Starhawk (8 page)

'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."