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Darklight 1 - The Substance of Shadows

John Wells
Darklight 1 - The Substance of Shadows
Copyright © 2008 John Wells
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright
Conventions. Published in Canada by Double Dragon eBooks, a division of Double
Dragon Publishing Inc. of Markham Ontario, Canada.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any
means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording,
taping, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the
permission in writing from Double Dragon Publishing Inc.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are
products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance
to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely
coincidental.

Double Dragon eBooks
PO Box 54016 1-5762 Highway 7 East
Markham, Ontario L3P 7Y4 Canada
http://double-dragon-ebooks.com
http://double-dragon-publishing.com

Layout and Cover Illustration by Deron Douglas
www.derondouglas.com
ISBN-10: 1-55404-571-1
ISBN-13: 978-1-55404-571-6
First Edition April 29, 2008

Also Available as a Large Type Paperback
Now Available as a coffee table hard cover
Dragons and Demons, Oh My!
The Art of Deron Douglas 2006-2007
This is the second book in a series
www.double-dragon-ebooks.com
www.derondouglas.com
DARKLIGHT I - THE SUBSTANCE OF SHADOWS
by
John Wells

Chapter One

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Isaac "Crash" Tyson finished tightening the ladigo on his saddle as he
prepared for his long overdue pack trip into the mountains. The next few days
of solitude would be but a prelude to the biggest day of his life thus far. A
million divergent thoughts raced through his mind: thoughts which, to a normal
person, would seem completely unrelated and not relevant to much of anything.
He realized, however, that these divergent thoughts all fit into the final
rendition of his concept of Reactive Mathematics. Positive that his discovery
would revolutionize physics, he could scarcely contain his eagerness to
explain his views to the scientific community. His lifelong desire to achieve
a complete, cohesive understanding of this esoteric mathematical concept had
finally culminated into a single equation. That equation he could prove
correct beyond a shadow of doubt, to anyone interested in such things.
As he mounted his horse, his excitement grew as he contemplated that
not-too-distant expectation. After double-checking to make certain that all of
his gear was in order, he headed out. It was a good day for a ride.
The terrain rose quickly and soon became very steep and rocky. Crash's horse
gingerly picked his way through the sharp protruding rocks that abounded in
the trail. As they gained altitude, Crash's horse would occasionally stop and
appear to gaze at the valley far below. It had always fascinated Crash to
wonder what a horse thought at times like this. Was he appreciating the beauty
of the scenery, looking for something to eat, or just trying to find the
shortest way back home? The fact that a horse could act so intelligently one
minute and so damn stupidly the remained a mystery. In any case, those
questions could not be answered today, and Crash had to hurry to reach the
campsite before dark.
As Crash and his horse continued to move up the trail, the majestic peaks, the
steeply rolling foothills, and the numerous small intermingling lakes
projected a tranquil power that soothed his spirit, which had been bruised by
the harsh realities of the world. Ever since the end of America's Second Civil
War, one did not recklessly squander one's peace of mind. That quality had
become a very rare commodity that one deeply appreciated. Crash absorbed this
experience to its fullest, cherishing every second.
After a strenuous but enjoyable eight-hour ride, Crash reached his favorite
place in the entire world. Located near the base of a towering mountain, which
rose three thousand feet above the surrounding basin, his campsite enjoyed the
protection of groves of dense trees. Those sheltered it from all but the most
extreme weather conditions. A series of small lakes and intermingling streams
partially filled the floor of the basin, which made for good fishing and
provided plenty of fresh drinking water. During the calm of night, the
moonlight often turned these lakes into giant reflecting ponds of exquisite
beauty.
Darkness filled the sky by the time Crash finished setting up camp. He started
a small fire that gave him just enough heat to cook by and light to see the
nearby surroundings. After he finished eating a delicious steak, Crash sat
against his favorite boulder and watched the moon rise through the three
towering spires of the mountain. As the orb rose higher, moonbeams reflected
off the granite walls of the canyon, casting multiple shadows and silhouettes
upon one another. One's imagination could create all kinds of visions out of
this surreal experience. Some of these visions were abstractly beautiful, and
some could be terrifying to the core of one's soul. In any case, the
experience provided a definite change of pace. Only at times like this could
Crash approach an emotional state that could remotely resemble relaxation. At
all other times, his mind focused sharply on what he considered his natural
state of "serious" thought.
During this time of human history, Crash believed, serious thought had become
a lost luxury of the past. Since the end of the Second American Civil War, the
world had changed dramatically. The post-war breakup of the United States
created such a power vacuum that the worldwide industrialized civilization
that had existed prior to the war quickly collapsed. The emerging Planetary
Government picked up the pieces out of the shambles that prevailed at the

