by Mack Maloney
So, she was in love with him, and that was the cause of her heartache.
Because she was convinced she was also responsible for his death.
By five a.m., the entire Imperial Family had left the building.
O'Nay had retreated to his tower to begin a long period of solitary, self-imposed meditation before the day of the big race arrived. The Empress departed quickly for Venus, for the ultraexclusive retreat of Langra-ji, to mingle with the family's harder-edged relatives. Xara was back in her apartment, crying herself to sleep. The Dope was heading for a secret jam party on Jupiter.
Inside the Gold House, everyone was back off the floor again. In the deepest parts of the artificial forests, screams could now be heard, along with a few yelps of delight. Most of the women had paired off with the eligible men, and some with each other. The invisible orchestra was playing more subdued tunes now. The lights in the Great Hall were down to barely visible. Thousands of candles had been lit instead.
It was just about this time when a young Solar Guardsman suddenly appeared among the crowd. Though splendidly turned out in a black satin uniform, he looked puny and unwashed in the room full of Specials. He'd entered through a side door, nervous but undeterred. He walked down the center of the hall, taking a right by the floating sea of slow-ship wine, and quickly located Xayz Joxx, the elder high commander of the Solar Guards. He and a group of SG officers were talking near the potatos display.
The soldier marched up to them and saluted.
"Message, sir," he said. "From the secure bubble in Room 13."
He handed Joxx the Elder a tiny silver plate. The Solar Guards commander took the message drop and placed it on his tongue, dismissing the soldier with a curt nod. It was strange, because most of the officers standing around Joxx the Elder thought the message concerned the dizzying array of wagers the High Commander had put down on the upcoming race. The secure bubble in Room 13 at the bottom of SG headquarters was a communication set used only for the highest priorities or the deepest secrets. Who to bet in the Earth Race, and by how much, was a study in religion among the Specials, more so as the day of the big event drew near.
But when Joxx the Elder tasted the message drop, his eyebrows shot up for a moment. He motioned his coterie of officers to a darkened corner of the forest, far away from a small clutch of curious Space Forces types who had wandered up nearby. Joxx the Younger saw the slight commotion and joined the small group of SG officers.
Joxx Senior rarely looked troubled, but at the moment, he did appear concerned. He briefed his officers on the message. It seemed so harmless at first. It originated from the upper part of the mid-Two Arm, from a listening post contracted out by the SG to a local mercenary group. Spies from this merc force reported a large movement of refugees traveling through an isolated star system called Laramie 66 about five light-years from their position. There seemed to be at least ten million people on the move, possibly a lot more, and they were coming from higher up on the Two Arm. The report gave no reason why the sudden tide of refugees had shown up or which direction they were now heading.
What made this particular report odd was that shortly after sending the transmission, the listening station went dead. Attempts to contact it through strings, deep-space comm, and even ultraradio, had been unsuccessful. The situation took yet another unusual turn when the station that had initially reported that the first station had disappeared, suddenly went off the air as well.
That was two secret listening stations gone, plus a report of millions of people apparently fleeing something in deeper space.
The Two Arm was a strange place. It strung out farther than any of the Galaxy's other arms, yet about 90 percent of the planets were aware of the Fourth Empire. Those few who weren't, were considered backwater systems with little to offer the realm at the present time. Most of the area from the upper mid-Two Arm inward was under an unofficial protectorate of the Solar Guards, meaning it was a rare occasion for a Space Forces ship to pass through.
Though more or less peaceful, like many places out on the Fringe, the middle Two Arm could be a wild place, too. There were more than twenty million planets in the slender stream of stars that made up the midsection. Humans being what they were, at any given time, there could be as many as a million wars going on among these planets. Some could be particularly brutal. The SG only intervened in conflicts that posed a direct threat to the Empire, though. If the tax revenues or important trade routes were being threatened, the SG would stomp one or sometimes both sides of a dispute. Most times, though, they just let the combatants fight it out. And the planet's populations stayed in place.
