Revolt in the Stars
by L. Ron Hubbard

CHAPTER ONE
The music was faintly oriental and the drums were sad. A tattered and ripped up
operations room showed the signs of battle. The man at the desk was handsome,
young, but his face was disfigured with a bandage around his forehead. The plain
khaki blouse he wore was singed over the left shoulder.
He looked vital, competent, alive. He was holding a sheaf of papers in his hand,
reports, notes, records.
«We assume», he said, «that as you have solved this capsule, your civilization
has advanced to a high standard of technology - possibly nuclear fission,
computers, even space flight - or at least you are capable of these things in
your immediate future.»
«You have a right to know the violent history of your planet. Some day when
grass has grown again and the few pitiful survivors have multiplied into a
culture, you will know what to do with this and understand it. My name is Mish,
a Loyal Officer of the People of the Galactic Confederation.» He stretched his
hand behind him to the wall. There a star map glittered and sparkled.
«You may never have heard of the Galactic Confederation. It consisted of 21
stars and their 76 inhabited planets. You were one of those planets». Earth was
a beautiful jewel then. It had vast cities, lovely forests and mountains and
billions of inhabitants. But all was not calm. Things had happened, not just on
Earth but all over the Confederation.» He propped up a screen up on his desk. A
mob appeared on it, an angry mob carrying placards, surging and seething outside
a building. Mish continued, «Throughout the Galaxy symptoms of unrest, hitherto
unknown in the Confederation were occurring as you can see by these news clips.»
An old woman was being mugged on the street. She fell. One of the muggers
snatched her purse, the other kicked her in the face. «Crime was becoming
commonplace.» A littered street lined with broken shop windows appeared. «When
there was a power failure in a major city, thousands of people began a fury of
looting and burning.» A school yard appeared. A young girl was being attacked by
a mob of thugs. «All these conditions had begun in the past eight years.» A
horde of secret police in grey-green uniforms and riot dress were shown charging
a mob. «The popularity of the government had dropped to an all time low.» A tank
was shown attacked by a mob. They turned it over on its side. A government
building was shown. The huge sign «Tax Office» was suddenly obscured by a blast
of flame. «The words 'idealism' and 'patriotism' had become meaningless
throughout the 76 planets.» A large array of assorted arms and explosives were
being displayed by police, a cache discovered in a basement, enough material to
fight a regiment. «Gun running had become a highly profitable business.» Trucks
loaded with bales of drugs were being unloaded by police and tumbled into a huge
bonfire. «Organized crime was profiting as never before. To combat it hundreds
of thousands of secret police were being recruited by the government.» Long
ranks of men in grey-green uniforms were shown drawn up. A colored agitator,
speaking from a platform was shown haranguing a mob. A secret policeman lined
the speaker up in the sights of a blast rifle and fired. The agitator was
smashed backwards. «But the government in its turn was using more and more force
in an attempt to control the violence.» A civilian sniper appeared on a parapet
of a building. Beyond him a city spread out. The sniper fired down into the
street. «And reprisals were earning reprisals in their turn.» Mish folded the
screen. He looked at his notes and then up again. «The Galactic Confederation
was very old. It had endured for thousands and thousands of years. It had been
happy, prosperous and peaceful.»
The planets were politically democratic. The people elected their own governors
and civil officials and the entire Galaxy was governed by the Congress of Loyal
Officers of the People. These were trained men, skilled in political and martial
arts. When they were graduated from their academy they stood for election to the
Congress and those chosen loyally served the people. «There was also an
executive branch headed by the Supreme Ruler, a man also elected by the people
and responsible for the day to day running of the Confederation but under the
laws and appropriations of Congress.» Mish laid down his notes. «The Congress of
the Loyal Officers of the People met every ten years. Matters of state, finances
and other concerns had been smooth and routine in the 2053rd Congress. Indeed
there had been no upsets at all throughout the Galaxy. «The Grey Invasion had
occurred just before that. An invader had attempted a destruction of the
Confederation, had sailed in in savage attack and had been effectively and
efficiently destroyed. He had come from another Galaxy. But he had found the
Confederation prepared and alert and that was the end of him. The Grey Invasion
was shot out of space even before full mobilization could occur on Earth and our
planets and the whole affair had become ancient history. The 2053rd Congress had
done what was necessary to handle all that and it was finished. Thus it was with
considerable concern that the Loyal Officers came to the 2054th Congress. Revolt
was growing in the Stars. «And it was in this atmosphere that the 2054th
Congress met to decide what course to take. On Home Planet, many light years
away from Earth, the Loyal Officers of the People were arriving from every part
of the Galaxy.»
CHAPTER TWO
The Announcer on his platform gazed across the vast spaceport of Home Planet.
Behind him a military band in resplendent white and blue uniforms blared joyous
music. Before him spread a tumultuous vista of arriving ships, surging crowds
and whipping flags. Two thousand planetary troops with their guidons, plumes and
drummers lined both sides of the concourse facing inward, an honor guard. Police
cordons blocked tens of thousands of people safely away from the landing ships
and the concourse. The harried staff of the Announcer hectically tried to catch
everything in their radio cameras, tried to spot everyone and write down the
names of arrivals and data about them and pass the result to the Announcer. Well
aware that his voice was carrying across this whole vast assemblage through huge
public address horns, not only across and in almost every room of the limitless
city beyond the field, but also across the stars to seventy-five other planets,
the Announcer spoke in a rapid, impressive monologue, kept going by the slips
passed to him by his staff. He was apprehensive. Just two days ago these mobs
had been surging through streets and burning. He had thirty-three staff here
including his cameramen and this was a very visible platform, easily rushed. He
had half a million credits in equipment strewn around here and one firebomb
would take it all. He felt responsible as well. What he said was going to this
crowd and huge viewscreens around the field as well as everyone else in the
Galaxy. The regular announcer for such things had declined today and he had had
to take over even though he was actually the producer. Soothe them, soothe them.
Nervous business. «Hope is a wonderful thing! Looking across the field of Home
Planet today you would not think that half the inhabited worlds of the Galaxy
were close to outright revolt. Such is the confidence of the people in the
Congress. There isn't even a demonstration placard out there today.» He reached
urgently to his staff for another slip of paper. Ship after ship was landing
from a sky full of ships. As each one swooped down, a Loyal Officer would step
out, promptly surrounded by guards, and stride toward the concourse. «Ah, what a
great day, a great day,» said the Announcer, reaching beseechingly for more
slips from his staff. «The most famous names of the entire Galactic
Confederation are arriving on this field this afternoon. The two thousand and
fifty-fourth Congress of the Loyal Officers is beginning auspiciously.» The high
pitched whine of circling ships, the roar of the crowd and the upsurge of the
band as they began a new piece blotted his voice for a moment. He stepped closer
to his dozen cube shaped mikes and his sound engineer frantically re-adjusted
his levels.
«The Loyal Officers, the Loyal Officers of the People, heading 76 planets for
the 21 star systems of the Confederation, one by one are coming up this
concourse....» One of his staff got a piece of paper into his hand and he looked
at it urgently and then smiled happily. «Hah! Here is Rawl!» The group which had
entered the field end of the Concourse was larger than others, being joined by
military officers in white and blue and some civilians. They were jostling one
another, some of them trying to reach through and shake hands with the man at
the center. Rawl was smiling good-naturedly. He was a tall, athletic man,
handsome in a blunt sort of way. He wore the plain khaki trousers, blouse and
cap of a Loyal Officer. The Announcer stood on tiptoe to see better over his
mikes. «Rawl, the Loyal Officer in charge of Earth. Rawl, Speaker of the
Congress! You have heard his name connected with every great deed and decency!»
A surge in the outer crowds became a cheer roaring up to blanket the whine of
circling ships.
Rawl was looking up around at the familiar faces, smiling, trying to shake each
hand extended to him. His progress up the concourse was being slowed by the
increasing pressure. He drew a long breath and then caught sight of a drummer
boy in the ranks of the Ninth Army honor guard and winked at him. The drummer
boy grinned happily and suddenly added to the din with a bursting roll upon his
drum. Just behind Rawl's group was another. Mish, the center of it, pushed
forward, trying to reach Rawl. The Announcer didn't need another slip. «And
there is Mish! Mish, Loyal Officer in charge of the Outer Limits, Rawl's best
friend! You know the story well of how these two stood off the entire fleet of
the Grey Invader until our own battlefleet could arrive. And you know their
daring rescue of the freighter Aldebaran...» Mish finally struggled through the
mass and tapped Rawl's shoulder. They gripped each other's hand and beamed,
their greeting lost in the excited babble of the groups, the swelling roar of
the crowd and the band suddenly tearing into «Grey Invader Victory». The
Announcer was staring down at a new sheet of paper jammed into his hand
urgently. He looked at it, his pleasure evaporating, and followed the stabbing
finger of an assistant. Several radio cameras whirled in that direction.
Standing like a naked sword, the black tower of the spaceport administration
building stabbed at the sky and circling ships. A balcony near its top was
draped in somber green. A black wreath with twenty-one stars hung from the
railing. «Just now», said the Announcer in a much changed tone, «on the
receiving balcony of the Administration tower there has appeared the party of
the Supreme Ruler». The Announcer made sure the radio cameras were centered on
the balcony. «There he is, Xenu, the Supreme Ruler of the Galactic
Confederation». Xenu, bitter-faced, sardonic, leaning heavily on a cane that was
more like a club, limped forward to the front edge of the draped railing. He
glared down at the stalled group on the concourse below and did not like what he
saw. The dark somberness of his civilian suit, the darkness of his hair and face
seemed to spread outward. The cheering below dimmed off to silence. The band
faltered and died down. The Announcer's voice was overly loud suddenly for only
the whine of ships lay over the field. «He is accompanied today by Chi, the
illustrious Minister of Police of the Galactic Confederation.» Chi, jut-jawed,
bulldog faced, squat and as crudely built as his civilian suit was rumpled, was
oblivious by any announcement. He stepped up to Xenu's side and looked
belligerently down at the stalled groups on the concourse. The Announcer was
glad to get off the subject. He frantically waved to his cameramen to target the
right side of the balcony. «And here is something of interest. He has brought
with him today his new mistress, the Lady Min!» Lady Min caught the cue from the
PA and stepped forward to the balcony railing. She was a warm and smashingly
lovely woman, splendidly gowned in gold. The band abruptly struck up a lively
theater overture. «As no one needs to be told, Lady Min is the foremost stage
star of the Galaxy!» With perfect poise, Lady Min curtsied. There was a
spattering of applause, a few cheers. She spread her hands to receive the
applause and it increased. She blew a kiss and the applause increased again. The
Announcer, although he knew she was unlikely to see him and didn't even know
him, blew a kiss back at her in thanks for getting him out of that one. That
crowd silence had scared him and he had no skill in handling riots. Putting new
forced vitality into his voice to swing the crowd's attention off dangerous
ground, the Announcer shouted, «There seems to be a jam of the concourse. No,
that's Rawl!» The radio cameras swiftly whipped to the concourse. Two cameramen
pushed through the ranks of the Honor Guard and added to the press and turmoil,
trying to get their cameras high enough to shoot down over the milling heads.
Rawl and Mish were jammed in tight. A new group had come down from the
administration building adding to the civilians, military officers, press and
staff that surrounded them already.
The group was pushing a big wreath of flowers over people's heads and struggling
to get closer. «Ah,» said the Announcer, «Look at that. The city is trying to
give Rawl a wreath of welcome and they can't even get to him.» The wreath, a bit
frayed, finally made it by knocking Rawl's hat askew and bashing down on his
shoulders. Rawl and everyone around him was laughing but their laughter was
drowned by the rolling roar of cheers from the vast crowds when they saw on the
screen boards the wreath had finally made it. City fathers, their own hats askew
in the press, tried to shout, unheard, their speech of welcome. Up on the
balcony, Xenu and Chi beheld the scene. «Well,» said Xenu bitterly, «he seems to
have lost none of his popularity». Chi said, «Huh!» And it was eloquent. They
glared at the sky and concourse as the Announcer's voice continued to roll over
the PA system, to the city, to the planet, to seventy-five other inhabited
worlds on carrier wave hyperspeed sound and picture. «And still they come, the
Loyal Officers of the People! Tomorrow they will meet in the long awaited two
thousand and fifty-fourth Congress in the Galactic Capitol».
CHAPTER THREE
Rawl let the entrance door swing shut behind him and gazed across the enormous
hall. Seventy-six great flags jutted out on poles high above, each one with the
plaque of its planet in solid gold below it. The great arched windows spread a
pattern of sun. Hundreds of Loyal Officers were at their seats already, talking
tensely to one another. Many caught a glimpse of Rawl and shouted their
greetings. At the near end of the room a choir stood in ranks upon a raised
balcony and before them the Archbishop of Home Planet stood, his tall, mitred
cap flashing with jewels. Rawl's eyes went to the rostrum at the distant end of
the hall. On the first tier were the Ministers of the Executive Branch. At the
wide desk above it, in a sombre black robe, backed by the glittering seal of the
Confederation, sat Xenu, Supreme Ruler. For a brief instant over that expanse,
their eyes clashed. Then Rawl began to walk down the aisle. The click-click of
the magnet-heeled space boots he habitually wore was sharp and punctuating in
the room despite the babble of sound. Chi, on Xenu's left, was following Rawl's
progress down the long aisle with ferret eyes and a palm that itched for contact
with his hidden blaster. The calm strength of Rawl seemed to spread outward. He
was giving little heed to the greetings beyond a preoccupied nod. He had spent
the night with committees and, as speaker of the Congress, he knew what he had
to do. His seat was in the front rank of chairs with empty space between it and
the rostrum. Mish was there already, smiling eagerly. Rawl stopped and swept his
eyes across the hall and back at the rostrum. That Chi was a nasty breed. And
Xenu looked sardonic, contemptuously amused. Rawl sat down. An officer in the
row behind him put a friendly hand on his shoulder. «Are we going to take up
this police state thing right away?» Rawl said, «Might as well». Mish nodded
rapidly. «Head on collision». The officer behind them said, «Good boy,» and sat
back expectantly. A huge round gong rested in a frame beside Xenu. He picked up
a brass hammer and gave the gong a hard blow. Its long, doleful sound rolled in
waves across the hall, carrying audience silence with it.
Xenu spoke. «Now that we seem to have gotten together somehow - if late - I,
Xenu, duly elected Supreme Ruler by the Loyal Officers of the Galactic
Confederation, do declare the two thousand and fifty-fourth Congress to be in
session.» The choir lifted their voices into a hymn. The hundreds of Loyal
Officers rose to their feet, caps off and stood facing the front of the room.
The Archbishop stood, tall and solemn, bathed in the sound of the choir behind
him. As the hymn finished, the Archbishop raised his palms upward. His droning,
sonorous voice spread through the hall: «All blessings to Almighty God and the
Galactic Confederation, upon its 21 stars, upon its 76 green planets, upon its
trillions of population and upon the Loyal Officers, loyal to the people, to the
Confederation and to God and upon this Congress. May peace and prosperity
continue as it has for ages past.» The Loyal Officers resumed their seats. A
crier stepped forward from the end of the rostrum. «The Congress is now open for
its first deliberations!» Rawl stood. He looked around him calmly, at the Loyal
Officers, the rostrum. «This Congress,» said Rawl, «meets in the shadow of
possible planetary revolt. « The last particle of noise vanished from the hall.
Every eye gave him full, strained attention. «Head on collision,» Mish had said.
Well here it was. «In the ten years since the last Congress, certain orders have
been issued by the Executive Branch which were not ratified by the 2053rd
Congress.» Xenu went rigid. He had not thought they would dare. «While we do not
wish to be critical,» said Rawl, «and imagine there are reasons for these orders
- no matter how much mistaken - it has been decided by the Congressional
Committees that our first order of business should be to survey these changes,
put them to a vote, and ratify them or not so that their legality or illegality
is clearly established.» A rapid, electric buzz of approval spread through the
hall. Xenu braced himself, corrected his expression to one of political suavity.
«What changes?» said Xenu. Mish instantly produced an ornate folder and passed
it to Rawl who took it without glancing at it. «Over the past two hundred years
or so,» said Rawl, «certain political ideas and innovations have been put
forward from time to time. And each time they have been defeated. But now,
beginning eight years ago, we find they have become executive orders!» Xenu
continued to keep a grip on himself. He was very sure of his own ground. Rawl
glanced at the folder he held. «These ideas are: personal income tax, credit
records, fingerprinting all citizens, identity cards, passports.» An angry
mutter swept through the hall. Rawl dropped the folder. He lifted his head. «For
thousands of years we have done without these things and done well. Yet today,
by executive order, we find them instituted and enforced on every planet of the
Galactic Confederation.» Chi bent and whispered urgently into Xenu's ear.
Suavely Xenu smiled. «These are lawless times. It is the executive
responsibility to keep the realm peaceful, prosperous and calm.» He tented his
fingers and assumed an attitude of stating a fact that everybody knew and only
an idiot would disagree with. «By making it possible to identify every citizen
swiftly we can catch criminals at once!» In the back of the hall a grey-haired
officer leaped to his feet. «If this identity system is so successful, then why
is it that during the last eight years, crime throughout this Galaxy has
multiplied five times?» Rawl raised his hand in a signal. The doors at the rear
of the hall crashed open and six page-boys, each one pushing a wheeled table,
raced in and rushed to the front of the room. The tables, each one piled high
with documents and reports were rapidly positioned before Rawl. Rawl swept his
hand indicating the tables. «The Congressional Committees have not been idle,»
said Rawl. «Here, Your Excellency, are the crime records of all seventy-six
planets for the past ten years. Here also are the complaints and petitions of
those planets. Here, as well, are the financial records and appalling rate of
inflation of the Galaxy.» He let the hall calm down a bit. He looked mild and
persuasive. «Personal income tax and credit records carry with them a total
invasion of privacy. Identity cards and passports put every citizen at the mercy
of personal enemies as well as the state.» He picked up some of the petitions,
long rolls with tens of thousands of names and, after glancing at them, sought
to pass them via a page to Xenu. Xenu flattened his hands against them. He
wanted no petitions. Rawl continued, even more mild and more persuasive. «Such
measures are the mechanisms that make slaves of a people, that sap their
initiative and fill them with fear.» His gaze at Xenu leveled. His voice became
very firm. «These are the mechanisms of tyranny and oppression and no
right-minded citizen would ever permit them. They are the tools of the sly
slave-master and every one of these measures is a stench in the nostrils of free
men.» An abrupt rolling shout of approval burst from the hall. He stood very
straight. «The executive branch is regarding populations as domestic cattle, to
be milked for taxes and the payment of loans. You are ear-marking and branding
them with enforced identity cards. You are even teaching them in schools that
they are animals. You do NOT own them. They are NOT your herd, They are free
human beings, not economic slaves or government property. And any government
that violates this fact cannot end in anything but destruction of both itself
and the people. This is NOT opinion! This is history!» Cheers and applause
rolled through the Congress. Savagely Xenu cut into it. «These measures were
vital!» He struck the gong hard for order.
«Here, I will call a witness!» He gestured behind him, and to the crier. The
crier stood. «Master Lord Lieutenant Zel, chief of the secret police of Earth,
appearing as witness for the Ministry of Police.»
The curtains parted and Zel came forth. He was dressed in a grey-green uniform,
glittering with braid. He came to Xenu's right and stood there, black eyes
shifting, his weasel face suspicious. «The only way to handle crime,» said Zel,
«is to be able to lay your hands on any citizen at any time. Men are all
basically criminal. Without identity cards, without the most detailed
dossiers....» «For police blackmail,» came a shout from the hall. «...the most
detailed dossiers,» continued Zel, «without passports to cut down criminal
travel, police work would be utterly impossible.» «You're causing the revolt!»
someone shouted. Zel struggled on. «You cannot handle a crime wave unless you
consider every citizen a potential criminal. And you have to have fingerprints
of everyone to identify missing persons and bodies....» Laughter from the hall
drowned out what he was saying. He had not been prepared for this much
opposition. He looked sideways at Xenu, looked at the Congress and then,
backward step by backward step, he got to the curtains and vanished. Xenu was
hard eyed. He clamorously struck the gong. He gestured urgently toward the
curtains and the crier. The crier caught his cue. «Master Lord Chu, Executive
President of the Galactic Interplanetary Bank, presenting testimony for the
Treasury.» The curtains slipped apart and a fat, pudgy man, very much like a
pig, slid forward. His civilian clothes were quite plain but he wore four
diamonds in his tie and a huge diamond on each hand. He was very nervous and was
twisting the rings on his fingers. «I am very honored for the privilege to
address the Congress of Loyal Officers. Doubtless,» he repressed a giggle, «this
slight misunderstanding can be cleared up. You see,» and he didn't succeed in
repressing the giggle this time, «You see, the Confederation is not solvent. It
has,» he paused and looked very pleased, «very bad debts. Er....» A Loyal
Officer leaped to his feet in the hall. «It was completely solvent at the time
of the last Congress!» Chu nodded energetically. «Well, yes, perhaps it was
solvent then. But only on the surface. The bills for the Grey Invasion were not
all counted up. And the Treasury was very empty. And so I... I mean the Treasury
proposed a personal income tax. Oh, yes, it very much eased things.» Rawl looked
at him, calm, assured. «These petitions show that personal income tax has caused
wild inflation on every planet and has brought about economic stress. The
government takes the money of individuals and companies before it can be
invested or enter commerce. Wages and prices have had to be doubled, tripled,
quadrupled to compensate for this loss of income. Inflation and increased public
debt has followed.» With a flurry of ring twists and a wriggle, Chu said, «All
the very best economists recommended it, I am sure. But this is a state matter.
I am more concerned with any effort to abolish personal credit files and
ratings. You see, a bank.....» Back in the hall, a Loyal Officer was on his
feet. «As Chairman of the Loyal Officer's Economic Committee, I wish to remind
you that banks were perfectly capable of handling their loans and affairs and
prospered well before this enforced individual credit file system was
instituted. Your business is with your customers and depends on your judgment,
not upon some spider web espionage system that pries into the lives of every
citizen's finances.» «Well,» said Chu, «well, yes, I dare say you have a
point.... I... er... hasten to assure you that banks are not an official part of
the government and.. er... possibly have no right invading privacy.» But he had
his own point to make and he firmed up and shot it at them. «But when the
government needs money, it always has to come to the bank!» And with this petty
triumph he dived back through the curtains. Xenu furiously banged on the gong to
still the laughter. «I suggest,» said Xenu, «this Congress get about its proper
business. The executive orders have been passed, they are in effect. They were
undertaken under the authority of the emergency powers granted to the Executive
in its last session. More police, better means of identification and more tax
money are vital to suppress this growing revolt, these crime waves. This unruly,
population must be gotten under CONTROL!» He smashed his clenched fist down on
the desk. He recovered himself a bit. He was sure of his ground. He knew he was
right, for one of his virtues was that he always knew he was right no matter
what he did. «They are legal orders. Personal income tax was necessary to
replenish the Treasury. Identity cards and passports were vital to check crime.
