Storm Over Saturn (20 page)

"So, it's true then?" Hunter asked him. "That you could come up with a way to counter whatever they do to the Big Generator?"

Hunter saw the twinkle return to Zoloff's eye. Suddenly he was just like the good doctor back in Adventure Land.

"Of course!" he said with not an ounce of false modesty. "In fact, as soon as they mentioned it, I had the solution."

"Really? What is it?"

Zoloff checked to see if the two SSG were still asleep. They seemed to be. He smiled—and then started to whistle. One long tone. Very melodic, haunting even, if a little sad.

"And that is?" Hunter asked.

Zoloff smiled again. "C major diminished," he replied, lowering his voice to a near whisper. "And that's the secret."

"You're kidding…"

"At a time like this?" Zoloff scolded him gently. "Hardly."

"But… just whistling? That's the secret?"

Zoloff nodded with great authority, then slid over a little closer to Hunter. "Look—no one really knows how the Big Generator works," he said. "But I
do
know it has something to do with vibrations. And sound waves are vibrations. And therefore, a certain musical note is the key to the BG's power. I know this because of my extensive studies in super electricity. I also happen to know that by simply using this key, anyone can readjust whatever the SSG does to the BG."

He whistled it again. "C major diminished…"

Hunter just stared back at him. Was this a joke? Could it really be as simple as that?

"So are you saying that if the SSG gets control of the BG, you'd want everyone in the Galaxy to whistle that note?" he asked Zoloff.

"Precisely!" he declared. "Actually, if I understand the situation correctly, you have this one military called the Space Forces. And another—these devils, the Solar Guards?"

"Right…"

"And the SF is less despicable than the SG?"

"Right again…"

"Then what we can do is provide a simple device to all SF warships, something that will automatically retime the power coming out of the BG and allow them to tap into it, no matter what the Solar Guards do to it.

"Now, that will take care of the military side of the situation. Once that's settled, we let everyone in the Milky Way know the tone. If the BG starts to change, or if there is another blackout, all we have to do is all rise up in song—beautiful song!—and that will send the BG's power everyone's way again and remedy the situation. It's an ironic way to overcome the plans of these dastardly people, don't you think?"

Hunter just shrugged. "Beautiful or not, it's not going to do anyone any good. Once they kill us, no one will ever find out about it."

The smile left Zoloff's face. "Again, all too true." He sighed. There was another silence between them. Hunter finally broke it by saying, "I have to tell you, though, this is one crazy place you built here."

Zoloff shook his head sadly. "I did my best," he said. "Though you really have to experience the whole thing to appreciate it. Like a fine symphony. A fine wine. A fine woman. Of course, I know it's frightening at some points and creaky at others. Some of the thrills and spills are a little heavy-handed, too. But what in Me isn't a little scary, when you really think about it? And only someone really committed to it will see it all the way through. That's one reason I didn't reveal myself to you right away. I had no idea who you were. The entry booth hadn't been activated in years. The password was a very tight secret. But I knew when everything suddenly lit up, something must be afoot. And I thought if you made it through, even just halfway, then you were here for a serious purpose, and not just by a mistake."

He looked over at the two SSG men again. "How did I know these mooches would drop in halfway through? They picked a moon and crash-landed on it. The heathens. Just my luck it was Dreamland."

"But how did you ever come up with all this?" Hunter asked him. He was intensely curious, even at this dark hour. "This whole amusement park thing? I mean, did it come to you in a dream or something?"

"Ha," Zoloff said. "It came to me in many,
many
dreams, my friend. But, tell me first. Did you figure out the theme? After all, it is a
theme park
. Or was I perhaps too subtle?"

Hunter had to think a moment. "The theme? How to go crazy, when everything else around is already crazy?"

Zoloff laughed a bit too loud, but he was genuinely amused.

"That would be hard to pull off subtly," he said. He stroked his beard for a moment. "The truth is," he began again, "all I ever wanted was to be like you. To be an American, I mean. Or
like
an American.
That's
the theme. That's what the whole dizzylando is about"

Hunter looked back at him strangely. "Really?"

