Battle at Zero Point (29 page)

Bad Mews 666

Agent Steve Gordon knew something was wrong.

He'd first felt it two days before. The universe had shifted a bit. A little cosmic energy had been lost.

Then, an overwhelming sadness had come over him, and even now, forty-eight hours later, he'd yet to shake it

Gordon was the one who stayed behind. To watch over the ship. To watch over the handful of Twenty 'n Six capsules the messengers now considered sacred. To be as close as possible to Zero Point without being detected.

He'd spent all of his time here alone, perched on the highest peak of die moon, very close to where the
Resonance 133
still lay, hidden and battered, not far from die moon's immense pyramid.

He'd learned many strange tilings in this time here. That things like breathing and eating were no longer necessary, but a deep understanding of nature and the cosmos was. He'd watched the sky intently, these long days alone, studying the stars and thinking about them in a way he'd never been able to before. He also looked beyond those stars that were part of the Milky Way to the other pinpoints of light, up there in the heavens. Those stars weren't stars at all. They were other galaxies—billions of them. And they made up the universe of which the Milky Way was only a very small part.

Thinking beyond the realm. It was just not done these days—and hadn't been for thousands of years.

Until now.

It was while he was looking up at the skies, thinking about them in this new and different way, when another very distressing feeling came over him. Something was coming. In fact, it was heading right for him, traveling very fast, from somewhere very deep in space.

It arrived just a few moments later, screaming in like a small missile and crashing not a hundred yards from the
Resonance 133
. It caused a huge explosion on impact.

But it was not a missile. It was something else.

Gordon flew to the crash site in an instant. Here, he found the remains of 33418, Zarex's robot. Its knees were broken, its fingers were smashed, and it had two massive holes in the back of its head.

It was dead.

This is not good
, Gordon thought.
Not good at all
.

He looked up at the stars and whispered a few words, and suddenly the others were around him.

Summoned through the ethers by this turn of events, Tomm, Erx, Berx, Klaaz, and Calandrx were not there one moment, but simply there the next.

They all hovered above the robot's mechanical corpse now. Profound sadness times six. They had all been fond of the mighty danker, almost as much as Zarex had.

"Not a random act, its landing here," Tomm said, lightly touching the bent and twisted remains. "Nor is Zarex's absence among us."

"Someone is trying to tell us something," Calandrx said. "And I fear it will not be the best of news."

They laid their hands on the tin man's remains, and after a while, a dark crimson mist began rising out of its chest. The red fog slowly coalesced into a viz screen. A recounting of actual events had been implanted in the robot's indestructible memory banks, events someone wanted them to see.

The images were like those in a bad dream. They were inside a dark place, misty and damp and the color of blood. Disturbing just to look at. Shadowy figures were moving back and forth through the scene; some were almost floating, but in a most unnatural way. Bizarre equipment that looked alive was jammed in everywhere. In the middle of this place was Brother Zarex. He was bound to a hovering chair.

The shadows became clearer. They were REF troopers—or at least some of them were. Unmistakable in their red uniforms. They were taunting Zarex even as he was struggling with them. They were telling him they knew exactly what was going to happen at Zero Point. They knew when the UPF fleet would be passing over, and thus, they would be in a position to destroy it when it did—and there was nothing he could do about it.

Zarex fought them bravely, tossing them about like dolls. But suddenly, he just stopped. And that's when one shadow ran him through again and again with a long shiny needle. A very painful way to die.

This vision faded to be replaced by another. It showed REF troopers rampaging through ships, slaying innocents, bombarding defenseless planets, vaporizing orphans and children. In one last hazy vision, so distorted the six knew it probably hadn't happened yet, they saw thousands of ships unloading millions of people on a very bleak planet. In the background hovered the Red Ships, weapons ready.

This vision disappeared as quickly as the first, but the message was clear.

"The devils implanted this memory," Erx said somberly. "They want us to know that they have our plans. And that if we interfere, they will kill millions on that planet in the near future, just as they have already killed thousands in the recent past. And if they succeed, the bad side of things will hold sway here for many ages to come."

