Planet America s-2

by Mack Maloney

  So Hunter and Tomm were now orbiting a graveyard planet in an 8-Ball system; it really didn't get much more depressing than that. Hunter engaged his long-range acquisition systems and did a scan of Tonk's major hemispheres. The visuals began flowing back immediately. They said there were more than twenty-five thousand space wrecks on Tonk, most in advanced stages of atom decay. As the materials of an ion-ballast vessel slowly disintegrated, their molecules became so saturated with ultragamma radiation, a fine gray mist was produced. This fog tended to hang over everything. This was why Tonk was colored sickly gray. Gray air, gray skies, gray water running underground. Gray everywhere, dark and sooty, the color of nothing good.

  And as if Tonk needed any further negative vibes, its puff was slowly leaking away, too. Several millennia of industrial fumes had defiled the original artificial atmosphere, and it had sprung many leaks over the last ten centuries. It was so bad now that when it rained, which was often, the precipitation came down not in water droplets but in dirty gray blobs.

  Dirty gray blobs would not do the glossy finish of Hunter's sleek flying machine any good. Indeed, ultrafast spaceflight had given the strange, winged craft a glow of its own, one which he hoped to maintain.

  But looking down on the poor excuse of a planet, Hunter's intuition hinted that messing up the buggy's finish might be the least of his problems here.

  Oddly, it was on this dirty little speck that they hoped to find a man who could help them enormously on their quest.

  His given name was the rather unwieldy Lezz Dezz-Klaaz, aka Son 99. But he was more famously known as the Great Klaaz. Klaaz was a fabled starship captain and interstellar hero. He'd roamed the Five-Arm for hundreds of years, lending his considerable talent for military strategy to the most noble causes. He'd led hundreds of campaigns, some of such breadth they involved defending entire star clusters against marauding armies of space pirates and vandals. He was recognized as a Marshal of Outer Space by the militaries of no less than three dozen planets. His image adorned the aluminum coins of seven star systems. His face appeared on the flags of several more.

  Just barely out of the seminary, Tomm had served as chaplain for several of Klaaz's armies, and the two men had become close friends a couple centuries before. When his full-time fighting days finally ended, the Great Klaaz, always a man with stars in his eyes, bought into a very crazy notion: reviving Tonk to its former glory. The idea was to not only rebuild the planet's immense ion-revitalization bays, but to make Tonk the cultural, political, and military center of the mid-Five-Arm again — and try once more to reignite its sun. He joined a clutch of like-minded dreamers, but the task proved more difficult than sealing off a seventeen-star cluster from the Interstellar Huns. After just a few decades, the dreamers gave up and moved on — all except Klaaz.

  The last Pater Tomm had heard, Klaaz was still trying to make Tonk work.

  All by himself.

  Tomm had heard the last known domicile of the Great Klaaz was said to be an ancient castle, made entirely of burned ice, located at one of Tonk's two arctic poles.

  After two orbital circuits, Hunter's long-range acquisition scan finally located a huge structure sitting nearly on top of the planet's north pole. Even though a blizzard was in full blow across Tonk's high arctic region, this structure was so enormous that, once acquired, it registered hot and solid on Hunter's main scan screen.

  "Good Lord, look at it!" Pater Tomm exclaimed, studying the image over Hunter's shoulder. "Have you ever seen such a thing as this?"

  Hunter shook his head no. Never.

  This was not just a castle. This was a fortress, with hundreds of spires and parapets and weapons mounts, an immense sparkling mountain of burned ice that soared nearly a half mile into the sky. The outer walls were more than a thousand feet high; they encompassed an area at least a couple miles square. Running like spokes from the dozen or so main gates, tubes built just above the surface led to clutches of smaller buildings next to the main structure. From one hundred miles up, they looked like tiny cities.

