All Hunter could see was snow and weapons muzzles, and he certainly didn't need an extra sense of perception to know those blasters were just seconds away from opening fire.
But Pater Tomm was undeterred. He literally climbed over the pilot's position, grappled his way out of the crowded cockpit, and stepped out onto the fuselage itself. Kicking down the access panels with his feet, he quickly reached the ground and disappeared into the gale. The snow was blowing so heavily, Hunter lost sight of him in an instant.
"Jessuzz, Padre!" he yelled. "Wait!"
But it was no good. He was gone.
That's when something very strange happened. There was a sudden explosion off to Hunter's right. He saw the flash of fire and the puff of smoke for only a second before they were blown away by the wind, but the rumble under his airplane had been severe. No sooner had this passed when another explosion rocked the courtyard, this one off to his left and closer to the ice castle itself.
Another explosion went off. This time he saw the ball of smoke and fire come right over the high wall, as if it had been lobbed from somewhere on the other side of the thousand-foot parapet. Another followed right behind it, and another after that. Hunter knew what these things were: depleted-ion artillery shells. Their fiery trails were unmistakable. One of the encircling armies was bombarding the fort.
Another barrage went over his head and impacted on the north wall of the frozen fortress. The noise was deafening; everything shuddered within. A moment later, another stream of blaster shells smashed into the western wall. Then another landed at the foot of the castle's second highest tower. It began swaying dangerously; it looked as if the 1,200-foot structure would come tumbling down at any moment.
More explosions. More fire. More smoke. But here was the strange thing: The hundreds of soldiers surrounding Hunter's aircraft had not moved a muscle. No dropping to the ground and covering up, no quick dispersal to seek shelter from the explosions. The soldiers just stood there, frozen in place, their rifles still pointing directly at his head.
Very odd…
Hunter knew he had to get moving. He wasn't about to leave Tomm behind in a place like this. So he punched the canopy up again and dove right from the cockpit to the snowy ground below. He landed hard, going in flat on his face, his mouth and nostrils instantly full of grimy snow. Still, he was able to roll out of the snowbank and pull a small ivory box from his pocket.
Pushing a small button on the top of the box, he activated a long, wide, green beam that quickly engulfed his flying machine. In less than a microsecond, the aircraft dissipated into an emerald mist, which then flowed back into the small box, dragging every atom contained in the flying machine along with it. The device was called a Twenty 'n Six. It allowed the user to infin-itesimally condense solid objects and send them into the twenty-sixth dimension, (which was essentially contained within the small box), where they could be kept in relative safety.
Though instantly wet and cold, Hunter breathed a sigh of relief. At least his aircraft was out of harm's way.
Now, suddenly, Pater Tomm was at his side. More ion blasts came raining down on the courtyard.
"Do you know what's going on here, my brother?" the priest screamed in Hunter's ear.
Hunter began nodding frantically, pushing the priest down into the snow as another ion blast went off close by.
"These explosions are real… but the soldiers are fake!" he yelled back to the priest.
Even with a face full of slush, the padre managed a smile.
"You catch on very quickly my son," he yelled back. "Very quickly, indeed!"
They both scrambled to their feet and started running. There was a door about two hundred feet away from them; it led inside the ice fortress itself. They headed for it with all due haste. The explosions were still going off around them, and the soldiers were still firmly in place. But Hunter now was seeing that the debris and shrapnel being kicked up by the explosions was going right through the phalanx of frozen soldiers. In reality, this storm of high-speed, highly irradiated metals should have sliced right through the small legion, causing an ocean of blood and gore.
But that did not happen for one simple reason: These soldiers weren't soldiers at all. They were holograms. Projections. Fakes.
It took some more zigging and zagging, but finally the two men reached the relative safety of the huge door leading into the ice fort.
It was locked.
Tomm started pounding on the door. Another explosion went off close by. The door did not budge. More explosions, two of which were uncomfortably close. Tomm pounded louder, but again to no avail. Finally, Hunter drew out his blaster pistol and aimed it at the door's substantial lock. But before he could engage the trigger, Tomm reached up and pulled the barrel down.
"No, wait, my friend," he urged Hunter. "I'm sure they're just a little slow in answering the door."
Hunter started to protest, but then, sure enough, they saw the huge metal bolt running through the center of the lock begin to move slowly. Make that very slowly. It took what seemed like forever, but finally the lock sprang loose, and the door flew wide open. Hunter and Tomm tumbled inside.
No sooner did they regain their footing when another explosion went off close to where they'd been standing just seconds before. The huge door took most of the blast, but the concussion was enough to knock Hunter's crash helmet nearly halfway around his head. Temporarily blinded, he heard the huge door slam behind him.
He straightened his helmet to discover a dark figure was standing before them. They were in a vestibule of sorts, but it was nearly pitch black inside, so Hunter could only see an outline of this person. By the size of it though, he thought it had to be a child. But then a candle was lit, and by its light Hunter finally saw this person was actually a tiny, bent-over ancient-looking man wearing a garish red and yellow uniform, old, worn-down boots, a severely dented space helmet, and a frayed weapons belt, which held the most pathetically rusted sword imaginable.
Tomm immediately leaped forward and embraced the man. The old-timer did his best to return the gesture; he was actually trying to laugh with joy, but he had not yet caught enough of his breath to let out anything more than a gleeful wheeze. There was no doubt, though, that he was very happy to see Pater Tomm.
The priest turned back to Hunter and said, "Can you believe it? Here is the man himself! Answering his own door."
But Hunter was having a hard time processing this information.
"Do you mean?" he asked in a mumble. "That this is—"
"Yes!" Tomm shouted. "Behold the Great Klaaz!"
But this guy looked positively ancient. His beard was long enough to touch the frozen ground.
"Padre," Hunter replied. "Surely you must mean this is Klaaz's grandfather."
But Tomm waved his words away. "No, my brother," he said. "This is Klaaz himself!"
Hunter took another look at the very elderly, very broken-down soldier and uttered just one word: "Damn."
This is not what he had expected.
Klaaz was finally able to get some air into his frozen lungs.
'Tomm, my brother! Are you really here? Or am I dead and just dreaming?"
"I am here old friend." Tomm replied.
Klaaz wrapped the priest in a weak bear hug.
"We have waited too long for this moment!" he croaked. "You are not only my confessor, you are one of the bravest soul seekers of our times!"
Pater Tomm shook his head. "It is you who are the hero, Klaaz! Entire star systems speak your name in their histories…"
"I just did my job." Klaaz replied with a wink.