Battle at Zero Point (15 page)

He'd jettisoned the temporary crew who'd helmed the
ShadoVox
after the disaster at Megiddo. (His original crew, elite and almost as well-known as he, had abandoned him at the height of the campaign, leaving him buried in the rubble of his command post and fleeing the embattled planet. Of everything that had happened to him in the past month, that might have been the cruelest cut of all.) As he had designed the
ShadoVox
himself, Joxx had no problem driving it alone in space. The flight bubblers handled all but the most important functions, and these he took care of himself. But he couldn't be everywhere at once.

The ship was two miles long, and he'd yet to leave the observatory bubble adjacent to the control room for anything. Farther down the main passageway, just about out of earshot, the ship's comm room was echoing with messages from Earth ordering Joxx and the
ShadoVox
to return immediately. But there was no one on hand to reply, so the messages went unheeded. Joxx had not spoken to anyone back on Earth in nearly four weeks. Ironically, or perhaps fatefully, he had no idea then that the Empire was in as much turmoil as his own life.

Possibly even more.

One of the oldest traditions in the Galaxy had to do with the disposal of old space vessels. When a ship was used up, when it had passed its point of usefulness, or even when it had come to be considered unlucky, its owner would crash it into a graveyard planet, where salvagers could pick away at the carcass and retrieve anything that might be made workable again.

Joxx had wondered in these aimless days if the same thing could be done for a man's soul. By crashing it, by busting it up into a million pieces, could some of it then be found, rehabilitated, and maybe go on to be part of a more useful spirit?

Somewhere between his second and third pound of jamma, he decided to find out.

Which was why the
ShadoVox
was now heading straight for a world named Junky Munky 2.

A graveyard planet.

Hunter saw the faint light of his quadtrol blink once in the darkness.

The reading was disheartening. The
ShadoVox
was still on course to crash into the deserted class-M planet and would hit said planet very soon.

He leaned back and wondered what it would feel like, just moments before impact. The UPF would be on its own, after all, he thought. That is, if they made it to the other side at all. But would they be able to carry on the fight to Earth without him? He'd always felt strongly that he had been transported here to the seventy-third century for one reason only: to right the wrong that had been committed against the original peoples of Earth. His mission was to carry the American flag, as well as all of the others, back to the Mother Planet, returning them to where they belonged. How did his death at the bottom of a haunted ship serve that purpose? Had the cosmos been wrong all along? Was this the punch line of the long-awaited cosmic joke? Were the forces that brought him here, to this far-flung century, powerless to stop what was about to happen to him now? Or was he brought here simply to become a martyr for the cause?

There was no way he could know, of course, but then again, all was not lost. There was a silver lining to this very dark cloud. Because at the end of it all, he hoped, would be a way to return to that place from where he'd just come. And have another chance to walk the fields of Heaven with Xara.

And that wouldn't be so bad.

He would just have to endure these last few minutes of torture, and then crushing pain and death and—

Suddenly he heard a very strange sound. He looked to his left and saw the locked door of the cell slowly open. The creaking alone chilled him to the bone. No one was on the other side. No one had touched the clasp or disabled the electronic bolt. It was as if it had opened on its own.

Hunter was astonished. That door had been locked, sealed, practically ion-welded shut just seconds before. His quadtrol had confirmed it. Yet now it was wide open, and the bare light of the passageway was flooding in.

How could this have happened? How could a locked door suddenly spring open? How could his soul, so close to crossing over once again, be dragged back at this last moment?

He didn't have a clue.

Purely by instinct, he checked his quadtrol screen. The
ShadoVox
would hit the graveyard planet in less than five minutes.

He stayed frozen in place. He desperately wanted to see Xara again—but could the reunion wait just a little while longer?

He thought about this for a few moments, then jumped up and was out of the cell an instant later.

Up in the observatory bubble, the planet Junky Munkyz was quickly filling the field of view.

Joxx looked up from his pile of
jamma
and smiled weakly. It would all be over very soon.

Or would it?

