright green flash. Hunter watched his gun melt away, wondering in that instant whether his fingers would go with it. They didn't, but now his weapon was useless and so was his hand.

The foreman smiled cruelly. His prey was now defenseless, just the way he liked them. He took careful aim at Hunter—and there really was no place for the pilot to go, nothing behind which to seek cover. Like before, everything seemed to stand still for a moment, and Hunter's attention was riveted on the foreman's uniform. Damn, it looked like those worn by the Solar Guards. Not exactly, but very close.

Everything started moving forward again. Hunter could almost hear the foreman's finger begin to squeeze his trigger. He could feel multiple wounds burning into his skin. In a last-ditch effort to avoid disaster, Hunter leaped forward and hit a big red button, which he hoped activated the vault door. But already he could see the tip of the foreman's ray gun start to sizzle; a fatal blast was just a microsecond away....

Then, suddenly, the foreman had a hole blasted through his own chest. The man stood stunned, his ray gun still smoking, looking at the gaping maw in his upper torso.

Hunter was just as stunned as he. The vault door was closing. The foreman just faded away, dropping his gun to the floor.

The door finally slammed shut. Hunter fell to the vault floor, blood oozing from more than a dozen places.

He was critically injured; he knew that.

But he was not dead. Not yet, anyway, and all because just as before, someone within the mind ring trip had saved his life.

It was Zarex's robot, the danker 33418, who found Hunter's burned and battered body atop the mesa.

As soon as it was discovered that the pilot—and the mind ring—were missing, the UPF commanders immediately went into action. The entire planet was scanned, all the domes in the command cluster were searched, but there was little doubt where Hunter would go. That's why the robot was dispatched. The power packs on the soles of his feet could move him quicker than any jet pack or shuttle. He made the two-mile trip from the base to the mesa in less than twenty seconds.

It wasn't a moment too soon.

When the robot arrived, Hunter's uniform was almost totally engulfed in flame, boots and crash helmet included. It was only that the thin atmosphere discouraged extremely hot fires that the pilot wasn't totally consumed. The robot immediately covered him with a flame retardant he kept inside his massive utility belt. This single act saved Hunter's life—at least for a while.

A shuttle bearing Zarex and Tomm arrived seconds later. The first thing they saw was a small storm of smoke rising from Hunter's smoldering body. They thought for certain he was dead, he looked that bad.

They picked him up, put him in the shuttle, and instantly rocketed away up to orbit. Hunter's injuries were so severe this time, he had to be rushed to the emergency cube in the sick bay aboard the starship America.

Hooked up to a life monitor during the frantic ten-minute trip, Hunter's body was showing only the barest of vital signs, and these were fading fast. He wasn't moving, his brain waves were all over the map, and he was still bleeding profusely.

And try as they might, they just couldn't get the mind ring off his head.

6

Erx and Berx never heard the alert that Hunter was missing.

They were still off on the eastern part of the base, supervising the blasting of the first mountain.

They'd been here for nearly seven hours. The spacemen weren't even bothering to block their ears anymore. The sonic gun had been firing away at the target, removing rocks and dirt and rearranging its craggy face one blast at a time. They were probably a hundred feet or more into the side of the mountain by now, and the hole itself was nearly five hundred feet across.

But still they had found nothing but more rocks and dirt underneath.

"It will be light soon," Berx said, as he passed his flask to Erx. Their slow-ship was slowly running out, too.

Erx drank and then just shook his head. "A few more, my brother," he said. "When we see the first light of the sun, then we will call it quits.

The weary UPF officer signaled his sergeant again, and the sonic gun delivered yet another massive blast to the side of the crumbling mountain. This blast didn't even shake up any dirt. There was no spray of rocks, no cloud of dust.

"That was strange," the UPF officer mumbled. "Increase the charge," he told the sergeant.

Another blast. Then another. Then another.

Still, the face of the mountain stubbornly remained unchanged.

Erx put the viz scope up to his eyes.

This was an odd sight. It appeared the sonic gun had been able to blast its way through a good amount of rock and dirt but was now battering against something that looked akin to a mineral called iron-slate.

Or maybe it was just iron.

Erx, Berx, and the UPF officer were quickly away on their jet packs. They arrived at the base of the mountain seconds later. They were presented with a sheer face of a solid material, stone gray in color, buried very deeply into the side of the mountain. Berx flew up inside the hole and, with his electric sword, started pounding on the wall. A slight echo came back to them.

All three just looked at each other, bewildered.

"My God," Erx breathed. "Hawk was right."

These strange mountains weren't mountains at all.

It took no less than 150 more rounds from the sonic gun to finally break through what turned out to be a wall of reionized iron.

The UPF blaster team then created a tunnel, which in turn revealed an ancient doorway. It was twenty feet high and more than half that wide.

Moving through the buried portal, Erx, Berx, and the UPC disintegration squad found themselves inside a vast cavern, an enormous domed structure that had been encased in tons of dirt from the planet's frequent dust storms. Over the course of being battered for several thousand years, the gigantic structure had become part of the landscape.

"I think we've seen this type of thing before," Erx said to Berx as they stumbled through the cavern—they had traveled in space together for more than a century. "Do you recall a world in the old Oshkosh-Sylesian System named Bynk? It had been a city-planet at one time, a metropolis that wrapped right around the planet. Then something hap-pened; the world was abandoned. The storms came, and the structures became one with the dirt.

"I do recall Bynk," Berx replied. "But I have a feeling this place will be much different than that."

The blaster crew quickly set up some dim, temporary lanterns, illuminating a small portion of the unnatural cave. It was clear this place was a warehouse of sorts. What they could see of the wall was lined with shelves, containers, row upon row, until they faded off into the darkness. A small network of jet tubes ran through the place like dried-up, cracked arteries. Tracks sunk into the cast iron floor told of an elaborate system of depositing whatever was kept here.

The blaster team opened several random containers. They were about twenty by ten by ten and shaped like large coffins. And inside? Clothing: in the first container, shirts and jackets. Inside the second, hundreds of pairs of pants. Inside another, nothing but women's shoes. In another, men's boots. Many of these articles were made of woven natural fibers and even rubber, materials practically unknown these days.

It was at that moment the blaster team activated a much larger bank of hovering lamps. For the first time, those inside could see just how big this place was. In a word, it was gigantic. They were actually on the upper level of a multilayered underground storage facility, a dome of now obvious design. And there were also tens of thousands— perhaps hundreds of thousands—of the dusty blue containers. Some were still up on the racks; others had fallen and smashed to the floor centuries ago.

Everyone present shrank back a little. They suddenly realized this was a very eerie place.

"Ghosts ..." Erx whispered. "I can almost feel them."

"You mean the things that ghosts once owned," Berx replied, his voice low as well. "I fear this place is haunted."

As if to underscore that point, they both stumbled over one container that lay broken at their feet. It held not shoes or clothes or hats. It was filled with something else: toys.

It was an American UPF lieutenant named Kennedy who was pulling watch duty atop Space Dock #1 when it happened.

Sitting beside the blinking yellow orb, he'd just watched a two-ship formation of UPF corvettes sink over the horizon. He knew two more would soon be rising in the opposite direction. But for the moment, a brief one, the sky above him was clear.

That's how it was that Kennedy saw them first. A very faint string of dim lights—that was his initial impression. Almost dreamlike. But the orb had commenced blinking rapidly, and soon enough, Kennedy knew this was no illusion.

He wasn't sure what to do. The orb was blinking madly now—it was doing its job. He made a comm-cell call to Gordon's office up on America, as he'd been instructed to do, but strangely, there was no reply. The reason for this lonely duty was very, very top secret; Kennedy didn't want to broadcast any news on a cell that might have unwanted ears listening in. So he left a secure-bubble message for Gordon and then cranked up his viz scanner to full power and just watched.

The lights came closer, and the string became longer, and soon they looked like a line of very bright, colorful stars riding along on a daisy chain, two larger, very bright lights out in front. Kennedy told his viz scanner to start recording everything. He knew the UPF commanders would want to see this.

The orb was blinking so rapidly now, it looked like it was producing a steady, constant beam of light. Suddenly, the string of colorful objects high overhead started blinking back. Kennedy almost grew giddy watching them. The orb saw the lights, and the lights saw the orb, and they had made a solid connection. The lights began moving even faster.

Within a minute, they had entered orbit around Xronis Trey.

Captain Kyx never knew why he'd woken up at that particular moment.

He'd taken his sleep drop; by rights it should have laid him out for at least twelve hours straight, probably more.

But now he was awake during what should have been a guaranteed slumber. He found himself sleepily walking over to the cell window and looking up.

What he saw caused him to cry out loud enough to wake the three junior officers in the cell with him.

Very quickly, all four of them were crowded at the cell window. What they saw made each man think he was still dreaming.

High above the base they saw the long string of lights. To their eyes they seemed to stretch for thousands of miles, which in fact they did.

The colorful lights seemed to be floating, wavering, almost similar to the effect of a borealis. A pair of larger, brighter lights was evident at the front of this string. They seemed to be moving under ion power.

Then, without warning, as if someone had pushed a button or pulled a switch, the line of lights began breaking up. And these individual lights—there were tens of thousands of them—began floating down to the planet's surface.

It took about a minute for some of them to come so close that the BMK officers could finally make out exactly what they were: robots ... thousands of them.

More accurately, they were the combat robots of Myx. They were landing everywhere, each one touching down with barely a thump. The long line of mechanical men— so instrumental in delivering the coup de gr&ce in the war on Planet America—had taken a bit longer to make the trip from the Home Planets to Xronis Trey. They were the top-secret second wave. But they'd made it finally, after a long, lonely voyage, each one connected by the head and feet to the one before and behind him, being towed by two makeshift ion-powered vessels once known as the Love Rockets.

It took nearly an hour for all the robots to land. Still, the BMK officers never tore their eyes away from the cell window. They'd stopped counting them long ago, but by the time they were all down, the prisoners knew there were probably as many as a million of them. They covered the base, the hills to the west, and the deserts to the north and south. It made for a very baffling, almost scary sight.

Finally, one of the junior officers just shook his head and went back to his floating bunk.

"Well, Captain," he said to Kyx. "You said these invaders were nothing because they didn't have much of an army..."

He let his words trail off, then lay back down.

"Wrong again," he said.

Hunter was dying.

Brought directly to the emergency trauma section aboard the America, the doctors took one look at him and immediately called for Pater Tomm.

That Hunter was in very bad shape was an understatement. He'd suffered many more wounds to his body, all of them more serious than those from his first mind ring trip. Even worse, his brain functions were extremely scrambled. The UPF doctors had not been able to lift the mind ring off his head. One surgeon even suggested that Hunter was still inside the mind trip and was intentionally resisting any efforts to take the ring off.

If that was the case, there was nothing any of them could do. Any attempt to cut the ring off or remove it in any other way would likely prove fatal to him, or at least irreversibly injure his brain. The doctors patched his wounds and installed a healing aura around him, but these things could only do so much. After that, it really was out of their hands.

Thus the call for Pater Tomm. At the moment, it appeared the only person who could do anything for Hunter was a priest.

A bedside vigil began in his hospital room.

Tomm, Gordon, and Zarex were there first. Erx and Berx had come in, bearing a box of ancient toys and reporting their startling find inside the faux mountain.

Learning that Hunter had been right all along was of little comfort to his friends though. Even the arrival of their top secret second wave was no consolation. That Hunter was close to death was all too apparent. If and when the daring pilot died, it would be a very long trip back to the Home Planets.

With all that was happening, few people noticed the two Love Rockets had docked alongside the starship America. If the UPF corvettes looked old and antiquated, these two vessels looked positively ancient. They were about one-fiftieth the size of a corvette and shaped not like a wedge but like a bullet with wings.

The Love Rockets were actually built simultaneously back on the Home Planets, one on Planet America, the other on Planet France. It was their launching that had set the stage for the war against the BMK troops on Moon 39. Indeed, the French rocket's ascent was what triggered the Moon 39 invasion in the first place. The American rocket had been sent up as a ruse to trick the overextended Moon 39 forces to attack Planet America as well, laying the tracks for their defeat.

The two old kickers had survived the ensuing hostilities, and while the UPF main fleet had been preparing for the long voyage to Xronis Trey, the Love Rockets had been completely overhauled. Much larger crew compartments were put on board, as well as space for supplies and deep space necessities. More important, small but powerful ion-ballast propulsion units were installed to replace the crude liquid-fuel engines. The Love Rockets could not go as fast as the corvettes, but then again, they didn't have to.

The only qualification for their flight was once they began their own journey to the edge of the Two Arm, it would be almost impossible for them to stop. The string of one million robots, connected as they were, could only travel in one direction. Any twists or turns would have caused havoc and quite probably would have broken up the string. This would have resulted in losing some if not all of the mechanical men somewhere in the starless void in between.

So the Love Rockets had been rebuilt and repowered just to do one thing: to use their combined strength to pull the line of combat robots across the great chasm, following the lonely blinking subspace radio orb that had been set up atop the highest spot on Space Dock #1, and hopefully arriving on Xronis Trey within forty-eight hours of the initial assault.

As it turned out, they arrived nearly ten hours ahead of schedule.

But it was a gloomy reception for them, to say the least.

Once the Love Rockets had been secured, the commander of each vessel rushed aboard the America, informed of the desperate situation in the starship's sick bay.

These two were also close friends of Hunter's. Their names were Calandrx and Klaaz. Hearing of the pilot's critical condition was a blow equal to both.

Calandrx had known Hunter a bit longer than Klaaz. Calandrx had won the famous Earth Race more than a century before, and it was he who steered Hunter through the dark intrigues of the most recent race, giving him the advice he needed to eventually triumph. When Hunter went missing after the battle on Zazu-Zazu, Princess Xara had summoned Calandrx, along with Erx and Berx, and asked that they go in search of the famous pilot. She had provided them with a tiny but Supertime-capable Empire ship. This eventually carried them to the Home Planets, where they arrived just in time to save Hunter's life by engaging in a shoot-out with a Solar Guards hit squad, also dispatched in a swift ship from Earth. Calandrx's almost mystical wisdom had gone a long way in the planning of the attack on Xronis Trey. It had provided him with the very things he'd been seeking since winning his own Earth Race: space flight, intrigue, and adventure. But arriving to find his good friend Hunter knocking on death's door deflated the 400-year-old pilot immediately.

Klaaz was closer to 500 years old. Like Calandrx, he was a little bent, a little slow in walking, and boasted a full head of long white hair. Klaaz was a well-known hero of the Five Arm. He'd rallied entire star clusters to fight against the marauding space merc and pirate armies who had battered the middle part of the fifth spiral for centuries. Klaaz was so famous and so brave, he held the rank of space marshal in nearly two dozen planetary systems. His face adorned the aluminum coin currency of several more. To speak the name of the Great Klaaz in the mid-Five Arm was almost like speaking the name of the Almighty himself.

Tomm and Hunter had come upon Klaaz's lonely world about halfway through their search for the Home Planets. Klaaz had known Zarex and was sure the explorer/gun runner would know the way to the mythical Home Planets system. In the meantime Hunter and Tomm had helped Klaaz defeat not one but two merc armies who were closing in on his ice fortress, allowing the old warrior to escape with a large bevy of beautiful women that he had taken under his care.

When several Solar Guards attacked a pair of these women later on, Klaaz knew his old friends were in trouble. Like Erx, Berx, and Calandrx before him, he, too, eventually found his way to Planet America—just how would fill an entire knowledge bubble—arriving like the others, just in time to save Hunter's life.

So it was ironic then, that the two ancient soldiers were now part of the vigil at Hunter's bed. They had been briefed on the tragic events by the others, and pulling up a pair of hovering chairs, joined in their friend's deathwatch.

The rest of the night passed slowly.

Day came, and there was no change in Hunter's condition.

His face was locked in a clench, his eyes seemed to be shut unnaturally tight. It was clear some kind of struggle was raging inside him. Inside his mind. Inside that place where he really was.

Tomm had already performed the ancient ritual of the last rites. In one corner of the room, Zarex and Gordon spoke quietly about the best way to get the fleet ready for the long flight back to the Home Planets. Although their point of origin was speeding farther and farther away from them with every second, meaning their fuel supply would have to be stretched to the absolute limit if they were to reach the Home Planets at all, they were loath to start out, only to have Hunter die en route. That just didn't seem right somehow.

But clearly, a decision on this would have to be made very shortly.

The dying star of Pepsicus took more than two hours to finally rise above the northern horizon of Xronis Trey. Close on its heels was the last remaining heavenly body in the long-lost star system, the first rock out from the sun, the pearl-white planet of Frangelicus 5.

It was the first time the newcomers to Xronis Trey had seen the planet rise. It's concentric orbit brought it very close to its poor relatives; it rose out of the northeast, nearly twice the size of the nearby Zinc & Tin, an amazing sight from low orbit. Because of its alabaster coloring, the tiny world reflected more light from Pepsicus in a day than the other two planets did in a solar year.

And here's where it got very strange.

Through a small porthole on the sick bay wall, they all watched the whitish planet climb above the forbidding landscape of Xronis Trey, amazed that something so beautiful could be found floating in this empty and foreboding sky. And Pater Tomm really didn't know why he did what he did. He was not a man of impulses, just the opposite in fact. But something told him to stand up and draw back the curtain of the larger window in the hospital room. And when he did, a ray of light from Frangelicus 5 burst through and fell on Hunter's body.

A moment later, Hunter opened his eyes.

Everyone in the room gasped—all except Pater Tomm, who was too astonished to do anything. In many ways, he blamed himself for his friend's plight.

Hunter coughed hard, fell deeper into his pillow, and coughed again. He still looked terrible. But he was alive. And he was coming around.

More baffling, he looked different. His hair had grown out almost as long as Zarex's mane. And he looked stronger, bigger, more rugged.

It was the look in his eyes, though; that was the scariest part.

His pupils almost seemed to glow red now. The eyes themselves seemed to have changed shape: they were now bigger, wider, the eyes of a very angry man.

"Hawk?" Tomm finally said to him, speaking for them all. "Is that really you?"

Hunter seemed to move one more step back into reality.

He slowly lifted his hand and indicated that someone should take the mind ring off him. Zarex quickly complied, only for them to see that another ring was in position underneath it. Zarex removed this ring as well, only to find another. And another. And another. This made no sense, but the people gathered in the room knew that strange things always seemed to happen to Hunter, though certainly this was among the most bizarre.

Only after the fifth ring was removed did he open his eyes again, and this time they stayed open.

He just looked up at them and took in a very deep breath. The doctors were called, but he waved away his friends' concern. He looked up at Erx; the spaceman knew what he meant right away. He had a fresh flask of slow-ship up to Hunter's lips in a flash.

Then Hunter finally spoke.

"Are we still on Xronis Trey?" he asked.

"We are, brother," Erx told him. "The endless night has passed, and we are into a new day."

"Have the robots of Myx arrived?" Hunter then asked, his voice seeming to build in strength with every word.

Calandrx and Klaaz stepped forward. Both men were beaming but at the same time shocked to see him alive.

"They are here, and so are we, brother," Calandrx said.

Finally, Hunter's battered lips were able to form a smile.

"Brothers, my plan worked to perfection," he told them slowly. "I stayed inside the vault of mind rings and put thousands of them on. Even when I felt you trying to pull me back, I had to resist. I had to get as much information as possible, even though I knew that I was in very bad shape."

Erx put more wine into him. He took an even deeper breath and seemed to gain even more strength in the process.

"But it was worth it," he began again. "Because I know the whole story now. I know who forced the people of Earth off their planet. I know why they did it.

"And that means we must begin our holy war against the Fourth Empire immediately."

The Other Side of Thirty Star Pass

7

Six Months Later

Earth.

It was a diamond floating among brilliant stones, a blue crystal shimmering against the blackness of space.

The white-hot glaze surrounding the planet looked like an angel's halo. Some claimed they could see it from clear across the Galaxy. Others only dreamed they could.

The first spacecraft had risen from its surface about 5,200 years before, a short flight to orbit. Much had happened since. The first outward expansion, led by those known only as the Ancient Engineers, made nearly every planet in the Milky Way inhabitable. From rocks to gas giants and everything in between, the Ancient Engineers terra-formed first millions, then billions of planets, seeding them in an explosion of life called puffing. In less than a thousand years, the Galaxy was populated—and blissfully at peace.

Then something happened. A collapse? A civil war? A rebellion? No one knew for sure. Almost 70 percent of the Galaxy's history had been lost over the centuries; lost or kept as close secrets by those in power. But this much was known: The rise of the First Empire had been fueled by the discovery of ion-ballast propulsion, the technology that put the stars within easy reach. The Second Empire uncovered Supertime, in which spacecraft could travel nearly twenty times faster than ion-ballast propulsion, at almost two light-years a minute. This allowed the Second Empire to reclaim much of what the First Empire had lost. Then the Second Empire fell, again for reasons unknown. Came at least one dark age and then the rise of the Third Empire, of which just about all knowledge was lost.

Then the Fourth Empire emerged, and along with it, those known as the Specials. This very extended, deistic family had controlled Earth now for more than five hundred years.

They were in the process of reclaiming the Milky Way once again.

Much of the Earth's surface was covered with huge triangular slabs known as triads; they were what made the Mother Planet shine. Some of these massive sections measured more than a hundred miles long. They were built of terranium, a superhard metallic material that had the ability to feed on the earthy crust, making it amenable to growing fauna.

The triads had also been created by the Ancient Engineers some time during the last years of the First Empire. But just why they chose to lay down these huge fabrications was another piece of history lost in the haze. (An attempt to reclaim surface area lost to rising ocean levels was one possibility.) For whatever reason, the triads covered more than half the planet and were arranged in such a way that Earth now supported just two enormous continents, one in the east, the other in the west.

What remained of the oceans was located in between. Water drained off from the poles traveled along huge canals . that separated the triads in many places, feeding the terranium and the life it held above. As a result of this massive engineering project, every coastline on Earth was now uniform, every river and lake drawn perfectly straight.

The triads were connected by more than 5,000 bridges. Some were hundreds of miles long and even linked the two continents at their closest points. Others were barely ten feet in length. The spans were never used—or at least not anymore. Unlike the triads, no one was quite sure who built them or why. They'd appeared some time after the triads had been put in place and before the height of the Second Empire. In any case, they were considered sacred and off limits to all.

As was Earth's Moon. It still hung in the sky, bright as ever, a pearl orbiting a diamond. But it was considered even more sacred than the mysterious bridges.

In fact, no one had set foot on the lunar satellite in more than 3,000 years.

The capital of Earth—indeed of the entire Galaxy—was Big Bright City.

It was a gigantic metropolis located in the northeast corner of the western continent. More than twenty million su-perskyscrapers of all shapes and sizes made up this place, with miles of hovering roadways, air car tubes, and water canals woven in between. Military bases, rocket pads, and space docks were everywhere, thousands of cloud bars, jam bars, nightclubs, sports clubs, dance clubs, and sex clubs were mixed in as well, especially around the huge City Arena.

Then there were the lights. They were everywhere! All colors, all shades, all tones. All burning brightly, day and night, bathing everything in an eternal neon glow. Not only was this a city that never went to sleep, it hadn't caught its breath in nearly five centuries.

At last count, more than two billion people called this place home.

To the first-time visitor, falling out of orbit, it seemed as if a layer of perfectly shaped clouds was in hover over Big Bright. On closer inspection, the visitor would realize these weren't clouds at all. They were floating cities. Dozens of them orbited the huge capital, moving easily, seemingly at the whim of the breeze. This is where many of the Specials lived, exactly one mile above the surface of the Earth. Condensation tended to gather under the bottoms of the cities, especially at night. This created the illusion that they were floating on top of the clouds. The biggest floating city of all was Special Number One, home of the Imperial Family. It was more than ten square miles around, twice the size of the other floating cities. Special Number One looked like a huge castle in the sky. Hundreds of spires, glowing in odd, iridescent colors, dominated its center. Long, sloping passageways crisscrossed these spires like trelliswork. The imperial buildings themselves were a mixture of futuristic design and ancient recreations, some of which had been put together brick for brick, nail for nail, from structures found buried on Earth thousands of years before.

Like Big Bright City below, Special Number One's surface layout was a jumble of side streets, back alleys, and courtyards running off of massive avenues.

Counting the high military personnel, the diplomats, the extended imperial family, and five separate corps of security troops, more than one million people lived up here.

It was the first day of the Great Saturnalia.

The two-week, planetwide celebration led up to the grandest of all events in the Galaxy: the Earth Race. This yearly contest pitted the best starfighter pilots in the Empire against each other in a 25,000-mile, obstacle-strewn, multidimensional competition. Some of the most famous fliers in history had taken this challenge over the centuries. Many had failed. Some had even gone mad. The Earth Race was that difficult, that dangerous. The Emperor Himself had. great affection for the contest, though, as he frequently claimed to have been a starfighter pilot in a previous life. This made the competition a huge social and political event as well.

Wagering on the race, by the trillions of citizens across the Galaxy, was staggering. Untold riches were showered on the race winner, including a permanent residence on Earth itself. Neither he nor his family would ever want for anything again; in fact, the largesse would be so vast, the winner's descendants would be well off for generations to come.

The excitement of the Earth Race was equaled only by the celebrations it generated. While the Great Saturnalia was observed just about everywhere on Earth, the promi-nence of a party was most evident by its location. The preeminent fete of all was held, no surprise, up on Special Number One, in the Gold House, the massive, sacred structure located right next door to the Imperial Palace itself. By tradition, the invitations for this intimate gathering of 3,000 were sent out one hour after the previous Earth Race had been concluded.

This gave those people privileged enough to attend an entire solar year to plan what they would wear.

It was about thirty minutes before midnight when the large air-chevy began its mile-long climb up to Special Number One.

The flying car's bright emerald color scheme identified it as the personal vehicle of Vanex, the Captain of Engineering, Clocks, Bulbs and Wires, for the floating Imperial City. This mouthful was actually his ceremonial title. Essentially, Vanex was Special Number One's head custodian.

The guards at the imperial front gate spotted the big green air-chevy shortly after it launched from Earth. They all knew Vanex, and he knew them—and that was the problem. Even by contemporary standards, Vanex was an ancient man. He was at least 700 years old, older than Emperor O'Nay Himself. Vanex carried with him a few dozen stories, oft repeated, each time with a new twist or turn added. He'd been everywhere and had done everything in the Galaxy in his long, long life. He even claimed to have knowledge of the mysterious Third Empire, a piece of history that practically no one knew anything about.

If the guards stopped the chevy as they were supposed to, there was no telling how long Vanex would stay and gab with them. They'd all heard his war stories before; they didn't need to hear them again. So when the chevy arrived at the front gate, the guards just waved it on through.

Once in, the air car slowed down and began creeping through the narrow, winding streets of the floating city. Those thoroughfares in the light were crowded with the beautiful people on their way to the Gold House Saturnalia. In the background, columns of soldiers, tarted up in vivid, colorful uniforms, marched endlessly up and down the avenues.

Vanex's air car passed the Emerald House, the residence of the Imperial Family, and then the Imperial Palace itself. Atop the palace was an immense tower, soaring 500 feet above everything else. This is where O'Nay could be found most of the time, in a small room at its tip, sitting in a very basic compartment, gazing out on empty space and presumably thinking his great thoughts.

The chevy turned right and headed for the structure known as the Blue House. It, too, was an immense building, nearly a half mile around, with a large glowing dome on top. A combination cathedral and plant works for Special Number One, it was here that the controls, the devices, and the magic needed to run the floating city could be found.

The Blue House was the closest thing Vanex had to an office. He hadn't been in for a while though, at least a few months. His job was more a formality these days. He lived in a fabulous house up in Chesterwest, the most exclusive suburb of Big Bright City, and he just didn't come to town that often anymore.

But this was an emergency of sorts. It took a small army of maintenance workers, both humans and clankers, to make the floating city work. The head of this force had made a call to Vanex. Something had happened in the Blue House that no one could recall happening before. It had baffled all of the maintenance officers, and they needed some of Vanex's wisdom and advice.

The maintenance officer had wisely not mentioned just what the problem was; he wanted Vanex to see for himself. Nothing ever broke on Special Number One. Everything ran splendidly, day after day. So much so, the small army of maintenance men did hardly any work at all. It was the robots who did all the actual cleaning, waxing, washing, and anointing around the aerial city.

Vanex's chevy came to a halt just outside the front entrance to the Blue House; he was helped out by a squad of soldiers guarding this main door. Vanex thanked them graciously and paused for a moment, intending to have a chat with mem, but the soldiers scattered before he could get the first word out. They knew Vanex very well, too.

The old man regained his equilibrium and then glided through the door of the grand building. The long hallway was lined with robots; all were down on one knee. Vanex moved past them, soon reaching a hovering lift. This carried him down three full stories, nearly to the bottom of the building itself. He floated down a particularly gloomy corridor to a set of huge steel doors. Even Vanex's ancient hearing could detect a commotion coming from the other side.

The doors opened for him automatically, and he glided in. There was no ceremony here. What lay beyond was perhaps the most unkempt corner on the floating city. This was the so-called Boiler Room, an archaic name for the underbelly of Special Number One. It was a large place, dark and smelly, where hundreds of thousands of pulsating power tubes converged. These barely visible conduits pumped pure energy into the floating city from... well, no one really knew where exactly. But it was widely assumed that it all came from the so-called Big Generator.

There was no small amount of confusion going on in the Boiler Room at the moment. At least a hundred humans and robots were locked in a scene of quiet panic, scratching their heads, huddled in deep conversation. The robots were more worried and more animated than their human counterparts. That's the way the robots were: fretting, nervous, trying to help, interrupting conversations where their presence was not desired. But the humans on hand looked worried as well.

As soon as they saw Vanex, they all fell to one knee, again, the proper greeting for someone so close to the Imperial Throne.

Vanex looked over the crowd of workers as if they were his children.

"Oh, arise!" he said with a small measure of self-delight. "It's only me...."

The humans regained their footing; most of the robots stayed down low.

"Now, what seems to be the problem?" Vanex asked no one in particular.

Two high officers slid up in front of him and, hats in hand, motioned him toward the far wall of the chamber. They walked slowly as Vanex glided behind, nodding and blessing the workers as they parted way for him.

They finally reached the wall. There weren't any power tubes in sight. Instead, the wall contained a tangle of a very ancient technology known as pipes.

Vanex had to contemplate the jumble of aluminum for a moment, trying to remember exactly what their function was. One of the officers saw his problem, stepped up, and whispered, "They're for the water flow, sir."

Vanex nodded immediately. "Of course, I know them well."

"It is here that the problem lies," the officer said.

The reason for the pipes was simple really. The Specials didn't have to eat, but they did need water. There were literally tens of thousands of ornamental gold faucets in place around the floating city, never more than an arm's reach away from any member of the Imperial Family who needed a thirst quenched. The water system had been in place on Special Number One since it was first built.

Vanex scanned the tangle of pipes; all of the maintenance men and robots had gathered around him.

"Where is the glitch then?" Vanex asked.

The officer indicated a certain length of pipe, then pointed to its T-junction. On its left-hand seam, there was a drop of water.

Vanex studied it for a moment. This was very strange. He reached up and took the drop of water away with his gloved hand. Then he dramatically flicked it into the air, where it disappeared. He turned back to the officer and smiled. "Problem solved," he said.

But the man directed Vanex's attention back to the T-junction and the seam. Another drop of water had appeared. The officer flicked this away, only to have yet another drop materialize. He repeated this several times, and each time, another drop would appear.

A gasp went through the crowd; the robots became even more restless.

"It's leaking, sir," the officer said in a very hushed voice.

Vanex just looked back at him, somewhat befuddled.

"Leaking?" he repeated the archaic, unfamiliar word.

The officers nodded solemnly.

Vanex turned back to the pipe. Two more water drops had appeared.

"Leaking?" he said, almost to himself. "That's never happened up here before."

The Gold House Saturnalia always began at midnight.

This was not such an unusual hour to start a celebration. Midnight was where the day began in the Fourth Empire, a necessity of the far-flung realm.

The guest list for this party was ultraexclusive; indeed, it contained the names of only the very closest relations to the Imperial Family, all of them highly placed Specials. At the stroke of twelve, the doors to the Gold House disappeared, and the 3,000 guests floated grandly into the Great Imperial Hall.

It was an enormous ballroom. Its walls and floor were made of solid reionized gold. The roof held a special design of superglass, which boasted incredible magnification properties. On a whim, it could show the most colorful, most unusual stars in the Milky Way as if they were no farther away than orbit.

Small forests of exotic plant life from around the Galaxy lined both sides of the hall. Trees and high bushes, some reaching thirty feet or more, were swaying in an artificial wind, bathed in a light spray of pure, crystallized water. Later on, it would not be too unusual to see a young girl fighting to get out of this maze of trees, her neck bloody, a mob of drunken revelers stumbling in hot pursuit.

Ethereal chamber music wafted through the ballroom. The ghostly strings were being provided by a vast orchestra of sentinels hiding in the sixth dimension, not seen, only heard.

Ringing the outside of the ballroom were several hundred ceremonial troops. All of them at attention, all of them heavily armed.

Above it, a small fleet of air-chevys and battle cruisers orbited in ever-changing, aerobatic formations.

The people inside the Great Hall were not immortal. They just seemed that way.

They were all Specials, of course, so their veins ran thick with the Holy Blood, the life extender of the Empire's minor gods. Many of mem were destined to live for 600 to 700 years, some even more. Most carried the centuries well. A handful did not. It was a bizarre sight to see an 800-year-old couple gliding around, two feet off the ground, their clothes weighed down with sparkling crystals and aluminum, their skin and bones sagging as well.

The guests moved in a clockwise manner around the long, rectangular hall, floating and talking. The proper height at which one could be at these things was twenty inches, with elders, military heroes, and the top 10 percent of the Specials allowed to glide at exactly two feet. Most everyone here already had a case of red-eye, the telltale sign of significant ingestion of slow-ship wine. There was a small sea of the stuff hovering in the middle of the hall. All one needed to get a drink was to part lips and think: Wine. A thin stream of the highly intoxicating liquor would rise up from the pool and find its way through the crowd to deliver a gulp or two, all without losing a drop.

As for food, there was only one kind served at these celebrations: an ancient and mostly ceremonial dish called potatos. Most times, the vast containers of the white, pasty mash went untouched.

Of the 3,000 guests this night, more than two-thirds were women. Both married and single, by the custom of the Specials, nearly all of them were available sexually. Most of these women possessed beauty beyond words. There really was no describing many of them. The Holy Blood not only kept one alive, it provided a radiance, a luminescence, an aura of gorgeousness that lasted for centuries. Big eyes, high cheeks, great curves, and nice feet. That was the look, and it was hard not to wear it well.

The women glided the hall in twos and threes, seeking out the most handsome and courageous space officers, open to just about any idea and all conversation.

Stunning, all of them.

Many of the women attending the imperial party thought the men were just as gorgeous as they—the Holy Blood thing cut both ways.

No one in the room was more handsome, though, than Razr Joxx.

As the saying went, Joxx had the stars in his pocket. He was blessed with startling good looks. He wore his near-white hair long and ruffled, like the heroes of the Ancient Second Empire, and he stood an even six feet tall. Joxx was a four-star commander in the Solar Guards, the highest rank allowed in the field. He had his own Starcrasher, the very famous ShadoVox. It was the flagship for a unit of SG warships known as the First Imperial Wing.

Joxx had received preferential treatment from the moment he took his first breath. His father, Xayz Joxx, was Supreme High Commander of the Solar Guards. His mother was a sister of the Empress. Joxx, then, was nephew to the Emperor Himself.

Joxx was already a war hero, though he'd yet to reach his thirtieth birthday. While it was true that he had received his Solar Guards commission purely by social rank, he was no coddled son. He'd fought in a number of interstellar engagements, mostly against the space pirates who operated out along the Fringe. He was a brilliant tactician, a crafty strategist, and when in the midst of space battle, absolutely fearless. That he would someday rise to the rank of supreme SG commander—his father's commission—was a given. There was even a chance that, if he managed to live long enough and the line of succession stayed constant, Joxx might one day become the Emperor himself.

This was strange, because Joxx was also quite brilliant. He was master designer, had been known to correct calculations on some of the most complex bubblers, and could commit string matrixes to memory without the aid of thought drops. He was so sharp some whispered that he couldn't possibly be a real Special. Intelligence was not exactly the forte of the extended imperial family.

Joxx enjoyed getting dressed up in his finest regalia and holding court at these things. The topic of conversation was always the same: the art of war. While squads of females orbited him, admiring his long white cape, his moisteningly good looks, thinking that he might be ready for a haircut, Joxx could usually be found near the center of the room, lecturing even the most senior SG officers on his theories of battle strategy and tactics.

Two hours passed. The wine flowed, and the lights went lower. Wisps of hushed conversation began floating above the celebration.

Most of the men on hand were military officers with a direct line of Specials blood. The majority of these officers belonged to the Solar Guards, but there were also some from the Space Forces, and exactly two from the Expeditionary and Exploratory Forces. Those men who weren't military were high functionaries of the imperial court, space diplomats mostly. These types held many secrets. With the slow-ship wine bubbling up as it was, tongues became loosened. All kinds of rumors about the condition of the Empire were swirling around the hall by now. Gossip involving nearly all of the bewildering number of characters in the imperial space opera gushed forth. Revelers flitted from one whispered conversation to another, pollinating the room with hearsay and secondhand information. Careers could be made here, just as fast as old family ties could be broken. The Specials were an insipid, arrogant bunch.

By two in the morning, the intrigue was thick enough to be cut with a knife.

All of this was leading up to the grand entrance of the night: the appearance of the Imperial Family.

At exactly the stroke of three, rumored to be the Emperor's favorite time of day, there was a burst of pure white light at the far end of the Great Hall. Everybody and everything came to a halt. All conversation stopped. Streamers of wine froze in midair. The light grew so intense, many had to shut their eyes. Those who could take it stayed rigid and soaked in the effulgence. Then, at the point near the ceiling where the blinding ray was entering the hall, O'Nay suddenlv aDDeared. He was hoverine in midair, a tinv flame burning beneath his feet. Long, flowing green robe, extra long white hair, snow-white beard, those deeply vacant eyes, he stayed like this—just floating above it all—for what seemed like a very long time.

Then came another white flash, and O'Nay finally began his descent. An ethereal anthem commenced playing from the sixth dimension. A gasp went through the crowd; an involuntary response to all the carefully orchestrated wonder. The music grew; the light became even more intense. Finally, O'Nay glided down to a point exactly three feet above the floor. At this moment, everyone else in the Hall lowered themselves to the deck. Tradition said that whenever O'Nay was in the house, no one could have their feet in the air except him.

He hovered here now for another long stretch of time, the light behind him no less brilliant. Then came another flash, and at the top of the stairway of light, the Empress appeared. She, too, was beautiful, not yet 375, which was still young for a Special. She was dressed in an emerald gown, see-through in the bodice, with a train nearly one hundred feet long. She glided to the floor and settled in a spot behind her husband.

The Princess Xara appeared next. She was the most lovely of all. Radiantly blond, small and curvy, she was dazzling but in a way completely different from the rest of the Specials crowd. As the third member of the Imperial Family, Xara appeared to be the most normal, the most down-to-earth. She always seemed slightly bemused at the attention she received wherever she went and from whoever she met. Nearly devoid of pretensions, she could intelligently converse with anybody, anywhere, on any number of subjects, a trait that was not carried in more than a thimbleful by the other three members of her family, combined.

Xara held the fashion sway of the day as well, preferring simple long, white gowns, with little jewelry, her hair usually tied up but sometimes worn down, and occasionally a plunging neckline. She was considered the most beautiful female in the Galaxy.

And still, she was only eighteen.

There was no drama, onlv gracefulness, as she elided down the ray of light, like her mother, going right to the floor, where she quickly moved out of the glare. The imperial son—known to just about everyone in the Galaxy as The Dope—came next. He tried to impress those gathered with a speedy if detached descent, arms folded across his chest and a sun-ban ring covering his eyes.