They exist as orders, they are legal and in force. Under the emergency
powers....» Rawl smiled tolerantly. «Not so hurried, Your Excellency. The law of
the Galaxy is formed by this Congress. The situation is very plain. This
evidence spread before me says very eloquently that inflation and crime have
followed those orders.» He turned his back on the rostrum and addressed the
hall. «The flaw in all those enormous personal files being gathered is that they
are obtained by newly active secret police. The credit and identity files of
individuals are stuffed with false reports, lies that are never questioned. When
the file of an individual has been so corrupted, he can no longer obtain work.
He is ruined. A person with a false file has no choice but to turn outlaw and
criminal. As you well know, the criminal ranks, hideouts and lairs are swelling
out of control and directly as a result of these measures. The criminal does not
have to show an identity card to the person he robs or kills. Only decent
citizens are being regulated. And as to inflation, other wiser methods and
economies can be found to handle it.» A mutter of agreement and applause came
from the hall. «The way to handle a possible revolt,» he continued, «is NOT more
oppression, more police. Revolts start with oppression and because of
repression. The government frantically adds more repression and gets more
revolt. And so it goes on until either the state or the people die. History has
shown that the way to handle threatened revolt is to remove utterly, fully and
completely all possible reasons for revolt at once. Laws of government that do
not stem from the desires and wishes of the people cannot be enforced and must
not exist.» Rawl took a long breath. It was now or never. «I therefore move that
the emergency powers of the executive be cancelled and all executive orders be
declared null and void.»
The shock wave of ayes and cheers hit Xenu like a blow. And as the bedlam
continued he sank from bitterness into suppressed rage.
The crowd had been standing for hours on the outside steps of the Congress hall,
waiting, waiting. Suddenly the big PA horns blared. «The motion has passed!» For
an instant the crowd was still. Then they exploded into a deafening roar of
cheers. Some leaped in the air, others danced. An old lady just continued to
stare at the PA horns and then sank down against the wall and began to cry tears
of relief for it meant her two grandsons, imprisoned for not paying accurate
tax, would be freed. The waves of cheering and dancing feet churned about her.
The factory cafeteria, where workers had been eating their evening meal, was
suddenly struck to silence by the PA.
The lunchroom exploded into a frenzy of cheering. Plates, food and all, sailed
into the air. They jumped on tables and began to dance and shout. A foreman
raced up the curving stairs to the time keeper room and jabbed frantically at
«whistle», «siren» and «fire alarm» buttons and out of the top of the factory,
joined promptly by other towers in the industrial zone, came a shattering blast
of joyous sound. A priest as wide as he was tall raced into the bell loft of the
great cathedral and began to yank on every bell rope he could reach. The street
had been impassibly jammed with cars and people, waiting, waiting, all eyes
riveted upon the huge view screens and PA horns. The blared «Motion has been
passed» was like hitting a button for total commotion. The people screamed with
delight. Every driver hit his car horn. Whatever else the PA might have said was
totally inaudible in the din. Three young men immediately reached into the back
seat of their bus and ripped a blanket off a concealed, mounted automatic blast
weapon and stripped the charge bolts out of it.
Grinning at one another they dumped the weapon into a street garbage can,
abandoning it.
They stood and added their voices to the din. The newscaster in the Home Planet
Interplanetary Broadcast Corporation tower held the first slip in his excitedly
shaking hands and screamed at the operator, «Connect it up! Connect it up!»
The technician was urgently unsnarling cables that re-snarled in his haste and
jamming plugs into the connector for each planet. He got the board green lighted
and snapped a mike cable into the master after two misses. The newscaster
gripped the cubicle mike, started to talk, realized his signal was not green,
hit the mike, got it green and yelled, «Alert,alert! All planetary newsrooms.
Official, official! Galaxy wide. The 2054th Congress of Loyal Officers just
cancelled the executive orders of personal income tax, identity cards and
passports. Details to you as fast as they come in here!»
A door opened behind him. The distant shouts, horns, sirens of the city were
heard for an instant. The newscaster whirled. One of his reporters had just come
in. A huge fan of celebration fireworks exploded over the city and flashed
through the control tower windows. The newscaster stripped the paper from the
reporter's hand. «Quick! Get Mol at the palace.... we want details... color...
background... interviews...» The reporter dived at a communication panel. «The
palace... the palace... Mol. Get me Mol.....»
CHAPTER FOUR
Lady Min was close to being smashed up flat in the palace hallway. Half a
hundred newsmen and cameramen clamored before her, pounding her with questions.
Beside her, Ap, her press agent, a flashily dressed young man, tried without
much success to keep her from being knocked off her feet. «Lady Min,» shouted a
reporter, «as the Supreme Ruler's mistress, would you say Xenu was pleased?» Ap
tried to field the question. «Lady Min is the greatest actress in the Galaxy.
She does not meddle in politics. Gentlemen, would you please....» Another
newsman shouted, «Is it true Rawl accused Xenu of trying to stir the planets to
revolt?» And another, «Lady Min, would you say the women will be pleased... «
And yet another, «Did Xenu say he was planning a vacation on the summer
satellite?» Lady Min had edged backward and backward, trying to keep herself all
in one piece. Her red evening gown was pulled askew on one shoulder. Her red,
sparkle-studded shoes had been stepped on. The jeweled flower in her hair had
been pulled back of one ear. The din was hard on her ears. «Ap,» she shouted,
«stars and spotlights, handle them!» Ap groaned. «In ten years I never had to
handle a wild animal act.» Suddenly he saw that she had her back to an executive
office door and her hand was already turning the latch to open it behind her.
«Where are you going?» Lady Min slid through the door and before any pressure
could be put on it, banged it shut. Ap promptly stepped in front of it and held
up one hand while he fished in his big-checked jacket for a sheaf of releases. A
fanfare of hands began to grab at them.
Lady Min sagged back against the door. From the other side still came the mutter
of the commotion in the hall. She was limp. What had she gotten herself into?
The commands of the Supreme Ruler in the past few years had become absolute.
Three weeks ago he had simply sent an order to the theater that she was
appointed his mistress. And why? He hated women, apparently couldn't stand to
touch one. Had she said «No» there was no telling what would happen to her. The
government lately had a way of ruining anyone who said «No». So, even though Ap
beat his brains trying to find a way around it, here she was. She looked about
her. This was one of Xenu's executive offices. It was splendidly ornate in red
velvet and gold. It had a bar, a black table in the room center with some sort
of a computer panel in its top and a couch that faced the windows, its back to
the room. It was the couch that caught her weary eye and she moved toward it.
One of her glittering red leather shoes came off, its strap broken in the
«interviews» but she let it lie and limped on across the room. Exhausted she
dropped down on the couch. The back blocked her view of the room, the wide
windows gazed out on the evening city. She started to light a cigarette and then
let it fall back in the tray. She put a finger under the gold band at her throat
and loosened it. Her eyes lingered on a bracelet that bore the enameled picture
of the Supreme Ruler and then tore it off her wrist and dropped it on the floor.
She stared at the ceiling and let out a long sigh. What had she gotten herself
into? In her many years on the stage, beginning when she was five, she had been
in some commotions, some remarkable ones, but seldom anything even approaching
this. The play had closed, mainly because she had had to leave the cast but
partly because of public disturbance. The broadcast series she was going to do
had been suspended due to her being ordered to the palace. And Xenu had, in the
underworld if not amongst the population, a very unsavory reputation, vague,
whispered about, never specified. What crazy bent had caused him to suddenly
order someone to become his mistress? Ah, well, tomorrow would tell. Evening was
gradually turning into night. She turned on her side and stared out at the
stars, dimmed by the celebrations and lights of the city, far from guessing that
there lay her immediate destiny. The latch of the door to Xenu's quarters
rattled and the door swung open. Much in the way one would shoo a chicken, Xenu
pushed Chu before him. Xenu shoved the door shut with his cane and snapped on
the lights by jabbing it at the switch. He looked at the bar, the table, the
hall door. The back of the couch was toward him.
Satisfied, he limped to the table and lowered himself into the chair before the
computer. Chu was in an uproar. He was twisting so hard at his rings that he
appeared to be taking his fingers off. «It's ruin!» said Chu. «It's ruin, I tell
you. Ruin. Without personal credit files or identity papers, we will never be
able to locate debtors and persuade them into paying». Xenu showed no slightest
sympathy. «Crush them into paying, blackmail them into paying, you mean.» Chu
agitatedly gestured at a chair for permission to sit and then wriggled into it.
«You promised....» «I promise nothing,» said Xenu sharply. Then he relaxed. «I
brought you here, my piggy. Little friend, to give orders, not to make
promises.» With a sly lift of his eyebrows, Chu said, «Remember it was my ideas
and suggestions that got all the money into the Treasury». «Yes, and now it will
have to be paid back. And exactly how we make up the little commissions that
were spread around amongst us is a problem. And don't forget that it was your
idea because it was a bad one.» Chu began to sweat a bit in alarm. One could
never tell about Xenu. But Xenu was not there to engage in idle conversation.
«We have business to do. The Congress has put over me and the whole executive
branch a guard committee on finance. Without their authorization the government
cannot spend a single credit. This was their method of paralyzing any secret
action I might take. They could not remove me as every action I took was
completely legal under the emergency powers. But there is an election next
year.» Chu flinched. «Precisely. We will all be retired to the scrapheap. And
don't think that because you are a banker you will be overlooked. It is not
beyond possibility that under a new Supreme Ruler, they will look into some of
your loans and connections. They might even discover how you use billions of
public funds to improve the surroundings of your private holdings. They might
even find how much public money you had us spend to completely rehabilitate
asteroids so that, you could put resort hotels on them and pocket....» «No, no,»
said Chu nervously. «You don't have to push me into despair with it. My
doctor....» «Good,» said Xenu. «Then we understand one another.» He promptly
began to punch buttons on the table computer and view screen. It flared green
and the green light, shining upward, glowed on their faces. Xenu muttered as he
pushed buttons. «About two billion for renegades....another four billion to
secretly rehire the secret police». Apprehension began to mount in Chu as he
watched the dancing figures. «The minimum amount,» said Xenu, looking at Chu,
«is one trillion Galactic credits.» Shock made Chu twist a ring so deeply it cut
him. «In private funds,» said Xenu. «Untraceable.» Chu did not speak. He was
incapable of it for the moment. With a long, expert finger, Xenu began to punch
buttons again and the figures again started to race across the computer,
increasing the amount. «No,» said Chu. «No, no, no .» He gathered his wits and
gradually took on a sly, calculating attitude. «And my credit systems?» «You'll
get them back,» said Xenu. «And the use of public treasury to improve my private
holdings?» «Of course,» said Xenu. With well being slowly seeping through him,
Chu said, «A trillion Galactic credits. Untraceable funds and accounts.» He got
up and minced to the door. He looked back at Xenu and, humming to himself,
opened the door. Chi came through it. A very gloomy, listless Chi. He closed the
door after Chu and wandered over to the middle of the room. Xenu pried himself
erect with his cane and limped to the bar. He was smiling, more cheerful than he
had been for days. He took down a bottle and began to prepare drinks. Chi
gloomily followed him to the bar. He let out a deep sigh, «We are crashed.» Xenu
uttered a short vicious laugh and continued to pour drinks. «Not so, my friend.
The game has not ended. It has only now begun!» The handkerchief Chi was using
to mop his face halted at the side of his jutting jaw. He was not quite bright
enough to take this in. He looked stunned. «But it's only a matter of time until
they depose you. Certainly within the year! And my files. They've ordered me to
destroy my files and erase my computers!» Xenu pushed a drink toward him and
spoke casually. «There are other files you can destroy and plenty of useless
computers you can erase. Chi, did it ever occur to you that you now have a file
on every criminal, renegade and psychopath in this entire galaxy?» He sipped his
drink lovingly. «And have you ever thought at one time or another what a
splendid secret force they would make?» Uncertainly Chi took hold of the drink.
The concept finally got through to him, he raised his eyebrows and started to
lift the glass in a toast but a horrible thought occurred to him. «But this will
take money. And all finances are cut off. Have you ever asked a renegade how
much he....» «Indeed I have,» said Xenu. «But no target. We will have more than
adequate funds, private, secret.» The illustrious Minister of Police stirred it
around in his mind and then began to get the idea. Xenu put down his glass, all
business. «And so we reoccupy the bases destroyed and abandoned after the Grey
Invasion. We recruit every renegade we can lay our hands on, we train and equip
and on one certain day a few months hence we will... « Chi hastily got out a pad
and pencil and eagerly started to write these orders down. Xenu knocked the pad
up. He began to move back to the black table leaving his drink behind him. «No,
no notes. This is totally secret. You will even have to develop your own codes
and transmissions. You can trust only those on whom you have definite
blackmail». He sat down in his chair. «This will take very careful planning. A
simultaneous strike coordinated on all planets...»
Under Xenu's finger the green computer face lighted up. «There will be no Loyal
Officers left to object. And especially no Galactic Commander Rawl, especially
no Rawl.» This pleased him and he stabbed the buttons viciously. «They wanted a
revolt! We'll give them a revolt. Did you know, Chi, that all revolts start from
the top. It's an historical fact....» Chi grabbed his arm. Xenu looked up in
some annoyance and then followed the line of Chi's glare. On the floor midway
between the couch and the sofa lay a glittering red shoe. Chi's hand darted to
the hidden blaster under his coat. Xenu restrained him and silently began to
rise from his chair. He walked cat-footedly over to the back of the couch. He
looked down on Lady Min. Her eyes were closed as though asleep, but her breast
was heaving a bit rapidly. He reached down and suddenly grabbed her hair. With a
savage wrench he yanked her to her feet. She backed up toward the window. «I've
been asleep!» He curled his lip. «And by that you confess you heard every word!»
She got her hair loose and tried to run. She stumbled and crumpled into a heap.
Xenu leaped after her. He yanked her to her feet. «And I suppose your first
thought is to contact Rawl! You corrupted bitch! You filthy whore!» He shook her
violently. «This is what I get for taking you in». His voice rose to a scream.
«You were supposed to bring me popularity!» Terror was giving away to anger in
Lady Min. She gave him a level look, «Popularity is earned, not bought!» The
cane came up and struck her. She went sprawling into the corner back of the
hallway door, knocked out. The blaster was in Chi's hand, he made a gesture to
Xenu to get him out of his line of fire.
«Please move a bit your excellency so I can get a clear shot.» Xenu took his
eyes off the crumpled figure. Slowly, he was gathering his wits, taking a
competent estimate of the situation. «No. Mo, we don't want another scandal. The
pigs of this galaxy have been fed enough». He hobbled over to the table
motioning to Chi to put away his gun. «Call Doctor Stug.» «Robotize her,» said
Chi. Xenu nodded several times. «Depersonalize her with neurosurgery.» The
thought pleased him. «Drag her to her room, put her under guard.» He laughed.
«She might even be some fun.»
CHAPTER FIVE
Lady Min's bedroom was a very ornate affair. It looked out across the sprawling
night-lit city.
Mirrors that could be adjusted to different angles reached from ceiling to floor
all about the walls. One mirrored door led into the hallway, another into a
large bathroom. A huge boudoir table, ornate with gold frames stood beside the
bed. A full communications panel and screen glittered in the wall. Lady Min lay
sprawled upon the bed where they had thrown her. She started to rise and winced.
She felt gingerly at her head where the cane had struck her.
Panic was rising in her but she steadied it down. This was no time to go to
pieces. She had no illusions whatsoever about the trouble she was in or her
possible fate. The rumors in the underworld about Xenu could not be without
foundation. Unsteadily she removed her ruined gown and walked over to the wash
basin at the boudoir table. She took a wet towel and began to sponge the bruised
area above her ear. The sharp knock at the door was followed at once by a key
grinding harshly in the lock. Doctor Stug opened the door. In the hall behind
him a nurse, a wheeltable and a guard were waiting. Stug closed the door and
advanced into the room. He was a tall man dressed in black civilian clothes. His
pointed beard and ribboned eye glasses gave him a veneer of professionalism. As
Xenu's private psychiatrist he had had a great deal of practice in deception.
His left hand was held behind his back. «I just came to see if you were all
right,» said Doctor Stug. Lady Min laid down the towel and looked alertly at
him. The tilted mirror beside the door clearly showed his back. It disclosed as
well the narcotic pistol he was hiding, a pistol good for a hundred shots
anything-up to ten feet which guaranteed a day or more of unconsciousness.
«These petty lover's quarrels!» said Doctor Stug. «Tch. Tch. I have known Xenu
for a long, long time and he may get angry but he quickly forgives, quickly
forgives. I wouldn't doubt that it will be all made up by bed time.» He began to
move forward slowly, easily. »Why, you seem to have a bruise on your cheek.
Well, well, we can do something about that at least.» Lady Min looked at him and
then pointed to her cheek. She winced and began to walk toward him unsteadily.
«It is a bit swollen, but really I feel very faint.» She came close to him
presenting her cheek. «Can you see if anything is broken?» She stumbled and her
left hand flew up as to balance herself. Instinctively Stug reached for her with
his free hand. Lady Min's right lashed around to his back. She jerked the hidden
gun outward so that it pointed at his side. Her thumb depressed his finger on
the trigger. A tiny white puff hammered through the cloth of his coat. Stug's
eyes flew wide, dazed. His mouth opened and he slowly slumped forward. His head
hit the rug. Lady Min knelt over him and disengaged the narcotic pistol. She
fumbled with the slide and then got it cocked again. Softly she said, «You're
not so different from any stagedoor jackass, Doctor Stug.» She checked the
slide, pulled his coat collar open and pressed the muzzle against his bare neck.
«Have a good day's sleep, brain surgeon.» The muzzle jumped and a puff of white
smoke eddied up from it. She tossed an apprehensive look at the door. She knew
there were guards there, not only the one who would come with Doctor Stug, but
also door guards. Xenu would not neglect that. She sped to her closet and yanked
out a large flowing night robe. She threw it over Stug and quickly adjusted it
to cover all of him and his shoes.
Moving fast, she went to the communications console. She knelt before it and
hastily pushed buttons. It's screen blurred and flashed. Urgency and some panic
was catching up with her. A long way away in the city Ap was flopped over a bar
in a honky-tonk, gripping a drink, listening languidly to a girl who sang
soothingly in front of the band. A ragged buzz came from his pocket and with a
bored sigh he took out a flat small communications unit with a tiny view screen.
His calm vanished when he saw a disheveled Lady Min appear on it. Her voice was
sharp and tinny through the tiny receiver. «Ap! Where is Rawl?» Ap blinked and
got his mind into focus. «What a spectacular question. He left for planet Earth
about sunset. The congress is over, you...» «You've got to contact him!» Ap's
hand on the receiver began to shake. «We got banner headline trouble, I can
tell! He'll take days in flight. That's out. Look....» «Ap. Get out to the
spaceport fast and get my spaceyacht ready for instant take-off. Quick, quick!»
The honky-tonk music increased in volume. «But Lady Min, they just changed your
pilot....» There was a sharp click as the communications receiver went off. Ap
steadied himself against the bar. «Hot smoke, she rang off. Well here goes
tomorrow's headlines maybe.» He let out a shivering sigh, «Future Zero!» He
jammed his communicator into his pocket. It seemed to him that the music was
actually a shriek. He collected himself, threw a one credit note on the bar and
tottered out toward the door. In the bedroom Lady Min rose from the console. She
stared at Stug on the floor and quieted her rapid breathing. She rushed to the
bathroom and turned on its light. She opened a faucet until the water roared.
She left the bathroom door a crack open and made sure lights could be seen from
the room. Narcotic pistol in hand, she sped over beside the main entrance door,
positioning herself so that when it opened she would be behind it. She was
breathing rapidly and carefully steadied herself down. She pulled back the slide
on the narcotic gun and hefted it. She took a deep breath. Slowly she unlatched
the door and let it drift open a couple of inches. She raised her chin and in a
not too good imitation of Stug's voice called, «Nurse!» With a clatter and a
bang the door was shoved open from the outside by the wheeled stretcher, pushed
by the nurse and flanked by the guard. They saw the covered body on the floor
and pushed the stretcher on into the room. The guard, dressed in the grey-green
of the secret police, gripped his blast rifle at ready and looked about. The
nurse's head was covered with a white scarf, her shirt was blue-striped and
white-cuffed and she wore a voluminous white skirt. She looked at the body on
the floor and then at the partly opened bathroom door, noted the running water
and smirked. «Have some fun for yourself first, Doc?» she said. With her palm
Lady Min swung the hall door shut. At the sound of the latch the nurse started
to turn. With one step forward Lady Min pressed the muzzle of the narcotic gun
against her neck and fired. The secret police guard whirled and started to raise
his blast rifle to firing position. He opened his mouth to shout. Lady Min
worked the slide of the pistol and jammed the narcotic gun in the direction of
his open mouth. She pulled the trigger and a white puff of smoke eddied around
his suddenly slack jaws as he crumpled. She grabbed the blast rifle to keep it
from clattering on the floor and eased it to the carpet. She silently slid home
the bolt on the bedroom door.
She sagged against the wall, gasping with relief. «Stars and spot lights!» she
breathed. She realized she wasn't out of there yet, and it would only be a
matter of minutes before the guards outside the door would begin to wonder what
was going on She went to the peephole port in the door, uncovered it and looked
at its lens. There were two guards in the hall. One was standing indolently
beside the door. The other was sitting in a chair across the hall, his blast
rifle held between his knees while he fished in his pockets for a lighter, an
unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. The rest of the hall was empty. Lady Min
closed the view port. She took the guard by the shoulders and with considerable
effort dragged him into the bathroom. She went back and knelt besides the nurse.
Laying the narcotic gun on the floor she urgently began to strip the nurse of
her clothes, first the scarf then the skirt, then the shoes and finally the
blouse. Dear God it was lucky the nurse was a trifle bigger than she was.
Working fast and frantically she shortly had the now naked nurse dumped in the
bath tub, Stug - with exertion that was almost too much for her - laid out on
the stretcher and the blast rifle under him. Dear God it was also lucky that he
wasn't too big a man. She pulled the cover sheet over his form obscuring him
utterly. She climbed into the nurse's clothes and then with two darting trips to
look at the nurse's face she converted her own nose, mouth and hair line to a
similarity. She adjusted the nurse's scarf and looked at herself in the mirror.