"These doings are not so typical in the mid-Two Arm," Joxx Senior said now. "Refugees are usually a sign that something very big is wrong. I wonder what could be rattling the chains out there?"
The SG officers — close confidants all — offered various explanations for the sudden flow of the displaced: volcano orgy, a civil war, discovery of a pyramid on the world in question. All of these things would cause a planet's population to head for higher ground.
None of these theories satisfied the SG High Commander though.
"Or it could be the Banndx-Mayyx Gang," one officer tried again. "They go on a rampage every twenty years or so. And that's near their last known area of operations."
Joxx Senior pulled his chin in thought. "The Banndx-Mayyx were pretty much killed off after our last engagement with them," he said. "Though I suppose it's possible some of them could come back from the dead."
He snapped his fingers, and instantly there was a 3-D map of the area in question floating in front of them. Joxx Senior snapped his fingers again, expecting the 3-D map to light up with icons indicating how many SG warships were in the area.
He was surprised to see none.
"None?" he exclaimed. "We have no warships out there at all?"
"Many are here, just inside the Pluto Cloud," one officer told him. "Either that, or they're heading in, for the Race."
Joxx Senior was surprised. "Every one of our ships is coming in from the Two Arm for the Earth Race?"
The officer just shrugged. "It's the most peaceful part of the Fringe, sir. It rivals the Ball for sheer pacifica."
"But who signed off on the order to have all of our own theater warships sent in?"
The officers shrank back, but finally one spoke: "You did, sir. You felt you needed those men and their warships to be involved in the direct wagering that day, to boost the winning pots here on Earth."
Joxx Senior just waved this off.
"Well, we could have checked out this report in short order then," he said. "If the situation was normal."
"I'm sure it's just a minor thing," the boldest officer spoke again. "The mercs running those listening stations most likely want a boost in their fee."
The other officers nodded in agreement. Joxx Senior thought a moment.
"Probably," he said. "Still, I would feel better if we had a presence out there."
"Then, I will go."
All of the officers looked up at once. It was Joxx the Younger who had spoken.
"Out of the question," Joxx Senior told his son dismis-sively. "This is not important enough for you to miss the Earth Race."
Joxx the Younger took a giant step forward. The other officers parted way for him.
"Father, we are only talking about the mid-Two Arm. I can be out there in three days, do a patrol, and be back long before the Night Before the Race."
Joxx Senior shook his head no — with emphasis. He was a large man, bald, but ruggedly handsome. He turned back to his officers.
"We must have some ships out there somewhere," he said, referring back to the large viz screen in front of him.
"Here," one officer said, pointing to a system marked Cheyenne Ring 755. "This is a cargo shipment center we own. It's called TransWorld 800. Six cargo 'crashers, I believe. We can deep-string them and order a reconnaissance patrol in force through the area in question."
&
nbsp; "No way," was Joxx Senior's stern reply to the officer's plan. "Those ships are unarmed cargo humpers. Their crews are trained not in combat but in the religion of logistics. We can't send them into the path of uncertainty. It would look so bad for us if anything untoward happened to them." He let his gaze rest for a moment on the Space Forces officers still lurking nearby.
Joxx the Younger finally pulled his father aside.
"I can be there and back in less than seven days," Joxx told him in a whisper. "I've been itching to get away. And I know that area very well."
But Joxx Senior was still shaking his head no.
"The Earth Race is the grandest day of the universe," he told his son. "I want my heir at my side when the racers take to the track."
"And I promise you, I'll be there," the younger Joxx replied. "Isn't a son's word good enough for his father?"
It took a few more moments, but Joxx Senior finally relented. He pulled his son even farther aside — they were almost in the forest now — and whispered in his ear, "Just tell your mother — and anyone you encounter out there— that you are on a scientific mission, a short-term cosmic ray thing. And don't be a hero, understand? You've done that enough times already."
