by Mack Maloney
He looked the priest right in the eye.
"But Father, I think there is a way — just one more way— that we can try to find it."
Tomm was still shaking his head no. "My brother, any good field commander knows that prudent withdrawal is as smart as a brilliant attack. Our strategy was sound, true. But in its original form, we thought we would have dozens or hundreds, not to mention thousands of rings for our use. Even if you went back into the ring — which you are definitely not — what good would it do? What more could you learn? We already know the parameters of your trip. For all we know, the originator of this ring was actually killed by a foreman the day he was making it. And it was probably only by dumb luck that the clown prince Kyx never made it any further than the room behind the green door."
"But it is precisely what you said, Padre," Hunter told Tomm. "We have thousands of mind rings here; they just don't work. But if they are here now, then they were here then, back when the workable mind ring was programmed."
Hunter let those last few words just hang in the air for a moment.
As they slowly sank in, Tomm began sputtering.
"You are not… you can't actually be suggesting, that…"
Hunter nodded gravely. "That's exactly what I'm suggesting."
"But what you are proposing is both preposterous and dangerous," Tomm replied powerfully.
"No, actually, it's really simple," Hunter said. "I'll go back into the mind ring trip, make my way to the command cluster's main suite, and find the mind ring vault again. The thousands of mind rings should be there. If they are, and if as we now suspect they are the personal property of the deportees, they should be in working order. I can access their information that way. Think of the wealth of knowledge that they hold___"
Tomm put his hands to his ears, pretending that he was not hearing Hunter's words. "Brother, are you actually proposing that you go on a mind ring trip within a mind ring trip?"
Hunter nodded. "Yes, I am."
Tomm was almost beyond words. "Hawk, my brain is beginning to hurt just thinking of such a thing."
"Are you saying it's impossible?" Hunter asked.
"Impossible is a word not used much anymore," Tomm said. "But, in truth, I don't think I've ever heard of such a thing before. The danger, from many fronts, is simply overwhelming."
Hunter straightened up. "But just think: an entire library of thoughts and recollections of the original people of Earth. The original deportees. It would be an intelligence coup of major proportions for us. It will give us the history, the reasons—the villains—for the biggest crime of the ages."
Tomm took the ring from Hunter's hand and put it in his pocket. He'd had enough of this.
"Brother, that is a crime that someone else will have to solve," he said. "We have already started in motion a plan to retrieve all of our soldiers from the planet's surface. I suggest you make arrangements to be brought up to America as soon as possible. We have a long ride home ahead of us, and the sooner we get to it, the better."
With that, he gave Hunter a warm embrace and then walked out of the room.
5
Night finally fell on Xronis Trey.
Most of the BMK prisoners had taken their sleeping drops and had bunked down for the night. Even Kyx had finally scraped himself from the cell window and lay down on his air bubble at the opposite end of the room where his three junior officers were sleeping.
There were a few fires still smoldering around the BMK base, even now, nearly twenty-one hours after the surprise invasion. They were left to die natural deaths in the very thin night air.
About fifty UPF troopers were still standing guard around the loose perimeter surrounding the base. Many of their colleagues had already been recalled to the waiting UPF ships. Those who remained were equipped with little more than blaster rifles and long-range viz scopes, a very shoestring operation for this first and, quite possibly, last night of guard duty. Their only job was to search the skies endlessly looking for friend and foe alike. Being so far out of the way, way at the end of the Two Arm, they knew the chances of seeing either anytime soon were very low. Still, they remained vigilant.
A squad of UPF soldiers was in place around the command cluster as well but, as many of them had taken part in the initial assault earlier in the day, they had been given permission to go to sleep.
Inside the cluster, it was more of the same. About a hundred support soldiers had bunked down wherever they could find an open spot. The last part of the long voyage here had been a very hairy proposition, with half of the elderly corvettes nearly losing all power and propulsion— and life supports — several times in the closing hours. The excitement of the invasion and its aftermath had taken its toll, too, as had the thought that it might have been all in vain and that a long trip back to the Home Planets was awaiting them. All this gave way to exhaustion, and now all of them were asleep, too.
All except Hunter. He was wide awake.
He was lying on his air bubble, old-fashioned bandages now covering his right arm, his left shoulder, and the upper half of his face.
Unlike just about everyone else, he had not taken his sleeping drop — the tiny bubble of liquid that guaranteed up to an entire day of slumber, complete with only pleasant dreams, and an almost opiate-like feeling of refreshment upon awakening. Hunter disliked sleeping, induced or not. It was a little too close to death for him, and such a waste of time. And even though in the past his dreams had proven very helpful — and startlingly prophetic at times — they were not always pleasant. Another reason not to surrender to the underworld.
But he was awake now for a different reason. This was his new plan, formed by a conspiracy of one. He was sure his friends were convinced that they'd drilled some sense into him and ended his notion of taking the mind ring trip again.
In reality, though, nothing could have been further from the truth.
He lay on his bubble, counting the seconds away for two hours. That was his time frame for an all clear. He'd also spent the time reassuring himself that what he was about to do was the right thing for the cause. He knew it was, down deep, in a place that the others maybe could not see or feel. It was dangerous, no doubt about that. But he'd faced danger before; it was called risk assessment. Weigh the risk against the goal, and go from there.
