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.
23
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.