To the watching Marines, Leader Silverside seemed to simply explode. Both eye-camera lenses extended to their full length, and black smoke poured from every crack in the dented metal body. Its belly tread unlinked and every tentacle went stiff, accidentally hurling the struggling hostage away to a bruised freedom. Then spewing forth a shower of sparks, the criminal droid shuddered, its cruising lights went dark and the machine entered into a highly deserved state of total and permanent dysfunction.
Quite satisfied with the results, the soldier pried himself loose from the tangled innards of the demolished robot and hopped down to the rocky floor. He was pleased that his lifetime habit of crushing drained beer cans had finally become useful.
“Good work, Corporal,” Sgt. Lieberman praised.
PFC Furstenburg paused before answering. “Thank you, sir."
“And we mean it this time,” she added, genuinely sincere.
Wise from experience, the Marine remained reticent, not willing to tempt fate, or the brig, by saying a single word.
“Okay, back to the tavern before something else happens!” Lt. Sakadea snapped impatiently. “Double time, harch!"
As the troops proceeded up the spiraling ramp, the ex-hostage deliberately bumped into a friend. “Hey, remember when I asked you why they keep that klutz Furstenburg around?"
“Yep."
“Never mind."
* * * *
Out in space, scintillating daggers of pure energy thrust and jabbed at the robot craft, seeking the vulnerable vitals of the machinery and a quick kill. Missiles, rockets and torpedoes were launched in clouds, not mere flights. The rockets and torpedoes lanced out straight and true, eager to meet their fiery end in the bowels of the enemy. The missiles performed complex evasive maneuvers, and then came zooming in on the enemy rocks from every side. Salvo after salvo of huge caliber shells were fired; the deadly, armor-piercing canisters jammed full of high explosives, Omega Gas and radioactive thermite. Plasma bolts traveled serenely through the lethal battle zone, actually absorbing the energy of any destructive agency encountered on route and adding its power their own considerable reserves, thereby increasing the already incredible violence of their detonation by some score.
But the Gee sentinels sported meters of refractory armor to the ships mere inches, plus they had multiple layers of forcefield, force shield combinations instead of only one of each. So in spite of everything, the offense fighting of the inhabited vessels soon became defense under the never-ending attack of the nearly indestructible robot rocks and their ferocious particle beams.
Under the hellish onslaught of the ravenous adamantine ray, a starship's forcefield would expand, running the visible spectrum as the stubborn energy barrier desperately struggled to stay erect, and failed. Then the doomed inner shield would fall, exposing the bare, unprotected hull of the ship itself, and yet another vessel would flash into a ball of multi-colored flame. More than one craft shunted for the safety of Hyperspace, where transdimensional mines homed in on the vibrations of their enginettes and violently reduced starship and crew to their component atoms.
It was horrible. It was madness. It was WAR! Worse, it was like an E. E. ‘Doc’ Smith space battle—only more so.
Then from the keel of the Ramariez, a fifteen-meter dish disengaged and ponderously swung away on a universal joint. Inside the white ceramic cup was a three-prong barrel, with a conveyor belt lined with black metal ovals feeding into it. This was the main gun of the human starship, the Atomic Vortex Cannon.
The dish glowed for a moment and then vomited forth a bar of quasi-solid lightning; a burning rod of atomic annihilation that shot across the asteroid belt to punch through a cluster of rock sentinels, and several hundred innocent boulders, leaving nothing behind but luminescent vapor and charred ash.
As the blinding inferno of the vitriolic ray dissipated, the conveyor belt advanced a single notch and another thermonuclear bomb moved into position.
“Test shot completed, sir,” the CPO briskly announced. “Every circuit registers in the green. Ready to commence the bombardment."
Keller adjusted the protective sunglasses on his face, as did the rest of the bridge crew. Nobody would ever again make fun of the Kremlin/Pentagon theory that big-is-better. Whew.
“Let them eat cosmics, Mr. Buckley,” the captain ordered, brandishing a fist.
“With pleasure, skipper!"
Again the dish radiated, and the seething fusion beam lanced out to move among the attacking rocks like a burning magician's wand. At its slightest touch, the sentinels flared into puffs of superheated steam and by the score they vanished; forcefields, shields and state of the art Gee armor, meaning less than vacuum to the starkly indescribable fury of the mauling power ray.
Twice more the AVC spoke, and soon the main screen of the Ramariez showed an astonishingly large hole in the asteroid belt surrounding Buckle. Badly disappointed, the Chief Petty Officer tried not to pout as the Tactical screen on his control board showed only rapidly fleeing starships and no more belligerent rocks. Well, that was certainly over quick.
With the battle obviously finished, Keller gratefully pocketed his sunglasses. “My compliments on your shooting, chief,” he said, equally impressed by the marksmanship and the performance of the weapon.
