The 13th Star: An Action Adventure Sci-F Apocalyptic Novel

by Adam Peled

  “Friends, a woman, love, life…”

  “You list many things,” the loving, fatherly voice continued. “Such losses are great, especially in that order. Interesting—first friends, then a woman and love, and finally life. It seems that you’d give up life more easily than friends.”

  Mattoui thought for a moment and realized that common sense spoke out.

  “Not everyone has friends like mine, nor a woman like my tamar. Love can be found in many places, as can life, but my friends and a woman like Tamar can’t be found anywhere in the galaxy, or beyond it.”

  “If so, my friend, don’t give up on faith.”

  It was quiet in both cells.

  ***

  Rettoul told Zoi to leave only one bomb in the aircraft. “Leave the other two here.”

  “Here?” Zoi cried. “Why here? We need them with us. You never know what will happen.”

  “That’s just it, Zoi,” Rettoul replied in his characteristic quiet voice that was even more so before a complex activity. “Anything significant that we leave behind will be an insurance policy for our lives. Precisely because of this, and because I don’t know what’s going to happen, we should leave a clear trail. Moreover, whoever planted the bombs knows exactly how many they left and can assess the power of one compared to the power of three. Don’t worry, Zoi. Although I don’t know what’s going to happen, I’m trying to think clearly and cover all the possibilities.”

  Zoi sighed wearily. “It’s not going to be easy.”

  “No doubt, but I think that of all the wars, the battle to return Mattoui home safely will be the most just. You know what, Zoi? Perhaps even more than my personal war.”

  “I don’t think you’re right, but who am I to argue with you?”

  “This isn’t a matter of debate, Zoi. It’s only a feeling.” He patted Zoi’s shoulder to encourage him and make him stand up for their departure. “Just a feeling.”

  ***

  The flight was conducted in complete silence with their heavy breathing barely audible. Everyone was tense, ready for future events. They flew through a starry space, the heyday of the star's light. It was clear this wasn’t in their favor, but none of them could change the galactic conditions.

  Rettoul started the internal mixing system that would disrupt the Kaiser’s visibility on radars across the galaxy. The new system had been installed in only a few vehicles, and there were still radar locations that were totally unaware of its existence and couldn’t recognize the vehicle.

  The landing was quiet. They continued to operate the mixing system after landing to prevent discovery by Bar’s palace radar system. In uncomfortable silence, they made their way to the palace.

  ***

  “My name is David,” said the voice on the other side of the wall.

  Mattoui smiled. “And I am Mattoui, from Bucha.”

  “Welcome, Mattoui,” he said with no cynicism. “I know there’s nothing to bless, and yet I believe everything has a reason.”

  “I have no doubt,” he replied softly, partly speaking, partly listening to himself speak.

  “So, what are you doing here? Rather, why are you here?”

  “It’s complicated. I’m here because I’m stupid, because I’m in love, because I’m a bit of a hostage, because I’m a bit guilty, a bit not…”

  “Another interesting answer.” He could hear David’s smile through the wall. “You’re a hostage for what?” David asked.

  “I have four friends—in fact, three are good friends—all wanted by Coldor. We’re all wanted by Coldor, but I don’t really count by myself. All of us together make a good enough cause for the great Coldor.”

  “The great Coldor…” David chuckled. “You still may find that not everything that looks great really is. Coldor’s not so great. He’s not even a great person.”

  “I don’t know…” muttered Mattoui. “Don’t know.”

  “Do you believe you’ll get out of here?” asked David, surprised.

  “No!” he answered emphatically.

  “So tell me why you’re here.”

  Mattoui was silent for a long time—for hours he sat in silence. His bent legs and his back, which had been subject to the moisture of the walls, were painful. He couldn’t think, despite many attempts to imagine Tamar’s face, or to consider for a moment how Rettoul would behave when he heard of his imprisonment. He tried to imagine his friends’ faces, hear their voices, but he couldn’t. There were tears in his eyes. I probably will really not get out of here, he thought. The idea shook him.