He felt the ship begin to accelerate; then came the bright flash that indicated the vessel had just jumped into Supertime. An instant later, the
ShadoVox went right through
the graveyard planet, coming out, intact, on the other side.

Stunned that he was still in one piece, Joxx tried to understand what had just occurred. Starcrashers could go so fast in both space and time that they could pass through planets, too, but only if they were going at full Supertime speed. And he had not been, until a moment ago.

What happened?

He was suddenly aware that he was no longer alone inside the control bubble. He looked up to see a man's face and recognized it immediately. But there was no shock in Joxx's dead eyes.

"I guess I'm not so surprised to see you again," Joxx mumbled, badly slurring his words. "You'll be haunting me for the rest of my life—or what is left of it."

Hunter bowed slightly. He'd boosted the ship's speed at the very last moment, saving them both. But that had been ten long seconds ago. Now he was simply astonished at just how bad Joxx looked. Gone were the youthful, handsome features, the cold clear eyes, the great mane near-white hair. Joxx seemed to have sunken in on himself, as if he'd spent the last century slumped in his chair, doing
jamma
and staring into empty space.

"I had no choice but to return here," Hunter finally told him. "That's how the device you gave me works."

He looked up at the rearview viz screen; the graveyard planet was disappearing from view.

"And I thought I got here just in time," Hunter said. Then he eyed the pile of jamma. "But maybe not…"

Joxx seemed almost unaware that Hunter had just saved his life.

"And you accomplished your mission?" he asked Hunter instead. "Wherever the hell you went?"

"Let's just say it's still an ongoing process," Hunter replied.

There came an uncomfortable silence between them. By all rights they should have been bitter enemies: Fourth Empire golden boy and a time-displaced iconoclast. But events had changed that.

"You know I still have dreams about them," Joxx began, mumbling again. "Those two young girls… being dragged away like that…"

His voice trailed off, but Hunter knew what he was talking about. At the climax of their shared mind ring trip, he and Joxx had been chained together and brought aboard one of the huge ships that were carrying the dispossessed people of Earth to their prison in the sky. In this sequence, a mother and her two young daughters had run to Joxx for protection against the enormous prison guards; men had made a habit of going through the swarm of deportees, picking out all the attractive girls and forcing them to provide pleasures for them and more. Two huge guards literally ripped the girls from Joxx's protecfive arms, leading the SG high officer to pummel a third guard nearly to death—a violent and telling epiphany for Joxx, even though it was all taking place within a mind ring trip.

If any incident during the whole experience changed Joxx forever, that was it.

"So… what now?" he asked Hunter, "You're here, but I am still in command of this ship."

And suddenly Joxx had a gun in his hand. It was a huge blaster pistol, and its power light was burning a hole in Hunter's retinas. Meanwhile, he'd left his own dead weapon behind in the cell.

"I could throw you back into jail," Joxx said, "and make sure that others carry out the Emperor's orders to execute you."

Hunter had anticipated this moment.

"If that's what you feel you have to do," he told the SG officer plainly, "then, do it."

Joxx looked back up at Hunter, conflict raging in his sad eyes.

"But if I don't lock you back up," he finally said. "What is it that you'd want me to do? Certainly not join you…"

"No," Hunter replied quickly. "All I want is for you to let me go. Let me get to where I need to be."

Joxx laughed. "To play hero again?"

"Heroism has nothing to do with it," Hunter shot back. "Whether you know it or not, die situation is desperate—all over. If there is something I can do to prevent needless bloodshed and find some justice somewhere, well, I have no choice but to do it."

Joxx slumped even farther into his seat. "I used to know that feeling," he said under his breath.

He turned the huge blaster barrel down; it was almost as if he was no longer strong enough to hold it steady.

"Go," he said finally, sounding like a man ten times his age. "Go and do what you feel you have to do. That way people will remember at least one of us was a hero to the end."

