by Mack Maloney
He was struck by the same thought as anyone who'd been able to view this bizarre front line: all it would take is one crew member, on one ship, to make a mistake, or go mad, or misinterpret an order and launch a weapon. Cosmic brownout or not, the resulting volleys back and forth would destroy every ship along the Trench and kill the billions of crew serving inside them. One shot… and both fleets would be subatomic ash in a matter of minutes, and almost two-thirds of the Empire's warships would be gone. And that would mean the core of the Empire would be vulnerable for a very long time to whatever outlaw horde chose to attack it.
So the potential for disaster up here was nothing less than colossal.
Though he was astounded by his tour of the Star Trench, it was not the reason the spy had come out here.
The real purpose of his trip was a very secret meeting that had been arranged on a planet nearby. The name of the planet was Toons 20. It was an M-class world about the size of Earth's sacred moon, Luna. Like many bodies inhabiting space between the One and Two Arms, it was mostly rocks, valleys, and mountains. A very desolate place, it had no rivers, no ocean, no seas. It was also empty of its inhabitants; they'd been forcibly evacuated by the Solar Guards weeks ago.
There was a small city located just north of its barren equator called Tiny Toon. A collection of gambling halls and saloons mostly, one boarded-up barroom here was called Bozzy's Botsy. A place once notorious for gunrun-ning and illegal drug sales, it had a back room that, in the distant past, had been electronically soundproofed by way of a hum beam. This made it impervious to any kind of eavesdropping, either by human ears close by or super-string scanning ones bounced from a very long distance away. The room also had several means of access and exit, in case a quick getaway was in order. Such things were occupational hazards for the people who used to do business here.
Sitting at a table in the middle of this small room now was a man dressed in an indistinct one-piece spacesuit and a skully cap. Short, pudgy, with very dirty hands, he was nervously stirring a large mug of slow-ship wine, the opiate liquor that could be found just about everywhere in the Galaxy. At exactly midnight, there was a bright green flash in the corner of the room. An instant later, the Imperial spy was standing before him.
"I was getting worried," the man at the table said. "I thought you might not show up this time."
The spy threw half his black cape over his shoulder and pulled his huge floppy hat farther over his eyes. An Imperial spy never revealed his face, and that was certainly the case here. The man at the table saw only a shadow under the big hat.
"You never have to worry about me not keeping one of our appointments," the spy told him. "The Empire would fall first."
The man at the table frowned and took a long swig of his drink. "Best not to joke about such things, my friend," he said. "I fear the day of the Empire's decline is finally upon us."
The mild rebuke stiffened the spy. This was not an idle comment made by an ordinary citizen. This man was Jak Dazz, a well-known high commander of the Solar Guards and ten-stripe officer in the SG's elite 101st Space Combat Division. Devious and ill-mannered, Dazz had nevertheless served as a secret informant for the spy for years, exchanging bits of information about the SG in return for money and privileges back on Earth. It was he who requested this latest meeting, their first since the war broke out.
The spy took a seat and waved his hand over the table. A glass of slow-ship wine appeared. The spy rarely imbibed, preferring to get high on star music. But this night, he needed a little extra buzz.
"Considering what's going on up in that Star Trench, you took a big risk coming here," he told the SG officer. "It must be important."
Dazz nodded glumly. "The tension up on that line is unbearable. Everyone's on edge. I've been a military officer for nearly three hundred years. I much prefer battle to waiting for battle.
The spy tipped his glass in the SG man's direction. "I agree with you there," he said.
"And I see no way of preventing a catastrophe," Dazz went on dolefully. "Not just up on the Star Trench but elsewhere. We have some fanatical people at the top of the Solar Guards — people who can't be controlled by me or my superiors and frankly not by the Emperor, either. They're highly unpredictable. And some of them, rather unstable."
Again, the spy was taken back. Disparaging anything, in any way, having to do with the Emperor or his armed forces was considered highly verboten in the Fourth Empire. People were given painful brain wipes or even executed for such things, be they high military officers or the lowest of citizens. This was why hum-beamed rooms were so popular around the Galaxy.
