by Mack Maloney
What was this place? It was certainly more inviting than the brutally hot desert or a reprise of World War Three. It was definitely an homage of some sort to the ancient American West. Yet Russian influences were everywhere. From the big red star over the piano to another, even larger one hanging over the stage, to the glorious vodka he was pouring down his throat.
The Old West and Mother Russia?
It made for a very strange combination.
The piano player ended one song and immediately went into another. Starting down in the low notes, he began slowly working his way up the scale, intent on pounding the keys to death. Hunter's third vodka arrived. Again he downed it in one gulp. Before he even put the empty glass down on the table, he was signaling for another.
The whole place had turned its attention to the stage. It had gone dark, a lone dancer appearing in place of the small troupe who'd been previously denting the floorboards. Having walked out from behind a curtain, this dancer was now moving gracefully to center stage. The honky-tonk piano continued its slow buildup. The crowd shuddered with anticipation. The dancer was not in the spotlight, rather she looked like a shadow, standing very still. The music built further, approaching its climax. This woman was going to sing, Hunter thought. And no doubt her voice will sound as bad as the rest of the entertainment in this place.
But just as the piano reached its peak, the woman opened not her mouth, but the front buttons of her dress. The crowd let out a soft "Ooooooh…" Hunter heard himself gasp. The dancer let the top of the dress drop from her shoulders. Another gasp went through the crowd. Suddenly, she was nearly topless. In the bare red shadow, Hunter could see her perfectly formed breasts.
"Damn…" he whispered.
She began swaying to the music, her skirt suddenly gone, too. She had a lovely form from top to bottom. Not buxom, but just right. Her long hair flung back in curls. Garters. High button shoes. Hunter's fourth drink arrived, and he felt his hand shake as he picked it up. What the hell did they call this ride?
A combination of the vodka and testosterone started to take effect. He began to pant. Then, finally, a spotlight illuminated the dancer's face.
Hunter nearly fell off his chair.
Is that Annie?
The saloon hall girl returned at a very inopportune time, and for once she was not bearing another drink for Hunter. Instead, she bent down and whispered in his ear, "I understand you're looking for the Mad Russian?"
Hunter was so close to being in a frenzy, he didn't hear her. She repeated the question.
Only then did he snap out of it. With one eye trying to keep track of this amazing thing happening onstage, he turned to the bar girl and said, "Yes, definitely."
"Then he'll see you now," she replied.
Suddenly she had Hunter's undivided attention. "He's here?"
"In his office out back," she said. "He's waiting for you."
Hunter froze. He wanted oh so much to watch this demonstration onstage. What is Annie doing here?
But he couldn't pass up this opportunity to finally meet his quarry.
He went with the waitress.
She led him out of the bar area, through a curtain, and into a dark hallway. They walked for what seemed like forever. The oil lamps in the hall started flickering at one point. Not just a little drunk, Hunter started stumbling, nearly losing sight of the saloon hall girl.
Finally they reached a door with a sign that read simply, Trail Boss.
She turned, smiled, and nodded toward the door.
"He's in there," she said. "Good luck."
Hunter staggered in. The room was dark. A log was burning in the fireplace. Two walls were lined with ornamental swords. Ancient muskets adorned another. Bull-whips, spurs, and several lassos were also on display.
At the far end of the room there was a huge, carved wood desk sitting on an elevated platform about a foot off the floor. There was a man sitting behind this desk, almost totally hidden in shadow. His back was turned to Hunter.
It was strange, because Hunter could still hear the piano music. And he was still imagining what was going on, back on that stage and wondering why Annie had shown up inside this attraction, too. To what purpose was she here? Maybe the guy behind the desk would have the answer to that question — along with a few million more.
He took three giant steps and was soon just a few feet away from the desk. He could see over the back of the chair, and thus the back of the person's head.
"I've been looking all over for you," Hunter began, not knowing what else to say.
No response.