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war's end, and attempted to reestablished human civilization with its own
vision: one defined by the controlling bureaucrats who had survived the evil
times. Once this government became firmly established, it quickly became known
to the common man as the "PLAG."
The autocratic control that evolved quickly stifled or repressed many of the
individual freedoms that were so ill-appreciated by the previous society. The
regimentation of thought and expression created a tranquil society: one of
little value as far as Crash was concerned. To introduce an entirely new
concept of science and mathematics, as he was about to do, would be greatly
frowned upon by the self-anointed intellectuals: the group that Crash
privately referred to as "the anti-intellectual establishment."
In Crash's opinion, this episode of human history should never have occurred.
At the end of the twentieth century, American society had withered, owing to
the loss of moral purpose. The universal application of political correctness
to every aspect of life and culture caused stagnation. This great mistake
resulted in the acceleration of the shallow trivializing process of
purposeless decision at every level of society. Most individuals had believed
that the exertion of one's free will was a natural right. The society at large
now came to believe that any intrusion on that right, no matter how trivial,
was caused by one prejudicial phobia or another. The actual morality of any
issue, if brought up in a discussion, soon became defined as intolerance.
The citizens eventually forfeited all of their goals for the childish
illusions of comfort, security and meaningless diversions. Jobs became scarce
as corporations increasingly moved to third world countries for cheaper and
better-educated labor. Corporations turned their backs on the very societies
that had spawned them and had allowed them to develop and flourish. As sales
dropped in the developed countries, more and more jobs were lost. The selfish
tunnel vision not only of the governmental bureaucracies, but also of business
and of various radical special interest groups, strangled the once mightiest
of economic engines.
Hunger and starvation became rampant. Massive riots broke out in America and
eventually spread worldwide. Under the pretense of maintaining order, the
government declared martial law and suspended all Constitutional law. If the
government had not suspended the Bill Of Rights, the Civil War might have been
avoided. When the bureaucrats attempted to enforce aggressive cancellation of
the Second Amendment, all hell broke loose.
The ensuing war cost the lives of over sixty two million people in America
alone. At the end of the war, the United States broke into three new, distinct
countries. The states on both coastlines became separated from the heartland.
The east and west coasts ended up being what they had aspired to become: a
politically correct socialist utopia pure in thought and deed. Even as their
citizens slowly starved to death, millions of the starving were executed for
scrounging, hoarding, or stealing food. After a while, their elitist
righteousness became much less important to them. By that time, however, it
was much too late to put Humpty Dumpty back together again.
The middle of the country remained intact. After all, they had most of the
food. The large cities on the coasts, which were so dependant on the flyover
country for the necessities of life, didn't have sufficient means to sustain
their larger populations. The rednecks also proved much harder to herd up so
that they could be shot by the PLAG peacekeepers. They shot back. In the end,
however, millions upon millions of foreign PLAG troops overwhelmed them. Those
remaining patriots paid a very heavy price.
Crash wondered how future historians would interpret these events. Would they
ever truly understand the correct causes of these historical changes, or would
the truth get buried under so much revisionist anti-intellectual ideological
hogwash as to become virtually meaningless? More than likely, the lessons
would be lost until after the next revolutionary genius re-invented the wheel.
Crash feared that future generations would never know the real cause and
effect of that war's origins. The reasons were simple to Crash, but the future
was another time, and would soon, he hoped, be another place.

