"That the Empire is crumbling from within," she replied very matter-of-factly. "That all it needs is a push."
Her remark shook Joxx down to his toes and back again. It wasn't so much what she was saying — which of course was pure sedition. But it was how she was saying it. Cold. Taunting.
He recovered quickly. "If I hear that from your lips, it could only mean the Fourth Empire will last another thousand years," he said. "Maybe even five thousand."
She laughed on cue.
"But why scorn me?" she asked Joxx. "We are the only people in the swirl who know the real story of the empires. The witches and the poets. And the dreamers."
Joxx put another load of jam into his arm and got ready to push.
"If that is so, old lady," he said drunkenly, "why then doesn't anyone pay attention to you?"
She scoffed again. "It's not that the Specials don't pay attention to us," she said. "It's that no one ever bothers to ask."
Joxx hesitated throwing another load of jam into his veins.
"They ignore you because you have nothing to say," he told her sharply.
"Oh, really?" she replied. "Perhaps then someone might want to ask me what I think really happened in Kelly's Hollow. You are soliciting opinions on that subject, aren't you?"
Joxx's jaw dropped open. He let the shooter fall to the floor.
He pulled the old woman down into the booth with him. He was so stoned though, he wasn't sure at this point if she was real or just some cruel hallucination.
"What nonsense do you speak?" he asked her shakily.
She laughed in his face. "Do you think it is really nonsense?" she asked him. "The tale of Jimmy and Michael and O'Nay? Of the hollow and the hobgoblins and the hole in the water?"
"Meaningless places and names — except the one of the blessed O'Nay," Joxx replied testily.
"You might be a great hero," she told him, "but you're also a very bad actor."
She got up to leave, but Joxx did not want her to go.
"Babble on then," he told her, pulling her back into her seat. "Educate me. It seems to be the fashion these days."
She gave him a shrug. "What do I know that you don't?" she asked. "Jimmy invented ion ballast, opened the first roads to the stars, and oversaw the settling of the Galaxy. Michael was responsible for the electron torch which led to building spaceships and weapons as easily as one would build a house of cards.
"With O'Nay came the technology of Supertime, Time-Shifters and the Big Generator too. Now there's something that you should look into, something to become educated on, as you put it: the Big Generator supplies power not just to the space military but to every aspect of every citizen's life in the Galaxy, right? It's in their homes, in their ships. The Big Generator is in the pocket of every citizen in the realm. Don't ever dismiss the notion that it might be in their minds too."
Joxx ran a troubled hand through his overgrown hair. He felt like blowing his brains out right then and there.
"And I know this as well," the witch went on. "That the real reason you are here is that a friend of yours is about to meet his end. That's a guilt trip that will stay with you for the rest of your extended life. Take it from me, that's your fate."
She got up to go again, but Joxx yanked her back down.
"What else do you know?" he demanded of her. "Especially about the hollow?"
She laughed again. "That perhaps all three scenarios are true, to some extent. But think about this: Emperor Jimmy gets zapped, or bowled over, or whatever the hell happened to him, and one day he sits down and designs the ion-ballast engine. The man was a terrorist and a drunk! And suddenly he's a genius? Then Brother Michael, equally sodden and dull, gets zapped or something, and somehow he is raised from the dead. Then he dreams up the electron torch.
"Then O'Nay gets zapped, gets revived, and he comes up with the whole concept of Supertime. Why all this sudden great wisdom? This incredible brilliance? Just a happy connection of synapses, sparking off by chance? I'm not dumb enough to believe that. And I don't think you are, either. It's those hobgoblins again! So when you finally put yourself down to sleep someday, think that these fated brothers weren't so much enlightened as they were employed."
She paused for effect. Joxx was just numbly staring back at her.
"Also consider this, as you descend into your jonzz," she told him. "Your friend Hunter. Everyone knows his story. How he was found way, way out on the planet called Fools 6. And how he didn't know where he'd come from. Consider this: How was it that Hunter could so suddenly appear on that lonely rock — zapped or something — and then draw out that magical flying machine of his? Is it me? Or does that sound familiar?"
Joxx was so stunned, so stoned, he couldn't speak, never mind form a rational reply.
"And here's one last puzzle," she concluded, "just so I can totally ruin your trip. The Second Empire was overtly bloodthirsty. You saw a tiny piece of it yourself, when they executed the 36 Coalition. Why then didn't they just kill all the people of Earth? It certainly would have been easier. Just put them on some old planet and then pulverize it with Master Blasters until there was nothing left. Instead, they built this fake system — a prison, true, but one that was conceived to not only keep its inmates unaware but also to keep them alive and somewhat well. Why do you think that was?"
Joxx just shook his head.
The old witch poked him hard in the ribs.
"Here's a clue for you: It's the very same reason that you and your relatives will live so damn long."
With that, she got up, pressed something into his hand and then disappeared into the crowd.
23
The ShadoVox was taking the long way home.
Its orders were strange. Proceed to the most isolated part of space that could be found within five days' flying in Supertime. In this void, find the most nondescript, isolated planet possible. On this planet, find the most isolated, barren place.
Once there, they were to carry out the execution of Hawk Hunter. Shoot him with a three-quarter-power ray-gun blast to the heart, a wound that would take at least a day to kill him. Then bury his body in an unmarked grave.
After that, every member of the Starcrasher's crew would be subjected to a brain wipe, removing any trace of the experience from their memory cells. This would seal the long fate of Hunter's resting place, a spot most likely never to be found again. Why not a full ray-gun blast to the rebel's head, killing him instantly? Or why not just shoot his body into the nearest sun?
No, these means of death would be too good for him.
The Emperor wanted Hunter to suffer for what he'd done, even after death.
For such a big ship as the ShadoVox, it certainly was a small jail cell.
It reminded Hunter of the catacombs beneath the grand arena back inside the mind ring trip. Or, even more so, the compartment where he'd stayed in the days leading up to last year's Earth Race, the contest he'd won so handily.
The Earth Race was canceled this year, the first time in recent recorded history, thanks to the short-lived invasion of the Empire. To say this upset billions of people was a vast understatement. All the more reason the Emperor was crying for Hunter's head.
He'd been told by his guards that O'Nay himself had ordered that his execution take place on an uncharted planet as far away from Earth as possible. There would be no Galaxy-wide announcement of his death; no chances then for him to become a martyr and a beacon for other individuals who would carry on his fight. This seemed to be a fitting punishment for a man who wanted nothing more than to return to Earth and fight for it to be given back to its rightful owners.