“Thank you, sir,” Buckley beamed, his face shining with pleasure. “Anything else you'd like destroyed?"
“Ah, not at the present time, no."
“Quite sure, sir?"
“Most definitely,” the captain stated, a trifle dourly. He appreciated enthusiasm, but not zealots.
The CPO shrugged and began restoring the safety interlocks as a preparation to store the weapon away. Oh well, it sure had been fun while it lasted.
“Report from the landing party, sir,” Ensign Lilliuokalani announced swiveling from her console. “They have obtained several HN cubes. No casualties."
“Excellent,” Keller smiled. “What about the Deckers?"
She touched her earphone. “Drill is wounded, but alive. Hammer and Chisel were both mashed into pulp. Virtually nothing left of their bodies to recover."
“Acknowledged. Bring them home, Mr. Hamlisch, and have Dr. Van Loon meet them in the Landing Bay with a medical team."
“Aye-firmative, skipper,” the ensign said cheerfully.
Then without warning, the rear of the bridge suddenly exploded, the strident concussion nearly throwing the crew from their seats. In unison they turned, and in through the smoky ruin of the elevator doors strode Avantor, her long hair a flaxen corona about her head.
Before anybody could move, the bridge security system automatically responded to the presence of unauthorized personnel and dropped a grenade launcher from the ceiling panel alongside the video camera. The 40mm rapid fire was loaded with electro-chemical stun bags able to drop a rabid elephant in its tracks. But the grim faced Gee blew the toy away with a glance.
“You are all under arrest!” she informed them, as tiny pieces of plastic and metal sprinkled to the deck.
“Avantor, can't we talk this over?” Chief Petty Officer Buckley asked standing to attract her attention, as Lt. Jones got ready and Ensign Hamlisch got ready to tackle the Gee from both sides.
But then, right on schedule, the overhead lights dimmed and the ever-present, soft, background hum of the enginettes died away.
“THIS IS THE 16,” the intercom blared in the darkness. “I HAVE TOTAL CONTROL OF YOUR POWER AND LIFE-SUPPORT. OBEY THE AVANTOR, OR DIE."
As the emergency chemical lights flickered on, the crew reluctantly resumed their seats and Trell slumped onto his deactivated Engineering console. By the Prime Builder, they had been so close. Damn softhearted Terrans, he had told them to kill the Gees. Now it was Galopticon 7 for sure.
For a single moment, Captain Keller debated using the laser pistol in the arm of his chair. And even though he stood a good chance of success, he decided against it. Dag knew that the only way to stop the Gee would be to kill her, and that
he could not do.
As Keller opened his mouth to try a plea for reason, the main viewscreen blazed with the technicolor glory of a thousand Gee superdreadnought centihedrons phasing in from Hyperspace to totally englobe the Earth ship.
Then the holographs of a thousand Gees appeared on the bridge, the ethereal images of the men and women overlapping each other from lack of room, the golden light from the saffron military they wore giving everyone present a beautiful California tan.
“Dirtlings, you are under arrest!” they said together in a loose harmony.
Tightening a fist so hard that the knuckles cracked by themselves, Captain Dagstrom Keller reviewed the situation in his mind at a fever pitch and searched for options: engines shut off, shields down, weapons deactivated, Gees inside and out ... oh hell.
"Pax," Captain Keller said with a sigh, raising both of his hands. “We surrender."
The naval officer knew when he was beaten, and the crew sadly copied his action. So it was finally over and their mission ended in failure. In spite of everything, Earth had lost her bid for the stars. And the worst part was that humanity had never even received a fair trial.
TWENTY-SIX
TRANSCRIPT #1—"Earth versus Gee.” Highlights only.
For an unabridged copy of the trial, access Recall Bubble #45789253745, sub-sections 1-250. Recommended reading for law students, historians and insomniacs.
* * * *
FADE FROM BLACK TO A LONG ESTABLISHING SHOT OF A STANDARD CONTROL BOOTH. SEATED BEHIND THE TIERED CONSOLE IS A FEMALE HUMANOID WEARING A SOLEMN GREEN SHEATH WITH BLUE RUNNING LIGHTS. SPECIES: DEMBREXIAN. PERSONAL NAME: ORBLUK SNEEV. SHE HAS MOLDED HER UPPER HAIR FOLLICLES INTO WITNESS MODE.
