Battle at Zero Point (16 page)

It was also the fastest thing in the Galaxy. Faster than any Starcrasher. In fact, where a Starcrasher could tool along at two light-years a minute, the cruising speed for Hunter's machine was two light-years
a second
. And he had yet to open up the throttles all the way.

He jumped in now and felt like he was back in the womb. All the controls survived the transdimensional jumps, which was good. Everything seemed a bit bigger though, by a factor of 10 percent or so. But this was normal for something that had lingered in the twenty-sixth dimension for a long period of time. It was OK with him. Sometimes, bigger
was
better.

One other oddity: way back when Hunter entered the craft in the Earth Race, he was required to give it a name, something that could be entered on the race roster and the betting slips. He'd simply written in plain text on his cockpit panel:
Flying Machine
. For whatever reason, when the craft came back from the twenty-sixth dimension this time, his notation had been altered. Now it just simply read:
F-Machine
.

And for some reason, he liked the sound of that, too.

He hit the ignition switch and again was relieved when the unique star engine roared to life.

His control panels were telling him everything was good to go. Nav systems, gravity amplifiers, comm sets, flight bubbler. Weapons. Everything was reading green.

But where was he off to exactly?

It was time to find out.

He reached into his other pocket, dug down deep beneath the apples, and took out the viz-image capsule Tomm had given him on the sly back in Paradise. He looked it over quickly. It seemed to have survived the trip back from Heaven as well. He activated the device and suddenly a life-size image of Pater Tomm materialized in midair above his left wing. The diminutive monk looked younger, his hair was shorter, his cassock less ragged than in more recent times. In fact, he looked exactly the way he did when Hunter first met him about two years before.

"You are activating this for only one reason," the space monk began, getting right to the point as usual.

'Things are so bad that desperate measures have to be undertaken. Axe you still in one piece?"

"So far," Hunter replied.

The image smiled, then as a sort of inside joke, produced a flask of slowship wine and took a healthy slug. Hunter wished the holo-image—and the wine—were real. He needed a belt right now.

"I have only given this to you because I believe in your cause and fear that it might be close to being lost," Tomm's image said now. "Is this the case?"

Hunter nodded glumly. "I think that's an accurate assessment."

"And it is a question of getting help—ships, soldiers, fighters—for the cause?"

"At the very least, yes."

Tomm nodded beatifically—a strange look for him.

"Then I want you to go someplace," the monk said. "Some place few people even know exists. It is there only by one of the deepest secrets of the Galaxy. It is called simply, Far Planet. It is out on the Seven Arm."

Hunter held his hand up, stopping the image for a moment.

"The Seven Arm?" he asked. "I thought there was nothing out there."

That was certainly the prevailing opinion in the Galaxy. Of the Milky Way's nine major swirls, the seventh was thought to be the least populated, the least inhabited, the least hospitable. And because the galaxy was actually asymmetrical, it was also one of the farthest points from Earth. It was little more than a very long, very thin string of scattered stars that petered out at one of the last points that could be called part of the Milky Way. There was hardly an Empire presence much beyond the opening reaches of the place, and simply none at all a few light-years in. It was a rare occasion to encounter anyone who called the Seven Arm home. It boasted no kinds of special starship designs, no kinds of exotic foods, no particularly potent strains of slow-ship wine. Nothing.

Bottom line: no one ever went the Seven Arm, simply because there was never ever any reason to.

Or at least that was the impression Hunter had always got.

But now Tomm's image was smiling. "I guess you have to be around as long as I have to know what is real and what is not in this universe," he said. "Just get to the Seven and find Far Planet. Then activate this device again. I will instruct you further from there."

The image began to disappear, but Hunter had one last question to ask. It was an important one.

"How do I find one planet on an entire arm?" he asked. "I mean, I know there aren't many stars out there, but there are certainly still millions of them. I could be out there for years looking for this place."

Tomm smiled again, took another swig from his flask, and pretended to hand it to Hunter.

"How do you get to this place?" he asked with a wide, strange grin, pulling back the flask. "My boy, how do you get anywhere in this great big galaxy? You use a map."

And with that, the image faded for good, leaving Hunter alone once again.

Now this was a problem. His F-Machine had some maps stored in its memory, and his quadtrol did, too. But a quick check of both showed only the most rudimentary directions to the unlucky Seven, and these ended just an hour or two into the mysterious arm. What he needed was a star chart, one that was up to date. Or as up to date as something pertaining to the Seven Arm could be.