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***
Crash slept lightly that night and awakened before the crack of dawn. He
planned to climb the mountain's northern spire this time. The northern spire,
one of the most difficult peaks to climb, rose 2,246 feet from its base to the
top of the spire. It would take a good two hours of hard walking to reach the
base of the mountain. Then he could begin his ascent. Many large rocky
outcrops and several boulder-strewn lakes had to be navigated before he
reached the wall.
The wall, a small cliff about two hundred feet high, looked as if someone had
cut it out of the mountain with a sharp knife. At nearly ninety degrees, the
rocky surface appeared smooth as silk. In many ways it was one of the more
difficult aspects of the climb. Crash had climbed this obstacle many times in
the past, so it took him only twenty minutes to reach the top of the shelf.
Once on top, he had only a short distance to travel to the base of the
mountain.
Crash did not climb mountains. He attacked and devoured them. This trait, a
basic characteristic of his psyche, had characterized him since his childhood.
In fact, while he was in college, this dominant trait, more than anything
else, had earned him his nickname: Crash. Whenever confronted with a problem
or situation, he would hit it head-on at full speed. He never professed the
slightest regret over his actions. Unbeknownst to most observers, however,
Crash carefully considered every action he had ever taken prior to its
implementation, in the few microseconds between recognition and decision. This
fundamental aspect of his nature molded his personality today as much as it
had in the past.
As he stood at the mountain's base, he admired it for all that it was, and
simply that it was. For sixty million years, it had stood there in all its
majesty. In another sixty million years it would still be there, alone in its
solitude, never once requiring assistance or intervention. There were times
during his periods of abstract thought when Crash almost became jealous of an
inanimate object possessing that much solitude and independence.
During this time of introspection, Crash had become deeply lost in a reverie.
Without conscious thought, he had squared away all of his climbing gear. The
time for his ascent now arrived. As he climbed ever higher on the face of the
spire, his adrenaline kicked in, and he pushed himself harder. Very few people
could even climb this spire, and almost no one could climb it in less than
eight hours. Most of the chocks and pitons were already in place from past
climbs, but in certain places some of those aids were missing or broken. Even
the existing ones had to be checked and verified for integrity before they
could be safely used. The idea of climbing this vertical distance on ropes in
less than eight hours intimidated even the best climbers, but Crash lived for
such challenges.
The northern route required Crash to traverse three difficult overhangs and
one roof with a negative pitch in order to get to the top. Most climbers knew
the most difficult of these as "The Club-Foot." Its profile resembled that of
an extremely distorted foot, which obviously gave rise to the name. Crash
often thought that if you were to set a football next to a concrete wall and
kick the ball as hard as you could, your foot could then be used as a
scaled-down model of this structure. Its contours were a real mess.
With some difficulty, he worked his way out and along the overhanging edge and
up the last remaining vertical climb. Only thirty minutes remained, now,
before he would reach the top, and the light began its slow fade toward
darkness. He accelerated his already aggressive pace, and just as the sun
touched the horizon, he reached the top. As he lay there prone, in a state of
exhaustion, Crash told himself that this was a great way to get above it all.
For a brief second, though, he became a bit unsure as to whether the pain was
worth the bliss.
After a moment's rest, he sat up and watched the shadows created by the
setting sun slowly dance from mountain peak to mountain peak, finally reaching
out and merging with the infinite darkness of space. The silent union of these

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two abstract entities, engulfed in nothingness, never ceased to captivate him.
At that very instant, he realized that infinity did not exist solely at the
outer fringes of the universe. It existed right here where he stood, just as
he did this very moment. As a young boy, he had asked himself if the sum of
two zeros was more than that of a single zero. After all , he thought, mankind
described three-dimensional space from a series of arbitrary dimensionless
positions. Sitting there on top of the mountain and observing the merger of
shadow and darkness, Crash realized with a most profound understanding that in
fact, the answer was yes. More of nothing was, in an abstract sense, more.
Gradually the raw beauty of the place overpowered him, and his doubts
disappeared. He smiled to himself. Deep down, he knew that his effort was more
than worth it. Indeed, it was satisfaction made manifest.
Crash set up his featherweight tent and secured it tightly to the solid rock
surface of the spire. The total area at the top of the spire measured less
than a hundred square feet. A strong wind could become quite dangerous. Once
he secured all of his gear, he sat back and relaxed for a few moments.
As always, Crash's thoughts retreated into the core of his mind. He planned to
spend the night preparing his brain for his upcoming presentation to the World
Science Council. Although he knew that the members would interpret his
theoretical work in Reactive Mathematics as extremely controversial, he felt
confident that he could defend its major premise. If he was correct, and he
knew he was, he would open up entirely new visions of reality to mankind. He
knew, however, that the director of the World Science Council, Professor
P-Quan, would strongly oppose his ideas as rash, brash, frivolously off base
and completely out of step with mainstream thought.
Basic Reactive Mathematics Theory attempted to describe the interface between
the numerical structure and that of the physical force structure of the
universe, or as some called it, reality. In all of human history, mankind had
assumed that the number line was a separate and distinct reality, unaffected
by any and all of the existing forces within the universe. Crash did not
accept this assumption as valid. How could the number line at the center of a
black hole be equivalent to one existing in the intergalactic void? Or, for
that matter, to one positioned on the leading edge of the spatial expansion
shock wave of the universe? Even in his youth, Crash had felt that many of the
discrepancies of physics and cosmology were the result of the separation and
isolation of mathematics from physical reality.
In his mind, this matter boiled down to one question. Did the numerical
structure exist inside or outside of the totality of reality? If it existed on
the outside of the universe, how could it be relevant to the
matter/energy/space/time/gravity conglomerate that forms the basic physical
structure of the universe as we know it? If it existed on the inside, how
could it function and be unaffected by those same qualities and conditions? Or
did it exist in an entirely different dimension, and only fleetingly filter
down to our space-time matrix? The acceptance of an expansion upon the
limitations of Einsteinian-based physics would be a hard sell.
Crash had completed all of the computer studies and proofs. They all worked.
The theory pointed directly to a redefinition of our concept of space and its
interaction with the matter/energy relationship. Normal space could be
described in one dimension instead of three. Time became a "property" of the
matter-energy interaction with the other fundamental forces and the spatial
field itself. The spatial field energy became the most basic of all forces and
the springboard upon which all matter-energy based reality was generated.
It was not, however, the most basic aspect of what could be called the
universality of unqualified absolute reality. Or more simply put: the totality
of all possibilities. Crash had become convinced that there was something much
more basic at work regarding the larger questions, but at this time his work
had not yet progressed into that realm to any definitive degree. However,
there were more than enough applications with the work he had already
completed to keep him busy for the rest of his life. This additional aspect of
the overall theory would have to wait until later.