NEXT TO HER IS A MALE AMPHIBIAN. SPECIES: DCONGE. PERSONAL NAME: VOCK AK-AK. HE HAS STRIPPED HIS EPIDERMIS TO A NEUTRAL CREAMY WHITE. ON A FLOATING TABLE ALONGSIDE HIM IS A VAST ARRAY OF BRUSHES, STICKS AND APPLICATORS, PLUS VARIOUS PAINTS, POWDERS, MUD AND FELT TIP MARKERS. ZOOM IN TO SEE THE FEMALE FLICK HER NOSE IN WELCOME, WHILE THE MALE BEGINS TO SLATHER A BRIGHT ORANGE PASTE OF WELCOME ON HIS UPPER RIGHT FLIPPER.
ORBLUK—Greetings, sentients! I am Orbluk Sneev....
VOCK—And Vock Ak-Ak, I be!
ORBLUK—We will be your commentators at this trial of a lifetime. The Great Golden Ones versus the inhabitants of the Sol star system. During the trial, the accused will not only be defending themselves from the incredible number of charges facing them, but will at the same time be applying for membership in the Galactic League. These guys have a great sense of timing, eh, Vock?
VOCK (starts smearing blue jelly on his tail)—Truth you speak, Orbluk! Expect a most colorful trial, do I! Perhaps even worthy permanent place on body. (chuckle) Due to massive interest in proceedings, discarded has been ordinary Courtroom....
THE VIDEO SCREEN BEHIND THE TWO FADES AWAY TO REVEAL A MASSIVE COLISEUM THAT IS PACKED SOLID WITH CROWDS.
VOCK—For the first time in recorded history, the ceremonial Park of Recreation has been emptied of players, and spectators from across the galaxy have crammed themselves into its three kilometer wide viewing section.
EXTERNAL SHOT. PANORAMIC VIEW OF THE COLISEUM. FOCUS IN ON A GOLDEN RIOT BARGE FLYING LOW OVER THE SPECTATORS, THE LOW SLUNG DISH BRISTLING WITH WEAPONS. WAROBOTS RUMBLE ALONG THE COLISEUM FLOOR AND THOUSANDS OF GEE SOLDIERS ARE ON FOOT PATROL AMONG THE CROWDS, CHECKING ID BADGES AT ENTRANCES, AND MANNING CONCESSION STANDS.
ORBLUK—As you can see, The Great Golden Ones are taking no chance on the security arrangements here. Considering some of the emotionally charged issues this trial will be dealing with, you can't blame them for perhaps being a little overzealous. (pause) Now, we will take you down onto the main area with Mogacheef and LD 59, to let you get acquainted with the various participants.
CUT TO A LUMPISH FEMALE HUMANOID SWADDLED IN A SIMPLE WICKER REPRODUCTION SUIT. SPECIES: LOOOG. PERSONAL NAME: MOGACHEF. BEHIND HER ARE DOZENS OF TECHNICIANS FRANTICALLY OPERATING COMPLEX MACHINERY AND LAYING CABLES. WITH A CRACKLE OF LIGHTNING, THERE APPEARS IN THE SKY ABOVE THEM A VAST HOLOGRAPHIC PROJECTION OF THE GALACTIC LEAGUE. THE CROWD ROARS WITH APPROVAL.
MOGACHEF—Thank you. The link with the Galactic League has been established and the trial should be starting soon.
IN THE LOWER RIGHT HAND CORNER OF THE CAMERA SUPER-IMPOSE A DIAGRAM OF THE COLISEUM. IN THE CENTER, A SMALL RED TRIANGLE BEGINS TO GLOW.
MOGACHEF—Now, we take you over to the human sector and LD 59.
CUT TO A SMOOTH STEEL BALL FLOATING IN THE AIR WITH A JOINTED VISION STALK RISING FROM ITS TOP. SPECIES: AN EVALUATOR FROM THE PRTHIH MACHINE CULTURE. UNIT SURNAME: LD 59.
LD 59—Transmission acknowledged. Salutations, viewers. Fact: the defendants are present and accounted for. This includes: the crew of the UNSF: Ramariez, the First Contact Team, and the United Countries of Dirt Association, a.k.a. The UN. The last group was requisitioned from Terra by a no nonsense team of Great Golden Process Servers, who subsequently have been awarded medals of valor. (pause) The majority of the humans appear to be experiencing a form of high level stress/anxiety. This is no doubt due to the unexpected nature of their participation at this event. I believe that we can look forward to the usual carbon based lifeform antics that we normally observe when these creatures find themselves in a prolonged life or dysfunction situation. Let us communicate now with the Terran's lawyer/Story Weaver, Semi-Lord Tshog Brent.
SPLIT SCREEN TO SHOW A BELEAGUERED LOOKING BIPED DINOSAUR. HIS NOSE HORN HAS BEEN MIRROR PLATED, ALONG WITH SEVERAL OF THE LIFE SUPPORT DEVICES THAT FLEX AND TURN ON HIS RIDGED BACK. HE IS DRESSED FOR SUCCESS IN FLORAL PRINT COMBAT SHORTS.