  “I want to tell you something.”

  David answered quickly, as if he’d waited all these hours for this statement. “I’m listening.”

  Mattoui told his life story to this David, the faceless man who sat on the other side of the wall. He told about meeting Rettoul, the tough training, the creation of the remarkable magnificent group; he spoke about Tamar, about their role in the galaxy, their relations with Coldor; and finally, he also spoke of the resurrection of the 13th planet.

  David could scarcely breathe from the first moment he heard Rettoul’s name. My son! How strange is destiny, he thought, to have invited me to hear the story of my son’s life. Maybe that’s the last story I hear. He didn’t stop Mattoui once—neither with a comment nor with a question.

  Mattoui, on his part, didn’t interrupt his flow of speech and continued talking to David’s thirsty ears.

  ***

  The first guard they encountered didn’t manage to let out more than a shout of astonishment at the sight of the four. Berez was so quick that he even surprised himself, leaving the guard bruised and unconscious. They moved inside with confident steps. The computer terminal was closer than expected, although they were familiar with the palace and knew they would find Mattoui within a few minutes. Zoi fiddled with the computer screen until he found what they were seeking. Suddenly, they heard rapid footsteps approaching. None of them moved. Within seconds, Coldor’s angry voice was added to the sound of the footsteps.

  The quartet split up in the lobby: Rettoul and Zoi remained at the computer screen, and not far away, Berez and Thor acted as if they were conversing. They all looked at the ground, ready to attack—or be attacked—if identified. Berez’ legs froze and his face paled. Rettoul’s measured breathing was clearly heard. Zoi’s hands, which usually seemed to be fearless, trembled deep in the pockets of his pants.

  “I don’t understand why I should deal with such nonsense!” Coldor roared. “Where does he live? I want to see him now! I’m not ready to ignore this!”

  One of his guards approached Zoi and Rettoul, asked for their forgiveness, and reached past them to the computer screen. He hit the some keys and said to Coldor importantly, “Apartment 707, fourth floor.”

  “We’re going there now!” Coldor announced, leaving the palace with his entourage.

  The four breathed in relief. In a barely audible voice, Rettoul said, “That was so dangerous, I couldn’t see the next minute.”

  “Yes, it was dangerous,” agreed Berez, his eyes still reflecting his great fear lest Coldor or any of his men returned with only a slight suspicion.

  “Let’s go on now,” said Rettoul. The four descended in a big, slow freight elevator to the fourth floor. They knew a guard would be there, but when the door opened, there were three guards who seemed to have been chosen carefully. Berez surprised the one on the right. The others managed to overcome the remaining two quickly, and within seconds the three guards lay unconscious to the right of the elevator.

  Zoi blinked, trying to accustom himself to the strange hallway light. Opposite the elevator was a series of heavy doors. Rettoul advanced and tried to guess which was the right one. The doors were identical and the men had no telepathic or other ability to help them choose the correct one.

  Berez stroked the doors one by one. At the last one, he turned to Rettoul said, “The third from the beginning.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I
could boast of a feeling, but none of you would believe me. I know it’s the third, unless it’s been replaced, and I don’t believe it has. Behind the others are solid walls, and I don’t think their location has been changed.”

  Rettoul looked at him for a long silence. “You know what will happen if we’re wrong?”

  “It doesn’t matter what you’re trying to say,” said Thor. “In any case, if we’re wrong, the place will explode in seconds. We’d better rely on what Berez says, even if our feelings about it are ambiguous—unless someone can point out another door and give it a chance.”

  No one said a word.

  “Okay,” said Rettoul, “we’ll take the door you say. But how exactly do we open it? One mistake and—”

  “—we’ll all be flying very high,” continued Thor.

  “I’ll handle breaking down the door,” said Zoi, moving closer and muttering, “It’s a good thing I haven’t known you all my life, otherwise I probably wouldn’t have all kinds of good skills.” He winked at Rettoul’s look of deep concernrettoul.