Zoloff started ticking things off on his fingers. "Adventure Land—my love for your Hollywood space adventures of the 1930s. House of Horrors—what I imagined it would be like if the Soviet Army was as principled and disciplined as the American Army. Dreamland—my vision of America as a place where
all
dreams come true and
stay
true. World of Mirrors;—the only common enemy we ever had: the fascists. What a delight to see them fighting each other! Alien Mystery World—I desired your deepest secrets and nothing less!"

Hunter held up his hand, as a gentle interruption. "But what about all those socks?"

Zoloff just smiled. "Very simple," he said. "I wanted one of your washing machines!"

"And all this?"

Zoloff was almost embarrassed now. "Well, everyone wants to be a cowboy," he said. "Right?"

Hunter stared back at him in disbelief.
That's what this is all about? A Russian trying to explain what it's like to be an American
?

"But why?" was all he could ask. "You're a cosmonaut. A hero of the Soviet Union."

"The desire was born from an incident long ago," Zoloff replied. "It happened just before I went into orbit, back in the 1960s. I had a rare opportunity to visit New York City. It was a meeting on the peaceful uses of space at the UN, but I snuck out one night and walked all over that fabulous city. I saw it all. Did it all. Drank it all. Ate it all! When I finally stumbled back to the Soviet mission early the next morning, I realized what a cloud I'd been living under." He paused for a long moment. His eyes got misty. "That's when I realized I wanted everything you had," he went on again. "Your women. Your style. Your optimism. Your music. Your sense of humor. Your bravery. Your deep dark secrets. And yes, those wonderful washing machines! Even if they did eat socks.

"I wanted all those things, but at the same time I knew that I couldn't have them. Not in Russia in the 1960s. But those desires stayed with me, even when I was thrown for-ward in time. Your NASA friend will verify that. Then, after the collapse of the Third Empire, when I had a chance to do something, to make a grand deal, I decided to do what I considered the next best thing. There were never any amusement parks in Russia. I thought if I could build one for myself and continually ride its rides, forever, so to speak, well, what better way to immerse myself in your culture? To play the different parts. To make some different endings. So yes, it came from a dream. A foolish dream though, now, looking back on it."

"I don't know about that," Hunter said, astounded by the story. "It was a pretty wild trip while it lasted… and quite an accomplishment, I'd have to say."

Another bit of silence.

Zoloff went on sadly, "All those years, wasted money and time and fear, our two countries, preparing to go to war with each other. That's about the time I checked out—and was thrown forward, where I met your friend and mine, that very old man in the NASA suit. How he and I argued. How we fought! But we were brothers. And we built a great empire. It's just too bad it wasn't like that back in my day. Before the war between our two countries started. If in fact it did ever start."

Hunter told him, "It definitely started in my reality. But I'm convinced now, after what's happened to me, that the way the universe unfolds, there are probably an infinite number of realities, and we are either from the same one… or we are not."

"Very true, but people stay the same, my friend," Zoloff replied. "Events change, but people don't. No matter how many realities there might be, humans are humans. And it is our duty to get ourselves right. To correct our flaws. To treat everyone equally. That's what we fought for with the Third Empire. And we succeeded, your NASA friend and I—for a little while at least.

"But in the end, what good was it? Look at me. I'm still a Russian. A son of Mother Russia way back when there was a Russia, five thousand years ago. I changed the way I looked. The way I talked. The way I thought about things. But no matter what, I couldn't change who I was. A sad last chapter. Park closed. The dizzylando is no more."

Hunter had to pat him on the back. He was almost in tears himself. "I have something very important to tell you," he began. "For what it's worth, there
is
a place where you
can
be both. It exists. It's not an amusement park. It's real. I've been there."

"Both?" Zoloff asked. "Both Russian and American, you mean?"

Hunter nodded slowly. "Russian, American, European, Japanese, Indian. White, black, yellow, brown. Everything. It's a place called the Home Planets. It's a place where the original people from Earth were sent against their will when evil forces took over the empires. A deep dark secret kept from you, no doubt. But the Astronaut found out about it somehow. And like me, he knows it is a place where anyone can be all of those things, simply by being one thing: a person from Earth. An original Earthling."