He sat still in the cockpit thinking for a moment. Then it came to him. He was still aboard the most powerful ship in the Galaxy. Even though its creator had faltered, the
ShadoVox's
inner workings were still vital.

Hunter leaped from his machine and ran to the nearest control bubbler; several were attached to the far wall of the hangar. He pulled out his quadtrol's extension probe and mated it with the bubbler's primary-system "blood" line. Essentially every piece of information stored aboard the mighty ship was flowing through this main line just as blood flowed through a body. Hunter tapped into the artery and commanded the quad-trol to locate and copy any star charts pertaining to the Seven Arm. It took only a few seconds for his device to literally suck the information out of the
ShadoVox's
memory stream.

Then he checked the time. He'd spent thirty minutes escaping from jail, saving Joxx, and now learning where he had to go. Precious time, well spent. But there was no reason to dawdle.

He ran back to his ship, climbed aboard, and restarted his power pack. His star engine once again roared to life in response. Canopy down, he raised the wheels and put the F-Machine about two feet off the deck. Then he pointed it out toward open space.

"Don't worry, Xara," he whispered. "I'll be back as soon as I can…"

He hit the throttles and was two light-years away a second later.

Venus was the second planet in the Galaxy to be puffed.

Only Mars had come first when the mysterious geniuses known as the Ancient Engineers set out to make first the Solar System and then the Milky Way habitable for the human race. No longer was Earth's sister planet enshrouded in thick cumulus, raining hydrochloric acid. Like Earth, its cloud cover was now just 30 percent at any given time. Also like Earth, it now had one ocean that spread around the entire planet, pole to pole. This one surrounded two massive continents and several smaller ones. One of these was the island continent of Zros.

Venus served as a very exclusive getaway for the extended Imperial Family, those known as The Specials, and for these fortunate souls, Zros was the only place to be. They owned tens of thousands of summer palaces, seaside resorts, vineyards, and spas on the island. One was called
La-Shangri
.

Located atop the high cliffs on the west coast of Zros, it was a three-tiered palace that literally stretched for miles. Many of its structures hung way out over the greenish pacific sea, and the local atmosphere was treated with a combination of hyacinth scent and nitrous oxide. A happy experience was guaranteed for anyone lucky enough to visit here.

This place was usually devoid of military personnel. But shortly after dawn on this dark day, the air above the resort was suddenly filled with combat vessels. One of these was a cruiser belonging to the Imperial Guards, the army whose sole purpose was the protection of the Emperor's family. It popped into view just above the highest spire of
La-Shangri
. A cadre of soldiers was instantly beamed out of its hold. In seconds, the palace roof was crawling with these Imperial bodyguards.

Half the guards secured the roof; the other half ran down a passageway and into the chateau's enormous function room. A huge saturnalia of Specials was in full swing here; indeed, the party had been going nonstop for days. There were more than a thousand people on hand, most of them beautiful young women. As always, the atmosphere was both sexual and dangerous.

It might have seemed odd, with the turmoil plaguing the Empire, that its untouchables were partying the nights away. But not really. History was filled with examples of uppers who danced while their empires burned. There was nothing different going on here.

Heads turned when the Imperial Guards burst in, though. Some of the revelers simply looked them up and down, then went back to their drinking and merriment. But others stopped in middance step, wondering why the heavily armed soldiers were here. The chief guard pushed his way through the crowd, looking this way and that. Finally he spotted the person he'd come here to protect.

She was dressed all in black. Jacket. Miniskirt. Stockings. Boots. Her low-cut top showed a generous hint of breasts. Her hair was blonde and flowing over her shoulders. Even with the heavy make up, her face was stunning.

She was the Empress of the Galaxy, the wife of O'Nay Himself.

The guard approached her slowly, then went into a deep bow.

"A million pardons, my lady," he said. "But we must evacuate you back to Earth immediately."

The Empress waved him off. "Go away," she said.

The officer repeated his request, this time more urgently.

She danced up close to him; he could smell a strong scent of slow-ship wine coming from her.

"I'm having some fun for a change," the Empress whispered in his ear. "Why would I want to leave now?"