"These fanatics will not back down," Dazz went on. "They are bent on carrying this fight through, this stupid war, however it started, by devils I suppose…"
The spy almost laughed. If only the SG officer knew just how accurate his last statement might be.
"The Space Forces commanders believe they have the moral high ground," the spy told Dazz.
Dazz just shrugged. "Why? Because one of our commanders attacked one of their ships to begin this whole thing?"
"And that they executed the SF intelligence agent," the spy added. "Revenge ranks very high on the scale of human emotion. Not to mention the perfect motive to go to war."
Dazz drained about half his cup of slow-ship and shrugged again. "I don't deny it happened that way. And I can tell you that many people in our top command are as baffled by that action as I'm sure the SF is. But your friends in the Space Forces are not so innocent…"
The spy sipped his drink. "Please explain."
Dazz smiled darkly. "Do you know all the details of what happened out near that godforsaken planet Doomsday 212? I mean, before and after the war started?"
The spy shook his head. "I'm not sure anyone does," he replied.
It was a mystery, most of it. First the SG's elite Rapid Engagement Fleet disappeared while hunting for a rebel group who'd vowed to take down the Empire. More than thirty Starcrashers, suddenly gone. Then, just as suddenly, the REF reappeared, just long enough to kill the SF agent on Doomsday 212 and then shoot down two Space Forces warships without warning. This was the action that started the war. Soon afterward, the REF disappeared yet again, only to return a third time. And on this occasion, they began a rampage of terror across the Galaxy the likes of which no one had ever seen. Their warships, which for some reason had turned crimson from the SG's standard gray, streaked around the Empire, relentlessly attacking innocent people and undefended targets, seemingly intent on causing as much human misery as possible.
The enigmatic fleet then reassembled near a point close to Doomsday 212. It was there that ships belonging to the aforementioned rebel fleet, helped by a motley collection of other soldiers of fortune, met and somehow defeated the REF, while, it was widely reported, the SF stood by and did nothing. By some opinion, the SF's inaction amounted to aiding and abetting an enemy of the realm.
"I might be getting ahead of myself," Dazz said, slightly drunk now. "But do you really think those rebels and their shit-kicker friends were enough to defeat the REF on their own? Or do you think they had special help?"
The spy was not so surprised by the question. Many things were still unanswered from that day. "Well, we know Hawk Hunter was there," he replied.
Again, Dazz nodded glumly. Hawk Hunter. Bane of the Solar Guards. The man who led the rebel fleet. The man who'd vowed to topple the Fourth Empire itself. He'd been reported right in the thick of this strange battle. He and his awesome Flying Machine. It was the fastest ship in the Galaxy.
Everyone knew about Hawk Hunter; he was an authentic living legend. He'd been found stranded on a desolate planet at the far edge of the Galaxy nearly three years before. His origins unknown, even to himself, he was brought to Earth shortly afterward, and with his incredibly fast space fighter, he won the illustrious Earth Race. As a result, he was lavished with riches and praise and given a ship's command in the Empire's forces.
Hunter soon wen
t missing, however, part of a scheme fomented by the Emperor's own daughter, the unimaginably beautiful Princess Xara. She'd allowed Hunter to search for the remnants of the people he called the Last Americans. And sure enough, he found this lost civilization living on a planet so far off the star roads, it wasn't even inside the Milky Way.
But the word on the streets around the Empire said Hunter not only located his lost Americans but also found evidence that Earth had been stolen from these Americans and the other original peoples who lived on the mother planet several thousand years before. Indeed, they claimed this sinister aspect of history was woven into the fabric of all four Empires. But was it true? Had Earth been stolen
from its original inhabitants? There was no way to tell. Almost nothing of the history of the empires had survived the handful of Dark Ages that separated the realms. In fact, very little was known about the Galaxy prior to the rise of the present Fourth Empire. But many people in the Milky Way were beginning to believe this tale, just on Hunter's charisma alone.