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The most exciting aspect of his work pointed to the possibility of generating
a Spatial Exclusion Wave that would effectively exclude normal space from
within the generated wave field. This would, in essence, create a non-spatial
dimension within normal space. The applications of this field he knew would be
of mind-boggling importance.
Crash thought of various ways he could approach the WSC for future funding.
While he weighed the merits of each approach, a loud swishing noise suddenly
broke in upon his concentration. Startled, he automatically followed the
sound. His eyes caught a golden eagle's predatory dive, as the predator zeroed
onto an unsuspecting mallard duck. As it dove onto its prey, the eagle drew
its wings back. Just before it struck the duck with the full force of its
dive, it extended its talons straight out in front of its body.
At the last possible instant, the duck must have sensed the impending attack,
because it made an extremely hard turn to the left. However, this tactic did
not save it. As the eagle hit, feathers flew, and both birds, for an instant,
tumbled out of control. Crash could hear the prey's last fear-filled quack as
the predator's talons drove home. The whole event ended as quickly as it had
begun, and the eagle ended its day with a full stomach.
From his God's eye vantage point, Crash thought that there must be some kind
of lesson in all of this, but he could not say what that lesson might be.
Little did he know at the time how close to the truth that thought was. He
decided to think about it at length some other time.
As Crash reoriented himself, he noticed that the sun had risen rather high in
the sky. He checked his timepiece. To his astonishment, he saw that it was
nearly10:00 A.M. Without realizing it, he had thought his way through the
entire night. He did that sort of thing quite often. Crash's power of
concentration formed one of the things that made him unique as compared to the
average person. His abilities were tied directly to this uniqueness.
He decided that his approach to the WSC could not be improved upon any
further. He would state his case and then play it by ear. He packed up his
gear and headed back down to what he facetiously called "lower Earth."
***
By any measurable standard, the building housing the Headquarters of the World
Science Council could impress even the dimmest critic. A combination of
Egyptian, Greek, Roman, and Modern Geodesic architecture dominated its basic
design. Massive pyramids supported the large Roman arches within the
symmetrical curvature of the Geodesic influence, creating a uniquely artistic
statement of man's rise from ignorance to that of master of all knowledge. At
the very top of the structure, force fields generated within the three highest
central spires helped suspend the large spinning sphere positioned between
them. At night a beautiful, deeply violet glow radiated from the top of these
spires, giving the sphere an unEarthly appearance. People traveled from all
over the world just to experience the structure's magnificent grandeur.
As Crash entered the building, a doorman approached and introduced himself.
"Good morning, sir. I am Armoni Nomi. May I see your identification, please?"
Crash presented his ID and his acceptance letter from Dr. P-Quan, Chairman of
the WSC.
"Yes, Dr. Tyson, we've been expecting you," Armoni grumbled, exhibiting
typical bureaucratic indifference. "Your dissertation will be held in Room
632, Sub-level 6. Would you be so kind as to follow me, please?"
"Yes, of course," Crash replied. He had to admit that he had an uneasy feeling
as he followed the doorman. He noticed that this fellow Armoni had sort of an
odd nature. He couldn't quite say what it was, however. Must just be nerves ,
he thought. Nevertheless, he followed behind him as if he were a puppy let out
of his cage for the first time.
Crash had dreamed of this day since childhood. All of the hours spent reading
and thinking and pondering the most fundamental unanswered questions finally
came to fruition today. He was finally here. His time had come, and he knew he
had to make the most of this opportunity. He would never again get another
chance to prove the validity of his theories.