"My lady…"

Suddenly she had a goblet of sparkling blue liquid in her hand. Draining it in one gulp, she tossed the cup away. Then her jacket came off. The music became louder; the mixture of pulsating bass and ethereal strings turned hypnotic. She floated away and was quickly swallowed up by the crowd. She could just barely be seen now, eyes closed, dancing slowly.

With no little trepidation, the chief bodyguard waded into the throng after her. Arms and legs and faces and breasts blocked his view, giving way very slowly and reluctantly. Suddenly the Empress was in front of him again. Her eyes were locked on to his. She began dancing even closer. The lights went down. The other partygoers were suddenly very intimate with each other. Many of the women were now topless. The chief bodyguard began to sweat.

The Empress was dancing so close to him now, she was rubbing up against his chest. She'd been known to use this tactic before.

"I'm sorry, my lady," the officer finally said. "But there is an emergency, and we have orders to get you back to Earth as soon as possible."

She laughed drunkenly and began dancing away from him yet again. But at that moment, another small army of body-guards burst into the room. They were private hires and did not carry the burden of imperial protocol. They quickly found their lesser-class clients and with no little ceremony began hustling them out of the hall.

The music suddenly stopped. The laughter died down. Someone screamed. Panic began to rise.

Obviously, something big was going on.

Concerned now, the Empress sought out the bodyguard.

"What is it then?" she asked him harshly. "Just tell me."

"There has been another incident, my lady," he whispered gravely. "Between the Space Forces and the Solar Guards— out on the Two Arm."

She stared back at him, her painted face twisted in confusion. "One more clash between our own soldiers? So what? These skirmishes have been happening for the past month, correct?"

The officer nodded soberly. "Yes, my lady," he said. "But this was not a skirmish. This was a major battle. Forty SG Starcrashers were destroyed, at least ten from the SF were also lost. Nearly a million of our soldiers have been killed."

The number stunned her. "
A million
?"

"Yes, and a devastating defeat for the Solar Guards," he whispered to her now. "So bad, they are going full speed ahead with their new decree."

"What new decree?" she asked. "I've not heard about this."

The Imperial officer just shook his head. She was probably the only person in the Empire who hadn't heard of the SG's latest radical step.

"They are declaring it the Inner Planets Defense Order," the guard said. "It calls for nearly half of their capital warships to return home from the other arms. That's an incredibly large number of ships and men, my lady. And they will soon be occupying the entire One Arm with them. As it is, they are not allowing any SF ships into the Solar System. And now, they will probably not let any of us out. This is not a good thing, my lady."

Even she understood this. As bad as the rivalry between the two services was, it also served to keep each one in check. This was especially true for the more ambitious Solar Guards.

"Can the SG really do such a thing lawfully?" she asked the officer, as the big hall further emptied out.

"They are
writing
the laws, ma'am," he told her. "They have free rein when it comes to protecting the Emperor. Though this is taking their mission to its limit, no one can stop them. Not now. And that leads us to the real problem."

"And that is?"

The officer was suddenly right up to her ear. "With so many Solar Guards in the One Arm and inside the Pluto Cloud, there is a real chance for…"

"Yes… for?"

The man could barely speak the word. "My superiors think that you and the rest of your family are in personal danger," he said instead.

Now she just stared back at him, speechless.

"What are you talking about?" she asked him sternly. "A revolt?"

He looked her straight in the eye and said: "No, my lady, not a revolt. A
coup
."

The Empress was put on the heavily armed warship, which in turn was surrounded by a small fleet of scout ships and spacefighters. The flight back to Earth took just a few minutes. Her vessel passed through the cordon of sentry ships the Solar Guards had put up in orbit around Earth. There were so many SG vessels, it was almost difficult to find a pathway through them.

The Empress's ship went directly to Special Number One. Her bodyguards requested that she linger on the floating city only long enough for her to put a few personal items together. Once packed, they would whisk her to a safer location, this being another floating city, a secret one, called Special Number Two, which at that moment was cruising high above the North Pole. From there, plans would be made to spirit her out of the Solar System and off the One Arm itself.

But of course the Empress would hear none of this. She demanded to be brought directly to the Imperial Court, the large room located on the bottom floor of the enormous Imperial Palace. This was the seat of power for the Galaxy.

