"He may have been right beside me when we left. He may have been beside me when we passed through the twenty-six. But as soon as we passed back over, he was gone. And I think now, he will be gone forever."
Another silence. Their thoughts were bouncing all around the dark room. Off the tables and the chairs. Off the blackened, scorched walls. They did not need the light. Or the furniture. Nor did they have to speak. But at the moment, it seemed like the best thing to do.
"I suspect we will be able to talk about all things war now," Gordon said. He was perched on the edge of the room's huge planning table. Not sitting, but simply balancing perfectly on its tip.
"Talk about war again?" Tomm replied. He was hanging from the ceiling. "Aren't we the lucky ones."
"At least now we know how and where the REF managed to disappear to," Berx spoke up. He, too, was perched on the edge of the big table, a very comfortable position for him. "And why each time they come and go, things get that much more worse."
"I fear there will be a gathering of forces soon," Klaaz said, his voice strong. He, too, hung off the ceiling. "Them against us, and they will be overwhelming if we don't act. Our mission here is now different, but at the same time, it is exactly the same."
"Yes, we still must carry out the plan," Erx said, invisible in a darkened corner. "Just because this…
this has happened to us, doesn't mean we don't have things to do. In fact, we'll have to do much, much more. There is still a cause to be won. Missions we must see through. Places we all have to go."
A murmur of agreement.
"All true," Tomm said, adding, "But at least now we won't have to take the ship."
11
No light. No sound either. The thick smell of iodine and seared cloth. A trace of burned apples…
Hunter's heart was in his boots, his soul was split in two. He was still on the beach in Paradise, touching Xara's face, his lips pressed up against hers. But at the same time, he found himself here, sitting in the stink and the dark.
He had never felt this low. He didn't want to be here. As the scenes of Paradise slowly faded, leaving only the murk, what he wanted was to go back immediately, to be in the warmth and light again. To kiss her again. And this time to stay there with her forever and not make the same mistake twice. But how?
How could he pass back over? How could he return so quickly that he might find her still standing on the beach? Then it hit him. Yes, there was a way to do it and do it fast. All he had to do to was unstrap the blaster rifle from his shoulder, insert the muzzle into his mouth, and pull the trigger. With his head blown off, he would surely be on his way back to Heaven. True, there was no guarantee that he'd wind up in Happy Valley. But at the moment, he was willing to take the chance.
He didn't think about it for a second longer. He took the weapon off his arm, put the barrel in his mouth… and pulled the trigger.
The gun didn't go off.
He tried again. Nothing.
A third time. Still nothing.
He reached down the weapon's barrel, his fingers fumbling for the gun's power knob. It was turned off.
Idiot…
He couldn't even do this right. His spirits plunged even further, if that was possible. But at the same moment, a more rational part of his psyche kicked in. There would be plenty of opportunities to dance with death in what he was about to do. And people were counting on him to stay alive, at least a little while longer. To take the pipe now would leave a lot of them hanging, and a lot of them in danger, too.
He pushed the gun away from him. He owed it to everyone else in the UPF to see this thing through just a bit longer.
But where was he exactly? In the complete darkness, it was impossible to tell. He reached out and touched the nearest thing to him. It was a wall, cold and damp. He took some of the moisture onto his fingertips, then pressed it to his tongue. Bingo… It tasted of atomic hydro-gas, the lifeblood of any Starcrasher.
So, he was aboard a vessel belonging to the Empire; that much was established. He took out his quadtrol, the universal handheld device that could give a reading on just about anything. Luckily, it had survived the ride back intact. He asked the quadtrol to determine the speed of the vessel he was on. The response came back: "Point nine Supertime." This meant the ship was flying at about nine-tenths the speed of Supertime. He asked the quadtrol the name of the ship he was on. The reply: "The ShadoVox."
That sealed it. Just as advertised, the Echo 999.9 had returned him to the exact spot from which he'd departed. He was back in his prison cell. Before he left, though, there had been a bare light in his jail. But not now…
How much time had passed? Had he been gone a month? Had Vanex's time-advance solution worked? Or had he been transported back just a few moments after he'd left, just long enough for the cell light to burn out? If that was true, then he was still on his way to his execution, and his chance to see Xara again might come very soon after all.
All he had to do was rub his face, though — that's how he got his answer. He was sporting at least four weeks of stubble. And the hair on his head was much longer, too. Vanex's manipulation of the Echo 999.9's time element had worked. It was now about a month and a few days after the battle that never was.
He retrieved the blaster rifle and located its power knob again. He finally turned it on properly, but only to its lowest setting. He intended to use the glow that would result on the weapon's tip for illumination, so he could at least see his immediate surroundings. But he did not hear the customary hum of the weapon warming up, nor was its power tube crackling as it would if the weapon had held its full charge. This was not good. If the gun crapped out now, it would be a bad start to what was already sure to be a hazardous journey.
It took what seemed like forever, but finally the tip of the weapon began glowing, albeit very faintly. It was just enough light for him to check his environs. Yep, same old jail cell. Walls, floor, ceiling, locked door. He put the glowing muzzle down near his wrist, so he could see his ancient flight watch. People in the Galaxy weren't really into time; its measurement was relative to wherever you were standing at the moment, so trying to keep track of it galaxy-wide was nearly impossible. But Hunter was a time freak; it meant everything to him. And at the moment, knowing the correct time was crucial for what lay ahead.
He pushed a series of buttons along the watch dial and then set the countdown function. He was giving himself five minutes since arriving here, and exactly an hour between the time he left and when the Resonance 133 had started its trip back across. That meant if the R133 made it safely, then the rest of the UPF fleet would arrive exactly six days, twenty-two hours, and fifty-five minutes from now.
Much had to be done in that short amount of time.
His watch set, Hunter cranked up the power knob on the gun. His next intention was to blast the lock off the prison door. But not only was the weapon not wanning up, the faint glow was growing even fainter. His heart sank further. There hadn't been enough pop in this thing to give his tongue a flesh wound, never mind blow his brains out. As for blasting his way out of the jail cell, that was now out of the question. It was as if all the gun's lethality had been drained out of it back in Heaven.
He made one desperate attempt to blow the lock, but it was hopeless. By pulling the trigger, he only managed to kill the weapon's meager power supply even quicker. A moment later, he was plunged back into complete darkness again.
Damn…