"I was sent to search for you by an old friend of yours," he went on. The piano music in the background was becoming more intense.
Still nothing.
"The entire Galaxy needs your help," Hunter tried.
"I know that all too well," the man behind the desk finally responded.
"Then can we talk about it?" Hunter asked him. "I've come a long way, went through a lot, visited many of your attractions just to find you. You should know exactly why I've come—"
"I know very well why you're here," the voice said.
There was a bit of sadness in its tone. And the voice sounded familiar, too. Just a little bit of an accent. "That's the problem…"
That's when the man in the chair slowly turned around, and Hunter finally saw his face. He was shocked.
It was Dr. Zoloff. Certainly an older, hairier version of the man depicted in the faded photo on the back of the ticket stub. But now, in the light, at this moment, Hunter saw the resemblance. The crazy eyes, the long, thin face. The yellow teeth. Though dressed in Old West gear, this was, unmistakably, the good doctor from Adventure Land.
Hunter laughed out loud. "Well, I guess it makes sense now," he said drunkenly. "You were the only one who evaded my questions when I asked about your whereabouts. No one else had a problem with answering me. Just you. I should have known. I should have figured it out sooner."
Zoloff frowned mightily.
"There are many things we both should have figured out sooner," he said.
With that, Hunter saw two other figures move out from behind the shadows.
They were both holding ray guns.
"Damn…" Hunter cursed.
They were Solar Guards. SSG…
Zoloff just shrugged sadly. "I'm sorry," he said. "They were looking for me, too, and they just did beat you to it."
Minutes later, Hunter and Zoloff were behind bars.
Real bars, this time. In fact, they were electron steel bars, impossible to bend by hand alone.
The two SSG soldiers had hauled them out of the Red Star Saloon via a back door and marched them down a very dusty street to the amusement of the townsfolk who inhabited this very strange place. Hunter got only a brief glimpse of his new surroundings: a couple blocks of old wooden buildings, a general store, a bank, an apothecary, a barber shop. With wooden sidewalks everywhere. There were even tumbleweeds blowing around. The sky above them, oddly enough, was bright orange. There was no sun to be seen.
The sheriff's office was empty when they were brought in. The SSG troopers wordlessly locked them in the jail cell, then strengthened its previously rubber bars with the electron-steel reinforcements. Then the SSG men hung up the keys next to a rifle rack, took their seats behind the sheriff's desk, and promptly went to sleep.
Hunter and Zoloff collapsed to the floor of the six-by-six cell. They were very much bummed out.
"I'm living down here for a few thousand years," Zoloff said wearily. "No one bothers me, and I don't bother anyone. Then, all of a sudden, I'm the most wanted person in the cosmos."
Hunter had his head resting on his knees. He was suddenly very, very tired. "I know the feeling," he moaned.
He quickly told Zoloff who he was and who sent him. "And, if it makes you feel any better," Hunter concluded his introduction, "I was looking for you for the same reason as those two."
"The Big Generator thing," Zoloff said knowingly. "And ho
w they want to alter it…"
"They told you?"
"They did," Zoloff replied. "I heard the whole story, in fact. From the Empress to the Great Flash to the blackout and the extent of the damage. And of course, their desire to change around the Big Generator's power flows. They might not look it now, but those two over there are rather verbose."
Hunter studied the man next to him for a moment. He was definitely the same Zoloff he'd met in Adventure Land. But he was more genuine now. Like an actor who was no longer in his role, the veneer had been dropped. Strangely, though, he was still a very sympathetic character.
"They didn't mind telling you all this?" he asked Zoloff. "I mean, all those things about the BG are highly top secret. No more than a few dozen people in the entire Galaxy have a clue that any of this is even going on."
