Battle at Zero Point (33 page)

Then the huge soldier in gold, the one who had first appeared nearby, knelt down beside him. He took off his helmet, and Sheez saw his face. And that was the one last shock of his life. Sheez recognized him.

Rugged, handsome, steely eyes, but still with a friendly face, he was the one person, more than any other, responsible for destroying Sheez's old planet of Megiddo. Yet he'd just saved his people. And Sheez even knew his name.

It was Hawk Hunter, leader of the rebel forces.

What the hell is he doing here?

Sheez grabbed his arm and spat out his last words.

"My people," he gasped, his voice fading. "Please…"

"Don't worry," Hunter told him. "They're safe now, every last one of them. Thanks to you…"

Sheez was fading fast. "And what about me?" he asked Hunter softly. "What will happen to me now?"

Hunter checked his wounds and knew it was amazing that Sheez had lasted this long.

"You're off to a better place," he said. "Believe me, I know."

Sheez looked up at him and suddenly realized he
did
believe him. A smile finally spread across his battered face. He closed his eyes.

And then he died.

Earth

The Empress landed her air car in the middle of the desert.

Or at least it looked like a desert. It was flat, for the most part, though there were some mountains directly to the west. It was dry and hot, too. But the sand beneath her feet was actually a mixture of tiny glass globules and not authentic silica.

She had never been here before. Still, she knew she was in the right place because way off on the horizon she could see a group of plain white structures built astride a huge dry lake bed. Even at this distance she could tell the buildings were absolutely ancient.

She would not need the air car from here.

Flash!

Suddenly she was standing at the front entrance of the largest building. A faded sign next to the door read:
Domain 51
.

Flash!

Now she was inside the building itself, looking down at the entrance to a huge amphitheater. There were dozens of soldiers in stark black uniforms standing at rigid attention around this sizable portal. The only means of illumination that she could see was by candles; there were hundreds of them everywhere.

Their flickering cast odd shadows on the Z-gun turrets built into the walls of this place.

Flash!

She was now inside the chamber itself. It, too, was lit only by candlelight. In the middle of the chamber was a huge black monolith. It was a hundred feet high and about half that measurement square.

It stood alone. A huge, seamless, impenetrable presence.

It was the Big Generator.

It, too, was guarded by an army of black-uniformed soldiers; these were the Sacred Guards. They were standing at attention in small groups scattered around the inner chamber. They did not seem to notice that the Empress was there. Not yet, anyway.

She had never seen it before. This big, ugly, holy thing. No sound was coming from it, as she had expected mere to be. Nor was there any means of access, or dials or switches or panel lights on the thing. There were no controls—at least none anywhere nearby.

This was strange because the Big Generator made everything possible in the Galaxy. The power it generated went everywhere and encompassed everything. It ran all of the Empire's spaceships. It ran the planets. It ran everything
on
the planets. From the dimmest panel bulb on the most distant world to the prop core of the largest Starcrasher, all energy in the Empire came from here.

The Empress moved down the aisle and finally caught the attention of the guards. They were startled to see her, to say the least. They were not aware of the particulars of what was happening back east or out in the Galaxy. They were mind-eunuchs. Their only role was to protect the Big Generator with their lives and not let anyone unauthorized near it.

But did this include members of the Imperial Family?

None of the guards was sure.

The captain of the guard gingerly approached the Empress just as she arrived at the electric railing that surrounded the Big Generator.

"My lady?" the man asked her. "Can I be of assistance?"

"Yes," she replied. "You can leave me alone."

She started to cross the barrier to the stage where the Big Generator sat.

The officer reached out and held his hand in front of her.

"I'm sorry, my lady," he said, very nervous, "but you are not allowed in there."

She turned on him. "Not allowed?" she hissed. "Do you know who I am?'

The officer began stammering. "Of… of course, I do. But, still, my lady. This is a restricted area."

At that moment, the officer felt something pushing against his chest. He looked down to see that it was a blaster pistol. The Empress had it pointing directly at his heart.