He leaned over and showed him the flag on his shoulder. It was the American flag.

"This is our flag," he said. "It used to represent all that was good and free and just within my country, but now it represents all of those Home Planets as well."

Zoloff became so emotional listening to this that he began to cry. "If I went to this place," he said. "I could have the best of both worlds?"

"Of all worlds," Hunter told him.

Zoloff got a very determined look on his face. "Well, then, that's what I must do!" he said. "But first, we must get out of this jam. And the ones that come after it." He looked around the cell again. "The question is,
how
?"

At that moment, as if on cue, the door to the sheriff's office opened.

A woman walked in with a tray full of food and two vodka bottles. It was Annie, of course.

Hunter unconsciously pressed himself up against the cage. She looked even more beautiful than before—which he would have thought was an impossibility at this point. But it was true: she was now slinky in her very tight, very revealing saloon hall dress. And her face was full of makeup. She was tarted up, in a way.

But was something wrong here? She ignored both him and Zoloff in the cage and walked over to the pair of SSG men. She gently shook both awake, stopping to massage one's shoulders.

"I thought the sheriff and his deputy might be hungry," she said sweetly.

The SSG man getting the massage reached around and grabbed her by the waist. She cried out playfully. Now the "deputy" wanted some. He pulled her away from his partner, and let her wiggle in his lap for a while.

One of the vodka bottles was opened. Three glasses materialized, too. Drinks were poured out, all three began to imbibe.

Hunter leaned even farther into the bars. The two Solar Guards drained their drinks and poured out two more. Annie was openly flirting with them. Her dress being very low cut, every chance she had, she bent down in front of them, giving them a view of her twin nebulas. One guard put his hand on her back. Another started stroking her hair. Hunter was enraged. He tried to bend the bars, but it was no go. Not this time. This wasn't Ping's Palace. This was real life.

Wasn't it?

Annie extended her arms and pulled both men toward her. Then she looked at Hunter—and winked.

In the next moment, both bottles of vodka came crashing down on top of the SG soldiers' heads. They both hit the floor with a simultaneous
thump
!

Then Annie herself nearly collapsed. "I didn't think I could ever do that!" she cried.

She retrieved the electric key from the wall, and soon the electron cage was open.

Annie fell into Hunter's arms and squeezed him tight. He thought he was going to melt. But then the reality of the situation returned to him.

"Is there another ticket booth close by?" he asked Zoloff urgently.

The doctor only had to think a moment. "Yes! Of course!" he roared. "Follow me!"

They ran out of the sheriff's office, across the street, and into the basement of the brothel. Sure enough, there was a battered PC waiting there. Zoloff overrode all the security functions and quickly hit the Enter button.

An instant later, they were all standing on the grand pile of socks.

Out of breath but safe, they did a group hug. But Zoloff was instantly worried again.

"Our problems do not end here," he said. "In fact, they are just beginning."

Hunter slumped into the soft pile; Annie automatically snuggled up to him. What he would have given just to stay like this with her—for a couple million years.

"Those two mooches were foolish enough to reveal something very disturbing to me," Zoloff said.

"Do I really want to hear this?" Hunter asked with a groan.

"There is an officer in this hideous Solar Guards. He's part of a special unit of theirs."

"Yes, the Special Solar Guards," Hunter said. "The SSG. The real bad characters."

"Exactly," Zoloff went on. "Well, on the strength of what these two found, he is due to come down here very soon. Within hours, even. They were supposed to meet him. He is said to be very well-versed in the ways of torture and extracting information from the reluctant. He, of course, will be looking to work me over. And you, too, I would imagine. His name is simply Commander X."

Hunter wearily took out his quadtrol and asked it for information on Commander X. The reply came back that an officer of that name was known to be one of the top interrogators within the SSG. His methods were known to be so brutal, he was even feared by members of the regular Solar Guards.