LD 59—I almost greet you, Semi-Lord.
BRENT—I nearly accept.
LD 59—You realize that your clients have no possible chance of acquittal.
BRENT—The actions my clients have engaged in will prove, under a detailed scrutiny, to have been of great benefit to galactic civilization. They will be cleared and admitted to the Galactic League as full members, or I will eat my tail!
LD 59—Brave words, indeed. Thank you. As stated, I expect a great deal of frenzy here over the next few days. We re-establish visual contact now with Orbluk Sneev and Vock Ak-Ak, to cover the opening ceremonies ...
* * * *
TRANSCRIPT #5:
FADE IN ON THE 3000. HE IS STANDING ON THE TOP LEVEL OF AN OFFICIAL TABLE OF INQUIRY. ON THE LOWER LEVEL BEFORE HIM ARE AVANTOR AND THE 16, STANDING STIFFLY AT ATTENTION. NOBODY LOOKS VERY HAPPY.
ORBLUK (voice over)—We see before us THE 3000, Leader of The Great Golden Ones. This is he who will formally read the charges against the Terrans. It is rumored that due to extenuating circumstances, he will ask for leniency to be shown if they are convicted.
CUT TO CLOSE-UP OF THE 3000
THE 3000—The charges are: unauthorized use of a stardrive, illegal use of the color gold, harboring a known criminal, two counts of running a blockade, landing upon a restricted world, piracy, theft of Gee property, two counts of kidnapping, destruction of Gee property, speeding, littering and resisting arrest. (pause) The majority of these crimes are punishable by death. Considering their cumulative total, I ask that the entire population of the planet Terra be sentenced to Galopticon 7. (pause) Acknowledging the harshness of this sentence, I have no objection if the inhabitants of Terra instead opt to be destroyed by a barrage of PlanetBuster bombs.
PULL BACK FROM THE 3000 TO THE CONTROL ROOM. ORBLUK AND VOCK ARE TURNED AROUND IN THEIR CHAIRS TO WATCH HIM. AS THE GEE FINISHES, THEY SWIVEL ABOUT TO FACE THE CAMERA.
ORBLUK—Well, those rumors of clemency were obviously true ...
* * * *
TRANSCRIPT #20:
FADE IN ON MOGACHEF. SHE IS STANDING IN FRONT OF THE COLISEUM DIAGRAM. A SMALL CIRCLE IN THE LOWER LEFT GLOWS A SICKLY GREEN.
MOGACHEF—Today we are to hear testimony from the RporRians. They've been brought here from their home world in a surprise move by the Great Golden Ones. This could be bad news for the Terrans. We go
now to LD 59 for an on the spot report.
CUT TO LD 59. A MICROPHONE HAS BEEN EXTRUDED FROM HIS LOWER HEMISPHERE AND HE IS FLOATING NEXT TO A STERN FACED GEE OFFICER.
LD 59—You are The 412, the person in charge of the RporRians. Why was it deemed necessary for them to be brought here? It raised the percentile risk of their escape into positive integers.
THE 412—We will use the testimony of the RporRians to determine the full extent of the Terrans’ crimes on their world. As for escape, we are fully aware that when we asked the Queen/Mother for this delegation, we were cheerfully supplied with a squad of commando fighters and pregnant queens. If they got free and infiltrated into the nigh infinite passageways of Big we would never find them. But we believe that adequate precautions to prevent this tragedy have been taken.
CROSS FADE TO EXTERIOR SHOT OF METAL CONFINEMENT CUBE. DISSOLVE INTO AN INTERIOR VIEW. INSIDE A CYLINDRICAL FORCECAN, ARE SIX RPORRIANS WRAPPED IN STRAIGHT JACKETS AND HANGING FROM THE CEILING IN CHAINS. DIRECTLY BENEATH THEM IS A VAT FULL OF BOILING OMEGA GAS. THE REST OF THE CUBE IS A MAZE OF SPRING OPERATED BEAR TRAPS, MOLECULAR TRIP WIRES, AND PROXIMITY ACTIVATED NUCLEAR BOMBS.
THE 412—Incredible as it sounds, despite everything, they are still plotting to escape. But the insects have been forced to put several givens into their calculations. (The Gee pulls a communicator from her pocket and holds the device next to the microphone. Faint voices can be heard.)
RPORRIAN—Okay, if every Gee was to drop dead, their machines exploded, and miraculously we were given superpowers, then maybe we could....
LD 57—The extent of your precautions are acknowledged. When may we expect the actual testimony?
THE 412—Well, we are having a little trouble with that. The RporRians are actually demanding that we pay them to testify. Despite our abhorrence of this concept, we are negotiating with them. But so far, they have rejected our last four offers.
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