She inspected herself carefully and then nodded. She opened a drawer in the
boudoir and grabbed a handful of rings and her wallet and stuffed them inside
her shirt bosom.
She picked up the narcotic pistol and went into the bathroom. Working the slide
rapidly she pumped an additional shot into the guard and another into the nurse.
She came back to the stretcher, picked a nightgown off the floor and threw it
carelessly across the stretcher's foot. She looked around the room, closed the
bathroom door, locked it and sailed the key under the bed. Silently she unbolted
the main entrance door. She took one final look around the room, drew a long
breath to steady herself and then with one hand on the bottom rail of the
wheelstretcher she swung the door open. With a hard yank she sent the stretcher
sailing out into the hall, stepped after it and slammed the door. The guards
stiffened. The one nearest it, looked at the closed door and then at Lady Min.
«Where's the other two?» Lady Min looked at him sneeringly. She had heard the
nurse speak and hoped her voice now sounded like it. «The fun they had made a
little mess. They're cleaning it up so old Xenu won't notice. Phagh, Doctors!»
The guards leered and looked at the door. Lady Min jabbed her finger
authoritatively at one of the guards. «Call an ambulance to the south door.» She
glared authoritatively at the other one. «Give me a hand with this stretcher.»
CHAPTER SIX
Standing beside the spaceyacht, his ears assailed with the whine of ships and
rattling clatter of the hangar, Ap was gradually losing seven years of his
growth. The sweat ran damply down one side of his forehead and he dabbed it off
with a gaudy handkerchief.
The spaceyacht designing was black with a white diagonal stripe and while it
might have very nice appointments, it left a lot to be desired for long voyages.
And just now it was only about an eighth full of fuel. Ap stared out across the
expanse of space port toward the administration tower. He didn't know what he
was watching or waiting for and he expected the area to erupt with guards any
instant.
The pilot was lounging under the stub wing of the craft, one foot indolently
resting on the sloped landing ramp which extended from the side of the fuselage.
He was a new pilot. He had Just been assigned. Some of his time in the last
twenty-four hours had been spent in wondering what happened to the man he
replaced, what he had done to throw him out of favor. «You say she's only going
to the Summer Palace satellite,» said the pilot. «That's no great flight. Why do
you want to top up all the fuel tanks and air?» Ap carefully put on his most
persuasive manner. «Well it's safest to have full fuel tanks. Go ahead. Fill
her.» «Why!» «They may want to take a grand tour, sightseeing amongst the
satellites. Look, you're just new here. When you serve at this stellar level of
command chain, take it from Ap, be prepared for anything.» Doubtfully the pilot
moved over to the head of the ship and waved a lazy hand at a passing fuel and
air truck. Ap went on staring toward the administration building.
Chi prowled along the palace hall. One had to keep one's eye on everything these
days. You couldn't trust anybody to do anything. Also they didn't keep him
informed the way they should. Only a few minutes ago he had heard that Lady Min
had been taken away by ambulance, which was peculiar as there was a complete
operating room right here in the palace specially installed by Xenu for exactly
such emergencies. He looked at the guard outside Lady Min's door. «Why are you
still on guard here? Haven't they gone?» The guard started and straightened up
stiffly. It made one nervous just to see Chi much less to be talked to by him.
«Yuh Yuh. They took her out. But the brainbanger and one of my guys are still in
there - straightening up.» Chi didn't like it. He stood for a moment and then
suspiciously slid the door open. There was nobody in there. He instantly drew
his gun and stepped sidewise through the door. Cat-footed he approached the
bathroom door, flipped the knob, found it locked. He stepped back and crashed
the flat of his foot against the door just beside the knob. It flew open. The
guard lay sprawled on the floor. The nurse lay naked in the tub. The guard stood
jaw open looking in and then something like terror came into his eyes as he
shifted them to Chi. He had a very good idea what would happen to him now. Chi
thrust the guard violently aside and rushed out into the hall shouting.
Ap heard the siren before he saw the ambulance and for a sweating instant was
certain that it must be a police car. The white vehicle shot across the field,
dived into the hangar and, siren dying, spun about and pointed its nose toward
the hangar door. With a squeal it backed to the ramp. On the run the driver and
attendant raced back to the rear ambulance doors and flung them open. Ap was
hastily trying to put the pieces of this together. He saw a nurse step out and
if she hadn't moved her hand toward him briefly, only in a way Lady Min would
do, he wouldn't have known who it was. The driver and attendant rolled the
stretcher toward the bottom of the ramp and would have rolled it straight on up
into the ship had it not been for the pilot barring the way. The pilot frowned.
«What the rockets is this?» He came on down the ramp to the bottom and reached
for the cover at the top of the stretcher. Lady Min chopped at his hand. «Why
don't you call Xenu and find out?» He frowned and again reached for the corner
of the sheet. This time Lady Min used the side edge of her hand on his wrist. «I
know all about little boys who can't keep their hands off unconscious girls. You
pervert.» Ap had it now. He rushed forward. «Come on, come on. There's little
time to lose.» And he gave the stretcher a perilous push up the ramp. If he
hadn't jumped aside the pilot would have been knocked down. The driver and
attendant pushed with a will and with a roar of wheels the stretcher flew on up
the ramp and into the fuselage of the spaceyacht. Sullenly the pilot followed
it. Ap came to the spaceyacht door as the driver and attendant trotted back down
the ramp. «Thank you fellows,» Ap called after them. «Greatest drive in history
pretty near. Xenu won't forget this!» The ambulance men waved back to him,
climbed into their vehicle and shot off. The pilot pulled the ramp closed and
walked doubtfully to the pilot seat. His eyes wide with unanswered questions, Ap
looked at Lady Min. She shook her head at him and pushed the stretcher down the
aisle of the ship toward a cabin at the tail. Languidly the pilot was obtaining
his clearance from the tower. He checked over the instrument panel and began to
start the motors. «Take off!» yelled Ap. «Get this thing spaceborne!» The ship
lurched and began to roll forward slowly. Lady Min got the stretcher fully
inside the rear cabin and began to lash it to cleats in the wall.
Ap banged the cabin door shut and lifted the sheet at the head of the stretcher.
He gulped. «Stug!» He stared at Lady Min. «Why him? This is Stug, Xenu's chief
brainbanger.» «Can this rust can get to Earth?» «Earth! That's days away. No.»
They were pushed back heavily as the ship leaped into take-off.
Chi flung himself out of the car and raced up the steps of the control tower,
glancing sideways at the sky as he went. The open air defense platform at the
top of the tower was manned by blue and white uniformed soldiers, idling about.
They were planetary troops and not in total agreement with keeping a constant
alert since nothing had happened for a decade since the Grey Invasion. It seemed
a waste of time. Their officer sat, bored, on the parapet. The snouts of four
heavy caliber anti-spacecraft guns pointed motionless at the zenith. Chi burst
upon the platform, looked around for the officer and rushed at him, pointing at
the sky. «I am Chi, Minister of Police. That ship, that one there. A bank has
just been robbed and they are escaping on that ship. By police orders fire on
it!» The officer looked through his viewer and then back at Chi. «But that's
Lady Min's spaceyacht!» «I know, I know,» screamed Chi. «She'll be furious.
Start shooting. Start shooting before they get out of range!» «Bank robbers?»
The officer made up his mind and gestured at his sergeant, «Stop that ship!» The
four muzzles of the battery swept down into firing position, long streaks of red
flame sped from them in a staccato roar. Inside the ship Ap struggled forward up
the aisle against the heavy acceleration. He tapped the pilot on the shoulder.
«If you'll just set a course...» He gaped as ribbons of flame shot by in front
of the wind screen.
The pilot whipped his head around to the side window and looked back at the
rapidly receding field. The red boom of gun fire flashed in his eyes. His face
went grey. Without a second thought, the pilot turned back to the control panel.
His glance centered on «Pilot Eject». His hand stabbed hysterically at it. The
pilot seat and the panel beside it tilted violently over. The white smoke of the
ejection explosion puffed around the pilot. In a long graceful arch the pilot
sailed out into the atmosphere and began to tumble. Ap screamed, «Come back
here!»
The hurricane wind of the ship's passage was whipping into the cabin from the
open ejection port. He reached and hurriedly snapped the panel shut. Down below
he could see the pilot's parachute opening. Flame shots raced by between the
parachute and the ship. Ap stared at the maze of controls, the keyboards of
buttons on the flashing spinning navigation console. He threw up his hands in
despair. More shots flashed by the windscreen. Lady Min was trying to inch
forward from the tail. Her headkerchief and glasses were off and her hair was
flying wildly. Five flame shots zipped through the side of the ship directly in
front of Lady Min. She flinched. «I can't fly this thing!» wailed Ap. «Neither
can I!» shouted Lady Min. He ripped open a drawer under the pilot's seat and
scrambled in it. He brought out a manual «Mark 38 Navigation Console!» He
shakingly yanked at its pages one by one. A flame projectile went through the
windscreen another hit the tail and the ship began to shake.
Trying to get the diagram to match up with the buttons, Ap hit «Accelerate». He
huntingly hovered over other buttons. He clenched his fist in indecision and
despair. «Future Zero!» Abruptly he jabbed five buttons chosen at random all at
once. The ship abruptly changed course and vaulted skyward in a spinning spiral.
A final barrage of shots sped by under the ship converging on where it would
have been. Lady Min held on desperately in the aisle. Loose objects thudded and
banged about the ship. The passing hurricane velocity air made the small holes
in the fuselage whistle and scream like maniacs. Lady Min looked at the holes.
She realized that when they hit space they would lose all their air. She braced
herself and pried open a locker. She brought out a roll of tape and dragged
herself to the side of the ship. Stripping off chunks of the adhesive with her
teeth she began to patch the holes. The ship, steadied out, continued its
vertical headlong course for who knows where.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The ship rocked gently as its auto-pilot corrected against gravitic pulls. The
aisle between the two couches was littered with empty food cans which clinked
together as the ship moved.
Crumpled wads of note paper littered the floor between the two couches. Ap took
one last look at the navigation manual and resumed staring at the ceiling,
dropping the manual into the litter of the floor. «Guy that wrote that
navigation manual ought to get top billing as an idiot....» Lady Min stirred on
the opposite couch. She still wore the nurse's uniform but now it was rumpled
and dirty. She took her eyes off the overhead and looked listlessly at Ap. «No
idea where we are?» «Not being pulled into a flaming sun anyway - maybe.» «These
weeks of this have been....» She was interrupted by a sudden tilt of the ship.
Ap sat up, startled. He stared through the window. Covering a large portion of
the sky beside the ship was a huge-black asteroid, its outline visible only
because of the Milky Way beyond it. A patrol ship flashed by, close too. The
spaceyacht console speaker flashed red and from it came a loud official bass
voice.
«Patrol A from Interceptor Base 62. Shut off your motors. You will be landed by
remote control tractor beams. Anyone found armed on landing will be guilty of a
felony. Do not jettison any cargo.» Lady Min sat up, ecstatic. «Interceptor
Bases are commanded by Loyal Officers! We're saved! We can reach Rawl!»
The spaceyacht was slowly and inexorably pulled toward the satellite where large
hangar doors were sliding open. Two pilots in the hangar watched its approach.
One of them took a closer look at it and then slid his blast pistol into its
holster and buckled the flap, dismissing the situation. «Ah it's just some fool
spaceyacht that lost its way.» The other dropped his chin on his speaker button
inside his space helmet. «Dull, dull, dull. No excitement at all since the
Congress. Crime doesn't pay anymore. «They turned and sauntered through the
airlock door and shut it behind them.
The spaceyacht came to rest on the hangar floor. The big red lights which said
«No air» began to flash. The hangar doors ground down and sealed themselves with
a grating clank. The hangar warning light went green and flashed, «Safe
atmosphere.» The landing ramp from the yacht fell into position with a crash. A
cleaning man and cleaning woman, old and not much surprised at anything,
gathered their mops and buckets together and shuffled toward the ramp. An
officer in blue and white-fatigue uniform lounged up against the craft. Lady Min
and Ap, highly excited and urgent scrambled out of the ship and ran down the
ramp. The Officer smiled tolerantly, thumbs hooked in his belt, cap on the back
of his head.
He negligently waved his hand to indicate the direction they should take and,
leading off, escorted Ap and Lady Min into the now open airlock which led deeper
into Asteroid Interceptor Base 62. The cleaning couple watched them go and then
shuffled up the ramp with their mops and bucket. They paused at the port and
gazed at the littered wreck. «Well, well, looks like they had quite a party,»
said the old woman She chuckled to herself. The cleaning man walked through the
litter, kicking at it and approached the cabin doors at the rear of the ship. He
tried to open a door and found it locked. He sighed, reached to the key ring in
his belt, laboriously sorted out a master key and finally got it unlocked. Just
as he was about to touch the knob it was twisted from within. The door was
yanked inward.
Doctor Stug, disheveled, savage, his professional calm left far behind him,
loomed in the doorway. He glared around. When he saw the cleaning man and woman
were the only occupants he quickly readjusted his expression. «Ah, thank you my
good man.» Stug's eyes lighted on the communications console in the pilot
compartment and he hastened up the aisle. «Where are we?» he said to the
cleaning woman as he passed. «Is this an Interceptor Station?» The old woman
chuckled. These people who used yachts certainly were something to laugh about.
«Interceptor Station 62, close as you'll ever get to it.» Laughing to herself
she got busy with her broom sweeping the litter together.
Doctor Stug tensely and expertly punched a series of buttons on the
communication console and then slid into the chair before it. He adjusted the
hypersound dial for distance and then triggered the two buttons which turned on
a scrambler. The screen lighted up, was jagged for a moment, its lines snapping
and smashing into each other. It cleared and a picture of Chi came on. Chi
glared at his own screen before him and then recognized who it was. He snarled
impatiently, «Stug! Where the crap have you been for a month?» Stug pulled the
mike toward him, looking deadly. «No time for tales. The lost ones are at
Interceptor Space Station 62. Just arrived.» Shock spread over the face of Chi,
«That's commanded by a Loyal Officer.» He paused, his eyes darting about. Then
he looked back at his own viewscreen and a cunning look which he thought was
persuasive came over his face. «Stug, we have always counted on you.» «You're
counting on me now to the tune of a hundred thousand credits. Right?» «Right.»
«I suggest you send a hyperspace interceptor here at once,» said Stug. «Manned
with a couple of reliable men, of course. I don't like asteroids.» «All right,»
said Chi. He added ferociously, «They must not talk!» Stug smiled. «They won't
talk,» he said smoothly and consolingly.
The white doves, imported to decorate the chambered gardens of the otherwise
bleak asteroid and also to fall dead if air pollution rose dangerously, flitted
about from perch to perch, the whir of their wings mingling with the artificial
waterfall. It was a beautiful garden but in the opinion of Lady Min and Ap was
no place to spend two days of idle waiting. They sat on a seat beside a heavily
grilled door, very strong in the black rock. True, they had been able to clean
themselves up even though no changes of clothes had been offered them. But two
days of waiting, despite the urgent notes they had sent the Base Commander, was
creating a mystery that depressed their spirits. The door opened and a
white-coated servant entered carrying a tray. He walked over to them and set his
burden down. Lady Min caught at his sleeve as he turned to leave. «Wait!»
«Listen,» said Ap, »we've been waiting two days to see the Base Commander. He
can't be that busy!» The servant shrugged and went out closing and barring the
door behind him. «I guess you get that way on an asteroid base!» said Ap. Lady
Min stared at the barred door. «Ap, something must be wrong! I feel it. Why
should a Loyal Officer keep us waiting?» «I sent him messages that you were the
greatest actress in the universe and had vital data.»
He looked defensive. «Maybe I'm flopping as a press agent! Probably.» They sank
back hopelessly ignoring the luncheon tray. Some hours later the bolts grated
and the door opened. An officer uniformed in blue and white entered, followed
closely by a uniformed guard who held his blast rifle at ready. Coolly the
officer said, «The Base Commander will see you now.» Ap looked at the guard, the
blast rifle held at ready, its safety lock off. «Future Zero!» he whispered to
himself.
The officer escorted them through the long tunnels and ramps which led up
through the light gravity of the asteroid. The Base Commander's office was
spacious even for an asteroid base. Behind the desk was a large illuminated
chart of the home planet system with small patrol craft on pins. The
kidney-shaped desk was long but very narrow. The Base Commander was young,
guileless, with the optimism of youth and a bit bored. He was uniformed in Loyal
Officer khaki but his collar was open. A holstered blast pistol was belted about
his waist, but his hands folded behind his head as he leaned back in his chair
showed that he considered the whole thing rather dull, not even really amusing.
On his right sat Doctor Stug, smiling, smooth. Beside Doctor Stug and standing
against the wall were two toughs in the green-grey and kepis of the secret
police. The corridor door burst in and Lady Min, Ap and their escort entered.
The scene was so different from anything she had been anticipating that Lady Min
stopped in shock. Ap tried to back hurriedly out of the doorway but was shoved
forward by the guard's rifle. Doctor Stug smiled professionally and affably,
«Ah, come in, come in my dear. Don't be frightened. These people won't hurt
you.» He turned to the Commander, «It's certainly a relief to know they can be
taken back for the treatment they need, poor things.» The Base Commander nodded
absently. Lady Min advanced to the edge of the desk, «Don't listen to him.» She
jerked her head towards Stug. «I am the Lady Min. I must talk to you and
quickly. Alone!» The Base Commander gazed at her languidly. «As I said, poor
girl,» said Stug. «She's always had these paranoid hallucinations. Somebody
after her. Messages of vast importance. I thought she had been cured and, well,
there you are.» He began to rise. «So we'll put them back in the institution.
Very sorry to have...» «Don't listen to him! I am the Lady Min!» With a bored
smile the Base Commander reached down to a waste basket and pulled out a
newspaper. Spreading it on his desk he revealed a front page picture of Lady
Min. The caption said, »Lady Min gives charity ball. Yesterday Lady Min was
hostess to three thousand notables at a ball for Charity to Stray Children.» The
photograph was a very touched up press photo showing Lady Min with a huge head
of hair and coronet. The Base Commander's finger traced along the newspaper's
date. «Then how is it Lady Min was on the Capital Planet three days ago and you
are here?» He tossed the newspaper aside and reclined back in his chair. «She
doesn't even look like you.» Lady Min was getting furious with frustration.
«That's a wig, you idiot. And that's a fake paper.»
Stug again started to rise. «Well, we'd better be going. She does bear some
slight resemblance. Trades on it too.» Both Stug and the Base Commander were on
their feet. The Base Commander leaned forward with his knuckles on the desk.
«Well I suppose these things happen. Glad to be of assistance....» Lady Min put
out her hand to stop him. «Wait, I'll prove to you that I'm a stage actress.
Look! What is that doing under your belt?» Dear God, let this thing work. With
her left hand she made a pass over his belt buckle and then, gracefully, with
her right hand appeared to pull a dove out from behind the belt buckle on the
Commander's stomach. The dove began to fly away in a mad flutter of wings. Her
darting left hand flipped his holster open and then in a fraction of a second
had transferred his blast pistol to her left thigh, snapping her garter down on
it and flipping her voluminous skirt over it. All eyes were on the dove which
pounded the air, veered off from Stug and finally came to rest on a desklight.
Stug rapidly interrupted anything the Base Commander was about to say, «Yes, she
always amused other patients with that trick.» He gestured at the secret
policeman who promptly took hold of Lady Min and Ap and pushed them toward the
door. «I'm certainly pleased with your cooperation, Commander.» said Stug. «With
your permission, we'll be taking off now for Home Planet.» He shook the Base
Commander's hand. «Say, by the way,» said the Base Commander, «I thought the
Secret Central Police had been disbanded.» «Oh, those,» said Stug. «I think
they're finding them other jobs as fast as they can. Poor devils. Soon they'll
be out of work, the economy being as it is. Well, good-bye and thank you.» The
Base Commander glanced at the dove and then back at Stug. «You sure have some
interesting patients. Well, have a safe trip.» A few minutes later, in the
hangar, the green sign «Safe Atmosphere» began to go on and off as the huge side
ports exhausted and salvaged the hangar air. The red sign «No Air» flashed on.
The hangar door began to grind open
The Police spaceship interior was grey-green, like any prison. One secret
policeman was at the controls while the other finished fastening the ramp lugs
from inside. Stug shoved Ap and Lady Min back down the aisle and slammed them
into the two hard seats at the back of the ship. Partial bulkheads were on
either side of the seat and it was ordinarily enclosed with a strong wire door.
Shoulder-height thick straps were fixed to the seat back. Stug, with no gentle
hands, snapped the strap shut across Ap's chest and then turned to Lady Min. She
was shorter than the usual prisoner and the wide belt barely enclosed her
shoulders. Stug tightened it with abrupt ferocity. «That will do until we get
you troublemakers on an operating table,» said Stug. The ship surged forward
with an ascending whine and zoomed out of the hangar into space. Stug steadied
himself and then reached for the cage door, stepping outside the enclosure.
Lady Min looked up to her right into an area hidden from view from the forward
part of the ship. An expression of shocked horror and terror spread over her
face. She screamed. «My God,» shrieked Lady Min. «A time Bomb!» The pilot sprang
up from his controls and whirled to come back down the aisle. The other guard
froze in paranoid horror. They very well knew their own service and they had no
slightest doubt that it was often in the State interest that prisoners not
arrive alive. «A time bomb!» screamed Lady Min. «They never intended us to reach
there alive! Let me out!» Both guards were now rushing towards the back of the
ship. Stug had ceased to close the cage door, He threw it open, fumbling with
the lock, and then thrust his head into the compartment looking up toward the
hidden spot. Lady Min hitched the strap up to the level of her throat. Her hand
darted to her skirt and yanked it up, All in one motion she threw the safety
catch of the blast pistol and drew it from under her garter. Green violent flame
hammered at Stug's stomach pounding him back from the door with a massive blow.
He went down. The nearest secret policeman skidded to a halt. He clawed at his
holster. Lady Min fired. The shot took him on the left shoulder and spun him
top-like, his blast pistol flying up the aisle. The second secret policeman
reached frantically for the bulkhead gunrack and yanked down a blast rifle. He
brought it to his shoulder, aiming. Lady Min fired. Her shot slammed into the
muzzle of the blast rifle. Fragments of the weapon disintegrated the guard's
head and shoulders in a great gout of green flame. Smoke drifted and eddied
along the floor and through the cabin of the police craft. The three bodies lay
inert, pounded and charred out of recognition. Lady Min stood up shakily.
Tendrils of smoke spiraled up toward the air circulators and purifiers. Lady Min
gradually wound down. Ap, with a considerable struggle, got out of his strap and
stood up, steadying himself against the partial partition. He coughed in the
green fumes. The ship's motors continued in an accelerating whine. Its nose
bored relentlessly outward into the vast emptiness of outer space. Ap sighed,
«So now what do we do for navigation?»