"That planet can only be one place," Calandrx said. "An appropriate piece of Hell…"

"And the world closest to where it all started," Berx agreed. "So they're being ironic as well."

"Or not," Tomm added.

Klaaz said, "It was wise that we fulfilled our missions as messengers; these things will help us. I just wonder if it will be enough. There are many more of them than there are of us."

"For the moment anyway," Erx murmured.

"But at least we have one bright spot in this," Tomm said. "One chance that could help swing things our way."

They all knew what he meant.

"Brother Zarex was actually a very clever man to do what he did in the end," Calandrx said.

"As well as a very brave one."

They were silent for a while. Finally Gordon said, "And so it begins."

"And there is still much we have to do," Tomm added.

They knew, then and there, it was finally time to leave
Bad News 666
for good.

They were needed elsewhere.

The enormous transport ship lowered itself through the planet's thin atmosphere and set down on the forbidding, rocky plain.

Its massive cargo doors swung open, and it began hastily unloading its cargo, more than 5,000 people, mostly women and children, all late of the floating refugee camp at the
Andromeda Zee
. Those reluctant to step off the ship were prodded by faceless SG soldiers in bright red combat gear and holding blaster rifles. Any further resistance, and the offending refugee was painfully reduced to a pile of subatomic dust.

Once empty, the ship quickly lifted off and disappeared into the barren, predawn sky. It was one of several waves of refugee ships to land on this stark, radiation-soaked planet. Thousands of vessels from the Zee had been dumping their ill-fated passengers all over this dreadful place, under the eye of ominous low-orbiting SG ships that, for whatever reason, had hulls painted like blood.

The conditions for the hapless refugees did not improve once they were landed here. If anything, they became worse. The REF did not provide food or water or medical supplies throughout the trip from the Zee, nor were any forthcoming now. There was no shelter anywhere on the planet. No protection from the harsh cosmic elements. The planet's sun was weak and far away, but because the atmosphere was almost nonexistent, its rays could burn clear through the skin in a matter of days or even hours. At the same time, the nights were so cold, frostbite was probably the most humane way to die here.

Such were the conditions on the aptly named planet of
Doomsday 212
.

Why would the REF move millions of refugees from a horrendous situation to one that was even worse? And why pick this notoriously unhealthy planet, ground zero for the schism that was now tearing the Galaxy apart? For those unfortunates so suddenly plunked down here, on this not-so-little piece of Hell, these questions were in the fore. None so much as for a man named Alfx Sheez.

It had been a long strange trip for Sheez. He was 251 years old, overweight, bald, short, and perpetually sweaty. He was also the ex-president of a planet, the infamous Megiddo, where SG wonder boy Joxx the Younger had made his stand against the Two Arm invaders a month ago—and lost miserably. Sheez got out just before his planet was destroyed, but it had been aninglorious departure.

Previously wealthy from the largesse that came with being a top man, his escape from Megiddo left him with little more man the hat on his head and the boots on his stubby feet.

Sheez had been caught up in the massive tidal wave of refugees fleeing the Two Arm, first in a panic to escape the invading forces, and then by order of the SG when they established their No-Fly Zone.

Sheez bribed his way aboard the last space bus leaving Megiddo, thinking he'd be on it for three days at the most. He wound up spending the next five weeks on the flying bucket of bolts instead, stuck in the Zee with the half million other star-crossed souls who'd once called the mid-Two Arm their home.

He'd seen so much misery since, it had almost changed him as a person. Conditions on his transport grew steadily worse as food and medicine ran out and no more was to be had. Rations got down to one food cube a day, and then none at all. Sheez had even tried bartering food from the dying—a futile enterprise if there ever was one. He'd cursed the SG many times for creating these intolerable conditions, and cursed the fools on Earth for doing nothing about so many of its citizens suffering so close to the Mother Planet.

So he, too, was surprised when word first arrived that SG ships would be escorting the refugees back to the Two Arm. But that appreciation quickly turned sour once they learned that those ships belonged to the REF and that they were planning on unloading everyone on this barely habitable planet, a place that Sheez was all too familiar with, as it was in even worse shape than his own decimated world, just a few light-years farther up the Arm.