This was, after all, his fight. His quest. His plan. His madness. There was no real reason any of the other principals should even be here. If it was up to someone to take a big gamble, that mantle lay only with him.
The two-hour mark finally came, and Hunter slowly rolled off the air bubble. It was now the equivalent of midnight on Xronis Trey. It was a very cool evening with only the bare light of the rising Zinc & Tin to cast anemic shadows across the stark landscape. He looked out his room's only window and saw two guards stationed about fifty feet from the front entrance to the command bubble, alert, weapons up, while their colleagues slept around them.
Hunter discontinued all of the medical devices so only the bandages remained. He climbed into a new camo uniform, then retrieved his crash helmet and boots from his hovering locker and quickly put them on. He snapped his fingers, and soon a jet pack materialized on the floor in front of him. He quickly put it on as well. Then he let his hand hesitate over his ray gun and holster. The chances were good that he might get hurt where he was going— that much he knew. But did he really want to bring a weapon into it? Would such a weapon work if he did?
His gut told him yes.
A few minutes later, he was at the back door of the command cluster. There were no guards on duty here. He stepped out into the still night, crossed his fingers, and activated the jet pack. In a burst of power and smoke, he was soon rising straight up above the base.
This was a new technology for him, and he had an almost comical moment trying to stop his ascent. He finally came under control around 1,500 feet. The air was even thinner up here, so his first order of business was to get back down to a reasonable altitude.
/> This done, he turned away from the base and commanded the pack to move him forward. The next thing he knew, he was zooming above the empty spaces to the south.
Not five minutes later, he made a successful if bumpy landing on the southern edge of the mesa called Lookout Below.
He took off the jet pack and then located the exact rock where he had started the first mind ring trip.
Then he reached inside his pocket and took out the deteriorating mind ring. More than once he'd wondered if in his previous life, he might have been some sort of a thief, because the ease with which he'd picked Tomm's pocket of the mind ring was a bit frightening.
He studied the device closely now in the dim light of Zinc & Tin.
Was he really going to do this?
He'd gone into the mind ring trip the first time without the benefit of knowing exactly where he was. Now that he knew the lay of the land, so to speak, would this work to his advantage? There was no way he could tell from here. He stared at the ring for a long time; indeed, he could see it deteriorating right before his eyes. He drew in a long breath of the thin air. Corrupted or not, it was their last opportunity, their last hope to get any real answers here. He had to take the chance.
He wasted no more time. He put himself into the exact position as the first trip. Then he put the ring on the crown of his head. It quickly transformed to the optimum shape.
He tapped it into activation, sat back, and waited.
Flash!
The trip started much quicker this time.
The desolate valley filled in, the sky became bright blue. The clouds appeared and, in the distance, he saw the huge metropolis spring up, and then the large military base. The monstrous space gantries appeared on cue as well.
He checked his quadtrol. What year was he in? It was 3237, once again.
Hunter jumped to his feet. The idea here was to get moving as fast as possible.
He looked down at his clothes and saw he was wearing the same gaudy uniform again. Still no markings, no emblems. He took out his tiny pistol, pulled the trigger, and heard it fizzle again.
"Maybe it was just a toy all along," he thought, throwing the gun away.
No matter. He reached into his boot and came out with his own massive double-barreled ray gun. He checked its control panel and was relieved to see that it had passed through with him intact. He pressed the trigger; two very reassuring blasts of green fire spewed out. A nearby rock melted away.
This wasn't supposed to be happening, but it was. His shoulder and arm still hurt, his head still felt like someone was banging it with an electron hammer. That wasn't supposed to be happening either — but it was.
He pushed the ray gun's intensity drive up to 111 percent and then returned the weapon to his boot holster.
At least this time, he'd come prepared.
He moved down off the mesa via the same floating walkway, and in the same manner, mixed in with the crowd of workers.
As before, the sea of deportees was passing him on the left beyond the electric-blue fence. If anything, the faces of the dispossessed looked even gloomier than before. In fact, everything about this trip seemed darker so far, more uncertain than the first time. There was more static around the edges, too, and many of the colors were starting to skew. A very creepy feeling was now dominating the program.
Hunter pressed on.
He found himself being drawn back over to the crowd of soldiers huddled near the entryway to the building with the green door. Reality was really blurring within the program now — and inside his head as well. Before he could even think about it, he found himself pushing his way through the stream of workers again — they looked much dirtier this time — and walking up to the soldiers. Each one looked twice as large this time; their weapons were larger, too. Hunter did not hesitate. He reached into his pocket, pulled out the handful of coins, and slammed them into the wide-open palm of the nearest soldier.
The man literally picked him up and over the invisible barrier, setting him down with a crash on the restricted other side. Hunter did not react at all. He simply stood up and walked quickly over to the building with the green door.
As before, two workers were in line ahead of him. If anything, the room within looked even more dingy, the lines of young girls more frightened.
