by Joseph O'Day
“Don’t be too thankful,” Schmidt replied quickly and coldly as he turned to go. Looking back over his shoulder, he concluded, “I do this for myself, not for you!”
Mizpala stood watching as Schmidt’s immense figure receded. He shook his head. “The Almighty never ceases to surprise me,” he muttered to his bodyguards. The four protectors smiled in agreement. Then they glided to their assigned posts as their ward strode out into the corridor.
*
Time to put an end to this troublemaker once and for all! Mogul seethed as his bodyguards formed around him in the hallway. And I’ve got a whole month to get it done. Mogul began to mentally weigh his options. He was deep in thought, totally oblivious of his surroundings, when a shout brought him up short. He spun around to see Schmidt waddling after him as fast as his pudgy legs would allow.
“Minister Mogul,” he panted, “I would like a word with you.”
As Schmidt closed the distance, Mogul wondered what Schmidt could possibly want, especially since he was in no mood for small talk and political banter. He had something far more important to occupy his thoughts.
“Yes, Schmidt, what is it?” he threw out like poisoned barbs.
“Settle down, my dear Mogul. I’m sure you’re in a nasty mood after Mizpala trumped you, but that’s no reason to take it out on me.”
Mogul’s visage darkened even more. “Get on with it, Schmidt! I’ve got things to do.”
“I’m sure you do, dear minister. I just wanted to caution you to be careful.” Schmidt glued on a smile. “If one of those ‘things’ you have to do involves Mizpala, you had better make certain that it is something you would want to happen to you as well.”
“Is that a threat, Schmidt?” Mogul’s eyes glinted with malice.
“Not at all, Mogul. Just a friendly word of advice.” The glued smile remained fixed.
“Keep your advice to yourself, Schmidt. What business is it of yours?”
“You must learn to control your temper, minister. I am simply looking out for my own interests—something I am sure you understand. Now if you will excuse me, I have ‘things’ of my own to attend to.”
As he watched Schmidt glide away, Mogul quickly decided that he had enough animosity to divide between both Schmidt and Mizpala. But Schmidt’s veiled threat was nothing to be taken lightly either.
All right, Schmidt. I can be a patient man. Maybe I was being hasty. But maybe I need to also see about chopping your fat legs out from under you, especially if my plot against the Emperor is successful. His eyes flashed fire as he turned away.
11
Adriel Swartz straightened up wearily. It had been a long, hard day, and she desperately yearned to stretch out on her bed and let the tension drain from her body. She looked at the soldier whose vital signs she had just monitored. So much waste and destruction. She shook her head sadly, then she put her fists on her hips and leaned back to work the kinks out of her muscles. Well, time for the next patient.
As she went about her job, her thoughts turned to Timothy Brogan as they so often had the last few weeks. She had always liked Timothy, and she could no longer deny that she felt physically attracted to him. She was sure that he felt the same way.
She blushed at her thoughts. Sometimes she felt guilty for spending so much time with him. But she had enjoyed getting to know him better. And his life was so different from hers.
Adriel brushed the hair off her forehead with the back of her hand. She decided that she’d better go get washed up and fix her hair some. She just hoped that she would not encounter there any of the multitudinous species of crawling vermin so prevalent on this planet.
The Lord must be testing me, she mused, to send me to a planet whose climate is heaven to insects but quite the opposite to me.
As she trudged down the hallway toward the women’s room, her mind wandered. She thought about the friendship that had developed between her and Mac O’Leary, the head doctor. Mac was a great guy. He was masculine, self-assured, and sensitive. And he had a heart for God and for people. Any sensible girl would be interested in him. But, so far, Adriel had not felt any deep attraction toward him.
So what’s wrong with me? she chided herself. Don’t I know a good thing when I see it? Here’s a good-looking, talented, godly man who wants to spend time with me. But do I want to fall in love with him? No, of course not! I have to fall for somebody I could never possibly have!
Adriel stopped and looked up. “God, why do things have to be this way?” Knowing she wouldn’t get an immediate response, she expelled a deep sigh and continued on her way to the washroom.