But most people had gone back to talking and drinking before his feet ever hit the floor.

Xara certainly was not in the mood for a party, never mind one as elaborate and obscene as this.

She really couldn't believe anyone actually enjoyed these things, especially when so many long knives were out Except her mother, of course, who saw them as yet another opportunity to be fawned over, to direct the latest palace machinations, to launch a few plots of her own, and perhaps ruin a few good lives. But such things were routine for her.

Xara's brother hated them as well, but he hated everything. He was usually off cruising the Solar System—or terrorizing it might be the better term—he and his freaky friends and his extremely expensive ultracar. He was smart about one thing: As soon as he'd touched down, he'd taken a few mouthfuls of slow-ship wine and then vanished.

And her father?

Xara looked at him now, seated upon the hovering throne at the far end of the hall, staring blankly off into space, seeing things that no one else could see—or at least so everyone thought.

What did her father, Ruler of the Galaxy, mink of these things? What did he think about at all?

Xara didn't have the faintest idea.

The celebration swirled away from her as she walked the periphery of the Great Hall, keeping to the shadows but staying as far as possible from the edge of the thick artificial forests.

She turned down many offers of slow-ship from hovering robot trays, at the same time shaking her head in disgust at the heavy hitters who were taking their streams of wine directly from the pool floating in the middle of the hall.

So lazy they can't even hold a glass, she thought.

She nodded to most of those who caught her eye and embraced a few old aunts and uncles. But her intent was to circumnavigate the party just once before quickly blinking back to her apartment, where she could be miserable again in peace.

True, she was only eighteen, yet her heart felt like that of an ancient soul, weighed down as if she'd lived a couple thousand years already. Why the melancholy? It was all very foolish really. She was in love with Hawk Hunter. She dreamed about him every night and had sent romantic things to him in the past. And though she had not laid eyes on him now for nearly a year, he was always in her thoughts, his name always on her lips. It was almost as if she was able to carry on conversations with him in her mind, which really was foolish, because the number of times that they had been together—truly, just he and her— she could count on one hand.

Yet he had touched a place inside her where no one else had been. He respected her, as the first daughter of the Galaxy of course, but she knew he could have cared less about her position in life. He knew that she felt the same way. And he was mysterious and gallant and handsome and a true hero. What girl her age wouldn't be intrigued by all that?

So, she was in love with him, and that was the cause of her heartache.

Because she was convinced she was also responsible for his death.

By five a.m., the entire Imperial Family had left the building.

O'Nay had retreated to his tower to begin a long period of solitary, self-imposed meditation before the day of the big race arrived. The Empress departed quickly for Venus, for the ultraexclusive retreat of Langra-ji, to mingle with the family's harder-edged relatives. Xara was back in her apartment, crying herself to sleep. The Dope was heading for a secret jam party on Jupiter.

Inside the Gold House, everyone was back off the floor again. In the deepest parts of the artificial forests, screams could now be heard, along with a few yelps of delight. Most of the women had paired off with the eligible men, and some with each other. The invisible orchestra was playing more subdued tunes now. The lights in the Great Hall were down to barely visible. Thousands of candles had been lit instead.

It was just about this time when a young Solar Guardsman suddenly appeared among the crowd. Though splendidly turned out in a black satin uniform, he looked puny and unwashed in the room full of Specials. He'd entered through a side door, nervous but undeterred. He walked down the center of the hall, taking a right by the floating sea of slow-ship wine, and quickly located Xayz Joxx, the elder high commander of the Solar Guards. He and a group of SG officers were talking near the potatos display.

The soldier marched up to them and saluted.

"Message, sir," he said. "From the secure bubble in Room 13."

He handed Joxx the Elder a tiny silver plate. The Solar Guards commander took the message drop and placed it on his tongue, dismissing the soldier with a curt nod. It was strange, because most of the officers standing around Joxx the Elder thought the message concerned the dizzying array of wagers the High Commander had put down on the upcoming race. The secure bubble in Room 13 at the bottom of SG headquarters was a communication set used only for the highest priorities or the deepest secrets. Who to bet in the Earth Race, and by how much, was a study in religion among the Specials, more so as the day of the big event drew near.

But when Joxx the Elder tasted the message drop, his eyebrows shot up for a moment. He motioned his coterie of officers to a darkened corner of the forest, far away from a small clutch of curious Space Forces types who had wandered up nearby. Joxx the Younger saw the slight commotion and joined the small group of SG officers.

Joxx Senior rarely looked troubled, but at the moment, he did appear concerned. He briefed his officers on the message. It seemed so harmless at first. It originated from the upper part of the mid-Two Arm, from a listening post contracted out by the SG to a local mercenary group. Spies from this merc force reported a large movement of refugees traveling through an isolated star system called Laramie 66 about five light-years from their position. There seemed to be at least ten million people on the move, possibly a lot more, and they were coming from higher up on the Two Arm. The report gave no reason why the sudden tide of refugees had shown up or which direction they were now heading.

What made this particular report odd was that shortly after sending the transmission, the listening station went dead. Attempts to contact it through strings, deep-space comm, and even ultraradio, had been unsuccessful. The situation took yet another unusual turn when the station that had initially reported that the first station had disappeared, suddenly went off the air as well.

That was two secret listening stations gone, plus a report of millions of people apparently fleeing something in deeper space.

The Two Arm was a strange place. It strung out farther than any of the Galaxy's other arms, yet about 90 percent of the planets were aware of the Fourth Empire. Those few who weren't, were considered backwater systems with little to offer the realm at the present time. Most of the area from the upper mid-Two Arm inward was under an unofficial protectorate of the Solar Guards, meaning it was a rare occasion for a Space Forces ship to pass through.

Though more or less peaceful, like many places out on the Fringe, the middle Two Arm could be a wild place, too. There were more than twenty million planets in the slender stream of stars that made up the midsection. Humans being what they were, at any given time, there could be as many as a million wars going on among these planets. Some could be particularly brutal. The SG only intervened in conflicts that posed a direct threat to the Empire, though. If the tax revenues or important trade routes were being threatened, the SG would stomp one or sometimes both sides of a dispute. Most times, though, they just let the combatants fight it out. And the planet's populations stayed in place.

"These doings are not so typical in the mid-Two Arm," Joxx Senior said now. "Refugees are usually a sign that something very big is wrong. I wonder what could be rattling the chains out there?"

The SG officers—close confidants all—offered various explanations for the sudden flow of the displaced: volcano orgy, a civil war, discovery of a pyramid on the world in question. All of these things would cause a planet's population to head for higher ground.

None of these theories satisfied the SG High Commander though.

"Or it could be the Banndx-Mayyx Gang," one officer tried again. "They go on a rampage every twenty years or so. And that's near their last known area of operations."

Joxx Senior pulled his chin in thought. "The Banndx-Mayyx were pretty much killed off after our last engagement with them," he said. "Though I suppose it's possible some of them could come back from the dead."

He snapped his fingers, and instantly there was a 3-D map of the area in question floating in front of them. Joxx Senior snapped his fingers again, expecting the 3-D map to light up with icons indicating how many SG warships were in the area.

He was surprised to see none.

"None?" he exclaimed. "We have no warships out there at all?"

"Many are here, just inside the Pluto Cloud," one officer told him. "Either that, or they're heading in, for the Race."

Joxx Senior was surprised. "Every one of our ships is coming in from the Two Arm for the Earth Race?"

The officer just shrugged. "It's the most peaceful part of the Fringe, sir. It rivals the Ball for sheer pacifica."

"But who signed off on the order to have all of our own theater warships sent in?"

The officers shrank back, but finally one spoke: "You did, sir. You felt you needed those men and their warships to be involved in the direct wagering that day, to boost the winning pots here on Earth."

Joxx Senior just waved this off.

"Well, we could have checked out this report in short order then," he said. "If the situation was normal."

"I'm sure it's just a minor thing," the boldest officer spoke again. "The mercs running those listening stations most likely want a boost in their fee."

The other officers nodded in agreement. Joxx Senior thought a moment.

"Probably," he said. "Still, I would feel better if we had a presence out there."

"Then, I will go."

All of the officers looked up at once. It was Joxx the Younger who had spoken.

"Out of the question," Joxx Senior told his son dismis-sively. "This is not important enough for you to miss the Earth Race."

Joxx the Younger took a giant step forward. The other officers parted way for him.

"Father, we are only talking about the mid-Two Arm. I can be out there in three days, do a patrol, and be back long before the Night Before the Race."

Joxx Senior shook his head no—with emphasis. He was a large man, bald, but ruggedly handsome. He turned back to his officers.

"We must have some ships out there somewhere," he said, referring back to the large viz screen in front of him.

"Here," one officer said, pointing to a system marked Cheyenne Ring 755. "This is a cargo shipment center we own. It's called TransWorld 800. Six cargo 'crashers, I believe. We can deep-string them and order a reconnaissance patrol in force through the area in question."

"No way," was Joxx Senior's stern reply to the officer's plan. "Those ships are unarmed cargo humpers. Their crews are trained not in combat but in the religion of logistics. We can't send them into the path of uncertainty. It would look so bad for us if anything untoward happened to them." He let his gaze rest for a moment on the Space Forces officers still lurking nearby.

Joxx the Younger finally pulled his father aside.

"I can be there and back in less than seven days," Joxx told him in a whisper. "I've been itching to get away. And I know that area very well."

But Joxx Senior was still shaking his head no.

"The Earth Race is the grandest day of the universe," he told his son. "I want my heir at my side when the racers take to the track."

"And I promise you, I'll be there," the younger Joxx replied. "Isn't a son's word good enough for his father?"

It took a few more moments, but Joxx Senior finally relented. He pulled his son even farther aside—they were almost in the forest now—and whispered in his ear, "Just tell your mother—and anyone you encounter out there— that you are on a scientific mission, a short-term cosmic ray thing. And don't be a hero, understand? You've done that enough times already."

Joxx the Younger smiled.

"Father," he said, "some things just can't be helped."

8

In his time out on the Fringe, Joxx the Younger had faced two kinds of enemy.

There were the roving bands of star pirates, a catchall phrase that included planet raiders, hijackers, and assorted criminal gangs. These outlaws would set upon an unsuspecting world and plunder it or sometimes attempt to take over a booty-laden ship while in flight. The second foe were the tax criminals, those leaders of a planet or a star system who'd decided for whatever reason that they weren't going to pay the Fourth Empire the vig anymore.

The Banndx-Maayx Gang was a little bit of both. More than a ragtag band of misfits, in the past they had raised substantial fleets by either hijacking ships or stealing tax revenues and buying vessels on the black market. Setting out from the upper part of the mid-Two Arm, they'd tried their fortunes deeper into the second swirl. Though they were really just fools looking for fool's gold, they'd captured entire star clusters in their time and had commandeered several dozen starships as well. The Solar Guards had faced them five times in the past 120 years and had virtually wiped them out every time.

But like ghosts, they seemed to come back on a regular basis to haunt the Two Arm again.

If the Banndx-Maayx Gang was starting up again and causing the trouble in the mid-Two Arm, the ShadoVox would make them pay.

Joxx had designed this magnificent warship himself. It thought with his brain; it beat with his heart. He knew every seam, every sensor, every weapon intimately. He was one with it. It carried a crew of 22,000 men, each one a highly trained space soldier hand picked by Joxx himself.

Other SG ships had their two-mile hulls overcrowded with attachments: weapons, nav-gear blisters, ultraspace communications pods, all lorded over by control stations that were like small cities covered by canopies made of superglass. The ShadoVox did not look like this. Its huge wedge shape was slick, polished, a fuselage unbroken except by the smallish control-deck bubble up front. The ship's blended body broke with centuries-old tradition. As a result, it was sleeker than any warship in the Galaxy.

It was also one of the most powerful. Despite appearances, the ShadoVox did carry weapons—nearly twice as many as the other designs currently dominating the SG's outer forces. Its weapons stations were recessed into its body, to be revealed only in the event of combat. With one command, Joxx's majestic ship would be bristling with Z-gun barrels and space-torpedo tubes, thousands of them up and down the fuselage. They would appear as if from nowhere, and whenever this happened, the ShadoVox's outer skin would turn from dazzling white to sinister gray.

At this point, many adversaries—if they were still in one piece—simply fled. Indeed, for all the space trash Joxx had actually fought out on the Fringe, twice as many had run away. Occasionally, he would give pursuit. Toying with the fleeing ships, he used some for target practice. Others he just let go. Those who stood and fought always lost for three simple reasons: Even out of Supertime, Joxx's weapons were twice as fast, they could fire twice as far, and he could see an enemy twice as quickly as they could see him.

Not a fair fight, really.

But nothing was fair in war.

After three days in flight, the ShadoVox had reached the outer edge of the Moraz Star Cloud, the band of star systems that made up most of the mid-Two Arm.

The first star system out here was Moog-SRX; its one and only planet was called Cubes. The name had nothing to do with climate; it was a reference to the thousands of clubs dotting the planet's surface. Practically the only drink available in these places was slow-ship wine poured over cubes of nitrous oxide-vapor ice. The result was a concoction sometimes called superbooze.

Cubes was a favorite of Joxx's crew. It offered drink, pretty holo-girls, and exotic food galore, yet it was not as funky as some planets on the far side of the star cloud could be. The ShadoVox arrived, unannounced, just about midnight. Joxx ordered the ship parked in orbit and allowed anyone not on duty to crash the planet.

He and eight of his staff officers flew down to the city of Keex; it was the capital of Cubes and a place famous for its soaring emerald towers and elegant tropical setting. There was a casino in Keex known as the Ice Dust'. It was where the beautiful people from the outer star cloud came to gamble and canoodle. Joxx was very well-known here. When he breezed through the front door, a squad of groveling robot waiters descended on him immediately. He was ushered to one of the best tables in the high casino. His men were given bottles of the best slow in the place (Joxx did not drink) and one hundred thousand aluminum chips each, courtesy of management.

The Ice Dust was an enormous multilayered place set into a cliff that looked out over a clear blue sea. One side of the high casino was made entirely of superglass. The view was incredible. Fifteen thousand people could fit inside this section alone, with room to spare. It was usually raucous, no matter what time of day.

The club was curiously subdued this evening, though. Joxx noticed it the moment he sat down. The place was nearly filled, but instead of the crowded hovering dance floor, the spinning gaming tables, and the nonstop squeal of holo-girls, the grand parlor was almost hushed tonight. A few people were dancing, a few were gambling. But many patrons were huddled in small groups in the corners, drinking quickly and conversing in whispers. There was a strange feeling in the smoky air, highly unusual for the Dust.

Joxx ate dinner but left early. He found many of his troops had returned to the ship early as well. He spoke to a few of them. They reported the planet seemed bummed out all over. Why? It was hard to tell. Confiding in anyone wearing a uniform was just not done out here on the mid-Two Arm.

The ShadoVox left orbit early the next morning, its captain and crew still puzzled.

Its next destination was the Stygnus-Malone twin star system, also known as S&M-2.

This place was considered a little rowdier than Moog SRX. With thirteen in all, its planets held more people and there were a fair number of industrial worlds interspersed with the club planets and floating casinos.

It was a 226-light-year jump over from Cubes, a trip of about two hours. Cruising in Supertime, the ShadoVox's pilots were able to look out on the space lanes plied by much slower ion-ballast ships. These star corridors were busy. Seeing a dozen or so civilian interstellar vessels during a two-hour trip would have been considered normal. The ShadoVox's helmsmen saw hundreds.

All shapes, all sizes.

All heading in the opposite direction.

The ShadoVox reached S&M-2's capital planet to find every one of its spaceports was jammed with ships.

Its docking facilities were so crowded, the ShadoVox couldn't find a secure place for one of its small shuttlecraft to set down. It was as if every flat piece of ground on the planet was overcrowded with spacecraft of all descriptions. The regular spaceports were absolutely overflowing with people. And sensors indicated that every planet in the system was just as crowded, if not more so.

"What's going on?" Joxx called down to one of the

##ShadoVox's recon craft as it sped across the planet in very low orbit. "Who are all those people?" The reply came back: "More refugees."

The ShadoVox blinked back into Supertime and proceeded to its next station point, a star system called Gyros 6. Its capital planet was a major shipbuilding world.

It was more of the same here—a lot more. This planet was so jammed with refugees, just about every available landing space on its surface and in orbit was taken up by some kind of spacecraft, many of them little more than interstellar boltbuckets.

The ShadoVox didn't even bother to stop. It flew on, concern rising among Joxx's shipmasters. Obviously something catastrophic was happening farther up the Two Arm— but what? Local communications above Gyros 6 revealed an ocean of panicky voices, talking about nothing except when the next flight out would be leaving and whether they could get a seat on it.

Joxx considered sending people down from his ship— either commandos or spies—and beating the information out of someone. But instinct told him to stay cool. Sending knuckle breakers below might make a bad situation even worse. He had to avoid spreading rumors at all costs, ones that might cause an all-out midarm panic. For this same reason, he was reluctant to send anything citing these concerns back to Earth;- even in secure channels, such a report would be a bombshell if it fell into the wrong hands.

He would have to move farther into the star cloud and see for himself what was causing the rout.

So he pressed on.

The ShadoVox made the final 359-light-year leap, reaching a system known as Starry Town. This was the last populated area in the mid-Two Arm and only about fifty light-years away from where the two isolated listening posts went curiously silent. In between was a section of space known as Thirty Star Pass.

The only planet revolving around Starry Town's sun was the rundown, world of Megiddo. It was about one-third the size of Earth, a formerly-ringed gas giant reduced to its core by the Ancient Engineers thousands of years before and turned into a tropical paradise of sorts. Though it was a reclaimed gas bag, the surface of Megiddo was not smooth and uniform. Rather, it was pockmarked with faux river valleys and mountain ranges. Seven artificial seas dominated its equatorial regions; ice caps sat at its poles. It had one moon, Bad News 666, which was totally avoided because it contained a pyramid.

Megiddo was a very odd place—skitt-zo was the word used in the old days. Sometime in the distant past, the planet must have served as a resort for the biggest wigs of the Moraz Star Cloud. It was studded with ancient villas and seaside resorts at the equator, winter chalets and burned-ice castles to the north. Many of these places had been reclaimed by some of the star cloud's quietly nefarious types, and so the idea of a floating paradise had persisted.

But the planet was also the site of several huge ship repair facilities, more than a few hidden pirate bases and, to remove the last piece of glamour from the place, it was also home to the largest penitentiary in the star cloud. At Megiddo's south pole, there was a place called Big Rocks. Nearly 500,000 convicted criminals were kept here. Murderers and rapists mostly, they were the worst of this part of the Two Arm. All were facing execution.

Megiddo also had a strategic value, simply because of its location. It was the last planet outbound before reaching Thirty Star Pass, the narrow space lane that went directly through an unusually tight band of thirty stars. After that, the Two Arm really began thinning out; the distances between star systems increased dramatically, and the number of those star systems and habitable planets in between decreased just as fast. The Fourth Empire rarely visited this part of the Milky Way; there was no reason to. Still, Megiddo was a crossroads of sorts and had been fought over many times in the Galaxy's long history. To someone coming down the Two Arm, it was the doorstep to the more populated middle part of the second swirl.

And after that, it was only a three-day journey by Star-crasher to Earth itself.

The capital of Megiddo was a place called Needle City.

It was so named because the presidential palace was a sky needle built nearly three miles high. It looked down on an expansive beachfront city and could be seen on the other side of the Sea of Green, an esthetic preserved from the gas giant days, for which Needle City provided most of the western coastline.

Needle City was a rowdy, frequently violent place, full of gambling dens, holo-girl palaces, and cloud bars. A poor man's Cubes, it was populated mostly by space punks who'd somehow come by enough aluminum chips to live here and not mind sucking in the occasional lungful of stray, leftover methane gas.

It was also a place where an outlaw could lay low without much concern from the local authorities. The planet cops had their hands full keeping the lid on Big Rocks to the south and the string of pirate bases out west. Needle City was the least of their concerns. That's why it was known as a great hideout, somewhere to become anonymous until the heat cooled down.

But now, the ships were leaving it in droves.

Dressed in full regalia, Joxx beamed down directly to the spire that gave Needle City its name. Three of his best intelligence officers traveled with him.

Their destination was the official residence of Alfx Sheez, presidential ruler of Megiddo. Sheez was a typical Two Arm politician. About 250 years old, overweight, and perpetually sweaty, he was also quite wealthy from the bribes and kickbacks that went along with having a half million dangerous criminals sitting on one part of his planet and a number of pirating groups residing on another. When Joxx and his entourage arrived in his huge office, Sheez was packing his bags with money.

He barely looked up as the Solar Guards contingent materialized. He waved them away almost immediately.

"Excuse me, oh exalted ones," Sheez said hurriedly. "But I don't have time for the Fourth Empire at the moment."

He began emptying out his desk of coins and gemstones. In the background, several of his staff officers were doing the same thing.

"The last ship of any size is leaving this dump in one hour, and I intend to be on it. So my apologies but—"

"What is going on here?" Joxx roared at him.

Sheez at last looked up at Joxx as if to say: Just how thick are you?

"Haven't you noticed that my entire planet is bugging out?" he replied acidly.

"We've seen similar things all along the star belt," Joxx told him. "But why is it happening? Why the panic?"

Sheez emptied a drawer full of holo-girl capsules into his bag.

"A horde of marauders is making its way down the Two Arm," he told Joxx directly. "They've already conquered hundreds of sleazeball planets farther up, and they've been chasing the dregs of the galaxy in our direction ... along with billions of refugees. Apparently there is no stopping these Huns. They have a huge army, at least a hundred ships, and have shown little mercy for anyone in their way. And this is probably the next place they will hit. I don't want to be around when that happens."

He looked up at Joxx and added, "I suggest that you don't stick around, either."

Joxx's intelligence officers exchanged a few worried looks. They were much farther up the Two Arm than they would have liked.

Not so their boss.

"We are here to represent the interests of the Emperor and the Fourth Empire," Joxx told Sheez. "These are matters that have some importance to us."

He looked around at Sheez's staff officers. Several had already packed their bags and were blinking out without so much as a farewell.

"Has anyone tried to stop these marauders, as you call them?"

Sheez stuffed a stack of gold notes into his valise. "I don't know anvone so foolish." he said.

"Who are they then?" Joxx asked him.

The rotund president just shook his head as he sorted out bags of aluminum chips.

"No one knows who they are, Joxx," he replied hastily. "But I can tell you who they are not."

Joxx sat down in the nearest hovering chair. "Please, enlighten me," he said.

"They are not some bunch of mooks, like the Banndx Gang, thrown together by an overachieving pirate leader," Sheez told him. "These people are organized, well-trained, millions in number, and very heavily armed. That equals unstoppable in my book. I've been through hundreds of pirate wars out here, and usually their alliances fade away just as soon as everyone's belly gets filled. This time it's different. This is not an army of thieves coming this way. They are doing this for reasons other than money. I hear they are actually leaving money behind. People like that scare me, frankly."

He dumped a box of comet diamonds into his bag.

Joxx eyed him queerly. "How is it that you have so much information on these marauders?"

Sheez finally stopped packing, but just for a moment.

"Because two days ago, someone who saw what was happening up there, crashed down here," he said. "He gave us the latest dope."

Joxx was intrigued. "Who was he? One of our agents?"

"He's no one to your liking, I'm sure of that."

Joxx leaned forward and put his electric saber across Sheez's bag, effectively halting the packing process for good.

"And why not?" Joxx asked him.

"Because," Sheez replied. "He is an ion mover."

9

The northernmost regions of Meglddo were blanketed with two inches of dirty snow every day.

Although this was supposed to be a polar region, the weather was fairly mild. If there were roughly five million people on Megiddo at any given time, not counting the inmates down south, about a third of them could be found within shouting distance of the north pole. Some of the grandest chalets in the north had survived the ages, and many were now owned by a Cosa Nostra of enterprising space trash.

It was at one of these alpine resorts that the ion mover's star humper made a crash landing.

He came in on a X-66 pocket rocket. Or at least something built to look like an X-66. Five hundred feet long, two hundred feet at its widest, it was shaped like a wedge, of course, but was one of the smallest vessels flying. It had punctured the planet's puff with no problem, clipping two snow peaks on the way down. Slamming into a jagged ice field, it finally came to rest just a few feet away from the entrance to an immense resort owned by the Spuz-Nix, one of Megiddo's largest crime families.

Security troops rushed to the scene and managed to pull the pilot out of the wreck before the subatomics blew it up for good. The guards brought the man to a small hospital within the resort, but the doctors refused to treat him; this, after the man confessed to being an ion mover, someone who made a living picking up ion waste from scattered spaceports and disposing of it, usually by blasting it into the nearest sun.

Many ion movers were drunkards, or mentally disturbed, or at least on their way to madness. Because they were soaked through with all kinds of nasty radiation, they were usually solitary beings, plying vast distances between star systems in their poky star trucks, collecting the most worthless material in the Galaxy.

But many also possessed a strange power, a kind of dark clairvoyance. They had the ability to predict the near future, but only in the worst possible light. They could only foresee bad things, some in a manner so strong, it was said, they couldn't lie about their visions if they tried. Stories were told about ancient star commanders who would keep an ion mover locked up in a cage close by, simply so he could tell them when the battle was about to be lost. Just the presence of an ion mover during a conflict could throw an army's morale into a tailspin. Even holo-girls avoided them.

Usually ion movers were very tight-lipped. This man was anything but. He didn't stop talking from the moment he was pulled from his crash to when the resort doctors reluctantly agreed to treat him. He was demanding an audience with the planet's highest officials, claiming he had some critical information to tell them. The future of the entire Two Arm depended on it.

The doctors wanted no part of this, of course. The Families were getting ready to bug out of Megiddo, too. Had it been anyone else, they would have prescribed two blaster shots to the back of the head. But the truth was, when an ion mover claimed to be the bearer of news—any news— it was wise not to ignore him.

So the chalet's security troops sent him south, to the planet intelligence center in Needle City. Here, he was cleaned up, given a cup of slow-ship wine, and then brought before President Sheez.

He told Sheez his storv. which bv this time, confirmed every worst fear held by the rotund president and his men. Knowing that seats getting off Megiddo would really be at a premium now, even for the president, Sheez threw the ion mover in the jail located on the bottom floor of the needle and started making plans to clear out. He'd been behind bars ever since.

But five minutes after Joxx's arrival on Megiddo, the prisoner found himself standing in Sheez's airy chamber once again.

Joxx was sitting behind Sheez's desk now; his intelligence officers were sitting close by. Two guards deposited the prisoner before this panel, then quickly disappeared. The man was dirty, with long, matted hair and a scraggly beard. He was wearing a long, threadbare tunic that resembled a cargo sack. His face and hands still bore the cuts and bruises suffered in his crash landing. He seemed uncomfortable but not nervous.

Joxx had never met an ion mover before, but he knew how to handle one, nevertheless. He stared at the man for a very long time then thundered, "Do you know who 1 am?"

The prisoner just shrugged nonchalantly. "Are you some official from the Fourth Empire?"

" 'Some official?' " Joxx mocked him. "I am hardly just 'some official.' "

Joxx launched into a discourse about his favorite subject: himself. He detailed his various high commissions, his many space victories, his unique starship, and his very close relationship with the Emperor. The lecture lasted nearly ten minutes.

Still, the prisoner didn't seem very impressed.

"Why would such a bright star want to talk to someone like me?" he asked Joxx when it was over.

"Because I hear you've come to this planet spouting outrageous nonsense," Joxx shot back at him harshly. "About marauders and such and instability farther up the arm. There are very busy, very important individuals on this planet, and your tall tales have sparked a major concern with them. So much so, that now I'm involved. My ship and my crew. It would be a big mistake to waste our time."

"But I am not foolish enough to do that," the prisoner replied quickly. "I have done good business in this cluster before. I would never jeopardize that. But my fear is this: The news I have to report might mean none of us will ever do business here again. You, me, no one ..."

This was a strong statement—enough to give Joxx pause.

"Tell your story then," Joxx finally told him.

So the man did.

He'd been hired to pick up a load of ion waste on a small planet farther up the star road called Sodom-Lite. This world was a combination space brothel and jam mecca, not an uncommon environment out beyond Thirty Star Pass. It took him two days to fill his ship's tanks with the ultrahazardous refuse and another day to get clearance for takeoff.

The night before he was scheduled to depart, a mystery army appeared up in orbit. Suddenly people were running through the streets, crying that there were dozens of ships circling the planet, waiting to attack. Sure enough, within minutes, combat shuttles began raining down on the tiny world. All of the planet's military installations—manned primarily by hired space thugs—were quickly eliminated; all of the spaceports were overrun as well. Anyone who resisted was instantly dispatched by blaster beam. The marauders were bloodthirsty, vicious. Nothing could stand in their way. In less than a solar day, Sodom-Lite had fallen.

The prisoner fled to the countryside that first night, along with many of the planet's urban residents. But while making his escape across an open field, he was snatched up by a squad of the mysterious soldiers, flying in one of their invasion shuttles. His abductors brought him aboard a star-ship parked up in orbit. The people controlling this ship made no bones about what they were up to. They were marching down the Two Arm and would zap anyone who interfered. As proof, they brought him to the star cabin of this ship and allowed him to look out on their fleet hanging in orbit nearby. He saw dozens of the battle-hardened ships, possibly as many as a hundred, all of them bulked up with long-range space weapons.

"These people seemed absolutely fearless," the prisoner told Joxx now. "They bragged that their soldiers were the same way. Indeed, they showed me viz-screen evidence of other battles they'd fought and won against hundreds of sleaze planets farther up the arm. After seeing all that, there was little use in arguing with them."

Joxx contemplated the man carefully. "Is it your claim, then, that these people are not some sort of space trash, out on a lark?"

The prisoner almost laughed. "They are certainly not that, my lord," he replied. "They are an army. A very large one, a very well-armed one, and very organized. Their methods are brutal. And they are coming this way very fast."

One of Joxx's intelligence officers spoke up: "Are you saying then that the Two Arm is being ..."

He couldn't quite say the word.

"Invaded?" the prisoner said for him. "Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying...."

The prisoner paused for a moment.

"Something has been unleashed here that will be impossible to stuff back into the bottle," he told them. "It's so bad, I'm afraid to look into the future, though I know it is less than a few days away. I fear greatly what I will see. I've been shooting the Two Arm for nearly two centuries now, and I've never witnessed anything like this."

He fell silent. His mouth seemed dry.

'Two centuries?" Joxx asked him. "You don't look that old."

The prisoner shrugged again. "A benefit of my profession, I suppose," he joked.

Joxx stared back at the man for a long time. The prisoner had indeed delivered some disturbing news, and the proof of it could be found in the massive evacuation happening throughout the star cloud. Finally he asked him, "But why did these invaders spare you? It's not like you're special or anything."

"Because they wanted me to come down here and spread the news about them," he replied quickly. "They knew word of their actions would reach the Empire eventually. I

believe their game is to challenge you. Taunt you. They even possess the desire to capture one of your ships."

Joxx's jaw fell open.

"Capture one of our ships?" he roared. The thought of someone capturing the ShadoVox literally made him feel ill. "How would you possibly know that?"

The prisoner closed his eyes. It was almost as if he was trying not to speak.

"Because, sire," he finally replied. "Those were their very words."

The prisoner was taken back down to his jail cell.

Joxx and his intelligence officers remained sitting around Sheez's floating desk. The intell men were looking very anxious.

"So, do we choose to believe this man?" one asked Joxx now.

Joxx's reply was emphatic: "We certainly do! I am an expert in these things. And I, for one, could see the truth in his eyes."

"But it is just the word of one man," one of the other intell officers protested. "How do we know for sure what is happening farther up the Arm?"

"He is one man who speaks for many," Joxx shot back, indicating the nonstop stream of escape vessels still rising from the planet. "And besides, there is no one left up there who could tell us anything different. My brothers, look at it this way: This man is actually a godsend for us. We know these crap movers have a dark little talent. They can predict the future in the harshest of destinies, a compulsion so strong they cannot even lie about it. Now, if we follow this man's word as truth, if we believe everything he tells us, then at the very least we can prepare ourselves to face the worst-case scenario."

The three intelligence officers were stunned.

"Are you suggesting that we should stay here and make battle, sir?" one blurted out. "One fought by us, alone?"

Joxx pushed the hair from his eyes. "Do I have to remind you these marauders are on the threshold of the mid-Two

Ann? And from all indications, they are moving so fast, they could be here in less than two days. History will show us at this time and at this place. We must insure that it will depict us in the best of light."

His intelligence men were almost speechless.

"But sir," one finally croaked, "we may be here at this time and place, but we are here by ourselves, against an oncoming tide of very organized barbarians, with the nearest help at least four days away."

"Our vessel is the best in the universe, sir," a second officer said. "But against a hundred other ships? If we try to engage them, if we try to slug it out, blow by blow— especially now that we know their desire to capture one of our holy vessels—well, my fear is only the ion mover can predict that result."

Joxx turned in his seat to look out the massive windows to the city and the green sea below. He was an arrogant bastard—he knew it himself. But he was also a realist. To his mind the circumstances were as plain as the hundreds of streaks crossing the sky, all heading for safety farther down the arm. It was a dire situation he'd found himself in. Their isolation couldn't have been more complete, stuck here at this lonely crossroads in the stars. Even sending a message back to Earth about all this would be a major risk at the moment. If word of an invasion of the Empire spread around the Galaxy, the results could be catastrophic.

But if there was one thing Joxx was good at, it was keeping his cool.

He snapped his fingers and brought Sheez out of the sixth dimension, where he'd been put for the time being. The president was furious upon his release.

"I really must protest this treatment, Joxx!" were the first words out of his mouth. "May I remind you that I am an acquaintance of your father? And the leader of this planet? Throwing me into the sixth dimension—with all those creepy sentinels. It's so, so crude...."

Sheez caught his breath, then looked out the tower's huge window. The skies above Needle City were even thicker with fleeing ships now.

"But then again, no harm done," he said, quickly chang-ing his tune as he reached for his bags. "And if there is nothing else I can do for you, dear old friend, can I please resume the process of getting my ass out of here?"

Joxx ignored his question. Instead, he asked, "Do you have a map of this place?"

Sheez was near total exasperation now. He hastily snapped his fingers, and in a flash there was a large, three-dimensional globe of Megiddo spinning above his desk.

"Highlight all your heavy industries," Joxx ordered Sheez. Another snap of the fingers, and the globe began blinking with tiny floating icons indicating the planet's top industrial sites. They were mostly ship repair yards.

Joxx remained silent for a long time, studying the globe. He could almost feel the wheels turning in his head. He had to protect the Empire, and he had to protect his ship. He needed a plan to do both. And for that, he needed to improvise.

Luckily, that was one of his talents, too.

"Excuse me again, Joxx," Sheez said, gathering up his bags once more. "But if there isn't anything else ..."

Joxx calmly took out his ray gun and without even looking at them, blasted Sheez's valuables-laden baggage to smithereens.

"Sorry Sheezie, old boy," he said. "But you're not going anywhere."

10

The Inmates heard the ShadoVax coming.

The huge starship had slipped down through the atmosphere of Megiddo, appearing the next morning just off the coast of Needle City. Here, it picked up Joxx and his intelligence squad; they'd spent the night on the ground, deep in planning. With its captain back on board, the grand star-ship made the trip down to the south pole in less than a minute.

This was done by running the ship's propulsion units at a setting called crank. Translation: as slow as slow can go. The low drive was used only when the huge ship was inside a planet's puff. It gave the vessel, normally a silent runner, great speed relative to the ground but also an ungodly noise to go with it. The racket was deep and rumbling, yet with the sonics of a screech. It could scramble internal organs if the exposure was too long.

No surprise then that the ShadoVox's arrival shook the enormous prison down to its burned-ice foundation.

The inmates were lined up in the gigantic prison yard, waiting for it.

An immense snowstorm was in progress, but none of the inmates complained. They were all condemned men. They never saw beyond the four bare walls of their cells. Being out in the air now, despite the blizzard, was nirvana to them.

The ShadoVox had ground to a halt at a point just above the north wall of the monstrous prison. It was hovering silently now, at exactly 1,000 feet, its pearl-white fuselage unbroken and gleaming like a sun. It hung like this for many minutes, to give the inmates shivering below enough time to be sufficiently awed by the starship's size and magnificence. It worked. There were a half million men jammed into the prison yard. Between the cold and the intimidating presence of the two-mile-long vessel, few of them could speak.

Finally, a shower of green beams cascaded down from the ship, burning their way through the pesky snowstorm. Suddenly, there was a large protective bubble hovering fifty feet above the prison yard. A gaggle of SG officers was standing within, illuminated by unseen lights. Joxx, of course, was front and center.

Most of the inmates recognized him. Cape flowing, wild haircut, amazing good looks, larger than life, he was gazing out over the vast prison courtyard, chin raised in his best imperious pose. Many of the inmates had fought against him over the last ten years; after all, they were criminals, and the Solar Guards were the police force of the Galaxy. The inmates here today were the lucky ones. They'd done battle against Joxx and had somehow come away with their lives.

Joxx opened up a subatomic broadcast link and began speaking. His words were suddenly all around them. "Anyone who has ever seen combat on a starship should raise his hand," he said.

Roughly half the inmates raised their hands.

"How many have ever worked the mechanics of a star-ship before?"

The other half raised their hands.

Now, of those holding their hands aloft, how many were due to be executed within the next month? Four in every five hands went down. There were roughly 100,000 left. These inmates were told to step forward, hands still raised.

Of this number, how many wanted a chance to be released from prison altogether, along with a full pardon?

Not one hand came down.

Joxx smiled; the snowstorm increased. He knew many of the 100,000 inmates were lying, but that didn't matter.

He immediately conscripted them all.

The ShadoVox's next stop was the city of Brakes.

Located on the west coast of the landmass shared with Needle City, Brakes was an enormous spaceship repair facility, one of the largest in the Moraz Star Cloud. It did major business and had dozens of gigantic repair bays; they stretched for miles in all directions. The facility was deserted now, though. Everyone had bugged out two days ago.

Left behind in its work yards were 120 ion-ballast star-ships, all in various stages of reconstruction, all of which had seen some sort of military service in the past. By Joxx's orders, the ships had been scanned from orbit during the night by the ShadoVox's universal quadtrols. Everything that needed to be done to make each ship spaceworthy again had been identified and documented. Then Joxx decreed that a small ocean of thought drops be manufactured, with his own voice injected, each one containing a tiny piece of the knowledge gained from the massive ship analysis.

With the crew of the ShadoVox acting as prison guards, those inmates who'd claimed experience in starship mechanics were airlifted to Brakes. Each inmate took his thought drop and heard Joxx's voice tell him what job he should do and how he should do it. Joxx had already programmed the ShadoVox's replication devices to create thousands of electron torches. These were distributed to the inmates along with clear-cut orders to get the abandoned ships back in working order—quickly.

And for anyone found to have been lying about his ability to fix starships?

They would be executed on the spot.

The conscripted shipbuilders went to work. Joxx's vision was to turn the broken-down vessels into a fleet of ships, each one equivalent to a midlevel space cruiser. This meant a 2,500-foot-long, wedge-shaped vessel with fast engines and many, many weapons. The ships were refitted with new ion-ballast propulsion units. On their best day, these engines could go only a fraction of the speed of an Empire Starcrasher, but that didn't matter. The invaders were flying ion-ballast ships, too. The builders installed hundreds of Z-gun batteries and multiple space-torpedo launchers as well, utilizing just about any point on a ship's fuselage that could bear an extra load.

Those inmates who'd claimed space combat experience were then brought to Brakes. They'd been given Joxx's thought drops, too. Each contained a mission to be fulfilled once the ships were spacebound. This second wave of inmates familiarized themselves with their new weapons, their living quarters, and the nascent ships in general. Thus the vessels were crewed with both the builders—who'd now become ships' engineers—and those inmates who'd fought in space. There were about eight hundred men assigned to each ship, a very skeleton crew.