CHAPTER EIGHT
Rawl stood alone on the parade ground of Galactic Base Earth. The brisk wind
from the deep blue sea snapped and rustled in the flags. The parade ground was
paved with white marble and surrounded by a gilded and ornate balustrade. In the
far distance stood a volcano, the wind pushing its plume of smoke into a
horizontal banner. Ner, the black mountain which contained the barracks, vast
hangars and work shops, reared above the parade ground, its face honeycombed
with hangar doors from which could spring a multitude of defense and attack
ships as well as transports. On the parade ground a band, brightly uniformed in
blue and white, played a military air. The wind rippled Rawl's khaki. He looked
toward the two groups approaching him, a faint smile on his lips and a trifle of
unfriendliness in his eyes. The first group was composed of the high ranking
officers who had headed the Earth Secret Police Organization. They were
uniformed in grey-green with much gold braid. Zell, head of the Earth Secret
Police, advanced with outstretched hand. «Well, it's farewell Earth for us,»
said Zell as he shook hands. Rawl's eyes were watchful. «So you're leaving us to
return to the Home Planet. Departing today?» «Within the hour.» He looked around
and sighed. «All in all we of the Secret Police have not been too unhappy here
on Earth,» he sighed. «And on arrival home we'll be disbanded.» «Fortunes of
war,» said Rawl. The Secret Police Chief could not quite keep the viciousness
out of his voice. «Yes, well, that Congress of yours finished us. But it's all
for the best, of course. Our eight regiments will be getting spaceborne right
now. So, fortunes of war, eh?» One by one the Secret Police executives shook
Rawl's hand. All in all, Rawl thought, they were a seedy lot for all their gold
braid. They bore the mark of their profession, a bit craven, shifty-eyed, and
debauched. Rawl looked toward the second group. These were civilians, the heads
of the Personal Tax Collector Units. Their chief shook his hand. «The tax clerks
and staff all bid you farewell Commander Rawl. No more personal tax, hah, hah.»
Rawl took his limp sweaty hand and shook it. «Are all your clerks and
investigators leaving as well?» »Yes, we've pulled every one of them out of the
two thousand cities of Earth.» He gestured toward the looming base. «It's back
to Home Planet and unemployment for all of us.» The five civilian chiefs after
him one by one shook Rawl's hand and followed the Secret Police executives
toward the entrances and ramps of the base. But the tax chief could not resist a
final jibe. He turned when some distance off. «Watch your privacy doesn't get
invaded.» Rawl stood for some time watching them go, his eyes narrow,
speculative. The band ceased playing, its drummer boys began to beat a march and
it moved off.
Rawl walked over and leaned against the gilded balustrade, his eyes still on the
cliff face. The transports began to eject from the hangars one by one then two
by two then four by four. At length Rawl gestured toward a communicator «Bring
me a communications cart!» The cart rolled forward, equipped with compact panels
and a view screen. The communicator was pushing buttons on it, bringing it to
life as he wheeled it forward. Rawl picked up a cubicle mike. «Get me Solar
System Interceptor Combined Headquarters on Uranus. Commander Mish.» The
communicator reached across the cart, pulled a lever and hit a red button. While
he waited Rawl gazed at the panorama of departing ships. Their sound was
punctuated with small explosions as they ejected from the hangars, pulled up
steeply and cracked the sound barrier. The more distant ones flashed pinpoints
of light as they cracked the light barrier after leaving atmosphere. Rawl gave
his attention to the cart. «Hello, Mish.» The view screen was a trifle
sun-glared and the communicator adjusted its hood. Mish's face went clear. He
was smiling. His collar was unbuttoned, his cap was off and he was drinking from
a steaming cup. He was very glad to hear from Rawl. «Hello, Rawl. How's the good
planet Earth?» «The Secret Police and income tax people,» Rawl said into the
mike. «They're leaving the planet. About one hundred and fifty thousand of
them.» «Well, hip hurrah for them,» said Mish sarcastically. «I'll show you.» He
turned the mike toward the cliff face. Mish stared intently at his own view
screen, «That's sure a lot of transport.» «That's the point. They're taking
every transport we've got. But why didn't some of them stay here? They're being
disbanded. Earth's a good planet.» «Ah» Rawl looked at the cliff's face again
and the long extended parade of ships. «They took it too tame, too cheerful in
fact. Mish, I wish to smoke I had some reliable intelligence from Home Planet.
It's too quiet. I'm getting nothing from there and haven't for a couple of
months» «You want me to run a patrol?» «No, that would tell us nothing. What I
want you to do is order every Solar System Station you have stock up on
ammunition, fuel, food and spare parts. Got it?» «Good. The day you can trust
Xenu will never dawn.»
Rawl hung the mike on the communications cart. The wind whipped at the flags.
The long parade of departing ships made a line across the sky that was black and
ominous. Rawl didn't like it. Not one bit. He settled his cap against the
tugging wind and continued to look at the sky.
CHAPTER NINE
Through the windscreen of the Police interceptor ship Ap stared hopelessly at
the onrushing planet. A thunder and lightning storm was raging in the lower
atmosphere. They were approaching it awfully fast. «I can't figure out what
planet it is. We're a long way from the solar system. Whatever star this planet
belongs to, it's got atmosphere, maybe even oxygen. Maybe.» The atmospheric
flaps of the police ship were down, bent and buckling. The tips of the flaps
were glowing incandescent. The tips began to burn and the flickering light of
the flame sputtered through the cockpit punctuated by the flashing of lightning
in the storm they were now entering. Lady Min was crouched down in her seat, her
head turned away from Ap. She was crying quietly to herself. They were out of
food, out of water and their air tanks indicator was flashing danger red.
«Nothing about the Secret Police was right including their mucked up ships.
There's no eject.» He stabbed again at the red «Emergency Decelerate» button. He
rocked the manual controls again. They were limp. The auto pilot had evidently
jammed in, engaged. «Buckle yourself in tighter. On the bottom side of this
lightning storm is a crash!» He looked sideways and saw that Lady Min was
crumpled up in despair. He reached over and tightened her straps. The piercing
shriek of the air rushing by made his nerves feel as though they were tearing
apart. Belatedly deceleration cut in. The storm was all about them, the
lightning cutting jagged blades of blue and yellow. A flame from their burning
wing tips danced in reflection across the windscreen. The air appeared to be
solid water as they struck into the torrents under the clouds. Ahead of them Ap
could see an expanse of water-saturated jungle. A huge tree was rushing up at
them. It struck in an explosion of leaves and limbs. The striking ship made an
enormous geyser of mud. He had no recollection of how he got out of the ship. A
short time later he came to himself crouching beside a jungle path that was
running torrents of water. Lady Min was on the ground where he had placed her.
The drenching iciness of the rain brought him out of it. He had no idea
whatsoever how he had gotten her out of the ship. He bent over her, felt for her
pulse and looked in growing panic at her bloodless lips and white face. A
searing flash of red flame was followed with a hammer blow of concussion as the
police ship exploded some distance from them. He looked dazedly about him.
Jungle, jungle, jungle. Jungle and rain. He stared at the torrent of water going
by them and realized at length that it was a cart track, turned into a creek by
the storm. Thunder rumbled. The distance he could see grew slightly greater as
the torrent lessened. But still there was nothing but jungle, jungle, jungle. He
gently picked up Lady Min and started down the cart track, expecting at any
instant to be pounced upon by wild beasts or snakes. He walked along a river
bank, his shoes collecting great globs of mud. He found another track, a broader
one and trudged down it. The thunder muttered in the far distance. Soaked,
exhausted and stumbling, he did not see the wall until he collided with it
directly. He backed up and stared at it. Yes, it was a wall, green-grown and
slimy but made out of rocks. It was very high, so high he could not see the top
of it. It reached from his left and from his right beyond any visibility. Then
he saw that the cart track had ended at a small square door, itself almost
obscured with vines. He staggered toward it and fumbled for its latch. «Future
Zero,» he sighed and pushed the door inward.
It was a room of rough stone, littered with odds and ends of metal. There was a
huge block of stone which served as a work bench or desk and sitting at it was a
hulking man in a filthy undershirt. The man did not look up. Ap swept some
pieces of metal out of his way and placed Lady Min gently in the corner. He shut
the outside door. The man still had not looked up but continued to work on the
bent barrel of a blast rifle which lay in pieces on the table before him. «Are
you the guys that crashed out there a while ago?» He pushed the gun back in
disgust, stretched and yawned. Ap crossed over to the table. Might as well try.
«What place is this? What planet?» The man finished his yawn and rubbed his arms
before looking up. «This planet? This is the crummiest, louse-forgotten,
steam-beamed, ball of mud..» He swept a lazy arm. «Welcome to Altec, pearl of
the Southern Galaxy. Welcome to Stip, gun-running capital of the Confederation,
haven of the...» Suddenly, he got angry. Half-rising from his seat, he shook a
grimy, grease-smeared finger at Ap. «You know what happened? When that Congress
ripped up them oppress orders, this place got to be a condemned, rip-blasted
graveyard, that's what.» To Ap's relief, the other man's anger faded. The man
sat back in his chair with a deep sigh, despair written on his face. «No crime
means no guns. No explosives. We're broke, finished. Some of the best outlaws in
the Galaxy quit us and went back to honest work.» He shook his head sorrowfully.
Rallying, he banged a fist on the table, sending gun parts scattering and Ap's
alarm level up to a high pitch. «Bird dung!» he snorted. The man flung an angry
glare at Ap and went back to fiddling with his gun. «Well, what the blast do you
care?» Ap shuffled his feet uncomfortably. If only he were back home, safe. Man
looked nasty.
«Who's in charge here?» «I am,» he muttered, still working on his gun, «but in
charge of what? Fourteen thousand broken-down crooks and ten busted-up ships.»
He stabbed viciously at the gun, then swung his arm in a wide arc. «You see
before you the great outlaw leader, Sna, Lord of Stip. But don't,» he added, red
eyes suspicious and tool jabbed toward Ap for emphasis, «ask for a job. We're so
dead we stink.» Losing interest, Sna returned to his gun. «Get out of here. Go
on into town.» He waved the tool over his shoulder to indicate a back door.
Boring, boring, boring. Nothing ever happened anymore, and who gives a damn
anyway?
Giving up, Ap turned back to Lady Min. better check the town out. If there even
is a town, maybe. Kneeling down, Ap anxiously checked Lady Min's pulse. Its
unsteady beat alarmed him, as did the dead white of her face. He looked back
over his shoulder at Sna and almost asked where a doctor could be found, but
decided against it. The man was ignoring him so pointedly, he probably wouldn't
have answered anyway. He eased Lady Min into his arms and stood up carefully.
Picking his way across the smoky room, he reached the door and went through it,
shutting it sharply behind him. Outside, the rain had stopped but the main
street of Stip before him was a narrow, curving river of mud. Ap grimaced in
dismay, he'd had enough of mud. He looked around to get his bearings. The
buildings were decayed, obviously having passed their prime a long, long time
ago. Crooked signs poked out from dilapidated shops. A couple of drunks were
lying, lost in stuporous slumber, on a flat stone slab that fronted a sleazy
bar. Wolf-like and heavily fanged, a dog was walking up the street toward Ap. It
stopped to sniff a drunk, then moved on. Ap shuddered. Friendly place, but where
to now? He studied the various signs and was thankful to see one that announced
a «Dr. Ax» and next to it, a «Drug Emporium.» Gently tightening his arms around
Lady Min, he made for the Doctor's house. The door was partially open, nearly
falling off its hinges. Ap knocked and settled himself against the casing to
wait. Inside, some bedsprings creaked. Shuffling footsteps approached, bringing
a gaunt, grizzled man with them. «Go 'way,» grumbled Dr. Ax as he unsuccessfully
tried to close the door. Pausing, he peered at his callers. «You got money?» Ap
nodded and fished in his pocket. The doctor peered more closely at Lady Min.
«Fine gal, could do with more flesh on her bones. Looks pale, though....»
Catching sight of a bill in Ap's hands, Dr. Ax abandoned his trail of thought
and seized the money. Ten Galactic credits! He jumped up and down, hardly able
to contain his excitement. »Dregomine,» he proclaimed breathlessly, «is vitally
necessary.» He shoved the bill somewhere in his jacket and pushed past Ap,
heading for the Drug Emporium. «Take her to the Grand Hotel,» he called back
over his shoulder. «I'll be right there.» Ap glanced down the street to where it
turned. Some hotel. Its sign had fallen off to lie in the debris beside some
filthy steps. Wearily, Ap trudged toward it, at least it would be warmer inside.
Hopefully.
The lobby had once been a fancy place. Now, it sagged sadly in advanced
disarray. A man lounged on a divan, busying himself with a bottle, not looking
over as Ap entered. «You got a room?» The man just stared at the ceiling. «Do I
have a room?» He laughed derisively. «When those income tax laws were in effect,
you couldn't get a room. Two hundred millionaires in this town to escape tax.
Wine, women, money everywhere. Then they cancel the law. The millionaires all go
back home. They don't need a tax haven anymore.» He shook his head and took a
gulp from the bottle. Annoyed, Ap repeated his question. «Do you have a room?»
Eyes still on the ceiling, the man ,waved the bottle. «Take any you can find.
Want to buy a hotel?» Ap grunted and gazed around the lobby. Place sure was
run-down, he observed, even the elevators were out of order. Casting a final
glare at the hotel proprietor, he proceeded up the stairs. Picking a random
door, Ap entered a room. Despite the smothering dust, it still clung to an air
of cheaply imitated luxury. Twisted drapes flanked a window that looked out over
cloudy skies, rooftops and stone battlements. An unmade bed leaned against a
peeling wall. Ap straightened out the covers, laid the still unconscious Lady
Min down on the bed and began to loosen her soaked, ice-cold clothes. Dr. Ax,
having tracked Ap's muddy footprints, waltzed into the room and threw his
tattered bag down on the bedside table. Humming to himself, the doctor produced
a package from somewhere on his person and ripped it open to reveal a syringe
filled with a clear fluid. He rolled up his sleeve and plunged the needle into
his arm. Ap raised an eyebrow as the doctor pushed down the plunger and drew the
needle out with a convulsive shudder. Smiling brightly, the doctor tossed the
syringe aside. «Now that the preliminaries are attended to, let's have a look at
the little lady.» After a long examination of Lady Min, accompanied by much
bandaging and tuneless whistling, Dr. Ax signalled for Ap to follow him out of
the room. In the hallway, Ap closed the door behind them, patiently watching the
doctor set his bag to rights. «She's got concussion, three broken ribs and a
torn ligament in her arm and that will be another ten credits,» the doctor
announced, all in the same tone of voice. Ap glanced back at the door and fished
a bill out, jerking it back teasingly as the doctor tried to snatch it. «And how
long will she be laid up?» «Two or three months,» Dr. Ap replied, attempting to
grab the bill. «And if you give her your very best medical attention....?» «Two
months.» «...And if you had a regular supply of your Dregomine?» Leaping high,
the doctor grabbed the note. «Six weeks!» holding it lovingly, he fairly drooled
over the bill. «Six weeks,» he whispered again. «If these hold out,» he added, a
shadow of doubt crossing his wizened face. Ap pulled out another ten credit
bill. «Five weeks,» he said, holding on tightly as the doctor tugged frantically
at the bill. «Five weeks!» echoed Ax with a vigorous nod. The note released, Dr.
Ax scuttled off. Re-entering the room, Ap crossed over to the window and leaned
on the sill. Weeks! Five of 'em! And in the middle of nowhere. That man, Sna,
was right. This is a steam-beamed ball of....oh damn!
CHAPTER TEN
The music was awful. Broken for a long time, the jukebox skipped and fumbled its
way through the musical phrases. No one listened anyway. Early yet, the hotel's
barroom-cum-nightclub had few occupants. Some bunged-up, one-eyed, -armed or
-legged outlaws lounged around. The bartender leaned on his counter, chin
propped in hand. A black-outfitted pilot sat alone in an alcove, listlessly
fingering a handful of darts. Staring blankly at the wall before him, the pilot
spun the occasional dart at it, bringing down flakes of plaster and insects.
Near the mezzanine stairs, a group sat playing dice. The bulk of the square
chips spilled over beside Ap. The other players were having less luck, their own
meager piles of chips proved it. Greedily eyeing the pot, they tensely waited
for Ap to throw. Disinterestedly rattling three of the eight-sided dice, Ap had
his mind elsewhere. A worried frown marked his brow as he turned to the doctor.
«Doc, you said five weeks.» Dr. Ax shrugged. «You got a day left.» His frown
more pronounced, Ap threw the dice, reached out. and pulled in the pot. «I think
I had better go up and see if she's conscious yet.» The hotel proprietor
half-rose in protest as Ap began to push his chair back. «Hey, no! You can't
quit a winner like that!» Sna laughed. «He's going to wind up the richest man in
Stip!» He turned his leering face to Ap. «Want to buy a gun-running base?»
Suddenly reaching out and grabbing Ap's sleeve, Dr. Ax's face was split in a
wide grin as he pointed to the mezzanine stairs. Following the doctor's
direction, Ap saw Lady Min there. Thin, face pale against her gauzy red dress,
she steadied herself against the bannister as she carefully negotiated the steps
downwards. A little triumphant over her accomplishment, she smiled shyly at Ap
and the others. Ap let out a long breath of relief. Starting to rise again, he
stopped to look at his chips. To the doctor's shocked surprise. Ap shoved them
at him, then he upped and raced for the stairs. Ecstatic, Ap reached Lady Min's
side. He couldn't talk, was afraid to touch her. Not knowing what else to do, he
whooped in delight and hugged the bannister.
The late afternoon crowds had drifted in. Broken-down outlaws smoked, drank and
argued among themselves. The bartender was kept busy sloshing gut-rotting liquor
into ever-emptying glasses. The dog Ap had seen weeks ago was there too, lying
beside the door. Just off the dance floor, Ap was hammering out a tune that had
been popular in pro-Congress days on a beat-up electric piano. Looking fully
recovered and stunning in a golden gown, Lady Min was seated on the piano, mike
in hand. The song was one of longing to go places far away. Singing it with
feeling, Lady Min directed frequent, meaningful glances across the room to where
the pilot sat in his alcove. But Pilot Tring ignored the song. Keeping his rapt
attention on the roach-covered wall before him, he flipped a dart. Skewered
right through the middle, a cockroach scrambled its feet helplessly, then
expired as silently as it had lived. Smiling to himself, Tring settled back
leisurely and raised a glass to his lips. A burst of applause followed the
song's conclusion. Lady Min gracefully slid off the piano and bowed to her
audience. Keeping her demeanor professionally charming, she vented some of her
pique in an aside to Ap. «I don't believe he's human!» Ap, poker-faced, hardly
moved his lips as he replied. «Human or not he's the only pilot here that has a
spaceship that can get us to Earth. If it's still there.» Blowing a last kiss to
the cheering men, Lady Min set down the mike and weaved her way through the
overturned chairs to the end alcove. Paying no attention whatsoever to the
approaching vision, the pilot just flipped a dart as Lady Min perched
provocatively on his table. She leaned over and spoke softly to him. «Changed
your mind about the charter?» Tring still didn't look up. «Politics I hate» he
stated, flipping a dart. «Galactic Confederation I hate.» Flip. He paused to
consider a moving target on the wall. «Women I hate,» he added, flinging the
dart. Nonchalantly, Lady Min pulled a joined string of glittering jewels from
her bosom to dangle them in the pilot's face. «Jewels,» she said soothingly,
«are currency in any galaxy.» No response. She sighed in discouragement and put
the jewels away. Getting to her feet, she began to move back to the piano, when
the door across the room was burst violently open. Sna entered, knocking the
yelping dog flying. A strip of paper waving in his trembling hand. «Hey, hey
listen!» he shouted. «We've been saved!» The room went very still. Only the dog,
barking in outrage, made any movement. Overcome with jubilation, Sna barrelled
forward to stand imposingly in the center of the dance floor. «I got a special
secret message from the Minister of Police. We been recruited. Every able-bodied
man on this base has been made a special agent. And every ship we got has been
put into Confederation service!» The hush in the room ceased abruptly. Outlaws
leapt to their feet and surged forward, calling to friends and foe alike,
exchanging heated opinions and speculations. A few people, however, were not
pleased, one being Tring who stood up, wide-eyed, tense.
Clenching his fists in anger and trepidation, he hissed furiously. «That's just
one ship - mine.» Meanwhile, Lady Min threw an agonized glance at Ap. Racking
her brains, she signalled her hastily construed plans to him. He rolled his
eyes. «Future zero!» Turning, he moved to unobtrusively follow Sna as the man
ploughed through the surging throng toward the pilot's alcove. «There you are,
Pilot Tring,» Sna boomed, all bonhomie. «Just the man I wanted to see.» Tring
stared at Sna, hands fiddling nervously with his holster flap. Rip-blasted
phony; who'd he think he was. Not going to fork over my ship. No way! «You
what?» «Here's the message. Just came in.» Sna brandished the paper under the
pilot's nose. «The whole blasted base, every outlaw recruited in the service of
the Ministry of Police. High ranks, high pay! And every ship taken into
service...« The pilot convulsively clutched the table. «There's just one ship
here - mine!» Unnoticed by either man, Ap slipped behind the pilot as Tring's
voice rose to a scream. «I wouldn't work for the condemned blasted Confederation
for anything!» Unperturbed, for he had an overwhelming faith in his ability to
get what he wanted, Sna laid a pacifying hand on Tring's arm. «Ah, now, now,
now. Not for a thousand credits a week?» Easing a pistol from under his jacket,
Ap pressed it lightly into the pilot's back. Tring kept his eyes riveted on Sna
who, unaware, continued his persuasions. «This is your chance. This is all our
chances. Why, man, they'll make you a general or something...» By now, Ar, had
picked up the pilot's jacket and was draping it over his arm and gun. Sna shook
the paper vigorously. «All charges forgotten, look. Look at the message!» Still,
Tring had made no move. Ap, having completed the masking of the gun, glanced up
at the mezzanine where Lady Min stood. She nodded at him, a wad of coats over
her arm and two grip cases in her hand. Ap turned back to face Sna and spoke
convincingly in the pilot's ear. «Pilot Tring, it sounds pretty unreasonable, I
know, but look, Tring. This is your chance!» The pilot made no reply. Just
slitted his eyes as the gun jabbed him slightly in the back. «Tring,» continued
Ap, «as an old friend, please tell Sna you'll do him this favor.» Swallowing
spasmodically, the pilot managed to choke out an «All right.» «In fact,» Ap
jabbed the gun again, «I'll help Pilot Tring get his ship ready. You'll need it
for transport. Let's go!» Beaming, overjoyed, Sna stepped back to let them pass.