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As he passed wide-eyed through myriads of rotundas, hallways and escalators,
he grew aware of the excessively lavish appointments of the building.
Everything from the marble and granite flooring to the draperies exhibited
lavish uniqueness. The polished white marble flooring tiles alternated with
highly polished granite slabs. Huge handmade Persian and Afghan wall hangings
covered the walls and partitions. The furniture, constructed from the most
exotic woods, leathers, and fabrics, would make any monarch jealous. The
opulent display of many of the oldest antiques on the planet caused many an
art enthusiast to drool on beholding their timeless grandeur.
Many of the greatest historical artworks from all of Earth's cultures
displayed the ever-changing form of art. Countless ancient ceramic artifacts
adorned the place. Man's greatest technological and scientific achievements
clearly demonstrated man's continual evolutionary progress. If it had been
done, you could find it here. The first automobile, the first airplane, the
first computer, the first genetically engineered virus, the first
computer-mind interface, and a thousand other first-of-a-kind items were
displayed. All of these artifacts truly represented an historical
representation of man's growth. The internal appointments of the WSC's
headquarters, priceless by any standard, also clearly exhibited the excessive
self-indulgence characterizing the current government of the people.
As Crash followed the doorman and beheld the excessive opulence of the place,
he thought wryly, I could buy enough equipment and perform all of the
necessary testing myself with what they spent on just the furniture in this
place.
Finally, after forty-five minutes of walking and undergoing numerous security
checks, the doorman led Crash into Room 632 of Sub-level 6. As he entered the
room, a curious thought crossed his mind. This place had to be a bureaucrat's
definition of perfection . You could stay lost all day just going to lunch .
Smiling to himself, he experienced internal amusement at the irony.
"Please take a seat. You will be summoned when it is your turn to present your
application," the doorman said. Having acknowledged this directive with a nod,
Crash sat down. He suddenly felt uneasy, as the doorman stared at him while
making brief but deliberate eye contact.
Why would a doorman give me the once-over? he wondered. After a few seconds
of thoughtful reflection, he decided that the doorman probably doubled as a
security agent and just checked him out for any covert psychological
tendencies. During these days of unrest, one can't be too careful, he silently
admitted.
As Dr. P-Quan and the other members of the governing tribunal entered the
presentation chamber, they noticed that the audience booth had become full,
with standing room only. Their "interrogation table," as it was known in
scientific circles - a platform raised a significant height above the floor -
gave the board members a psychological advantage over the prospective
recipients of their grant money.
The Lord knows the tribunal didn't need any assistance in ego-appreciation ,
Crash thought sardonically.
Dr. P-Quan possessed an infamous reputation for subjecting prospective
applicants to the most rigorous and detailed questioning. Many felt that he
emotionally and intellectually intimidated every applicant, and deliberately
crushed them into total subjugation to his view. Most if not all of the
projects receiving WSC funding were subjected to oppressive control by the
government. This in turn led to large increases in the operating costs and to
the eventual failure of most projects. In the opinion of most researchers,
this was a sad state of affairs. However, without WSC funding, most of the new
research projects would never get off the drawing boards. The WSC, being the
primary intellectual arm of the People's Planetary Government, had to
demonstrate its domination and control at every level of existence. Their
paranoia demanded control, at even the most insignificant levels of life.
The other members of the board were just as ruthless as P-Quan himself. Dr.
Nigel Kurt, Vice Chairman, took a much different approach to achieve the same

