by Mack Maloney
Hunter had been seeing weird things for weeks. This was one of the weirdest.
The ship slowly lowered itself and was soon right in front of him, huge and glittering, its underside not ten feet above the ground. Hunter reached out and touched its golden hull. It felt real, but of course, that was no proof.
The ship had three tall star masts. Two men were stationed in the tallest. One of them called down to him.
"Major Hunter, you are needed desperately… Can you come?"
Hunter froze in place. Again, he'd seen many strange things in his time in Purgatory. The gases, the flashes, the ghosts, and the wrecks. They'd all conspired to make him imagine things that weren't really there. On closer inspection, these people and this ship did resemble those belonging to his allies from the Seven Arm, the same group who'd tried to repuff this planet.
But were they real?
Or not?
He took out his ray gun and began to aim it. But in the next moment he decided that would do no good. Even if these were ghosts and they wanted him to go with them, how could that be any worse than what he was doing now?
So finally he just raised his hands over his head and called up to them, 'Take me. If you must…"
The next thing he knew, Hunter was standing before a pale blue picket fence with red and pink roses growing all over it. Beyond the gate was a small cottage that looked like it was right off a greeting card from twenty-first-century Earth. Painted bright white with yellow trim, the cottage was highly picturesque, quaint almost. It, too, had flowers growing all around it; many climbing on trellises, others spilling out onto the well manicured lawn. Behind the house, two faint orbital rings gave the sky a soft glow forty degrees above the horizon. This haze radiated across the grass and the trees and the flowers. It all looked, well… heavenly.
Hunter picked up some dirt from near the fence and rolled it through his fingers. He sniffed it, then tasted it. It seemed real, just as everything around him seemed real. The ground, the air, the fauna were the exact opposite from where he'd just come. All indications were that then he was back in the repuffed part of Doomsday 212.
But he would have to be careful here.
He'd been fooled by these strange visions before.
Vision or not, he recognized this odd house. As unlikely as it seemed, the cottage served as the military field headquarters for Hunter's allies from the Seven Arm, the ultra-powerful Star Legion that, in whispers only, was also known as the long-lost Army of the Third Empire.
This cottage was a very secret place, as by ancient agreements, the Third Empire was not supposed to venture out of its enclave in the distant seventh swirl. As, too, the golden ship he'd encountered out in the badlands. (That type of ship was called a galleonis by some, for its resemblance to the ancient wooden ocean-sailing ships of Earth. Its proper name, however, was a StarLiner.) Until recently, its kind had not been seen in this part of the Galaxy in more than 1,000 years.
Not knowing what else to do, Hunter opened the gate, went up the path, and through the cottage's front door. There were no guards. The interior of the house was unusual, to say the least. Paint-by-number pictures hung above doorways, teakettle patterns adorned the walls. Narrow hallways. Low ceilings. Thick rugs on top of heavily varnished floors. And everywhere, furniture exclusively by Sears Roebuck. He knew these unlikely things made the powerful Star Legion members feel comfortable, simply because they reminded them of their real home, way out on the Seven Arm, so far away.
He walked into the main room of the tiny house. It, too, featured homey wallpaper, knickknacks, vases of fresh flowers. An impressive grandfather clock was ticking away in one corner. On one open windowsill sat a Westinghouse AM radio, turned on, but with its volume very low. In another corner was a Quasar TV that appeared older than the Galaxy itself. It was switched on, too, but its picture showed nothing but a test pattern.
At the center of the room was a large wooden table. A dozen men were sitting around it. They jumped to their feet when Hunter entered the room. Horribly ragged, his skin dirty, his mind still firing blanks, he felt foolish when they saluted him. He weakly returned the gesture, knowing they were horrified by his ghastly appearance.