Steering the pilot over to the exit, Ap began trembling with relief. Stage one
of the escape plan done... maybe. Fortunately, the spaceport was deserted.
Lady Min was standing anxiously in the boarding door of Tring's craft. The coats
and cases lay in a heap beside her. She chewed a fingernail, dear God let them
come!Hearing running footsteps, she looked down to see the pilot and Ap running
across the landing field. She beckoned urgently to them as they raced up the
stairs to the flight platform, and stepped back as the two men crowded through
the door.
Tring hurried up the aisle and scrambled into the pilot's seat, hands reaching
for the controls.
Ap came to stand behind him, gun now held openly. Through the windshield, the
blue of the late afternoon sky was pierced by the occasional spire. The tangible
silence was broken only by the whine of the ship's starting motors. With a
lurch, they took off, the acceleration pressing the ship's passengers down and
back, forcing Ap to grab the co-pilot's seat in order to keep his gun trained on
the pilot. Suddenly, the pilot began to laugh. Loud, extravagant, the sound
mingled with the rising shriek of engines. Banking the ship again, Tring tried
to still his laughter. Without looking back, he finally managed to speak. «You
can put that gun away. You didn't even need it. You did me a huge favor getting
me out of there. They would have killed me for my ship.» Startled, Lady Min and
Ap stared at the pilot, round-eyed in amazement. Then they too burst into
laughter. Ap looked at his gun and put it away. Reaching over, he clapped the
pilot on the back. Guy must be all right, take us to Earth, maybe.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Surrounded by huge trees, Xenu's secret base on Home Planet was dominated by a
single domed building. Low and ominous, military drums beat a deadly rhythm.
Rank upon rank of grey-green uniformed secret police, fully armed, lined the
parade ground in military formations. Over by the operations dome, an
ill-dressed mob of renegades stood watching. An inspections party walked through
the ranks, headed by Xenu and Chi. With them were tough looking renegade guards,
several high ranking officers of the secret police, Zel the ex-Chief of Secret
Police Earth and Sty the chief psychiatrist. Xenu curiously inspected the troops
as he passed them by. He turned to the sweating Chi to bark a query. «Are you
sure this base is still secret and secure?» Chi mopped his brow with a soaked
handkerchief. Fool idea, this inspection. Too hot for it.
Damned question anyway, Xenu already knew his orders on security had been
carried out to the letter. «We've shot anyone who comes close to it.» Xenu
nodded. «Then we're almost ready.» «Indeed we are,» Chi agreed, noting
thankfully that Xenu was starting to head for the operations building. Stopping
before the band of renegades, Xenu banged his cane to catch the regard of one of
the two slouching Chiefs of the Renegades. «And those men?» The Renegade Chief
smiled evilly, displaying a broken row of yellow teeth. «Those are my finest
renegades, sir. The finest and best criminals in the Galaxy, fit for deviltry.
And thousands more ready on every planet.» Again, Xenu nodded and moved on.
Halting abruptly, Xenu turned back to the Renegade Chief. «Get them in white
coveralls. They look like something from a sewer.» Obeying Xenu's next signal to
follow him, the Chief sauntered along behind the rest of the party. He scowled
at Xenu's retreating back, scowled at his deputy chief beside him.
Steam-beamed maniac. Must have a loose screw in his finicky head - lily-white
coveralls?
Nuts! Ignoring the outbreak of ragged cheering among the renegade mob, Xenu led
the way up the stairs and through the arched doors of the operations building.
The actual operations office was located in the dome of the building. The sloped
walls, painted with stars and planets, served as an operations map and were
studded with abundant miniature spaceships and flags. Crouching below, a huge
table was flanked on one side with three large rollers. On the other side, by a
rack stacked high with papers. Xenu entered the room, banging the door wide as
he came, and limped across to the table.
The two secret police clerks, standing rigidly to attention, were waved
brusquely aside. Putting his cane down, Xenu picked up a hooked stick and turned
to face his officers.
Slap-slapping the hook in his palm, he regarded his officers for a moment.
Blackguards, the lot of them, but they had their uses, oh yes they had their
uses. The men returned Xenu's regard, alert and expectant, though the animosity
was mutual. Finally, Xenu began his address. «This is your last and final
briefing. Listen carefully.» He reached out with his stick and hooked it into
the ring of the lowermost roller. «This is a Phase One of the galactic-wide
action.» With a savage yank, he pulled out a chart from the roller that spread
itself out, flat, on the table. He rapped the stick on the first pile of papers
on the rack. «And those are the detailed orders ready to issue.» «The objective
of Phase One,» Xenu continued, his voice losing all trace of its surface
urbanity, «is the slaughter of every Loyal Officer in the Galaxy.» Grim and
silent, his men nodded. Reaching forward, Xenu engaged the second roller with
his hooked stick. «Phase two: The destruction of the main galactic defense base
on every planet.» Brutally, he yanked out the second chart so that it covered
the first. He rapped the second stack of papers. «And the detailed orders.» With
a nasty, irritating screech, the third chart was unfurled. Xenu struck the last
stack of papers. «Phase Three: The removal of all minority and unwanted
populations in the Galaxy to the planet Earth and their extermination.» A slow
smile crossed his face. «I think you will find this solves all problems of
overpopulation, crime and finance in the Galaxy as well as preventing our being
deposed. Before Minister Chi issues the detailed orders, are there any
comments?»
The momentary silence was broken by a sardonic Renegade Chief. «You're the
paymaster,» he sneered, running a hand through his hair. Xenu glared the other
down. And you - you're a prime bastard. Indicating for Chi to take over, Xenu
retrieved his cane and stalked from the room, favoring his bad leg.
On the parade ground, the miscellaneous groups were breaking up. Regiments of
secret police and bands of renegades marched purposefully towards assigned
destinations. Drums quickening in pace, the military ensemble also took their
leave. Soon, only the litter remained to bear the wind and the scattered guards
company.
Chi was standing on the roof, silhouetted against the stars. His left hand held
a radio transmitter. In his right, the dial of a stopwatch was illuminated by an
electric lantern. In his mind, he reviewed the injunctions that Xenu had given
him concerning Phase One.
Missed anything? Didn't seem that way, but still.... he glanced down at the
stopwatch. With maddening slowness, the secondhand approached the appointed
hour. Too late anyhow! He clicked the stem of the timepiece and spoke into the
radio.
«Phase One!»
Paring his nails with a deeply notched knife, one of the Renegade Chiefs sat in
his dark, unkempt office. A speaker near his head crackled to life. «Phase One!»
The Chief lifted his chin to a nearby flunky. The aide disentangled himself from
his chair and began to shuffle out the room. Vexed at the man's dawdling, the
Chief threw his knife between the other's feet. «Get going,» he snapped.
The second Renegade Chief stood in the Intergalactic Control Center, outlined
against the lighted curve of a communications panel. Beside him bristled a
battery of microphones.
Surrounding him was a tangle of wires. The panel itself was a maze of jackplugs
and the brightly lit names of the Galactic Confederation member stars: Sirius,
Canopus, Alpha Centauri, Vega, Capella, Arcturus, Rigel, Procyon, Achernar, Beta
Centauri, Altair, Betelgeuse, Acrux, Aldebaran, Pollux, Spica, Antares,
Fomalhaut, Deneb, Regulus and Sol. Whistling tonelessIy, the renegade checked to
ensure all stars were connected up to the mikes. They were. He flicked a switch
and spoke. «All systems, all planets. Phase One!»
Car headlamps swung across the front of a suburban house, coming to rest aimed
at the garage as the vehicle entered the driveway. A Loyal Officer in his khaki
coat and cap cut the engines and stepped out of the car. Startled, he looked up
as a spotlight suddenly stabbed at him from the dark. Two blast guns fired. Hit,
the Officer slammed back against the car and crumpled to the ground. Two men in
white coveralls ran over to him. One stretched out a booted foot and lifted the
Officer's shoulder to see if he was dead. He was.
A Loyal Officer trotted up the broad white stairs leading up to a governmental
building. Rifles blasted, taking his arm off at the shoulder. Leaving a trail of
red, he rolled slowly, inexorably, back down the steps.
Frowning over some despatch, a Loyal Officer never noticed as two
white-coverall'ed men entered his office. Raising their blast guns, they aimed
and fired, pounding the Officer to the wall behind him, then down to the floor.
His body charred, blackened, lifeless. The two men turned and fled from the
room.
A small scout craft landed. A Loyal Officer jumped down onto the spaceport
pavement, removed his helmet. He looked up, alert, as a grenade-like object
hurtled by to strike the ship's side. A flash of fire erupted and leapt for the
skies. Shortly, the conflagration died down enough to reveal the dismembered
craft, and beside it, a shriveled form.
In his darkened office, the first Renegade Chief was biting the end of a pencil.
A stack of papers lay on the desk before him, the top list entitled: Loyal
Officers Capella System. The radio spoke. «Planet Chellis. Lieutenant Dahn.» The
Chief hunted for and found the name. Crossing it out, he looked back up at the
speaker. «Captain Sten.» With a grandiose sweep of his hand, the Chief drew a
long mark through the name, ripping the paper slightly. Fixed him ! Son of a
space-hound had the gall to arrest me once. The speaker crackled again....
Three Loyal Officers tore down a smoke-filled corridor, weapons held at the
ready. A heavy caliber blast gun blazed, swirling forth a ball of green flame to
lace around the officers. They fell forward, guns clattered to and skittering
across the polished floor.
All was quiet in the barracks - until the whole damned place blew up in
unmitigated finality. A couple of secret police left the scene in a hurry,
sprinting out the gate and under a placard that read: Loyal Officer Quarters,
Betelgeuse System.
Holding a rifle, a white-clad arm inched through a crack in the cautiously
opening door. Asleep in his bed, jacket and cap hanging on the post, a Loyal
Officer muttered in his sleep. The renegade froze, listening. Reassured, he
sighted and jerked the trigger once, twice. Green smoke and flame engulfed the
bed.
Hunched over the Phase One chart, face eerily lit from below, Chi gripped a
large marking pen in his slippery fist. A legion of speaker-units babbled in the
background. Names of stars and Loyal Officers occasionally flashed up on console
screens. A uniformed orderly stood by Chi's chair, holding a sheaf of papers.
«Planets of Altair,» he reported, «Phase One, All Clear.» Chi nodded and drew a
circle on the already much circled chart. Laying down his marking pen, he wiped
his hands on his pant legs. Business could go on all night. He glanced at a
clock. Business was going on all night. He sighed in resignation and ordered
some coffee. A person, half-visible in the shadows, approached the table and
handed a slip of paper to the orderly. The orderly checked it over and read it
aloud to Chi. «Marcab System. Phase One. All Clear.» Chi mopped at his hands
again, picked the pen up and added another circle to the chart.
Five Loyal Officers strained against the rope that bound them to a white picket
fence.
Reflected in their perspiration were the spotlights that illuminated the scene.
A renegade finished securing the last Officer and scuttled off into the clear.
Automatic blasters let loose, tearing asunder the Officers, fence and all.
Burning brightly, scores of votive candles lit the cathedral altar. There, head
bowed in prayer, knelt a Loyal Officer. His eyes flew open in shock as a rifle
burst hammered him down. Dislodged in the furor, a candle rolled to the floor. A
vagrant current of air snuffed the momentarily flaring wick, to send a thin
spiral of smoke curling upwards to the gods.
»Major Tonlin,» buzzed the speaker. The Chief popped a benny and gulped it down
before crossing the name from his list. It had been a long night. The Chief was
tired, irritated. He added another butt to the overflowing ashtray. At last that
wrapped up the list for the Polaris System.
Daylight, filtering through from somewhere, encroached upon Chi's red-rimmed
eyes. The room was quiet now that the garrulous speaker-units were silenced. The
exhausted orderly, wearily gripping his enormously grown sheaf of papers, made a
report: «Polaris System, Phase One, All Clear.» In a final, flourishing manner,
Chi drew a large circle. Scratching his neck, he regarded his handiwork of
circles on the chart. He grunted and turned to push a button on a console. Xenu,
sitting tense and rigid at his desk, staring off into nowhere, appeared on the
screen. Chi cleared his throat a couple of times and pressed the buzzer to draw
Xenu's attention. Finally, Xenu shook himself out of his reverie and fixed a
steely eye on his screen. «All going according to your plans,» said Chi with an
inky thumbs-up sign. «How many left?» Chi waved his hand loftily. «Only a few on
outlying Interceptor Bases. And only those in the planetary Galactic Bases
themselves.» Xenu relaxed somewhat. «We'll get the Galactic Bases in Phase Two
so that's no worry. Keep a news blackout going and put busy signals on all Loyal
Officer networks. And keep working on those Interceptor Bases.» He switched off
the circuit and rubbed his jaw, chuckling to himself. Soon, soon. Victory was in
sight. He chuckled again, and resumed his reverie.
CHAPTER TWELVE
In outer space hung the black asteroid that was the lnterceptor Control Center
Solar System. Mish stood on a glassed-in balcony appended to the asteroid's
side. He completed a sweep of the star-studded voids and lowered the long-range
viewing instrument. He felt vaguely uneasy, disturbed - by what, he didn't know.
Unexpectedly, the door-way behind him filled with intermittent green flashes.
Mish whirled around and dropped the viewer to grab his gun. Moving inside, he
was brought up short by the tableau posed within. A junior Loyal Officer stood
frozen in aftershock, his blast rifle still smoking in his hands. Over by the
main entrance, two renegades were sprawled over the doorsill, a mist of green
wisps rising from their bodies. A pistol lay where it had fallen, just beyond
the renegade's out stretched arms. The junior Officer unsteadily downed his
rifle and pivoted around to face Mish, his voice breaking as he spoke. «These
two were in that small ship that said it was in trouble.» Mish continued to
stare in dismay at the bodies, hardly hearing as the junior Officer went on
speaking: «They came in here with drawn guns.» Rousing himself, as if from a
nightmare, Mish strode over to the communications panel, elbowing the
communicator there out of the way. Rapidly jabbing buttons, Mish cursed. Blast!
Nothing but hell-fired busy signals. He banged his fist down in frustration,
gritting his teeth as he said: «Home Planet network still busy.» The junior
Officer joined him at the console. «I've been trying all day. Only a couple of
our Interceptor Bases are answering up.» Exasperated, Mish punched another
button. «I'll try Earth.» Rawl appeared on the screen. «Galactic Base Earth...»
He began in a clipped voice, then seeing who was calling, he continued in a
friendlier tone. «Oh, hello, Mish.» Mish made an effort to calm himself. Thank
God at least this circuit was operational. He leaned closer to the video
scanner. «There's something going on,» he said. «I can't get in touch with Home
Planet on the Loyal Office circuit.» Rawl shrugged «It's happened before.» Mish
slammed his hand on the console and swore. «Not at the same time as an attempt
on my life!»
Taken aback, Rawl blinked. «I'll try it on the Galactic circuit.»
Cutting the line, Rawl gestured to his communicator who proceeded to make the
connection.
Busy signal. Seeing the communicator was only getting jammed lines, Rawl ordered
another line be tried.
«Get Xenu on Home Planet. The Supreme Ruler emergency lines ought to be open»
Xenu's face flashed onto the screen, smiling suavely. «Ah, Rawl. Glad to hear
from you. What can I do for you?» Rawl gazed at Xenu's image briefly, a wave of
acute dislike for the man passing through him.
«There are a lot of communication channels that don't seem to be working. Busy.
Thought you might know.» Xenu raised his eyebrows in innocent surprise. «Is that
so?» Impatiently indicating an affirmative, Rawl raised his voice in vexation at
the other's playacting. «I wanted to be sure this wasn't another Grey Invasion.»
«I've heard nothing like that,» soothed Xenu, with an air of offended
worthiness. «I did hear there was some trouble with some new equipment that had
just been installed. We're having to economize, you know...» unable to resist a
dig, his voice hardened, «since the personal income tax was abolished.» Thinking
fast, Xenu saw a possible advantage. Schooling himself back into pleasant
urbanity, he resumed speaking. «But if you're worried, I'll tell you what I'll
do. I'll schedule space fleet maneuvers in your area over the next few days just
to make sure.» Sharply breaking the connection, Xenu swiveled his chair around
to snarl at Zel and Chi seated by his massive desk. «Rawl and possibly other
Planet Base Commanders are getting suspicious.» Acutely uncomfortable, as always
in Xenu's presence, Chi stared down at his hands and muttered something
inaudible. Ignoring his Minister of Police, Xenu forgot his displeasure.
Gloating for an interval, he then exalted in his next words. «Launch Phase Two.»

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Intensely, Tring studied a radar screen. He didn't like what he saw there. Not
one bit. Ap, bored and unaware of the conflicts raging in the pilot's mind, sat
flopped back on a settee. Next to him, Lady Min was doing her nails as best she
could, dabbing hit and miss with the polish as the craft rocked and shook. «The
screen here,» said Tring hoarsely, «seems to indicate a lot of heavy spaceships
over Earth, Galactic ships. Thicker than cockroaches.» He leaned back and turned
to present a white face to his passengers. «I'm not going in there!» Lady Min
and Ap stared, appalled, at the pilot. He couldn't fail them - not now.
Tring waxed persuasive. «This Galaxy is getting too hot. Gone to buzzard bait.
Listen, I've got a cache of fuel, food and air out on an asteroid. I'm going out
there and fuel up and make the long jump to another galaxy.» He raised a hand in
mute appeal. «You're a couple of nice guys. There's all blazes about to break
loose. I can feel it. Those jewels you got will serve as currency. How about
it?» Lady Min had gone rigid. «We've got to get to Rawl,» she insisted. «How do
we get down?» Shrugging, Tring squared himself around and got back to flying.
He'd done his best. «All right if you want to get burned,» he called back over
his shoulder. «There's oxygen masks and parachutes under that seat. Put them on
and get into the airlock. I'll spill you into the stratosphere over the base,
and even that's risky.» Shaking his head, he snorted sadly. «Patriotism!» Well,
he'd tried. Pity. Banking the ship, he took it downwards.
Rawl was standing in his office, gazing up at the overhead. A heavy rumble of
ship's motors filling his ears. Something was going on, he was sure of it. But
what? Faces echoing Rawl's apprehension, two orderlies and a communicator were
standing nearby. Rawl swung round and spoke to the communicator. «Maneuvers!
Have you got any answer yet to why Earth ships were not invited to take part?»
The man shook his head, perplexed. «Hadn't been able to raise the damned ships,
let alone get an answer!» Rawl pointed at one of the orderlies. «Pass the order
to get my ship ready for immediate blast-off. I'm going to do a flyby and look
this over.» The orderly up and raced off. Rawl glanced back up at the ceiling.
Can't figure this out.... He frowned, pounding an agitated fist into his palm.
Moonshine! He wasn't achieving anything by moping around his office. He strode
over to a wall hook and took down his flight coat. Going out the door, he paused
to call a command back to the remaining orderly.
«Sound a base alert just in case.»
Base alert was sounded. Klaxon horns rent the air with an insistent note.
Several troops, uniformed in blue and white, ran across the parade ground
towards their various stations.
Hatches in the looming cliff face, cranked open to reveal dozens of snub-nosed
anti-spacecraft guns. Officers yelled directions to their crews. Unobserved in
the flurry, two parachutes, one hanging higher than the other in the blue sky,
swung down from upwind towards the parade ground. Lady Min landed first, rolling
awkwardly to absorb her fall's impact. Scrambled to her feet, she ripped off her
oxygen mask and, grabbing the chest release buckle, yanked hard. Her parachute
and harness went sailing away. She ran a hand through her disheveled hair and
stared round-eyed at all the commotion.
Jumping forward, she gripped the arm of a passing soldier. He skidded to a halt
in obvious impatience. «Where is Commander Rawl?» she asked, breathless. He
pointed to the cliffed hill and dashed off before she could speak again. Now
landed and rid of his parachute, Ap came to stand by Lady Min. He raised an
inquiring eyebrow. She tugged at his sleeve. «Rawl's up at the hangars. Come
on!» She turned and raced off, Ap close behind, muttering to himself between his
ragged breaths. Some orderlies looked up in surprise as Lady Min and Ap barged
into Rawl's cliff-side office.
»Where's Commander Rawl?» An orderly indicated one of the other doors. «He's
about to blast off.» Lady Min looked at him beseechingly, wringing her hands in
desperation. Oh no! They couldn't be so close yet too late. «This is urgent,»
she wailed. «Urgent!» The orderly was puzzled. He didn't know who or what this
lady was, but some of her agitation had been communicated to him. Decisively, he
waved an arm for them to follow and raced out the room.
Rawl slid into his Interceptor's Pilot seat and strapped himself in. The ship's
motors roared as he touched the starter. Eyes and hands roaming across the
control panel, Rawl readied the ship for take-off while speaking into his
radio-mike. «Control. Interceptor One immediate launch.» Suddenly, the boarding
door was flung open. Rawl turned and was amazed to see Lady Min and Ap sprawl
into the aisle of his craft. «Lady Min!»
The mass of Galactic bombers swooped low over the base. A bay opened in the
belly of one of them, and a single bomb was released. It hung there, motionless,
for an instant, then plummeted downward, an angel of death.
Rawl shot a glance through the windscreen. Good, the hangar door was beginning
to open.
His radio crackled as Control gave launching clearance. Assured he could blast
off at any moment, he swung back to face the aisle. Lady Min had picked herself
up, and was scrambling towards him. «I've got data for you,» she gasped. «Urgent
data....» Rawl motioned her in brusquely. «You can tell me as soon as we blast
off.» The hangar door was now opened all the way. Rawl pulled back on a lever
and the Interceptor lurched forward to soar gracefully up into the cerulean
heavens.
The bomb hit the base with an incandescent atomic blast. Hurtling debris and
smoke swept tumultuously across what had previously been a parade ground. The
whole cliff buckled, collapsed. Turning into a roaring avalanche it slid down to
disappear into the sea. In other words, the entire base blew up.
Savagely working the controls, Rawl fought to steady his spinning ship. Lady Min
and Ap, trying desperately to hold on, were knocked about violently as the craft
bucked and shook. Gaining the upper hand, Rawl rocketed the ship upwards.
Soaring a glance at the holocaust below, he grimaced. So that was what Xenu was
up to. A sharp lurch brought his attention back to the controls. They weren't
out of it yet. Not by a long shot....