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ends. He would vote to let most projects proceed unimpeded until some
significantly viable results became evident. Then, out of the blue, he would
impose endless documentation and verification requirements. All of the data
from the project would be required to go through his office from that point
on. Invariably, progress would slow to a crawl, and the funding would be
cancelled. The remaining research would then be finished under his direction
in some secret WSC laboratory. If any positive results were obtained, Dr. Kurt
would take credit for the discovery and reap the rewards. This technique
allowed him to build his reputation as the world's greatest scientist. It may
also be the reason he kept at least one bodyguard with him at all times.
The fame of Professor Helosas, the third member of the governing tribunal,
preceded him. To characterize him as the professionally perfect bureaucrat
would be a profound understatement. To put his nature in perspective, one
could say the following: at the end of all the projects he managed, everyone
personally knew everyone else who worked on the project, but no one knew
exactly what anyone's job entailed. All involved could, however, document the
fact that they did know everyone. It has been said that Professor Helosas
owned a large share of a paper mill somewhere in northern Canada, but no one
knew for sure.
As Crash awaited his turn to run the gauntlet, he occupied himself by going
over his notes for the presentation. Having decided that he could do nothing
more to prepare himself, he sat back and watched the proceedings unfold before
him.
The applicants began giving their presentations. All of Crash's predecessors
ended up squirming in sweat-soaked disarray as they attempted to explain their
ideas. Even if they managed successfully to explain their concepts, they found
it all but impossible to convince the three judges that their concepts would
result in any possible benefits to mankind. A more effective way to explain
the benefits that might befall mankind would undoubtedly have been to explain
how their project would benefit the WSC and the PLAG.
The difficulty inherent in the formal presentations did not hold a candle to
that characterizing the tribunals' follow-up questions. The questions were
merciless. The slightest mistake or inconsistency would spell instant
rejection. Several of the applicants became so intimidated and humiliated that
they simply got up and left, right in the middle of their presentations. Only
one of the first nine projects received a favorable review. As the lucky
winner passed by Crash, he looked as if he had survived the detonation of a
nuclear bomb directly above his head. Crash heard him mumbling something to
the effect that, "I don't understand why they don't understand. I don't
understand why I don't know why." Even being a winner carried its price. As
Crash curiously accessed the apparent well-being of the lucky applicant,
somewhere in the back of his mind he heard his name being called out. "Isaac
Tyson. Dr. Isaac Tyson, please step forward."
Crash instantly gathered himself at the sound of his name. This is it , he
thought. I will never again get a chance like this .
As Crash approached the podium, he smiled at the panel members and introduced
himself. Without any fanfare, he went directly into a detailed dissertation of
his Static Point Number Theory, which was the basis of his General Reactive
Mathematics Theory. He explained the function and applications of his ideas as
simply as possible. Instead of looking at space as curved or flat, he
preferred to look at it as being in various states of compression and
decompression. Light, instead of following curved space, was being continually
reflected, re-refracted, and affected by its interactions, not only with the
universal gravitational field and its resulting compression of the universal
spatial field, but also with gravitational point loads of high mass objects
within the conglomerate mass of the universe itself.
He also assumed that the numerical structure itself, being the number line,
was integrally bound and influenced by these same forces. In other words, the
value of each integer along the number line became relative to the local
conditions of application. One of the results of his theory enabled him to

