The Last Starfighter (15 page)

A second similar package exploded simultaneously in a heavily guarded power station buried deep within the same mountain range. When the station went up, the power to the defensive shield protecting Rylos evaporated.

In the ruined warroom the technician who’d initially detected the incoming attack staggered clear of his demolished console. He was bleeding and dazed, as were most of his colleagues.

There was another console nearby, away from the central command area. It looked relatively intact. The technician stumbled over to it and flailed at the controls. At first it ignored his insistent demands, responding only after emergency power gave it life.

The technician worked with it until he had produced a duplicate of the plot he’d had on his own console. It showed the incoming masses with emotionless clarity. They were as big as first suspected and traveling very fast.

When the first one reached a certain point on the screen, it disintegrated, along with most of the flank of the mountain in which the command base was located. Succeeding masses of heavy ore reduced rubble to powder. Mixed in with the ruined rock were the gunstars, their pilots, and the unlucky technician, together with the hopes of the League.

Other eyes watched avidly as pinpoints of light representing the heavy masses impacted one after the other on the surface of Rylos. There was measured, restrained jubilation on board the Ko-Dan command ship. Then the crew bent to their tasks. There was still much to do.

In addition, by concentrating on their work they were able to shut out the sight of the strutting, bombastic Rylan in their midst. To hear Xur talk one would have thought he’d reduced Rylos’s defenses all by himself, down to hurling the pieces of moon at the planet’s surface with his bare hands. Those forced to listen longed for the day when permission might be granted to expose the interloper to the sight of his own intestines.

They said nothing, keeping their desires concealed. One of their number had already been reprimanded by the Commander. None of the crew intended to tempt Kril’s anger a second time. Such were the rules that the Ko-Dan lived by.

Those rules were worth adhering to. They had made the Ko-Dan masters.

By now the invading armada had moved close enough to Rylos to show the planet and its satellites on high-powered visual scanners. They were not yet near enough to see the extent of the damage they’d inflicted on the surface, but further confirmation was unnecessary. Abstract imaging was documentation enough.

“A direct hit, Commander,” reported the fire control officer. “All strikes successful in succession. No manifestation of a defense, either ground-based or spatial. It appears that we can attack at will.”

“Thank you,” Kril replied. “Further use of the mass driver should not be necessary. I expect to begin negotiations leading to a formal change of government soon. They are clearly defenseless and have no choice but to submit or face progressive annihilation of population centers. The change-over to Ko-Dan administration should be brief.

“With Rylos subdued, the rest of the League should rapidly follow suit. This is a great moment for the Empire of the Ko-Dan.”

Xur wasn’t listening. At the moment he wasn’t listening to anything except the hatred in his own mind. He stared at the viewscreen which showed his now helpless home and exulted aloud.

“At last it is done! My return is complete. Soon all talk of a ‘Frontier’ will cease, as will the concept of the Frontier. It is revealed now for what it always was a screen consisting of nothing stronger than words.

“They will all bow to me, to Xur. They will bow to their new Emperor or I will darken the sky with their ashes! I will raze the cities of Rylos until all will to resist has been crushed. I will . . .!”

While Xur raved in the middle of the command center the Ko-Dan smiled to themselves and quietly worked at their stations. One communications officer was concentrating on a single, tight-beam coded channel that emanated from the surface of Rylos. It was the fleet’s only means of communicating with their Xurian allies below.

Now several monitors came alive on his console. He listened intently, waited for the computer to transcribe the code into Ko-Dan. As soon as this had been done he left his seat and hurried to report to the Commander in person.

“What is it?” Kril’s tone was relaxed now. The successful destruction of the secret League base enabled him to view Xur’s tantrums with contented detachment.

“The report is full of uncertainties, Commander. Our contacts on Rylos are having difficulty making observations while staying in touch with us because of the havoc caused in the sensitive area by our recent attack.”

“I sympathize. The destruction must be extensive. Yet it must be important or they would not take the risk of contacting us now.”

“Again, this observer wishes to make it clear he is not positive, but he thinks that one ship may have escaped from the Rylan base just prior to our assault. A very small ship, of indeterminate specifications. It
could
be piloted by a Starfighter.”

Xur whirled from the screen and the world it revealed.

“
Could
be? A Starfighter escaped?”

Kril sighed, held his temper. “It is only one small ship. What can one ship do against the armada?”

“You don’t know our history. You don’t know what these gunstars are capable of if directed by the right combination of instincts.”

Kril didn’t try to hide his contempt. “I was assured all such instincts had been bred out of your citizenry.”

“Out of most Rylans, yes, but not out of the more primitive peoples of the League.”

“Still, one ship . . .”

The deadly needle of disturbed air appeared in the air above the knobbed end of Xur’s scepter. “None must escape. None! None
will
escape. It is not a matter of concern, but our victory must be total, absolute. There must not be a suggestion of resistance left for the people to rally around!”

Kril turned to Detection and Surveillance. “Suspect escaping craft recently cleared destroyed Rylan base. Examine all potential flight tracks at atmospheric point of departure and initiate a search of the surrounding spatial vicinities.”

“Yes, Commander,” replied the Scanner in charge. “What are we to do if we locate evidence of passage?”

“Track it,” Xur snapped. “If it goes to supralight, take an energy reading and approximate place of re-emergence into real space. Report to me.” He turned to Kril, smiling. “I will handle this in my own way. With your concurrence, of course.”

“Of course,” murmured Kril, smoothly maintaining the sham of Xur’s dominance. As for dealing with the possible escapee, that did not concern the Ko-Dan Commander. He was content to let Xur amuse himself with its disposition.

After all, as he’d already stated, what
could
one ship do against the armada?