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Night was spreading her dark wings over the secret base on Home Planet. Shady
figures milled around the gloomily lit interior of the operations room - guards,
the two Renegade Chiefs and several bearded psychiatrists among them. At the
table was Chi, holding a felt pen. He was sweating profusely because Xenu was
also there. Xenu, intent on the spreading Phase Two chart, listened with half an
ear to Chi as his Minister called out stars and planets in a quavering, singsong
voice. «All Galactic bases Vega System,» chanted Chi, putting a cross-mark on
the chart. He continued his litany. «All bases Spica.» Made a cross. «All
Galactic bases Altair.» Made another cross. Then the speaker box piped up.
«Galactic base Earth totally destroyed.» Cheered by this news, Chi exchanged a
look of satisfaction with Xenu and drew an exaggeratedly large cross on the
chart. A travesty of a smile curving his mouth, he glanced back up at his boss.
«End Phase Two. «Now all opposition is removed, what are your next orders?»
Thoroughly enjoying himself, Xenu stretched, stood up and stretched some more.
So this was what it felt like to be Supreme Ruler in full sweet fact. He
searched for his cane, couldn't find it, and hobbled over to the center of the
room anyway.
Assuming a splendiferously majestic pose, conscious that all eyes were on him,
he spoke, savoring each word to the fullest. «Issue an all-Galactic
proclamation. ‘Due to crime wave, martial law is established on all planets’».
He raised a pompous hand. «Gentlemen, we begin Phase Three. We are regaining
political control of all planets. Even at this moment our planted agents will be
seizing all governmental centers. But this is not enough!» He made a chopping
gesture. «As you well know, minorities and people who might object, which is to
say independent thinkers, protest a perfectly functioning police state, the
ideal form of government. Furthermore, our planets are overpopulated. Phase
Three consists of rounding up such people on every planet, transporting them to
Earth and exterminating them.» A murmur of agreement spread through the
listening group. One of the Renegade Chiefs, seeking an advantageous opening in
these affairs, regarded Xenu through slitted eyes. «If my men are to do this,
they have to be within the law.» Chi was as happy as he could ever get,
especially when he was in such close proximity with Xenu. He butted in with a
rush of words. «All worked out. We are creating the Confederate Bureau of
Investigation under the newly formed Justice Department. Every one of your
renegades are as of this moment appointed government agents G-men - with full
official powers.» So saying, he grinned like a wolf, albeit with a trace of
bulldog. The Renegade Chief replied with a wolfish grin of his own. He knew
opportunity when he saw it. Xenu stamped his good foot for attention. Getting
it, he continued speaking. «The selection of these minorities is already
determined. However, certain scientific judgement is required concerning others.
For this reason, we have appointed you, the top leaders of the psychiatric
profession...» The bearded men, the psychiatrists, in the group leaned forward
expectantly, hanging on Xenu's every word. «... to handle the ultimate fate of
minorities and to decide who should be exterminated.» Xenu paused theatrically,
then added a magnanimity. «I know you will do so in a fully scientific and
dedicated manner.» Gravely, seriously, the psychiatrists nodded in unison. Sty,
top dog amongst this elite cream the noble profession of psychiatry, nodded with
particular emphasis, pleased with this arrangement. His long-sought lucky break
at last. Xenu's surface urbanity slipped. «They must,» he screamed, «never
trouble us again!» Checking himself, he got his mask back in place, continued in
a more subdued pitch. «The gathering from every planet shall begin. The
extermination site is Earth.» He drew himself up to his full, if inconsiderable
height. «Gentlemen, I officially announce the beginning of Phase Three.» As if
by prearranged signal, several orderlies entered, bearing trays laden with
bottle and glass. Someone had switched on a stereo, and soothing music filled
the room. Drinks were passed around.
Xenu raised his glass. «And now, a toast....»
A family was seated at their midday meal. They started in shock as a gun butt
banged loudly, three times, against their door, followed by a booted foot
kicking it open. Two uniformed men entered on the run. Obeying the signalling
blast rifle, the family rose shakily. With rising terror, they were impelled out
of the room. The youngest, a little girl, screamed and clutched her mother's
skirts. A vicious blow on the head silenced her. Sobbing aloud, the mother
picked up her child, and was thrust onwards.
A street, lined with three-storied houses, was a pandemonium of panicking
people. Secret policemen herded struggling men, women, and children out through
exits and down into the street. A little to the side, a psychiatrist stood,
looking on, a loud hailer in his hand.
Protesting and bewildered blacks were being gathered from the shops and homes of
their neighborhood by a group of bellowing secret police. A second group of
grey-green uniformed men who were in the center of the street, received the
people passed to them. They held order with violent bashings and sweeps of their
rifles.
In a white, middle-class suburb, a column of despairing yet striving individuals
were being force-marched down an avenue.
The laugh of a young secret police officer could be heard above the din. The
object of his amusement being an old woman, eyes shut tight and grasping a
cross, being dragged along, legs trailing and bloody on the tarmac.
A white-coated psychiatrist sat in front of the flashing boards of the
Intergalactic Network Communications control tower. Professionally unemotional,
he was speaking into a mike. «These are the determinations for the Procyon
planet populations....» He consulted the list in his hand. «All motion picture
producers, all editors, writers and newscasters, all blacks, members of the
government employees union....»
The sign, «Daily Post,» hung limply, half-blasted apart, from the front of the
building. Resisting employees of the newspaper were being driven down the steps
and piled into a line of parked vans.
A thousand and more marched wearily down a long, dusty road. In between their
shuffling legs, a child was being yanked along. She herself was pulling her doll
along. Tears ran down her face. Her sobs were muffled by the sounds of bootbeats
and dragging steps.
One of the Renegade Chiefs joined the psychiatrist at the panel in the
Intergalactic Network Communications control tower. Bored, the Chief fiddled
with his rifle, absentmindedly listening to the psychiatrist's droning voice
broadcast a set of determinations.
»Vega System exterminations list: Religious leaders, athletes, musicians,
teachers, salesmen. All the Ninth Terrestrial Army. All actors. All unemployed.
All members of the....»
Trapped in a gully, the mob screamed frenziedly as white-jacketed men moved
among them. These men, the white-jackets, were but recently trained in the use
of their hypodermic needles, having been pressed hastily into the service of the
psychiatrists. They brandished their hypos ferociously. The syringes contained a
smoky, gaseous drug that induced instant unconsciousness for long, indeterminate
periods of time. Secret policemen knocked down or held individuals for the
white-jackets to inject - in arms, legs, whatever. Moaning, a woman struggled to
rise and collapsed as a smoking needle was injected into her back.
White-jackets moved through a crowded garbage dump. In their wake, they left
inert, motionless bodies to lie in heaps.
A constant stream of captives flooded through the gates at the far end of the
stadium. Moving fast to keep apace with the flow, white-jackets competently
wielded their hypos.
A public address system squawked. «Trucks will be here in three hours.»
A white-jacket glanced over at one of his fellows. Would this river of
bat-brained crackpots ever end?
A multitude of weaponless soldiers attired in the Loyal Corp's blue and white,
were being wrestled into submission by grim, sweat-faced secret police.
The first of them was knocked down and then put out by a white-jacket's smoky
needle. And thus the Ninth Terrestrial Army was overthrown. Muttering secret
police loaded the unconscious into a convoy of trucks. The bodies were landing
haphazardly, just tossed in as if they were so much cordwood. It was night
again. The Renegade Chief had moved to stand by one of the tower's windows.
He flicked an ash on the floor, too tired to fetch an ashtray. Loosening his
collar further, he leaned back against the sill to watch the psychiatrist.
Disinterested, but asked all the same, he spoke to the psych. «How many millions
is it so far?» Himself exhausted and unusually untidy for a member of his
exalted vocation, the psychiatrist shrugged. «The Betelgeuse System has not
reported yet.» The Chief looked back out the window and took a drag of his
cigarette. Slippery fish, these nut-crackers. Never can get straight answers out
of them. Probably asbuggy as their so-called patients, anyway. He spat on the
wall.
In innumerable spaceports across that Galaxy, a similar scene was occurring.
Long lines of transport vans drove up beside space-freighters. Rumpled secret
police transferred inanimate forms from the trucks into the receiving arms of
renegades whose job it was to stack the bodies in the ships.
The little girl, now drugged into insensibility but still hugging her doll
close, was dragged out of a truck and dumped into a freighter.
The renegade who had stacked her turned to his assistant and cracked a joke
about child-girls. The assistant sniggered and swung his boot at the piteous
figure.
Operation round-up was nearing its conclusion. The last few «undesirables» were
hunted down, knocked flat, and drugged up. The space-freighters, loaded over and
above maximum capacity, were ready for blast-off.
Chi peered up at his boss. Seeing Xenu sitting there peacefully, delicately
sipping a drink, Chi dared to begin humming a little tune to himself as he made
cross-marks on the Phase Three chart. Pondering over the recent events, Chi was
suffused with a sense of well-being. Hadn't expected things to work out so well.
He hummed a little louder.
The transportation stage of Phase Three was gotten underway. On every planet,
the freighters blazed upward, destination: Earth. On one ship, the renegade
co-pilot's ceaseless, senseless chatter fell on the bothered ears of the pilot.
«Last time I was on Earth,» babbled the co-pilot, «I bought this young girl -
oh, a peach she was. When I got her clothes off I found...» In a spaceport
control tower, a secret policeman was acting as Controller. He gave launching
clearance to yet another ship. «Control to ship Nine Three Four A. Proceed to
Earth by filed plan.» A light-year away, another Controller was having a bit
more difficulty. «Blast it!» he yelled into a mike. «If you don' t know the
route to Earth, then fly in company with Seven Six Five Eight.»
In an Altair System spaceport, the freighters were still grounded, for there had
been some delays. A renegade and a psychiatrist stood on the control tower' s
observation platform, looking out over the landing field. The psychiatrist
checked over a list. «That completes this planet,» he announced. «As soon as
your ships are ready, I suppose you can tell your pilots to proceed to Earth.»
The renegade sneered. «You sure you got 'em all?» The psychiatrist gave him a
frosty regard. «My dear fellow, medical science never makes mistakes.»
Bleary-eyed and rumpled, the Renegade Chief struggled to stay awake. Had to
rivet his attention to what the speaker was saying - «Planet Three Alpha
Centauri to Home Planet Control. Planet Three Alpha....» With a flash of
irritation, the Renegade Chief cut in. «Yeah, yeah. Gimme the hot crap.» The
speaker spluttered. «All cargoes spaceborne here and proceeding to Earth.» The
Chief turned down the volume knob and rubbed his eyes. These late nights, he
just wasn't up to them anymore. He popped a benny and ordered a cup of coffee.
Xenu had taken time out to shower and dress with care. Just as he arrived back
at his desk, a call was put through from his Minister of Police. «All
seventy-five planets clear,» reported Chi, «spaceborne and heading for Earth.
Right on time.» Xenu's eyes narrowed with cruel pleasure. «Good, good. Proceed
as ordered.» Shutting off the video-phone, he turned to stare out his window.
Just as planned, Like clockwork.... He snickered softly to himself.
A wind roamed mournfully across the shattered pavement of what had been, of
late, the proud parade ground of Galactic Base Earth. Blackened balustrades and
broken flagpoles silhouetted themselves against the empty sky. But not empty for
long. The whine of their engines growing into a steady roar, a multitude of
ships began to mass across the heavens till the skies were literally filled with
freighters of every size, shape and description.
Over a wide, barren plain, a cliff face watched as the cargoes arrived. Using no
runways - there were no runways to use - the ships simply landed in place,
covering the entire field from end to end. A harried Controller darted a frantic
gaze through each of the many windows of his hastily rigged control tower. Some
fuse-brained idiot sure fouled up royally! Fudged it totally. Too many ships,
not enough landing space. He barked some orders into his tightly gripped mike.
«Earth Control Post Number One to Squadron Leader Eight Seven Nine. Divert to
Earth Northern Sector Twelve....» «Earth Control Post Number One to Squadron
Leader Two Six Five. Divert cargo to Earth Continent Three Control Post
Sixteen...»
Down on a field, a truck drew up alongside a grounded freighter. The ship's
boarding door banged down to form a ramp, disclosing two renegades in creased
and filthy coveralls. Carrying sheafs of paper, three secret policemen hastily
approached, gesturing as they came for unloading to commence. Stepping back, the
renegades started to lug out the drugged bodies to take them down the ramp for
placement in the truck.
Across the landing space, a stream of vans were moving toward the ships. At a
nearby ship, the disembarkation was also beginning. One of the captives, a black
man, was recovering consciousness. Raising himself up, he opened his eyes to
stare, horror-stricken, at the booted foot of a secret policeman as it swung at
him, to catch him square on the jaw. And he collapsed.
Several other landing fields on Earth were similarly occupied. One, near Mount
Shasta, was unloading in haste, as their cargoes were groggily coming to. The
little girl still clutched her doll. Dazed, she struggled awake and sat up. A
secret policeman jerked her to her feet and gave her a shove. So directed, she
began to follow her companion victims up the sharply increasing slope of the
volcano.
Mt. Etna, Mt. Fuji. The new arrivals were tumbled out of the freighters and
forced to clamber up the volcanoes' sides. An old man, baffled and dismayed,
plucked the sleeve of a guard. His questions were cut short as he was cuffed
viciously back.
The survivors of the Ninth Army were unloaded at the base of Mount Washington.
Hands behind their backs, uniforms in shreds, they held their heads as proudly
as they could as they marched up the slope. A drummer boy, once a friend of
Rawl's, stopped and turned to look back down the incline.
His drum straps hung from his shoulder, the broken top of a drum still clinging
to them. A soldier behind him was pushed forward. They collided, forcing the boy
to move on upward.
Set on a rocky island and centered in a rolling ocean of blue, a volcano's side
crawled with a struggling line of humanity. By the top edge of its cone, a
renegade crew fought to hold down their helicopter as the fierce wind threatened
to blow it away. An engineer had just finished connecting a radio wire to a
curious cylindrical object. Words painted imposingly in red on its sides
proclaimed it to be an atom bomb. Shouting above the rushing gale, the engineer
summoned over an assistant technician.
Together they tied a rope securely around the bomb and commenced lowering it
into the crater mouth.
Another engineer peered over the edge, watching the bomb descend slowly towards
the pools of bright lava, moving and red, below. A third engineer was paying out
wire from a large coil in his hand. It snaked out and down the cone - to serve
as the link between the signal and the detonation.
The waiting Controller stood anxiously to one side. A worried frown creasing his
brow as he looked through the window at the landing field. The ships under his
authority were all sitting out there, grounded and idle. Sons of dogs! When were
they going to let us get the hell out of here?
By the panel, the Renegade Chief was snarling into a mike. «This is Earth
Control Post Number One to Volcano Crew Seventeen. Advise when atomic charges
have been placed.» Tossing the mike away from him, the Chief spun around to face
the controller. «Damned bastards. They're the last ones to report atomic charges
in place in the volcanoes. But the nervous Controller couldn't care less about
that. He waved his hand at the field.» It's going to take several hours to get
all these ships spaceborne and out of this. «The Chief gave a snort of
laughter.» Don't get your pants wet. Our people will all be off Earth before we
push the button.
The Controller hesitated, not too sure. He looked down at his hands fidgeting
with some crumpled up papers. Relenting, the Chief shrugged a shoulder. «Ah, you
can tell them to refuel and get back to their planets as soon as the secret
police are aboard and my men recovered.» Relieved, the Controller let out his
pent up breath. Maybe this whoreson wasn't such a whoreson after all.
Leaning into the wind, the first engineer reached up a black gloved hand to rub
his grimy face. Raising his other hand, he placed his receiver-mike to his mouth
and pressed the transmit button. «Earth Control One, come in.» He depressed the
receive button and put the instrument to his ear, only to remove it a ways as
the Renegade Chief's voice blazed through. «What the blasters kept you
bastards?» The engineer gave the radio a withering look and swore silently to
himself. But he knew better than to reply in kind, so he collected his ragged
temper and spoke calmly. «Volcano Seventeen fully charged and complete. In fact
it's got two atomic bombs in it. Rope broke.» «Good. Scramble out of there, get
back to the field and take off. I'm spaceborne now.» Thankfully, the engineer
put the radio away and signalled a let's-go to his men.
An exhausted group eddied to a halt and turned to watch, bewildered, as their
persecutors began to race downhill, leaving them behind. Reaching the trucks in
the valley, the renegades and secret police piled in and drove off.
Soon, every operational ship had left Earth, having taken on the renegades and
secret police and blasted for home.
Zel, former Chief of Secret Police Earth, was piloting the communications plane
as it hovered above Earth. Too close for his liking, but orders were orders. He
chewed his lip in trepidation. In the co-pilot's seat, the Chief was on the air
to Chi. «No trouble. The secret police have been evacuated. My renegades also.
Been some mobs and riots amongst the planetary population, but what the hell.»
Chi's visage on the screen was replaced by another's as Xenu shoved him aside.
«Are you ready?» asked Xenu. The Chief gave him a lazy salute. «Oh, yes.» An
anticipatory gleam leapt into Xenu's eyes. «Turn one of your cameras on it.»
Nodding, the Chief yelled back to a technician. «Get two or three cameras on it,
different depths.» The Chief turned back to the video and nodded again. Xenu
passed his tongue over dry, cracked lips. «You can proceed when ready.» With
that, he shut down the circuit. Moving into a more comfortable position, the
Chief grunted. «What some people will do for power!» Zel gave him a sideways
glance. «Including you.» The Chief flinched a little then grinned wickedly,
presenting Zel with the full benefit of his yellowed teeth. «You're talking!»
Meanwhile, on the face of Earth, hundreds of thousands of hungry, hopeless
people sat bemused on the slopes where they had been left. The dispirited and
ravaged Ninth Army soldiers were too dejected to move. Only one of them was
attempting to free his hands of their binding. And the little girl was down on
her knees, rocking her doll. Bruised and dirty, tears coursed silently down her
face.
She looked upward at the sky, saw nothing there. Hugging her doll closer, she
began to whimper, not understanding where she was, or why.
The Chief lightly held the electronic box. Its red lights glowed softly,
hypnotically. Face expressionless, he moved his right hand toward the box.
Finger poised, he hesitated only a moment, then smoothly, gracefully even, he
depressed the center button.
Simultaneously, the planted charges erupted. Atomic blasts ballooned from the
craters of Loa, Vesuvius, Shasta, Washington, Fujiyama, Etna, and many, many
others. Arching higher and higher, up and outwards, towering clouds mushroomed,
shot through with flashes of flame, waste and fission. Great winds raced
tumultuously across the face of Earth, spreading tales of destruction.
Debris-studded, and sickly yellow, the atomic clouds followed close on the heels
of the winds. Their bow-shaped fronts encroached inexorably upon forest, city
and mankind, they delivered their gifts of death and radiation. A skyscraper,
tall and arrow-straight, bent over to form a question mark to the very idea of
humanity before crumbling into the screaming city below. People standing, racked
by the hurricanes, on a street looked up horrified at a descending atomic cloud.
Making a futile attempt at escape, they were dropped in their tracks,
exterminated like so many pestilent flies. Molten lava poured, chaotic, down
volcanic slopes, obliterating all trace of the people that had been huddled
there. A mountainous tidal wave engulfed a once thriving seaport, leaving only a
few of the taller building tops showing over the swirling waters. A second wave
formed, preparing to finish what the first had left undone.
Areas of rioting vegetation and forest became barren plains, inhabited only now
by the screaming winds. The fair jewel, Earth, had been brutally murdered.
Casually, the Chief still held the electronic box. His craft rocked a little, as
if echoing the passing violence below. Through the windshield, he looked down at
Earth, its cloud formations now a reddish, uneven swirl. Also observing this
view, by way of a dozen screens propped up around his office, was Xenu. He
tapped his fingers in time with the soft, gentle symphony his office stereo was
playing and took a delighted sip of his long, cool drink.
It was over. The charred remains of the little girl's doll bobbed on a choppy
sea, lamented only by a low, moaning breeze.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
An orchestra was playing loud, foolishly gay music. The hall was all decorated
for a party. Chattering and laughing throngs milled around the room. A few
degraded, half-naked women were hanging on the arms of the top leaders of state,
also there. Off in a secluded corner, Chi has his head together with the banker
Chu. «So you are sure I will get all my money back?» the banker asked, nervously
twisting the diamond rings on his sausage fingers. «With interest, with
interest,» replied Chi. «In addition to the Confederate Bureau of Investigation
I am forming an income tax police in Treasury.» He made a wringing motion with
his hands, as if wringing out towel. «And they'll extract every last possible
penny from the populace.» Chu cheered up for a moment, then turned doubtful
again. «This cost is a terrible lot of money.» Chi rolled his eyes in some
exasperation. How could a banker be so stupid? «Master Chu, the people are a
bottomless pit for taxes. It can go on forever. A bottomless pit.» Sniffing
superiorly, he favored the banker with an arch look. «Providing of course you
back it up with a heavily manned police force - with a secret police and
Treasury police, and of course psychiatrists to take care of any people who
object.» Chuckling, he gave Chu a reassuring pat on his chubby back. «Police
states never go broke. The populace maybe, but not us, not us.» Slightly
mollified, but not convinced, the banker giggled in reply. Across the hall, an
orderly placed a silver tray on a table occupied by Xenu and some of his top
men. Zel reached out and took the bottle from the tray. He popped the cork and
began pouring the amber liquid into glasses. «I'd say,» said he, pompously, «it
was successful beyond any possible hopes I had. Our men in charge of the
government on every planet, planetary armies still obedient to us, no large
bases left to bother us...» - his hand slipped, spilling a quantity of liqueur,
«.. and no Congress to bother us.» They raised their crystal goblets, aqua vitae
twinkling, in a toast.
At that moment a tiny, shrill sound became audible above the music and social
buzzing. Like a diving plane, the noise swelled a trifle.
Curious, but not too concerned, Chi and his piggy friend ceased their talk and
looked upward, listening. Renegade men in the hall also looked up, listening. As
alert professionals, vigilant at all times, they grew perturbed at the rising
whine. Zel lowered his goblet uncertainly and stared at the ceiling. Xenu
started too, his glass dribbling as it tilted, unnoticed, in his rigid hand.
Rising to an almost unbearable pitch, the sound reverberated across the room.
Then, with a thunderous crash, a spear-like object burst through the ceiling to
bury its arrowhead into the wooden floor. The note of the bomber's engines
changed abruptly as it revved and pulled out of its dive.
The canister, poised erect there on the dance floor, began to vibrate. But few,
if any, of the crowd noticed this. Galvanized into action the instant the
cylinder had hit the floor, they were already surging - men yelling, women
screaming - from the confines of the room, each intent on being the first out. A
more courageous renegade raced across to the object. Grasping it, he yanked it
loose. «It not a bomb,» he shouted, examining it. «The force field above the
palace would have detonated it if it was. It's a message tube.» He removed the
screw-cap top and brought out a scroll and a piece of paper. Taking the scroll
first, he read it out to the small group who had gathered around, curious.