The combined fleet numbered ten dozen ships. By Joxx's word, it was christened Irregular Space Wing #1. The crews were dubbed FSH—for future space heroes—and given stylish, self-replicating black uniforms. Joxx named each ship after a member of his extended Imperial Family. Each vessel was also emblazoned with the traditional war colors of red and green.

In ancient times, such a massive project would have taken weeks, months, even years. But combined with the unlimited power of the ShadoVox, the sheer force of Joxx's personality, and brute manpower—lying or not, every inmate did his duty, preservation of life being the best motivation—all this took less than twenty hours, the length of one Megiddo day.

It was a grand achievement, done in Joxx's grandiose style, but he had no illusions about the abilities of his new fleet.

He knew most of the fighting men aboard the ships weren't seasoned space warriors. Many had simply survived battles. In his plan, though, none of that mattered. For this strange campaign, all the future space heroes needed to be were warm bodies with brains attached.

The flight plan for every ship was already set in an unbreakable string program, locked in sequence with its control bubbler. The firing sequences for all the weaponry was carved in strings, too. The ships were so loaded with weapons, they were little more than firing platforms with people inside. All that would be needed from the crews would be to fire the right weapons at the right place and at the right time. How hard was that? Even a robot could do it.

Irregular Space Wing #1 arrived above Needle City at dawn the next day.

Joxx gave a brief speech, this time broadcast directly through the ships' intercom systems. By Joxx's estimate, the invaders' ships would be heading down Thirty Star Pass within hours. The orders to the new space wing then were simple: You have the advantage in numbers. Lay in wait within the Pass, spot the enemy first, and then fire on him immediately. One hundred twenty ships launching all their weapons at once would create a wall of fire that no fleet could get through. The odds of victory would be overwhelmingly in their favor.

Standing in the huge window atop the big needle, Joxx dramatically saluted each starship as it floated by. Once past his imperial review, the ships formed into ten squadrons of twelve and ascended into the thin clouds. There came a burst of enthusiastic communications between the ships and Joxx's new command center, formerly Sheez's lofty suite. Martial music and preimplanted thought-drop messages with Joxx offering encouragement popped into the minds of the wing's crewmen.

Only freedom awaited them once the fleet defeated the marauders, Joxx said in whispers that would follow the crewmen up to space. Indeed, his voice would be in their heads for the entire voyage. By midmorning, the fleet hi left orbit and was on its way to Thirty Star Pass.

The ShadoVox's official historian would later descril their departure as being "a proper send-off."

11

The vessel Saint Double-X Valdez was known as a bum runner.

It was considered a starship, but just barely. It hauled cargo that few other craft on the Two Arm would carry. Used weapons, escaped criminals, the illegal drug known as jam, just about anything that wasn't ion waste. Its crew was just one step up from being escaped criminals themselves. The captain never distributed their pay without a loaded ray gun at his side. During sleep periods, he sealed his cabin with no less than six atomic locks. The other crew members did as well.

The SDXV was about a quarter mile long, wedge-shape, and rusting heavily at the seams. It carried no weapons. In centuries past, it had relied on its small size and quick speed to get out of any tight spots. But it had slowed down considerably over the last hundred years—and this was not good, because the SDXV was in a very tight spot now.

Its crew had found themselves on the tail end of the massive bug-out from the upper half of the mid-Two Arm, A bad propulsion spike had grounded them on a hellhole of a planet called Thumbs for nearly two weeks. It seemed more like two years. The bum runner's crew of six could only watch as the mad dash of starships and refugees passed overhead. Long streaks of lights, tearing across the sky, night and day, clogging up the well-worn star lanes. From the ground up, the exodus looked nonstop.

The reason for the rout, of course, was the rumor that mad invaders were charging headfirst down the Two Arm.

They were supermen. They were cannibals. They were unstoppable and burning through anything that stood in their way. The SDXV was running empty, there was nothing aboard her that anyone would want. Still, from what the crew had heard about the marauders, they knew they would be shown no mercy. These invading monsters were both powerful and devious.

They could sneak up on a starship and blast it to dust in a fraction of a second. They could invade and plunder a planet in less than a solar day. They had left so much destruction in their wake, if one looked hard enough into the ragged star clouds that made up the upper Two Arm, it seemed like that part of the sky was on fire.

'They're coming on fast," the bum runner's crew had heard the refugees say. "If you want proof, just look up in the sky."

The runner crew had finally replicated a workable prop-spike, and the vessel got spaceborne again.

The problem was, they'd wasted so much time on Thumbs, the invaders were now right on their tails. They'd hit Thumbs just two days after the SDXV left—along with another hundred or so starships in the area, at least according to all the local jabber on the overcrowded ultrasonic radio waves. The captain of the SDXV had run the ship full throttle since leaving Thumbs, yet by his calculations, the spearhead of the invasion force was so close behind, they would overtake them in less than a day's time.

Then, about fifteen hours out of Thumbs, the invaders' advance column showed up one thousand miles off the bum runner's port bow. And it was true, what everyone said. The invaders never appeared on the runner's rear scanners. The mystery fleet had somehow come from an entirely different direction and were just suddenly ... there.

The bum runner's crew said a quick good-bye prayer together, and then each man found his own little space and just hung on, waiting to be blasted to subatomic powder at any moment.

But that didn't happen. Instead, the invaders went right by them, just like they were standing still. Flying in very close formation, their numbers impossible to count, they were going as fast as prop-core ion-ballast vessels could go. The invaders' ships left such a storm of turbulence in their wake, the SDXV was tossed around for several long, heart-stopping moments. It was all the crew could do to keep the ship in one piece.

The invaders were out of sight in an instant, roaring down the star lane toward a place the runner's crew knew led into Thirty Star Pass.

The runner's crew still had a big problem. They were behind the invaders now, and there was no guarantee they'd be spared a second time if they met up with them again. Yet they didn't have enough fuel to take any other course than straight down the pike, through Thirty Star Pass. The bum runner would have to proceed very cautiously.

About two hours later, the SDXV was shaken by a fierce ultrasonic radio storm. It skewed every piece of electronics aboard the vessel to within a hair's breath of inoperation. The interference was all around them, hitting them in endless waves. Space was suddenly thick with ion rays, string ruptures, and subatomic thunder.

All indications were that a massive space battle was taking place close by, most likely somewhere up ahead.

Another two hours passed.

Finally the SDXV reached the upper approaches to Thirty Star Pass. Most of the ship's electronics had blinked back on by now. But the ship's comm room and its scanner screens were deathly quiet.

The ship entered the pass, and that's where they discovered the reason for the silence. A space battle had been fought here—a huge one. The debris stretched for hundreds of miles in all directions. The runner crew counted dozens of burning starships, some still green from the afterglow of a direct Z-gun blast. The runner pilots had to use all of their accumulated know-how to carve a path through the debris field. It had come on them so quickly, they were in it before they'd had any chance to avoid it.

The crew stared out their arched portholes, astonished at the destruction floating all around them. Whatever happened here had happened very quickly. And no doubt, the invaders' fleet had been one of the combatants. Yet the SDXV's quadtrols could not detect one atom of debris that belonged to the ships that had streamed by them two hours before.

There was only one conclusion then: This had not only been a huge battle; it had been a very one-sided affair as well.

The crew of the bum runner was no pack of angels. It was the nature of their business that they'd all done some dirty dealings in the past.

The majority of them were actually reformed space pirates—well, partially reformed anyway. Much of what they saw among the debris field posed fat targets for plunder. Any prop spikes found still intact aboard the devastated ships would be worth a small fortune alone; there might be other valuable items floating among the flotsam as well.

But the crew would not engage in any looting this time. By a unanimous vote they decided there would be no picking over the disintegrated bones of the weirdly dead. The scene was just too strange.

This time, the vibes told them to just keep on going.

12

Megiddo

The cell door swung open, letting a dim shaft of light invade the tiny jail.

The prisoner was stretched out on his bunk, studying something very intently on the dingy ceiling.

He lowered his eyes to see Joxx standing over him. He was dressed in his most regal white uniform, complete with white cape, ornate battle helmet, and the double lightning bolt symbol of the Solar Guards across his chest. Yet his face was slightly ashen. Two guards were standing right behind him.

"Do you have the right cell, sire?" the prisoner asked. "This place is so dank, perhaps you might try another."

Joxx smiled wanly and took off his hat. With a wave of his hand, the two guards disappeared. He pulled a broken-down hover chair close to the prisoner's bunk and sat down. One snap of his fingers, and a flask of slow-ship wine materialized in his left hand. Another snap, two small goblets were in his right.

He began to fill one for the prisoner, but the man shook his head no.

"An ion mover, refusing a drink?" Joxx asked him. "Is this a historical moment?" oner replied. "If so, that nectar will dull my tongue and make me act like a fool. You might not want to believe anything I have to say."

Joxx just shrugged and handed him the full goblet anyway.

"This is not an interrogation," he said. "Let's just call it a friendly conversation."

The prisoner stared into the mug uncertainly.

"These strange invaders," Joxx began, sounding a bit uncertain as well. "Can you tell me any more about them— about their leadership, for instance?"

The prisoner shrugged. "Well, they are extremely bold— and determined. What more can I say?"

"You were right in one respect," Joxx told him. "They are not the horde everyone was led to expect. They are organized to the point of ritual."

"That they are," the prisoner said. Then he added after a pause, "You've already had an encounter with them?"

Joxx sipped his cup.

"We sent a fleet of reclaimed ships to head them off at Thirty Star Pass," he said, watching carefully for any reaction in the prisoner's face.

"And?"

"We are still waiting for their report."

The prisoner's brow became furrowed. "And you'd like my thoughts on this?"

Joxx began to say something but stopped. He couldn't keep up the facade any longer. Why bother in front of someone who could see things as the ion mover could?

"Actually, the invaders destroyed this fleet we'd cobbled together," he confessed gloomily. "It was a disaster. Ten dozen warships gone ..."

The prisoner's mouth fell open. "Ten dozen?"

"The crews were made up entirely of convicted space trash," Joxx confirmed. "Dead men anyway. But still, I expected more of a fight from them."

"My guess is they fought for their lives," the prisoner finally managed to say. "But why are you so surprised? The people who rescued me didn't believe me at first, ei-ther. But in your infinite wisdom, sire, you can see now that I was not exaggerating."

Joxx drank some more wine.

"What do these invaders want?" he asked the prisoner directly. "Can you tell?"

The prisoner leaned back on his bunk. "They want you to come out and fight them," he said. "Not your seconds, not your conscripts. Not your parolees. They want you. Your ship. Your crew. The Empire itself."

He studied his wine mug again.

"Sending out those prisoners was a brilliant concept," he went on. "But, in the end, it actually played right into their hands. At the moment sire, you are the Empire, and now it appears the Empire was afraid to challenge them. They are very resourceful, in all their crudeness. They have probably even landed spies right here in our midst already. If so, they now know that it is the Great Joxx they are facing."

He paused again, but just for a moment.

"They might even start to spread word, based on this latest action, that you, sir, are a... Well, how shall I say it?"

Joxx's face went as white as his cape.

"A coward?" he gasped.

"Your word, sire, not mine," the prisoner replied quickly. "But you know how fast rumors can travel out here."

Joxx was furious. "It was a perfectly acceptable strategy to send that force out and hold my best ship in reserve," he began sputtering in his own defense. "If the irregulars had squashed the invaders as I had hoped, I'd be labeled a genius by now!"

He downed his drink angrily. "But if it is battle that they want with me," he said through gritted teeth, "then I will sail out to them. I will meet their challenge and—!"

"And make war with them on their terms?" the prisoner interrupted him. "On their timetable?"

Joxx stopped his tantrum in a heartbeat.

"Is that what you see, ion mover?"

The prisoner tasted his drink for the first time. 'Truthfully, I see many things, sire...."

"And not just one ending?" Joxx asked hopefully.

The man just sipped his drink again, and said nothing.

"What are you suggesting then?" Joxx asked him.

The prisoner now leaned forward on his bunk.

"It doesn't take a seer now to know these invaders have a great ability to do battle in space. The results from Thirty Star Pass speak for themselves. True?"

Joxx nodded.

"Well," the prisoner went on, "perhaps they aren't as well versed in battle within an atmosphere. In close quarters, without the benefit of their warships flying freely in space. Sure, they've taken over many planets up the Arm. But how many actually had coordinated defenses? How many actually had competent armies? How many actually knew the hammer blow was coming? I will tell you right now: none of them. I saw the battle footage myself. It was impressive by its sheer audacity. But sire, some of those places had no defenders at all!"

Joxx thought a moment. "Are you suggesting we go at it with them near the surface somewhere?"

The prisoner sipped the drink again. "Every adversary has a weakness. If you don't go out to meet them, then they must come here to meet you. At the very least, you can make that a painful experience for them."

"Are you saying that I lure them into an invasion?"

The prisoner just shrugged. "It's been done before," he said.

Joxx thought about this for a long time.

"Through either fate or design, these brilliant misfits have managed to isolate me out here," he finally began again, though he was talking more to himself than to the prisoner. "I have the most powerful warship in the Galaxy, yet we know this is one of their goals. And they are crafty. To capture an Empire Starcrasher, no doubt with the dream of carrying their insurgency through Supertime; I shudder at the repercussions of that! So it is my duty to conjure up another way that protects both my ship and the Empire— at least until help arrives."

"Is this a historical opportunity then?" the prisoner said with a weak grin.

Joxx just nodded, still in his own world. "So it may be," he whispered.

Silence fell again for a very long time. Finally, Joxx turned back to the prisoner.

"Is it true, ion mover?" he asked him softly. "Can you really see into the future?"

The prisoner stared back at Joxx for a moment.

Then he said, "This time, sire, I don't have to."

13

Earth, Atop Special Number One

The message bubbled up at Black Rock just after midnight.

As usual, there were very few people on duty at the massively imposing headquarters of the Solar Guards. Unlike their rivals the Space Forces, whose equally huge but more stylish headquarters (aka "Blue Rock"), could be found at the exact opposite end of the imperial floating city, SG officers out in space were not so fanatical about reporting every little tick and tock back to Earth. Considering the number of shadowy operations the SG was involved in at any given time, the unspoken rule throughout its corps was simple: always, the less said the better.

But this message, sent on a very high priority superstring matrix, was indeed an urgent one. It was from Joxx. He was finally reporting all that had happened to him since reaching the mid-Two Arm. The tidal wave of refugees, the panic on the planets he'd visited, the situation on Me-giddo, the fate of the mercenary fleet he'd conscripted. He also explained why he'd delayed in sending the report, which concluded that intelligence learned from a freelance operative indicated the mysterious raiders—Joxx still avoided using the word invaders—would most likely attack Megiddo within the next forty-eight hours.

The message further reported two actions Joxx was taking. First, he'd begun fortifying Megiddo in depth, requisitioning the needed materials from the local populace (what was left of them) as well as all other sources in the area, meager though they may be.

His second action was to request help be sent immediately. He was asking that the SG dispatch the Rapid Engagement Fleet to relieve his position. He said that with the fortifications he was putting in place, he was confident he would still be in command of the situation "when our glorious relief forces arrive."

He ended with a postscript stating that he would be slightly delayed in entering his wagers for the Earth Race.

It was only by fortune that an SG communication team was awake when the late-night message came in. Recognizing its importance right away, the team immediately deflected the bubble down to the Earth, where it traveled at Super-time speed to a villa located high on an artificial hill overlooking a beach that in very ancient times, was known as Day-toe-nee. This is where Joxx's mother and father lived.

The elder Joxx was awakened when the message interfered with a dream he was having about a strange type of creature that once prowled the waters near his home, eating everything in sight. Joxx Senior woke slowly; he had to twice revisit the message in his head before realizing its implications. His only son was in an unexpectedly dangerous predicament—a disastrous one, perhaps. And though he could see obvious attempts to understate his precarious position, calling for the Rapid Engagement Fleet was not something his son would do lightly.

Joxx Senior sat up in bed, trying not to wake his wife. He felt like a blaster bolt had hit him in the chest. What had started out as something of a whim, little more than an excuse for his son to go skylarking in space, had suddenly turned very serious. He closed his eyes and could hear the waves nosily crashing against the rocky, artificial coastline below.

Not a good omen.

He will miss the Earth Race again this year, the old man thought.

14

As the stars would have it, the Solar Guards' Rapid Engagement Fleet had just crossed over from the Ball to the One Arm when it received the startling message from SG headquarters on Earth.

The communique was terse: The Empire was being invaded by a horde rushing down the Two Arm. Only Joxx the Younger and his starship stood in the way of these invaders and the heavily populated middle of the second swirl. Help was needed on a planet called Megiddo immediately.

Dire though it was, from the Solar Guards' point of view, the timing of this emergency was actually fortuitous. While the REF's main base was located just outside the orbit of Pluto, the thirty-six-ship contingent was rarely moored at its station. They were more likely to be off on secret missions or engaged in deep-space exercises somewhere in the darkest recesses of the Galaxy. In this case, the fleet was just returning from maneuvers on the Six Arm, its ships heading toward Earth, like everyone else, to get nearer to the home planet for the big race.

The top secret message had bubbled into their command vessel, the venerable ThunderVox, just as the fleet had reached the outer edge of the One Arm. Without hesita-tion, the ships turned long to starboard, an enormous maneuver that took all of six seconds to complete, and just like that, they were heading into the Two Arm. Their navigation masters plotted a new course: a tiny system sitting at the far end of the Moraz Star Cloud. Had the fleet left from its base closer to Earth, the trip would have taken nearly four days.

But now, at full cruising power, the three dozen ships could reach Megiddo in less than forty-eight hours.

The fleet's reason for being was evident by its name. If an SG unit got in trouble unexpectedly, the REF was rushed to the scene as a high-speed relief column. Their ships were among the fastest in the Galaxy; their soldiers quite possibly the best in the entire Empire military. They specialized in extracting friendly forces from the most difficult situations. Calling on the REF was the seventy-third-century equivalent to sending in the cavalry.

Each REF ship was a Starcrasher, of course. Two miles long, shaped as a gigantic wedge, and almost always flying in full battle dress, meaning each vessel was ready for deep space and ship-to-ship combat at a moment's notice. They carried hundreds of turrets along their great lengths, each one containing a massive three-tube Z gun. Hundreds of such turrets meant thousands of weapons on each ship. Added together, the three dozen ships packed an enormous punch.

In fleet-to-fleet engagements like the one anticipated now near Megiddo, the REF vessels would employ a darkly simple tactic: They would first spot the slower-moving ion-powered enemy ships from the invisible vantage point of Supertime. Then they would blink into real time, their ships arrayed in line abreast, quickly fire all their available guns, and then blink out again. The fusillade delivered by such a maneuver was so quick and so massive, it was bright enough to be seen millions of miles away. No enemy could escape unscathed from such an unexpected broadside, no matter how many ships they employed. After that, it was just a question of numbers; the SG vessels would repeat the tactic over and over again until the adversary was destroyed.

Each REF vessel also carried on board a division of Star Rangers, the SG's term for special operations troops. These soldiers were the most highly trained, highly motivated special operations troops in the Empire, a place overflowing with special units of all shapes and sizes. Even the rival Space Forces conceded the Star Rangers were better than any group they fielded. In fact, on several embarrassing occasions, the Star Rangers had even been called to aid SF troops who found themselves in trouble.

Strangely, though, the REF did not include a Kaon Bombardment ship in its makeup. The huge time-shifting vessels were usually too slow, too lumbering, and frankly, too complex to add to a rapid-action force. Besides, it was almost a sign of elan among the Star Rangers that they could take care of these brushfires without the advantage of having the battlefield literally frozen in time, allowing them to beam down to the planet in question and slay their enemies at their leisure.

No, the REF Star Rangers preferred to do battle with their enemies in real time.

The second message concerning the surprise invasion arrived aboard the ThunderVox about eight hours after the REF turned toward the Two Arm.

It came from Joxx directly. It was lengthier and went into greater depth about his predicament, especially the failed attempt to stop the enemy with his fleet of conscripted ion-ballast warships. The message also documented specific steps the star hero had taken in the past solar day to fortify his position and blunt the invasion. Clearly, he'd been busy while waiting for help to arrive.

Joxx's first order was to declare martial law over Me-giddo, little more than a formality as 90 percent of the population was already gone. Next, he'd sent his starship troopers out to seize every combat weapon they could find on the tiny planet. Because of the surfeit of pirate groups, outlaws, and criminal families once residing on Megiddo, there was a substantial amount of weaponry to be found, most of it left behind in the huge planetwide bug out.

According to the communique, Joxx's troops had managed to collect a staggering 25,000 weapons, including more than 16,000 half-tube blasters, nearly 8,000 single-tube blasters, and an incredible 252 gigantic Master Blasters. This added up to a formidable arsenal on any battlefield. The half-tube blasters were handheld, one-man weapons; in the ancient days, they were called mortax. They could project a destructo-beam a distance of about twenty miles. A single-tube blaster, sometimes known as a Faster Blaster, could deliver a similar beam up to eighty miles in any direction. They needed at least a two-man crew to operate. Master Blasters were large arrays of Faster Blasters. While their range also topped out at around eighty miles, they could deliver tremendously wide fields of fire, especially at ranges below 40,000 feet.

What Joxx had done with all these weapons was turn the planet Megiddo into a fortress. Yet he'd arranged the blasters in such an ingenious way that he was essentially beckoning the enemy to attack him. A strange tactic, true, but no one questioned its inspiration. For while Joxx was preparing to go toe to toe with the invaders on the ground, with the brilliant defense plan he'd conjured up, there was a chance most of the enemy wouldn't even make it that far.

When this second message arrived aboard the ThunderVox, the rescue fleet was about thirty-nine hours away from Megiddo. But after digesting the report, the REF commander issued an order to his fleet: "Run all vessels at 110 percent power. If this results in a few power-string ruptures, then so be it. Our brother Joxx has marshaled a valiant defense of the Empire. We can't let a hero like that wait any longer than necessary."

Megiddo

Joxx knew about the Siege of Syracuse, the Battle for the Acre, and the encirclement at Bastogne.

Even as a child he'd studied ancient military texts, haunting the top secret information bubbles on Special Number One almost before he could talk. He'd absorbed bits and pieces of history that had survived the fall of three empires and a handful of Dark Ages in between, information forbidden to anyone who wasn't a Special. Some of it stretched all the way back to before men first left Earth for space. It was considered dangerous for an ordinary citizen to know such antediluvian things.

Joxx had learned much from these readings, but one fact had stuck with him from childhood: In any conflict, the smarter of the two opponents was almost guaranteed to win.

And for Joxx, knowing history was the same thing as being smart.

It was the ion mover who'd emphasized to Joxx that the invaders were using a blatant modus operandi whenever they attacked a planet.

First, they would make a sudden appearance in orbit, their warships literally surrounding the target planet. From this vantage point on high, they could launch Z-beam strikes at any large military targets they spotted below. Simultaneously, the invaders would land troops in the cities and countryside alike, to sow havoc and panic. Indeed, the prisoner said the invaders would routinely land forces all over the planet, engulfing it with their sudden frightening presence. Then these troops would converge on the objective's key targets and engage the defenders at close range. As most of their conquests had been sleazeball planets so far, with militaries sleeping or defenses nonexistent, the invaders had triumphed in this strategy every time.

The question for Joxx then had been this: How could he counter the enemy's extremely successful approach? He now had the huge confiscated arsenal at his disposal. How best could he deploy it?

A typical star commander would have placed the thousands of high-powered artillery weapons around the most important asset on the planet. In the case of Megiddo, this would mean digging in multiple rings of blasters around Needle City. These layers of shrinking defense lines would make it as difficult as possible for the invading sol-diers to reach the city and thus conquer the planet from the ground. In theory, anyway.

But Joxx was hardly typical. He knew when the enemy came, they would descend in shuttles—up to 5,000 or more, the prisoner had told him. In those shuttles would be as many as two million troops. A deep blaster defense around Needle City might be able to slow such an onslaught once it reached the ground, but Joxx knew it could not stop it, at least not long enough for the REF to arrive.

He had to do something different.

That's why he'd ordered the confiscated blasters to be installed not just around the city but at many other points around the tiny planet as well. Joxx's dispersal of the weapons was widespread across Megiddo's half-dozen continents. On top of the mountains in the north, throughout the valleys and rivers in the south, and on islands in the two huge seas at the equator, clusters of the blaster installations began popping up all over Megiddo.

This deployment would have seemed foolish, an unnecessary dilution of forces, but there was a method to Joxx's madness. The scattered blaster sites weren't really scattered at all. Joxx had linked them all to a central command system, which he'd designed himself, sitting alone atop the Needle City Tower, which was now his field headquarters. Simply put, the weapons were all wired together, and instead of being positioned as artillery pieces, their tubes had been pointed skyward. Once the invasion began, any blaster that had a clear line of sight to any of the enemy's shuttles would fire on them while they were still in the air. Once one weapon was fired, the entire network would open up, sending out streams of destructo-beams in all directions, a shotgun approach to thwarting the enemy's well-known planetwide engulfment tactic. As long as the system kept acquiring targets, it would keep firing, creating a virtual cloud of death rays to meet their opponent's rapidly falling invasion craft.

Essentially, Joxx had created a massive antiaircraft system, a concept that had somehow been lost in the mists of time. While setting up a few blaster weapons around a city or a castle to fire on flying objects was not exactly unheard of in some parts of the Galaxy, Joxx had nearly 25,000 weapons pointing skyward, all thinking with the same brain—his—and all operating on the same principle. The more invasion craft he could destroy descending through the atmosphere, the fewer he would have to deal with on the ground.

This innovative defense was also set up in depth. The first layer of weapons—they being about half of the single-tube Faster Blasters his troops had found—would be positioned to acquire and fire at the enemy invasion craft up to 400,000 feet or eighty miles high, almost as soon as they fell out of orbit. Those invaders who somehow made it through this first ring of fire would face several more thousand Faster Blasters, throwing up another storm of destructo-fire around 200,000 feet or forty miles high. A third layer—from the half-tube mortax blasters—would meet them at 55,000 feet, or about ten miles up. After that, the piece de resistance, the arrays of gigantic Master Blasters, would blanket the skies at twenty miles and below.

If any of the enemy still survived, if any actually made it through all that, Joxx had set up a dozen rings of blaster emplacements around Needle City, including more than a hundred Master Blasters in the downtown area alone.

And who would be manning all these weapons sites?

The 20,000-man crew of the ShadoVox, along with the 400,000 inmates still shivering down in Big Rocks.

Installing this system was a massive undertaking, one that had to be accomplished in less than a solar day. Joxx had used his starship's substantial transfer systems to get the purloined blasters and their crews in place around the planet; sheer manpower put the weapons in place. It was getting all of the weapons connected within his command matrix that took the most effort.

The problem was, Megiddo wasn't overflowing with all the controls and sensors needed for Joxx's dream of an all-planet defense to come true. But that's when his brilliance came into play again. Not everything Joxx had cobbled together for the defense of Megiddo had come from the planet itself. His troops had jumped over to the planetoid called TransWorld 800, the mostly automated advance SG supply base forty light-years away. Joxx had made the initial trip to TW800 himself. His first act was to declare the artificial moon under martial law, another formality, as most of the people on it were in the employ of the SG anyway. The main objective was to secure the materials needed for his defense system on Megiddo. In less than a half an Earth day, Joxx's troops had taken everything they could find from the storehouses on TW800 and had stripped its small fleet of cargo 'crashers as well, mostly of command and control gear needed for the alignment of Joxx's massive blaster deployment.

Everything was carried over to Megiddo in two huge space trucks Joxx had found at Brakes; a half-mile-square area next to the space needle had been leveled as a place for these large vessels to land. Then Joxx drafted two thousand of TransWorld's civilians into his newly christened Army of Empire Defense and had them brought over to his fortress planet as well. The TW800 facility was then sealed and anything able to fly locked up tight.

Joxx also had one more star in his pocket, a very secret weapon: the ShadoVox itself.

That his prized warship might be one of the intended goals of the invaders only made his position more precarious. He'd used the ship continuously in the past twenty-four hours, setting up his defense system and getting the manpower and the right materials in place. Megiddo had been rocking with the thunderous noise of the starship flying here and there at the bombastic crank power, so much so, that many on the ground found their ears had begun to bleed anytime the starship passed overhead. The noise was that loud.

But again, as awesome as it was, the ShadoVox could not engage an unknown number of invading starships on its own. True, by wading into a swarm of enemy vessels, the Vox could probably take out nearly half of them. But that left the other half, and in that scenario, he didn't have to be a military genius to know the numbers just weren't in his favor. And why would he deliver into the enemy's hands one of the things they'd come for in the first place?

No, using the ShadoVox up front was not in Joxx's plans this time, either. He was much too clever for that. Instead, he'd hidden the massive battle cruiser in a place where not even the most astute enemy commander would think or even dare to look for it.

The truth was, the ShadoVox wasn't even on Megiddo anymore.

15

It was just after dawn the next day when a mysterious craft blinked into a very low orbit around Megiddo.

It stayed in view for just thirty seconds, descending at high speed into the upper reaches of the planet's atmosphere right above the repair yards at Brakes before blinking out again. The crews of nearly one-quarter of Joxx's blaster sites picked up the craft on their viz screens. It was way too small to be a starship and was moving too fast to be a shuttle. The anti-aircraft crews began tracking the object, but it stayed just out of range of their most powerful weapons. A coincidence, or so it was hoped.

The brief sighting did trip Joxx's worldwide firing system, though. As soon as the first weapons site spotted the bogie, the whole network lit up, right around the planet, just like it was supposed to. Sitting before a monstrous bank of viz screens in his headquarters atop the sky needle, Joxx celebrated this small triumph. His grand idea had worked. His system was in sync.

One hour later, the mystery craft appeared again. This time about 100 miles above Knifetown, an abandoned pirate base 1,500 miles west of Needle City. Once again, the craft entered the top layer of the atmosphere at very high speed, staying visible for just twenty seconds or so before disappearing again. It was still too high for any of the newly installed blasters to fire. But Joxx's brainy acquisition system had worked again. The interlocked batteries lit up around the planet less than a second before the target vanished.

The object was sighted twice more in the next two hours. Once up around Megiddo's north pole, then again above the Big Rocks prison on the planet's south pole. As before, the ship blinked in for just a few seconds, disappearing again just after the blaster system came on-line.

Perched atop his three-mile-high tower, a small army of technicians in position around him, none of this bothered Joxx. What was the mystery ship doing? Probably scouting locations for troop landings, Joxx surmised, taking some quick intelligence readings needed before the invasion began. But at the same time, the enemy's activities were still working to his advantage, putting his system through crucial real-time tests, all but proving it would work when the real attack came.

As the day wore on and word of the mysterious appearances and disappearances went through the ranks of the planet's defenders, the system began powering up and then shutting down on its own, the result, no doubt, of some itchy trigger fingers.

But that was ok, too. Joxx knew if he was to succeed here, his people on the ground had to remain alert.

Night fell over the northeastern half of Megiddo's northern hemisphere. Joxx remained in place at the top of the sky needle, his personal viz scanners floating in space all around him. He could see as far as orbit with some of these long-range devices. Like several hundred thousand other eyes around the planet, he was looking straight up, trying to detect any hint that the enemy was up there and coming down.

Midnight came and went—nothing. Another hour of darkness passed. Still nothing. Then, about two hours after midnight, a streak of light appeared in the sky above the pole. Then another appeared high above the western mountains. Then another down near the south arctic.

In seconds, hundreds of streaks were crossing the sky above Needle City. They were first appearing way, way up, obviously plunging in straight from orbit.

Several voices screamed into Joxx's intercom now. Battery commanders, from all around the tiny planet, were all yelling the same thing: "Here they come!"

A new viz screen appeared in front of Joxx. It gave him an instant readout showing the number of objects falling in on the planet. The number was 1,782 when it first blinked on.

This tally fit Joxx's prediction. He figured each enemy ship was carrying about fifty shuttlecraft. One hundred enemy ships, a total of five thousand shuttles.

But strangely enough, none of the invaders' warships had appeared in orbit. Had they launched their shuttlecraft from farther out? Were they somehow masking their presence? There was no way to tell.

A few seconds later, the number of incoming objects had risen to 3,517. Another few seconds, it was up to 4,023. Two seconds after that, the number went up to 4,933.

Joxx went into action. He punched the activator button on the main console in front of him. This gave out the command for his interlocking blaster system to start tracking automatically. It took not a second for his command to go right around Megiddo. From the equator to each pole and back again, every weapon was instantly juiced up and waiting for the first objects to pass below 400,000 feet.

Joxx looked up at the new viz screen; the number of incoming objects had risen to 6,429. The enemy had more shuttles than he thought. No matter. His blaster network was large enough to handle them all. He began receiving go lights from all around the planet; the system was ready. Joxx looked at the viz screen again. The incoming number had jumped to more than seven thousand.

Yet there were no mother ships in orbit.

How could that be?

were working correctly. They were. The number of objects now falling on Megiddo had topped ten thousand.

Joxx was stunned. This was twice as many shuttles as he'd expected. He did a slew of calculations in his head. His blasters could still handle the invaders, but more of the shuttles might get through the first layer of blasters. However, many of those would undoubtedly be decimated by the second layer, around 200,000 feet. His confidence level was still running high.

Then he checked the readout screen again. The number of falling objects leaped to 22,000, then 25,000, then 28,000.

Then the number doubled.

Then it tripled.

Joxx looked around at the battery of technicians in place with him atop the needle. Each man appeared more confused than the next. When Joxx looked at the readout screen again, the number of falling objects had increased to more than 150,000!

Another panel pushed. The first targets were approaching the magic threshold of 400,000 feet. Joxx sent out the final order. All targets had been automatically acquired. The number was now approaching a quarter million. Finally, a site in the northwest mountains detected an object passing below 400,000 feet.

The gigantic network of blasters opened up just two seconds later.

Few words could adequately describe what happened next. Chaos. Panic. Aeronautical mayhem. All applied, but it was still so much more than that.

The skies all around Megiddo—day side and night—lit up in a tremendous flash of combined light as more than 25,000 blasters fired almost simultaneously. The combination of the energy and flash served to emblazon the skies with an illumination nearly three times that of the system's substantial yellow white sun.

This blinding fire continued for more than a minute. The sky brightened even further as the first cascades of objects passed below 200,000 feet. There were now more than a half million targets falling through the atmosphere all around Megiddo. Sheer numbers alone allowed many of the objects to make it through the first wall of blaster fire.

There were just too many of them for the combined tracking systems to lock on to, never mind try for a hit.

Nowhere was this rain of objects heavier than above Needle City itself.

The skies overhead the sprawling, beachfront metropolis were thick with blaster streaks, firing nonstop at the incoming targets. Joxx had stopped looking at his tracking readout screen; the number of falling images had ballooned to nearly 700,000 by now, inconceivable in Joxx's master plan. His anti-aircraft system was pounding away furiously, sending thousands of artificial lightning bolts skyward from all points around the globe. Were they hitting anything? It was impossible to tell. His acquisition screens were locked up tight, there were so many objects coming in his direction.

But then another strange thing happened. As Joxx stood over his control board, angry and baffled by what was going on, he happened to look up and out the needle's window. A ball of red light was coming at him at incredibly high speed, not from high in the atmosphere but directly across the Sea of Green.

Before Joxx's eyes could adequately tell his brain that something else had been added to the confusion, the ball of fire went right by the Needle, leaving behind a hypersonic boom that rocked the enormously tall structure to its foundations. Joxx was thrown to the floor, his head smashing into one of the viz screen monitors on the way down. He regained his feet, only to be slammed against the control board again.

The sky needle began swaying wildly and did not stop for ten long, frightening seconds. Then, no sooner had Joxx managed to finally get to his feet, when the fireball streaked by once again. It was going so fast now, it was just a blur.

"What the hell is that?" Joxx heard himself cry.

It was onto one of the largest blaster sites outside Needle City that this mysterious rain first touched down.

It was near a place called Pooks, on the other side of the world from Needle and just below the equator. The Anti-Aircraft battery was located at the peak of a 7,500-foot plateau known simply as the Rise. It was one of the highest elevations left on the dried-out former gas giant. That's why the strange deluge hit there first.

There was a massive number of gun emplacements atop the Rise, the largest collection by far in Megiddo's southern hemisphere. Joxx had seen fit to install no less than twenty Master Blasters on the Rise to be complemented by several hundred Faster Blasters and almost two thousand half-tube blasters, all of which had been aligned on long pickets of reionized steel.

These batteries had spotted the rain of strange objects at the same time as Joxx and everyone up north. It was just seconds later that the interconnected firing command went out. All of the long-range destructo-ray tubes on the Rise focused on one huge quadrant in the sky, some eighty miles up, and started blasting away.

But just as the other batteries had, they saw the swarm of bright streaks passing through this first fusillade with some ease, falling swiftly through the atmosphere at high speed and heading right for them. The second fusillade went out just a few moments later. Again, with barrels readjusted and bearings reset, the sky lit up like day from the combined barrage. But still the streaks of light kept falling through what would have seemed to be an impenetrable barrier of blaster power.

And now these things, whatever they were, had passed below 60,000 feet and were coming on fast. The commander of the batteries on top of the Rise quickly realized that as brilliant as Joxx's anti-aircraft system might have been, it was clear that there were so many of these falling objects and therefore so many possible targets, it was overloading the planetwide system on a massive scale, throwing it in pandemonium. It was also clear by now that these things weren't invasion shuttles. They were much smaller and moving way too quickly.

So the base commander yanked his system off-line and ordered the third barrage be fired manually, this one en-gaging the array of Master Blasters he had at his disposal. The fusillade was so powerful, the heat immediately ignited hundreds of fires in the thick jungles surrounding the installation. The Master Blasters were sending up rivers of highly charged electrical bolts; indeed, the whole sky was covered with them. Still, the majority of mysterious objects made it through all this as well. The weapons operators on the ground—condemned inmates all of them—just couldn't believe what they were seeing. How could anything get through such a thick curtain of death rays?

For many, those were the last thoughts they ever had.

The mystery objects came crashing down on them just ten seconds later.

Some of those on hand at first believed the objects were meteorites, as improbable as that might be.

They came down at incredibly high speed, trailing long red and green tails that exploded in a shower of deadly sparks whenever they hit. And they hit hard. The kinetic energy of these things was tremendous. All kinds of structures around the plateau base—towers, bunkers, vehicles, as well as the ring of blaster emplacements themselves— began to disappear in a cloud of dust and rock as the mysterious missiles came down. Most of the base was destroyed in seconds.

Those inmates caught out in the open never knew what hit them. Hundreds of direct hits resulted in quick explosions of bloody fog, then little else. Those under cover were astonished by what they saw next. Through the smoke and gristle, they realized that these things weren't missiles or meteorites or some kind of radically new bombardment weapon.

They were robots.

In the next minute, thousands of huge red and black battle robots rained down upon the hapless defenders at the Rise. In a way, the robots were like bombardment weapons as just one hitting the ground could cause massive amounts of damage.

But this was not the most astounding feature of the bi-zarre aerial attack. As the stunned defenders watched each robot annihilate itself on impact, the hundreds of its broken pieces would lie still on the ground for only a few moments before, like magic, they started converging on themselves. Even the pieces of debris following the blaster hits high up in the sky were coalescing once they came down. Gathering together in what seemed a defiance of all nature, the torn and shredded robot segments started a slow but steady process of reassembly.

Incredibly, in just a matter of seconds, a robot would rebuild itself, arms, legs, torso, and head all connecting together with a series of clicks and clacks. Then, with a flash of power from God knows where, the robot would suddenly surge back to life, rising to its full height of nine feet tall.

At that point, little rocket engines in the soles of its boots would ignite, and the robot would lift off again, quickly disappearing high into the night sky from whence it came.

It was like this all around the planet.

Reports from every weapons post echoed the confusion being caused by the incomprehensible robot-fall.

