Battle at Zero Point s-4

by Mack Maloney

  "OK!" he finally yelled. "Everyone follow me!"

  The crowd stole along the narrow ridge and began climbing down into the gorge without being detected by the REF.

  Sheez did his best to pick out the safest path for them to travel. There were so many women and kids in his troupe, he found himself helping just about all of them over the roughest spots. All the while he was keeping an eye on valley to the east. The REF troopers were still coming in by the shipload; the thousands of refugees below looked puny in comparison. Sheez was also on the lookout for any REF troopers that might have survived the incredibly fortuitous fall of fire rocks back in the three-sided canyon. He even went so far as to run back to the rear of the escape column to make sure no one was following them. Or, if they were, he'd be the first one they'd try to shoot.

  It took them more than an hour, but somehow, all of the refugees made it down into the hidden canyon and under the cover of dead vegetation. Sheez carried the last kid down into the gorge himself.

  There, he thought, my heroic duty is done.

  But as soon as he reached the bottom of the gorge, he was in for a surprise: there were about four thousand refugees already hiding under the vegetation. Again, mostly women and kids, they were from other groups dumped by the REF nearby. Remarkably, they, too, had, escaped their captors by way of a near-miraculous event. One group had been freed when a land-slide, caused by some kind of sonic boom, crushed the contingent of REF troopers guarding them but not harming any of the refugees.

  Another group had been penned up inside a force field when a bolt of lightning hit the generating unit maintaining the invisible jail, once again killing their captors but not harming any of them. Others swore that men with wings appeared to them, telling them to make it to this gorge, where they would find a man who would lead them out of mis wilderness.

  Men with wings? Sheez thought wildly. Were they talking about me?

  He was immediately barraged with questions from these new refugees as to what they should all do now. Problem was, Sheez had no idea. He'd been fully intending to take off on his own from here, having done his good deed. But then that same invisible hand returned and began pounding him fiercely on his chest.

  It's up to you, he heard a voice say, again as if someone was whispering in his ear.

  Sheez spun around and, just like before, there was no one standing behind him. But again, he found it impossible to move. If anything, the hand pushing on his chest felt heavier.

  This time he got the message quick enough.

  He had to lead these lost people across the expanse for at least a little while longer.

  The morning finally came, and the weak sun appeared. But the coverage of the dead vegetation kept the mob of refugees safe and relatively cool, especially in the initial heat of the day. Sheez wasn't sure how long this sanctuary would hold up, though, especially with so many people now crowded inside. At some point the REF would realize that a lot of their hostages were missing, and they would come looking for them. Then what?

  As the others tried to stay hidden, Sheez slithered to top of the ridge and studied the REF in the vast valley below. The number of refugees down there had swelled again, as had the red-uniformed troops watching over them. Some of these soldiers were right at the bottom of the mountain now, no more than a 500 feet below.

  If the REF ever found them up here, it would be a massacre — a short and quick one. But where else could they go?

  Water was their most critical need. The ridgeline ran all the way to the northern horizon, and Sheez reasoned the farther north they went, the better the chances they would reach a snowline, and then maybe even a frozen lake or stream. The trouble was, in many places the ridgeline veered extremely close to the valley full of REF, and all it would take was for one kid to cry out or one old person to stumble, and the game would be up.

  So it was a choice to either wait here and die or try their luck by moving hopefully toward water. And it was up to him to decide. Sheez's heart was pounding, he was scared shitless, but the voice in his ear was getting louder all the time.

  Just keep moving, it said. These people are counting on you.

  So move they did. Sheez got everyone on their feet, and they all climbed out of the gorge and up to the ridgeline again.

  Staying low and walking as quickly as possible, they headed north. The sun grew higher, but a weak wind kicked up, and it seemed to lessen the effects of the heat. Sheez stationed the strongest men he could find at crucial points along the route; they would help those who were too weak or feeble to walk along the roughest parts of the ridge, and then turn them over to the man at the next station and so on.

  This way they were able to keep the line moving while making sure no one would be left behind.

  The ridgeline provided a natural path, and sometimes it was wide enough for several people to walk abreast. Sheez always took the lead, though. It was very unlike him to be courageous, but something very odd was happening here. Damned if Sheez knew what it was, with voices in his head and the hand pounding on his chest, but somehow, some way, he had become responsible. And it was just too strong for him to fight. So, if there was any trouble up ahead, he wanted to be the first one to see it. And if anyone was going to fire on them, it was only right that he take the first blast.

  The biggest surprise, though, was what he saw off to his west. Other streams of refugees were off in the distance, heading north as well. It was almost as if they were under the influence of a siren call. And then he spotted other groups of refugees much closer to him. Some were moving right below the ridgeline and, seeing his group, fell in line with them. By the time Sheez had even walked a mile, his troop had swelled to nearly 10,000 people.

  They kept moving, and the farther north they went, the stranger things became. Huge flashes of fire and light were going off way up in the sky, some even as high as orbit. They heard enormous explosions, some so powerful the mountain itself shook beneath their feet. REF ships of all sizes rocketed over their heads. Some were Starcrashers, some were smaller shuttlecraft, all had hulls painted red. And while Sheez always had his people take cover whenever he heard something coming, there were several times the aircraft flew right over them and didn't do a thing. Almost as if they had other things on their minds.