Zoloff shrugged sadly. "It makes no difference to them what I know," he said, indicating the two sleeping guards again. "Because they've got plans for me, you see. By telling me all, they know I won't be able to help myself from thinking about how to counteract their designs for the Big Generator. All they have to do is wait a little bit, let my subconscious cook on it a while. Then they will torture me to get the information they seek, and then give me a brain wipe to get anything they missed. After that, they'll put me to death. And though I've been around longer than Methuselah, I have a feeling they'll find a way to pull it off. I mean, I was told I could live forever, but I'm not so sure that applies if I am somehow torn limb from limb or thrown into a star."
"So, it's true then?" Hunter asked him. "That you could come up with a way to counter whatever they do to the Big Generator?"
Hunter saw the twinkle return to Zoloff's eye. Suddenly he was just like the good doctor back in Adventure Land.
"Of course!" he said with not an ounce of false modesty. "In fact, as soon as they mentioned it, I had the solution."
"Really? What is it?"
Zoloff checked to see if the two SSG were still asleep. They seemed to be. He smiled — and then started to whistle. One long tone. Very melodic, haunting even, if a little sad.
"And that is?" Hunter asked.
Zoloff smiled again. "C major diminished," he replied, lowering his voice to a near whisper. "And that's the secret."
"You're kidding…"
"At a time like this?" Zoloff scolded him gently. "Hardly."
"But… just whistling? That's the secret?"
Zoloff nodded with great authority, then slid over a little closer to Hunter. "Look — no one really knows how the Big Generator works," he said. "But I do know it has something to do with vibrations. And sound waves are vibrations. And therefore, a certain musical note is the key to the BG's power. I know this because of my extensive studies in super electricity. I also happen to know that by simply using this key, anyone can readjust whatever the SSG does to the BG."
He whistled it again. "C major diminished…"
Hunter just stared back at him. Was this a joke? Could it really be as simple as that?
"So are you saying that if the SSG gets control of the BG, you'd want everyone in the Galaxy to whistle that note?" he asked Zoloff.
"Precisely!" he declared. "Actually, if I understand the situation correctly, you have this one military called the Space Forces. And another — these devils, the Solar Guards?"
"Right…"
"And the SF is less despicable than the SG?"
"Right again…"
"Then what we can do is provide a simple device to all SF warships, something that will automatically retime the power coming out of the BG and allow them to tap into it, no matter what the Solar Guards do to it.
"Now, that will take care of the military side of the situation. Once that's settled, we let everyone in the Milky Way know the tone. If the BG starts to change, or if there is another blackout, all we have to do is all rise up in song — beautiful song! — and that will send the BG's power everyone's way again and remedy the situation. It's an ironic way to overcome the plans of these dastardly people, don't you think?"
Hunter just shrugged. "Beautiful or not, it's not going to do anyone any good. Once they kill us, no one will ever find out about it."
The smile left Zoloff's face. "Again, all too true." He sighed. There was another silence between them. Hunter finally broke it by saying, "I have to tell you, though, this is one crazy place you built here."
Zoloff shook his head sadly. "I did my best," he said. "Though you really have to experience the whole thing to appreciate it. Like a fine symphony. A fine wine. A fine woman. Of course, I know it's frightening at some points and creaky at others. Some of the thrills and spills are a little heavy-handed, too. But what in Me isn't a little scary, when you really think about it? And only someone really committed to it will see it all the way through. That's one reason I didn't reveal myself to you right away. I had no idea who you were. The entry booth hadn't been activated in years. The password was a very tight secret. But I knew when everything suddenly lit up, something must be afoot. And I thought if you made it through, even just halfway, then you were here for a serious purpose, and not just by a mistake."
He looked over at the two SSG men again. "How did I know these mooches would drop in halfway through? They picked a moon and crash-landed on it. The heathens. Just my luck it was Dreamland."
"But how did you ever come up with all this?" Hunter asked him. He was intensely curious, even at this dark hour. "This whole amusement park thing? I mean, did it come to you in a dream or something?"
"Ha," Zoloff said. "It came to me in many, many dreams, my friend. But, tell me first. Did you figure out the theme? After all, it is a theme park. Or was I perhaps too subtle?"