"Do you know the difference between Heaven and Hell?" she asked him crossly.

He numbly shook his head no.

"People like us don't go to Heaven automatically," she told him. "We've got to work to get there."

Doomsday 212

Hunter threw the last bit of dirt on Sheez's grave, then wiped the dust from his hands.

Tremendous chaos was still going on around him. The sky was filled with enormous warships. The battle at the evacuation site had grown more fierce. Large quakes were running through the planet itself.

There was smoke and fire and wind and soot. But still, Hunter felt this man deserved a decent burial. It didn't take much to determine that he'd led the huge group of refugees to the rescue site and that he gave his life so that they might keep theirs. He had done the simplest thing in human existence then. He had done the right thing.

Hunter patted the last of the dirt down with his hand and paused a moment.

Another hero
, he thought.

One of many to be made this day.

It would have taken volumes to explain how Hunter had arrived at this spot, at this exact time, wearing the armor of a Third Empire soldier. It all started with a great secret—and some simple mathematics. The Galaxy held billions of stars, those stars held hundreds of billions of planets, and those planets held trillions of people. The people who ruled it all, the Fourth Empire, were very secretive—and for good reason. Among those staggering numbers, they knew of things so volatile, so potentially disruptive on a galactic scale, that they were forbidden to even write them down, this under penalty of death, no matter how high the offender was in the imperial hierarchy. These things were called the Cardinal Secrets, and there were at least five of them, though many believed there were at least several more.

One Cardinal Secret was the name of the person who invented the Echo 999.9. Another was the origin of the Big Generator. Another was the secret behind the life-extending properties of Holy Blood.

Still another, the reason why Star-crasher prop cores worked as they did.

The fifth Cardinal Secret was that there were actually two empires in the Milky Way. One was the vast Fourth Empire, which ruled from Earth to the Ball, out to the end of each of the nine major arms, except one: the tip of the Seven Arm. This area was known collectively as Far Out, with its capital, Far Planet.

It was here that the Third Empire, thought long lost and clearly forgotten by many, still existed.

It was small as empires go.

Just the equivalent of four star systems, clustered together, containing just twenty-seven planets, fifty moons, two minor asteroid belts, and several dozen free-floating battle stations and docking ports. And how the Third Empire came to exist— and survive—was a long story worth telling, but not today. Suffice to say, at one time, nearly two thousand years before, it, too, had occupied just about the entire Milky Way, and it, too, had embarked on a mission to reclaim all die planets and people lost after the catastrophic fall of the Second Empire and the long period of Dark Ages that followed. That the Third Empire still existed was the result of a titanic struggle against an enemy of whom only a handful of people knew the identity, and they certainly weren't talking. The result of that struggle, though, that aftermath, it being the topic of many a lost war poem and heroic saga, was an agreement and a compromise: that the Third Empire, actually the last ember of the once pan-galactic realm, would be allowed to remain, but only at one of the farthest points away from Earth, and only in the deepest, darkest secrecy. And that never, ever would there be contact between the two. Thus the great obstacles, both physical and in the mind, encountered by anyone trying to get from one place to the other.

Hunter had been given a tour of the Third Empire, a trip that lasted just an hour or so. But in that short time, he discovered many remarkable things about the place.

The people who lived there were very similar to the people he'd found on the Home Planets. That is to say, they were like the Last Americans, and the people from the other thirty-five planets in that concentration camp in the sky. They were people who were more like him than the strangely different, looking, and acting people who made up the Fourth Empire, a place where it seemed that everyone's name either began or ended with an
X
.

This, of course, all had to do with the Ancient Astronaut, for the Third Empire was his doing, and it was his story that would fill another book. But the people around Far Planet worshiped him, not in a religious sense—though it bordered on that—but mostly because he was a hero, a great hero. A man who saved billions and when faced with a cruel choice, chose to stop fighting, and thus saved many billions more.