There was chaos inside the large room atop the sky needle tower as well. The interconnected anti-aircraft system had quickly overloaded, had tried to recover, only to overload again. It finally crashed for good. The shutdown was so intense, the control panel in front of Joxx exploded, covering him in a storm of sparks, singeing his hair, his face, his hands. Partially blinded, he snapped his fingers, and a sea of deatomizing foam appeared, emptying on top of the control panel, dissolving it, viz screens and all.

Joxx recovered quickly and immediately began to recreate a new firing system with his electron torch. All the while, he was yelling commands to his army of technicians, who were trying their best to follow his wishes while at the same time stumbling around in the top floor of the tower, as the structure continued to sway even more violently.

Joxx was about halfway to building a new, temporary firing system when another piece of the sky fell on his head.

It came in the guise of an old-style viz screen that suddenly popped into view right in front of him. After a burst of static, Joxx found himself looking at the very worried face of the man he recognized as commander of the SG supply base over on TransWorld 800.

The man could barely speak. In the background, a small war was going on.

"They're here!" the officer finally screamed.

"Who is?" Joxx roared back at him.

"The invaders!" the man cried, ducking under his console as a huge explosion went off just outside his bunker. "They hit here instead! And they are stealing all of our cargo 'crashers!"

A wave of bewilderment ripped through the needle-top room. Everyone in the embattled headquarters turned to look at Joxx. The SG officer was standing perfectly still, staring back at the viz screen showing the events on Trans World 800, absolute astonishment on his face.

"They attacked... TransWorld?" he was finally able to stammer. "How?"

Another huge explosion rocked the tower. Robots continued falling on the city below.

"They were just suddenly here!" the man was yelling back at Joxx. "They blinked in, and the next thing we knew, their troops were swarming all over us!"

"How many ships do they have?" Joxx screamed back at the man. This made no sense. "How many dozens?"

The TW800 officer's face screwed up in confusion.

"Sir, we only saw six ships," he said. "And about a division of troops in all..."

That's when everything just stopped.

"Just six ships?" Joxx mumbled. "Just one division of troops?"

"Yes, sir," came the troubled reply. "Plus some kind of a secret weapon that can—"

Then the transmission went dead.

Joxx became immobile. He literally couldn't move. He could barely breathe. Six ships? How could that be? Why would the enemy attack anything with only six ships? Where was the rest of the invaders' hundred-ship fleet, its two million soldiers?

Unless... Unless they never existed in the first place.

That's when Joxx pulled out his electric sword. It was suddenly very clear to him what had happened here. He'd been fooled. Misled. Misdirected about everything.

By one man. The ion mover.

That bastard...

Joxx streaked out of the room and disappeared down the transport tube, falling the three miles in just a matter of seconds.

He emerged from the bottom door and charged down the dark corridor, his hair ragged and flowing, his eyes absolutely mad.

All guards had long since abandoned this dungeon. No matter to Joxx. He reached the cell door and sliced it in two with one stroke of the glowing sword. He stepped inside, ready to do the same thing to the ion mover.

But he stopped in his tracks. The cell was empty.

The ion mover nowhere to be seen.

Outside, the fireball streaked by again.

A moment later, the swaying three-mile-high tower at Needle City began to collapse.

16

Earth, Special Number One

Princess Xara awoke with a start.

It was not a dream that roused her; she rarely had dreams anymore. Someone was pounding on her bedroom door. This was unusual. No one ever knocked around the Palace. There really was no need to.

The noise had startled her awake, but she recovered quickly. She pictured the door's lock in her mind and whispered the word, "Open." The latch snapped free. That's all it took. The big door swung wide to reveal a pair of enormous Palace Guards standing in the dark hallway. They looked very uncomfortable.

"Deepest pardons, my princess," one said with a deep bow. "But this person insisted that he speak with you immediately."

A man in a black cape and floppy black hat glided into place between the two guards. His clothes were soaking wet. Xara sniffed the air and detected the telltale sign of damp velveeta. From this, she knew the man was a spy.

The guards vanished. Xara waved the man in.

She had seen him before, lurking on the periphery of the Imperial Court, usually slipping in or out by a side door. He was a close confidant of her mother. But Xara had never had a conversation with him, and she don't know his name.

Why did her want to see her?

He, too, bowed deeply. "A million apologies, my princess. But I thought this was so urgent—and the news I bear so critical—rash methods had to be employed."

Xara slipped off her hovering bed and ordered it into the sixth dimension. It disappeared in an instant. Her room was plain, with lots of ancient woodwork, just a few chairs, and a small couch. An open window just above her bed place revealed a small slice of the morning sky above Special Number One. It was just a few minutes before sunrise. A slight mist had engulfed the floating city.

Xara was wearing her summer nightgown, a short, white, frilly piece of cloth. Her hair was let down, a beautiful rarity. She was barefoot.

Spies excelled at being inconspicuous: the art of knowing when not to stare. This spy was one of the most highly regarded in the entire Galaxy, and yet even he couldn't keep his eyes off her. She was light-years ahead of the other beautiful yet ordinary Specials. And she had what most of them didn't: a certain sweetness. It was in her eyes, in her smile. It made her all that more enticing.

The spy had to shake his head to clear away such thoughts. Xara could read minds. He didn't want to be caught thinking such lecherous things.

She moved over to the couch and sat down.

"Well? What is it?" she asked him simply.

He took several steps forward and stopped about five feet in front of her. The large oak door closed behind him.

"My lady, some startling news from the Fringe," he began. "Here on Earth, this information is known only by a few—at least for the moment. May I count on your confidence?"

She nodded. "Yes, of course."

He lowered his voice. He knew most rooms in the Palace were bugged.

"You are aware of the troubles out on the Two Arm?" he asked her.

She nodded again. Mysterious soldiers were coming down the second swirl, catching the Empire by surprise amid the Earth Race celebrations. Her cousin Joxx had or-ganized the defense of a very strategic planet. A rescue force was on the way.

The spy took a deep, troubled breath. "My lady, the defense of the planet Megiddo did not go well. Your cousin Joxx is dead. The invaders have not been stopped."

Xara began to say something, but the spy just kept on talking. "Even worse, the invaders attacked a cargo station about forty light-years from Megiddo—a complete surprise. They stole six cargo 'crasher spaceships. Now, those 'crashers are not armed at all. In fact, they are simply huge enclosed cargo bays with a prop core on the back and a cockpit up front. However they can travel in Supertime. And there are indications the invaders will arm them and use them in an unconventional manner. It is clear now that capturing these ships had been the invaders' intention all along."

Xara just shook her head. This was disturbing news, but why was the spy telling her? And not her father? Or the top military commanders?

He was coming to that.

"I have in my possession an image that will answer your question," he said. It was his turn to read minds.

He used his right hand to carve a square out of open space. It soon turned into a viz screen. On it, a slightly fuzzy sequence showing the invaders' attack on Trans-World 800 appeared. Six blue and chrome starships could be seen rocketing in and out of the action.

The spy froze the image and pointed to one of the attacking starships. There was an emblem emblazoned across its fuselage up near the cockpit. It was a red, white, and blue square, with thirteen stripes and fifty stars.

"That flag?" he asked her. "You're familiar with it?"

Xara's hand went to her lips. It was the same flag that Hawk Hunter always kept in his pocket.

Her eyes lit up. "Oh my God. He's alive?"

The spy nodded. "We believe he is—and I thought it was important for you to know."

Xara unintentionally rose about eight inches off the couch before settling back down again. She couldn't help it—she was that happy.

But right away, dark truths came flooding in. "He's the one attacking the Empire?"

The spy nodded slowly. "He and his friends: the explorers, Erx and Berx; the hero, Calandrx. Just where Hunter's been since he deserted the X-Forces is a matter of conjecture, though I know in the basement of the Solar Guards headquarters, there have been many—how shall I say it?— theories about his whereabouts. But it's very clear at the moment where he is. Not so clear is what he's doing—or why."

Xara could just barely see the spy's eyes hidden in the shadow of his turned-down hat. But it seemed as if they were two laser beams shooting out at her now.

She had a deep secret to tell. She was the one who sent Hunter out to the Fringe in the first place, where he quickly disappeared. And worse, she sent Erx, Berx, and Calandrx out to find him—and they'd been swallowed up by the stars as well.

But the spy was kind. When she started to speak, he simply raised his hand and put his fingers to his lips.

"There is no need, princess," he told her. "I already know your tale. The reasons don't even concern me. What is important now is that I have shared this information with you. Because the really bad news is still to come."

Xara braced herself.

"Hunter and his friends have pulled off a major coup here," the spy began. "And I can predict with ease that this place—the Palace, the city below, the Galaxy itself!—will never be the same, once word of this gets out. We have fought space pirates, tax criminals, rogue mercenaries, and many other kinds of space trash out on the Fringe for five hundred years. There have been major wars and innumerable smaller ones. But never has anyone attacked the Empire itself. This is a big moment. A historic moment. I think you and I should work toward the common goal of making sure it does not turn into a disastrous moment."

Xara was nearly beyond words. "What do you mean?"

"First things first," he said. "That these invaders have taken over six cargo 'crashers is already known to the top men of the Solar Guards. And they have already devised a countermeasure. Apparently, as a solution should any of their vessels fall into unwanted hands, the SG planted a number of tiny sensors in all their ships, hidden among the power tubes and bubblers. When activated, these sensors become like beacons, you might say. They will allow a special antispace rocket to home in on them very quickly and with great stealth, while still in Supertime. In case of mutiny, or a commander gone mad, or maybe just a way to eliminate a crew that had seen too much, such a ship would be easy to destroy. A sort of fratricide theory really, as only Empire ships can achieve Supertime. And so typically paranoid of the SG. But now, in light of events, somewhat brilliant.

"The Rapid Engagement Fleet is heading for the trouble zone. They will soon be sent a secure message string from Black Rock, telling them that their mission has now changed. They will now hunt down the stolen 'crashers. The message will also contain the information they need to replicate the precise weapon that will home in on the sensors buried inside the stolen ships. Once the REF assembles what's required, they will find those six cargo ships and utterly destroy them. Your friends will not have a chance. In fact, without help, they will never even know what hit them."

He looked up at Xara. She was in tears.

"You mean Hunter's come back to life," she sniffed, "only to get killed again?"

The spy could only shrug. "An unanswerable question, my princess ..."

Xara wiped her eyes. If someone could actually look more beautiful while crying, it was her.

"War, rivalries, empires! I don't care about any of it, you know," she whispered. "I hate the politics, the intrigue, the endless dramas that everyone within the realm seems so intent on playing. I know these things are fueled by nothing more than greed and the thirst for power, no more than right here in the Palace itself. And I don't care about any of it! All I care about is Hunter. I want him safe. I want him alive."

She wiped away another tear. "But what choice is this? If I try to help him, I defy not only my family but the Empire itself. If I do nothing, Hunter and his friends will surely be killed-—and whatever he found out there, whatever spurred him to take on the Empire in the first place, will be lost, too."

The spy said, "There may be a way we can prevent both things. But it is a journey you will have to undertake, my princess. I can guide you. But it will be up to you to see it through...."

Her face brightened again. The room seemed to lighten up as well. "I'll do anything," she said.

The spy pulled his hat further down around his eyes. "You might just have to," he said. "But we must leave immediately. There is something at my hideout that I must show you, explain to you. If you agree that this is the way to go, we can proceed. But I must warn you, time is our biggest enemy now."

She looked at him strangely.

"We know my reasons for doing this," she said to him. "I'm trying to save Hunter. But what is your motive? Why would you want to help these invaders? It borders on treason."

The spy thought a moment.

"Did you hear what happened in the Blue House the night of the Great Saturnalia?" he finally asked her.

Xara shook her head no.

The spy almost laughed. "They found a leak, my lady. In one of the water pipes. Caused quite a stir, I'm told. Some of the clankers actually blew circuits because they didn't know what to do. They had never seen a leak. This was something totally new to them, and they did not like it. I heard it was the same for some of the human workers, too. No one knew how to fix it.

"There is an ancient theory, the idea that chaos itself is not chaotic at all. It is not disorganization, rather it is the organizer of everything. A soldier sneezes on a distant planet somewhere, and if it happens in the right place at the right time, the air pressure from that sneeze will build and build until the planet is racked by a super tornado. It's a huge catastrophe, but it still takes that little sneeze to start the events that eventually destroy the planet."

"I think you might be losing me," she confessed.

He nodded and began again. "Did you know that last year was the first time that the percentage of wealth brought in to the imperial coffers was higher than the number of planets we reclaimed? A statement probably better off explained by the Empire's bursars, but I think I know what it means. We have lost our view. We have begun to fail in our first mission: reclaiming the Galaxy. We have become so absorbed by the riches we take from our subjects that making things better for those subjects themselves is slowly fading away. It's just a pinprick really, a trend that might take another hundred years to really be noticed. But it is a warning sign, a symptom, that other things are wrong. With the Empire. With the planet. With us. We've become so self-absorbed in the grandeur of it all, and with everyone trying to get a piece of that grandeur, that a certain kind of blindness has set in."

He paused a moment. Xara was transfixed. Intelligent conversation was a rarity in her world.

He began again slowly. "One of the oldest texts we have ever found here on Earth was a fantasy written by one of this planet's greatest writers even before the first humans went into space. Only a few pages remain, and many of the words are so archaic, we have no idea what they mean anymore. But the main idea was this: No matter how big or small, empires always reach a point of inevitable collapse, a point where they more or less have to fall, some in order to regain whatever was great about them in the first place. And where the first crack appears is usually from within. I guess what I'm saying is, I wonder if maybe the leak in the pipe is trying to tell us something. Perhaps we've reached that point.

"Now this man, Hunter—I know a few things about him. His claim that he simply appeared one day out on that lonely rock in space is apparently true. It really was as if someone had simply dropped him out here, from somewhere else. My dear princess, as you know, the Galaxy is filled with mysterious and wonderful things. But I've never heard of a case like his. Just suddenly there. And look at what's happened since. In less than a year, Hunter has won the greatest acclaim in the Galaxy, then he has vanished, only to reemerge to attack the Empire itself—and so far, very successfully, against one of our most brilliant commanders. From my deepest thoughts I've come to believe that Hunter is here for a reason. Is it to conquer the Empire? I don't think so. I think he is here to simply tip it over. Either way, stopping him might not necessarily be the right thing."

Xara didn't speak for a very long time. Finally, she said. "So my reasons are for love. And yours are for history?"

She thought the spy might have actually smiled for a moment. It was hard to tell.

"Can you think of any two better?" he replied.

17

Chesterwest, Twenty Miles North of Big Bright City

Captain Vanex, chief custodian of Special Number One, was dreaming of the great eastern ocean overflowing its artificial banks, rising up over the grand triad and flooding into his home, when a sound interrupted his slumber.

Was that someone knocking on his door?

He fell slowly out of bed, padded into the hallway, and over to his front entrance. He opened the door to find no one standing there. A small box was floating at about eye level. It was shedding a bright emerald aura, almost the same hue as the pine trees surrounding his home. This indicated the package had been sent to him by someone within the Imperial Family.

He took the package from its hover, closed the door, and brought it inside.

Placing the package on his bed stand, he lit a candle to see better. It was almost noontime, but Vanex's 700-year-old eyes welcomed the additional light. He pushed the button sequencer on the top of the package, and it slowly began to open. He found inside—of all things—a holo-girl capsule. An ion impression identified it as an Echo 999.9, Transdimensional Test. Top Secret.

Vanex was stunned. A holo-girl capsule? He hadn't seen one of these things in almost two centuries.

He studied the palm-size container. It was obviously some kind of advanced model. He knew the Echoes were not only able to provide the user with the comforts of a very heavenly creature, they also had the ability to bring that user into the mysterious thirty-fourth dimension, where time more or less stood still, and where one could live and love and frolic with her forever—or at least until the power strings ran out. Such experiences could last for what seemed to be a month, thirty days in paradise with an angel. And upon return, it was like you never left. Whatever was happening the moment you began the experience was still happening the moment you returned.

An encrypted message suddenly popped into space just above the capsule. It contained a short sequence of words, presented in the archaic language that few people on Earth understood anymore. But Vanex was one of them. And these words were somewhat simple.

The message instructed Vanex to summon a sentinel to his quarters. Sentinels were the very strange beings who existed primarily in the sixth dimension. They had been around for centuries and for want of a better description, these days served as ghostly valets. They looked after the daily affairs of the Imperial elite. From grooming and dressing, to making sure the very special Specials had water at every hand, they also served as musicians, envoys, escorts, tour guides, you name it. They even served as stand-ins for the Emperor himself, experiencing, if not exactly enjoying, a secret and very close relationship with the all-knowing O'Nay. They were odd-looking characters, most of them. Tall and gangling, with long faces, dark, deeply sunken, tremendously sad eyes, hunched-over shoulders, and terrible posture. Sometimes they appeared in a shape that resembled O'Nay himself, but in a rather disturbing way.

No one was really sure who these characters were; they were one of several deep mysteries of the Fourth Empire. Whether they were real or just part of some deeply secret program running somewhere at some location unknown, few people knew, if any. Because they weren't really human, they had an ability to project themselves to any point in the Galaxy instantaneously but could only stay at that location for a few seconds' time before they disappeared— for good. These one-way missions lasted just long enough to perhaps deliver a document, a weapon, a bit of good or bad news. Then the messenger would fade away like a ghost, never to be seen again. There was one theory that the sentinels were actually a race of disposable, computer-projected spies left over from the Second or possibly even the Third Empire. Because Vanex was in effect part of the Imperial Court, he could summon a sentinel at any time.

Vanex studied the holo-girl capsule more intently now. It seemed bigger, more streamlined than the holo devices he'd been familiar with as a younger man. The encrypted hovering message ended: "Once you have summoned the sentinel, by your service to the Imperial Court, activate this device."

Vanex had to read the message over and over again; it seemed stranger each time. Why would someone in the Imperial Family want him to take a holo-girl trip? Did one of the four top Specials actually think he'd enjoy such a lusty getaway? Or was there another motive involved?

He didn't know. But orders were orders, and Vanex was nothing if not a loyal servant.

So he summoned the sentinal, then he flipped the switch at the top of the capsule and ...

The next thing he knew, he was standing on a beach. It stretched for miles in both directions. High cliffs marked the limits of the northern and southern horizons. A calm sea was before him.

This was a very beautiful place. The water was cobalt blue, the sky a lighter version of the same color. A huge, friendly, yellow sun was shining above; its rays felt warm and perfect. Behind him, a grove of multicolored trees danced slowly in the wind. The sand beneath his feet was made up of trillions of tiny gemstones of many, many different colors.

"My God," Vanex whispered. "They have certainly improved these things."

He took a deep breath and it was as if Life itself had entered his lungs. Suddenly he felt better in mind and body than he had in the last two hundred years.

He knelt to cup some water in to his hands, and his back did not creak in response. He touched the water to his lips and tasted a nectar more sweet, more golden than the best batch of slow-ship wine ever made. He sat down at the water's edge and stared out at the magnificent view. The crystal sea, the cliffs on either side of him. The flora gently swaying, the song of leaves pressing against leaves.

"Heavenly..." Vanex whispered.

Someone came up beside him. Vanex first saw two beautiful feet, toeing the sand. His eyes drifted up the well-curved ankles, the beautiful knees, the shapely thighs. A very brief piece of gold cloth covered the nether regions, but the hourglass shape'continued upward to a pair of gorgeous, small breasts only partially covered by long, flowing blond hair.

This was for him, Vanex knew. His holo-girl had arrived.

He shielded his eyes and looked up at her face—and nearly dropped dead right there, a very difficult thing to do, here in the thirty-fourth dimension.

His holo-girl was Princess Xara.

Vanex didn't expire, but he did become dizzy for a moment.

This had ceased to make all sense. Why would Xara, Daughter of O'Nay, be here? Dressed like a holo-girl?

"Because I need your help," Xara replied, answering his question.

She pulled Vanex to his feet.

"Have you ever seen anything like this before?" she asked the elderly engineer.

The old man sputtered in his reply. She had asked the right question, the wrong way.

"I mean," she amended. "Have you ever seen one of these dreams so detailed? So—perfect?"

Vanex looked around him. Again, it had been a long time since he'd been inside such a experience, but as he felt on first landing here, this one looked incredibly detailed and expansive. The dreams he'd taken so long ago usually provided little more than the requisite beach, the lapping water.

a comfortable place to lie down and have sex.

But this place was much more elaborate. The sky looked authentic, the sun did, too, in a way. The water was like an elixir, and you could actually see things over and beyond the trees: mountaintops, green valleys, flowing rivers.

In all it just looked bigger, more real.

Xara got him back to his senses.

"I am hoping that as an engineer, you might be able to grasp what I'm about to tell you."

"I'll try, my lady," he replied. "Though I must say, confusion reigns at the moment."

She spread her hands around her. "We have been fooled by these things for centuries," she said. "We have always been led to believe that this is all an elaborate illusion. A holographic program—and in the first models, it really seemed as if this was the case. But I am here to tell you a great secret that I have only learned recently myself. This is not an illusion. The thirty-fourth dimension is not a dimension at all, not in the sense that we know them. This is a real place. A very strange and little-studied place. Time has the appearance of standing still here for reasons we know nothing about. And nothing ever goes wrong here. Nothing..."

She held up a holo-capsule in her hand. It was an exact copy of the one Vanex had used to get here.

"No one knows who invented these things," Xara went on. "Or how they work. Another thing lost in the haze of time. And the most elaborate ones—such as this one—put you here in such a way, it's almost completely different than the less-specialized devices. This is the most advanced type of holo-capsule in the Empire—and also the most mysterious. Its origins are so unknown, in fact, it is one of the most closely guarded secrets in the realm. There is a chance even my father knows nothing about this. Yet this device is now possibly the one thing that determines the course of the Empire from this moment forward."

Vanex still looked very confused.

"But these are all things that we must both learn together," Xara went on. "I have been here only a little while.

I have learned much in that time. But still have much to go".

She pointed to the line of mountains off to the west.

"Over there," she said to Vanex. "What is on the other side of those mountains? What lies beyond?"

Vanex could only shrug and shake his head.

"I have no idea, my lady," he said.

Xara pushed the hair from her eyes and started leading Vanex off the beach.

"Well, let's go then," she said. "You have to help me find out."

One Minute Later

The sentinel named J'eevx arrived aboard the cargo 'crasher Resonance 133 to find the ship in chaos.

He was still invisible, still stuck in the sixth dimension, but he knew the ship was speeding through space near a point in the Two Arm known as Thirty Star Pass. He'd appeared at first in a passageway leading up to the vessel's control room. Hundreds of soldiers in odd tan-and-red-splotched uniforms were rushing all around him. They were tearing apart the inside of the ship, pulling the covers off the hundreds of sensor panels that lined the passageway leading to the main control room.

Each of these soldiers was bearing a quadtrol. They would tear off the cover to a sensor panel, take a quick reading, then alter the ion frequency of each sensor within. The problem was, there were thousands of sensor panels throughout the enormous vessel, each one with tens of thousands of individual sensors inside.

They are trying to change the electronic identity of the ship, J'eevx knew for no apparent reason. They are doing so before some unseen enemy destroys them. It is a race against time.

This made no difference to him. In fact, he would have no memory of this at all once he'd blinked out and was lost forever. He was here to fulfill an order from Vanex, the imperial custodian, at the request of Princess Xara Herself. Nothing else had any meaning to him.

He had only two seconds to act. Two seconds to become whole and do what he had to do before fading away into eternity. He had to pick the right place and the right moment to spend those two precious seconds. Princess Xara's wishes demanded it.

He moved through the frenetic passageway and into the control room itself. It, too, was a scene of chaos. Every control panel in the compartment had been ripped apart, and more soldiers were altering the sensor frequencies with the quadtrols. But on the main projection screen, the sentinel saw something else. An enormous fleet of Solar Guard ships was approaching, in Supertime, and with huge weapons slung under their wedge bodies, weapons with bright red glowing warheads.

In this fragment of time, these things were clear to the sentinel: This desperate effort of the people on this ship would not be rewarded, because the fleet heading toward them was about to fire the huge, glowing red weapons at them.

J'eevx wondered if he had arrived too late.

Only a few people in the control room saw him when he blinked in. They were startled and froze in place—a typical reaction whenever a sentinel appeared unexpectedly. He had no time to waste. So he simply held out his hand and gave the object in it to the nearest man. Then he drew a line in the air in front of him and a viz screen with a message appeared. Unlike him, he knew this image would remain long after he was gone.

On the viz screen was the message: "Engage immediately. Do not hesitate. Xara."

The soldier who took the device, read the viz message, and then watched as J'eevx faded away.

Only then did he look at what the ghost had given him.

It was a holo-girl capsule.

18

Megiddo

Needle City was in ruins.

Smoke and flames were everywhere. The Sea of Green was now a murky brown. High above, storm clouds were unleashing a torrential downpour on the devastated landscape, the first unscheduled rain the planet Megiddo had seen in more than a century. At some points up north, the poles had begun to melt.

Nowhere was the destruction more apparent than in the wreckage of the sky needle. What was once a three-mile-high tower was now a thousand-foot pile of rubble. Plumes of steam were exhaling from points all over the debris, interspersed with cracks of electricity and bursts of bright yellow sparks. The tower, like the city—like the entire planet—seemed dead, devoid of any life.

But deep within the ruins, one heart was still beating.

Joxx was alive.

He didn't know how. The tower had come crashing down around him, hundreds of thousands of tons of material falling about his head, but somehow he'd been spared. Was it because he'd been standing in the jail cell when the enormous structure collapsed? Was it just by luck that one huge jagged piece of melted rock fell this way, and a huge twisted girder fell that way, creating a shield that protected him from the rest of the collapsing structure? Was it simply fate? Or destiny?

Or was it because he was a Special, and escaping death by miraculous means just came along with the territory?

He didn't know.

But he could still feel every part of his body, and though he had some cuts and bruises, nothing was broken, nothing was numb, and even his hair had survived with a minimum of muss.

He still found himself buried beneath tons of rubble, however. Dark and craggy and filled with hissing power tubes and crackling electrical conduits, the debris was also being soaked by the nonstop deluge coming down from above.

As a result, it took Joxx nearly twelve hours to claw his way to daylight.

During the long climb out, one thought kept him going: / still have my secret weapon.

The Milky Way was a highly superstitious place. The farther one traveled out on the Fringe, the more superstitious people became.

Just what people considered bad luck was a list as endless as the number of different planets in the Milky Way itself. Launching depleted ships into a sun at the end of their lives was considered highly unlucky on just about every arm of the Fringe. Conversely, crashing a used-up ship into a graveyard planet was supposedly a guarantee of much good fortune. Slaying civilians during combat was frowned upon just about everywhere in the Galaxy, not so much for any humanitarian concerns but more out of the belief that it simply invited bad luck. In some star systems, being discourteous was considered unlucky, or looking at more than two suns at once, or being caught in the overlapping shadows of two moons. On Earth it was considered absolutely verboten to set foot on the mysterious, ancient bridges that crisscrossed the Mother Planet. On a planet called Xanez 6 in the Soltys Tri-star System, it was very bad luck to bathe while drunk. On Gallows 13 in the Masto-

Mattie Star System, it was considered very bad luck to blink your eyes while eating.

But there were some Galaxy-wide taboos, too, adhered to both by citizens of the most far-flung planets as well as those living cozily in the center of the Ball. By far, the strongest of these was the avoidance of any planet, moon or asteroid, that had a pyramid on it.

Just like the bridges on Earth and many, many more artifacts around the Milky Way, no one knew who built the pyramids or why'. They could be found in just about any part of the Galaxy; indeed, many had been discovered deep within mountains or at the bottom of ancient seas. That's how old some were.

The pyramids were probably the oldest artificial things in the Galaxy, older than any of the four Empires certainly. Those found on Earth had been dated to be at the very least 15,000 years old. But others uncovered throughout the Milky Way were much more ancient than that. Some appeared to be millions of years old.

No surprise, any researcher spouting such heretical facts usually found themselves very quickly out of favor with those who ruled the Fourth Empire. The official imperial line on the pyramids was that they were built sometime within the arc of the realm, for purposes yet to be determined; but this was nonsense, and everyone knew it. There was no rational explanation for the ancient structures and, because of the long-lasting belief that they radiated the darkest of bad luck even if one's eyes happen to gaze too long at one, everyone went to great lengths to avoid them completely.

Or at least that's what Joxx was banking on.

He'd reached the top of the pile of rubble, ironically just as the sun was setting on Megiddo.

The rain had finally stopped, but his eyes were still so filled with dust, his vision was blurry. He could see well enough, though, to realize the city around him was in ruins. Toppled buildings, devastated streets. Plumes of smoke billowing, and fires still raging everywhere.

Joxx was surprised to find no evidence of the space trucks his men had been flying in the last hours before the battle. An area close to the Needle down by the beach had been blasted out for the heavy-duty spacecraft to land, delivering the equipment from TW800. But there was no sign of them there now. No intact trucks, no wreckage either.

This meant only one thing: Joxx's men had quit the battlefield without him.

No search. No rescue effort.

They had left him behind for dead.

Of all the indignation he'd suffered during this endless day, that one cut the deepest.

Joxx was a Special, but he wasn't real good at what he was about to do. This would not deter him, though. He was so angry, so intense at the moment, he felt he could do this on willpower alone, and not necessarily by invoking some old trick known only to the Specials.

He stood at the peak of the highest twisted piece of what had been the sky needle and gazed hard at the rising moon. He suppressed a strange desire to begin howling at it. The last of the rain clouds were booming over the sea to the east. A bolt of lightning lit up the dismal scene for just a moment.

This enemy was good, Joxx thought. The strange invaders had bested him here, handing him the first two defeats in his career.

But they had made one big mistake: They'd left him alive.

And now, he was about to make them pay.

He snapped his fingers, and an instant later, he was sitting in the control room aboard the ShadoVox.

It smelled musty and was damp inside, but this did not bother him.

He sucked in a mouthful of air and let it out slowly. Outside the nearest porthole, he could see a set of craggy, lifeless mountains; through a portal next to it, the edge of the huge, deep crater in which Joxx had hidden his extraordinary warship. To its left, through the control room's arched superglass window, he could see, drifting in space

100,000 miles away, the still-burning planet of Megiddo.

Straight ahead, not five miles away, was the southern base of an ancient pyramid.

So, this was his ace in the hole. The secret known only to him. And he was very proud of it.

Joxx had hidden his ship in a place that no one in their right mind would come looking for it: on Megiddo's tiny moon, the appropriately named, Bad Luck 666.

As soon as he drew in that first mouthful of dank air, he felt his body and spirit start to revive.

This ship, this enormous instrument of war and incredible power, was his. It belonged to him. He knew it, and it knew him. He could fly it by himself. He could fire its weapons, he could run its sensors. It was mightier than any vessel in the SG Rapid Engagement Force, and just the fact that he would link up with this rescue force—and that he now had a ready-made fleet out here at his disposal—further warmed his inner being. With them, he would track down the invaders, find them in their stolen 'crashers, and utterly annihilate them.

In this plan he had supreme confidence.

He might be home in time for the Earth Race yet, he thought.

Joxx settled into his commander's seat and pushed the first of three old-fashioned levers, which began the activation of his propulsion core.

Once these systems engaged, the Starcrasher's engine somehow became one with the waves being sent out by the Big Generator—or something along those lines. In any case, Joxx's magnificent ship would be powered up. He could lift off and be going two light-years a minute an instant later.

But just as his hand reached for the third lever, he felt a touch of cold steel on the back of his neck.

He turned slowly and was astounded to see a man dressed in a strange combat suit, wearing a mask, pointing a ray gun at him.

Joxx froze. This man was about to kill him—he just knew it. The look in the eyes staring out from the mask was one of fire, anger. Hate. It was strange, but Joxx's next thought—and possibly his last—was that the intensity in this man's eyes had not always been there. That it was a new thing for him. That he'd looked different than this not long before. The masked man didn't say anything; he just held the ray gun one inch away from Joxx's right temple for what seemed like a very long time. He saw the man's finger begin to squeeze the trigger.

In that eternal moment, Joxx could not help but notice that several other people had somehow come aboard the ShadoVox with the gunman. They were all wearing masks; they were all carrying huge weapons.

There was an enormous individual off to his right; he looked like his arms were actually too muscular for his body. Behind him was an enormous robot, bigger and even more nasty-looking than the million or so that had rained down on Megiddo. Standing next to the robot was a very small man wearing a cassock and the collar of a priest. Behind him, were two men who looked almost like twins, except one appeared slightly taller. With them were two very old men, both with long, white hair and carrying weapons that seemed way too heavy for their frail arms.

Joxx started to laugh. He'd never seen such an unlikely group in his life.

"Are those weapons even real?" he asked them.

No one moved, no one said a thing.

"You all look like you just walked out of viz screen play—and they really got the costumes wrong!"

Still, only silence in reply.

"Who the hell are you people?" he finally shouted.

The gunman then drew a box in the air; a viz screen blinked into existence an instant later. It showed twelve starships hanging in space. Six looked very old, yet new at the same time. They were all blue and chrome and loaded with weapons. Beside them were the six cargo 'crashers stolen from TransWorld 800. They, too, were now bulging with weapons. Nothing fancy, just rows and rows of weapons bubbles sporting all kinds of Z-gun muzzles.

Joxx's mouth fell open.

Well, so much for that question.

He heard the telltale hum coining from the gun against his head. It was the sound of a power surge, which guaranteed a full blast as soon as the trigger was pulled.

The silence stretched out unnaturally. Soon the chill was back in Joxx's belly.

"How?" he finally asked in a whisper. "How were you able to deceive me so?"

At that moment, another person walked into the control room. He was covered with soot, just like Joxx, and sporting many cuts and bruises, too. But he was smiling. And he wasn't wearing a mask. Joxx took one look at him and nearly fell off his seat.

In that instant, it all made complete if terrible sense to him.

It was the man Joxx knew as the ion mover.

In reality, he was CIA agent Steve Gordon, master of the undercover disguise.

The Hole in the Water

19

Everything was green.

The field across the road from the ditch was thick with bright three-leaf clover. The grove of holly trees behind the ditch shimmered in dull emerald as well. The grass and the weeds in between, even the dust on the road itself, had a lime-colored tinge to it.

The only thing not green this early morning was the sky. It was dark gray and overcast, with low-hanging clouds spitting out drops of cold rain every now and then. The sun had been up for about thirty minutes, but it would not be seen this day.

The eleven men in the ditch were under orders to keep quiet. They were sitting in the mud, some smoking cigarettes, others cleaning their weapons, still others checking their ammunition supply. One man was endlessly probing through a box full of hand grenades, counting out the full complement of twenty-four before starting over again. Another man was blowing on the terminals of a car battery in an effort to keep them dry. The men were doing everything they could to stay calm—everything but talking.

They were all dressed pretty much the same: thick wool pants, muddy boots, flannel shirts, tweed jackets, and flat, cloth "Mickey" caps. Three were armed with AK-47 Kalishnikov assault rifles, two with double-ammo banana clips. Three others were holding M-16s; they, too, had extra long ammo clips. The rest had shotguns and hunting rifles. Most of these weapons were in good shape.

Except for Hunter's, that is. His rifle was in such bad shape its stock was attached to the barrel by a wad of worn-out duct tape. The trigger and the firing mechanism behind it were both rusty; the ammo supply was loose and needed a piece of tape to hold it in place, too.

Hunter just shook his head as he examined the beat-up weapon for the thirty-seventh time. It was always like this.

Exactly three seconds later, he heard the first of the three armored cars approaching. The growl of the unmuffled engine broke the silence of the damp early morning; a few brown doves fluttered out of the woods behind him in response.

The armored car was coming, as it always did, from over the hill to the north. This rise began on the other side of the field of clover, about a quarter mile away. The other nine men in the ditch—they were about forty feet away from him—became very tense on hearing the sound. They pressed themselves up against the side of the gully, eyes riveted on the top of the hill. The armored car let out another mechanical groan, soon joined by a second and then a third identical sound.

"There's a trio of them," one of the men farther down the ditch declared grimly. "And they'll be on us in a minute, so do one last check of yer weapons, and everyone keep yer mouths shut!"

It was at this point, as always, that the strange noise started up from the woods behind the ditch. It, too, was mechanical, but not in the same way as the approaching armored cars. It was more high-pitched and ethereal. Everyone in the ditch had been hearing it, off and on, for the last hour or so. They'd been doing their best to ignore it—a difficult thing to do, because the noise was just so weird.

The three armored cars coughed again in unison; a moment later, the first one appeared at the crest of the hill.

"It's a Saracen," one of the men farther down the trench called out in a whisper. "That means one mounted gun and eight blokes inside."

"I just hope those battery wires hold, Paddy.... It's a damp one this morning—"

"I told yers to shut up! Now, button it!"

Hunter let out a long yawn, then shivered in the sudden fog. The first armored car had topped the hill and was now on its way down the other side. It was following a narrow road that came down off the hill, passed through a thick grove of holly trees, rounded a bend near a violently rushing stream, and eventually ran right by the ditch itself. Hunter tightened the strands of duct tape around his weapon and blew into the firing chamber, trying to keep it dry.

That's when the man on his right suddenly came to life.

"What madness is this!" the voice screamed into his ear. "What have you done to me?"

Hunter just rolled his eyes at the outburst. This might be harder than he thought.

He turned and looked at the person beside him, this eleventh man. His clothes were muddy, just like his. His Mickey hat was floppy and water-stained, just like his. His gun was even wrapped in duct tape, just like his.

But this man was nothing like him.

Just the opposite, in fact.

It was Joxx.

And at the moment, he looked terrified.

"Where am I, you disdainful fool!" he cried out even though Hunter had raised his fist and was ready to strike him. "I'll have you burned six ways by Z guns for this—"

Hunter let go with his punch, catching Joxx right on the jaw. The Solar Guards' high prince fell back into the trench, splattering himself with even more mud. He looked up at Hunter, absolutely astonished.

And he did shut up ... for about two seconds.

"What sorcery have you played here?" he began screaming again. "What cruel, sick game?"

"I told you two to pipe down!" came the sharp rebuke from farther down the ditch. "The blokes can hear you all the way back to the border."

Hunter pulled Joxx up by his collar and slapped him once across the face.

"You heard the man," he growled at him. "Shut up!"

Joxx's eyes became wild as a weird kind of reality began to sink in. The last thing he remembered, he was sitting in the control room of the ShadoVox, engines not yet running, a ray gun pressed up cold against his head. Then, suddenly, he was lying here, in the muddy ditch, dressed in dirty, wet clothes, holding a very crude weapon, and being slapped around by this man who looked strangely familiar.

Hunter pulled him up close to his face and looked him right in the eyes.

"Do you know who I am?" he asked in an angry whisper.

Joxx's eyes went twice as wide as before.

"The Earth Race," he was able to say. "You're the last winner. The maccus ... Hunter..."

"That's right," Hunter told him. "I'm also the guy who just stole your ship and made you look like a fool back on Megiddo. Now, if you don't do what I tell you, I'll cut your head off and send your ship into the nearest sun."

Joxx was still reeling from the two blows to his head. Where was he? How did he get here?

"Have you implanted something in my brain?" he cried out at Hunter. "Something to create such a hallucination?"

Once again, Hunter slapped him across the face. "Listen to me, pretty boy," he said through gritted teeth, "these other guys are not exactly our friends. They will kill us as soon as look at us. Now just keep your mouth shut and let me explain something to you."

Not five hundred feet away, the first armored car had reached the bottom of the hill. It was now entering the wide curve that eventually led right past the ditch. Hunter didn't have much time.

"You are in a mind ring trip," he told Joxx quickly. "What the hell do you think that is wrapped around your head? If you try to take it off, I can guarantee you, your skull will explode. That's the way I programmed it."

Joxx's shaky fingers went to his forehead, feeling the ring hidden beneath his perfectly mussed hair.

"A mind ring trip!" he gasped. "By what perversion have you brought me into something like this!"