She didn’t really know why she and Timothy had never talked much in high school. I guess we each had our own circle of friends back then . . . just like now. She frowned, but her mouth formed into a pout instead. How I wish things were different!
Deep down inside Adriel knew that Captain Brogan was not for her—at least not as things were now. Too much stood between them. He killed for a living, and she did not think she could ever condone that. More important, he persisted in unbelief, and she could never reconcile herself to such a situation. To top it off, they inhabited two different worlds. No, she concluded with a sigh, Captain Brogan and I face entirely different futures. But submerged and unacknowledged in her subconscious, she secretly hoped that somehow their futures would merge.
As she neared the washroom, the sound of an explosion somewhere outside the building jerked all thoughts from her head. She ran to a window as gunfire and yells erupted in the twilight.
The camp is being attacked!
A blast rocked the hospital wall, and Adriel fell flat as the windows shattered and shards rained to the floor around her. Shakily she stood up in a crouch and ran to the central corridor, adrenaline starting to course through her veins. She made her way nervously to the staff quarters, where the doctors, specialists, and other nurses were already gathering.
“Adriel!” Mac O’Leary motioned her over. “In here!” He was directing all the hospital staff into a windowless conference room, where he hoped they would be safe.
“What about the patients?” asked one of the nurses.
Timothy! Adriel’s mind screamed at her as she frantically looked back the way she had come.
O’Leary held up his hands and blocked the door. “I’m sorry, folks. There’s nothing we can do for the patients. Hopefully they’ll be alright. But I am responsible for your safety. So everyone is staying right here.”
The hospital staff, crammed into the small room, awaited the outcome of the battle with trepidation. More shouting, gunfire, and explosions intermittently punctuated the growing gloom. But within minutes it began to diminish until it eventually ceased altogether. Soon the sequestered hospital staff heard running footfalls, doors slamming, and murmured orders. Suddenly the door flew open, and weapons were pointed at the medical personnel. One Imperial Fusilier, then another, leaped into the room, weapons at the ready.
“We’re unarmed!” yelled Mac. “We’re neutral hospital personnel.”
A sergeant entered the conference room and took charge. “OK. Hands up. Through the door one at a time.”
As each staff person exited, they were scrutinized. The Imperial soldiers wanted to make reasonably sure that each one was who they said they were. The women went first, Adriel with them, and they were directed down the corridor and out into the courtyard. There they were placed under guard until the enemy encampment was secure and totally neutralized. By that time night had fallen.
A lieutenant arrived and supervised the verification of each staff person’s identity. When that was almost complete, a captain approached the group. “Lieutenant! Load these people on a sled and get them back to main base. They’ve been ordered back to Earth to face charges of aiding and abetting the enemy.”
“But we’ve done nothing wrong!” protested Mac O’Leary. “Our only mission is to save lives!”
“I’m afraid you’ve been saving the wrong ones, Doctor. Get
’em moving, Lieutenant.”
“Captain!” Adriel, having got over the disorientation induced by the rapid turn of events, audaciously confronted the officer. “Captain! One of the patients in that hospital is a captain in the Imperial Fusiliers—Timothy Brogan. Please make sure he’s taken care of. He’s a friend of mine.”
“Brogan! We thought he was dead!” The captain dispatched two of his men to check it out. “Thanks, lady. We appreciate the medical attention you’ve given him. God knows, the rebels didn’t take many survivors.”
“Captain, can I see him before we go?” Adriel’s face was plaintive.
“Afraid not, ma’am. We’ve got to get you out of the danger zone pronto. Get ’em outa here, Lieutenant! Now!”
The Lieutenant and his men herded the group of medical people to the waiting sled. As they were jostled along, Adriel kept looking back. So long, Timothy. I’ll be praying for you.
*
The star-studded expanse, like a black sheet of paper poked full of holes, imaged precisely how Brogan felt. His transparent reflection on the observation port window superimposed itself on the starscape.