He recognized these men, too. Six were commanders from the United Planets Forces, the military arm of the Home Planets, that being the extragalactic star system where Hunter had found the Last Americans and the other descendants of the dispossessed peoples of Earth. They were wearing the sand-and-red camouflage uniforms of the UPF; each had an American flag patch on his left shoulder. They'd traveled here from the Home Planets, their squadron of war ships arriving at the height of the Battle at Zero Point and helping to turn the tide against the devils of the rampaging REF — this, even as their predecessors, the 40,000 men of the First UPF fleet, had crossed over from Heaven at the climax of that same battle, and like Hunter's close friends, gave their souls in the titanic struggle that followed.
The other six men at the table were wearing the shiny gold uniform of the Star Legion. Like those he'd just encountered on the golden ship, they were large individuals with flowing hair and winged helmets. Each wore a slew of medals on a red sash across his chest and had a ceremonial sword at his side. Each man also had a slightly burned face, the telltale sign of long voyages in their magnificent golden starships.
Despite his schizo condition, Hunter was glad to see them. When he first arrived in the seventy-third century, with little more than the clothes on his back, he was quick to notice that he was different from everyone else. It wasn't clear just why at first. He looked the same, talked the same, walked the same. He was just different.
This was strange because the modern seventy-third century human was, no argument, well-built, well-fed, and well-groomed. Handsomeness and beauty were the norm these days. But modern humans were also highly self-absorbed, highly pampered by the thousands of exotic conveniences of the day, and while educated, few seemed to be particularly brilliant. They were also pathological gossipmongers, extremely superstitious, and, almost to the last, obsessed with somehow getting a few drops of the Holy Blood in their veins so that they, like the Emporer O'Nay and The Specials back on Earth, could live up to eight or nine centuries, instead of just two or three.
It wasn't like that for the Star Legionnaires or for the inhabitants of the Home Planets, for that matter. They were more like Hunter — or better put, he was more like them. They thought in the same ways. They were curious. They questioned things. They questioned authority. While it was customary in the Galaxy for men to refer to each other as Brother, Hunter really did feel like these people were his brothers. In the past, upon meeting any one of them, he was always struck by the sensation that he'd known them all his life. And they felt the same way about him. They were people of the same blood.
The question was, would they really show up — this vivid, this real — in one of his manic visions?
There was an empty seat at the end of the dining table. Several of the men motioned Hunter toward it, but he hesitated. He'd worn his fingers raw pinching himself by now, trying to convince his mind and body that this was all real, and that just like seeing the girl earlier that day, and the many other visions he'd experienced, it wasn't all going to go away with another blink of the eyes.
The lead commander of the Star Legion was a man named Erikk. He was a huge, powerful individual, built along the same lines as Hunter's departed friend, Zarex Red. Erikk motioned to Hunter again.
"Hawk, please, sit with us," he said. "We have some very important things to discuss."
Hunter finally relented. Vision or not, he was exhausted. He collapsed into the empty seat.
Erikk spoke: "My friend, we would not have come out to get you unless it was extremely momentous. We know the search for your Flying Machine is important to you. But something has come up. Something rather frightening. I'll try to explain this situation as best as I can to you. But truthfully, I have trouble believing it myself."
The Legionnai
re started talking about something being wrong with the Big Generator. Hunter heard mentions of the Empress, she being the wife of O'Nay and Xara's mother, and how she tried to damage the omnipotent power source and how that had created the Great Flash and how some really bad elements within the Solar Guards — they being the SSG — were trying to repair it in such a way that they would be able to have control over who got its awesome power and who didn't. Erikk talked nonstop for about ten minutes. Through it all, Hunter pretended to listen, pretended to be interested. But the story was so crazy and his condition so deteriorated, that with every word he was more convinced that this was indeed another grand illusion, and it would end, just as surely as all the others out in the badlands had ended, and he would be back, lying on the ground, sweating and nearly on fire.
He had to admit, though, that not all of it sounded insane. A few of these words made sense, especially about Xara's mother and her attempt to damage the big black rock, and her paying the price for such an act with her life. The Empress had indeed passed on. Hunter knew this because he'd been told on good authority — that being a real ghost — that she was now in Heaven with Xara. And he was also familiar with the episode Erikk was calling the Great Flash. It was the reason all the REF Starcrashers fell at a crucial time in the Zero Point battle — and was the reason his own beloved spacecraft went down as well.