The burial complete, Hunter looked up at the gold warship over his head. The Legionnaires called these vessels Sky Chiefs and it was an appropriately cool name. Hunter was suddenly talking to the ship's two pilots—no comm set needed here—just another trick of the Third Empire that he'd been made privy to.

They could leave, he told them. He was finished down here. The field of dead REF troopers had all turned to ash by now, there'd be no burial for them. And the people Sheez had saved had made it into the evacuation circle and would soon be lifted off this hellhole. So, that was one mission was accomplished. The problem was, they had about a million more to go.

The Sky Chief departed, flashing over to the evacuation site to help the ongoing rescue effort. Hunter pulled an oblong box from his pocket. It was gold, of course; both the color and the precious metal were revered by the Third Empire. There was a tiny spindle on top of the box; Hunter gave it a twist. There came a huge puff of smoke—not a flash of light—and it lingered longer than it should have in the wind.

But eventually it began forming into a familiar shape. It was a machine, long and slender, with a sharp snout, two wings, and a glass bubble on top. It was a contraption that was a stranger in both empires.

But not to Hunter. It was his F-Machine, rebuilt, repaired, and revitalized, all in the blink of an eye, shortly before he and the Star Legion left Far Planet to fight this faraway war.

His heart jumped on seeing it again. He was always glad when his buggy reappeared from transdimensional storage. This time it did not come not from the twenty-sixth dimension; the oblong box was not a Twenty 'n Six. It came from a much more orderly place, rediscovered by the Third Empire a long long time ago: the sixty-sixth dimension. And the machine looked fine, there being only one difference. No surprise, his aircraft was now the color of gold.

He felt a bit of wind on his face, and from this, he knew it was time to get going. He moved his left hand in a circular motion, and an access ladder appeared at the side of his jet. Another hand movement, and the canopy opened. He ran over to the ladder and was up and into the cockpit in a shot.

He pushed the flight control button, and the aircraft's power plant came to life. Another great feeling.

He did a quick check of all his vitals; everything was green. He checked his watch. It was ticking down to the moment the UPF fleet would attempt its crossover from the other side—the main reason for all this. He couldn't believe it. The time of return was now just sixty minutes away.

He felt a jolt of anxiety go through him; it was an emotion he'd rarely felt before. But everything the Ancient Astronaut had predicted would happen here was coming true. That the REF dumped the Zee refugees on
Doomsday 212
and put so many innocent lives at stake gave the forces of good the hard choice of either defending the lost souls or battling the REF until the UPF fleet crossed over. Even now, the Third Empire gold ships were lifting off as many refugees as possible, helping in the already ongoing effort.

But would it be enough? Would they be able to save everyone before the UPF made its long-awaited appearance? And would there be enough ships left over to battle the REF itself before it could destroy the heavenly fleet?

No one knew, and Hunter realized that he and his flying machine might well be the determining factor.

That's why he had much to do in the little time that remained.

He pushed his power bar forward, but the craft did not move. It was getting juice, but something was preventing it from lifting off.

This is strange
, he thought.

He checked his flight panel; everything was still functioning. He hit the power bar again. Still nothing.

This was not good. There was a huge war going on all around him, and he did not want to be struck here, immobile and flightless, in the middle of it. Once again he studied his control panel, trying to ascertain the problem. He hit his diagnostic viz screen, a device that would scan the aircraft and tell him what was wrong. When he saw the resulting holo-read-out, he was stunned. According to the image, the reason the ship wasn't taking off was because six people were sitting on its wings and nose. Pure nonsense—or so it would seem.

But when Hunter looked up, he discovered it was true.

Crouched on the nose of the craft was Pater Tomm. Balancing on the canopy tip was Calandrx.

Sitting on his left wing were Erx and Berx. On his right, were Klaaz and Gordon.

Hunter just stared out at them. Was this a dream? Or a stress-induced hallucination? A huge battle was going on nearby. Vessels of all shapes and sizes were going over his head. The planet itself seemed ready to come apart. Yet here were his old friends, sitting all around him just staring back at him, calmly, coolly. Smiling widely.