  The place seemed fit for a hero of such stature as described by Pater Tomm. Hunter imagined there was a huge army in place behind these walls, with massive amounts of firepower on hand. Maintaining a well-armed fortress on the edge of nowhere — there was something Hunter could admire about that. He already regarded this man Klaaz with honor. It was a great warrior who was smart enough to know that one had to have muscle to back up his good fortune. Who knew the wealth of information such a man could provide for them? For the first time in this long, tiring trip, Hunter actually felt that they might be getting somewhere.

  But then he ordered his LRAS to zoom in — just to get a better look at this magnificent monstrosity. It showed something entirely different from the view in orbit. From this perspective, it first appeared that the centuries had not been so kind to this ancient place. At least half of the spires of the main quarter were in the process of deterioration. Some of the fortress's outer walls were slowly crumbling away, too. Hunter telescoped his scan device even further; soon they were looking at an extreme close-up of the main structure. There was more evidence of decline here. Not only were many of the soaring spires in disrepair, the roofs of several attached buildings had caved in as well. In fact, there were hundreds of holes and craters pock-marking the entire building.

  That's when a more startling truth became apparent: There was more than the harsh weather and time at work here. Hunter recognized battle damage when he saw it. This huge structure looked as if it had suffered thousands of massive weapons hits recently. More extensive damage could be seen around the compound's smaller buildings. Even through the dirty gray blizzard, smoke from recent explosions was clearly blowing in the wind.

  Alarmed, Hunter called over his shoulder to Pater Tomm, "I know your friend is beloved in these parts. Any chance he made some enemies out here, too?"

  "A few, maybe," was the priest's muted reply.

  Hunter pulled back the LRAS and surveyed the area immediately surrounding the battered ice fort. What it registered hardly surprised him now. Two huge armies were encamped close by the fortress, one to the north, the other to the south. Though hidden by the storm, it was obvious both bivouacs were substantial in size. They boasted extensive barracks complexes, power-producing systems, and gigantic weapons arrays, including enormous Z-gun blasters.

  The situation below suddenly became very clear: The ice fortress was under armed siege.

  Tomm groaned as Hunter put the flying machine into a steep dive through the dirty atmosphere.

  "God's children always manage to find each other's throats," the priest whispered, holding on for dear life as they plunged through the grimy clouds. "Even way out here."

  The flying machine quickly descended to 500 feet and sped above the dirty surface, approaching the battered ice fort from the south. About one mile out from the fort's main wall, a sheet of blaster fire suddenly appeared just off the flying machine's nose; the barrage came not from the castle's defenses but from forward outposts belonging to one of the besieging armies.

  Hunter simply pushed his power lever forward and did a lightning-quick bank to avoid the enemy fire. The maneuver worked to perfection but also managed to turn Pater Tomm onto his head. Just as quickly, Hunter pulled back on the power, banked hard right, then hard left, righting the elderly priest again. Another jink, another jag, and they were suddenly over the wall. One last dip, and an instant later the flying machine came screeching to a halt just inside the ice fort's main gate.

  It was quickly surrounded by heavily armed troops.

  Hunter couldn't believe it. True, he had approached the landing spot at high speed, and this tended to blur one's vision for a few moments, but he could have sworn the courtyard was empty before he set down upon it.

  Yet now, scraping the frozen condensation from the inside of his canopy, he could see dozens, no hundreds — no thousands of armed soldiers forming concentric rings around his aircraft. It was snowing fiercel
y, and the wind was blowing hard, so Hunter could not get a good look at them. But each soldier appeared to be holding a gigantic blaster rifle with a massive ray gun as a side arm. They were dressed in harsh blue and white uniforms, ones that seemed hard and flexible at the same time, and their helmets were opaque glass globes, their features barely distinguishable beneath. Hunter had envisioned a massive army inside this place. At the moment, it seemed as if he'd been all too right.

  He spoke over his shoulder to Tomm: "Well, at least your friend has plenty of company down here with him."

  But again, Pater Tomm seemed to know better. "Maybe," he replied cautiously. "But then again, maybe not."