"Because you have to see what I've seen," Hunter told him harshly. "My friends and I have started our campaign against the Fourth Empire because it is guilty of crimes against humanity on the grandest scale. We bested you at Megiddo and at Thirty Star Pass. And because you have such an inflated opinion of yourself, I could have kicked your ass all the way back to the Pluto Cloud. But that would not have served our purposes. So I've taken you into here, so you can see for yourself just what your relatives back on Earth have done, what they've allowed to happen. What they've allowed to continue—"

Joxx almost laughed. "You're mad!" he said. "You can't possibly get away with this. And who the hell do you think you are, assuming you can educate me on such things?"

Hunter looked up, the first Saracen armored car was now just three hundred feet away. He began talking even faster.

"Ever hear of the Home Planets?"

Joxx numbly shook his head no.

Hunter gave him a very abbreviated history of the isolated prison star system. He told him how the people living there were the original inhabitants of Earth and how he'd seen for himself the degradation they'd suffered getting thrown off their home planet—all via the mind trips he took on Xronis Trey.

"When I went into my second trip, I was able to break into a vault containing thousands of mind rings taken from the people being deported from Earth. These rings included historical scenarios, private memories, correspondences; many went back hundreds of years. It took a hell of a long time, but I was finally able to reduce the most vital information onto just one ring—and then I copied it. That's the one you have around your head. We will experience the same things in here, together, at exactly the same moment. So get used to it; this is going to take a while."

The armored car was now just two hundred feet away. The men farther down the ditch were readying their weapons, their faces both grim and grimy.

"Now, only my own good conscience forces me to tell you this," Hunter went on quickly. "What I've pieced together here isn't exact history. Instead, it's what happened, in bits and pieces, as told through the memories of many, many people. Not everything you will see in here will make sense. Not everything you see in here is even true, not at first, anyway. Just as a story whispered by one person comes out distorted and unrecognizable once it's passed through a hundred lips, so, too, is the situation in here.

"But in the end, it does tell a story. The story of how the first two Empires came and went. And how the sins of those who have finally passed on are still being committed by those in power today. So take everything you see with a grain of salt, but the conclusion will make some kind of sense. That much I can guarantee."

Joxx tried to spit in his face but missed.

"You're a cartoon!" he hissed at Hunter. "And a disgrace to any honor you somehow managed to win. The Empire is the greatest thing since God lit off the Big Bang. To not realize that is the height of stupidity. Look at you—you were once a galactic hero, on the same level as me, for heaven's sake. You were in for tons of money and fame. Now, you're a joke! A bandit! And a fake!"

Hunter just smiled back at him. The armored car was slowly rolling closer.

"Fake enough to knock off a few sleazeball planets and get you shaking in your boots," he said acidly. "That's all it took, smart guy. No huge fleet. No millions of men under arms. Just word of mouth to cause that stampede and a dope like you who bought into it so easily, the guy who was working for us on the inside had a hard time keeping a straight face anytime he talked to you. So I ask you now, who's the genius?"

Joxx began to say something but stopped. He was uncharacteristically stumped for a reply.

Then came a particularly loud cough of engine noise. The first armored car was less than fifty feet away. The anxiety in the trench became as thick as the fog that had slowly gathered around them.

"This is not a way to spend Easter morning," someone farther down the trench moaned.

But then Joxx piped up again. "How dare you bring me here?" he whispered angrily to Hunter. "We are officers of the Empire, for God's sake. We should be above such low-class things as mind ring trips—"

One of the three men named Paddy farther down the trench turned his AK-47 on Joxx and Hunter. "Last time: Shut yer mouth or I'll shut it for you."

"You better do what he says, Joxx," Hunter whispered to him. "Call it a defect in the mind ring or just plain old age, but everything that will happen to us in here physically will be as real as real can get. And I mean that about the weapons in particular. You can get hurt in here. You can even get killed. Take it from me. I know ..."

Hunter took one last look around and then pushed Joxx farther into the ditch. A moment later, there was a huge explosion not thirty feet down the road from them.

"And so it begins," Hunter said. "Again ..."

The first armored car had hit a land mine square on. The powerful blast lifted the tanklike vehicle three feet off the ground, then slammed it back down to the muddy road again, where it burst into flames. The rear doors opened up, and three soldiers staggered out; each one was on fire.

Then came a shout from the ditch, and the men to the left of Hunter and Joxx opened up with their automatic weapons. They cut down the three burning men in a quick, merciless fusillade. More screams echoed from within the flaming vehicle, and three more soldiers fell out, their uniforms smoldering, too. They were cut down as well.

The second armored car had roared up behind the first. Realizing the small patrol had run right into an ambush, its driver attempted to push the burning vehicle off the muddy road. But then another explosion went off. Another mine had detonated. It knocked the front wheels right off the second Saracen but somehow failed to ignite anything inside, or at least not right away. The back door to this armored car flew open, and this time eight heavily armed paratroopers stormed out, guns blazing in the direction of the ditch.

These troops took up a position on the opposite side of the road. A sharp gun battle erupted with the men in the ditch near Hunter firing at the eight well-armed soldiers no more than twenty feet away. The soldiers were all carrying heavy-duty combat weapons; bigger and better than the elderly Kalishnikovs and M-16s. They were also much louder and packed more punch than a shotgun or hunting rifle. The men in the ditch were instantly overmatched by the superior firepower. But this did not deter them from firing away.

At this moment, the third armored car rolled onto the scene. Its driver had slowed some twenty-five feet behind the two burning Saracens, allowing his men to climb out the back and join their colleagues in the trench on the opposite side of the road. This time, the driver and gunner stayed inside their vehicle. Quickly wheeling the huge car around, the driver repositioned himself so the Saracen's machine gun could now fire on the ditch where Hunter, Joxx, and the other nine men lay. Everyone went down for cover.

Another mine went off, but this was placed too far away to do anything more than send a massive tremor through the ground. The bullets were flying like crazy now. Two of the men near Hunter hurled hand grenades against the soldiers in the opposite trench. There were two loud pops, and suddenly the air was filled with the cries of two soldiers, mortally wounded.

In the next instant, two more soldiers jumped up from their position and charged across the road headlong into the withering fire coming from the men in the ditch. They were cut down immediately. No sooner had they hit the ground when four more soldiers charged the ditch, this time under the support of machine gun fire coming from the remaining Saracen. Between this and the soldiers firing as they ran, four of the men in the ditch were killed instantly and four more mortally wounded.

At that point, the third armored car tried to move closer to the ditch. But in doing so, it ran over not one, but two land mines. The resulting explosions were enormous; it felt like the ground itself was going to crack open, the shaking was that violent. The armored car went straight up in the air and slammed back down again, blowing up on impact.

Just a faint scream could be heard from the wreckage before the roaring fire took its two victims.

The gun battle raged in the close quarters of the ditch now. Two more soldiers ran across the road. One had the misfortune of stepping on the fifth and remaining land mine. He was blown to bits. His comrade was thrown through the air and landed in a bloody heap right in front of Hunter and Joxx. He was dead before he hit the ground.

Joxx couldn't help but read the information on this man's shoulder patch: 5th Parachute Regiment. BA.

"Dear God, those words indicate we are somewhere in the very early twenty-first century!" he exclaimed. "Practically prehistoric times! Is this the era you've brought me to?"

"Good guess," Hunter mumbled.

The battle raged on. Two more soldiers rushed across the road. One of the men in the ditch calmly stood up and shot them both to death with his M-16. He was then killed by six bullets to the throat by two of the soldiers closest to him in the ditch. Someone threw a pair of hand grenades across the road. Two more loud pops. Two more dead soldiers.

Two more hand grenades were thrown. Both went off, but at such close range, they killed one soldier and the man who threw them. His partner stood up and fired point-blank at the soldiers advancing on him. He killed two more but then took a spray of bullets right across his face. His skull exploded in a bloody mist. He dropped his Kalishnikov as he fell backward, knocking the ammo clip from its feeder. The man who'd been crouching next to him picked up the rifle and jammed the clip back in, but the soldiers were just inches away from him now. The man fired the assault rifle haphazardly, wounding one of the soldiers, but the three others fell upon him and began stabbing him with their long, razor-sharp trench knives. He died with a gurgle and then a scream.

Only two men remained at that end of the ditch now. Both were holding shotguns, but both were out of ammo. The soldiers fired on them without mercy. One man threw his last weapon—a hand grenade. It went off and instantly killed two of the soldiers. The four remaining soldiers sim-ply took their place. They fired on the two helpless gunmen. One man, the older of the two, finally fell, his chest ripped open by a barrage of twenty-two bullets. The last man had at least a half-dozen grenades on him. He was mortally wounded but managed to uncork two and throw them, killing yet another two soldiers.

But before this man could throw another grenade, the last two soldiers were on him with their knives and began stabbing him, even as he was begging for mercy and crying out for his wife and children.

Then somehow, some way, two hand grenades lashed to his body went off, finally killing him and the remaining pair of soldiers.

And suddenly, just like that, it was over.

Silence returned. Only the sound of the Saracens burning and the raindrops splattering on the muddy, now bloody road could be heard. The air was filled with smoke and the thick odor of iodine. Joxx looked like he was about to go into shock; he dropped his weapon to the muddy ground. The battle had been so sharp, so vicious, so quick, he never fired a shot.

He looked up at Hunter, who just shrugged.

"It always ends this way," he said.

Hunter gathered up all the usable weapons, handed six of them to Joxx, and then began pushing him back into the woods behind the ditch.

The stunned SG officer accepted his burden without complaint and began stumbling along the path that led into the trees. Once under the cover of the thick hemlocks, the trail split into several different directions. Hunter had taken this mind ring trip more than three dozen times; he knew the way by heart. He was able to steer Joxx by nudging him on the shoulder, indicating which direction he wanted him to go.

It took a few minutes of trooping through the thick forest for Joxx to regain his composure. Then he began talking.

"The punishment for this is death, you know," he told Hunter over his shoulder. "I don't care how big a hero you are. Once the Imperial Court realizes that what you have done here amounts to kidnapping a Special—well, the only question will be, just how they will choose to execute you."

Hunter wasn't paying him much attention. He had to remain alert here. Noises were all around them. In front, the high, ethereal screaming never stopped. Behind them were the unmuffled engines of more Saracen armored cars, roaring across the fields. Then, right on cue, a new noise from overhead. Hunter was expecting it by now, but Joxx was clearly startled and stopped dead in his tracks. Hunter just pushed him forward again. They did not have to worry about this particular noise—at least not at that moment.

After about five minutes of marching, they reached a clearing. Another patch of very thick woods lay about a hundred yards beyond. In between was a bog.

Hunter didn't like this part. He had learned that there were two kinds of bogs in this very green land. Some were shallow, just a foot or two deep. Others were bottomless, or at least seemed that way. Their water was always dirty and always cold. The smell of decaying peat around them was pungent.

Just another name for a swamp, he thought, as always.

They reached the slightly raised edge of the bog and finally stopped. Joxx turned to look at Hunter as if to say, What now? Hunter just pointed forward. It took a moment for Joxx to realize that he wanted him to plunge into the cold water and get across that way.

"But I'll freeze to death," he complained. "If these things are possible as you claim—"

Hunter just told him, "I've done this many times. It's the only way to get to where we have to go."

With that, Hunter pushed him. Joxx hit the water feetfirst and immediately went in up to his neck. Only by instinct did he raise the weapons and ammo belts above his head.

Hunter jumped in as well; the water was more than five feet deep and as always, absolutely black. He strapped the few salvaged weapons to his back and began pushing Joxx. They clumsily splashed across, Joxx doing all he could to remain on his feet. The noise of more Saracen armored cars came up behind them, but after a few seconds, they faded in the distance. Ahead, the smell of iodine became more intense with each step.

They eventually reached the far end of the bog. Hunter climbed out but had to lift Joxx out of the dirty water; the SG commander was carrying such a load he couldn't boost himself up. Once out, he collapsed on the slimy bank.

"You brought me to this hellish place just to drown me?" he sputtered. "Or is poisoning my airways your favorite means of dispatch?"

"Just get up and keep walking," Hunter told him.

"I seem to recall a provision of Empire law," Joxx said. "That in a case of imperial kidnapping, upon recovery, the victim gets to choose the means of execution for his captor. I will savor that thought for as long as you keep me here. It will energize me, dreaming up the most painful ways for you to die."

Hunter didn't reply; there wasn't any time. He knew this coming part all too well.

He picked Joxx up and roughly pushed him forward.

They entered the next woodland area. It was twice as thick as the last, and the path was less defined. It made no difference. Hunter knew the way. They reached a small stream. Joxx splashed across with little complaint, happy that the water was only a foot deep.

They reached the other side, and that's when Hunter stopped. He made Joxx stop, too. They were under an overgrown hazel tree. Hunter put his hand to Joxx's mouth just as the SG officer was about to cry out in protest.

The air all around them started to shake. Then the sound from above came again. Very intense, very loud, like two great pieces of steel spinning madly in the wind, which was close to the truth.

Hunter looked south of their position, and there it was: a flying machine that moved by means of two long, steel blades whirling around a very noisy engine. The machine could stop, go left, go right, and move straight ahead. The only thing it couldn't do was move very fast.

Joxx took one look at the flying devil and nearly passed out. The ancientness of the machine alone made it fright-ening. It looked so primitive; how could it possibly fly? How could it stay airborne? It seemed impossible to tell.

Hunter held Joxx in place, his hand firmly pressed against his mouth. Once again, the SG officer slowly got the message. He froze as the strange aerial machine went right over their heads. It was dark green in color, almost an attempt to blend in with the overabundance of emerald everywhere in this strange place. There was a symbol adhered to the narrow part of its aft fuselage. It was a solid red circle with a smaller blue circle in its center. The same emblem as seen on the Saracens.

"It almost spotted me the last half dozen times," Hunter told Joxx as the craft slowly moved away. "And I believe somehow it can hear people moving on the ground."

"I'd wager they would have cut you up in those rotating blades, if they had caught you," Joxx said. "It's an execution style that has a certain ring to it."

They moved on.

Five more minutes of zigzagging through the very thick forest ensued. The iodine smell became more intense with each step; now the wind didn't have to blow in any certain direction for them to smell it. The noise from the woods in front of them rose up again as well. The high pitched whine, the crackling sounds, interspersed now with the shouts of men in accents so thick, Hunter always had trouble understanding them.

They crossed another standing bog. This one was shallow and the water not quite as murky. Beyond was a relatively clear patch of ground with an even thicker forest behind. It was here that the noise and the smell was coming from.

Hunter stopped their march once again.

"In a moment, two guys are going to come out of that hedge," he told Joxx. "They are not enemies, though they might seem it. Just keep your mouth shut and go with it."

Joxx took a moment to catch his breath and gather himself. He looked strange because he had lost his cap somehow, and his hair was actually tousled and unkempt. He was close to being worn out already.

"At least tell me what planet this is," he whined. "What country? You owe me that, maccus."

Hunter replied, "Not a chance. It took me a long time to get to the heart of this matter and boil it all down to this. You have no choice but to take my word for it. It will all unfold for you slowly, just so you won't have any excuses of not keeping up."

Joxx took a long look around.

"This is a land of rivers and forests and mountains and bogs. It appears to be ancient Earth."

Hunter didn't confirm or deny the guess. He changed the subject.

"Get ready for our friends," he said. "And don't give them any back talk. They are in a highly stressful situation here, and in their own slang, they've got itchy trigger fingers."

He was staring intently into the high grass before them. As always, two men suddenly appeared out of the hedge, assault rifles up and ready.

They were dressed just as Hunter and Joxx: baggy pants, old jackets, and dirty boots. One was wearing a tie and vest. The deep lines in their ruddy faces spoke volumes; they'd grown old before their time. Their eyes were steely and cold. Neither one was smiling.

They took one look at Hunter and groaned. "Oh God," one said. "It's not you again, is it?"

"We stopped the Fifth Paras down on Boxley Road," Hunter told them, knowing from experience that this was the best thing to say at this particular moment.

"The Paras? But they are special operations troops—"

"I know, they fought like them," Hunter replied.

"So where are the others then?"

A short silence. Hunter planned it for exactly five seconds.

"We are the only ones who made it," he finally replied.

As always, the news hit the two men hard.

"All of the lads? Gone?" the second man asked.

Hunter nodded; Joxx did, too.

"Paddy? And Paddy? And Big Mike, Mike, and Mac?"

Again, Hunter nodded gravely. It sometimes got a bit sticky at this point. "And Little Mike, Dirty Mike, Dennis, and the other Paddy as well," he said. "But they all died well and took out a bunch of Paras, too."

The two men stood frozen for a long moment. In some of his early mind trips, the two men would turn on Hunter at this moment, claiming that he might be a Provo spy or worse. No one ever trusted the only survivor of a suicide mission. But whether it was repeated use of the mind ring or some other factor, in his later trips, the two men accepted his story and treated him as one of their own.

They looked at the small cache of weapons and both men finally lowered their rifles.

"Those weapons will be needed," one said. "Get them back into the hollow—and don't ever be telling anyone what you're about to see back there."

Hunter and Joxx picked up the rifles and wordlessly moved on.

They walked through the high grass for what seemed like a very long time. Every once in a while, they would come upon another flat-cap fighter, standing ramrod straight in the tall weeds, allowing them to pass with little more than a grunt.

They finally reached the edge of the grass to come upon yet another thicket of woods. The stink of iodine was stronger than ever.

They moved forward, passing more unsmiling guards, before coming up to a battered van that someone had somehow driven into the deep woods. This place, Hunter would learn, was called Kelly's Hollow.

Gathered around the van was a small clutch of what Hunter would accurately describe as lieutenants. There were five of them; they were dressed like everyone else. The back of the van was stuffed with many strange and exotic items.

"How can this be?" he asked Hunter in an astonished whisper. "Such inventions weren't around in the twenty-first century—"

Hunter gave him a sharp elbow to the ribs, nearly knocking him off his feet. It was a painful signal to shut up.

The lieutenants weren't paying them any attention, though. They were in obvious disarray and very anxious. Their little band was suddenly leaderless—Hunter knew this from before. And they'd just had a massive assault on their senses as well.

As a result, they were arguing among themselves.

"I'm telling you ... that the thing didn't fly away. It just disappeared. Vanished. And left the glow behind..."

"My guys said they saw it fly away."

"They watched it come in.... They followed it here. They were here when it came down. When it all happened ..."

The fourth man exploded on cue. "What the fook difference does it make?" he bellowed. "Whether it vanished or flew away, what's been done here has been done. The brothers are dead. And they stirred up a lot of commotion before they went. Now we have the choppers out looking for us, and with this commotion, the whole magee will be compromised."

"I think we should tell the blokes what happened here," the first man said nervously. "This thing is bigger than the troubles we have with them...."

The four others turned on him. "Are you gone daft finally?" one shouted in his ear. "Bringing the blokes in—to this? What do you think, they'll just pat us on the head and say, 'Interesting piece of science here, boys?' "

This man then turned back to the others. "Now, let's forget about how the thing got away, ok? We must think about what to do with the present."

At this point, Hunter and Joxx entered the scene. The lieutenants looked up at them, happy to see the weapons they were carrying yet instinctively knowing that the ambush, now a mere afterthought, had been costly.

"They are all gone," Hunter said, again knowing from the past that this was the quickest and best thing to do.

"Took nearly three dozen Paras with them," Joxx added without prompting.

The lieutenants let the bad news sink in. Then one said, "Poor souls. But they bought us a few minutes. That chopper is out there again, though, and it's just a matter of time before they come upon all this.... We have to get a move on."

"We have't'get rid of the bodies first," another said, nodding toward the deepest part of the hollow. The other four men agreed.

They turned back to Hunter and Joxx and said, "Give us a hand down here lads, will you?"

Hunter and Joxx dropped the weapons and followed the men down into the hollow. It was almost dark as night down here now, there was that much overgrowth above. A small stream ran through the center of this place—or one once did. There was now a large but shallow crater smack in the middle of this brook; it was from here that the bright light had been shining. Any water still remaining was rising out of the hollow in the form of steam.

The ground around the depression formed what looked to be an almost perfect circle, maybe twenty to thirty feet across. Some of the trees to the north of this position were shorn off at the tops. Something had obviously come out of the sky and landed—or crashed—onto this spot.

About one hundred feet farther down the stream from all this, three bodies were lying in the mud, each one about fifty feet from the other. They were dressed as they all were, except they were also wearing black ski masks with holes cut out for the eyes and mouth. There didn't seem to be any wounds on these bodies. No indications how they had died. Behind them was a tiny thatched cottage hidden so deep in the overgrowth it was impossible to see from the air.

They all walked alongside the suddenly dry streambed and up to the bodies.

"We're throwing the brothers into the bog," one of the lieutenants told Hunter and Joxx. "Though I can't believe those words are coming out of me mouth. But we can't take them with us; if we get stopped with them, it will be curtains for us. And we don't have time to bury them, either. Besides, the Paras will have the sniffing dogs out for us at any minute, and they'll surely smell them if we put them in the ground. So it will have to be the bog for them...."

Joxx began to protest, but again, Hunter gave him a shot in the ribs. "We do what they say or, believe me, they'll throw us in with them."

Joxx was horrified. He was as superstitious as the next Special, and touching a dead body was considered the ultimate in taboo. Ironically, Hunter understood his dilemma.

"Don't wet your pants," he told Joxx sternly. "These guys might not be dead—not really, anyway."

This only horrified Joxx further. They certainly looked dead.

Hunter pushed him toward the first body. He looked about forty years old, and he was stocky. He was lying facedown, his mask still covering most of his features, his cap floating in the mud nearby.

Hunter grabbed him by the shoulders. Joxx reluctantly took the legs. They started walking farther down the barren stream. A large clearing was ahead, made up of a very dark, very deep bog.

They carried the rigid figure up the embankment and out onto the edge of this gloomy, green swamp. A nasty looking mist was rising above this place. The odor seemed to indicate this was not the first time it had been used for human disposal. With a great heave, they threw the man into the deepest part of the dirty water.

They returned to the stream. The lieutenants were standing nearby, anxiously smoking cigarettes. Their van was packed up tight and ready to go. They were just waiting for Hunter and Joxx to fulfill their grisly task.

They picked up the second body and began walking again. This one's face was still covered by his mask as well, but there was something about him that made him seem younger and somewhat innocent. He was also much lighter than the first body.

He made less of a splash when they threw him into the bog.

They returned for the third man, but Hunter knew they would not get very far. They reentered the hollow to find the lieutenants were clustered around the remaining body. They were excited and extremely animated.

Hunter and Joxx quietly approached the scene. It was coming to an end, and Hunter didn't want anything unexpected to happen now.

"He's alive! I tell you, I can see him blink," one of the lieutenants was saying, bending down over the third body. "He can hear me, can't you, Jimmy boy?"

"Blink Jimmy!" another of the lieutenants was yelling. "Blink yer eyes if ye can hear us!"

Hunter and Joxx arrived just as the man lying in the mud began blinking his eyes madly. His mask gone, his face was painfully stretching into a smile, too. Despite his grave condition, he almost seemed happy.

Suddenly, in the background, came the twin growls of more Saracens and the flying, whirling thing.

"Let's get him out of here!" one of the lieutenants said. "Before those bloke bastards trip over themselves and crash down upon us as well!"

Without ever acknowledging Hunter and Joxx again, the men picked up the wounded but smiling man and squeezed him into the back of the van. Then they climbed in themselves and roared away through the deep forest, literally leaving Hunter and Joxx in the dust.

Joxx looked over at Hunter, dumbfounded.

Hunter just shook his head.

"It gets weirder," he said.

Flash!

Everything was green again.

The walls, the bed, the bed covers, the rug, the floor beneath the rug. And everywhere the same shadowy if beatific image of a figure with long hair and wings sprouting from the back, arms spread wide as a gesture of friendship and warmth. Pictures on the wall. Carvings on the wooden door frame. Even the designs printed onto the sheets, this same picture of the faceless, mysterious angel.

The sun was streaming through the emerald curtains blowing lazily in the morning breeze. The light itself seemed to have a greenish tint to it. Hunter was sitting in the ornate chair in the corner of the room, his fists balled, his face anxious. He was waiting for the next step to begin. It was always slow at this point, and it was always hot in the small room. Hunter knew it hadn't rained on this part of the Earth in many, many years.

Joxx was hanging out the window, half covered by the green curtains, looking down on the grand square below. There was a vast plaza ten stories down. Many people were moving through it, many wearing religious clothing.

"Cassocks and such?" Joxx was complaining. "Where are we now? In some bad dream conjured up by your little friend, the priest?"

Hunter didn't reply. This place had once been called Peter's Grand Square or something along those lines, and the city that surrounded it was once a small country in itself. But this formerly tiny kingdom now took up more than half of what was once called Europe.

"At least it is not as wet and cold as the first place you brought me." Joxx sighed, still hanging out the window, talking more to himself than Hunter. It was a habit of his. "It's pleasantly temperate here...."

Hunter wished, as he always did at this point in the mind ring trip, that the bottle of wine sitting on the table next to his bed was filled with slow-ship instead of the vile red stuff that passed as vino in this place, in this time.

"I do say that it makes me uncomfortable to see so many people in habits and collars, though," Joxx went on. "And this damn angel everywhere you turn. Religion is something that's always made me very nervous—more so here, whereever the hell we are."

Again, Hunter remained silent. Joxx's senses were about to get a jolt—and much more than the discovery that they were now about a thousand years ahead of their last scenario.

"Yes, too many cassocks," Joxx said, still gawking out the window. "Too much religion will drive you crazy, guaranteed."

Finally, he pulled himself back in, only to discover that Hunter was now wearing a floor-length black cassock. Even worse, he was wearing one, too.

Joxx began to protest of course, but before the words could get out of his mouth, there came a soft knocking at the door, just as Hunter knew it would.

"Your transport is waiting," came the lilting voice from the other side. Hunter jumped to his feet and opened the door; it was the one sequence of the trip that he actually enjoyed, though for a very strange reason.

On the other side of the door was a young, very pretty girl. She was not a nun but a novice, the last step before the final plunge. She was in training for the Order of the Precious Holy Blood. Her habit was not as dour as some of the other religious women Hunter had encountered here. Her smile reminded him of Xara.

"I can escort you down to the departure zone," she told Hunter sweetly. He quickly agreed.

With Joxx tagging along reluctantly, Hunter and the young novice walked down the dark hallway, a dead ringer for some of the buildings found atop Special Number One. They spoke, as they always did, about the weather, her advancement into the order, the pleasant ride that was guaranteed between here and New York.

"They say the ocean looks especially green today," she told him, again as always. But this time, she had a bit of a devilish smile.

They reached the bottom floor and walked out onto the emerald marble plaza. An ancient shuttlecraft was waiting for them.

Joxx nearly burst out laughing when he saw this vehicle. Its design most closely resembled the troop shuttles used by the Empire in real time, but only as a distant and forgotten relative. The machine was long, tubular, "buglike" in the ancient slang of Earth. It had gaggles of attachments hanging off of it. Pipes and vanes and unrecessed steering rockets. The power plant in the rear stank of ion-ballast exhaust, and indeed, Hunter had learned, this thing used a dumbed-down version of ion-ballast propulsion, a sort of mini-star engine for quick but uneconomical jumps around the planet.

It just looked unsafe, and that was Joxx's initial complaint through the snickering. But Hunter wouldn't have factored in an unsuccessful flight. Or would he?

Joxx finally climbed aboard, swishing his long cassock around like a grand dame. Hunter chatted a little more with the young novice, and she smiled through her veil. Then she shook his hand. When the jump car took off, the bit of wind generated lifted her thin shroud a little, and he was able to see her eyes and face.

She smiled and then waved good-bye.

The shuttle ascended from the plaza, and soon they were looking down on the dome of the huge basilica.

It was a light shade of green, of course, shimmering in the morning sun. It held magnificent spires, their turrets topped in emerald leaf. They, too, gave off a strong glare. The shuttle rose quickly to 10,000 feet, and from this height it became apparent that this basilica was not the only one in the vicinity of the great square.

In fact, it was just one of hundreds of basilicas that stretched along the winding, tree-lined highways leading to the coastline. Dozens more could be seen along the seaside cliffs beyond. The shuttle turned north, and even more of the magnificent cathedrals were evident atop the high, snowcapped peaks to the north and east, many displaying huge statues of the ubiquitous angel. Another turn, now to the west, and even more of the grand churches could be seen lining a winding highway, one that eventually passed right through the city once called Paris.

"The enormity of this religious state and its great wealth is eye-opening," Joxx said, nose pressed up against the shuttle's window. "By these ancient standards, it is nearly on a par with the Fourth Empire itself."

Hunter sighed wearily.

"A very astute observation," he said.

New York was green, too.

The buildings. The water flowing around the port. The miles of towers and transport tubes and people movers, even the air itself, clogged as it was with flying cars. From horizon to horizon to horizon, everything was just a little bit green. And everywhere, flags were flying. They were green as well, all with the image of the faceless angel in the center.

The view of the vast city-state of basilicas stretching all the way to the sea had been awe inspiring. But it was obvious right away that this place was the capital of Earth.

The shuttle landed in an arrival zone carved out of the forest of trees in old Central Park.

The vessel was burping and sizzling as Hunter and Joxx stepped off. It seemed out of breath from its seventeen-minute jump over "the Pond." Hunter saluted the green-uniformed pilots; it had become a habit with him now. They looked out of breath, too.

Hunter and Joxx were met by a motorcade of ultra-stretched air cars containing a company of enormous, security men. They were heavily armed with huge space rifles and bandoliers of lightning packs. Their armbands displayed the image of the same angel; their air vehicles did, too.

They ushered Hunter and Joxx into one of the ultra-stretched air cars. It took off quickly, slotting into place in the middle of a formation that the aerial security escorts had formed around them. They were put into seats at the rear of this vehicle. A stewardess appeared. She, too, was a cute novice. She was a little bolder than Hunter's friend back at Peter's Grand Square; she actually let her hand brush against him several times as she was passing him and Joxx hot towels and glasses of that awful red wine.

As always, after Hunter's first token sip of the bitter wine, a priest appeared in their compartment. He was wearing a cassock and collar just as they were, but was obviously of higher authority, as indicated by the number of tiny green crosses he wore across his left breast pocket, like a military officer wearing medals. He was here to brief them.

This was one of Hunter's least favorite parts of the mind trip, only because the high priest talked so slowly and therefore could drag out the scene forever. Joxx, however, was fascinated when this man told them the Emperor of the Galaxy was awaiting their arrival with great anticipation.

Joxx looked across at Hunter and mouthed the words: "We're here to see the Emperor?"

Hunter simply yawned in reply.

"But why?" Joxx asked aloud.

Hunter just pointed back to the high priest, as if to say, He's about to tell you.

'The Emperor hasn't had a really thorough confession in quite some time," the priest continued in a very hushed voice, enunciating every syllable to its long, painful conclusion. "This is troubling for some of us. Personally, I think he has entered a period of reflection. But that's just my opinion. In any case, that's why he asked for the best confessors that Peter's could offer. And that's why you two are here."

This time Joxx did laugh. Out loud. Us? Hear the Emperor's confession?

The priest nodded, again very slowly.

He got up to leave. Joxx tried to grab him by his long sleeve, but his fingers went right through the material. Next, Joxx began to demand more information from the man, but this was not a part of the mind ring program.

So the high priest simply ignored him, bowed deeply, and disappeared back into the cockpit.

The stretched air car set down with a bump a few moments later.

Hunter and Joxx stepped out to find themselves atop the highest building in the city; indeed, this was the highest building on the planet. It was 250 stories high, not counting the gigantic statue of the same faceless angel, arms outstretched, wings raised as if in flight, which adorned its peak. A force-field bubble protected the entire top of this monstrous structure, so wind and temperature were not a factor up here. They were so high up though, it wasn't too much of a leap to see how the notion to build floating cities came into being.

There were more security troops here, green uniforms, angel-image shoulder patches in place. Two of them led Hunter and Joxx down a long tunnel that was crammed with dozens of flashing strobe-light security devices. By the end of this gauntlet, the security people were convinced that Hunter and Joxx were who they claimed to be.

From here they were led to an enclosed chapel ten stories down from the roof. This place was staffed with a small army of novices—a different order here, so no veils—and each one looked more comely than the next. They were dressed in brief black habits with tiny green crosses emblazoned near the bodice. They presented Hunter and Joxx with the ritual snack of crackers and yet more bitter wine.

Joxx was so enthralled by these servants he failed to see the huge portrait hanging above their seating area. Hunter now turned him around and directed him to look up at the almost 3-D painting. For once it was not a picture of the ubiquitous angel.

"Just so you'll know," Hunter said. "That's who we are here to see."

Joxx took a close look at the painting and nearly fell over.

The man in the picture was the same man they'd seen partially revived in the hollow. The man who could only blink and smile. The guy they'd called Jimmy.

"He's the first Emperor?" Joxx gasped.

"I told you it got weirder," Hunter replied.

Flash!

The two mind travelers now found themselves in an enormous chamber where seven men sat around a very ornate, rectangular table.

This room was very dark; only a few candles provided the light. Hunter had learned that this chamber was a few stories below the chapel.

The men around the table were all wearing long, red garments with white collars that seemed too stiff to ever be comfortable. Several were wearing strangely pointed hats. The men were elderly, unfriendly. Some of them had faces as red as their garments. There were no introductions. It was just assumed that Hunter and Joxx knew who these people were.

They were not invited to sit down. Instead, they stood at one end of the table, looking down at the men seated at the other.

"You realize that you've been called here on a very delicate matter," the man sitting at the head of the table asked them. He was obviously in charge.

Hunter and Joxx nodded on cue.

"The Emperor asked for you himself," the man went on, clearly not happy about the situation. "Experts in taking confession—frankly, I'd never heard of such a thing."

"We go where God thinks we are needed," Hunter told diem, delivering his line perfectly. "We can hardly question the Emperor's wisdom."

The seven men looked like they'd just as soon throw Hunter and Joxx out the window than to be talking to them about this.

The man in red who was doing all the talking cleared his throat dramatically; it was his way of reasserting dominance in the room. "At this time," he said, "we want to remind you what the official history of the Empire is. Any objections?"

Hunter shook his head no. Joxx did, too. He wanted to hear it.

As the six others lowered their heads, the lead man began reading from a missal: "So it was, on that Easter morning, by a miracle of God, a vision appeared to three brothers. This vision was that of an angel, the messenger from God. The messenger enlightened our Emperor, and with this enlightenment, the Emperor created our holy Empire. He is responsible for all that is good, for all that is just, for all that is spiritual in our Galaxy. He sits at the right hand of God. He is immortal. We shall praise him every day."

The man closed the prayer book. An uncomfortable silence came over the room.

On cue, Hunter asked, "Why did you want to see us before we saw him? Even the Emperor must salve the need to give his confession. It should be a private moment...."

All seven men lowered their heads another notch. They couldn't even look at Hunter and Joxx now.

"Well, because we must be frank with you," the head man said, staring down at the table. "The Emperor has not been feeling himself lately...."

"He is ill?" Hunter asked.

The men all shook their heads in unison. "He cannot get ill because, as the Emperor, he can live forever. He cannot die. He cannot get sick. But this does not mean that he doesn't have troubles of the mind."

Joxx shifted uneasily from one foot to the other when he heard this.

"We are simply here to listen to his confession," Hunter said. "And with penance, to hopefully relieve him of his sins and ease his mind."

"Yes, that's all very well," the head man said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "But there is one more thing we want you to do."

He then lowered his voice so dramatically, Hunter and Joxx had to lean forward to hear him.

"If for some reason, during the Emperor's confession, he imparts to you information that, shall we say, strays a bit from this official history, it is now your obligation to inform us."

No matter how many times Hunter had passed through this part of the mind ring trip, he never failed to be stunned at those words. Joxx, too, was shocked.

"Isn't that breaching a very holy confidence?" Joxx piped up unexpectedly. "It's just a very strange thing to ask—"

Suddenly every eye was on him, including Hunter's. He was shooting Joxx a glance now that was as sharp as a ray gun blast. Its meaning was clear: Shut up.

The seven men in red were plainly angry at his remark.

"We weren't aware that you'd come all this way just to give us your opinion, Father," the head man said, voice thick with contempt.

Joxx got the message. He was here to learn.

"My apologies," he said with a slight bow. "I promise to better hold my tongue in the future...."

Flash!

They were suddenly inside yet another huge chamber. This one was more impressive, more imposing than the first two. Its ceiling and floors were layered with gold and silver, the most precious metals of the time. The walls were covered with huge tapestries depicting the Emperor in a multitude of heroic settings. Incense was burning at many locations along the huge stained-glass windows adorning the far wall. Somber church music was playing from somewhere unseen.

At the far end of the room was a huge, ornate throne. It was surrounded by four columns of splashing water and a thick cloud of bitter incense. A man was sitting in the jewel-encrusted chair at the top, bathed in multicolored light coming through the stained glass.

No one else was around him; he was alone.

"It is him!" Joxx exclaimed in a whisper.

'Took me a while to believe it, too," Hunter admitted.

"But how could this be?" Joxx asked. "How could he possibly make it from that muddy place to be ruler of the Galaxy? I mean, that tale about angels and enlightenment can't be true. We were there—"

"Just keep your ears open," Hunter told him. "We still have a long way to go."

They slowly approached the throne. Reaching a spot about eight feet away from the base of the divan, Hunter jerked Joxx to a halt. They both bowed deeply.

Looking down at them was Emperor Jimmy. His body was still somewhat rigid, somewhat twisted. But he was still smiling, and still, he had a twinkle in his eye. Even though the incident in the hollow had happened almost one thousand years before, Jimmy looked no older than he did that day, probably no more than his midthirties or so.

"I thank you for taking such a long journey just to see me," he told them. "Was your flight a pleasant one?"

"The ocean was very green today," Hunter replied, knowing this was the best thing to say in order to move things along. Then he added, "So we are here. How can we help?"

Emperor Jimmy sighed. "We all get to a point in our lives," he began, twisting his mouth to carefully form each word, "when it seems necessary to reflect on our situation. To question whether our place in the universe is as it should be. My friends, these days, I believe that time has come for me. May I tell you why?"

Hunter nodded. "On the most basic level, a confessor's job is to simply listen," he said.

The Emperor sighed deeply again, then he indicated the elegance and pomp in the room and, by extension, everything else.

"We have done so much," he went on. "We have fulfilled our dream of reaching every corner of our Galaxy. We can fly to either edge and back in less than a year. We've been able to puff nearly eighty percent of the planets. Ordinary people now live to nearly two hundred years of age. Our population is expanding by millions every day.

"We are building the triads to save our land from the oceans. We are designing larger and more powerful star-ships. We are investigating the many wonders that our place here in space holds for us. There are no wars. No conflicts. We are all one with our Galaxy."

"What is the problem then?" Hunter asked him. "Why your distress?"

The Emperor twisted his partially paralyzed body deeper in his chair. The smile left his face for the first time.

"The cardinals—I'm sure they reminded you of the official history of all this? The story of the angel in the hollow?"

Both Hunter and Joxx nodded.

"Well, here is my confession: It was no angel that came to us that day," he said. "Not a typical one, anyway."

"I knew it," Joxx whispered.

Again Emperor Jimmy twisted in his seat. The next words from his mouth would not be easy ones.

"We were hiding from the Paras," he began gravely. "We'd just done a job up north. A car bombing. But they'd been searching for us for years—and we could hear them searching for us now. They were so close, we sent out some of the boys to set up an ambush. We did this only because we knew what would happen if the blokes ever caught us. No arrest. No trial. As the leaders of our cell, we would be executed on the spot. They had made that quite clear to us....

"So we were laying low in the hollow, hoping the ambush would be a success, or even better, that the blokes would just go away. But of course, they didn't.

"Now we were in a very isolated part of the old country, very close to the border, with few other people around. We would always see strange things in the sky, especially at night. Hear strange things, too. This early morning we heard the sounds of an aircraft, sputtering and rumbling as if it were in trouble. We thought for sure it was one of the Para helicopters, falling into the hollow. It was the only explanation.