He hadn't seen them since Paradise.

And they looked so…
different
.

They were all bigger, stronger, with Zarex-sized muscles, and most bizarre, behind each one, barely visible, as if not really in this dimension, was a pair of enormous wings.

Hunter popped his canopy and was able to utter just one word: "
How
?"

Tomm just shrugged. 'This is what happens when you go there—and then come back," he said. "At least the way we did it."

Now they all studied him, but he looked the same.

"Obviously, ours has been the more dramatic transformation," Calandrx added dryly.

"Do you understand what's going on here, brothers?" Hunter finally asked them. "I mean the big picture. Did your minds become enlightened as your bodies did?"

Pater Tomm shrugged, and it made his nearly transparent wings move up and down for a moment.

"The ultimate battle between good and evil?" he replied.

"Is that all?" Hunter replied sardonically.

Tomm shrugged again. "Sounds strange, but might be as simple as that."

"It happens every billion years," Calandrx chimed in. "Or so they say. Usually when there is a simultaneous tear in the fabric of space and time, which is what happened, I guess, when we went one way to Paradise, and the REF went the other way to… well, you know where."

Hunter could only nod in agreement. This was exactly what the Ancient Astronaut had told him. He quickly explained to the six what had happened to him at Far Planet. The extraordinary security measures. His three temptations. Meeting the Astronaut himself, and the Third Empire agreeing to break their ages-old isolation to come and fight this important battle. Tomm was especially interested in hearing Hunter's brief recounting of his latest adventure, especially his tale of first meeting the Astronaut.

"Nothing would make me happier than to go there myself and reminisce with him," Tomm said, not without a trace of sadness. "I've been to Heaven, but I believe I could be just as happy on Far Planet. Such a wonderful place. But—"

"But the clock is ticking," Calandrx interjected. "And while we can do many things, stopping cosmic time isn't one of them. We've done our part, Hawk. We turned around the refugee ships, and we've got the robots of Myx involved. And obviously you've done your part, too."

"And more help is on the way," Klaaz added. "The question is, will it be enough?"

"I think you would know better than I," Hunter said.

"That's the problem," Tomm said. "Unlike just about everything else in the universe, the outcome here is not predetermined. No one knows which way this one will go—and I mean
no one
."

He raised his eyes upward, indicating to Hunter some kind of Higher Power.

"We've really gotten ourselves into the thick of it," Tomm went on. "We can only pray that it goes well. The enemy has tricks. They are deceitful. They will try everything to stop the rest of our fleet coming over, because that means there will be forty thousand more of
us
floating around in this existence, and that is simply too much good for them to take and be able to survive for very long."

Hunter was astonished to hear it put this way. "Who knew?" he asked. "Who knew when we all left Planet America that it would turn out this way?"

The six archangels laughed. It echoed across the barren, forbidding, smoldering landscape.

"Yes, eternity is funny like that," Calandrx said. "You never know what's going to happen next."

The six laughed again, but Hunter could only shake his head at the inside seraphic joke.

Suddenly Gordon was at his left hand. "But whatever transpires in the next hour, Hawk," he said, "the people back in the Home Planets will always owe you a debt of gratitude. You gave them something they would never have had without you: their freedom. The most precious thing in all of life."

Klaaz—old, bent-over ancient Klaaz—now huge and muscular, floated up nearby, too. "Many people have called me a hero over the years," he said, his voice incredibly vibrant. "But you, sir—
you
are
my
hero."

Erx and Berx were beside him now as well. His oldest friends in this lifetime.

"This is a great battle we face," Erx said. "It has to be fought, and it has to be won for you to finish why you were brought here, to this time and place."

"Which means you must keep fighting, Hawk," Berx said. "As we will… no matter what happens."

"Good luck, Hawk," Calandrx told him. "It is our honor to have known you. And perhaps, on a higher place, we will all see each other again."

Hunter could barely speak. "This is sounding a little too much like a last good-bye," he told them.