Joxx the Younger smiled.
"Father," he said, "some things just can't be helped."
8
In his time out on the Fringe, Joxx the Younger had faced two kinds of enemy.
There were the roving bands of star pirates, a catchall phrase that included planet raiders, hijackers, and assorted criminal gangs. These outlaws would set upon an unsuspecting world and plunder it or sometimes attempt to take over a booty-laden ship while in flight. The second foe were the tax criminals, those leaders of a planet or a star system who'd decided for whatever reason that they weren't going to pay the Fourth Empire the vig anymore.
The Banndx-Maayx Gang was a little bit of both. More than a ragtag band of misfits, in the past they had raised substantial fleets by either hijacking ships or stealing tax revenues and buying vessels on the black market. Setting out from the upper part of the mid-Two Arm, they'd tried their fortunes deeper into the second swirl. Though they were really just fools looking for fool's gold, they'd captured entire star clusters in their time and had commandeered several dozen starships as well. The Solar Guards had faced them five times in the past 120 years and had virtually wiped them out every time.
But like ghosts, they seemed to come back on a regular basis to haunt the Two Arm again.
If the Banndx-Maayx Gang was starting up again and causing the trouble in the mid-Two Arm, the ShadoVox would make them pay.
Joxx had designed this magnificent warship himself. It thought with his brain; it beat with his heart. He knew every seam, every sensor, every weapon intimately. He was one with it. It carried a crew of 22,000 men, each one a highly trained space soldier hand picked by Joxx himself.
Other SG ships had their two-mile hulls overcrowded with attachments: weapons, nav-gear blisters, ultraspace communications pods, all lorded over by control stations that were like small cities covered by canopies made of superglass. The ShadoVox did not look like this. Its huge wedge shape was slick, polished, a fuselage unbroken except by the smallish control-deck bubble up front. The ship's blended body broke with centuries-old tradition. As a result, it was sleeker than any warship in the Galaxy.
It was also one of the most powerful. Despite appearances, the ShadoVox did carry weapons — nearly twice as many as the other designs currently dominating the SG's outer forces. Its weapons stations were recessed into its body, to be revealed only in the event of combat. With one command, Joxx's majestic ship would be bristling with Z-gun barrels and space-torpedo tubes, thousands of them up and down the fuselage. They would appear as if from nowhere, and whenever this happened, the ShadoVox's outer skin would turn from dazzling white to sinister gray.
At this point, many adversaries — if they were still in one piece — simply fled. Indeed, for all the space trash Joxx had actually fought out on the Fringe, twice as many had run away. Occasionally, he would give pursuit. Toying with the fleeing ships, he used some for target practice. Others he just let go. Those who stood and fought always lost for three simple reasons: Even out of Supertime, Joxx's weapons were twice as fast, they could fire twice as far, and he could see an enemy twice as quickly as they could see him.
Not a fair fight, really.
But nothing was fair in war.
After three days in flight, the ShadoVox had reached the outer edge of the Moraz Star Cloud, the band of star systems that made up most of the mid-Two Arm.
The first star system out here was Moog-SRX; its one and only planet was called Cubes. The name had nothing to do with climate; it was a reference to the thousands of clubs dotting the planet's surface. Practically the only drink available in these places was slow-ship wine poured over cubes of nitrous oxide-vapor ice. The result was a concoction sometimes called superbooze.
Cubes was a favorite of Joxx's crew. It offered drink, pretty holo-girls, and exotic food galore, yet it was not as funky as some planets on the far side of the star cloud could be. The ShadoVox arrived, unannounced, just about midnight. Joxx ordered the ship parked in orbit and allowed anyone not on duty to crash the planet.