The court was usually crowded with small armies of courtesans, brokers, relatives, lobbyists, priests, diplomats, military types from all services, aides, guards, and spies. Many,
many
spies. The goings-on here were a daily scene of controlled chaos, with those few lucky enough to actually be in a position to petition the Emperor—or more likely his close imperial flunkies—trying everything they could from cajoling, to bribes, to threats of bodily harm, to get their voices heard. Some of the time, Emperor O'Nay Himself was actually on hand, sitting in a hovering throne exactly fifty feet above the fray, staring out at the nothingness, while the excitement and confusion played out below. At times, the noise in the court could reach deafening proportions.

But now, as the Empress burst into the enormous gold-leaf room, it was the silence that was overwhelming. She stopped in her tracks, as did the company of Imperial Guards traveling with her.

She couldn't believe her eyes.

The court was empty.

Her face fell; her pretty features seemed to disappear. For the first time in recent memory, she actually looked all of her 375 years.

"This… has never happened before," she whispered.

She turned to back to the bodyguards.

"Where is my husband?"

The chief bodyguard stepped forward again. "He was transferred to the secure location over the pole, my lady," the man told her nervously. "Which is why we want—"

"I could care less what you want," she snapped back at him. "Has
everyone
cleared out up here? Is there no one left in the city?"

The officer looked around at his men. One whispered something in his ear.

"The military staffs are still in their headquarters," the officer reported. "And some of the diplomats are still here. But they, too, seem to be intent on leaving quickly. Apparently no one knows how the Solar Guards are going to react, especially after what's happened out on the Two Arm."

"They'll react like everyone else," she spat back at him. "Like scared children."

The officer took a step closer to the Empress. "My lady, I feel I must remind you that some elements within the SG might be best described as
unpredictable
at a time like this. It is obvious that the situation is unstable. That's why I must insist that—"

She held up her hand and cut him off in midsentence. "You said some high military officers are still on hand up here?"

"True, my lady…"

"Who is the highest?"

The officer consulted with his men again. There was a burst of quadtrol activity. Then he came back with an answer. "The Secretary of SF Intelligence is still here. He is in his office at SF headquarters."

The Empress was surprised to hear this. The head of SF Intelligence was near the top of this privileged heap on Special Number One. He held advantages nearly as high as the imperial family itself.

That he had stuck around after the others had obviously fled to safer, if not higher ground was fairly amazing. The Empress smiled. Her beautiful features made a brief reappearance.

"Fetch the Secretary, and bring him to my quarters," she ordered the bodyguards. "He'll know what's going on…"

There were hundreds of SF special forces troops surrounding Blue Rock when the Imperial Guards arrived. The elite SF soldiers were armed with dozens of mobile sonic guns, their gigantic barrels pointed directly toward the opposite end of the floating city, where the Solar Guards headquarters lay.

Special troops were also stationed on every floor of the soaring SF headquarters. No less than a hundred of the elite soldiers were guarding the SF3 floor alone. They bristled when the Imperial Guards showed up, bearing their order from the Empress. They were neutrals here, both sides wary of the Solar Guards. But the SF troopers were very reluctant to let the SF Intelligence Secretary out of their sight.

However, they could not refuse a direct order from a member of the Imperial Family and so had no choice but to let him go.

The Imperial Guards found the Secretary sitting in his suite on the ninety-ninth floor, calmly listening to star music. Unlike most of the people who lived and worked on the immense floating city, the Secretary's bags were not packed, nor was he was planning on leaving any time soon. Besides running the vast SF Intelligence networks, he was also brilliant in the areas of diplomacy, history, military matters and, most valuable, in the ways of intrigue around the Palace, and around the Empire itself. Thus, he felt he was most needed here.

He was somewhat surprised to see the Imperial Guards walk through his door, though, surprised to hear he was wanted in the Empress's private quarters. He made a rare joke: that maybe this wasn't the thing to do; being alone in the Empress's secret bedroom while her husband was far up north might start the tongues wagging. But not one of the Imperial Guards even cracked a smile.

So the Secretary donned his artificial-feather cap and simply told them to lead the way.

They reached the pair of enormous oak doors that led to the Empress's private quarters ten minutes later.

One guard pushed the doors open, but his expression made it clear that the Secretary was on his own from here.

He bowed to them, and the guards disappeared. The Secretary took one step in. The room was huge, and done in dark wood, a rare commodity on Earth or anywhere in the Galaxy these days. Yet there was a small conflagration in the fireplace, logs of both ash and pines were crackling away, and the place felt warm, if just a little too mysterious. Of course, this is exactly how the Empress liked it.