  At that moment, Hunter saw the hundred or so soldiers standing just off the nose of his plane raise their blaster rifles at him. The soldiers standing off to the left and right did the same thing as well.

  "These boys are getting serious, Padre. Maybe we should have called first?"

  "Patience, my brother," Tomm said, tapping his shoulder. "Let's see what happens."

  See what happens? The way Hunter figured it, they only had one option here: Depart the area in the blink of an eye. But Pater Tomm had other ideas. Suddenly, the priest began banging furiously on the inside canopy glass.

  "Open it, my brother!" he was telling Hunter excitedly. "I'm convinced we have nothing to fear here!"

  Hunter had to disagree. The hundred or so soldiers in front of him were taking dead aim at the flying machine. Other soldiers were now popping up along the battered walls, and they were aiming down at them as well. Hunter's aircraft was a bit magical, but it was not invulnerable. He tried to point all this out to Pater Tomm in as few words as he could.

  But still the priest kept banging on the glass, insisting that Hunter let him out. So with a shrug, he did. He hit the canopy release button and the aircraft's hat lifted up with a whoosh.

  All Hunter could see was snow and weapons muzzles, and he certainly didn't need an extra sense of perception to know those blasters were just seconds away from opening fire.

  But Pater Tomm was undeterred. He literally climbed over the pilot's position, grappled his way out of the crowded cockpit, and stepped out onto the fuselage itself. Kicking down the access panels with his feet, he quickly reached the ground and disappeared into the gale. The snow was blowing so heavily, Hunter lost sight of him in an instant.

  "Jessuzz, Padre!" he yelled. "Wait!"

  But it was no good. He was gone.

  That's when something very strange happened. There was a sudden explosion off to Hunter's right. He saw the flash of fire and the puff of smoke for only a second before they were blown away by the wind, but the rumble under his airplane had been severe. No sooner had this passed when another explosion rocked the courtyard, this one off to his left and closer to the ice castle itself.

  Another explosion went off. This time he saw the ball of smoke and fire come right over the high wall, as if it had been lobbed from somewhere on the other side of the thousand-foot parapet. Another followed right behind it, and another after that. Hunter knew what these things were: depleted-ion artillery shells. Their fiery trails were unmistakable. One of the encircling armies was bombarding the fort.

  Another barrage went over his head and impacted on the north wall of the frozen fortress. The noise was deafening; everything shuddered within. A moment later, another stream of blaster shells smashed into the western wall. Then another landed at the foot of the castle's second highest tower. It began swaying dangerously; it looked as if the 1,200-foot structure would come tumbling down at any moment.

  More explosions. More fire. More smoke. But here was the strange thing: The hundreds of soldiers surrounding Hunter's aircraft had not moved a muscle. No dropping to the ground and covering up, no quick dispersal to seek shelter from the explosions. The soldiers just stood there, frozen in place, their rifles still pointing directly at his head.

  Very odd…

  Hunter knew he had to get moving. He wasn't about to leave Tomm behind in a place like this. So he punched the canopy up again and dove right from the cockpit to the snowy ground below. He landed hard, going in flat on his face, his mouth and nostrils instantly full of grimy snow. Still, he was able to roll out of the snowbank and pull a small ivory box from his pocket.

  Pushing a small button on the top of the box, he activated a long, wide, green beam that quickly engulfed his flying machine. In less than a microsecond, the aircraft dissipated into an emerald mist, which then flowed back into the small box, dragging every atom contained in the flying machine along with it. The device was called a Twenty 'n Six. It allowed the user to infin-itesimally condense solid objects and send them into the twenty-sixth dimension, (which was essentially contained within the small box), where they could be kept in relative safety.

  Though instantly wet and cold, Hunter breathed a sigh of relief. At least his aircraft was out of harm's way.

  Now, suddenly, Pater Tomm was at his side. More ion blasts came raining down on the courtyard.