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predict that one could, from a certain point of view, look upon the
conventional view of space-time as one single unified dimension instead of
four entangled ones. Thus, space-time becomes a singular reactive force
influencing all of the properties of everything existing within it.
As Crash finished his statement and looked up at the Tribunal, he realized
that he had not been interrupted - not even once. He also discerned, or more
correctly felt, the intensely piercing gaze of Dr. P-Quan, and to only a
slightly lesser degree, that of Professor Helosas. Dr. Kurt sat there
continually taking notes, obviously developing a strategy that would
eventually allow him to take control of Crash's work.
After a few seconds, P-Quan let out a large breath and appeared visibly to
gather himself. "Well, my young Mr. Tyson," he blared in a loud tone, "it
appears that you have attempted to rewrite six thousand years of human
scientific and technological history in one fell swoop. What on earth
possessed you to develop such an outlandishly unconventional concept?"
Looking straight at P-Quan, Crash replied with firm and resolute confidence.
"Sir, with all due respect, I have worked out all of the mathematical proofs.
I can prove everything I have stated here. I am correct, sir."
The intensity of P-Quan's glare increased dramatically. He seemed taken aback
by the directness of Crash's reply, but he recovered almost instantly, and hid
his alarm well. Crash, however, noticed this slight hesitation. Crash had
prepared himself for considerable resistance to his ideas, but not to the
degree P-Quan projected. He began to wonder if there wasn't something more
involved here than met the eye.
P-Quan continued, "You know, my young Mr. Tyson, that if you continue thinking
in this manner; you're going to upset a great many people."
The term "young Mr. Tyson" started to get under Crash's skin. He had not come
here to play childish mind games. Forcefully, he replied, "Sir, I say again,
with all due respect, that the validity of these concepts can undergo any
scrutiny. I can demonstrate that…"
"What practical application could any of this ever possibly have?" Dr. Kurt
interjected forcefully. "Even if you are correct, young man, how could it ever
be applied for any useful purpose?"
Crash now knew he had their interest, although they remained skeptical. He
continued, "By combining certain Mobius wave functions and Ramserian Number
Theory as applied to phase space dimensional interfaces, I have demonstrated
on several computer models that the construction of a Spatial Exclusion Wave
Generator should be possible."
"And what on earth would that get us?" Dr. Kurt shot back, his face wreathed
in a sarcastic glare. Turning to P-Quan, he remarked contemptuously, "I
believe that our young Mr. Tyson has truly lost his mind!"
Crash looked Dr. Kurt squarely in the eye as he continued his explanation. "My
research indicates that two main results should occur. The first primary
result should be the generation of significant amounts of antimatter greatly
exceeding the input energy required for its generation."
Dr. Kurt interrupted loudly, "Mr. Tyson, what on earth would we do with all
this additional energy? The fusion reactors we now have supply us with all the
energy we can possibly use. What is your point?"
Inwardly, Crash congratulated himself. He had successfully maneuvered the
committee into a position where their questions would lead them to inquire
about the central point of his research. He could not gloat now, however.
There would be time enough to bask in that satisfaction later.
He explained smoothly, "Gentlemen, in view of the current shortages of many of
the raw materials needed to sustain a vibrant and economically progressive
human culture, I regard Planet Earth as only an originator of life: an
incubator, for lack of a better word. All known life has originated here. The
time is nearing when the life that has originated and flourished here must
either retard its growth, or expand and prosper off the planet. You are
correct, Dr. Kurt, in stating that we have more than enough energy resources
for mankind's use for the indefinite future, but only if we remain static as a

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race. I did not envision that purpose as the primary objective of my research.
I intend to use this power to explore the universe, thereby expanding
mankind's options for his future."
P Quan's interest increased perceptibly. He inquired, "My young Mr. Tyson,
what makes you think you can ever explore the universe in any meaningful
manner? Its sheer vastness precludes any realistic time frame for human
exploration. The distances involved make it possible to travel only to the
very nearest stars. Solving the life support problems must precede any
long-term missions. This idea of yours is wishful thinking. Most likely, it is
not obtainable in even the longest of human time frames. How can you justify
coming here and wasting this council's time with such ridiculous fiction?"
Crash realized that P-Quan had not taken a negative position. Although
outwardly appearing to be critical, he gave Crash an opening allowing him to
explain his concepts more fully. None of the other applicants had been given
such an opportunity.
After considerable thought, Crash replied, "Sirs, as you can see in section
(E) of my proposal, I have theoretically shown that obtaining velocities at or
slightly exceeding that of light may be possible. This would allow us to
explore much of nearby space in just a few years' time. The economic benefits
of such a mission cannot be evaluated at this juncture. However, one thing is
certain. If we do not try, we will never know what's out there and how it
could benefit us."
As Crash continued to explain his position, he grew mystified by P-Quan's
reaction. Outwardly, the man's body language projected typical bureaucratic
negativism. Subliminally, however, Crash became increasingly aware of an
entirely different message. P-Quan's demeanor became quiet and attentive, with
his focus fixed exclusively on Crash. Even Dr. Kurt and Professor Helosas had
become more observant than usual.
Crash continued, "What I am proposing is to build is a small, scaled-down
Spatial Exclusion Wave Generator device, so as to verify my theory. If the
theory is verified, then we can proceed with the actual construction of a
prototype exploratory ship."
Dr. Kurt then asked, "How much funding do you estimate will be required to
complete the first phase of this project?"
"I have estimated that one hundred million credits will be required to
complete the initial phase of the project," Crash stated firmly.
"That's impossible!" Professor Helosas exclaimed sharply. "The WSC's project
oversight alone will require more funding than that!"
Fuming, Crash raised his voice. "Sir, the asinine oversight requirements of
the WSC are not my concern! The initial phase of this project can be
accomplished for that amount if I am allowed to do it my way."
The sudden brashness displayed by Crash shocked the panel. The members were
not conditioned to have someone assume superiority over their authority, ask
them to cough up a hundred million credits, and then tell them to butt out as
if they were a minor annoyance to a superior power. His manner rattled their
mindset. The discussion that ensued became rather heated, especially the
exchanges involving Professor Helosas. "This undisciplined renegade appears to
be totally out of control, if you ask me!" he muttered disgustedly. "He's
completely unmanageable! The risk is too great."
"He shows no respect for authority!" Kurt reiterated.
Kurt and Helosas entered into a heated discussion. They both took their turn
listing as many negative factors as they could think of. Some made sense, but
most did not. P-Quan, strangely silent, intently absorbed the opinions of the
other panel members. He would listen to Kurt one minute and make a note or
two, and then just as deliberately absorb and note the opinion of Helosas.
Finally, he turned an intent gaze on Crash Tyson. After considerable
deliberation, he pounded the table with his gavel and brought the debate to an
abrupt end.
"Gentlemen, gentlemen, please," he said. "In all the history of this
organization, rarely have we had such controversial debate over any proposal.