Hunter had to think a moment. "The theme? How to go crazy, when everything else around is already crazy?"
Zoloff laughed a bit too loud, but he was genuinely amused.
"That would be hard to pull off subtly," he said. He stroked his beard for a moment. "The truth is," he began again, "all I ever wanted was to be like you. To be an American, I mean. Or like an American. That's the theme. That's what the whole dizzylando is about"
Hunter looked back at him strangely. "Really?"
Zoloff started ticking things off on his fingers. "Adventure Land — my love for your Hollywood space adventures of the 1930s. House of Horrors — what I imagined it would be like if the Soviet Army was as principled and disciplined as the American Army. Dreamland — my vision of America as a place where all dreams come true and stay true. World of Mirrors;—the only common enemy we ever had: the fascists. What a delight to see them fighting each other! Alien Mystery World — I desired your deepest secrets and nothing less!"
Hunter held up his hand, as a gentle interruption. "But what about all those socks?"
Zoloff just smiled. "Very simple," he said. "I wanted one of your washing machines!"
"And all this?"
Zoloff was almost embarrassed now. "Well, everyone wants to be a cowboy," he said. "Right?"
Hunter stared back at him in disbelief. That's what this is all about? A Russian trying to explain what it's like to be an American?
"But why?" was all he could ask. "You're a cosmonaut. A hero of the Soviet Union."
"The desire was born from an incident long ago," Zoloff replied. "It happened just before I went into orbit, back in the 1960s. I had a rare opportunity to visit New York City. It was a meeting on the peaceful uses of space at the UN, but I snuck out one night and walked all over that fabulous city. I saw it all. Did it all. Drank it all. Ate it all! When I finally stumbled back to the Soviet mission early the next morning, I realized what a cloud I'd been living under." He paused for a long moment. His eyes got misty. "That's when I realized I wanted everything you had," he went on again. "Your women. Your style. Your optimism. Your music. Your sense of humor. Your bravery. Your deep dark secrets. And yes, those wonderful washing machines! Even if they did eat socks.
"I wanted all those things, but at the same time I knew that I c
ouldn't have them. Not in Russia in the 1960s. But those desires stayed with me, even when I was thrown for-ward in time. Your NASA friend will verify that. Then, after the collapse of the Third Empire, when I had a chance to do something, to make a grand deal, I decided to do what I considered the next best thing. There were never any amusement parks in Russia. I thought if I could build one for myself and continually ride its rides, forever, so to speak, well, what better way to immerse myself in your culture? To play the different parts. To make some different endings. So yes, it came from a dream. A foolish dream though, now, looking back on it."
"I don't know about that," Hunter said, astounded by the story. "It was a pretty wild trip while it lasted… and quite an accomplishment, I'd have to say."
Another bit of silence.
Zoloff went on sadly, "All those years, wasted money and time and fear, our two countries, preparing to go to war with each other. That's about the time I checked out — and was thrown forward, where I met your friend and mine, that very old man in the NASA suit. How he and I argued. How we fought! But we were brothers. And we built a great empire. It's just too bad it wasn't like that back in my day. Before the war between our two countries started. If in fact it did ever start."
Hunter told him, "It definitely started in my reality. But I'm convinced now, after what's happened to me, that the way the universe unfolds, there are probably an infinite number of realities, and we are either from the same one… or we are not."
"Very true, but people stay the same, my friend," Zoloff replied. "Events change, but people don't. No matter how many realities there might be, humans are humans. And it is our duty to get ourselves right. To correct our flaws. To treat everyone equally. That's what we fought for with the Third Empire. And we succeeded, your NASA friend and I — for a little while at least.
"But in the end, what good was it? Look at me. I'm still a Russian. A son of Mother Russia way back when there was a Russia, five thousand years ago. I changed the way I looked. The way I talked. The way I thought about things. But no matter what, I couldn't change who I was. A sad last chapter. Park closed. The dizzylando is no more."