But it was the part about repairing the Big Generator that was confusing him. Those particular words were going in one ear and out the other. Especially the ones about how the radicals of the SSG were trying to alter the Big Generator, to put them in a position to control the massive, all-reaching, awesome, power-producing device. Could that be possible?
Erikk ended the first part of his speech with a particularly ominous sentence: "The Special Solar Guards will either succeed in being able to control the Big Generator's power, or they will break it for good."
Delirious or not, Hunter felt a shudder go through him.
If the Big Generator went out for good, all means of power across the Galaxy would be gone. The blood of life for trillions of people would be no more. Cold homes. Cold bodies. No food. No warmth. No nothing. The Galaxy would go dark. God would be dead. And the Great Flash would be a blip on the screen compared to the Great Blackout. Such a thing would likely end most if not all life in the Milky Way.
Erikk took a breath and soldiered on: "By our count, the SG has close to two million Starcrashers, and probably just as many smaller but no less lethal ships. If the SSG was somehow able to control the Big Generator, then only SG ships would be able to fly in Supertime. Only the SG would be able to fire the big weapons. The Space Forces would be impotent. The rest of the Empire's military services would be as well. The Solar Guards would become so powerful in that one stroke, they would take over the Galaxy in a week. Or even less."
Erikk indicated his colleagues around the table. The grand StarLiners did not rely on the Big Generator for power. The same held true for the UPF guys. But even combined, their forces would be minuscule, compared to theSG.
"We certainly couldn't stop them for very long," Erikk admitted. "And there are indications they'd be coming for us first."
Hunter just shook his head. This must be another symptom of his madness, he thought glumly. Another vision.
It was just too insane…
Erikk read Hunter's mind. "Like you, my friend, I needed proof," he said earnestly. "But be warned please, the proof might be even more astounding than what I have just told you."
Hunter knew the Legionnaire had a point. Where did this crazy story come from? How did his friends on this isolated planet, halfway up the Two Arm, thousands of light years from Earth, know these deep dark secrets about the SSG and them manipulating the Big Generator? Where was the proof?
At that moment, there was flash of green light in the room. An instant later, Hunter found himself staring up at a tall, dark person dressed entirely in black. He was wearing a large, floppy hat that hid his face and had a cape thrown dramatically over his left shoulder. There was still an aura of emerald light around him, the sign of a subatomic string transfer, an ability shared only among the very high Specials and their ilk.
In a snap, Hunter's ray gun was out of its holster and pointing into the shadow that was so expertly hiding this person's features.
"Who the fuck are you!" Hunter roared at him.
"You're very quick," the voice from beneath the large hat replied calmly. "But believe me, offing me now would be a great mistake. Though I know you would have little compunction in killing an Imperial spy."
Imperial spy? Hunter thought. This really wasn't making any sense now. Why would such a person be allowed in the Star Legion's HQ?
He must be in the middle of an illusion. It was the only explanation. Wasn't it?
The spy spoke again. "I know it's hard to believe," he said in his slightly echoing voice. "But I have come to help you, Mr. Hunter. Help all of you. And not for the first time."
Erikk gently put his hand on Hunter's arm.
"My friend," the Legionnaire said. "By all that is good in me, and my family, I believe this man speaks the truth. Just hear him out, please…"
Hunter reluctantly lowered his weapon. A sigh of relief went through the room.
The spy pulled his hat farther over his face. "What your friends have just told you is accurate," he said to Hunter. "The Special Solar Guards are indeed trying to manipulate the Big Generator, and the consequences will be as dire as they have warned you.
"Now, true, I am part of the Imperial Court. And I have sworn an oath to serve the Emperor and rid the Galaxy of any enemies it might encounter. You, Mr. Hunter, certainly qualify in that respect, as an enemy of the state.