«’Proclamation:’ The Congress of the Loyal Officers of the People hereby deposes
Xenu as Supreme Ruler...» «What the bloody blastick is this?» The renegade
glanced briefly up at Xenu who's face was going ominously black, then continued
to read the scroll. «... and orders him to surrender for MASS MURDER.» «What
the... ?» «It's signed by Mish and Rawl!» Fingers fumbling, he grasped the
second sheet of paper. Voice growing hoarse, he read that, too, aloud. «’Xenu’,
copies of this proclamation are being dropped on streets of every planet. I
advise you to surrender peacefully...» «Hey, what's this nut Rawl think he's
doing?» Horrified, the renegade gaped around wildly, as if expecting Rawl to
leap out from somewhere and shoot him down. «He's dead. Every Loyal Officer is
dead!»
The assembly began to mutter. Xenu stalked over to Chi in a cold fury. Grabbing
the latter's coat lapels, he yanked them hard and spat into his face. «How many
Interceptor Bases did you leave untouched?» He yanked again. Chi, nearly
choking, his body turned into a lump of quivering jelly, could only stammer.
«O-only... only Mish. Th.. there was a sh.. ship seen leaving the Earth b.. base
as it bl.. blew up.»
He made a frantic attempt to lose Xenu's hands. «O-only those.» Releasing his
Minister, Xenu burst into laughter. Still laughing, he turned to face the
startled crowd and held his hands up in a calming reassuring gesture. «Purest
bluff,» he announced. «Two men against millions of secret police, against
seventy-five totally secured planets, against all our planes and armies!» Taking
the papers from the limp grip of the renegade, he laughed again, then began to
rip the papers to shreds. «Well, good luck to them,» he finished sarcastically,
dropping the strips to the floor with exaggerated contempt. His audience let out
a sigh of relief, then they also broke into laughter.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Very alone, very small against the vast reaches of the Galaxy, a single
Interceptor hung suspended. In its fuselage, four people were in various stages
of getting into space garments. Oxygen masks and parachutes were to hand, ready
to be donned. Rawl paused and looked up. «You don't have to do this, Lady Min.
You've already done enough - we'd never have known what this was all about
without you.» She kept right on getting dressed, her soft mouth set into a line
of determination as she pulled a safe-seal suit over her khaki outfit. Ap,
already dressed for space and scared stiff of the action ahead, stared at Lady
Min. If only she wasn't going, then he wouldn't have to go either. Oh lord!
Continuing to buckle his parachute straps, Rawl smiled approvingly. He glanced
out through a port. «Well, here it is. We're over Alpha Centauri Planet Two,
Cronjin. It's the least populated and a long way from Home Planet.» He laughed
derisively. «The idiots took out all the Galactic bases including this one so
there's no chance of being bombed - they've got no bombers we can't handle.
We're going to parachute in on the night side while our pilot flies cover.»
Finishing the last buckle, he reached out and took a rifle from a wall peg.
«Keep together,» he instructed, checking the blaster's load, «guide in on me
closely.»
Up to the aisle, the pilot called back to Mish. «About thirty-five seconds to
target.» Mish gave the pilot a thumbs-up sign. «When we're gone, keep alert to
cover us. If we make it, we'll radio you where to land.» He stepped forward into
the airlock, waving an arm for the rest to follow. Rawl sealed the door behind
them and glanced at the safety board. The red light had turned green. He opened
the outer door and spun off into space. Ap was the last to jump. Hanging back at
the threshold, he stared down in awe-struck horror.
With much misgiving, he squeezed his eyes shut, pulled himself together, and
stepped out. The four landed in rapid succession on the spaceport pavement. In
the distance, a mass of lights denoted a city. To their immediate left, a
building bristled with antennae and red beacons - the Communications Center for
the planet. Rawl ripped open his harness buckle and, unslinging his rifle as he
went, made a dash towards the building. Reaching the stairs, he took them two at
a time. He was halfway up them before Mish started up behind him.
Inside, a secret policeman was flopped down in a chair reading a girlie
magazine.
Hearing footsteps coming up the stairs, he jumped to his feet and spun around.
His hand dived for his gun, but too late. Before he could even draw it, a green
ribbon of flame cut into him. He staggered, eyes wide, and crumpled to the
floor. Rawl propped his rifle up against the wall and, eyes rapidly studying the
console, began removing his space suit. Behind him, Mish had stopped in the
doorway, rifle held ready, standing sentinel over the staircase. Breathless from
the run, Lady Min and Ap brushed past Mish and entered the room. Typically
female, Lady Min produced a compact mirror and fluffed out her hair. Critically
appraising her reflection, she got out her lipstick. Having seen the dead secret
policeman, Ap was in no mood for seeing to his own appearance. He eyed the body
queasily, and decided to put it out of sight and mind. Holding his heaving
stomach in check, he picked up the dead man's feet and dragged him off into a
corner. Meanwhile, Rawl had completed the removal of his space garments. Pulling
his cap from his pocket, he put it on and moved over to the panel board. Naming
them as he went, he threw a number of levers. «Planetary News Media, home
television interrupt, Planetary Army Headquarters, radio emergency interrupt,
all Planet Alert System, theater screens...» The circuits clicked and whirred as
they went open. A regiment of TV monitor screens leapt to life with Rawl's
image. Making a conscious effort to calm himself, he drew a deep breath. He was
on the air. Putting a cubical mike into position, he commenced speaking. «People
of Cronjin, I am Rawl, Speaker of the Congress of Loyal Officers of the People,
the ruling body of the Galactic Confederation....» Lounging in a downtown bar,
the Cronjin Secret Police General visibly jumped when Rawl appeared on the TV
behind the counter. Slamming down his drink, heedless of the slopping alcohol,
he snatched a portable radio from his coat pocket. «... Xenu has been deposed,»
continued Rawl's voice from the TV, «the secret police disbanded. Xenu is being
sought for trial for the destruction of the Planet Earth, murder of
populations....»
The Secret Police General barked into his radio. «All police! Go to Cronjin
Planetary Communications Center, airfield. At once!» Casting a last venomous
glare at the TV, he swung about and stalked from the barroom. A couple of
teenagers were watching what they called the boob-tube. The programs had been so
boring lately, nothing but lectures and «dramas» of militaristic nature.
Half-dozing, they jerked awake when Rawl came on. One of them beckoned urgently
for the rest of his friends and family to come over to the screen. Clustered
around the set, they listened avidly to their long-term hero. «Many of your own
people were recently rounded up. They were transported to Earth and murdered
there by atomic fire. You have been told that recent measures were taken to
combat a crime wave. That crime wave was Xenu!....»
Flanked by his staff officers, hastily summoned and still buttoning on their
blue and white jackets, the Commanding General of the Cronjin Planetary Army
stood tensely watching his office TV set. Rawl's words were filling the room.
«In addition to the entire population of Planet Earth, Xenu also rounded up and
had murdered the entire Ninth Army because it sought to carry out the lawful
orders of Congress and resisted the formation of a police state....» The
Commanding General's face hardened as he nodded grimly. He knew it. «So that's
why they don't answer up,» he muttered to himself. He turned and shouted
«Orderly!» An orderly came running up. The staff Officers began pulling
transceivers from their belts and leapt into action as their Commanding General
issued a stream of decisive orders. On a sidewalk, a crowd had gathered. Staring
up at a public address system speaker, they were intent on what Rawl was saying.
«Your own bomber base did not blow up because of terrorists as you were told..
Xenu blew it up and every other Galactic base in an effort to destroy the power
of the Loyal Officers and Congress. You are safe, therefore, from any
retaliation from Home Planet. The sky above you is guarded by us...« The crowd
in the street shifted, angry. «....by the authority of the Congress I therefore
call on you to rise, smash the secret police and restore lawful government to
this planet!»
At Rawl's last words, the crowd surged forward, snarling. One of them,
ordinarily a peaceful citizen but now a ferocious mob leader inflamed by what he
had heard, leaped up onto a balustrade and began shouting directions.
Listening to the wailing sirens, Mish braced himself against the door. A fleet
of secret police cars were coming, hurtling across the airfield. Rawl glanced
out the window. Curtly signalling Ap over to him, he spoke again into the mike.
«You can and must win!» Shoving the mike into Ap's resistive hands, Rawl grabbed
his rifle, dashed through the door and along the outside platform. He dropped
down to use the parapet for cover and raised his gun over the edge. Shivering
uncontrollably, Ap tried to gather his scattered wits. All he wanted to be was a
thousand miles away. Steeling himself bravely, he stepped into the path of the
television scanner and raised the mike. «Ladies and gentlemen, people of
Cronjin, you have just heard an emergency announcement by Commander Rawl...»
Outside, the first of the armored cars had skidded to a halt, and secret
policemen were leaping out. Rawl aimed and fired.... Ap jumped as the blast
echoed through the room. Desperately telling himself that he was perfectly safe,
and that he was, after all, a publicity agent and so should be able to do
something as simple as talk on the radio, he forced himself to continue. «...
Loyal Officer, Speaker of Congress. And if you're going to do anything,» he
swallowed a gulp, «you better do it now and fast. The secret police are piling
into this airfield like an avalanche...»
The burst of flame from Rawl's rifle hit the car. Chock-full of ammunition, the
vehicle was a deadly weapon. This same attribute was also its only Achilles'
heel. It detonated in a scintillating flash of white and scarlet. Caught
flat-footed, its crew went up with the car. Jerking his head down, Ap wailed.
«People of Cronjin, where are you? We need help!» The second of the cars pulled
up short. Jumping out, the Secret Police General surveyed the scene. «Hell! One
unit lost already.» He about-faced and started directing the arriving forces
into combat positions.
Ap stole a glance out the window and turned sickly pale. He could count two,
five - no, ten trucks! And all unloading secret police. «Future zero!» A flatbed
truck with a mounted artillery piece, joined the crowd. Its gun crew started
training the gun on the dome of the Center. The Secret Police General elbowed
his way through his rushing men and jumped up onto the flatbed. «No, no!» He was
shouting, motioning for the men to desist. «Don't destroy the Communications
Center. We'll need it in a few minutes to tell the population they are dead and
we are in control!» He sprang off the truck and ran to direct a small arms
attack. At his command, lines of secret policemen threw themselves down and
commenced discharging arcs of flame towards the Center. Lying prone over the
doorsill, enemy fire chewing the frame above him, Mish returned his own staccato
shots of fire.
Ducked down, Lady Min crawled over to where Ap valiantly continued his address
to the populace. «This field,» he was saying, «is swarming with secret police.»
He closed his eyes and muttered a short prayer. «Right now we're going to find
out if the people of Cronjin are friends of murderers and oppressors!» As he
spoke, two vanloads of renegade forces arrived. By far more deadly than the
secret police. Scrambling out, the renegades hit the ground at dead runs and
made for the staircase leading to the control room. Noticing Lady Min's frantic
gestures, he gave in to her plea. «And so I give you Lady Min, eyewitness to the
planning of Xenu and destruction of Earth.» And he thankfully handed her the
mike. The first of the renegades were pounding up the stairs. Mish, ready for
it, let them come to within a few feet of him before cutting loose with his
blast gun. The leading renegades fell back, smashing into the ones behind,
creating a confused tangle of falling and thrashing men. Lady Min glanced back
at the door. Spotlights! Composing herself, she turned back to the mike. «People
of Cronjin, this may be your last chance to attain freedom,» she began, close to
tears. Dear God - where were the people of Cronjin?
Rawl cursed as his gun clicked emptily. He thrust the last charge he had into
the breech and resumed firing. If the cavalry don't come soon, they wouldn't
stand a chance. Not a damned chance. He should never have let Lady Min come
either. Gritting his teeth he smashed down another renegade with a sharp burst
of flare. By the flatbed, the determined Secret Police General looked on through
slitted eyes. Hearing a throbbing from behind, he whirled around. Seeing
nothing, he hit a switch on the truck's side and a spotlight stabbed out into
the dark. The General froze in shock as the light revealed four blue and white
army tanks rumbling towards him, gun snouts depressing into firing positions as
they came. Fanned out behind the tanks, a flock of carrier trucks were pulling
up, soldiers pouring over their sides. A ragged battle cry reached the General's
ears.
«Remember the Ninth Army! Remember the Ninth Army!»
Stationed in a tank turret, the Commanding General of the Cronjin Planetary Army
glared at the secret police maneuvers ahead. His face set into harsh lines, his
voice severe, he snapped an order into a radio unit. «Fire low so as not to hit
the Communications Center. Attack at once!» Together, the tanks fired huge
sprays of blue-white flame. A secret police car, hit, leaped into the air. A
group of trucks vanished as such, becoming blazing pyres instead. The flatbed
truck burst asunder. As yet unaware of the ravages behind them, the front lines
of secret policemen still exchanged shot with the Center. Then, a few seemed to
sense that all was not well. As they rose to turn back, a wave of soldiers hit
them, screaming «Remember the Ninth Army!» Hearing the stepped up turmoil
outside, Lady Min risked a peek over the window sill. Seeing the change of
circumstances, she jumped to her feet, face radiant. Thank the stars! «Victory!»
she cried. «People of Cronjin, you are free, free, free!»
Rawl and Mish grinned at each other. Dangling their rifles, they went to stand
by the shredded door to greet the approaching Army General and his officers.
Catching sight of Rawl, the Army General rushed forward and firmly shook his
hand. «So I finally get to meet the famous Rawl!»
Mish gestured, «Shall we go inside?» They did so, Ap clearing some battered
chairs out of their way.
Lady Min had stopped speaking and held the mike toward the conferring group,
volume up. A sudden commotion at the door made them turn. A group of officers
with a shackled civilian in their midst crowded in. One of the officers gently
pushed the civilian forward. «Look what we have here!» The man was middle-aged,
he held his head up proudly as another officer tried out various keys on his
shackled wrists. The officer who had spoken explained further, noting Rawl' s
raised eyebrow. «We got him out of the police barracks' dungeon. The Civil
Governor of Cronjin!» One of his hands successfully unshackled, the Governor
extended it to Rawl. Shaking his hand, Rawl studied the man, liking what he saw.
«Can I count on you and the General here to get this planet mopped up and in
order?» The Governor and Army General beamed with enthusiasm. «Indeed so!» they
chorused. Mish and Ap had gone over to the console behind Lady Min. Looking as
if he were about to faint, Ap collapsed against the panel and wiped his face on
his sleeve. «That was tombstone close!»
Mish shrugged. «One down and seventy-four planets to go.» Ap was horrified.
«Seventy-four more like these?»
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Through the Interceptor's windscreen, the stars seemed like a chain of diamonds
against a backdrop of black velvet. In the pilot seat, mike in hand, Rawl
broadcasted a rallying message. «People of the Galactic Confederation, fight on!
We have wrested thirty planets from the unlawful control of Xenu. Everywhere
populations are in revolt. The measures of personal income tax, enforced
identification, illegal entries and violations of privacy by the secret police
have inflamed peoples everywhere. Xenu in his stronghold on Home Planet receives
little news to cheer him....»
And revolt they did.
Anchar: The Personal Income Tax Bureau headquarters was particularly hated. A
band of civilian saboteurs slipped in by night and planted charges in key
locations. And it was blown ski-high.
Betelgeuse: A secret policeman was standing at the identity computers, feeding
in the unverified data. He didn't care what it said, just so long as there was
stuff there. He had heard rumors about an impending revolt - no problem. The
secret police could handle. Then, three civilians, armed with automatic blast
guns burst in, their leader shouting «To hell with your false reports!» And the
policeman, computers and all, vanished in a flash of fire.
Pollux: An angry pack of rebels were dragging a secret policeman along by his
foot. They had a kangaroo court ready and waiting for him and the renegade they
had captured and whom they had stumbling along behind, rope round his neck in
preparation for his predetermined execution.
Spica: The mob had a bearded psychiatrist down on the floor. One of them jabbed
him repeatedly with a hypo, yelling: «Let's see how you like it!»
Beta Centauri: A dead secret policeman was sprawled across the console in the
communications center of Planet Two, a butcher knife in his back. Beside him, a
wounded renegade screamed into a mike. «Home Planet, Home Planet. The people of
Beta Centauri Two have risen in revolt. We are pinned down, outnumbered...» His
scream rose even higher as the room exploded with a deafening, sonorous crash of
thunder.
Insurrection against the oppressors spread like wildfire across the Galaxy. Bit
by bit, the secret police, renegade forces and officials loyal to Xenu were
beaten down and crushed, their headquarters smashed.
And the mutineers revelled in each victory, spurred on to greater acts of
rebellion by each success.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
A chart was spread across an aisle table in Rawl's Interceptor. Consulting it
was Rawl himself, Mish, Lady Min and Ap. Rawl slapped down his pencil and
stretched his cramped limbs. «Sooner or later they will get their wits working
and start to use the Home Planet bombers to retaliate.» Intent on oiling his
pistol, Mish nodded absently. He'd discussed this with Rawl last night. Ap
darted his gaze from Rawl to Mish, then back to Rawl again. Bombers! What this
meant he didn't know, but it must be bad news. «I propose to attack that base,»
Rawl tapped an area of Home Planet on the chart, «and then move right on in on
the Home Planet without waiting for other planets. They're doing all right.
«Mish nodded again. «Looks safest.» Ap gasped. Had he heard that right?
«Safest?» Rawl smiled. «This is an outer space atomic Interceptor,» he explained
patiently, «made to combat enemy space battleships. Using it in an atmosphere
makes it dead easy against planetary ships. I doubt if there are any renegades
that can even fly one.» Ap was unconvinced. «Like a tiger fighting a puppy,
huh?» Rawl laughed. «You can man the tail gun.» Clutching at the table, Ap
moaned, «Do you have any heart medicine aboard?»
A young girl was being shoved around like a rag doll. The renegades, seated in a
circle, laughed at her terror, pushing her from one to the next of them with her
clothes tearing further at each jolt. In the background, the Home Planet bomber
base's fleet of ships sat idle and poorly cared for. For sure, the renegades who
manned the base had better things to do, like what they were doing now. One of
the renegades loosened up his collar. «I didn't think it would be so much fun to
be an agent of the Confederate Bureau of Investigation.» Another man gave a leer
and turned to the girl. «Come on, sweetheart, let's investigate further.» The
girl was tossed at him. He caught her and ripped a garment further. She fell to
his feet, eyes wide open. He shook her a little. No movement. «Hell! She's
dead!» A renegade to his left reached out. «Good, hand her over, that's the way
I like 'em.»
One of the group had grown bored. He got to his feet and yawned. «I better get a
squadron airborne to relieve the Home Planet patrol.» He began to slouch off.
The renegade holding the girl pitched her into the arms of the renegade to his
left, and called out after the departing man, «Yeah, you do that.» And he
returned his attention to the sport.
Up in patrol, the renegade co-pilot punched a transmit button. «When are you dog
lovers coming up to relieve us?» The radio uttered an uncouthness in reply.
Starting to put the mike back on its hook, a blip on the radar caught the
co-pilot's eye. He cast a searching glance out through the windscreen and yelped
in fright. He frantically shook the dozing pilot's arm and pointed outside,
bringing the mike back to his mouth with his other hand. His voice cracked as he
practically squeaked: «A Loyal Officer Interceptor!»
Rawl threw his Interceptor into a dive. Between his craft and the base below,
six renegade patrol ships were flying in sloppy formation. Back in the tail, Ap
sat in the gunner seat wrestling the gun with clumsy hands. Looking out through
his viewport, he flinched. «Six Interceptors!»
Alarm sirens sounded at ground level. Aroused from their various and nefarious
activities, renegades scrambled toward their stations. Holding the dive, Rawl
signalled Mish to hold fire as the latter readied a firing control. Mish shot a
grin back, and nodded. Ap checked the port again. «Six more taking off!» He
began muttering a prayer, hoping that somewhere some kind god would listen and
transport him instantly to some other place.
Anywhere but here!
Firing tracer shot, the patrol rose to meet Rawl's ship. Flashing downwards to
pass right through the enemy formation, Mish closed the firing control just as
his own ship passed the first of the renegade Interceptors, leaving behind a
pattern of black balls strewn between the patrol ships. Then, the black balls
exploded, knocking four of the renegade craft from the skies. Ap at his tail gun
was intent on mopping up the remaining two. Firing wildly, he managed to score a
direct hit on one of them. Belching greasy black smoke, it fell. Letting loose a
whoop of delight, Ap turned his blazing gun, prayers forgotten, on the last ship
as it pivoted around and began to fire at him. A curtain of swirling red
engulfed Ap's turret. In the cockpit, Rawl swore and jerked at the controls to
steady his Interceptor. But the hit was only glancing, not , much damage done.
Ap, a trifle singed, yelled triumphantly as his next shot caught his opponent
right on the nose.
Rawl held the dive. Mish pointed down at six more ships shooting vertically up
towards them.
«Second squadron!» Being twice the speed as well as twice the size of the
renegade craft, Rawl's ship had flashed by them before they could even change
course to fire on him. Nearly grazing the ground, Rawl pulled out of the dive
and took the Interceptor, engines shrieking, up and under the patrol. Shooting
right through the squadron, Mish again closed the firing switch, and the six
ships were blasted to fragments.
Rawl yanked at the controls and dove downwards again, for the base itself. In
the tail Ap was raring to go, ready to roll. Hunting for something to fire at,
he found nothing, and slumped back in disappointment. An anti-spacecraft gunner
crew concentrated ribbons of shot at the plummeting Interceptor.
No use - the ship just kept diving toward them. They ceased fire and ducked
futilely for cover. Mish once more had his hand on the firing control, waiting
for the word.... «Now!» yelled Rawl, and Mish snapped his thumb down. Rawl
banked his ship and sped for safety as the base went up in a cloud of atomic
particles.
Flying left-handed, Rawl cruised his Interceptor above Home Planet. He held a
mike in his other hand, and frowned slightly as he spoke. «Calling Commanding
General Arn, Commanding Planetary Army Home Planet. Calling Commanding General
Arn, Commanding Planetary Army Home Planet....» A voice spluttered in over the
receiver. «I'll get him, I'll get him.» Having answered the call, a
communications clerk signalled urgently to the Commanding General across the
room. He ducked down to avoid a red slash of fire that laced above him.
Many others in the room did the same, for the Planetary army was engaged in a
pitched battle. Soldiers, in the blue and white uniforms, were at the windows,
firing intermittently at the enemy outside. A line of wounded lay against the
far wall, growing longer by the minute. General Arn, a dignified, grey-headed
man, answered the clerk' s summons. Cap off and collar open he ran, keeping his
head down, over to the radio. The clerk handed Arn the mike, shaking his head
incredulously. «It sounds like Rawl!» The clerk hit a video button and the
General stared, jaw agape, at the screen. «Rawl!» He drew a breath of relief,
then spoke very seriously. «Don't try to come in here. We're pinned down! They
seized our tanks. Secret police and renegades are out there in thousands all
around our base.» «Are you at Central Base Three?»