"We rushed out of the cottage, guns drawn, masks on, my two brothers and me. The noise was so loud by now, we thought a whole Para regiment was crashing down on top of us. But soon enough we knew these were not the blokes coming in for the kill.

"No, this was something else. This craft. It was on fire and smoking heavily and coming out of the sky so fast, there was barely enough time to comprehend it before it went through the holly trees and boom! came down right in front of us.

"There was a big explosion. All three of us were thrown to the ground. The smoke was so thick, I lost sight of both my brothers momentarily. When the smoke cleared, we saw this thing had driven itself right into the mud. It had a very odd shape. Hat, almost like a pancake, but not quite round, with a tiny bubble on the front and two very small wings in the back. It was colored dark gray, but it was also sparkling like gold, at the same time. And it had a strange glow around it. At first I thought, Well, this must be a secret weapon the Yanks are testing. A weird satellite or something, because obviously it had been made by human hands. And I knew it didn't belong to the blokes, because they're just not that smart.

"We just stood there like fools, looking at it for a long time, then my brother Michael said, 'This might belong to the Yanks, but it's ours now.' I recall those words dis-tinctly: He walked right up to it while I stayed frozen in place about a hundred paces away.

"Michael was the catter in our family. He was too dumb, too mean-spirited to ever get afraid. He found that this machine had torn a great hole in its side with its rough-and-tumble landing. So he crawled inside this thing, yelling to us over his shoulder as if we were right behind him. I could hear him describing what this thing looked like from within. He was using words like 'gadget' and 'gizmo' and was exclaiming at how bright and sparkling everything was. I cannot recall ever hearing him so excited.

"But then he cried out—and again it was a sound I'd never heard come out of my brother Michael. A moment later, he came crawling back out of the crashed vessel, carrying a body.

"I somehow found the strength to walk toward him, very slowly, splashing across the stream as if I wasn't even getting wet. He lay the body down, and we just stared at it, not quite sure if it was real or not. It was a man. Tall and gangly, long arms, long legs. He did look strange. He had almost totally white hair. He was wearing a strange silver uniform and had very odd cloth shoes on his feet. 'Sneakers' they used to call them."

He paused to gather himself.

"But you see, this person was also wearing a cap, like a ball cap. And across the bill, it said: 'Angels can do it forever.' Those crazy words. And a piece of cloth, attached to the sleeve of his uniform, also had written onto it: 'Call sign: Angel.'

"You can see it all now, can't you? That's how the story about an angel coming to us got started. But he wasn't an angel. He was a pilot and his code name was Angel."

He paused for a long moment. Joxx was riveted by the story. And though he had heard it many times, Hunter was, too. At this point in previous trips, Emperor Jimmy would break down and weep, sometimes uncontrollably. Hunter didn't have time for that now.

"So what happened next?" he prompted the Emperor.

With a loud sniff, Jimmy went on: "Michael laid this poor soul on the ground and somehow I got me arms and legs moving again. I made an attempt to revive him, even though I was sure he was dead already.

"I remember becoming angry at my younger brother at that moment. I knew that he had read about things that Michael and I had little interest in. He knew all about rockets and jet airplanes and the kind of choppers the blokes were looking for us in. I really needed his help at that moment, and though he'd walked up to the craft as well, he was still standing stiff as a board and being of no help at all.

"So, not knowing where I got the moxie to do so, I bent down, cupped my hands, and drew some water into them. Then I tried to pour some of it into this dying soul's mouth. That's when he moved ... and that's when everything else just got crazy.

"We were all in close contact with that vehicle, you see, and it came back to life the second this pilot did. It exploded in a tremendous flash of light. I was thrown into the air a second time. We all were. I hit the ground hard—and the next thing I knew, I couldn't feel my body anymore. Everything, from my neck down, was just numb.

"But that's when I saw a beam of light come out of somewhere. It was brighter than anything I could have imagined. The universe at its creation—when God said, 'Let there be light'—I daresay that light was not as bright as this one. And I remember seeing so many strange things in that incredibly bright light. Faces, storm clouds, suns exploding, people flying through the air—even the shadow of the Yanks' space shuttle, passing over my head. I saw visions of beautiful girls that must have been from my dreams because they were perfection itself. Flowers. Waterfalls. Beautiful oceans. Incredible sunsets. Total bliss. I thought I was dead and gone to heaven, as impossible as that might be for my soul....

"But then, at the same time, I also got glimpses of weird creatures with their entrails being sucked out of them, mooing and carrying on, as if they were still alive at the time. And people being taken from their beds. Their bodies being probed. And there was a formation of airplanes, flying along, as if nothing was wrong, even though they were actually somewhere deep under the ocean.

"I know it sounds strange—and it is probably impossible to convince you that I saw all these things in just the short period of that flash, but I did—with about a few billion more. It was like I was getting a split-second education on everything that existed, universal knowledge being rammed right down me throat. All I can say is that, suddenly, I was brilliant. I knew every secret of the cosmos. I became immortal. But at the same time, I also thought that some kind of mistake was being made. Like I wasn't supposed to be seeing any of this, neither the good or the bad. And how could the crash of this flying pancake have the power to infuse me with the secrets of the universe? That's just about the only thing I do not know....

"That's really all I remember from that day. I recall the boys finding me not quite dead but not quite alive, either. They took me away, I recovered—somewhat—into what you see before you. But the gift I received that day has stayed with me. How to describe it? I don't really know. Any dream I have becomes a reality. I think it, and it is done. It's really as simple as that. And I've tried my best to use this knowledge, this power, this blessing for the good of everyone—not an easy task as I was not exactly a choirboy before all this took place. I'll tell you, my friends, the universe must truly be a random place, because if the stars were to pick a more unlikely candidate to build a Galactic Empire, it was me...."

A very long silence.

"So that is my sin," he said, tears welling up in his eyes. "That is what I felt the need to confess to you. I've been fomenting this lie for a thousand years. After I recovered and I began exercising the fantastic power that had been given to me, I became arrogant. I became vain. I convinced myself that it really was an angel that visited me. That I had indeed been touched by the finger of God. So that was the story that was created. But it simply was not true."

Hunter nudged Joxx, and both of them bowed.

"You are forgiven," Hunter said simply.

Another very long silence arrived. Awkward. Endless.

Finally, Emperor Jimmy spoke again: "Before that day in the hollow, I thought of myself as a freedom fighter. But back then most people had another word for it: terrorist. And that I was. Some of the acts I committed back then have haunted me every day of my very long, unnaturally extended life."

He wiped his eyes with some difficulty, but then the twinkle returned momentarily.

"But I'll be frank with you," he concluded. "As my past acts have dulled each day just a little bit, then I have also been visited by a ray of sunshine every day as well. More out of relief than triumph ..."

"And why is that?" Hunter prompted him again.

Emperor Jimmy smiled again. "That, of my three brothers, I was the one that was somehow chosen. Because if it had been one of the other two—well, let's just say, I shudder at the thought—"

"But what do you mean?" Joxx blurted out.

"How can I best explain it?" Jimmy replied. "My youngest brother was a strange fusion of myself and my older brother Michael. I'd like to think / was the brains of the outfit and that I had at least a little compassion in me. My older brother did not. He was all brawn and no brains, and he was a nasty sort, drunk or sober. And my youngest brother? He was both smart and nasty—the worst combination."

Jimmy smiled again, but this time he didn't seem so happy.

"God help me for saying this," he said reflectively. "But if it was one of them who'd been brought back to life, and not me... well, that would have been disastrous."

Flash!

Now, this one was tricky.

Hunter and Joxx next found themselves in a shuttle similar to the craft that had carried them from Peter's to New York.

But this buglike vessel was in much worse shape than that previous one; in fact, it was full of holes and was smoking heavily. And they were not just passengers this time. They were sitting at the flight controls and actually flying the thing.

It was also in the process of crashing.

Joxx was terrified—and Hunter couldn't blame him. He'd gone through this disturbing chapter many times before, and while he always managed to get by with just a few cuts and scrapes, there was no guarantee that the same outcome was assured this time in.

They were back over the so-called Emerald Isle, the place of the ambush, the place from which Emperor Jimmy had come. Hunter had determined that just about a year had passed since their meeting with the paralyzed ruler. In the thousand years since the ascendancy of the terrorist turned potentate, the Isle had become the cultural mecca of the Milky Way, just as Peter's had become its spiritual center and New York the hub of its political and military might. Indeed, the Isle had been turned into one great palace, with buildings from sea to sea that rivaled those of Peter's in grandeur and New York for sheer elegance. In the millennia of Jimmy's rule, the people who'd been born in this place had been treated like celebrities throughout the Galaxy. There was never any need for these people to buy a meal or a drink anywhere among the stars. They were oiled and fed for free, just as long as they reveled their hosts with tales of the green jewel and how, if you looked hard enough, you could see a pinpoint of green coming from their home at the far end of the Galaxy.

The Emerald Isle didn't look anything like that mythical place now. Now the island nation was one huge battlefield.

Hunter and Joxx were flying the shuttle above it, and even as his hands were gripping the steering yoke so hard they had turned bone white, Joxx couldn't help but notice the land below looked like a scene from hell.

Fire, smoke, the landscape thick with wreckage from some great calamity. Tracked weapons, huge troop movers, all kinds of flying machines, everything on the ground in pieces scattered as far as the eye could see. It seemed incomprehensible that something so beautiful could become so devastated in less than a year. But that's exactly what had happened.

Joxx quickly dragged his attention back to the matter at hand. This shuttle was crashing, and there didn't seem to be a lot they could do about it. Even worse, in the traveling compartment behind them was not a load of passengers or even soldiers, but the litters of the dead. That's when Joxx looked down at his uniform and realized that it had no places to input weapons or hook up communications devices or power supplies or jet packs, items essential for combat in these ancient days. Instead, the uniform had a plain white field imprinted on its front with a huge red cross in the middle.

"We're combat medics," Hunter yelled over to him. "Don't ask me why, but we are now known as The Knights of Malta."

"And we are crashing with a load of dead into the land of the dead?" Joxx screamed back at him.

Hunter could only nod grimly. "That's why this one is so tricky."

They fell below the thousand-foot mark. The sky all around them was filled with flash beams and aerial scatter bombs. The shuttle was mortally wounded, yet the people on the ground shooting at them seemed intent on making their end as painful as possible.

Two simultaneous explosions tore through the rear of the shuttle. The craft went nose over and began to plunge nearly straight down. Much smoke and fire was trailing in their wake. In the back, the load of bodies seemed to be groaning from the strain.

It was at this point in the trip that Hunter took in a deep breath ... and checked the time. In his many visits to this incident, he'd learned an important thing: because of the huge battle going on below them, a layer of heated thermal air was rising from the battlefield. This patch of hot air was lurking at about four hundred feet. It was not much, but Hunter knew from experience that if he pulled the shuttle up at just the right moment, it might provide them enough of a bump to put them into a more controllable position.

He did a slow countdown to 400 feet, the sky around them absolutely covered with antiaircraft explosions. Five hundred feet... 450 ... 425 ... Now!

Hunter violently yanked back on the control column, pulling the steering yoke back so far, it almost crushed his chest. Joxx was simply numb with terror. His hands were on his head, nearly ripping out his uncombed hair. To him, it seemed just impossible for the shuttle to remain in flight.

But slowly, surely, Hunter pulled the shuttle out of its death dive and began getting some air under it. The sky down here was filled not just with aerial scatter bombs now but also blasts from big guns firing long range below them. Still, the shuttle finally did level out, Hunter's muscles straining to their limit in pulling the aircraft back under control. But this did nothing to stop the fire that was consuming their aft power compartment. In fact, they had barely seconds of flying time left before the aircraft exploded in midair. So Hunter's last-ditch maneuver hadn't saved them, it simply gave them a few more moments to avoid a crash.

Hunter managed to get Joxx's hands back on his steering column, and together they turned the gravely wounded aircraft to the right. Jammed up against his side window, incredibly Joxx began picking up landmarks he recognized. The vast clover field, the serpentine road, the ditch where the Easter morning ambush had taken place, the thick woods beyond.

Hunter shouted to steer the craft straight again, and suddenly they were clipping off the tops of holly trees.

Hunter yelled one more time: "Pull... now!" And pull they did.

Two seconds later, the shuttle crashed into the bog just beyond Kelly's Hollow.

Joxx was knocked unconscious by the impact.

No matter. Hunter had been knocked cold many times at this point in his previous mind trips. He dragged Joxx from the wreckage now and did a quick job spraying wound-mender on a nasty head gash the SG officer had suffered in the soggy crash.

Then he carried Joxx across the shallow part of the bog to a grove of holly trees that was quite familiar from previous crash landings. Pushing him down into the knee-deep shave grass surrounding the trees, Hunter ripped the red cross from his chest and then got down low.

It was strangely quiet here, especially since all around them, the island nation was totally engulfed in war. Hunter had splashed across this brackish water to the grove of holly trees three dozen times before, always trying to get it right. Not once upon landing did he see anyone else within sight of the bogs or the hollow that lay beyond.

And that was strange. Because he knew this place was actually ground zero for nothing less than the fall of the First Galactic Empire.

Joxx was finally able to lift his head as the wound-healer spray took effect.

He pushed the tousled hair from his eyes and saw they were looking west, across a blanket bog to where the edge of Kelly's Hollow began. He knew this meant that about 150 feet to his right was the larger, deeper bog where he and Hunter had thrown in the two bodies during the scenario before the last.

To his mind, this was a queer place to return to, especially with the utter devastation all around them. Only the trees surrounding Kelly's Hollow seemed to be left standing for as far as he could see. Why had it been spared? And the deep bog before them? It, too, seemed remarkably preserved.

Hunter, of course, was reading his mind; it was easy, as the same questions had come to him when he first took this part of the patched-together mind trip.

The answer to why they were here came down the road just a few seconds later. It was an armored column containing twenty-two tracked vehicles. Five were extremely large and were carrying huge, triple-barreled guns inside turrets in the back. Two more were lugging what appeared to be a very primitive type of sonic gun. The fifteen other trucks were carrying soldiers and other people who were wearing uniforms but carried no weapons. Hunter had determined that these men were engineers.

The small convoy looked like it had just driven through hell, which, in a way, it had. Hunter knew, and Joxx could tell quickly, that these troops weren't just engaged in local combat with an unseen enemy. They were being attacked from outer space. Their vehicles and the men themselves were battered almost beyond belief; they were also surrounded by a very faint yet detectable yellow glow.

"Cobalt decay," Joxx whispered woozily. He knew this from his immersion in ancient warfare; it was something that Hunter came to figure out after the first dozen trips.

Cobalt decay was the residue of an incoming bolt of energy fired from a cobalt-ray blaster. This very powerful weapon appeared sometime before the mid-twenty-eighth century. If you were close enough to get the cloud of yellow dust on you and were still among the breathing, this meant that you'd somehow escaped death by the narrowest margins.

"So this is an interplanetary war?" Joxx said, pulling the weeds from his mouth. "I mean, someone must be shooting at them from way, way off. Cobalt batteries were almost exclusively used for very long-range bombardment. Close in, they might even blow a small planet apart."

The last truck in the convoy was carrying not an enormous weapon of some kind. Instead, it was pulling a trailer on which a very large, very heavy object was tied down and covered by a frayed atom-weave tarpaulin.

The convoy stopped right at the edge of the high bog, and the soldiers and engineers quickly jumped out. They hurriedly directed the truck pulling the weighty object up to the bog itself. This done, all of the soldiers and engineers stared into the bog for a moment, almost as if they were deep in prayer. This was still curious every time Hunter watched it. The little ceremony quickly over, the soldiers put their helmets back on and frantically went back to work. They uncovered the object on the back of the trailer truck, all while the gunners remaining on the huge escort tanks were turning in their turrets, waiting for the next bolt from the blue to come crashing down on them. If they saw a cobalt fusillade coming in and acted quickly enough, they might be able to deflect it with zaser beams, a sonic blast, or even some aerial scatter bombs. It was the seeing it first part that was difficult.

The heavy object was finally uncovered. Now Hunter and Joxx could see that it was a huge chunk of pure star crystal, gleaming like a billion diamonds fused together. It was a magnificent object, twenty feet high, five feet wide, and cut in an elegant if irregular shape. It was so brilliant, its shimmering managed to light up the very gloomy surroundings.

The soldiers didn't seem that impressed with it though; it was obvious that they wanted to get their work done and then get the hell out of the area, so they didn't wind up as small piles of blue cobalt dust. Using huge two-man anti-grav devices, the engineers were able to coax the enormous jewel off the trailer and to the muddy ground below. But now came the hard part. The antigrav movers refused to budge the huge piece of gleaming crystal once it was set on the ground, reason unknown. So each man in the column who was able quickly moved in, and together they picked up the huge stone. This took much effort, but the group was able to move the stone about ten or so feet and place it upright next to the edge of the bog.

Then they started digging.

This began a very long section in Hunter's previous trips; he was able to cut out most of it, performing a kind of fast forward. Still, they watched the group of soldiers for quite a while as they hand dug a hole right on the edge of the bog to a depth of about ten feet. Then they pushed and pulled and somehow manipulated the huge gemstone to fall upright into this depression. They filled the hole back in, stamped down the edges, had another short prayer ceremony, and then jumped in their trucks. Indeed, they left the area with great haste.

Hunter and Joxx watched the convoy rumble back down the road, finally twisting around a bend and up and over the nearby hill. Hunter counted to five. That's when they saw an enormous cobalt bolt crack the sky and fall in the general direction the convoy was heading. Another two sec-onds passed, then came the thunderous sound of the convoy's guns firing back.

The firing went on like this for two minutes, before it finally died down, too.

Hunter knew they now had several minutes of isolation. He yanked Joxx up from the grass and without a word, they began splashing their way across the shallow bog, intent on getting to the deeper one.

On their arrival, Hunter let Joxx take in the surroundings. It was best that he get the next jolt of unreality on his own. The SG officer looked in all directions, drinking it in. Then his eyes fell on that part of the deep bog closest to the gemstone the soldiers had just erected.

That's when he first realized there was a hole in the water.

Literally...

It was probably two feet across. It went straight down into the dirty water, like an invisible shaft, creating a 360-degree waterfall with the rest of the bog water lapping over its sides.

Joxx gasped. "I've never seen such a thing. How could anyone manipulate Nature like that?"

Hunter shrugged. "Every era loses a few of its secrets before the next one takes its place. But more important, do you know what spot this place marks?"

Joxx was already nodding his head. "It is the exact place where we threw in one of those bodies. The first one. Michael. The older brother of Emperor Jimmy."

Joxx then dared to lean out over the edge of the bog and stare down into the hole in the water.

"Oh God," he gasped again. A great and horrible truth had suddenly come to him. "He's not down there anymore, is he?"

Hunter did nothing to indicate that Joxx was wrong.

"But we ourselves threw his body in here—more than a thousand years ago!"

Hunter said: "Take a look at that monument."

Joxx got back to his feet and scrambled over to the huge, recently planted gemstone. There was a plaque carved into it. Its words were both simple and clear.

It read: "On this spot, Emperor Michael was raised from the dead and thus the Second Empire began."

Joxx could hardly speak: "Raised from the dead? For real?"

"At least in the mind of the person who wrote this part of the ring trip," Hunter replied soberly.

"But, do you mean... a resurrection?" Again, Joxx could barely say the words.

Hunter just shook his head.

"I just don't know," he said.

Flash!

They walked for days.

Or at least Hunter had manipulated the mind ring trip to seem that way.

He had pointed them west, toward the ocean. The fighting had moved on long ago, so the roads were deserted. But the damp green fields on either side of them were covered with the unspeakable debris of war. There was wreckage as far as the eye could see, the devastation being even more apparent down here at ground level. Many huge tanks, their tracks broken or run out, their gun barrels bent or melted. Broken-down troop carriers, turned up like skyscrapers, twisted metal reaching for the sky. Even more monstrous weapons movers, some crushed, some torn apart as if by some giant's hand. Downed space fighters, enormous rocket-powered aircraft bombers, even a few gigantic ion-pulse starships could be seen among all this as many things had fallen from the sky, too. Everywhere were clouds of thick, black smoke, everywhere the stink of war.

And everywhere, too, was the human wreckage. Most of the fallen soldiers were little more than piles of dirty blue salt, though sometimes Hunter and Joxx would come upon several hundred silhouettes of either white or red, lined up, as if they had been executed en masse. But there were also the remains of those who had not been demolecularized as a means of death. No, many soldiers across the nightmarish landscape had been killed the old-fashioned way: torn apart, broken, or dismembered by fire blasts, subnuclear weapons, or super-high explosives. Skeletons, twisted in the most grotesque of death poses, many still with the skin burned to their bones, littered the roadways and the fields. Some appeared to be smiling at Hunter and Joxx as they trudged by. Others seemed to be beckoning to them.

In all his travels, real or imagined, Hunter had never seen anything so gruesome.

It was sunrise when they reached the cliffs of Moher.

They could hear the ocean crashing and the wind blowing, but the fog and smoke were so thick, it was impossible to see more than a few feet in front of them. Here at Moher, the sea had battered the land and won for thousands of years. Until the massive triad had been put in place, that is. Now the coastline was as straight as a razor, perfect and unending in both directions. But it was still a long drop down to the water. And the next stop after that was New York City, or thereabouts.

The cliffs were as deserted as the roads. But it was clear the path of destruction that had started at Kelly's Hollow an indeterminate amount of time before had gone right through here—and far beyond, as it turned out. For an especially stiff wind began to blow as if on cue, as Hunter knew it would, and suddenly they were able to see through the thick mist. Before them, a dozen gigantic structures appeared, stretching far out to sea. Dull gray, devoid of ornamentation, some of them still burning from battle damage, but most being intact, they ran atop the rough ocean waters all the way to the horizon and beyond.

They looked odd, especially from this vantage point, yet there was no doubt what they were.

Bridges.

"The forbidden spans..." Joxx breathed. "They originated here?"

Hunter had been surprised upon first seeing them, too.

Along the shoreline, the wreckage of dozens of enormous warships was also visible. They'd all been hit by cobalt bolts, and in some cases their remains were crashing up against the side of the gigantic bridges and the massive triad. Hunter knew a strange battle had been fought here. Between the people on the warships and the people on the bridges, both using and being hit by cobalt lightning bolts, fired by both sides from starships flying deep in space.

It was clear, too, that the people who built the bridges had bested those fighting on the warships. Through Hunter's talent at time-shortening the mind ring trip, he was presenting Joxx with the remains of a battle that had actually been fought months before. While the Isle was still being bombarded by isolated cobalt weapons flying in outer space, the war had moved on from there. And it was clear that it had moved across these huge bridges.

But how had the spans been built? Where did the material come from? The craftsmen? The designers?

There weren't any ...

They had not been needed.

"My God," Joxx said, collapsing to his knees at the edge of the cliff. "Electron torches! Real ones. That's obviously the key. They can take any atomic structure and combine it with another until it is strong enough to rival ion steel, the strongest material known in the Galaxy. And they can shape materials into any design wanted, then have the torches' brain come up with the best way to actually build it."

Electron torches building bridges? Why not? Warships can be hit and sunk; flying machines can be shot down. But bridges can be repaired, and with electron torches, they can be repaired very quickly, almost at split-second speed. Networks of tubes built into the center of the spans indicated some sort of high-speed transport system had been factored into the design as well. A troop transport equipped with an ion-powered engine could make it across the ocean to New York in the same amount of time as a shuttle flying over it: approximately seventeen minutes.

Joxx stared out at the wreckage and the bridges for a long time. "So they launched an invasion from here. It's certainly a novel way to get to the other side of the ocean."

"And start the disaster that Jimmy hoped would never happen," Hunter agreed.

"But why would anyone in their right mind want to dis-mantle what Emperor Jimmy had put together? For what reason? There were no wants. No problems at all. The Galaxy had been settled peacefully, and everyone was prosperous and free to do what they want. Why ruin that?"

A stiff, bitter wind blew off the ocean and began wearing down Hunter's face just as it had worn down the rocks here for ages.

"Why ruin it?" Hunter asked the question again. "Because you weren't the one running it.... You weren't the one in power. It's called hubris. Ever hear the word?"

Joxx didn't reply. He just sat down and stared at the destruction around him, the debris left behind after the invasion forces had departed.

"It's a campaign that will succeed beyond its creator's wildest dreams, I can tell you that," Hunter said, taking a soggy seat on the wet grass beside him. "There will be bitter fighting here on Earth and on just about every planet in the Galaxy. Nearly twenty years of it. Ever wonder why there is so little history left from this period? It's because all life, all culture, was almost totally destroyed.

"I've seen many of the battles within the mind rings. I was even involved in some of the fighting. It was brutal— and not something we have to revisit here, though maybe, at a future day it would be wise to. All you have to know is that Brother Michael won, because somehow he'd gained access to an army and, even more important, to a technology more powerful than what was currently available. This technology allowed him to build weapons, to fly in space faster, to build these bridges. That technology was the electron torch. That's all it took to overthrow the First Empire."

Another silence between them. The wind was howling now, the rain coming down in sheets.

"But how did he get himself out of that bog?" Joxx wondered aloud. "How was he able to bring himself back to life?"

Hunter didn't answer the question.

Instead he told Joxx, "Just hang on. We're going back across the Pond."

Flash!

The booty stretched on forever.

Miles of it. Stacks of it. Some of it packed inside airtight, deep-space containers, some of it lying broken and scattered on the ground. Jewels. Comet dust. Small meteorites made of solid gold. Coined money, sheets of shimmering aluminum, silver bars, tons of it, lying unattended. Tarnishing. Rusting. Melting away in the very hot sun.

The plunder wasn't made up solely of precious metal and stones. There were millions of pieces of artwork, 3-D sculpture, and holographic reliefs. Some of these objects were more than two thousand years old. Some were ancient before humans ever went into space. Most of it, too, was withering away in the brutal heat.

The holding area for this tiny universe of spoils was an island so large it was once called Long Island. It was located just east of New York, one hundred miles long, twenty miles wide, hundreds of square miles. To say every foot of it was covered with some sort of boodle, paid as a tax, taken as part of a fine, or simply taken, was not an overstatement. The truth was, the looters were running out of space to put their loot. The soldiers of the fledgling Second Empire had done their jobs too well.

The means by which all this ill-gotten gain made it to Mother Earth was, of course, by spaceship. In this era, the first year of the Second Empire, the first spaceships made by electron torches had appeared. They were enormous, clumsy, sometimes dangerous vessels. They needed a large area to land in, required many hours of maintenance, and had a tendency to blow up on takeoff if their delicate early-model ion-ballast engines were not stoked correctly. Few were built to the same standard, but most were 2,500 feet in length, bulbous and bullet-shaped, weighed more than 500,000 tons, and carried enormous amounts of raw ion-ballast fuel. If one lit off incorrectly, the resulting explosion usually obliterated a good chunk of real estate around its takeoff spot. Anyone within a mile of the blast usually went up with it.

This shaky fleet built by the crude craftsmen of the early Second Empire grew exponentially as more planets were reclaimed after the fierce civil war, and more electron torches got into the hands of people just learning how to use them. There were at least a million ships operating inside the One Arm alone. Many more were flying around the Galaxy, full of imperial soldiers terrorizing the locals, plundering entire star systems, spreading fear, causing instability.

Rape, on a galactic scale.

This was the first legacy of the new Emperor, the man that just about everyone had taken to calling Brother Michael.

The miles of largesse ended, so to speak, at the huge arena recently built near the eastern edge of the monstrous, un-scrubbed city of New York.

The arena was meant to fit about a hundred thousand comfortably. There were nearly twice that number jammed into it on this grimly historic day. Most of them were intoxicated on something. Clouds of can-can hung over the oval stadium. Wine was spilling everywhere. The distinctively sour smell of jamma sweat was much in evidence, too. These were the most important people on the planet, the most bloodthirsty commanders of the recently concluded galactic civil war. Uneducated except in the ways of murder and mayhem, they came out of the celestial woodwork once Michael had made his call to arms against Emperor Jimmy simply on the claim that he was "too weak" to rule the Galaxy. Having emerged victorious but no less brutal, these neo-barbarians were now the elite of the newly formed Second Empire.

Most of those in attendance were men; that's just how these guys were. Literally thousands of different battle suits and uniforms were in evidence, a perfect if badly stained mosaic of the disparate groups that had banded together to overthrow the First Empire. Chaos and violence had reigned inside the arena since midnight, and in the streets outside as well. Hundreds murdered certainly: shot, stabbed, poisoned, suffocated. Old disputes settled, new ones begun. Thousands more were wounded or maimed. The noon hour was approaching, and in this era before absolute atmospheric engineering had been discovered, it was a brutally hot day.

At the stroke of noon, a large orange air car appeared over the stadium. The crowd quieted down some, but in no way did it lapse into silence. The arrival of the air car was just a minor distraction to the roughhousing going on in the stands. Even when the air car descended to the small landing platform set up at midarena, and its doors opened, the crowd took only a passing notice. Only when the Emperor himself stepped out of the vehicle did the crowd finally fall silent.

This was Brother Michael in the flesh. The new caesar of the Galaxy. The crowd let out a thunderous cheer at first sight of him. He was short, stocky, muscular, a red face with an even redder nose. He was surrounded, as always, by a small army of personal bodyguards. Some bald, some hairy, many missing eyes, ears, fingers, toes, they were all thugs and very dangerous. These men were taken to wearing tight uniforms made of black faux leather, draped with thin chains between front and rear pockets, and always with a short, five-inch dagger hanging in a sheath held on the right side of their belts. Many also carried razor blades on the tips of their jackboots.

Those in attendance maintained the drunken ovation for five minutes. They knew it was wise to give Brother Michael and his gang their props. The stands were thick with Michael's hated undercover security teams, on hand with only one mission: to identify anyone who might not be showing the requisite amount of respect toward the new regime. These security men were well-known for meting out their own kind of instant justice, on the spot, for anyone displaying even a sniff of disloyalty toward the new boss. The means of execution was not by electric pistol or crude blaster but by stabbing the victim with knives, usually more than once, always from behind. The victims rarely had a chance to fight back.

With this a fact of life here on Earth as well as every planet in the Galaxy, for Michael's reach now touched every swirl, every arm and inward to the Ball, cheering long and loud served as a way of prolonging one's own life in this dangerous gathering, a song of self-preservation.

When the cheering finally calmed down, though, it petered out in a strangely cautious way. The new Emperor was heard to belch and then seen to spit. He was as intoxicated as those around him. Staggering up the steps as opposed to ascending them, it took him some effort to reach the throne erected nearby. Once there, he fell into the seat in a very nonimperial manner. No sooner was he down when he stood again and performed a mock bow to the crowd. The place erupted again in a chorus of grunts and laughter.

A trio of frightened, scantily clad girls was brought out. Each was bearing a golden tray with a full cup of wine on it. At the first appearance of the girls, many of the cronies of Brother Michael quietly slipped their daggers from their sheathes. A whiff of misogyny mixed with lust wafted through the imperial reviewing stand.

The first girl was pushed toward Michael, shaking and alone. Anything could happen at this point, and she knew it. The Emperor, however, only saw yet another cup of wine coming his way. He grabbed it and downed it in one noisy gulp, perhaps forgetting that drinking this cup was the signal to begin the first of two big events that were to take place this day.

There was a large form standing, covered, in the middle of the arena's oval racetrack, right across from the reviewing stand. Seeing Michael drain this first cup of wine, those people out on the infield took their cue and lifted the covering from this form. Beneath was a block of burned glass, a material that had absolute clarity with a strength approaching that of ion steel. It had been built right into the body of a small ion-ballast rocket. Locked inside the chunk of burned glass was a man. He was still alive, even though there was no air inside the glassica, nothing that could support any life at all. That didn't make any difference. The man inside had always claimed to be immortal, though he'd been known to tell a tall tale or two in his long lifetime.

It was Jimmy, former Emperor of the former First Empire, the man who first settled the Galaxy and then lost it. The deposed brother of the new man in charge.

Brother Michael burst out in laughter at first seeing his brother's plight, so much so, he involuntarily spat out half of his mouthful of wine. The bawdy crowd erupted again.

Those immediately surrounding Michael began a spontaneous mantra of "Maccus! Maccus!" The crowd took up the chant in lockstep, and soon the multitude was screaming as one. Jimmy the maccus. The fool. The clown.

The second girl bearing a golden tray was pushed forward, the first girl having been swallowed up by the nearby crowd. This second tray held a cup of wine plus a remote control device with a huge orange button on top. Did Michael pause a moment to stare soberly at his brother, who was staring right back at him from his tomb of burned glass? Did their eyes meet? One set bloodshot, the other wet with the tears of betrayal? That's how some romantics would later characterize the scene.

But it did not happen. Michael simply downed the cup of wine and in the same motion punched the orange button. The ion engine of the small rocket was lit, and the craft blasted off, gaining more speed with every foot it climbed. It was very quickly a mile above the stadium; then a second later, it was in orbit; ten seconds later, it had passed the orbit of Venus; ten seconds after that, it plunged into the sun. The death rocket had been equipped with a special ion reflector, which allowed its trajectory to be followed by the naked eye until the very end. Everyone in the stadium, indeed just about everyone on the day side of Earth who was able to shield their eyes properly watched as Jimmy was hurled into the sun, where his glass coffin would eventually break down, but only slowly, guaranteeing him several normal lifetimes of excruciating pain until his body itself was reached and consumed. The telltale red spark splashing into the sun told of the deed done.

The Emperor fell back into his seat again, waving goodbye and locked in the throes of laughter once again. He summoned the third girl bearing a tray. The small army of hangers-on drew even closer around her. Still victim to hysterics, Michael downed his third cup of wine, then waved his hand to a gaggle of nearby flunkies.

This message was clear: The second half of the festivities should commence. "Let the race begin!" Michael bellowed.

Thirteen air cars appeared on the oval track a few moments later. They'd emerged from a door located just below the imperial throne. Though the crowd had gone back to its brand of mass pandemonium, there was a huge, bawdy ovation when the vehicles were first spotted. Each air car was painted in garish colors and festooned with caricatures of broken skulls, perforated hearts, slashed and degraded women. These were known to be the favorite images of the new Emperor.

The air cars were all of the same design, long thin tubes, stiletto in style, riding an invisible cushion of compressed atoms. Each had a thin, burned-glass cockpit and a slightly rotund aft section where the very primitive small-power ion engine was held. Just the barest hint of two wings were visible about halfway down the twenty-foot fuselages. Each car was also sporting a huge ray gun beneath its very pointed nose.

The vehicles were noisy and smoky, and each driver seemed intent on being louder than the next. More than a few times, two vehicles would intentionally bump each other, causing even more engine noise and an increased ruckus from the crowd. The poisonous exhaust of ionic-dispersal waste filled the already smoky air.

Though hopelessly disorganized on first appearance, the thirteen air cars eventually lined up at a starting point of sorts set before the imperial seat. Another scantily clad female, one of the very few left alive in the arena, was pushed forward before the throne, holding another tray with another a golden cup. With little flair, Michael gulped from the cup, then simply turned it over. A red liquid that might have been blood poured out and splattered the steps before the throne. Another roar from the crowd. A gigantic door opened at the far end of the stadium. Exactly 666 people stumbled out into the brutal heat and intense sunshine. They were men, women, children. All ages, all races. A horn sounded from somewhere in the arena. At this, the people on the track were told to run. The air cars revved their engines on cue. Michael turned the cup upright again. The air cars took off.

The race was on. The air cars whooshed down the track, their nose guns blazing. Many of those unfortunates out in the open were cut down immediately; those who were able to move quickly did so, but in terror, for their lives were surely about to end. Go as fast as you can; while killing as many human targets as you can; that was the aim of the race.

Only the strongest were left alive after the first few seconds of this bloody competition. Anyone hit but not killed was usually dispatched by one or more air cars lowering themselves to barely ground level and incinerating the wounded by the flames of their rocket exhaust. Points were given for this, too.

Those survivors naturally ran in the direction away from the advancing air cars. Farther down the track, at the last turn, large blue barriers made of a cardboardlike substance had been set up. Those human targets still alive were now faced with trying to break through these barriers, weakening further with each one. The air cars were on them quickly though, firing their ray guns at the last few souls and then crashing through the blue screens themselves.

Now it was a mad dash for the finish line; the human targets were simply the obstacles. There was much crashing and sideswiping, but finally, at a time of just thirty-nine seconds, a sinister-looking all-black air car staggered over the finish line. Its nose was both bloody and smoking, its frame dented and charred. Its driver alone had killed more than 250 of the unfortunates sent out on the track. A huge cheer went up as it broke through the last blue barrier and came to a split-second stop before the imperial reviewing stand.

The crowd erupted again as the rest of the air cars crossed the finish line. The winner was taken from his car and brought before the Emperor. He was handed a box full of money and the girl who had carried the cup of blood to Michael to begin the race.

The Emperor bestowed a sloppy, slurred benediction on the winner and then went back to drinking himself stupid. The crowd roared again. Bedlam returned. The other air cars sulked off the track. The first ever Earth Race was over.

The gruesome festivities would continue every day for the next month.

The goal was to use up the 100,000 people that had been rounded up around the Earth to provide human prey for the racers. Selected capriciously, with no consideration to age or gender, these random souls died for no more than the new Emperor's perverse entertainment. And anyone who tried to rescue these unlucky people, anyone who tried to hide them, or tried to save their lives after learning of their selection, paid with their own.

Thus was life under Brother Michael.

Now that the very first race was over, all that remained was the task of clearing the 666 dead bodies from the track. This job was left to the dozen sanitizing squads that had spent the whole time in holding pens at each end of the arena, sweating beneath the broiling sun.

Another horn went off. The doors to these holding pens opened, the cleanup squads waiting for the final word to go to work.

There were forty-three persons per squad. Standing at the rear of holding pen number two, equipped with large metal hooks that would be used to pick up the dead, were Hunter and Joxx, living the most horrific part of the mind ring compendium so far. They had witnessed the whole gory spectacle, Hunter for the thirty-seventh time, still wincing at the sickest parts, Joxx in stunned silence, not quite believing what his eyes were seeing. Not quite believing the gruesome, cruel display was real. He was getting his education at light speed now.

A whistle was blown, a gun was fired. The signal for the cleaners to get to work.

"Is it always our fate to pick up and dispose of the dead?" Joxx asked Hunter wearily.

Our hero didn't reply.

He simply nudged Joxx forward, and they trotted out onto the track and went about their grisly jobs.

Flash!

It was dark inside the catacomb.

Cold, too, even though it was still very hot up on the surface, ninety-five feet above.

It was five years later. Hunter and Joxx were now dressed in threadbare combat suits. They were two of several bodyguards protecting the thirty-six men sitting around a crude table in the middle of the dank, underground compartment. This place was located in the most isolated ring of tunnels cored out for drainage beneath the massive sports arena. The men at the table were all dressed in rags. They wore scraggly beards, and their hair was matted and unwashed. They looked like just three dozen of the billions of indigent beggars who had sprung up on the streets of Earth and throughout the Galaxy, one more consequence of the brutal regime of the still-new Second Empire.

Appearances were deceiving though; these men were not beggars. They were all high officers of the old Earth Forces, the huge army that had once provided on-planet security for Emperor Jimmy. These men had once worn silver braids on their shoulders, their tunics weighed down with dozens of space medals. They had commanded thousands of spaceships and millions of men. They had maintained peace and stability on Earth, proudly protecting the crown jewel of the First Galactic Empire. But all that had been swept away once darkly enlightened Brother Michael arrived on the scene.

Each man here represented one of the thirty-six original geographic regions of the Mother Planet. Under the brutal thumb of the new regime, it had been just a question of time before what happened to the millions of heads of state across the Galaxy happened to them: victims of a purge of astronomical proportions. They all knew it. So they had gone underground. Literally.