Sheez never thought he'd miss Megiddo. But compared to this place, his old home seemed like paradise to him now.

His group of 5,000 was marched off the high plain where they'd been deposited and into a narrow, three-cornered canyon. It was hard on the edge of a mountain range that stretched north for as far as the eye could see. Sheez knew that he was somewhere way up in the upper half of the planet. He'd caught a glimpse of a snowcap as they were entering the rarefied atmosphere. He guessed he was now about twenty miles south of the frost line.

The three-sided canyon was only a few acres in area; once his group had been jammed in, it became as crowded as the putrid cargo hold they'd just left. They were being guarded by a hundred or so enormous red-suited SG troopers who had stationed themselves on the high rocks bordering the canyon.

There had been more than 15,000 people on his ship, but just where the SG had dropped off the rest of them, Sheez didn't know or care. Their erstwhile protectors seemed intent on leaving large groups of refugees piecemeal around the planet. Spreading them out, for reasons unknown.

At first, many of those in the crowd thought that they had been brought here because the SG was going to distribute food and water soon. Sheez was not so naive. Like every tin-pot leader in the Two Arm, he'd had many dealings with the Solar Guards in the past, and the REF in particular. Most of these encounters had been unpleasant. And these red-suited SG troopers especially frightened him. No, the refugees had not been brought here for any kind of nourishment or rehabilitation. It was more likely that they were here as pawns in some cruel, unknowable game.

Either that, or they'd simply been dumped here to die. Or to be killed. Whatever the reason, Sheez wanted no part of it.

No sooner had he been shoved into his sitting space when he began looking for a way out While the narrow canyon was bordered on three sides by the high peaks, the fourth side held the remains of an ancient hillside city.

It was one of many built on
Doomsday 212
ages ago, when the planet's puff was still vital. Although the SG soldiers were strung along the peaks, the old city was not being guarded at all. Behind the ruins was the mountain, and what was beyond Sheez had little idea. He'd barely caught a glimpse of that area on their descent, and as it was still several hours before dawn, all he knew was that it was flat and vast.

But it had to be better than where he was.

That this was not a food and water stop was beginning to sink in to the crowd by now. Some of the women started wailing. Many of the elderly were already having trouble breaming. Sheez's own substantial stomach was aching badly. Worst of all, he was getting thirsty. And the sun would be up in a few hours. And that's when it would begin to get hot.

Very hot…

The unfortunates would have to face that heat without any kind of overhead protection. Again, a weak puff meant all kinds of cosmic rays were able to get to the ground. Some acted quickly, others very slowly. In any case, they were all deadly, and combined with the oppressive temperature, Sheez guessed a third of this group might be dead by noon. Maybe him included.

He checked the soldiers on the peaks again. A bolt from a blaster gun could be fatal at 300 yards.

Trouble was, there was nothing but open space for at least 400 yards or more before the cover of the small, ancient city. There was no way he could get away under these conditions. He was so big and slow, if he tried to make a break for it, he'd be shot down like a target in a shooting gallery.

He pulled his shirt over his head for cover and sank his head into his knees. Sheez was hardly a religious man. He had never prayed before in his life.

But he was praying now.

The question was, could anybody up there hear him?

Twenty
Light-Years
Away

The all-black Space Forces Starcrasher was named the
XenoVox
.

Officially it was an LRC, a long-range communications ship of the type that frequently accompanied SF fleets on long patrols. Unofficially, though, the
Xeno
belonged to a top secret SF unit called the Omega Force. And it was hardly just a radio ship.

The Omega Force was the SF's own version of a rapid deployment fleet. It was made up of the best soldiers and warships from the SF's five sectors, they being the Space Navy, the Air Service, Planet Forces Infantry, Space Marines, and the Orbital Bombardment Group. Unlike the Solar Guards Rapid Engagement Fleet, which consisted of thirty-six Star-crashers crammed with corps of Star Rangers, the Omega Force had 100 ships and three times as many soldiers, and those soldiers were good at doing many things. The unit was so secret, few people inside the Empire hierarchy knew it existed, including many inside the SF itself. On the other hand, everybody knew about the REF. There was another difference between the two outfits: once on the scene, Omega still took all its orders from SF headquarters. The REF always acted on its own.