  Very strange.

  About three hours into their trek, there came such a tremendous explosion, Sheez yelled for his people to hit the dirt. A moment later, a huge SG Starcrasher went right over them, not more than 200 feet above their heads. It was in flames and falling apart, trailing pieces of debris behind it. It came down about three miles west of them, exploding on impact. The refugees leaped up and let out a great cheer, but Sheez screamed for them all to stay down. The ship's prop core blew up a few seconds later, creating a huge mushroom cloud before it all fell back in on itself. Once the smoke cleared, all that remained was a mile of smoking wreckage, or so it seemed. Incredibly, Sheez could see tiny figures moving around inside the skeleton of the burning ship. Were these REF troopers who had somehow survived the crash? How could that be? Were they that hard to kill?

  Keep moving, the voice told him. Just keep moving…

  They walked for another hour, making good progress, considering just about everyone was in need of food, water, and rest.

  But the farther north they moved, the more violent the rumbling under their feet became — and more frequent. And soon enough smoke began appearing on the far horizon. Then they could see the glow of flames as well.

  It soon became obvious something big was happening up over the next peak. Sheez picked out two young guys and sent them ahead to check it out. Meanwhile, he had the rest of the group lay low.

  It took the two runners about a half hour to move up, see what was happening, and then run back to the group's position. When they reached Sheez again, they were both so excited and out breath, it was hard to get anything out of them at first.

  Finally all one of them could say was, "Boss, you won't believe wh
at's happening up there…"

  It took Sheez just fifteen minutes to get up and over the line of hills, his suddenly energetic body moving quicker than ever before.

  With each step, he heard more tremendous explosions and felt the ground literally quake beneath his feet. The sky ahead was incredibly bright with flame and flashes of light. There was so much smoke and dust in the air, he couldn't see anything else across the entire northern horizon.

  Finally he reached the top of the peak and peered over the other side. And his young scout had been right. He didn't believe what he saw.

  Sheez had never been a soldier. He'd never carried a weapon in combat, he'd never been on a real battlefield. Surely, he'd seen the results of battle. He'd witnessed the beginnings of the destruction of his planet Megiddo. But he was long gone before the hammer really came down.

  That's why what he saw before him now was so astonishing.

  It was a battle — at least that much was clear. The crisscross of blaster fire was blinding, the smoke and flying debris tremendous. There were ships of all shapes and sizes coming and going, explosions all around them in the air. But there were other ships firing at them, too, or sometimes firing at each other. It was confusion times ten. Times a hundred. Times a thousand.

  Sheez had to clear the dust from his eyes. He tried to figure out who was fighting who and who was caught in the middle. It was very hard to do at first, but gradually things started coming together.

  He was looking down on another immense valley. This one was long and rectangular, typical topography for Doomsday 212. In the middle of the valley was a huge circular trench— yes, a trench dug into the concrete surface of the dead, rocky planet. So what he was looking down at was a defense perimeter. But Sheez couldn't believe what else he saw. Inside the trenches were thousands of robots, huge mechanical men with huge blasters, seemingly firing in every direction. And these weren't ordinary clankers. Sheez recognized them. They were the robots of Myx.

  He knew these tin men all too well. When the Two Arm invaders attacked Megiddo, they'd sent streams of the almost-invincible robots raining down on Joxx's defensive positions. The defending troops did their best to blast the flying robots out of the sky, but that proved impossible, as the robots would simply pull themselves back together again and fly away. As it turned out, their attack was actually a very successful effort to distract Joxx from the invaders' real objective: the artificial planetoid of TW800, where they managed to steal six cargo 'crashers. Nevertheless, Sheez knew what these monsters could do. But what the hell were they doing here? Certainly the Two Arm invaders weren't involved in this.

  Or were they?

  There was no way Sheez could tell how the robots had gotten to Doomsday, or who was controlling them or why. He could see that they were lined up shoulder to shoulder in the trenches and firing wildly out of the circle. And who were they firing at? Thousands — no, tens of thousands — of REF soldiers.

  Entire armies of the enormous red-suited troops were trying breach the trench line. And the robots were doing everything they could to keep them out.

  In the middle of this perimeter — the circle was probably a half mile in diameter at the most — Sheez saw a dozen or so strange starships, some on the ground, others hovering just above it. These ships appeared to be from another part of the Galaxy entirely. Even so, refugees were be being led into them.

  That much Sheez could tell because at certain points around this huge battlefield, he could see streams of refugees pouring into the perimeter, somehow dodging all the blaster fire, the smoke and dust, and running right up to the waiting ships under the protection of the huge robots.

  It was only then that it dawned on Sheez exactly what was going on here. This wasn't just a battle; it was an evacuation, a rescue effort. Just as the REF had dumped thousands of refugees onto Doomsday 212, and may have been dumping them still, probably to die, someone else was trying to lift them off and save their lives.