Hunter did not allow the first man to select his victim this time. Instead, he walked up to the man and dropped him with a fist to the face and a knee to the scrotum. Then he turned and did the same to the second guy, even before his first victim had hit the floor.
This time, a few screams came out of the crowd of captives, and this in turn woke the two soldiers lazing at the back. Hunter reached down and retrieved his double-barreled blaster. The soldiers made their way through the crowd of frightened girls and confronted him with very puzzled looks. Both were carrying not-so-puny blaster rifles.
"Who are you?" one asked him, legitimately confused. Hunter didn't say a word. He simply lifted his ray gun and fired off two blasts, one at each man's chest. The soldiers were stunned. They looked down at their bodies and saw a hole going right through them. Obviously, this type of thing had never happened in the program before.
It was darkly comical for a moment: the two soldiers, standing calmly, each with a gaping hole in his chest.
One managed to croak out, "This is not the way it is supposed to go…." Then both simply faded away, deleted by the program.
Hunter walked right through their bodies and kicked in the door to the adjacent room. Inside, there were dozens of floating beds. Only a few were occupied, each with a young prisoner and a guy in a worker's outfit. Hunter fired one blast from his ray gun into the ceiling. This got everyone's attention. Then he calmly picked off every worker inside the room, a total of seven, causing them to fade into oblivion. With that, the girls all fled to the larger room, Hunter close behind.
He rushed over and opened the huge gate that led back out to the tarmac. The long stream of deportees was passing by not a hundred yards away.
"Go!" Hunter yelled to the female prisoners, pointing toward the slow parade of humanity. "Find your parents, your relatives, your friends. Stay close to them, and you'll be all right… but hurry!"
It took a few seconds to sink in, but finally the girls started streaming out of the building and melting into the long line of people moving toward the space barge power lifts. One stopped and gave Hunter a tearful hug. Another kissed him on the cheek. Her lips felt lifeless and cold.
"Hurry…" he urged them along, looking in all directions for any other soldiers but thankfully seeing none. "You'll be better off out there."
Once the room was cleared, Hunter closed the huge gate and then went back out the green door. He passed by the soldiers without a word and rejoined the stream of shift-changing workers. His heart was beating like a drum. Had he just done the right thing? Had he done anything at all?
He positioned himself deeper into the flow of workers and this time passed through the gate into the inner perimeter without a problem.
He walked quickly past the gaggle of jet tubes, confirming that the slimmer conduit through which all of the deportees' valuables were blowing — including many, many mind rings — was shooting directly into the command cluster itself.
There were no checkpoints, no guardhouses after this. Hunter walked right up to the front door of the cluster and stepped inside.
The place was bustling with activity. Soldiers, workers, and technicians crowded the passageways, each one in a great hurry to get someplace else. It surprised him, though it shouldn't have, that the interior of the building now looked less like a military control station and more like a bank. There were vaults everywhere; each geodesic dome held at least one. Within, he saw stacks of aluminum coins, jewels, the funny-looking paper money. The order and obvious efficiency of the entire operation was mind-boggling. He'd been right about one thing. These overlords were very methodical about stealing from their victims.
Hunter simply surre
ndered to the flow of workers and made his way to the center of the structure. He reached the main amphitheater with no problem, pausing at its huge glass door for a moment. Inside, he could see the usual mix of soldiers, workers, and technicians buzzing around — a strange sight because in his real memory, the amphitheater resembled a tomb. This place seemed to be the storage house for stolen items that were valuable but not necessarily used as currency. He saw stacks of expensive clothing for instance, projection machines, beautifully crafted musical instruments, works of art, some of it 3-D, some of it not. All these things were to be labeled, categorized, and stored away by the small army of blank-faced workers.
Across the concourse and up the second-story walkway, he could see the entrance to the mind ring vault. It, too, was alive with activity. He could see workers carrying trays containing mind rings up the walkway and into the vault. Judging from the telltale sparkle coming from each one, the rings were all still alive, just as he hoped. And judging from the care and almost reverence the workers were using in their transport, it was obvious that back here, in the year 3237 a.d., the collection of these rings had been of some importance. Again, it was a strange sensation, which clashed with Hunter's real memory of this place.
The vault was guarded with two heavily armed, ridiculously dressed soldiers. This didn't bother Hunter. He intended on approaching them carefully and low-key. But once he was close enough, he would pull out his ray gun and—
"Hey, what the hell are you doing now?"
Suddenly, someone grabbed Hunter's shoulder from behind. He spun about and found himself face-to-face with a very large, very sweaty person.
Damn…
It was the foreman.
In the next split second, Hunter vowed not to make the same mistake twice. He would not try to reason with this character, nor would he try to ignore him. He didn't have enough time to reach for his ray gun, however, so he sucker punched the foreman instead. His fist sank into the man's face like he was putting it in ice water. But it had the intended effect. The foreman staggered back, his eyes crossing then uncrossing themselves several times. When he recovered enough to focus back on Hunter, the pilot took one step inside of the amphitheater, pushing its heavy su-perglass door ahead of him. The foreman took a step forward as well, and Hunter let the door slam shut, hitting the man right in the face.