The
XenoVox
was the forward eyes of Omega. It carried a crew of just fifty people and flew without weapons. Its role was to go into a trouble zone first and do vital recon, which was then flashed back to the fleet. But how could a ship that was nearly two miles long be able to fly near a flashpoint without being detected? Simple. The
Xeno
could become invisible. By engaging vast energy deflector screens, string comm dispersers, and a highly reflective opaque paint scheme, the vessel could not be seen on long-range scanning arrays, either coming from other space vessels nearby or from planets below.

In other words, it was a stealth ship.

The Omega Force had been deployed to this section of space near the edge of the Two Arm forty-eight hours before. The deployment had been done by the order of just one man, the Secretary of SF Intelligence himself. Without a doubt it was to be Omega's most classified mission.

Only Omega's half-dozen squadron commanders had been briefed on the very secret operation, and even they only knew what was going on up to a point. Essentially, the squadron commanders had been told two things: that no one knew how and when the fighting between the SF and SG would end, and that no one knew what the rampaging REF would do next. However, despite these two things, there was a good possibility that the fleet that invaded the Two Arm about five weeks earlier—the one that started all this trouble in the first place— still existed. That it hadn't been destroyed by the REF as the SG had originally claimed.

Omega's orders were to look for this rebel fleet, as it was thought it would soon turn up somewhere inside the Two Arm, near the place where it first disappeared. And what would happen if the mystery fleet was spotted? That's where the Secretary's order took an unusual twist: if the Omega Force
did
detect the rebel ships, they were to intercept and destroy them immediately, without waiting for any further instructions from SF Command. In fact, while the entire secret mission was going on, Omega was ordered not to have any contact at all with Earth or anyone else. They were to operate under a complete communications blackout. That's how sensitive this operation had to be.

To this end, the stealth ship
XenoVox
had been operating deep inside the No-Fly Zone for the past forty-eight hours. And it had seen at least a couple strange things so far.

Because the ship was, in effect, the ears and eyes of the Omega Force, most of its ultralong string devices scanned space at 360 degrees. Just two hours after arriving on station, the
Xeno
picked up a strange group of vessels, not inside the No-Fly Zone but apparently heading for it. This was not an organized fleet of any kind. They were all ion-ballast driven and seemed to be of all different types and sizes. But as they drew closer, it was obvious they did have one more thing in common: they were interstellar gunships, vessels that carried one or two big weapons and just enough people inside to operate them. In many cases, arms dealers themselves drove these, kinds of ships. These ships were rare in the Galaxy though, and it was odd to see more than two of them flying together. Yet here were more than a dozen.

But the strangest thing of all was the direction from which these ships were coming. Their combined subatomic wake traced them back to their point of origin: way, way over in the Five Arm. And it was a rare ship indeed that came to the Two Arm from that far away.

The
Xeno
had also been watching the strange events unfold on
Doomsday 212
. Sometimes flying no more than a half light-year away, they'd detected SG ships dumping millions of people onto the desolate, hazardous planet. People, it would soon be determined, that had come from the floating refugee camp at
Andromeda Zee
. More important, the SG ships doing the relocation appeared to belong to none other than the infamous REF. But why they were doing this was a mystery.

Even stranger, mere were faint indications that something else was going on either on the planet's surface or in low orbit just above it, something besides this mysterious delivery of innocents. Subatomic debris. Indications of huge blaster discharges. Excited but distorted comm messages. Was a small battle taking place somewhere on the dead planet as well? Or even a series of small battles? It was hard to tell, because the planet's weak puff actually hindered the
Xeno's
eavesdropping capabilities; there was not much air for the signals to bounce around in, so they could be quickly lost in space. And the stealth ship's commanders didn't want to get too close to the graveyard planet. But clearly something very unusual was going on down there, and it involved the infamous REF.

All this put Omega Force in a difficult position. With one call, the 100-ship fleet could have swooped down and engaged the murderous REF and at least put a dent in its activities.

But that wasn't Omega's mission.

They were out here for one reason, and one reason only.

That was to find and destroy the rebel fleet.

Doomsday 212