7

It was dark at the crossroads. They had reentered the Earth’s atmosphere over the Southwestern United States after midnight, local time. They set down safely on an unused dirt road, rumbled out onto the highway heading toward the trailer park, and promptly broke down. Centauri’s hybrid vehicle had carried them halfway across the galaxy, only to fail a mile or so from Alex’s home.

Alex stood and watched as Centauri puttered around under the hood, wondering if the alien was fooling with a dummy internal combustion engine designed to fool curious mechanics. Either that or he was actually fixing a device capable of interstellar flight with the aid of a few hand tools. The old man’s spindly legs (was that flesh-colored makeup on those ankles a mate to the mask that covered the alien face?) and gartered socks were the only portions of him that were visible beneath the edge of the car.

Alex listened longingly to the crickets and frogs chirping in the nearby wash. He stared out into the familiar night, hands jammed deep in his pockets.

“Sure I can’t give you a hand?” He turned back to the stalled vehicle. The rear license plate said RYLOS; Centaurian humor at its most basic.

The old man spoke from beneath the car. “Ever done any work on a missealed sisendian toroid?”

“Uh, is that anything like a transmission?”

“Not really.”

“Then I’m afraid I wouldn’t be of much help.”

“I didn’t think so.” Centauri’s tone was rich with indifference. “You’ve done quite enough already, thank you. As for this blasted toroid, even your Einstein couldn’t figure it out. On the other hand, I can . . .”

Something bright flared beneath the vehicle and the odor of ozone filled the air. A bright spark jumped from the car to the road sign across the intersection, melting it like candle wax.

“Yeah, I see that you’ve got everything under control. Suit yourself.” Alex turned to gaze down the highway. “It’s only a couple of miles from here. I’ll walk it. So long, Centauri. Nice knowing you.”

“Wait a minute, boy, wait!” The old man struggled out from beneath the vehicle, wiped sand from his false face and fumbled in a pocket until he produced what appeared to be a slimline digital watch. The time on the watch, a quarter to two, was correct. Centauri might be a liar and a conman, Alex mused, but he certainly was a finicky one.

“Here.” He held out the watch.

Alex shook his head. “Gee, I can’t take a present from you.”

Centauri shook his head, spoke sadly. “Humans . . . they’re
so
perceptive. He reduces me to poverty and thinks I’m giving him a present. What a world this is.”

“Then what is it?” Alex asked, a mite belligerently. “It looks like a watch. If that isn’t a gift I don’t know what it is.”

“If you’ll shut up a minute, I’ll tell you. It functions as a watch, sure, but that’s only concealment. It’s very subtle, this little toy. The real components aren’t in the body, they’re in the facing, the cover.”

Intrigued, Alex accepted the “watch,” inspected it closely. “It’s transparent. There’s nothing inside the crystal.”

“It’s your thoughts that are transparent, boy, which leads me to believe there’s nothing inside your head. What makes you think a simple little short-range communicator can’t be built out of transparent materials? Anyway, the crystal really isn’t transparent. It just bends light waves around it. So it looks transparent.” He moved his fingers over the crystal, careful not to touch it.

“Then what’s it for?”

“I told you. It’s a short-range narrow-line communicator. One way only, simple signal generation. If you prefer, think of it as your second chance, my boy. Should you change your mind regarding the employment I so diligently secured for you, just tap the crystal in this brief sequence.” He demonstrated twice, until Alex nodded. “It will reach me so long as I remain suborbital.”

Alex started to hand it back. “Then keep it. I won’t be needing it.”

“Just think it over, my boy,” Centauri pleaded with him. “If nothing else, it
is
a perfectly serviceable watch. You don’t own a watch, do you?”

“Sure I do. It’s back in my room. Only . . . the batteries burnt out.”

“This one doesn’t need a battery. It runs off the electrical impulses running through the muscles in your wrist. It’ll keep running as long as you do.”

“All right, I’ll hold onto it, if you insist.” More than anything else Alex was tired of arguing. “But I’m
not
changing my mind.”

Centauri moved to the gaping gullwing on the driver’s side of the car and put one foot inside. “You’re walking away from history. History! Did Chris Columbus say he wanted to stay home? No! And what if the Wright Brothers had thought only birds could fly? And did Geloca say that the Yulus were too ugly to save?”

“Who’s Geloca?”

“Never mind. That’s not the point. The point is that history is made up of critical decisions executed by extraordinary beings at just the right moment.”

“Listen, Centauri, I’m not any of those guys. I’m not a Hannibal or Akbar. I’m not extraordinary. I’m just a kid who lives in a trailer park and wants to go away to college. I’m not special.”

“You
are
special, my boy. You were tested, tested rigorously, and you passed. With, as you say, flying colors, though I fail to see anything aerodynamic about color. I do so love your quaint human expressions. My boy, you are extraordinary.”

“Bull. I know how to make a quarter last, that’s all. I’m just your average kid.”

“And if that’s all you think you are, then that’s all you’ll ever be!” Centauri snapped angrily, unable to contain his frustration any longer.

He slid behind the controls and revved the false engine. The mock V-8 sputtered, came to life above the noise of the real engine. Centauri quickly dampened the sound. Then he turned the car around and headed back out onto the highway, muttering to himself loudly enough to be heard above the engine’s whine.

Alex watched him slip away into the night, unable to push the old man’s last words from his mind. Oh, he was clever, Centauri was! Appeal to Alex’s vanity and ego when all else fails. His final words had been delivered with as much careful calculation as the first. All that talk about “honors.” Just a chance to get himself killed in a fight that had nothing to do with him or his world. Hadn’t Grig as much as said the same?