  And even in the middle of all this — in his very dangerous position as it was all happening a relatively short distance from him — Sheez, former hustler, former crooked politician, former tin pot dictator, was struck by something.

  He heard it come from his own lips; there was no voice whispering in his ear this time.

  "Noble…" he said, uttering the word for the first time in his life. "What a Goddamn noble thing to do."

  Five Hundred Miles Away

  It was on its next pass through the No-Fly Zone that the SF stealth ship XenoVox finally got a close-up look at what was happening on Doomsday 212.

  Flying within a hair's breadth of the planet, its crew discovered a ground battle had erupted in its northern hemisphere. It was so immense, the smoke and flame obscured even the Xeno's most powerful scanners, and they could usually see through just about anything.

  Above the battlefield, there were ships going in and coming out; some were the same sorry vessels that had dropped the refugees onto the planet in the first place. But now they appeared to be under someone else's control. Even stranger, there were other ships involved here: the mysterious fleet of arms dealers and gunships the Xeno had detected flying in from the Five Arm earlier. Among them were the REF Red Ships, trying to fire on these disparate vessels. But somehow the arms dealers were also using their huge guns to protect the refugee ships leaving the planet's orbit.

  None of this made sense to those aboard the spy ship. Was this small force of arms dealers from the faraway Five Arm actually taking on the renegade REF? As unlikely as it seemed, that appeared to be at least partly the case.

  The Xeno dashed away from the area and was about to report these bizarre developments back to the Omega Force, when suddenly its ultra-long-range scanners started going crazy — again.

  They had picked up something else very strange, not down on the planet or even inside the No-Fly Zone. This was coming from somewhere very, very far out.

  The Xeno crew began triangulating, and soon their bubblers were telling them they had detected a number of starships heading down the Two Arm, moving toward the trouble zone at incredible speed.

  Even more fantastic, the Xeno's subatomic scramblers could not pick up a contrail from any of these ships, which suggested, foolishly, that they were somehow moving without the aid of star engines. But then again, they weren't traveling in Supertime, either. They were actually flying even faster than Supertime.

  However, the most startling piece of information was the point of origin of these ships. The Xeno's superbubbler was insisting that they had flown into the Galaxy from a location someplace outside of it.

  This made no sense. It was the stated policy of the Empire— and the almost universally held belief among the citizens of the Galaxy — that all life in the universe was contained within the Milky Way.

  Therefore, it was impossible that any life could exist outside of it.

  But now, here were indications that at least twenty bizarre starships of some type were moving down the second swirl at inconceivable speeds. What did it mean? The Xeno crew asked their superbubbler.

  The answer that came back startled them: From all appearances, the bubbler said, this was an invasion from somewhere outside the Galaxy, by beings unknown, who possessed technology that seemed to dwarf even Supertime.

  It wasn't the invaders the Omega Force were supposed to be looking for.

  But it was an invasion, nevertheless.

  * * *

  The flagship of the Omega Force was an enormous M-class Starcrasher called TempusVox.

  This colossus was two and a half miles long, carried a crew of nearly 10,000, plus thousands of weapons and an entire of corps of Space Marines, numbering more than 25,000.

  As it was the lead ship of Omega, all orders for the special fleet were generated from here. Since the fleet was on a highly secret mission and there were to be no communications at all back to SF Command, the TempusVox had the final say for the entire operation.

  The commander of the Tempus was
a 150-year-old veteran of the Space Navy named Haxx Grinx.

  Handsome, bright, and energetic, Grinx was also a highly capable 'crasher driver who had helmed Omega's flagship for the past twenty-three years. He was well-connected within SF Command and respected by his contemporaries throughout the Empire. He was also very loyal to the Emperor.

  Grinx was on his bridge when the startling message came in from the XenoVox. He read over the communique several times before it actually sank in. The Xeno's report seemed so outlandish, he doubted its credibility at first. But still, in these days of high uncertainty, he knew everything had to be taken as truth unless proven otherwise — even the most outlandish. So Grinx put out a call to the rest of the Omega fleet, telling them to move into a close battle formation at a point just outside the Two Arm.

  He then ordered his squadron commanders to beam aboard his ship immediately.

  The six SCOs were standing in Grinx's war room a few moments after that. Grinx explained what the Xeno had found. Twenty-four ships were confirmed to be heading toward the mid-Two Arm at incomprehensible speed, and these ships appeared to have an origin point outside the Galaxy.

  To a man, the squadron commanders were shocked upon hearing the news.

  "An alien invasion?" one of them blurted out. "Is that even possible?"

  The other SCOs were visibly uncomfortable with their colleague's choice of words. The phobia about life in other parts of the universe was so prevalent in the Galaxy that the word alien was not allowed to be spoken in public nor did it appear anywhere in the Empire's string documents or charters. Nor was it taught to schoolchildren. It was, in effect, a nonword.

  "Anything is possible these days," Grinx replied somberly. "And I just don't know what else it could be."

  "They must be some kind of ultra-advanced craft if they can move quicker than Starcrashers," another squadron CO said. "Who knows what kind of weapons they possess? What powers they have?"