It was Hunter who'd led a previous rebel attack on the Empire, one that nearly reached the One Arm itself, until he and his allies ran up against the REE That's when Hunter's fleet disappeared, too, only to return just in time to meet the reemerging REF. And that's when the second battle near Doomsday 212 took place.
"And it is no surprise he was on hand," the spy went on. "Hunter seems to be everywhere sometimes…"
The SG officer laughed darkly again. "Well, he is a superman, the son of a bitch," he said. "I saw him fight at the Siege of Qez. And before that, I saw him win the Earth Race. Only the stars know what he is planning next. What deep thoughts and machinations are going through his brain. They say he never sleeps. That he is always thinking. Planning. Plotting against us. Dreaming up new ways to take us down. I'm sure at this moment, that mind of his is racing like a string clock, conspiring our demise."
The spy nodded in agreement, but in truth, he was getting impatient. Everyone knew about Hunter's enormous talent for combat and intrigue. But rehashing such things couldn't possibly be the reason that Dazz had risked all to meet him here.
"So?" the spy asked him. "There is something else, I assume — besides this history lesson?"
Dazz sipped his drink again. "I have three things for you today," he said, getting down to business. "Here is the first: Where were you during the Great Flash?"
The man in the big floppy hat just stared back at him. It was an odd question to ask, only because the spy knew something else that Dazz and most people in the Galaxy did not: the Great Flash didn't just happen; the Empress's attack was not a random, spontaneous event, although it seemed that way. The truth was, it came at a crucial moment during the battle near Doomsday 212, disabling a number of ships belonging to the rampaging SG Rapid Engagement Fleet, thus swinging the fortunes back to that unlikely collection of weapons dealers and rebels, and allowing them to somehow defeat the hellish SG special ops troops. This begged the question: was the Empress in league with the rebels?
That, no one knew. Not even him.
But because very few people were privy to the exact timing of the attack on the Big Generator, the spy was certain this couldn't be the rebels' special help that Dazz was talking about. In reality, many things went right for the insurgents that day.
But to the question, where was the spy when the lights went out?
"I was asleep," he bed to the SG officer.
"So was I," the SG officer lied back.
The spy shrugged. "I hear they are repairing the damage though," he said. "That it really wasn't so extensive."
Dazz shrugged again. "But it is precisely those repairs that you and I and the rest of the Empire should be very concerned about…"
"And why is that?" the spy asked.
The SG officer lowered his voice again. "The Special
Solar Guards have taken over the repair of the Big Generator. This is a closely held secret. But as they are fixing it, they are trying to change it as well. Alter the way it works."
The spy was shocked to hear this. The Special Solar Guards were a quasi-secret detachment of the regular SG. While they were known for their ultrafanaticism in preserving the SG's ill-gotten power, they were actually little more than superthugs and perverts in uniforms. Why would these heavy-handed clowns want to fool around with the Big Generator? The sacred piece of rock was the lifeblood of everything in the Galaxy. Moreover, no one was sure where it came from or how it even worked, least of all the SSG.
"What is their motive for getting involved in such a thing?" the spy asked him. "That repair should be left to people who know what they are doing."
"I agree with you," Dazz said. "But the SSG believes, true or not, that they can tweak the Big Generator in such a way that it will provide power only to things they own. In other words, they want to be able to control who gets power and who doesn't. Can you imagine the ramifications of that? SG Starcrashers flying, SF 'crashers not? SG weapons working, SF weapons not? Even I know that's unfair."
The spy collapsed back into his seat. "This is nonsense!" he cried. "It has to be—"
But Dazz was shaking his head no. "I only wish it were," he said. "But I got this from a very high source back on Earth. Besides, why would I come all this way just to tell you something that wasn't true? No less than death would be my fate if I were caught talking to you like this."
He sipped his drink again. His cup was almost dry.
"I am not a genius, nor am I a hero," Dazz went on. "I'm just a soldier. I have no idea what the SSG is doing exactly, what gave them the idea to do it — or what might happen should they fail. But certainly it's a dangerous thing they are attempting."