"But at the same time I know that great institutions ebb and flow, and when the tide goes out, innocents are usually the first to suffer. Trillions of them may lose their lives if the SSG succeeds, and if they don't, the Galaxy might become dark again — and that, too, would be catastrophic. A new Dark Age could be upon us, and that adjective would have more meanings than just one. The chaos that would ensue would be unimaginable. Loyalty oath or not, I simply cannot let that happen, not when there's a chance I can do something about it."
Hunter thought a moment, then said, "Let's assume that what you say is so. What can any of us do about it? The regular SG have the One Arm sealed off. I'm sure the Pluto Cloud is an impregnable fortress by now. And Earth itself? The entire Space Forces fleet would probably not be able to fight its way in and somehow rescue the Big Generator from the SSG. And that's even if the SF was working at full power."
He looked around the table. No one argued with him.
"All true," Erikk said. "But there might be another way. Our unusual visitor here came to us with this information, at great risk I might add, thinking that we might have the solution to it. And, as it turns out, we might…"
Hunter spread his hands before him, as if to say, OK, let me hear it.
Erikk took the cue. "Good friend, Hawk," he began. "Obviously the SSG have their best experts trying to attempt this manipulation of the Big Generator. Their mad scientists, if you will."
Hunter nodded. "Obviously…"
Erikk almost smiled. "Well," he said. "We might have a mad scientist of our own."
Hunter laughed. "Really? I didn't think any of us were that smart."
"We're not," Erikk replied. "But we might know the whereabouts of someone who is."
Erikk turned to the ancient Quasar TV. "And the person we seek," he said, "is a friend of his.…"
The TV's test pattern suddenly disappeared and was replaced by the image of a man dressed in a very old space-suit, bulky and gray. The spacesuit was adorned with four letters: NASA. This man, Hunter knew, was more than 5,000 years old and was an astronaut. Literally, an Ancient Astronaut.
Like Hunter, he was also an American. And like Hunter, he had been taken out of his time and thrust forward into the future, for a purpose beyond anyone's complete under
standing, but apparently to counterbalance the forces of evil that were running rampant throughout the Galaxy no matter what time frame one found themselves in. This man rose to the occasion, creating the very mysterious Third Empire — about which very little was known these days — and restoring justice to the Galaxy after the catastrophic reign of the bloody Second Empire. As a reward for his heroics centuries before, the Astronaut had been given what was apparently an eternal life. At least, so far.
It was to him that Hunter went for help in gathering the forces needed to defeat the rampage of the devilish REE It was then that Hunter realized this strange man and he were of the same blood, too. His story someday might fill yet another book, if not two. But suffice to say, the Star Legionnaires were his men, and they were brave and loyal and believed in the same things as Hunter: freedom and fairness, not just for some, but for all.
The TV screen got brighter. This transmission in real time was coming from across the Galaxy, from the mysterious Seven Arm. As always, the Ancient Astronaut was in bed, propped up by a dozen or so pillows, being attended by two lovely nurses in short white skirts. And of course, he was drinking a Tang martini through a straw.
The Astronaut spoke: "This individual Erikk has told you about appeared on the scene about the same time I did. We were colleagues, in a way, as we both flew in space back in those early days. And we were both chosen, Hawk, just as you were, to help save the unfortunates of the Galaxy, and thus help save the Galaxy itself. And in that cause, he and I succeeded together. He helped build the Third Empire. He was as committed to it as I was — though I must admit, we didn't always see things eye to eye"
Hunter was listening closely now, but at the same time he couldn't help but be amazed by the talking image. The Third Empire had many technologies that weren't apparent in the current realm, ideas that had been lost over the centuries. The Ancient Astronaut was speaking to them from his house at the end of the Seven Arm on a world called Far Planet. Yet he seemed as if he was right there with them, as close as the bedroom upstairs maybe, so clear and crisp he looked. Very strange…