The General looked a little suspicious. The guy would have to be crazy to come
in here! With reservation, he answered «Yes.» Rawl gave a short laugh. «Keep the
heads of your men down when you hear a ship!» «Rawl...» the General began, to be
silenced by the audible click as Rawl cut the circuit. Looking around him in
some amazement, he spoke to no one in particular. «He's coming in here!» Then,
hastily buttoning his collar and jamming his cap on his head, heturned and
shouted to his men. «Increase your fire!»
High above Central Base Three, Rawl and Mish surveyed the scene below. The base
was a fortress-like building surrounded on three sides by open parade ground and
backed on the fourth by a winding river. Some twenty tanks were ranged around
the building, spouting gushes of flame. Masses of secret police in battle
formations were keeping up continuous fire at the building where army soldiers
at the windows only shot back sporadically. Rawl pulled a lever and his ship
swooped downward. «Use fire,» he told Mish. «Don't hit the building.» Mish
grinned back at Rawl and gave him an OK sign.
Zel, a bit removed from his men, was seated in a camp chair, observing the
battle in satisfaction. Just a few more hours, and he'd probably get a medal or
something. Deserved it too - no one would ever know that this really wasn't his
plan, but what the hell. He was the senior officer here anyway. The note of an
alien engine intruded upon his ruminations. He looked up, consternated and
dumbfounded to see a diving Interceptor. Jumping up, he ran for the cover of
some nearby trees. As the ship's shadow raced over the tanks and men on the
parade grounds, Mish jerked on the firing control, letting loose a blanket of
raging flame.
Army soldiers crowded, wounded and all, to the windows, cheering as the tanks
blew up one by one. Those still alive in the ranks of secret police nearest the
army building had about-faced to stare, awe-struck, at the burning wreckage.
They didn't see as the soldiers leapt over their window embrasures to charge
headlong at them.
Then, hearing the battle cry «Remember the Ninth Army!» the secret police
whirled around to be knocked flat by the wave of blue and white uniformed men.
«Remember the Ninth Army!» In the Interceptor, Lady Min and Ap had come to stand
behind the pilot seats in the Cockpit, looking eagerly through the windshield.
Ap clutched Mish's arm and howled in delight. «We've won!» Laughing, Mish
disengaged Ap's hands and reached across to lightly punch Rawl's shoulder. «Hey,
pardner. We've done it again!» Seeking an avenue of release for his high
spirits, Ap grabbed Lady Min and waltzed her down the fuselage, to her own and
the others' amusement. But below, Zel was making good his escape. He clambered
into an armored car and kicked it into gear. Hatless and scorched, he careened
off madly, intent only on getting away.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The heads of state were holed up in the palace. Renegade troops, scattered
strategically around the walls, kept up a barrage of small arms fire. Out in the
street, a crowd of affronted civilians were held back by barricades and panes of
anti-shot glass. In the square, facing the palace, were several armored vehicles
and a blue and white tank.
Next to the tank, General Arn, Mish and Rawl were conferring. «They're in there
all right,» observed Arn. «The lot of them, like rats in a hole.» Mish slammed a
fist against the tank's side. Blast! He spoke gruffly in his frustration. «You
can't bomb the place. It's force screen detonates anything you drop on them.»
Rawl leaned back on the tank and shook his head. «No, no. We've got to take them
alive.» He beckoned to a civilian police captain who held a loud-hailer.
Stooping low to avoid ricocheting shot, the captain ran over to the tank,
trailing the hailer's cord behind him. Rawl jabbed a thumb over his shoulder.
«Isn't there any way we can get them out of there?» The captain shrugged. «We
could storm the place. Cost an awfuI lot of men.» «Call them again,» sighed
Rawl. «We want to take them alive.» A man in the forefront of the watching
crowds turned to his neighbor, marveling at what he had just heard. «Rawl just
said they want to take them alive!» Pleased with the idea, his eyes lit up
fanatically. Cupping his hands to his mouth, he shouted to Rawl: «Take them
alive!» Those around the man stared at him, astonished. Then they too took up
the cry. «Take them alive!» the din grew as more and more joined in. The captain
glanced back at the people behind the barricades, a small smile crossing his
face. Turning again to confront the palace, he switched on the hailer.
«You are called upon to surrender peacefully. All renegades in the palace will
be granted amnesty and transported out of the Galaxy. All officials will be
arraigned for trial. Come out without weapons and your hands above your head.»
In a window, a renegade was turning the captain's words over in his mind. He
listened for a moment to the mob's chanting - «Take them alive!»
Sighing, he worked the slide of his rifle and pulled the trigger. It gave an
empty click. He regarded the street again, then withdrew from the window in
defeat. One of the palace doors opened a crack. Several blast rifles slithered
out to clatter down the broad front steps. The door opened wider, and a ragged
bunch of powder-burned renegades straggled out, hands held high. An officer
signalled to his blue and white uniformed men. «Hold your fire!» The men who had
capitulated were frisked and loaded into an open-sided truck. Suddenly, a burst
of fire from the palace knocked three of the renegades down. A civilian police
officer dropped to his knees and raised his rifle to shoot back. Holding his
smoking rifle, the secret police executive tarried a second too long at the
window before drawing back. The demoniac snarl on his face changed to one of
agony as the shot from below caught him in the abdomen. Loosing an involuntary
burst from his gun, he pitched forward and fell to the pavement below. Viewing
this exchange, Rawl's frown deepened. He looked over at Arn; «Still a lot of
fanatics in there.» Arn, scowling at the palace, nodded absently. Rawl drew his
pistol and checked its load. Jerking his head towards Mish, he moved off in the
direction of the palace. «Come on, Mish.» Aroused from his meditations, Arn made
a grab at Rawl in alarm; «No!» But they were off, crouching low. Creeping
alongside of them was a driverless armored car, pushed by a couple of civilian
police, to protect them from fire. A splatter of red glanced off the top of the
car without doing harm. Deciding the least he could do was keep the enemy busy,
Arn shouted to his men: «All troops, rapid fire at palace windows!» Pulled up in
front of the building's arched portals, Rawl and Mish knelt in back of the car's
fenders. Keeping his eyes on Mish's face, Rawl drew a coin from his pocket and
flipped it.
»Heads,» chose Mish. Rawl didn't even look at the coin or show it to Mish. «I
lost,» he stated, cutting short Mish's protests by sprinting off towards the
palace steps. Red streaks of flame ripped at the cement around him, but still he
ran on. Mish swore. Seeing someone about to shoot at Rawl from a window, he
rapidly aimed and fired. The man's gun, hit, exploded in his hands. Mish turned
anxiously back to watch Rawl dart through the palace doors. Hell! He wasn't
going to let Rawl go in there alone! He upped and dashed off to catch up with
Rawl. Inside, Rawl paused to spray the hall with shot. Spotting a shadowy figure
on a balcony, he brought his gun to bear and fired. He started as someone raced
past him and made for the stairs. Seeing it was Mish, he smiled - not surprised.
Staying below to cover him, Rawl waited until Mish had reached the head of the
staircase before dashing up them himself. Their backs to the hallway on the left
of the bannister, neither saw an office door surreptitiously open. Nor did they
see a grey-green uniformed man sneak out and take aim. The shot caught Mish on
the side of his head. A look of amazement on his face, he jerked once and,
weapon flying into the air, he fell backwards rolling over and over as he
toppled down the stairs. Rawl's face went white as stunned, he watched Mish
fall. Then, whirling around, he saw a door down the corridor bang shut. Running
furiously towards it, he cut loose a blast of fire and the door buckled inward.
Kicking the smoking door aside, he entered the room, gun held ready. He swept
his eyes across the room. Cowering by the desk were two secret policemen. A
third was getting to his feet, having been knocked down by the door, and was
bringing his rifle around.
Though Rawl was still in shock from the loss of Mish, his reflexes were
lightning quick.
Instinctively almost, he blasted the man with the rifle down and turned his
blazing gun on the other two men. And he kept on firing long after the secret
policemen were dead. He checked himself, the fury clearing from his mind.
Stepping out into the hallway, he looked down over the bannister at the crumpled
form lying at the bottom of the stairs.
For a moment only he allowed grief to tear through him. Mish had been his best
friend.
«Damn, damn, damn!» Then, grimly determined, he moved down the corridor. In the
street, Lady Min had joined General Arn by the tank. Her face white with strain,
she stared at the palace, clasping and unclasping her hands in nervous tension.
Oh lord! Let him come out alive... Bootbeats echoing, Rawl strode down the hall.
He passed door after door until he arrived at the last one, slightly more
ornamental than the rest, its plaque announced it to be Xenu's office. He
reached out his hand, tentatively touched the doorknob. he turned it. Then, he
savagely kicked the door open and lunged through. At first glance, the room
seemed bare. Red velvet drapes hung askew, red carpet littered with paper and
discarded weapons, the massive black desk was smothered in scatters of files.
Rawl took this all in in a flash, then brought his gaze to rest on the floor
under the window.
There slumped down, were five men. Rawl walked slowly, cautiously even, towards
them. Stopping before them, Rawl regarded the five men with contempt. Zel was
white-faced with fear; Chi was panting - his hand raised to ward off imagined
horrors; Sty lay stiffly as if he were one of his own patients, or victims
rather; Chu the banker would not meet Rawl's eyes, concentrating as he was on
not vomiting from total shattering terror; and lastly, Xenu - he was slightly
more composed than the rest. Rawl's lip curled. Well here they were. The
kingpins. Not so brave now, but weren't all criminals basically cowards at
heart? Praying Rawl wouldn't notice, Xenu obliquely eyed the floor by his right
hand. A blast pistol lay there invitingly. He crept his hand toward it, keeping
a close watch on Rawl as he frisked down the other four. Closer and closer crept
Xenu's hand. Still Rawl hadn't noticed.... With a sudden movement, Xenu grabbed
the pistol. Out of the corner of his eye, Rawl saw this and spun around,
swinging his foot at the same time. Jamming the gun against his right temple,
Xenu squeezed the trigger... Just as Rawl's boot connected with his hand,
sending the pistol spinning up into the air, it discharged harmlessly.
Scooping it up from where it bounced back onto the floor, Rawl tossed the pistol
to the far end of the room. His attempted suicide foiled, and all weapons
removed from his vicinity, Xenu flopped down in despair.
Whoresons! He was lost, lost, lost. Casting a withering glance at Xenu, Rawl
moved over to the window and shattered the glass with his pistol butt. Reversing
his gun so as to keep his prisoners covered, Rawl leaned out the window and
waved his cap to the people below. «They're alive!» The crowd roared in
approval. Lady Min, tears of relief streaming down her otherwise glowingly
beautiful face, waved back frantically, trying to catch Rawl's eye. Car horns
and church bells joined in the uproar. Rejoicing spread through the city at the
news of victory. As one, the crowds burst through the barricades and surged,
yelling in jubilation, towards the palace. The joy of the moment was infectious.
Rawl smiled to himself as he Looked down at the tumult below. Seeing Lady Min
there, his grin widened and he blew her a kiss.
CHAPTER TWENTY
General Arn was talking with Rawl in his office. Nearby, flashy in his loud new
clothes, Ap was fidgeting. Lady Min, beautifully groomed and poised, gazed
adoringly up at Rawl through long lashes. Rawl put a hand on the General's arm.
«There's a lot to be done. Can you nominate some of your people as Loyal
Officers?» «Yes,» the General affirmed. «And if I were you I would take the two
top classes of the Loyal Officer Academy, commission them at once and put them
up for election by the people.» Rawl nodded, then a frown marked his face. «It
won't,» he added gloomily, «be the same operating without Mish.» As he spoke,
the door flew open and Mish, heavily bandaged and grinning madly, entered on
crutches. «That,» he laughed, «is one problem you won't have to feed into the
computer!» Rawl looked as if he was seeing an apparition. Mish? Alive?
Recovering from the initial shock, he whooped in delight and rushed over to clap
him on his good arm. «You'll never know, pardner,» he said, «how pleased I am to
see you!» Lady Min and Ap also swooped down on Mish trying to hug him and be
careful of his wounds at the same time. «Hey, watch it!» exclaimed Mish in mock
protest.
The Congressional Hall echoed as the black-robed judge, seated in the place once
occupied by Xenu, rapped his gave! Two other judges flanked him. Many more were
seated below him in a long tier. The vast rows of chairs were empty, save those
occupied by a stern-faced Rawl, a black-veiled Lady Min and a bandaged Mish.
Heavily guarded, Xenu, Chi, Zel, Sty and Chu faced their tribune, awaiting
sentence. Broadcasting the trial, a newsman and an audio assistant rolled the TV
camera around on ist crane support. The chief judge looked down gravely on the
criminals before him. «Having been duly and carefully tried under the authority
of Congress, the following persons are found guilty attempting to form a police
state, extorting personal taxes, of instigating revolt, high treason against the
state, willful and malicious mass murder of populations and the destruction of
the people and all things on planet Earth: ‘Zel - former Chief of Secret Police
Earth, Sty head of the Psychiatric Associations, Chi - former head of the
Department of Justice, Chu - former head of the Galactic Bank, and Xenu -
deposed Supreme Ruler....’» The judge paused for breath, then continued, his
voice taking on an even more somber tone, «....are hereby sentenced to be
exhibited on every planet to the populations of each planet and then imprisoned
in a mountain sustained for eons by life-supports.» «Such is the judgement of
this court, of the Congress, of the offended peoples of the great Confederation
and the moral natures of all decent men.» «Is there anything the felons would
care to say?» His question was met by silence. The banker's nervous giggle
didn't count. The Judge, with some asperity, rapped his gavel to silence the
banker. He frowned severely.
«Such is the fate of those who would form a police state and such it has ever
been.» He rapped his gavel three more times to signal the conclusion of the
proceedings.
The sentence was carried out meticulously. The criminals were displayed in glass
encased locomotives that travelled the face of every planet in the
Confederation. At each station, the trains would halt, met by angry, indignant
crowds. Among the bands of citizens were some more bold than the rest. These
displayed their hatred and utter contempt for the felons with tangible
expressions in the form of eggs, tomatoes and other such objects, pelted
pell-mell at the carriages. The prisoners reacted in various ways. Chi merely
stared out the windows, eyes wide and vacant as he slowly went insane. Sty took
to muttering Freudian style phrases to himself in an attempt to occupy himself
with things other than his horror of the fate in store for him. Chu lost a great
deal of weight, becoming less piggy, but still maintaining his habit of
twist-twisting his rings. Zel became a manic-depressive, and indulged in
paroxysms of deep melancholia followed by fits of glee. And Xenu - Xenu just sat
and sagged, head in his hands.
Their grand tour over at last, they were taken to a solitary mountain that
brooded over a barren plain. A cluster of blue and white trucks were parked
around a tunnel entrance that led into the heart of the mountain. Nearby, a
milling crowd of civilians and soldiers were scattered about.
A military band played funeralistic music, slow in beat and low in pitch.
Accompanied by his TV and radio broadcasting equipment, a newsman was keeping up
a steady commentary. «We are standing here on the desolate slopes of Mount Xenu
on Planet Tawn. This is the mountain named for him in the days of unholy power
when he planned his criminal course of destruction. It was designated, possibly
with bitterness, as the final place of imprisonment. Officers of the Court are
completing....» Inside the mountain was a grotto carved out of the living stone.
A blue-overalled electrician was connecting up sheets of copper plating that
lined the room. Alert guards stood about.
Cables and wires lay in heaps on the copper sheathed floor. Several white-coated
doctors and their attendants worked busily around a semicircle of hospital-style
tables on which the prisoners, strapped down, were lying. Xenu was staring dully
upwards as one doctor fastened tubes to his wrists and another fastened them to
his ankles. The first doctor, having finished the wrists, began to put two
prongs around Xenu's throat. Wetting his dry, cracked lips, Xenu looked up at
the doctor, some terror showing in his glazed eyes. «These devices keep one
alive forever?»
«Don't talk,» snapped the doctor. A guard stepped forward. «Don't talk to the
prisoner!» Despairing, Xenu rolled his eyes. «How long is forever?» No one
answered, no one knew.
Completing their tasks, the doctors began to pull out. Guards moved away from
the tables.
They filed out one by one, leaving only the electrician and one guard in company
with the prisoners. Rapidly, the remaining two gave the tables and wirings a
final check. The prisoners lay inert but awake. The banker and psychiatrist
stared wretchedly at the exit, small and more desirable than life, at the end of
the long tunnel. Zel started to laugh hysterically. Chi looked around,
vacant-eyed. And Xenu gazed blankly, torment-torn, at the ceiling. Satisfied all
was in order, the electrician and guard also began to depart. Swinging the
copper-grated door shut behind them, they walked the length of the tunnel.
Reaching the final exit, the electrician switched the lights off, and the guards
banged the heavy steel door shut. Inside, the prisoners were bathed in darkness.
And the screaming began....
The newscaster buttonholed the electrician. «How long,» he asked, thrusting the
mike forward, «will the power last to continue their life-supports?» Turning in
some impatience, the electrician shrugged. «About seventy-four million years, I
think, possibly more. Long enough.» Piqued at this laconic reply, the newscaster
looked around for another prospective interviewee. Bulldozers moved up and began
shoveling dirt to cover up the tunnel entrance. An engineering officer spoke to
one of the drivers. «Make sure there's no trace of that tunnel entrance.» The
driver grinned and gave him a salute. Finally, the people had drifted away, the
band was gone. Mount Xenu once more stood alone. No sign left of the tunnel. No
sign of anything. A sullen breeze moaned monotonously over the plain, tumbling a
few dried weeds before it.
A faint scream sounded. Perhaps a sudden gust of air, perhaps.... just the
lonely wind.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Earth. A murky yellow mist swirled about some shattered tree stumps that spotted
a promontory. A white helicopter was hovering there as it lowered an angular,
cylindrical object. It was a large capsule, shiny green in color. Its surface
was smooth but for the panels set in its nose. A few people were standing on the
promontory. All wore anti-radiation suits over their normal clothing. Mish,
watching the lowering capsule, guided it down with hand signals. Ap, not doing
anything much as usual but there anyway, looked around at the desolated
landscape. He found it a little bit spooky. «This sure is,» he commented to the
air as no one was listening to him, «the end of Planet Earth! Future zero!» Off
to one side, Lady Min and Rawl had their heads together, talking quietly. Lady
Min looked up at Rawl a trifle uncertainly. «I never was his mistress, that was
just his idea of a way to become popular. He hated women.» Rawl smiled, a little
surprised but pleased all the same. «I used to keep news clips of you,» she went
on as she lowered her gaze, embarrassed. «Kept them under my pillow when I was a
teenager. Silly, huh?» Rawl's eyes flew wide open. «You kept clips of me?» It
was his turn to look embarrassed. «I used to keep photos of you in my wallet.»
They looked at each other in sudden understanding. Their hands reached out and
touched. Meanwhile, the capsule grounded, the helicopter had landed. Mish
disengaged the cable and together with Ap, wrestled the cylinder into position.
Unhooking one of the panels, Mish switched on a camera unit and recorder. He
turned to signal Rawl. «You're on,» he hissed. Gently, Rawl took his hand from
Lady Min's and softly touched a finger to her mouth. Her eyes were brilliant as
she smiled at him. Stepping into line with the capsule's camera lens, Rawl
braced himself to speak. «A few of us labored together to make this capsule so
that those who may follow will know how your planet was murdered and why.
He swept his arm to indicate the devastated terrain. «This desolation was the
result of forming a police state. When populations are restless, unwise
governments seek to oppress. And the more they oppress the closer they bring a
revolution. Foolish governments seek to prevent revolution with more oppression.
And they die.» «But part of the fault for this must be shared by the Congress.
Congress let an executive branch grow bigger and bigger and let it act to
antagonize and alienate the people. To that degree Congress betrayed the people
who elected and trusted them.» He looked down and raised a hand to tick off a
finger as he made each point. «Before the other planets are also destroyed,
Congress has got to reform the school system so they stop teaching kids they are
animals. Then it has to get the police to realize they are responsible for
public safety, not just nabbing people they don't like. Congress will have to
pass a bill abolishing the whole evil fraud of psychiatry. Congress has to
eradicate the executive branch as it is and organize one with far less power.»
Rawl gazed intensely into the camera lens, as if willing a result of duplication
and action to occur if, when, Earth ever was reborn, re-civilized. «Do not
attempt to form another police state for then your planet will die again.» «The
mistakes of the past were ours. The future is yours.» With that, Rawl essayed an
easy salute. A stray wind blew a wisp of yellow fog between Rawl and the capsule
and the screen went blank.
EPILOGUE
Stunned, the president and his head cop could only stare at the blank screen as
the capsule's panel doors slowly swung shut. Through the window, the sun was
setting on Washington the fair, Washington the beautiful. And still they just
sat. The head of National Police vacant-eyed; the president pensive, trying to
gather his scattered wits. The president considered the consequences of this
capsule's contents became public knowledge. He shuddered at the idea. All his
plans, all his power... he shook his head to disband such awful notions. After a
time, he stood up. Seeing his boss rise, Jedgar also got to his feet, thankful
to get going. He knew this business was terribly important, and that much was at
stake - but all he could think of was his dinner and the race tonight. And he
had a mighty big bone to pick with that Benny the Dip....
Thoughtfully, the president walked towards the locked doors that led from the
room, Jedgar trailing behind, anxious to be gone. On the steps outside the
science building, a cluster of newsmen and photographers had gathered. They had
been waiting an awfully long time. As the huge portals opened, their desultory
talk ceased abruptly. They looked up expectantly as the president and his
sidekick, czar of all US police, appeared to be instantly hit by a barrage of
clamorous questions and popping flashbulbs. «What was it?» yelled a reporter.
«Mr. President....» began another. And another reporter «Was it some ancient
civilization?»
Loud and clear above the others, one reporter could be heard. «Was it a time
capsule?» The president looked down at the reporters. They were obviously
awaiting some kind of answer. Well, he'd give 'em one. He smiled slowly, eyes
veiling. Waving his hands for silence, he spoke in a jocular tone of voice.
«Sorry to disappoint. It was just a piece of old World War II junk. Just scrap
metal, gentlemen. Just scrap metal.»
Turning his head a little, the president exchanged a sly, conspiratorial glance
with his Chief of National Police. Jedgar, catching on and approving
whole-heartedly, smiled back - a bit evilly, slightly twisted.
No one would ever know... Just scrap metal.
THE END