Just like my life—full of holes. So empty. So vain. So futile. He shook his head slowly. He tried to find in his reflection the young farm boy who had left Cirrus seven years ago seeking adventure. But he was gone.
“One thing’s for sure,” said Brogan under his breath, “I certainly found adventure. But that’s all I found.”
Brogan was returning home a spiritual, emotional, and physical cripple—not exactly what he had envisioned seven years ago. No conquering hero returning home to praise and adoration, he hoped to avoid as much publicity as possible. The black, regenerative biopack gave him a sinister look. But he was grateful for it. Without it, he would have been a cripple for life. With it, he would be back to normal within the year.
After the kaleidoscope of events the past few months, Brogan appreciated the quiet time of reflection this trip was allowing him, even though he was still depressed, confused, and bitter. That rock worm Mogul!
Mogul had escaped the massacre, just as Brogan had suspected. But that wasn’t the worst of it. He thought again of his meeting with General Darkhow after being rescued, when he discovered the full extent of his problems.
*
“I’m sure glad to see you alive, Major!” Darkhow exclaimed as he strode through the door to Brogan’s hospital room at main base. “And mostly in one piece!”
“General Darkhow!” Brogan looked up, pleased to see his commander. “Wait a minute!” Brogan did a double take. “Major?”
“That’s right! Your promotion came through after you pulled out and before you were declared missing in action.”
“I guess I should be pleased,” responded Brogan glumly. “But I’m not sure it means much any more.”
“Well, you’re right. But I wanted to give you the good news first, because I’ve got a whole pile of bad news to give you as well.”
Brogan looked down at his bed as the general continued. “You are required to stand before the Imperial War Court on Earth to answer charges brought against you.”
Brogan whipped up his head, his mouth ajar. “What? I didn’t do anything wrong!”
Darkhow held up his hand in a placating gesture. “I’m confident that is so. Nevertheless, Lieutenant Mogul has given testimony to the Board of Inquiry that you showed cowardice under fire and deserted in the face of the enemy. You have to appear in your own defense, and it won’t be easy.”
Brogan’s anger flared. “That two-bit, sorry excuse for a soldier is going to rue the day he tangled with Timothy Brogan!”
“Take it easy, Major. You’re going to need all the cool, common sense, and shrewdness you can muster to beat this thing. You’ve got to be smarter than he is; you’ve got to be more civilized than he is; you’ve got to be a better man than he is.”
Brogan shifted in bed, feeling uncomfortable. “Sorry, sir.”
“After we picked up Mogul,” Darkhow continued, “he claimed that the column was attacked unexpectedly due to reckless and irresponsible actions on your part and that, when you saw that the situation was hopeless, you tried to escape on a flyer. He said you ordered him to return from his vanguard position to rejoin the main column and refused to listen to him when he requested permission to continue his sweep.”
Brogan leaned forward to protest, but Darkhow raised his hand. “I’m sure he was lying. But without hard evidence to the contrary, there was nothing I could do but order a Board of Inquiry. However, as is my right as theater commander, I gave a finding of unproven guilt. That means you must present your testimony to the Imperial War Court before a final determination can be made.”
Brogan looked at Darkhow. “Thank you, General. When will that take place?
“As soon as we can ship you out to Earth.”
“Am I under arrest?”
“No.” Darkhow paced a few steps away and pursed his lips. Then having reached a decision, he turned and strode back to where Brogan sat expectantly. “I suppose I should tell you what you’re getting into. It’s a foul-smelling political power struggle. And if you’re not real careful, you could end up as dead as you almost were at Carrera. The battle is between Mizpala and the Emperor on the one side, and Kepec and Carl Mogul on the other. God help you if you get caught in the middle.
“You see, it was no accident—or cosmic joke—that brought Josh Mogul to this theater of war. He was sent here as part of a diabolical plan contrived by Carl Mogul. Josh got himself into some big trouble on Earth. So big that he was terrified of the consequences. He ran to his brother for help, and Carl manipulated him into a military assignment here. My guess is that he did it for one, or both, of two reasons.