"Very dangerous if they succeed," the spy half moaned.
At that moment, as if taking a cosmic cue, the lights in the room, in the bar, and all across the tiny planet, blinked. Outside, in the wind, the spy and Dazz heard the most frightful chorus of screams rise up. They were so disturbing, the SG man pulled his ray gun from its holster. The noise got louder. In seconds it seemed like an army of the dead was ready to burst through the door.
"Is it any wonder the entire Galaxy is going crazy?" Dazz screamed over the ghostly racket.
But then, just as suddenly, the noise calmed down. The lights came back to full power. And only the wind could be heard outside.
The spy gasped. "That was frightening…"
The SG man nearly drained his drink. "Even more so, these aftershocks — these accursed blinks — are being made worse by the SSG's tinkering. That I know for a fact. The SSG is so crude, most of them, I close my eyes and see them pounding away on that rock with electron hammers and chisels!"
The spy stared into his empty wine cup. Suddenly, he wanted more.
"That's item number one," Dazz said now, wearily. "Here is number two: Along with this Big Generator thing, the SSG has also been up to some very unusual activity on
Saturn. As you know — as everyone knows — the regular SG has a lot of its administration centers there. Truth is, it's where you wind up when they don't need you anymore, pushing an electric pen.
"But the SSG has been paying a lot of attention to a certain part of the planet lately. A very dull place called Imperial Records Section 066. It's essentially a huge warehouse with billions of comm bubbles in storage. Only the cosmos knows why it is of sudden interest to them, but the rumor is there might be some kind of new weapon being built down there, one they are planning to use on a very specific target."
"Such as?" the spy asked.
Dazz thought a long moment, choosing his words very carefully. "The SSG may be brutes, but they aren't completely stupid," he began again. "They know something very unusual happened out near Doomsday 212 during that second battle. That the irregular forces that beat up the REF were not so irregular. Again, they are convinced Hunter and his rebels had some very special help."
The spy just stared back at the informant. "Go on," he said.
"The SSG also knows
Hunter's rebels and their allies have started their own little star system out there around Doomsday 212," Dazz said. "They know they're still a threat, despite what's going on up in the Star Trench. So, once the SSG gets control of the Big Generator, their first order of business is to attack Doomsday 212—and I mean even before the war resumes with the Space Forces. And if this is a new weapon down in Warehouse 066, it's going to be used against Doomsday 212 and whoever is out there. The problem is, my sources tell me, this weapon may be so powerful, it will affect not just Doomsday 212 but anyone within a thousand light-years of ground zero. That's a lot of innocent people, especially with all the war refugees wandering around the Two Arm these days."
The spy slumped back into his chair. "So much bad news," he moaned. "I'm not sure I can take any more."
"Well, you must," the officer told him. "For here is item number three: I've heard a lot of rumors that the SSG also has something else — something very secret, hidden away on Earth — that they are also hoping to use very soon. Not a weapon exactly. Though what it is, no one is sure. The SSG is calling it the magilla in their confidential bubble reports. That's a code word, I think. It might not be connected to the Big Generator repair or the 066 warehouse, not directly, anyway. But whatever it is, this magilla is something they've recently acquired, from persons or methods unknown. And they are being very smug about it, always a bad sign."
Dazz finally licked the last few drops from his empty cup. He was fairly drunk now but still wanted more. "So there you are," he said. "The Big Generator repair, the mystery in Warehouse 066, and the magilla."
The spy groaned. "They used to call this a triple whammy," he said. "Bad news times three…"
The SG officer got up to leave. "Call them whatever you like," he said. "Because now I pass these burdens on to you. I must get back before I am missed. Just promise me you will use this information wisely. Obviously, the attempt to manipulate the Big Generator is the most immediate concern, but the other items have the potential to be just as disturbing, simply by the amount of chatter I'm picking up on them. All three things are highly secret. And if anyone ever finds out I gave them to you, I'll have no other choice but to fall on my sword. So please, be very careful who you share them with."