  "Do you know what's going on here, my brother?" the priest screamed in Hunter's ear.

  Hunter began nodding frantically, pushing the priest down into the snow as another ion blast went off close by.

  "These explosions are real… but the soldiers are fake!" he yelled back to the priest.

  Even with a face full of slush, the padre managed a smile.

  "You catch on very quickly my son," he yelled back. "Very quickly, indeed!"

  They both scrambled to their feet and started running. There was a door about two hundred feet away from them; it led inside the ice fortress itself. They headed for it with all due haste. The explosions were still going off around them, and the soldiers were still firmly in place. But Hunter now was seeing that the debris and shrapnel being kicked up by the explosions was going right through the phalanx of frozen soldiers. In reality, this storm of high-speed, highly irradiated metals should have sliced right through the small legion, causing an ocean of blood and gore.

  But that did not happen for one simple reason: These soldiers weren't soldiers at all. They were holograms. Projections. Fakes.

  It took some more zigging and zagging, but finally the two men reached the relative safety of the huge door leading into the ice fort.

  It was locked.

  Tomm started pounding on the door. Another explosion went off close by. The door did not budge. More explosions, two of which were uncomfortably close. Tomm pounded louder, but again to no avail. Finally, Hunter drew out his blaster pistol and aimed it at the door's substantial lock. But before he could engage the trigger, Tomm reached up and pulled the barrel down.

  "No, wait, my friend," he urged Hunter. "I'm sure they're just a little slow in answering the door."

  Hunter started to protest, but then, sure enough, they saw the huge metal bolt running through the center of the lock begin to move slowly. Make that very slowly. It took what seemed like forever, but finally the lock sprang loose, and the door flew wide open. Hunter and Tomm tumbled inside.

  No sooner did they regain their footing when another explosion went off close to where they'd been standing just seconds before. The huge door took most of the blast, but the concussion was enough to knock Hunter's crash helmet nearly halfway around his head. Temporarily blinded, he heard the huge door slam behind him.

  He straightened his helmet to discover a dark figure was standing before them. They were in a vestibule of sorts, but it was nearly pitch black inside, so Hunter could only see an outline of this person. By the size of it though, he thought it had to be a child. But then a candle was lit, and by its light Hunter finally saw this person was actually a tiny, bent-over ancient-looking man wearing a garish red and yellow uniform, old, worn-down boots, a severely dented space helmet, and a frayed weapons belt, which held the most pathetically rusted sword imaginable.

  Tomm immediately leaped forward and embraced the man. The old-timer did his best to return the gesture; he was actually trying to laugh with joy,
but he had not yet caught enough of his breath to let out anything more than a gleeful wheeze. There was no doubt, though, that he was very happy to see Pater Tomm.

  The priest turned back to Hunter and said, "Can you believe it? Here is the man himself! Answering his own door."

  But Hunter was having a hard time processing this information.

  "Do you mean?" he asked in a mumble. "That this is—"

  "Yes!" Tomm shouted. "Behold the Great Klaaz!"

  But this guy looked positively ancient. His beard was long enough to touch the frozen ground.

  "Padre," Hunter replied. "Surely you must mean this is Klaaz's grandfather."

  But Tomm waved his words away. "No, my brother," he said. "This is Klaaz himself!"

  Hunter took another look at the very elderly, very broken-down soldier and uttered just one word: "Damn."

  This is not what he had expected.

  Klaaz was finally able to get some air into his frozen lungs.

  'Tomm, my brother! Are you really here? Or am I dead and just dreaming?"

  "I am here old friend." Tomm replied.

  Klaaz wrapped the priest in a weak bear hug.

  "We have waited too long for this moment!" he croaked. "You are not only my confessor, you are one of the bravest soul seekers of our times!"

  Pater Tomm shook his head. "It is you who are the hero, Klaaz! Entire star systems speak your name in their histories…"

  "I just did my job." Klaaz replied with a wink.