The name of the group was the 36 Coalition. Its goal was to somehow put an end to Brother Michael's brutal dictatorship on Earth and across the Galaxy. They'd been meet-ing secretly ever since Michael appeared so dramatically five years before, to upset the thousand-year rule of Emperor Jimmy. Many of the thirty-six officers had taken on thankless jobs, such as cleaning up the sports arena after the bloodlust games were completed. Menial labor was a perfect cover for their seditious activities.

Though they'd been able to maintain contact with other groups with similar aims across the Galaxy, just how to overthrow the murderous Michael was a deep dilemma. There was no question that popular support would be theirs if and when any move was made. And many military units would come over to their side, too; as many as half of the Second Empire's forces would oppose Michael if given the chance. They were sure of this.

But how to do it? No one had been sure. Michael was never far away from his personal army of goons. They even slept together, all in one big bed. Michael's movements were always unpredictable. He was smart enough not to leave Earth. And rarely did he stray from the huge palace he'd built for himself in the big hole he'd uncovered at the tip of another New York island once known as Manhattan. But he did attend social functions thrown by his entourage, and these were frequent, almost every night.

The 36 Coalition had always had a notion to hit Michael at one of these soirees. But they didn't know if they were powerful enough to succeed in the first crucial minutes and hours after such an attack on the Emperor. Would the Empire survive, or would it collapse? If it collapsed, it might not ever rise again. That was a chance they couldn't take. So, the group needed a spark, a bright light, something or someone to show them the way, to rally the Milky Way and to prevent the entire Galaxy from devolving into chaos if the deed was ever really done.

And as it turned out, on this very hot day, that ray of hope finally seemed to shine on them.

"This might be an auspicious moment," one officer declared now, starting the secret meeting. "A guardian angel of sorts has been delivered to us. And not a second too soon." The others moved in a little closer around the table.

"After hearing so many rumors, our operatives have finally found him," the man told them with no little drama. "He was wandering the countryside on the Emerald Isle. He was preaching to the few souls left alive over there. And we have confirmed that he is who he says he is. He is the younger brother of Michael and Jimmy. He has the power. He has the vision. If we can clear the way for him, even partially, he will step in. He will act."

The group erupted in a spontaneous cheer. This was nothing less than a miracle—and just the sort of thing they'd been waiting to hear. They had declared themselves a coalition a handful of years ago, when they had first tentatively come together. Suddenly, now it seemed to mean something.

The discussion progressed in hushed tones for the next hour. Occasionally, it grew heated; other times, it became quiet and almost routine. The group began working on the skeleton of a plan, a variation of one of their many earlier ideas. Hunter and Joxx simply listened in as a plot was hatched.

"It's just that last bit scaring me," one officer said now. He was from the part of Earth once known as Russia. "Michael has boasted about being immortal so many times. I'm wondering if anything can really bring an end to him."

"There's a difference between living forever and impossible to kill," another replied. "Our friend Jimmy must have told us a hundred times that he, too, could last forever— and look what happened to him. He might still be alive, but he is long gone. Besides, we have an unbreakable plan here. And we know the undercurrent of hate for Michael is pervasive across the Galaxy. And we have the perfect person to fill the void.

"Let us just do it then!"

Flash!

It was one month later, the biggest party of the year. The Saturnalia before the Earth Race.

It was being held as always inside a huge orange-tinted hall located at the center of the dumpy, city that was still known as New York. This hall was so cavernous, its windows so dirty, and its lighting so dingy, it was just about impossible to see from one end to the other.

There were small forests of scraggly can-can plants surrounding the building. All one needed to do, if they dared, was walk up, pick off a leaf, and light it up. Euphoric confusion was the usual result. It was said Michael lit up an entire tree of this stuff every day, this after downing as much as a case of wine—all before breakfast. While the euphoria part was debatable, no one argued that his regimen didn't cause him much confusion. It was the same for the small army of goons that surrounded him.

A long line of invited guests was streaming into the orange building now. It was a hot evening, and the neighborhood was rife with foul odors, especially the smell of the dead still buried underground. The party list was made up mostly of high military officers and Second Empire diplomats, guaranteed to be an angry, boisterous, intoxicated crowd. Surly guards were stationed at every doorway, scanning everyone for weapons, from ion-powered pistols and hand-carried sonic guns to the ubiquitous daggers. Most guests gave up their arms willingly; others only after an argument or even a struggle. Only the extremely belligerent were led away by the guards, though. Everyone else was allowed inside.

The members of the 36 Coalition arrived in masterful disguise. They were dressed not as military officers but as priests, right down to the stiff collars and large silver crosses worn around the neck. The First Empire's substantial religious component had not been purged by Michael in his five years of rule; he was far too superstitious to do that. But it had been substantially reduced, and the holy men that remained weren't really holy at all, just the opposite in fact. For the conspirators then, this was the perfect masquerade.

They arrived in groups of twos and threes, arm in arm, as most religious people traveled. As the main flow of guests was passing through the front entrances, the three dozen officers went in through the back. Some had to be relieved of their weapons at the door—everyone was packing on Earth these days, including the clergy. A few of the conspirators even put up a minor struggle before agreeing to disarm, but this was all part of the plan. Dressed exactly as they were—priests again!—Hunter and Joxx walked into the party without a blink from the guards, just as Hunter knew they would.

Once inside the grubby, expansive hallway, the officers linked up again. Trying to remain inconspicuous, they drank the putrid red wine and pretended to inhale the cancan, but most important was that they kept their heads.

They were on hand for about twenty minutes when the Emperor Michael showed up, unannounced as usual, surrounded by his ring of bodyguards, who always seemed just as intoxicated as he, if not more. This party was in anticipation of the sixth annual Earth Race. The topic of conversation around the room had to do with rumors that the first race was supposedly fixed yet again this year, that some of the drivers were being tipped off which of the 666 human targets sent out on to the track were older, more feeble, or ill, and therefore easier to shoot down. It made for many intriguing arguments, all of which grew more intense as the wine began to flow.

A presentation of sorts was on the agenda. The previous winner was on hand to relinquish his trophy, during which Michael would give him yet another box of money. It took a long time to get everyone in the room to pay attention as the small ceremony began. The Emperor was standing with the fifth-year winner, rings of goons and drunken military officers nearby, as shouts for order rang up and down the hall.

Finally Michael began slurring a small but rambling speech. When it was over, the old winner handed him the trophy, and Michael handed him his money. The man took his box of cash and walked right out of the building without another word.

Michael shrugged and turned around to accept another glass of wine from his bodyguard. He found himself facing a half-dozen priests instead. They were here to offer a prayer, one said. Michael burped in reply, not quite remembering this part of the ceremony. That's when each conspirator removed the large silver cross from around his neck and quickly removed a piece of wax adhered to its lower tip. This revealed a sharpened razor-edged point.

"God Bless you," the first conspirator said. With that, he plunged his sharpened cross into Michael's chest. Michael grunted once and then looked down to discover another sharpened cross sticking out of his thorax. Then, quickly, came another. And another. And another. And another.

The rest of the priests set upon Michael's coterie of goons, stabbing them viciously and retrieving their weapons. A massive gunfight broke out. The majority of guests panicked and charged for the exits, blocking the way for any of the security troops to get inside. The drunken bodyguards made easy killing for the thirty-six officers. A slash across the throat, a thrust to the stomach, and they were gone.

Through it all, Michael just stood there and shuddered as more sharpened crosses plunged into him. A handful of surviving bodyguards finally managed to surround him and blink him out of the party and then straight off the planet.

All this had taken place not five feet away from where Hunter and Joxx had put themselves. In fact, Michael looked them both in the eye as he was quickly fading away.

According to the mind ring, his last words to his would-be assassins were, "I think this means war...."

Flash!

Hunter and Joxx were standing at the bottom of a large hill.

It was nighttime. The air smelled of summer.

Joxx breathed in deeply. This place was a welcome change from the gruesome, scary nature of Brother Michael's imperial city.

They climbed the hill swiftly. At the top was a patch of soft, high grass and a view that stretched for miles. Below them was a small town, a lake, a river. A building like a high school. Above them, all those stars.

"An interesting setting," Joxx told Hunter, breathing in again. "A curious one as well."

Hunter looked around, very familiar with the pastoral setting now.

"You wouldn't understand," he said. "But this place looks a lot like another place that was once very special to me."

Indeed it was almost a dead ringer for a hill he'd once spent two nights on, wide awake, looking at the stars, waiting. Possibly this place was the inspiration for its twin.

He thought now what he'd thought the last three dozen times he'd come here in the mind ring trip: I wonder if I can see her house from here.

Joxx began to press him on this subject, but stopped. His instincts, though numbed from this crazily assembled mind trip, still hummed enough to know that this was a topic he'd best not pester his host about.

He knew that much about Hunter by now.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, letting the new setting sink in.

Finally Hunter spoke: "As far as I could determine, the night that Michael was stabbed, a series of coups against his regime took place at key locations throughout the Empire. The rebels managed to gain control of many strategic parts of the Galaxy, thanks to what the 36 Coalition did here on Earth. Lots of fighting followed, during which Michael's security thugs got him off the planet and sped him to a safety way, way out on the Seventh Arm. He stayed there for a few years, building up his forces and finally beginning a march back to Earth. The 36 Coalition built up its forces as well, and went out to meet them."

Hunter pointed toward the constellation once known as Ursa Major.

"Do you know that part of the sky?" he asked Joxx.

"Certainly, the majority of key stars can be found below the Four Arm," Joxx replied. "I've been there once or twice."

"Then watch closely," Hunter told him. "In three... two ... one ..."

There was a sudden bright flash slightly to the left of the tail of the star formation. It burned for a few seconds, then faded away.

Joxx began to ask a question, but Hunter raised his hand and stopped him. Another flash. This one not far from the first. Then came another, and another.

The Solar Guards' commander knew enough about space warfare to realize what he was looking at was a battle of major proportions being fought with weapons whose muzzle flashes were firing off at close to Supertime speed. Only that way could these powerful bolts be visible from the Earth.

"They will call it the Battle of Alpha Nebula," Hunter told him. "The first real clash of forces loyal to Michael and those trying to prevent his return to Earth. It was a big win for the 36 Coalition."

Flash!

Same hill, same view, about a month later.

Joxx was still shaking off the effects of the unexpected jump.

"Up there," Hunter said, pointing toward the group of stars once known as Hercules. "Know it?"

"Of course," Joxx replied. "Six Star Gulch is up there. So is the BK-South Star Cloud. Two of the best stops on the old Five Arm."

"Watch this then," Hunter told him.

No sooner had he spoken when that part of the sky lit up. There were a series of five major flare-ups, followed by at least a dozen smaller ones. They were so sharp, so bright, Joxx imagined he could almost hear the booming from the enormous cobalt weapons exchanges. He knew of course what he was actually looking at were thousands of igniting blasts constricted, contracted and telescoped by its superquick passage through space.

"The Battle of Michael's Push," Hunter put a name to it. "A big victory for him and his goons. Caught the 36 Coalition forces as they were reassembling their fleet. A total disaster for the good guys ..."

Flash!

Same hill. Many months later. The night air, cooler.

Joxx didn't need Hunter to point out the location of the next battle.

It was very bright and very violent—and going on right over their heads.

"The Battle of the One Arm Frontier," Hunter explained. "Michael's forces thought they found a seam in the Coalition's defense line and sent their fleet streaming through."

The flashes overhead continued unabated.

"Michael's fleet was made up mostly of his frontier forces, or dregs picked up along the way—people he knew would be most loyal to him," Hunter explained. "He had so many ships under his command by now, he was able to break through part of the defense line set up by the 36 and their allies. Michael began descending on the Solar System itself at this point. After this battle, he broke in on all viz-screen lines on Earth and vowed he would be returning very soon."

Joxx could tell now that with each flash, its was obvious that the battles were getting closer to the Mother Planet.

"It looks as if he's making good on that promise," he said.

"Perhaps, but rarely is anything as it first appears," Hunter replied. "Actually, the 36 got real smart, real quick. They had left a hole in their line on purpose. They were setting him up for one decisive battle."

Joxx scoffed at that. "And will this be presented to jne in the same way again? In the form of another one of your lectures? With my neck hurting from looking too long up at the stars?"

Hunter just laughed at him.

"Not exactly," he said.

Flash!

"Set up!"

The forty-five space soldiers immediately jumped to their feet.

"Jet pack ... check!"

"Squad One ... check!... Squad Two ... check! Squad Three... check!

"Weapons ... check!"

"Weapons checked sir!"

Hunter looked down at his hands. As always, there was a blaster rifle cradled in them. A huge one. Multitubed, and very heavy. Probably three times as heavy as any blaster rifle he'd had the pleasure to know.

On his head, a very bulky helmet. It was of such ancient design, there were several tubes inside that were touching his lips via a mouthpiece. One contained water; one contained an elixir of supervitamins; the third was filled with painkillers—more than enough to kill you, but pleasantly.

Hunter knew all this because he'd been here three dozen times.

"Squads ... get ready for jump."

"Ready here, sir!"

Hunter glanced down the long, tubular compartment. He was inside an enormous spaceship, along an extended metal railing, beyond which the gigantic maw of the ship could be seen below. He was second to last in the line of heavily armed, heavily suited soldiers.

Joxx was standing behind him.

Once again, the Solar Guards' officer was petrified. "I must admit I am more used to doing combat from behind the wheel of my ship," he told Hunter sharply. "If my ship had a wheel, that is ..."

"You're the one who didn't want a lecture," Hunter called back to him.

"But what's going on here?" the SG officer pleaded with Hunter. "You have to tell me this time, especially after all I've been through..."

"Sorry, no time," Hunter replied quickly. "This one will be learned on the go."

"Squads ... forward!"

Suddenly, the line of soldiers in front of them started moving. A man was shouting orders at the far end of the compartment. He was positioned next to a huge doorway ringed with blinking lights. He was dressed just as they were, but his spacesuit was much bigger, much bulkier. This man was obviously an officer. He was looking at an ancient timepiece attached to his wrist.

"Squads ... get ready for decompression in three... two ... one ... now!"

"Decompression?" Hunter heard Joxx practically scream in his earpiece. "What does that mean?"

Again, Hunter didn't have time to reply. Joxx found out a second later.

The officer hit a button, and there was an incredibly loud rush of air throughout the compartment. As always, Hunter's spacesuit suddenly didn't seem as heavy as before. The officer hit another button, and a large panel next to him blew free. There was an even louder whoosh! and instantly Joxx knew what decompression was all about. The breathable air inside the compartment had all been sucked out. And through the hole in the compartment wall now left by the swiftly departing panel, both of them could see only millions of stars beyond. That's when it all made sudden, startling sense to Joxx. He was on a troopship of some kind, and they were going to be expected to jump out of the craft and into space.

But why?

He found that out soon enough, too.

The line of soldiers moved down the compartment very quickly, with the officer positioning each man onto the step and then pushing him out into the void beyond. Hunter might have yelled something going out the door. So many things happened right after that long step into space, he knew he wouldn't be able to hear much of anything in the next few seconds.

What always astonished him at this point though was the first glimpse of the ship they'd just tumbled out of. It was enormous. Not quite as big as a Starcrasher, but big enough. Blunt, pointed snout on one end and tiny almost comical fins sticking out of its back. A huge fuselage in between, with thousands of portholes.

This monstrosity always held his attention for a few seconds; it took him that long to realize that the vessel was adorned with the skull and three-leaf clover, the symbol of Brother Michael's forces. That image was plastered all over their spacesuits, too.

Then again, as always, he saw that there was another spaceship nearby. This one was just as big.

Joxx somehow made his way up to Hunter as they fol-lowed the long string of soldiers zooming through space.

"Can this really be?" he yelled through their primitive intercoms. "Have we really gone over to fighting for Michael's side?"

At the moment, that seemed to be the case.

There was a huge space battle going on all around them.

For as far as the eye could see, there were starships of all shapes and sizes blasting away at each other. In the distance, maybe a quarter million miles away, there was a small planet with a tiny moon. This was Pluto: habitable, puffed. There were battles taking place on it now as well as on its miniature moon.

Hunter never failed to be astonished at this point, either. This battle must have had millions, if not tens of millions, of combatants. Entire armies of starship troopers zooming everywhere, firing their huge blaster rifles, trying to avoid collisions with smaller interceptor craft weaving their way through the vicious close-in combat, some going faster than the speed of light.

But the line of troopers Hunter and Joxx were following was not heading deeper into the morass of the huge engagement. They were heading for the nearby ship instead.

This ship in front of and slightly below them was not a typical one, either. It didn't have one-hundredth the number of portholes as the troop carrier they'd just fallen out of. It was more ornate, with gold scroll designs flaring back from its cockpit bubble and flame decals stretching the rest of its entire length. It was obviously a command vessel of some kind. And the first wave of troopers from their ship had located a huge hole in the side of it and were pouring in, blaster rifles blazing.

Hunter caught a glimpse of Joxx's face behind his air mask and saw the SG officer's eyes were about twice as wide as usual. He'd just realized what Hunter had learned during his first dip into this part of the mind ring trip: They weren't fighting with Michael's forces; they were just dressed that way. In fact, they were part of a special operations team, the best within the 36 Coaltion forces. The vessel they'd just been ejected from was a Q-ship. Dis-guised as one of Michael's ships, it actually belonged to the 36 Coalition as well.

And the vessel in front of them?

It was the flagship of Brother Michael's Fleet.

It was hubris that ultimately led to Michael's demise.

For millions of miles around this, the First Battle of the Pluto Cloud, space was filled with thousands of starships locked in mortal combat. Had Michael chosen to ride on a typical rebel craft, he would have stayed completely anonymous. The chances of the disguised 36 Q-ship finding his vessel would have been, well, one in thousands.

But the ostentatious flaming color scheme, the tacky gold leafing, the bright lights around its cockpit dome made the deposed Emperor stick out like a supergiant star suddenly going nova.

He'd drawn attention to himself at the worst possible moment.

And that was the beginning of the end for Brother Michael.

There were five other streams of space soldiers being ejected by the Q-ship. Like the string Hunter and Joxx were following, they were all making fast for the hole in the side of Michael's flagship. It had been hit, Hunter had learned, by five pinpoint cobalt bolts fired by a gunship hidden deep in Saturn's rings, a place where Michael's forces had never thought to look for it amidst the confusion of the battle. The Q-ship was but a light-year away when the five blasts struck home. It was on the scene before anyone aboard Michael's flagship even knew what hit them. The flamboyant rebel ship was, for the moment at least, crippled and lying dead in space.

Hunter had his big blaster rifle up and ready. It was an act of pure instinct that always kicked in at this point. His jet pack reignited automatically, and he was suddenly thrust across the last few miles of open space that still separated the two ships.

Joxx was right on his tail, screaming a hole in his lungs, zooming in and out of control as the rest of them closed in on the gaping wound in Michael's ship. They reached it so quickly that, before Hunter could even think about it, he and Joxx were streaming through the perforation and were suddenly flying inside the giant vessel itself.

They found themselves inside the ship's huge main cargo bay. There was a swarm of Michael's troops in here, but half were frozen in place, so startled by the sudden appearance of enemy soldiers they couldn't even raise their weapons. The other half already had their hands up in surrender. It didn't matter. The Coalition soldiers were moving too fast and their mission so great, they didn't have time to slow down and sort out who was who. Their blasters went off and everyone got torched, hands up or not.

The Coalition soldiers never stopped moving. They flew up and out of the cargo bay and went zooming down the gigantic causeway that led to the nose of the huge ship. Every few seconds, a clutch of the vessel's defenders would appear and display a token of resistance, but they were blasted to nothingness by the vanguard of the heavily armed Coalition raiding party.

They reached the head of the ship and blasted right through the doors, which led into the control section, the brains of the gaudy monster. There was a small army of defenders in here as well, and the next minute was filled with a sharp, electric battle that saw many killed on both sides. But the Coalition troops never slowed in their advance. That was the key; just don't stop. Just keep going. And they did. Just as Hunter and Joxx were flying into the vast control room, the last of the ship's guards had been incinerated. Just like that, the ship was in their hands.

But where was the real prize? Here, on board certainly. Hunter knew the Coalition special ops troops knew this. But where?

The swarm of 36 Coalition soldiers resumed its flight. They broke up into squads of six and began a quick, systematic search of every command compartment. Hunter relished what came next. In earlier attempts, the mind ring sometimes cut out at this point. He'd fixed that glitch, and so, once again, his heart began beating loudly. He and four other Coalition soldiers zoomed into what had once passed as this ship's chapel, Joxx trailing closely behind. They each took a side and wall of the dark compartment, but Hunter knew this was not necessary. They would not find their quarry up here in the crannies of the church.

They zoomed through the auxiliary hatch into the compartment next door. It was the officers' latrine, a filthy place. The four real soldiers went in first. Hunter screeched to a stop and pushed Joxx through the hatch in front of him. He wanted the SG officer to see the next few seconds of the trip as up close as possible. He also wanted to stay far in the background. It was always better that way.

So, it was the four real soldiers who finally cornered the prize. Cowering in the deepest corner of the shitta, his protectors and bodyguards either killed or deserted, was where they found Brother Michael himself.

The soldiers hovered over him for several long moments. He begged them for mercy, a strange request from an immortal man. Hunter eyed Joxx; what he was doing at this moment would give a good indication as to how his education was going. It wasn't hard to tell. The SG officer looked like he could have sent a blaster shot through Michael's head himself. The adrenaline was pumping so forcefully through Joxx's body, the sides of his battle suit were bulging. Out of breath, sweating behind his mask, he was so deep into the moment, it would have been hard to convince him that he was, after all, still just inside a mind ring trip.

Finally, the Coalition soldiers yanked Michael to his feet. Bizarrely, he still had one silver cross sticking out of his chest It was a telling sign. No blood, just swelling around the pure white wound. Later on, the poets would claim the cross had gone right through Michael's heart, and here he died.

But this was not the truth. Michael's enemies would not make the same mistake twice.

This time, it would be different.

"You sir," one soldier said to him, "are now the prisoner of the 36 Coalition."

Flash! The battle was over. The remaining ships of the 36 Co-alition were lined up in formations that stretched for thousands of miles across the orbital plane of Pluto.

Far off, there were faint explosions dotting the background of space. These were ships of Michael's forces being destroyed.

There was no ceremony aboard the Q-ship. The top officers of the 36 were lined up in the cargo hold; Brother Michael was stripped before them. A machine was brought in that had the ability to encase things in burned glass, the exact same device that had trapped Emperor Jimmy. But turning Michael into a twenty-second piece of pyrotechnics was not the plan here. His fate would be worse.

They began the encasement process. Michael was clearly terrified.

"What did he promise you?" he screamed as the glass was wrapping around his feet.

"Only what is ours," one officer told him. "The thirty-six original regions of Mother Earth, our homes before you came on the scene. We just wanted our planet back. He's given it to us."

The encasement process was sped up, and Michael was quickly surrounded by the crystal prison. The plan now was to simply open the loading door and give him a push, via an ion-depleted high explosive. He would be sent on a trajectory leading into a particularly empty part of space, through which his glass coffin would travel for eons, with him trapped inside, alive, for eternity.

But even as he was being shot out of the spaceship, it was clear that Michael was laughing—and shouting something, but no one on hand could make out just what.

No one except Hunter. He and Joxx were standing nearby.

"What is he saying?" Joxx asked him. "I'm sure you must know."

Hunter nodded somberly. This was where it all started to go downhill.

"He's saying, 'What makes you think my younger brother will be any better than me?' "

Flash!

They were back on Earth.

The site was the huge plaza that fronted, ironically enough, the huge orange hall where the Second Empire's biggest parties and events were held.

The plaza was now filled with troops. The top echelon of the 36 Coalition, including the thirty-six original officers themselves, stood in formation on one side of the square. Each officer was holding the flag of his region of Earth, the unfurled reminder of how things once were in the peaceful days of the First Empire.

Across the plaza stood another army of troops. These were soldiers who had fought with Michael, but now that the dictator was gone, they had sworn an oath to Michael's younger brother, the new emperor of the Second Empire.

The Galaxy was at peace again, thanks to the men taking up the right side of the square. The thirty-six officers of the victorious Coalition were roundly saluted. A hovering table weighed down by medals hung nearby.

Hunter and Joxx were standing at the rear of the formation of second-tier Coalition commanders. They were turned out in resplendent green space uniforms, with beret-style hats and ceremonial pistols in their holsters.

A huge communication speaker had been set up in the middle of the plaza, with the soldiers standing facing each other on either side. Through this, a speech began. There was no doubt the speaker was the brother of Michael and Jimmy. His voice echoed in everyone's ears. He had a thick accent, but his words came out measured, almost dreamily. There was no cheering, no adrenaline-fueled electricity. He spoke, and the plaza—the whole of Earth and the Galaxy itself—hung on his every word. He spoke of peace and tranquillity and the need for citizens of the realm not to fight against each other. He spoke of new technologies that had arrived with him, including what would become the theory of Supertime, incomprehensibly fast travel in the seventh dimension and the mysterious Big Generator from which all power throughout the Galaxy would come.

There was only one detail left to be done, the new Emperor told his new Empire. The men of the 36 Coalition had to be given their just rewards for what they had done in expelling his brother Michael from the ultimate seat of power.

With much drama, the original thirty-six men stepped forward—and were immediately shot down by troops standing on the opposite side of the square. Then their second-tier officers were mowed down as well.

Joxx grabbed Hunter's sleeve as the death rays carved into the ranks of those who had saved the Earth from Michael's return. If a gasp could be heard from one end of the Galaxy to the other, then this was it. The act was incomprehensible—at least at first.

The officer next to Joxx hastily took off his helmet and then removed a mind ring he'd been wearing underneath it.

He pressed it into Joxx's hands and said: "Don't let anyone forget what happened here."

Flash!

Now came the part that Hunter really disliked.

It was dark. Very dark. Pitch black dark, like one's eyeballs would never be able to see the light again. Any light. Ever.

Then there was the smell. Horrendous. The air, thick with a merciless stink. But worst of all, was the crying. The moaning. The wailing. All of this mixed in with the racket of huge engines, which Hunter knew were no more than a bulkhead away from him at that moment.

None of this was real—he had to keep telling himself that. But as bad as this was for Hunter to endure, it was a nightmare for Joxx.

The fastidious SG officer was so horrified by the rank-ness of this part of the ring trip, he cried out in disgust. Trouble was, no one heard him or, more accurately, no one paid him any attention. His bellow was lost in a sea of tears.

As Hunter would tell him later, there were 13,621 passengers aboard this vile, all-green vessel. It was flight #28,612 for this particular starship, and it was part of a fleet of more than 10,000 identically built ships. They all had the same function: moving the unlucky citizens of Earth off their mother world and toward the prison star system known as the Home Planets. All this, per order of the newest Emperor of the Second Empire.

Hunter was strapped into a small, cramped, hovering bunk; Joxx was in a similar bunk beside him. The crush of humanity around them was so claustrophobic, it was nearly overwhelming. This was nothing like being squeezed into the cockpit of his fighter jet for long periods of time. This was not being able to see where you were or where you were going. This was not being able to move more than two inches from side to side or up or down, all while being in very close proximity with thousands of people who were just as terrified as you were.

Even more stomach-churning were the bone-shattering yaws and pitches the prison ship would take at the most unpredictable times. No scream from the engines just a few feet away, no sensation of velocity loss. Just a wild turn, a wild drop. People would cry. People would vomit. Some would die. The g-forces were sometimes unbearable.

Hunter began telescoping the mind ring trip at this point. As always, he wanted Joxx to learn his lessons the hard way. But a few minutes in this stinkpot provided a lifetime of education on the subject. So at this point, he'd hit the fast-forward button again.

There was another yaw, another pitch, and then the vessel came to a bone-crushing stop. This sudden end to forward motion inflicted an acute case of space bends on some of the unprotected passengers, a serious, painful, debilitating experience that could kill those already weakened or advanced in age. And this ship didn't need any more death. As it was, there were more than a thousand dead bodies riding this nightmare along with the living.

The ship seemed to hover for a moment, then started moving sharply downward. Lying still, anticipating each event of the miserable experience, Hunter knew exactly what was happening outside. They were landing. He also knew that what he was living here were the last remembrances of someone who'd passed on shortly after thinking these thoughts and putting them down as one last memory. For him, it was like walking in a dead man's boots or wearing a dead man's coat.

Flash!

The ship had landed.

Hunter and Joxx were roused from their bunks and herded together with several hundred people, still in complete darkness.

They found themselves being marched down a narrow passageway, pushed along by the enormous guards who smelled as bad as they did. The passageway stretched to the far end of the ship, nearly a quarter mile away. The gigantic soldiers were roughly moving them all along, using their rifle butts to hit the head of anyone who dared stop or even look up for more than a moment or two.

Joxx was next to Hunter; they were shackled by hand and foot to about a dozen other people. Their tiny group made its way to the light at the end of the passageway. But whereas one would have thought the sounds ahead would be those of relief to actually see other than darkness again, all that could be heard up here was more wailing. Finally, Hunter and Joxx and the dozen other unfortunates reached the opening and found what this new misery was about.

The ship had set down on a tiny little planet with a bright red sun and very few stars in its sky. Five huge space-dock gantries were visible next to a huge military base. A large city stood beyond, with buttes and mesas stretching off into the horizon. Everything here seemed to be a bit yellow.

This was Xronis Trey. The way station. The processing point. As it once was.

For Hunter, the circle had become complete again ... for the thirty-seventh time.

But Joxx still had much to learn.

They were led down a ramp, and at this point, some of those shackled to them lost their footing. The chain snapped, and all but three people in their group were dragged down the gangplank, bloody and battered. A woman and her two daughters were the only people now connected to Hunter and Joxx. The two girls were just in their teens and were clinging to Joxx now, even as he was trying to stay on his own feet.

Somehow, their little group reached the bottom of the gangway. Here they found another phalanx of huge soldiers in unmarked uniforms. They were holding ray sticks, which were used like electric prods. Anyone not moving fast enough down the tarmac was jolted by the mere touch of these instruments, some to great injury, others even to death.

Hunter and Joxx and their group managed to move fast enough for the cruel guards. They were pushed along into a larger stream of people moving along the hot, dusty runway. Wails and cries mixed with the screaming wind of Xronis Trey. The woman holding onto Joxx was nearly in rags, feet cut and sore, mouth dry from no water or food. She was so hysterical she couldn't speak. The same for her teenage girls. They were holding on so tightly to Joxx, he was becoming very nervous. Another part of Hunter's plan.

Finally, they reached the huge processing station. Here each person was stopped, quickly unshackled, and told to strip off their clothes. Anyone who hesitated had their clothes ripped off them and then was beaten as well. Anyone with baggage had it confiscated on the spot. Everyone was then body-searched and handed the drab prison garment. Joxx's personality was not one to take such brutality easily, and he unwisely chose to resist the guards searching him. He was slammed to the floor and kicked all the way to the next stop in the processing station for his action.

When the guards finally departed to beat someone else, Hunter helped Joxx to his feet. It was here that the woman's wails grew ungodly. She was clutching so tightly to Joxx, her knuckles were bone white. The same for the two girls. There was so much crying and orders being shouted and general chaos, it was impossible to speak or hear. It became a little piece of Hell. And that's when something inside Joxx just snapped. In that instant, he changed. He put his arms around the three weeping females and pulled them close to him, protecting them from the madness.

"Don't worry," he told them softly. "I'll take care of you."

Suddenly, out of nowhere, two enormous guards in red uniforms appeared. Without a word, they began pulling the two girls from Joxx's grasp.

The girls began screaming again. More guards appeared. Other girls nearby were being carried away, terrified by whatever awaited them. These two with Hunter and Joxx were going to be next.

Joxx began fighting viciously now. Using the broken end of the shackles as a weapon, he hit guards across their faces, their stomachs, their groins with the heavy metal chain. The girls were wailing at full pitch as Joxx fought with more than a dozen guards. But in the end, it was no use. More guards arrived, and the two girls were literally picked up and carried away, never to be seen again. Their mother collapsed on the floor, a heap of wailing and tears.

Joxx went nuts. He whirled around with a fever in his eyes, selected the nearest guard, and descended on him like a madman. He was able to knock the soldier to the ground and began battering him with his chains without mercy. The guard fought back tenaciously as the deportees scattered, but Joxx did not let up. He was pounding the man's face with one hand and tearing at his clothes with the other. Hunter watched the beating without moving a muscle. Joxx managed to rip the man's helmet from his head and started beating his skull into the floor. Blood began splattering and then some pieces of scalp. A world of frustration was gushing out of Joxx now. Unfortunately for this guard, he was on the receiving end of the long overdue psychological purge.

Hunter counted down ten seconds and then saw a squad of soldiers making their way toward the disturbance. Another half dozen soldiers were heading at them from a different direction. A searchlight blinked on from somewhere; its strong beam quickly focused on Joxx. Inside the huge assembly building, holding tens of thousands of people and hundreds of guards, all attention was now riveted on Joxx as he continued beating the daylights out of the unconscious soldier.

The two squads of guards arrived at about the same time. Still Joxx did not let up. The soldiers turned their electric prods on him. He was poked and zapped and beaten with the sticks, but he did not stop his pummeling. Finally, the soldiers drew out their huge blasters.

One guard raised his weapon and put it right to the back of Joxx's head.

He began to pull the trigger....

Freeze!

Their location did not change. They were still in the same holding area and the guards were still just a microsecond away from blowing Joxx's head off.

But everything had stopped.

Everything became frozen.

This was how Hunter arranged the ending of the long mind ring trip.

Joxx was stunned for a few moments, but he quickly caught on. He punched the dying guard one more time, though it was like hitting steel. Then he stood up and brushed himself off. He was bleeding from head to toe.

"Weren't you going to help me at all?" he asked Hunter.

Hunter ignored the question. Instead, he pointed to their mind rings. "We're coming to the climax of this trip. This is the end—except for two more scenes."

Joxx let out a long sigh of relief. "I am loath to admit it," he said, trying to wipe some of the blood from his eyes, "but I've seen some incredible things—an amazing history of what went before. Yet even still, I ask again the first question of this nightmare you've brought me on: How can the people running the Empire now—and the Emperor himself—be to blame for these things, as you claim? You have to admit yourself, the events you've shown me—though thoroughly tragic—all happened thousands of years removed from us."

It was the question Hunter was waiting for. He reached inside his pocket and came out with two more mind rings. He handed one to Joxx.

"Put this on," he told him.

Joxx looked back at him in horror.

"You want me to put on a mind ring while I'm already in a mind ring? It's impossible! It's dangerous.... It's ..."

Hunter didn't let him finish. He jammed the ring on Joxx's head.

"Believe me, it will be OK," he said. "I've become an expert in these things too."

Flash!

Joxx was still sweaty from his beating the man in the transfer station. And now suddenly, he was very cold.

He looked around for a few moments, totally confused.

"Here? Again?" he finally managed to say.

"I'm afraid so," Hunter told him.

They were back in Kelly's Hollow. It was the same morning as the ambush, but about an hour before the slaughter on Boxley Road. The sun had not yet come up, the skies were dreary and dull. Same scenario. Just told from a different perspective.

"But why? Why back to this point?" Joxx asked Hunter.

"Because there are two things here that probably wouldn't have made much sense if you had seen them before," Hunter explained. "It took me a half dozen trips to figure out exactly what I needed to see to make it come together, and still, it's a bit of a blur."

He turned Joxx around so he was facing toward the stream. Lying in the mud in the middle of the hollow was not the man-made pancake-with-wings that Emperor Jimmy had described to them. Instead, there was a much larger space vehicle, one with many blinking lights, weird hieroglyphics running all over it, and not just one but several multicolored auras surrounding it.

It was also shaped like a saucer.

Joxx nearly fell over again. "What the hell is that?"

He'd never seen a space vessel that hadn't been shaped like a wedge before. This thing looked frightening to him.

"Just keep watching," Hunter told him.

No sooner were the words out of his mouth when the hatch on the strange vehicle opened and two figures emerged. They were not human. They were small-framed, no more than four feet high, with large bulbous heads and long thin arms. They were wearing gold uniforms that glit-tered brightly, even in the dull morning light.

They glided over to the three bodies laying face-down in the mud and seemed to examine them for a moment. One of the creatures was carrying a small globe that was glowing with the same colors as those surrounding the saucer-shaped vehicle. With little fanfare, this creature directed a beam of light from the globe at each of the three bodies, enveloping them in a bright yellow light, but for only a moment or two. Then the creatures returned to their ship, closing the hatch silently behind them.

Joxx was simply astonished. His mouth was wide open, his face as white as his hair.

"Why do you taunt me with these demons?" he shouted at Hunter. "I've seen the horrors of the old days. I dare say I'm an expert in them now, with enough nightmares to last me several lifetimes. Why pull trickery on me at this point?"

"It's not trickery," Hunter replied. "Though believe me, I wish it was."

As they watched frozen at the edge of the stream, the saucer gave off a great flash of light—and then it was gone, straight up, into the early morning sky. Just like that.

Joxx fell to the seat of his pants, causing a mighty splash in the muddy water.

"What in God's name was that all about?" he whispered.

Hunter remained standing beside him. "The simplest answer? It's one more explanation of what happened here that day. The third one I came upon."

"But that was horrible!" Joxx cried. "Those .. . beings. The way they moved. The way the looked. They can't be real. Only humans inhabit the universe. That was established eons ago! So they had to be hallucinations. And therefore, this scenario must be a hallucination too. It has to be ..."

He looked up at Hunter hopefully. "Right?"

Hunter just shook his head.

"You tell me," he replied.

Joxx wiped a dirty hand across his dirty face. "Well, I'm sure the cardinals were lying to us," he began, still dazed from all that had happened in the past few moments. "All that crap about the angel and the enlightenment. But was Emperor Jimmy lying to us too? Why would he? What would be the point of it? He seemed sincere while debunking the angel story. Why just tell another lie instead?"

Joxx looked up at Hunter again. "Any chance that this third scenario is just a flaw in the mind ring program? Those creatures can't be real! Maybe the guy writing all this just screwed up, or got drunk or something."

Hunter stood mute.

"Because, if not," Joxx went on, "that would mean Jimmy wasn't enlightened by anything real. None of them were—not in the sense that everyone believed over the centuries. By this scenario, Jimmy's so-called 'great mind' didn't invent all those things that first made the Galaxy great. The secret to ion-power, the new longevity of humans, the puffing of the planets and God knows what else. Could it be that none of them sprouted miraculously from any human mind?"

He looked to where the saucer had just been—it was now just that familiar depression in the mud.

"Oh God, just the thought of it makes my skin crawl! That the beings who were flying that thing either intentionally or unintentionally seeded the Earth with their advanced technology. Could this be the true ring? Could it really have been them who gave us everything?"

Again he stared up at Hunter, as always, looking for the right answer. "Which one is true," he pleaded. "Please, good spirit, you must tell me. Nothing will make sense if you do not!"

"I can't," Hunter finally told Joxx. "Because I don't know, either."

The look of horror came across Joxx's face. "Then there's a chance that it's all been a fake," he whispered grimly. "A facade perpetrated by these strange beings and facilitated by the Emperors of the First and Second Empires. They made a pact with the devil—literally. If indeed the people riding that strange saucer believe in devils. There's a chance they were pulling the strings all along."

Joxx let a shudder rip through him. He was almost nauseous.

"What are they?" he asked, gagging on something. "Where are they from?"

Hunter just shook his head an gazed upon the place where the saucer had been.

"I've seen them before," he said. "It was on a place called Zazu-Zazu, a tiny moon way, way out on the Fringe. They were there or beings that looked just like them. They were trying like hell to take over that little moon at the furthest end of the Galaxy. I have no idea why or how. They were just so strange I've tried not to think about them. But all this will make that impossible forever."

He paused for a moment. He could hear the blokes' helicopter off in the distance.

