Incredibly, in just a matter of seconds, a robot would rebuild itself, arms, legs, torso, and head all connecting together with a series of clicks and clacks. Then, with a flash of power from God knows where, the robot would suddenly surge back to life, rising to its full height of nine feet tall.
At that point, little rocket engines in the soles of its boots would ignite, and the robot would lift off again, quickly disappearing high into the night sky from whence it came.
It was like this all around the planet.
Reports from every weapons post echoed the confusion being caused by the incomprehensible robot-fall.
There was chaos inside the large room atop the sky needle tower as well. The interconnected anti-aircraft system had quickly overloaded, had tried to recover, only to overload again. It finally crashed for good. The shutdown was so intense, the control panel in front of Joxx exploded, covering him in a storm of sparks, singeing his hair, his face, his hands. Partially blinded, he snapped his fingers, and a sea of deatomizing foam appeared, emptying on top of the control panel, dissolving it, viz screens and all.
Joxx recovered quickly and immediately began to recreate a new firing system with his electron torch. All the while, he was yelling commands to his army of technicians, who were trying their best to follow his wishes while at the same time stumbling around in the top floor of the tower, as the structure continued to sway even more violently.
Joxx was about halfway to building a new, temporary firing system when another piece of the sky fell on his head.
It came in the guise of an old-style viz screen that suddenly popped into view right in front of him. After a burst of static, Joxx found himself looking at the very worried face of the man he recognized as commander of the SG supply base over on TransWorld 800.
The man could barely speak. In the background, a small war was going on.
"They're here!" the officer finally screamed.
"Who is?" Joxx roared back at him.
"The invaders!" the man cried, ducking under his console as a huge explosion went off just outside his bunker. "They hit here instead! And they are stealing all of our cargo 'crashers!"
A wave of bewilderment ripped through the needle-top room. Everyone in the embattled headquarters turned to look at Joxx. The SG officer was standing perfectly still, staring back at the viz screen showing the events on Trans World 800, absolute astonishment on his face.
"They attacked… TransWorld?" he was finally able to stammer. "How?"
Another huge explosion rocked the tower. Robots continued falling on the city below.
"They were just suddenly here!" the man was yelling back at Joxx. "They blinked in, and the next thing we knew, their troops were swarming all over us!"
"How many ships do they have?" Joxx screamed back at the man. This made no sense. "How many dozens?"
The TW800 officer's face screwed up in confusion.
"Sir, we only saw six ships," he said. "And about a division of troops in all…"
That's when everything just stopped.
"Just six ships?" Joxx mumbled. "Just one division of troops?"
"Yes, sir," came the troubled reply. "Plus some kind of a secret weapon that can—"
Then the transmission went dead.
Joxx became immobile. He literally couldn't move. He could barely breathe. Six ships? How could that be? Why would the enemy attack anything with only six ships? Where was the rest of the invaders' hundred-ship fleet, its two million soldiers?
Unless… Unless they never existed in the first place.
That's when Joxx pulled out his electric sword. It was suddenly very clear to him what had happened here. He'd been fooled. Misled. Misdirected about everything.
By one man. The ion mover.
That bastard…
Joxx streaked out of the room and disappeared down the transport tube, falling the three miles in just a matter of seconds.
He emerged from the bottom door and charged down the dark corridor, his hair ragged and flowing, his eyes absolutely mad.
All guards had long since abandoned this dungeon. No matter to Joxx. He reached the cell door and sliced it in two with one stroke of the glowing sword. He stepped inside, ready to do the same thing to the ion mover.
But he stopped in his tracks. The cell was empty.
The ion mover nowhere to be seen.
Outside, the fireball streaked by again.
A moment later, the swaying three-mile-high tower at Needle City began to collapse.
16
Princess Xara awoke with a start.
It was not a dream that roused her; she rarely had dreams anymore. Someone was pounding on her bedroom door. This was unusual. No one ever knocked around the Palace. There really was no need to.
The noise had startled her awake, but she recovered quickly. She pictured the door's lock in her mind and whispered the word, "Open." The latch snapped free. That's all it took. The big door swung wide to reveal a pair of enormous Palace Guards standing in the dark hallway. They looked very uncomfortable.
"Deepest pardons, my princess," one said with a deep bow. "But this person insisted that he speak with you immediately."
A man in a black cape and floppy black hat glided into place between the two guards. His clothes were soaking wet. Xara sniffed the air and detected the telltale sign of damp velveeta. From this, she knew the man was a spy.
The guards vanished. Xara waved the man in.
She had seen him before, lurking on the periphery of the Imperial Court, usually slipping in or out by a side door. He was a close confidant of her mother. But Xara had never had a conversation with him, and she don't know his name.
Why did her want to see her?
He, too, bowed deeply. "A million apologies, my princess. But I thought this was so urgent — and the news I bear so critical — rash methods had to be employed."
Xara slipped off her hovering bed and ordered it into the sixth dimension. It disappeared in an instant. Her room was plain, with lots of ancient woodwork, just a few chairs, and a small couch. An open window just above her bed place revealed a small slice of the morning sky above Special Number One. It was just a few minutes before sunrise. A slight mist had engulfed the floating city.
Xara was wearing her summer nightgown, a short, white, frilly piece of cloth. Her hair was let down, a beautiful rarity. She was barefoot.
Spies excelled at being inconspicuous: the art of knowing when not to stare. This spy was one of the most highly regarded in the entire Galaxy, and yet even he couldn't keep his eyes off her. She was light-years ahead of the other beautiful yet ordinary Specials. And she had what most of them didn't: a certain sweetness. It was in her eyes, in her smile. It made her all that more enticing.
The spy had to shake his head to clear away such thoughts. Xara could read minds. He didn't want to be caught thinking such lecherous things.
She moved over to the couch and sat down.
"Well? What is it?" she asked him simply.
He took several steps forward and stopped about five feet in front of her. The large oak door closed behind him.
"My lady, some startling news from the Fringe," he began. "Here on Earth, this information is known only by a few — at least for the moment. May I count on your confidence?"
She nodded. "Yes, of course."
He lowered his voice. He knew most rooms in the Palace were bugged.
"You are aware of the troubles out on the Two Arm?" he asked her.