  It didn’t take Zoi more than five minutes of work and the black iron door opened silently. They entered a long corridor that led them straight into Zoron’s living room. The smell of cooking and the candles scattered around the home mingled. Suddenly, a beautiful young woman entered. She wore a nightdress and her hair wet, and she froze in panic.

  “You shouldn’t do anything because you know who we are,” said Zoi. “We don’t want you, nor do we want to scare you. We’re looking for Zoron.”

  “H-h-he’s in the shower,” she stammered, pointing to their right,berez hold laura and tie her body and mouth.

  Seconds later, a naked Zoron lay unconscious at their feet. “Bring the guards in and close the door,” ordered Rettoul.

  Chapter 15: The Meeting Point

  Coldor stared at the computer screens in the control room. “What’s going on?” he demanded. The air-traffic controllers, disturbed by his presence, said nothing. “How can the skies be so empty?” he murmured, half to himself, half to them.

  He walked around the control room like a trapped hungry lion. “I want Mattoui here,” he commanded. His men were quick to please him rather than have him explode.

  “I want all the guard positions staffed!” he ordered, sitting down in front of one of the screens and trying to view the films captured by the satellites in the last few minutes.

  “To hell with this fog!” he shouted, even angrier.

  “Sir,” tried one of the traffic controllers, “this fog will keep them far away. Only an idiot would fly in this weather.”

  “Only an idiot like you,” Coldor roared, “would belittle the most important things!” He muttered to himself defiantly, “Here, too, I have a bunch of idiots.”

  The control personnel swallowed nervously. They didn’t like the situation and hoped something would put an end to it.

  ***

  “It’s time,” declared Rettoul. “I hope we all see Mattoui and live many more years in health and with the quality of life we want.”

  “I hope you fill your heart’s desire,” said Berez.

  “My heart’s desire is to see us all return home safely.”

  “No, I mean your real wishes.”

  They went on their way toward the landing strip in silence, knowing they’d find Coldor and his men there.

  They had Zoron and Rettoul had inserted the lukrasses, the death pins, under his skin like leeches. They were made of elephant ivory and full of venom, and each pin was controlled by an external remote. Only the remote control could trigger the pins to break down in the body. Only a small fragment was sufficient to poison a person, who would die in agony within minutes.

  Rettoul had shown Zoron the five lukrasses before inserting them. “We both know it doesn’t hurt to insert them, nor to remove them. The real pain will come as soon as my hand touches the remote control. You’ve known me for a while, Zoron. I don’t enjoy harming anyone, but war is war—everyone might die. So, Zoron, you’ll do exactly what I tell you. I give you my word that if you comply, you’ll return home safely along with us. If you decide to make yourself a victim of your father’s war, no one will be able to save you. Don’t count on my mercy because I can’t afford to feel sorry for anyone but myself, and Mattoui is myself, like everyone else in the gang.”

  Zoron didn’t say a word.

  “I hope you understand what I mean,” Rettoul had said.

  “I understand, and I really don’t want to die now. I’ll do whatever you say.”

  “We’ll see.”

  They walked in silence. No one stopped them and Rettoul didn’t know if it was good luck or bad luck. Someone must see us now and report it, he thought. The whole area can’t be completely abandoned, especially with Coldor so nervous and tense. It can’t be that no one is at their post. The quiet weighed on him even more than the fear of what might happen. He tried to deflect all thoughts of Mattoui because he didn’t want to be distracted. It was enough that Mattoui was carved into his soul, but he was now going to save him. He didn’t want to face a picture of a tortured Mattoui—only justice in bringing Mattoui home safely, and perhaps completing something else on his way to achieving his purpose.

  Zoi felt a sharp, intense pain in his stomach as if someone had shoved a spike into his lower abdomen. He’d never felt such pain. His steps were rhythmic and nothing in his movements betrayed the fact that he could barely stand. He didn’t know where they were heading; Rettoul’s actions were, as usual, hidden from him, but as always he obeyed. Mattoui was as important to him as his brother, his flesh and blood, and he knew there was no other way but to confront Coldor in person.