He and eight of his staff officers flew down to the city of Keex; it was the capital of Cubes and a place famous for its soaring emerald towers and elegant tropical setting. There was a casino in Keex known as the Ice Dust'. It was where the beautiful people from the outer star cloud came to gamble and canoodle. Joxx was very well-known here. When he breezed through the front door, a squad of groveling robot waiters descended on him immediately. He was ushered to one of the best tables in the high casino. His men were given bottles of the best slow in the place (Joxx did not drink) and one hundred thousand aluminum chips each, courtesy of management.
The Ice Dust was an enormous multilayered place set into a cliff that looked out over a clear blue sea. One side of the high casino was made entirely of superglass. The view was incredible. Fifteen thousand people could fit inside this section alone, with room to spare. It was usually raucous, no matter what time of day.
The club was curiously subdued this evening, though. Joxx noticed it the moment he sat down. The place was nearly filled, but instead of the crowded hovering dance floor, the spinning gaming tables, and the nonstop squeal of holo-girls, the grand parlor was almost hushed tonight. A few people were dancing, a few were gambling. But many patrons were huddled in small groups in the corners, drinking quickly and conversing in whispers. There was a strange feeling in the smoky air, highly unusual for the Dust.
Joxx ate dinner but left early. He found many of his troops had returned to the ship early as well. He spoke to a few of them. They reported the planet seemed bummed out all over. Why? It was hard to tell. Confiding in anyone wearing a uniform was just not done out here on the mid-Two Arm.
The ShadoVox left orbit early the next morning, its captain and crew still puzzled.
Its next destination was the Stygnus-Malone twin star system, also known as S&M-2.
This place was considered a little rowdier than Moog SRX. With thirteen in all, its planets held more people and there were a fair number of industrial worlds interspersed with the club planets and floating casinos.
It was a 226-light-year jump over from Cubes, a trip of about two hours. Cruising in Supertime, the ShadoVox's pilots were able to look out on the space lanes plied by much slower ion-ballast ships. These star corridors were busy. Seeing a dozen or so civilian interstellar vessels during a two-hour trip would have been considered normal. The ShadoVox's helmsmen saw hundreds.
All shapes, all sizes.
All heading in the opposite direction.
The ShadoVox reached S&M-2's capital planet to find every one of its spaceports was jammed with ships.
Its docking facilities were so crowded, the ShadoVox couldn't find a secure place for one of its small shuttlecraft to set down. It was as if every
flat piece of ground on the planet was overcrowded with spacecraft of all descriptions. The regular spaceports were absolutely overflowing with people. And sensors indicated that every planet in the system was just as crowded, if not more so.
"What's going on?" Joxx called down to one of the
##ShadoVox's recon craft as it sped across the planet in very low orbit. "Who are all those people?" The reply came back: "More refugees."
The ShadoVox blinked back into Supertime and proceeded to its next station point, a star system called Gyros 6. Its capital planet was a major shipbuilding world.
It was more of the same here — a lot more. This planet was so jammed with refugees, just about every available landing space on its surface and in orbit was taken up by some kind of spacecraft, many of them little more than interstellar boltbuckets.
The ShadoVox didn't even bother to stop. It flew on, concern rising among Joxx's shipmasters. Obviously something catastrophic was happening farther up the Two Arm— but what? Local communications above Gyros 6 revealed an ocean of panicky voices, talking about nothing except when the next flight out would be leaving and whether they could get a seat on it.
Joxx considered sending people down from his ship— either commandos or spies — and beating the information out of someone. But instinct told him to stay cool. Sending knuckle breakers below might make a bad situation even worse. He had to avoid spreading rumors at all costs, ones that might cause an all-out midarm panic. For this same reason, he was reluctant to send anything citing these concerns back to Earth;- even in secure channels, such a report would be a bombshell if it fell into the wrong hands.
He would have to move farther into the star cloud and see for himself what was causing the rout.
So he pressed on.
The ShadoVox made the final 359-light-year leap, reaching a system known as Starry Town. This was the last populated area in the mid-Two Arm and only about fifty light-years away from where the two isolated listening posts went curiously silent. In between was a section of space known as Thirty Star Pass.