Hunter stepped forward and almost shook Joxx's hand—but he thought better of it, "No matter what happens," he said instead, "you've just played your part. If you hadn't opened my cell door, then—"

Joxx just shook his head again. "Cell door? What are you talking about? I can barely open my own eyes…"

With that, he just waved Hunter away and put his face back down into the pile of jamma. Hunter started to say something but stopped. He checked his watch; precious time was ticking away here. He would have to figure out the jail cell mystery later.

He stepped into the control room, made a few more adjustments, and then was quickly out the door.

Hunter ran down the long passageway, wondering which power tube would bring him to the ship's launching rooms.

He finally selected one, climbed aboard, and hit the jackpot the first time. In seconds he was walking out into a cavernous compartment deep in the belly of the beast known as the
ShadoVox
.

Here was a huge maw that looked out into space. The opening was covered with an invisible membrane that allowed ships to move freely in or out, while keeping the airless void of space at bay.

Hunter stood there for a moment. He really didn't have a second to waste, but he just had to look at the stars. He hadn't seen the real things in how long? Since he captured Joxx in his own ship, since the mind ring trip they both shared. Everything up above had been not been real since then.

So they were still there. That great wash of real stars, real constellations. Real hydrogen, burning off real gas and spewing out real nuclear dust. This was strange. Hunter almost felt like he was being energized by these pinpricks of light. Where the hell was he? The Four Arm? Had he ever been to the Four Arm before?

It didn't matter. This was the real world. Not a mind ring trip. Not the fields of Heaven. It felt different being back here. Not better, just different.

There was something else he hadn't seen in a long time.

He moved to the center of the launching bay now, reached into his pocket, and took out something that wasn't there just a few moments before. It was a container, oval with a white pearl finish. It was a Twenty 'n Six, the same kind of device that Vanex had used in conjunction with the Echo 999.9 to create the portal in and out of Paradise.

But this Twenty 'n Six contained something very personal to Hunter, just about the only thing he could call his own in this very strange world he'd found himself in. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

He'd been doing a lot of trans-dimensional jumping lately, time jumping from here to eternity and back.

What effect did it have on him? On his psyche? On his physiology? His mental awareness? He didn't know. But here he was, and this was going to be a crossroads for him. If he activated this capsule and the thing inside fizzled—well, he'd really be out here, way out here, without a paddle. And he would have no choice but to ride the
ShadoVox
down with Joxx, whenever the fallen SG hero decided again it was time to go. Not the most pleasant end to the story.

So, with one more deep breath, Hunter hit the capsule's activation button. There was a flash of light and then a long stream of green mist began tumbling out of the capsule. It gathered on the deck about ten feet away from him. There came another flash, brighter than Hunter could remember. So bright, he had to cover his eyes.

When he took his hand down, before him stood his F-16XL spacefighter, his famous Flying Machine.

He felt like the weight of the Galaxy had been lifted off his shoulders—at least for a moment. He was happy. Happy that his magnificent machine was still intact. Even better, it looked to be in good shape. He finally let out that long, deep breath and felt relief run through his body. Suddenly things didn't seem so dim as before.

What was this Flying Machine? What made it so magnificent? No one was really sure, including him.

In some ways it was a figment of his imagination. Something from a dream he'd had back on Fools 6 one night soon after finding himself stranded on that very desolate planet. He awoke from a long slumber and just started writing down calculations, design cues, formulas. Where it all came from, he didn't know. But when he visited the ancient crash site of a huge Time Shifter warship just over the hill from his location, he salvaged approximately two tons of material and with the help of an electron torch fashioned the machine that stood before him now. He'd been tearing around the Milky Way in it ever since.

The strange craft didn't look like anything flying in the Galaxy these days. All Empire warships, big and small, were shaped like a wedge; all ion-powered civilian craft were, too. But Hunter's vessel was long and tubular, with two stubby wings sticking out of its midsection and two smaller wings protruding from its tail. The nose was stiletto sharp and featured a cockpit with a tear-shaped canopy. It was painted white with red and blue stars emblazoned on the tail and fuselage. Strangest of all, it had wheels to hold it off the ground. The wheel was a technology lost in the Galaxy more than 2,000 years before.