  Although their numbers were fewer than Coldor and his guards, their value was much higher, and not just because they had Zoron. Zoi knew no one could stand up to Coldor, but they—individually, and especially together—had been able to wreak havoc with him. They’d scrambled all his cards, even the most secret. Coldor probably hated them most of all, Zoi knew. Their power overcame the significance of the strength he tried to demonstrate. The five of them were succeeding where huge armies, many generals, and an entire galaxy had failed.

  His abdominal pain eased for a moment. Zoi realized it was fear talking. He hastened to eradicate it in the taste of expected victory.

  Berez wanted to rest. He’d wanted to speak to Rettoul and Mattoui a few weeks previously—grab both of them for a talk between friends and then, after receiving their blessing, also inform Zoi and Thor that he was leaving. Maybe he’d buy a piece of land and work it; perhaps study art, a field he loved; perhaps even realize his dream of becoming afarmer.

  In recent years, he’d traveled all over the galaxy and visited urban areas. Each time, the first thing that caught his eye was the structure. He didn’t care how many snipers aimed their weapons at him, he didn’t fear that someone was lurking around the corner, hiding. He was interested in the structure: how it was built, how it was divided inside, whether the galaxy directions had been taken into consideration, or whether the structure had been built without much thought and intention. Had they made sure to maintain the quality of life of the occupants of the building? Or did they perhaps destroy the occupants’ legitimate rights to sunlight, moonlight, and the stars? Was one glass ceiling left in every building to heal defects, as recommended repeatedly in both health magazines and construction magazines?

  Berez knew his dream might come true, but in their defiant walk toward Coldor, everything could dissipate, even the dream. His knees were very sore. He’d been suffering recently, and this morning the situation worsened. He couldn’t manage to complete a step without pain piercing his whole body. Damn it, he thought, my knees will finally make me surrender, not Coldor. I can deal with him, even with his army—but my knees…my knees.

  Berez recalled something Mattoui told him many years ago: “The legs take you where your heart takes them.” He suddenly realized that his legs were going to Mattoui, to his and Mattoui’s
freedom—to the life he’d chosen very long ago, but which he’d lacked the courage to demand.

  Now his knees were remarkably nimble and didn’t bother him.

  ***

  The fog was very heavy. Coldor and his men wandered around the room, everyone careful not to run into him face to face. His nervous tension grew by the minute.

  “Bring the big Wind Mixer!” he shouted.

  Everyone swallowed silently. The tremendously powerful instrument attempted to divert the planets from their courses as a weapon. Its intensity couldn’t be predicted since, on the few occasions used, it’d been aided by the winds of the heavens themselves, each time with different strength. The results had been disastrous.

  “Maybe we should settle for the small one,” the control room manager tried to say, but Coldor’s icy gaze convinced him the remark was out of place.

  “According to the forecast of the chief meteorologist, the fog will dissipate in the next two hours,” said another man, risking his life.

  Coldor slammed his hand on the table and two computer screens wobbled and fell to the floor, their fragments scattering. But even this didn’t stop Coldor’s roar. “What did I say? What’s not clear? Bring the big Wind Mixer!”

  Everyone was staring at Coldor when the alarm alerting them to suspicious movement caused them to switch to the computer screens, which showed five people moving confidently toward them.

  There was no doubt that this was the familiar quintet—but who had taken Mattoui’s place?

  Coldor rubbed his hands in pleasure. For a moment he didn’t notice the presence of the fifth man who caused the others to wonder. Rettoul led, followed by the others in a line. Rettoul was unmasked and carrying his cloak. The other four were wearing cloaks, and it was difficult to tell who was who, although one could guess that Berez was the second from the right because his cloak fit tightly over his muscular body. Zoi was probably far right, tall and fairly thin. The one on the extreme left was Thor, broad-shouldered and built like a wall, and Mattoui was between Thor and Berez.