“Carl despises his brother, and an assignment in a combat company was an almost sure-fire way to get him killed. But Carl also wants to cause trouble for Mizpala. What better way to accomplish that than to send his incompetent brother to snarl things up for us here? Unfortunately he failed in the first bid and succeeded in the second—unfortunate for us but also for Carl.”
Darkhow resumed his pacing. “Josh is bound to cause Carl more trouble, and if I were you, I’d come up with ways to make sure he does. But be careful. Circumstances have put you right smack in the middle of a very hot time. You’ll need all your wits about you and all the resources at your disposal.”
Darkhow paused and looked intently at Brogan. “Son, I don’t think you’ve got your wits about you right now. I think you’re feeling sorry for yourself. I think you’re about to give up on yourself. You do that, and you’re finished before you even get to Earth. A few months ago you lost. You’re used to winning, but you’re not used to losing. Let me tell you something I learned a long time ago. He who learns how to win will be admired for a day. But he who learns how to lose will never truly fail—he will benefit for a lifetime. Think about it.
“Now, you have been ordered to present yourself before the Imperial War Court by the first available transport. It just so happens that the first available transport is a luxury liner bound for Earth via Cirrus, even though it will get to Earth two weeks after the next ship out.” Brogan’s face visibly lightened. “I figure a trip home will do you good. Maybe it will help you get ready to face the toughest test of your life.”
Brogan stood up with a smile on his face. “Thank you, sir. How can I ever thank you?”
“You can thank me by kicking butt on Earth and helping Mizpala get those slime ball Moguls,” Darkhow retorted gruffly. “Now get packing.”
The general spun to leave, then stopped and turned back. “Oh, one more thing. Rank hath its privileges. So I’ve taken the liberty of amending the Division log to your version of the Carrera debacle. And along with your promotion, I’ve awarded you a commendation of merit. It might not help much, but it sure won’t hurt, either. Good luck, Major.” Darkhow reached over and shook Brogan’s hand. “It’s been a pleasure serving with you. Don’t forget, you are to r
eport to the Imperial Palace, where the Imperial Court will meet, immediately upon your arrival. As you were, Major.”
He left Brogan thinking about the myriad facts revealed to him within a few minutes’ time. At one moment his heart was warm with his anticipated homecoming. At the next he was depressed by what lay beyond. And on it all clung the dank fog of his emptiness.
*
So far, his time on the luxury liner had not done much to improve his disposition. The ship’s speaker system jammed into his thoughts like a thrusting fist into his stomach. But instead of the jarring klaxon typical of military vessels, the impending jump into hyperspace was announced in pleasant tones. The husky female voice informed the passengers that the view ports would close presently and that they should return to their cabins to prepare for the jump.
Brogan was more familiar with jump principles than most people, and though he did not understand as much as the technicians, even the technicians and theorists did not entirely comprehend what was happening during a jump into hyperspace. After nearly one hundred years of use, a great deal of speculation about hyperjumps still churned in the scientific community.
Whenever a ship entered the jump vortex, it simply vanished, then reappeared in another part of the galaxy. Travel within the vortex was virtually instantaneous, but travel from planet to planet was not, for a jump into hyperspace was not safe unless executed a certain distance from the destination planet’s sun. This varied with the gravitational forces involved.
All agreed that to enter hyperspace was to enter another dimension, an alternate universe, but one that was very unfriendly to human beings. The first successful manned jump into hyperspace was a failure in the sense that the crew returned hopelessly insane. It was determined that the visual sensations experienced during the jump permanently damaged the ability of the brain to synapse. That was the reason for mandatory shielded jumps. All ports must be closed during jumps into hyperspace.
Early space marauders had used this necessity to their advantage. Lying in wait at the predicted site of reentry into normal space, they would capture the ship while it was in the reentry vortex before the crew could reactivate the view screens. It was not long, however, before the Empire began varying the reentry locations considerably. This made such a strategy obsolete.