"If we choose to believe this scenario," he went on. "Then I think we must also consider this: that these characters came back here and raised first Michael and then eventually the younger brother as well. Brought them both back, literally from the dead, at the time of their own choosing and then stood back and watched them change the Galaxy. If this is true, then it means these beings never really took their long slimy fingers out of it. They've been running things from behind the scenes, and the three brothers who were here that day must know that, because obviously all three dealt with them on some level, at some time."

He shook off a chill himself.

"But which scenario is true? The angel? The top secret aircraft? The flying disk?" He took a long look around the hollow. "I just don't know," he said.

Joxx suddenly scrambled to his feet.

"I'm hardly a humble person," he told Hunter, "but you've done both a terrible and a wonderful service to me here. My eyes have been opened like never before. Like I never believed they could be. And whatever happens from this point onwards, I guess I owe at least that to you... brother."

Then, very unexpectedly, he shook Hunter's hand. Hunter looked him right in the eye. He seemed sincere.

"Well then, now you know everything I know," Hunter told him. "Except for one last thing."

Flash!

They went forward about an hour.

Suddenly they were in the middle of the stream, standing over the second body. Just like the others, this person seemed quite dead and was wearing a cloth mask over his face. But now, there was a slight glow around him.

The lieutenants were nearby; they had already ordered Hunter and Joxx to dispose of the bodies, and indeed the ring travelers had already deposited the brother who they came to know as Michael into the deep, smelly bog.

They picked up the second rigid body now and, as before, lugged it up the steep rise and out toward the clearing where the great bog lay. But this time, Hunter told Joxx to stop for a moment. Making sure they were out of sight of the lieutenants, they lay the body down on a bed of leaves.

Then Hunter turned to Joxx.

"Your first and last question was this: How can I hold the people of the current Empire responsible for the sins of the past?"

Joxx nodded.

"And you agree that this person here is the youngest brother of the three as we have seen them, the same one who betrayed the 36 Coalition and all the peoples of Earth as well?

Again, Joxx agreed.

Hunter pointed to the man's mask. "Then take that off him, and your question will be answered."

Joxx hesitated a moment. His facial expression seemed to say: Do I really want to know? But finally he did as told. He pulled the mask from the body's face—and let out a cry that was heard all the way back to Kelly's Hollow.

The face was as rigid as the body—a look of uncertainty and fear etched on its features. And he appeared younger and more earthy looking.

But there was no mistaking who this was.

It was O'Nay Himself.

20

Flash!

They were back in the control room of the ShadoVox.

It seemed smoky and wet for some reason. A mist had filled it, too.

When Hunter came to, he was sitting in one of the command chairs, fingers grasping the armrests, eyes facing the access door. The first thing he looked for was the bulb next to the door panel. It was solid yellow and not blinking. This meant the door was still locked and had remained locked in the time he and Joxx had been on the mind ring trip.

Joxx was sitting in the seat opposite him. He looked as if he'd just crawled out of a high-speed space wreck. His uniform, torn and battered before, was now down to the atomic threads and sopping with sweat. He was slumped over in his seat, hands shaking, haircut ruined, his face buried in his chest. He was taking in deep gulps of air and letting them out slowly. Finally, he lifted his head.

"How long," he began gasping. "How long were we gone from this time frame?"

Hunter wasn't sure. That was one thing about mind rings, one could be gone a second, a minute, an hour, a month. Hunter managed to rub his hand across his grimy face. His beard, already coarse and erupting when he started this adventure, seemed just a bit more grown out now. His guess, they'd been gone just a few hours.

But what had happened in that time, back here in the real world?

"At the very least I feel compelled to call a truce," Joxx was beginning to say.

But at that moment, Hunter wasn't listening to him.

Something is wrong here....

He looked back at the access door just a second before the banging began. It grew louder by the instant. Someone on the other side was trying desperately to get in.

The last Hunter had seen of his colleagues, Erx and Berx, Calandrx, Zarex, Klaaz, and Gordon, they'd retreated into the next compartment over in the huge command bubble; this afer Hunter had put the mind ring around Joxx's head. Their job was to watch the door while Hunter brought the SG commander back through the ages. Was this them now? Trying to get back in?

Hunter didn't think so.

A moment later, a combination of ray-gun blasts and sheer muscle power broke the door down. A small army of dark figures flooded into the room.

Hunter just shook his head. He'd been right. They were not UPF soldiers, nor Erx and Berx and the rest of his gang.

They were Solar Guards.

Lots of them.

They took one look at Joxx and let out a great cheer.

"We have rescued our leader!" one man yelled, to the hurrahs of the others. "The Empire is well again! Joxx is alive!"

"What happened to the enemy fleet?" Joxx demanded of them, interrupting their celebration.

The guards hesitated a moment. "The invaders' fleet has been destroyed," one finally said, "and they are all dead."

Before Joxx could say anything else, his soldiers blinked him out to one of the Rapid Engagement Fleet Starcrashers in orbit above the tiny moon, Bad News 666.

Then one of the soldiers pulled out a ray gun, pointed it at Hunter, and pulled the trigger. A quarter-power bolt hit him in the chest, stunning him severely.

"And you?" the soldier growled at him, right up in his face. "You sir, are the only one left of the whole rebellious bunch. But that is something you will not be able to brag about for very much longer! I have already seen the orders for your execution. And from what I hear, you have been guaranteed a very painful way to die."

With that, Hunter was dragged out of the room and down the concourse of the ship by six enormous Star Rangers.

Even though he could barely open his eyes, he thought he could see evidence of a fierce firefight taking place on board the ShadoVox. Some of the walls were perforated with small atomic sparks drilling their way through the bulkheads, the residue of full-power ray-gun blasts. The ceiling was coated with a faint blue powder, the telltale subatomic dust caused by extensive blaster-rifle fire. And the deck was slick with something bright red: Was it blood? Or spilled star juice? Or just ion tea, the crimson liquid that flowed through the transdimensional tubes on every Star-crasher?

Hunter couldn't tell.

The guards dragged him down to the lowest level of the immense ship. He saw more evidence of combat at every turn. Walls scarred by ray-gun and blaster hits, sparks gnawing into everything everywhere. The floor always wet with something red and sticky.

All this time, something inside Hunter's battered head kept telling him, This can't be real. Their quest halted? Everyone dead?

No, not this way.

They reached the bottom of the Starcrasher, the so-called ghetto of the ship. The guards were punching him now, but he could not feel their blows. They reached a heavy steel door. It opened on command to reveal a very dark, very crude cell beyond.

"Welcome to your new home," one of the guards taunted Hunter. "But don't get used to it. You won't be here long."

With that, the guards threw him inside, spat at him, then slammed the door behind them.

Only Heaven Awaits

21

It took more than thirty H-bombs before Joxx would admit that he was feeling himself again.

He was aboard a swift scout ship, heading for Earth at full-out Supertime speed. The vessel's medical officer had been checking on him constantly since he'd come aboard twenty-four hours before. Finally, after the 33rd injection of the super-mood elevator nicknamed H-bomb, Joxx admitted that he was coming around.

It was all the physician needed to hear. He could now report back to Earth that Joxx the Hero was reporting no problems, was breathing, was alive, and hopefully would stay that way, at least while he was under his care.

Joxx was ensconced in the scout ship's VIP compartment, the prime spot right behind the swift little craft's control bubble. Essentially, it was a large, cube with a semicircle of clear superglass serving as its walls and ceiling. As far as the celestial scenery went, it was the best seat in town.

There was a large hovering chair next to the huge window, and it was here that the doctor had found Joxx every time he'd visited the high officer. Joxx was always in the same position, hunched forward, head in his hands, staring out into space. Brooding, was the archaic name for it.

The Solar Guards had been triumphant, the invasion had been halted, and the leader of the short-lived rebellion was in chains back on the ShadoVox. And Joxx himself was safe. That would have seemed enough to brighten the mood of the famous soldier, but as the doctor soon found out, Joxx was having none of it. His melancholy was running three layers deep.

The doctor was certain these doldrums were the result of Joxx's stressful mind trip imposed on him by the rebel leader. Many times with mind trips, it took a while for the effects to fully wear off. But now that the H-bombs were kicking in—or at least Joxx said they were—the doctor was hoping his job was complete.

But as he was making his hasty exit, Joxx swiveled around in his grand chair and gave him one last order: "Send the REF warfare officers in immediately."

Soon six men were gathered around a table that Joxx had made appear next to his grand, swiveling chair.

They were the top combat officers for the Solar Guards' Rapid Engagement Fleet. Joxx had ordered them to accompany him to Earth, not with any promise of commendations on arrival. He wanted to question them during the trip in. The REF's command staff historian was also on hand.

The six men were nervous; you could see it in their eyes. A couple were even trembling. Joxx had requested a briefing on the battle that had finally defeated the rebel fleet. The men came prepared in advance to tell him the story. Or the best story they could put together.

The battle had been fairly quick and very violent, the officers reported. The Rapid Engagement Fleet had fired its antistarship missiles at the six stolen cargo 'crashers, instantly destroying them. Eliminating the original invading ships, the blue and chrome beauties from a thousand years ago, had been a bit more difficult. The enemy had located the ShadoVox on the tiny moon of Bad News 666 just as the REF had located them. The fighting was so intense in the next hour, it even reached the passageways of the ShadoVox itself.

But the cosmos had been on their side, the officers claimed. The tide of battle on the ShadoVox was turned by the quick infusion of Star Rangers popping in all over the grounded Starcrasher and finally retaking the famous ship. Meanwhile, the REF ships had blinked out of Supertime and surrounded the small squadron of invader ships. The timing couldn't have been more perfect. Outnumbered six to one, the enemy ships simply disappeared in the combined broadside that came at them from nearly every direction.

"It was a very valiant effort on our part," was how the lead REP officer concluded the report. "We pray we did the Emperor proud."

"And the debris field from all this?" Joxx asked them. "Where is it? Can it still be scanned?"

The officers all glanced at each other uneasily.

"It is so large, sir," the lead officer reported, "our scanners could not register it all on only one pass."

'Too big to scan? I've never heard of such a thing," Joxx challenged them.

The men glanced around nervously again. "Neither had we, sir," one finally answered.

The staff historian spoke up. He told Joxx how the engagement would be remembered. The official spin would be this: While Joxx was battling with the leader of the invasion in another dimension, the REF, under his command and worried for his safety, went beyond the call of duty and annihilated the rebels to the point that not even subatomic dust remained of them.

The historian asked if this version of events met with Joxx's approval. Joxx never replied. He just waved the men out of his quarters.

Then he turned back to the stars, and here he sat for the next twenty-four hours. His thoughts bounced back and forth between the report of the annihilated rebel ships and the cries he'd heard from the two girls back in the way station on Xronis Trey.

Even when he finally dozed off, those cries never left his ears.

Joxx reached Earth the next day. The trip in from the edge of the Two Arm had taken just about forty-eight hours. He landed at Eff-Kay Jack just before sunrise; the huge spaceport was chaotic as usual. He was scheduled to go right to Special Number One and brief the Emperor himself. An air-chevy was waiting nearby, ready to whisk him up to the floating city.

But there were more important things on Joxx's mind at the moment, even more important than making an audience with O'Nay. He'd been brought up to believe that the Empire was good, that it stood for the basics of discovery, knowledge, and culture. For the most part, that's the way it was in the Fourth Empire. It wasn't a democracy. But a realm so great didn't need to be.

But cleansing the Mother Planet? Especially of those who had protected her from certain disaster? If true, this was a historic betrayal—and one still without a proper explanation. This act alone was enough to tear a hole in the perfect tapestry of the Fourth Empire. And he knew it could only get worse. Was it possible that the present Empire not only knew about the Home Planets but was abetting the concentration camp? Someone was still paying the prison guards to watch over the place. Who else could it be? And in a society that prided itself in educating every citizen to the fullest extent, how could such a dark chapter be left out?

These questions and more had haunted Joxx during the flight in. That's why he waved the air car away.

He wasn't going to meet O'Nay, not now, anyway.

There was someone else he wanted to see first.

This was a peaceful place.

The sun was warm, and the land was a pleasing mix of rolling hills, forests, and mountains. A beautiful wooden villa overlooked one of these mountain lakes, which in turn, tumbled right by the front door and cascaded six hundred feet into the bright blue ocean below.

From the villa's back tower, the major city of Poox could be seen even on the darkest of nights. The playing fields of Xomx were to the north; long stretches of pure white beach ran to the south. This shoreline was dotted with resorts, palaces, and casinos; nudism and heavy drinking were the twin rages at these places. An air-chevy could deliver anyone to those hot sands from here in less than a minute.

Joxx knew this well. He'd done just that many times as a boy. The villa was his family's home.

He'd materialized at the front door of his homestead just minutes after landing at Eff-Kay Jack spaceport. There were no servants about the grounds, no guards, either. Only the soft wind blowing and the sound of waves below.

But just as Joxx was about to turn the old-fashioned doorknob to go inside the villa, a chilly presence was suddenly at his shoulder. An ice-cold hand touched his arm. It was a sentinel, one of the ghosts of the sixth dimension. He was standing next to Joxx staring at him. Joxx remained unfazed, though. He knew why this thing was here.

It had been sent out from Special Number One to get him. The sentinels were frequently used to summon people to the Emperor's presence. This one seemed a bit perplexed, though. Thus the ice-cold fingers digging into Joxx's arm.

"Great soldier Joxx," the sentinel began. "Son of Joxx the Elder, I have been sent to remind you that—"

Joxx held up his hand, cutting the apparition off in mid-sentence.

"I don't need you to remind me of anything," Joxx told him.

"But you're expected at an audience in the Imperial Chamber," the spirit said, not missing a beat. "An air car was waiting for you at your arrival point."

Joxx unlocked the icy fingers from his arm.

"I have something else to do," he said, walking right through the spirit, something that was considered highly impolite. But Joxx was a changed man. He hadn't even combed his hair in days.

The sentinel was dismayed and still somewhat baffled. No one ever responded to a direct call from the Emperor like this before.

"But Commander," he insisted, a hint of emotion echoing in his ethereal voice. "Do you intend to keep the Imperial court waiting?"

"I'll get there eventually," Joxx told the ghost. "Tell O'Nay to keep his pants on."

Joxx floated into the house and found his father right where he knew he would be: in the big room on the top floor, the one that stretched out over the cliff and was made entirely of superglass. Anyone who entered the room got the very real sensation that they were hovering above the sea. His father was standing against the window, staring out at the ocean, a million thoughts running through his head.

Joxx Senior was astonished to see his son. He embraced him long and hard. Tears came to his eyes.

"Your mother will be happy to know of your return," he told Joxx after a perfunctory salute between them. "But I was told that you had an audience with the Emperor as soon as you got back."

"I came here to speak with you first," Joxx replied. "1 have something to tell you."

He sat his father down and then told him everything. From his arrival on Megiddo and his being outwitted— twice—by the invaders to his long, painful mind ring trip with Hunter and everything he'd seen inside it, including the three scenarios in Kelly's Hollow.

Then Joxx looked his father straight in the eye.

"You know all the secrets, Father," he said. "And after what I've gone through, you must tell me. Is any of this true?"

His father remained silent for a long moment. "Does it make any difference if it is?" he finally asked his son.

"Of course, it does," Joxx replied. "Because if any of it is true—if anything close to the history that I saw is real— well then, frankly, it would be hard to argue with the logic of Hunter and his forces."

"You're agreeing with those invaders?" his father cried.

"No house, no empire can be built on a lie," Joxx told him. "And this very extended family of ours might very well be living a colossal invention."

Once again, Joxx Senior was silent for a very long time. He turned back to the sea below.

"You realize that you are in line to one day become Emperor?" he began slowly. "The most powerful position in history? By the time of your ascendancy, all of the realm will be reclaimed. Think of the wondrous things that will happen in those magical days. Think of the prestige, the wealth. The power. And it could all very well be yours. No matter what our past might be, is that really something you want to give up?"

There was no reply.

"Well, son ... is it?"

Still nothing.

Joxx senior slowly turned and only then realized he'd been talking only to himself.

His son was long gone.

22

Downtown-Downtown Big Bright City, Five Days Later

There were approximately two thousand entertainment establishments in what was known as Downtown-Downtown Big Bright City.

They were mostly cloud bars, as places that dispensed only high-grade slow-ship wine were called. But there were also many sports clubs, dance clubs, music clubs, fight clubs, and sex clubs—lots of sex clubs.

This part of the vast city was ground zero for the Ches-terwest crowd, people who didn't have any Holy Blood in them but, by hitching on to a Special who did, enjoyed elevated rank simply by that association. The Party Zone was always crowded with these Very Fortunates, day or night, twenty-four/seven. The revelry never stopped.

On the fringe of the Party Zone there were several more blocks of clubs, all best described as being a little more earthy. Lots of brothels were located on this periphery, places where only holo-girls were employed. There were also clubs dedicated primarily to the users of what was once known as coca-neen. An occasional plaything for the Very Fortunates, the feel-good drug was illegal everywhere in the Galaxy except on Earth.

Down the dark alleys beyond the coca bars there could be found yet another fringe, an area many regarded as the lowest common denominator of the Party Zone. The bars here doled out a very rarefied, very refined form of the ancient plant once called opiux, now known more readily as jamma. These places were called jam bars. Their doors were always unlit, their customers always sticking to the shadows. Dark and dangerous, even the most robust star-ship troopers avoided them.

It was in what was probably the most notorious jam bar, a place called Junky-Junx, that Joxx found himself this dreary morning.

He hadn't eaten in five days, but he'd ingested enough jamma to keep his body running like a Starcrasher for weeks, months even. Or at least that was the illusion.

He was in disguise, which was ridiculous, as everyone on the fringe of the Party Zone was usually so zonked out, many would have a hard time recognizing their own mothers.

Joxx's camouflage was a simple one. He was wearing the unadorned uniform of a cargo ship commander: a plain, dark blue flight suit and a typical service hat. Nothing flashy, no medals, no ribbons, not even a weapon. He blended right in with the periphery crowd.

He'd not planned to wind up here, at Junky-Junx, at least not consciously. Though he'd barely tasted slow-ship wine in his lifetime, it just seemed like the natural progression of things, of his life in general these days, that he would jump from place to place looking for the strongest, quickest way to medicate himself. He'd started out drinking five days before, just after catching a ride back to the city from his family's home. The crushing disappointment of his father's nondenial about the Fourth Empire's seamy past had made him snap yet again. After that, it was just a case of how much he could guzzle, how much he could snort, how much he could smoke. He was probably AWOL, technically anyway. And perhaps the Earth Guards were already looking for him. But he didn't care. If he never flew in space again, it wouldn't matter to him. His spirit was that bleak.

Try as he might, though, he still could not erase the haunting images visited inside the mind ring trip. On his arms still were the scratches from the two girls he'd tried to protect in the processing station. He found himself searching the crowded room at times, thinking he saw glimpses of the mother's face floating above the sea of addicts. Or even worse, the cry of her two young daughters, echoing, always in the background. That was why he hadn't slept in five days, either.

No, the slow-ship didn't work, and the coca hadn't, either, so now Joxx was here, sitting at a table in a very darkened corner of the already extremely dark bar, a pile of jamma in front of him. In his hand was a shooter, the device that transferred the narcotic from the pile to his bloodstream.

He had two holo-girls with him, and their personifications also told the tale of his spiral. He'd bought them from a vendor lurking outside Junx, a legless veteran of some long-lost Fringe war who promised they would fill his darkest fantasy. He was right. One appeared in the form of what could only be described as a beautiful witch, all black hair and nails and eyes and lip paint, plunging black gown and cape, a tall black hat. The second projection appeared as a younger female whose sole intention was to look innocent and giddy, obviously setting herself up for the kill by the gorgeous witch.

Dark as it was, Joxx was hardly paying attention to the two girls. He was methodically pumping himself higher and higher with jamma, while the robot band tinkling away at the other side of the club played music that seemed to get lower and lower in tone and mood with every note.

It was after his fifth or sixth load that Joxx noticed someone else had joined them at his table. An old woman dressed in a green gown and a red piece of fabric spun around her head. She had huge stone rings on each finger and wore a glittering necklace as well. She had to be at least eight hundred years old.

She was a witch. A real one.

Unlike some other life forms, witches had managed to survive through the turmoil of the last five thousand years, four empires, and a number of Dark Ages in between. Their longevity was a mystery, as just about everyone the Galaxy looked down on them. Even in his inebriated state, Joxx was amazed to see one actually on the Mother Planet. Riffraff was not very well accepted on Earth. Usually such annoyances were shipped out to the near Fringe planets and strongly advised not to come back.

The trouble here, though, was this woman recognized Joxx. He could see it in her eyes.

"It must be true what they are saying," she said to him now in a very hoarse whisper. "Our greatest star hero, in the Junky-Junx? That proves it then...."

Joxx at first tried to laugh her away. Both holo-girls vanished at first sight of her.

"What is it that they're saying, you old bag?" Joxx asked her with a slurred, dismissive sneer.

"That the Empire is crumbling from within," she replied very matter-of-factly. "That all it needs is a push."

Her remark shook Joxx down to his toes and back again. It wasn't so much what she was saying—which of course was pure sedition. But it was how she was saying it. Cold. Taunting.

He recovered quickly. "If I hear that from your lips, it could only mean the Fourth Empire will last another thousand years," he said. "Maybe even five thousand."

She laughed on cue.

"But why scorn me?" she asked Joxx. "We are the only people in the swirl who know the real story of the empires. The witches and the poets. And the dreamers."

Joxx put another load of jam into his arm and got ready to push.

"If that is so, old lady," he said drunkenly, "why then doesn't anyone pay attention to you?"

She scoffed again. "It's not that the Specials don't pay attention to us," she said. "It's that no one ever bothers to ask."

Joxx hesitated throwing another load of jam into his veins.

"They ignore you because you have nothing to say," he told her sharply.

"Oh, really?" she replied. "Perhaps then someone might want to ask me what I think really happened in Kelly's Hollow. You are soliciting opinions on that subject, aren't you?"

Joxx's jaw dropped open. He let the shooter fall to the floor.

He pulled the old woman down into the booth with him. He was so stoned though, he wasn't sure at this point if she was real or just some cruel hallucination.

"What nonsense do you speak?" he asked her shakily.

She laughed in his face. "Do you think it is really nonsense?" she asked him. "The tale of Jimmy and Michael and O'Nay? Of the hollow and the hobgoblins and the hole in the water?"

"Meaningless places and names—except the one of the blessed O'Nay," Joxx replied testily.

"You might be a great hero," she told him, "but you're also a very bad actor."

She got up to leave, but Joxx did not want her to go.

"Babble on then," he told her, pulling her back into her seat. "Educate me. It seems to be the fashion these days."

She gave him a shrug. "What do I know that you don't?" she asked. "Jimmy invented ion ballast, opened the first roads to the stars, and oversaw the settling of the Galaxy. Michael was responsible for the electron torch which led to building spaceships and weapons as easily as one would build a house of cards.

"With O'Nay came the technology of Supertime, Time-Shifters and the Big Generator too. Now there's something that you should look into, something to become educated on, as you put it: the Big Generator supplies power not just to the space military but to every aspect of every citizen's life in the Galaxy, right? It's in their homes, in their ships. The Big Generator is in the pocket of every citizen in the realm. Don't ever dismiss the notion that it might be in their minds too."

Joxx ran a troubled hand through his overgrown hair. He felt like blowing his brains out right then and there.

"And I know this as well," the witch went on. "That the real reason you are here is that a friend of yours is about to meet his end. That's a guilt trip that will stay with you for the rest of your extended life. Take it from me, that's your fate."

She got up to go again, but Joxx yanked her back down.

"What else do you know?" he demanded of her. "Especially about the hollow?"

She laughed again. "That perhaps all three scenarios are true, to some extent. But think about this: Emperor Jimmy gets zapped, or bowled over, or whatever the hell happened to him, and one day he sits down and designs the ion-ballast engine. The man was a terrorist and a drunk! And suddenly he's a genius? Then Brother Michael, equally sodden and dull, gets zapped or something, and somehow he is raised from the dead. Then he dreams up the electron torch.

"Then O'Nay gets zapped, gets revived, and he comes up with the whole concept of Supertime. Why all this sudden great wisdom? This incredible brilliance? Just a happy connection of synapses, sparking off by chance? I'm not dumb enough to believe that. And I don't think you are, either. It's those hobgoblins again! So when you finally put yourself down to sleep someday, think that these fated brothers weren't so much enlightened as they were employed."

She paused for effect. Joxx was just numbly staring back at her.

"Also consider this, as you descend into your jonzz," she told him. "Your friend Hunter. Everyone knows his story. How he was found way, way out on the planet called Fools 6. And how he didn't know where he'd come from. Consider this: How was it that Hunter could so suddenly appear on that lonely rock—zapped or something—and then draw out that magical flying machine of his? Is it me? Or does that sound familiar?"

Joxx was so stunned, so stoned, he couldn't speak, never mind form a rational reply.

"And here's one last puzzle," she concluded, "just so I can totally ruin your trip. The Second Empire was overtly bloodthirsty. You saw a tiny piece of it yourself, when they executed the 36 Coalition. Why then didn't they just kill all the people of Earth? It certainly would have been easier. Just put them on some old planet and then pulverize it with Master Blasters until there was nothing left. Instead, they built this fake system—a prison, true, but one that was conceived to not only keep its inmates unaware but also to keep them alive and somewhat well. Why do you think that was?"

Joxx just shook his head.

The old witch poked him hard in the ribs.

"Here's a clue for you: It's the very same reason that you and your relatives will live so damn long."

With that, she got up, pressed something into his hand and then disappeared into the crowd.

23

The ShadoVox was taking the long way home.

Its orders were strange. Proceed to the most isolated part of space that could be found within five days' flying in Supertime. In this void, find the most nondescript, isolated planet possible. On this planet, find the most isolated, barren place.

Once there, they were to carry out the execution of Hawk Hunter. Shoot him with a three-quarter-power ray-gun blast to the heart, a wound that would take at least a day to kill him. Then bury his body in an unmarked grave.

After that, every member of the Starcrasher's crew would be subjected to a brain wipe, removing any trace of the experience from their memory cells. This would seal the long fate of Hunter's resting place, a spot most likely never to be found again. Why not a full ray-gun blast to the rebel's head, killing him instantly? Or why not just shoot his body into the nearest sun?

No, these means of death would be too good for him.

The Emperor wanted Hunter to suffer for what he'd done, even after death.

For such a big ship as the ShadoVox, it certainly was a small jail cell.

It reminded Hunter of the catacombs beneath the grand arena back inside the mind ring trip. Or, even more so, the compartment where he'd stayed in the days leading up to last year's Earth Race, the contest he'd won so handily.

The Earth Race was canceled this year, the first time in recent recorded history, thanks to the short-lived invasion of the Empire. To say this upset billions of people was a vast understatement. All the more reason the Emperor was crying for Hunter's head.

He'd been told by his guards that O'Nay himself had ordered that his execution take place on an uncharted planet as far away from Earth as possible. There would be no Galaxy-wide announcement of his death; no chances then for him to become a martyr and a beacon for other individuals who would carry on his fight. This seemed to be a fitting punishment for a man who wanted nothing more than to return to Earth and fight for it to be given back to its rightful owners.

A painful death in an unknown place. Even Hunter had to admit it had a certain ring to it.

Now, in his last hours, he could do little more than tally up the damage. His quest to overthrow the Fourth Empire was gone. There had been no good-bye to his friends, Pater Tomm, Erx and Berx, Calandrx, Zarex, Klaaz, Agent Gordon. The fact that they were now all dead was what weighed the heaviest on his heart. In many ways, they had been fighting his battle when they'd been killed. Caught up in his passion to make all things right in the Galaxy again. He laughed, sadly, whenever he thought of them. Brave men, and characters all. But were they just fools as well to listen to him? To follow him on his mad quest? At that moment he would have given just about anything to drink a bottle of slow-ship with Erx and Berx again, or to share a campfire meal with Pater Tomm, or a discussion about the ancients with Calandrx.

He would never see Xara again, never feel his chest fill up with the good stuff just looking at her, never even get to kiss her just once!

Never to fly his flying machine again, never to find out what he was doing here, in the 73rd century. Never finding out exactly who the hell he was.

Regrets?

Yes, he had a few.

His cell door opened. Hunter was expecting that this was his last meal, though he wasn't the least bit hungry.

But instead of his slight, mean-spirited turnkey, a rather imposing figure swept into the cell, several huge Star Rangers in tow.

Hunter allowed his eyes to adjust to the light.

Only then did he realize it was Joxx.

"They've chosen to put the gun in your hand?" Hunter asked, legitimately surprised to see him. "Or did you ask for it yourself?"

Now it was Joxx's turn to ignore Hunter's questions. He was very conscious that the Star Rangers were still on hand. They had traveled all the way up from Earth with him, again on a swift-moving scout ship, to catch the ShadoVox on its dark and secret flight. Joxx made no attempt to dismiss them now.

"As you know," Joxx addressed Hunter, "the Empire holds a special place for condemned souls. Sometimes it is very difficult to tell exactly who is the hero and who is the criminal. But that does not mean heroes escape the executioner's song."

The coterie of guards nodded in agreement, even though it was apparent they didn't have the slightest idea what Joxx was talking about. But Hunter did.

"I am here only to give you comfort for what you will be facing soon," Joxx went on. His eyes were still bleary. "I owe you that at least. As for myself, when I leave here, I will finally see the Emperor, and after that, only destiny awaits..."

As he was saying this, Joxx pulled back his cape, and Hunter saw that he was carrying a silver dagger on his belt. It was in the shape of a cross.

"History never stops," Joxx concluded. "It just seems that way sometimes."

With that, he dropped something on Hunter's bunk and then went back out the door without another word. The guards slammed the cell hatch with an especially loud bang, plunging the tiny cell back into darkness again.

Hunter crawled over to the bunk and found the object. It was a box. Making his way to the tiny sliver of light coming in below the cell door, he was finally able to see what was inside.

His jaw dropped.

It was a holo-girl capsule.

He could just barely read the inscription on it: "Echo 999.9, Transdimensional Test. Top Secret. Activate Immediately."

The waves were high and beautiful.

It was almost sunset, and the glow upon the ocean was incredibly warm and inviting.

The crystal-blue water would come rushing in, leaving clouds of soft, white foam to momentarily linger on the gemstone sands before retreating once again.

Hunter took Ashley in his arms. The girl he'd met so briefly back on Planet America was now magically standing before him again, looking even more beautiful than he remembered. He lowered her to the wet sand and kissed her. She laughed. He kissed her some more. He was suddenly down to his bare essentials. She had removed her top.

"Why didn't you just rescue me when you had the chance?" she whispered in his ear.

"I thought I did," he replied.

She laughed again. It echoed across the waves. Hunter gently lay on top of her. More kissing, she with an especially probing tongue. Some of the waves crashed on the high rocks nearby. Others came closer. One came right on top of them, soaking them in their moment of desire.

"Can we?" she asked Hunter.

"Should we?" he asked her back.

"I thought that's why we are here," she told him.

"Then there is nothing standing in our way," he whispered back to her.

Passion flowed like the waves now, in and out, each one stronger than the one before it. Hunter felt like he was inside a dream, which, in a way, he was. The setting became even more perfect, the sun even warmer. The sky more beautiful. The water. The waves. Ashley was stunning. Her body wet and glistening. They were just moments away from completing the act, when ...

Hunter looked up and saw two people walking on the beach toward them.

"What the f..." he said. This did not compute. This couldn't be part of the program.

He stopped what he was doing and concentrated on the two approaching figures. They weren't holo-girls, that much was for sure. They were two soldiers, in uniform, one slightly taller than the other, both squat, muscular, and very, very bald.

"Damn," Hunter breathed. "Am I going crazy?"

It was Erx and Berx.

What the hell are they doing here?

They walked right up to him.

"Brother Hawk!" Erx bellowed. "We have found you!"

Hunter didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He scrambled to his feet; Ashley was soon up beside him, silent, but not bothering to cover her chest.

Hunter didn't say a thing. Instead, he put his hand on Erx's face, his arms, his chest. He was thumping him, expecting his hand to go through him. This had to be a screw-up in the holo-program, right?

"We are here," Berx told him simply. "All of us. The whole gang. The whole fleet."

Hunter just looked back at them in astonishment.

"We've been hiding here in the thirty-fourth dimension," Erx tried to explain. "All safe. All happy. Waiting for you to arrive."

"But how?" was all Hunter could mumble.

They didn't reply. They just pointed over his shoulder. Hunter turned around—and found Princess Xara standing right behind him.

"I'm the one who arranged for them to come here, Major Hunter," she told him very formally with a distinct chill in her voice. She eyed Ashley, who was simply standing by, free-spirited and open, listening but not speaking. She was the only nonreal thing here.

"And this is actually a military operation, Major," Xara went on. She was dressed in a very skimpy outfit herself, almost amazon-like. Hunter's eyes were glued to her. "It might be wise to turn your own thoughts in that direction."

But Hunter was still astonished that all his comrades were alive.

"But how?" was all he could ask again. He was completely bewildered.

Xara liked that, of course.

"Let me explain it to you quickly," she said, pulling him aside from the rest. "I won't dare ask if you've ever been inside one of these holo-things before. But your friends told me that when battling the Bad Moon Knights on Planet America, you used an escape device based on a Twenty 'n Six field?"

Hunter nodded numbly. They had combined the forces of four Twenty 'n Six devices to create a transdimensional field. During a series of guerrilla actions, which opened the war on Planet America, the American Forces harassed the BMK invaders inside the big cities, disappearing at the last moment through this Twenty 'n Six window. It made for the perfect escape route just as long as the BMK soldiers never caught them before the last man went through and collapsed it, sealing it off forever. By the time the BMK figured out what they were doing, it was too late.

"We usually had the other side of the field hidden near our base at Ghost River," Hunter told her. "It was just like stepping through a door. There one moment, here the next."

"Almost like traveling in Supertime?" she asked him. "You're moving so fast, it doesn't seem like you are moving at all."

Hunter just stared into her big, beautiful eyes. God, she was cute. "Well, yes," he was finally able to reply. "I guess..."

"Then that's what we did here," she told him. "Just on a much grander scale."

Hunter wasn't sure what she meant. "This you will have to explain to me," he said.

"My pleasure," she said, snapping her fingers but still without a smile.

Suddenly they were standing alone on a very high peak.

The beach and the ocean were off to the east now, far below them. Up and down the coast, for as far as Hunter could see, was nothing but paradise. Trees, hills, flowing grass, lakes, rivers, the ocean itself. Beautiful. Inviting. Tempting...

Xara turned him around.

He was now gazing West, into a deep valley; it looked like something from a dream. It was just as beautiful, just as peaceful as the coast. More trees, more high grass and flowers everywhere. Small clutches of tiny houses, cottages, even house boats. More lakes, rivers, and streams. A soft wind in his face. Very comfortable temperatures. A slight white glow around everything.

In a word, heavenly.

And hanging in the air above the pleasant valley, the six blue and chrome spaceships of the UPF, along with the six stolen cargo 'crashers.

"If I am not imagining this," Hunter said with a gasp, "then it all must be true... Right?"

"We've managed to find a way to hide your fleet in here," Xara told him proudly. "Along with all your friends."

Hunter just shook his head.

"Well, it was Vanex really," she explained. "Once he and I explored this place, he came up with a way to create a portal, just like the Twenty 'n Six field you manufactured on Planet America. Except with this one, we opened a large window to here, the thirty-fourth dimension. Or what people commonly refer to as the thirty-fourth ..."

Below him Hunter could see Erx and Berx again, and Tomm, Calandrx, Klaaz, Zarex, and his robot. He saw Gordon and many of the top officers of the UPF. They were all alive and lazing about the placid green fields, talking in small groups, lying out in the warm sun. Farther away, the crews of the UPF ships. Beyond them, more hills, more mountains, and undoubtedly, more beautiful things over those mountains.

"But I was told that the fleet was destroyed," he said. "And everyone aboard had perished."

"Who told you all that? The Solar Guards?"

Hunter nodded numbly. "Well, yes ..." He quickly told her what he'd seen after being seized by the SG once he'd returned from the mind ring trip.

"The Solar Guards lied," Xara told him plainly. "The truth is, they have no idea what happened to the fleet. From their perspective, your ships were on the sensor screens one moment and were gone the next. They've undoubtedly been spinning it for their bosses, and my father, and, I'm sure, to Joxx himself. Manufacturing evidence of fighting right aboard the ShadoVox itself? This, after our friends had already blinked out? Fairly clever, I guess. But Joxx figured out the truth anyway. And he has since played his part. After all, he was the one who passed the holo-capsule to you."

"And saved me," Hunter whispered, realizing now just what the SG commander had done. "But I'm still a little confused about this whole thirty-fourth dimension thing."

Xara looked like she wanted to conk him on the head. He was supposed to be this brilliant superhero, but at the moment, his mind seemed to be back down on the beach.

She explained it all to him again, this time slower, in more detail. It all started with the visit from the spy to her quarters, his tip that the advanced holo-girl capsule was actually a technology that went far beyond what people thought they understood about trips to the thirty-fourth dimension. That's when she brought Vanex in, and after she and the master engineer spent the equivalent of two months in this place, they figured out a way to open a hole large enough for the rebel fleet to pass through without the Solar Guards ever knowing what was happening. That's how everybody got away, she told him. That's why everybody was still alive. In this very beautiful place. With absolutely nothing causing them to return to the real world until they wanted to.

"But everything you just told me seems too pat," Hunter told her once she had finished. "Too perfect."

"Exactly," Xara replied. "That's the way everything is in here. Every problem solved, always by the perfect solution. You feel everything seems dreamy here, sort of?"

Hunter nodded. It did feel like he was walking on air.

"Well, I feel that, too," Xara said. "We all do. That's got to be just one of the reasons people thought this place was, well, so different when they first discovered it—what? Eons ago? It's in all the myths. All the legends. We just never thought of it as a real, tangible place."

Hunter still looked confused.

"What I'm trying to tell you," Xara finally said, "is that I think everything is connected. Twenty 'n Six technology, this sexual fantasy land, Time Shifters, and Supertime. They are unified in a way. Just take a look around you. How realistic does all this seem?"

Hunter could only shrug. Compared to what was experienced in a mind ring, this was a quantum leap in improvement.

"It looks very real," he said.

She finally smiled. "That's because it is," she told him, "People have been using the sex trips to come here for God knows how long now. But have you ever met anyone who has gone anywhere other than the beach? Anyone who hadn't just stayed put with whatever flavor girl they'd chosen? No—no one ever moved, ever explored, because they thought they were inside an illusion. Like that nutty sixth dimension or the thirteenth. But the truth is, they were not inside an illusion. Not a typical one, anyway. This place is real. It's a different place. A place we know very little about, just like we don't know exactly who invented the means to get here. But it is real... and it is definitely somewhere on a higher plane. That's why you feel the way you do here. That's why everything is perfect."

"Are you saying the thirty-fourth dimension is actually someplace else?" he asked her.

She smiled and touched his lips.

"What I'm saying," she replied, "is that the thirty-fourth dimension is what people used to call Heaven."

Hunter would never pretend to understand very much Xara told him after that. It was just too much information, too much of a leap of faith, all at once. He had to take it in slowly.

So they stayed atop the hill, looking out on paradise, the twelve warships hanging lightly in the sweet air. He told her everything he'd gone through since last seeing her on Earth, before he went AWOL. Then she went over her story again, emphasizing some points here, other points there. On some level, Hunter was just happy to be with her, happy just to hear her talk. He could have stayed atop the hill with her forever.

Finally, though, after what seemed like hours of this, he asked her, "But what do we do now?"

"We prepare the fleet," she replied quickly. "We figure out what to do when we blink back into real time. When we all step back down from Heaven. Now that I know what you discovered about the building of the Empires, I think it's imperative that we overthrow the current regime, no matter what. That should be our first step of many."

Hunter nodded but with some uncertainty. He felt like he'd been fighting all his life. He looked around at the beautiful setting and then rested his gaze back on Xara.

She was a beauty amid beauty.

"Or maybe," he said to her. "We can just stay here."

* * * * *