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It would seem that for such vehement disagreement to erupt among our
distinguished panel members, that there might just be some merit to young Mr.
Tyson's proposal. Although I believe there is only a slight chance of this
project's reaching a successful outcome, I believe that we should go forward
with this project at this time."
Turning to Dr. Kurt and Professor Helosas, P- Quan stated quietly but very
directly, "Both of you know full well the ramifications of this theory, if it
turns out to be correct. Frankly, I am amazed that anyone here could even
propose a project of such complexity."
Helosas started to object, but P-Quan sharply cut him off. All present could
see that there was significant disagreement between the two. Helosas adamantly
opposed the project, while P-Quan favored it. Everything had happened so fast
that at the conclusion of this confrontation, the subjugation of Helosas's
position in favor of P-Quan's became obvious. The discussion ended.
Crash found P-Quan's statement quite intriguing. Helosas, being entirely cut
out of the loop, had nothing more to say. The final discussions were strictly
between P-Quan and Kurt. It became very evident that P-Quan completely
controlled the council, and that Kurt and Helosas were the yes-men. Also, it
seemed quite apparent that their discussion involved topics of much greater
scope than the simple proof of Crash's theories. He did not know what these
subjects were, but he did know that the Tribunal had directly involved itself
with these undisclosed issues, which, in their view, paralleled his proposal.
P-Quan, having gained Helosas's concession, made the announcement. In a very
formal manner he stated, "It is the decision of this Tribunal that Mr. Tyson's
request is hereby granted. It is also the decision of this Tribunal that the
project will be put under the direct oversight of Dr. Kurt. Dr. Kurt will
report any and all resulting data directly to and only to me. This meeting is
adjourned."
***
Crash awoke early the next day. He had slept little during the night, because
his mind kept reeling with excitement. He had been granted the funding to
proceed with a SEG demonstration device, but in doing so, lost control of the
project. It appeared that P-Quan had outmaneuvered him in that area. Even if
everything went as projected, the results would most likely end up buried in
some government basement, never to see the light of day.
In Crash's opinion, however, the immediate development of this technology
exceeded in importance any intrusion that might arise from the WSC's
involvement. After all, the future well-being of the human race was at stake.
The naturally expansive nature of humanity could not long withstand the
increased restrictions the PLAG would undoubtedly impose on it to maintain its
concept of order. He strongly believed that eventually, the resulting
implosion of human culture would be terminal to its future. Not knowing
exactly to what degree the WSC would become involved in his project, he
realized that he would have to be very careful - meticulous in organizing this
project - for it to succeed. Otherwise all his years of effort would go for
naught.
After deciding on a basic plan of action, he had to design the organizational
structure of his research group. First of all, he would need a Director of
Construction and Operations. This person would have to design and supervise
the construction of the all the facilities and the SEG device itself. Since
most of what needed to be done had never been done before now, this
supervision would become a very demanding task. The person chosen for this
position would have to be skilled in a multitude of engineering disciplines.
Secondly, he would need someone with expertise in computers, nanotech and data
retrieval. The entire project's success would depend on correct data retrieval
and the airtight verification of its authenticity. Most of the sensors he
would need had never been designed or even contemplated prior to now.
Therefore, this would be a daunting task. It would take a very special person
to fill this position.
Thirdly, security would be of paramount importance. Being absolutely

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determined that this knowledge would not end up buried and forgotten, Crash
realized that a covert redundant data collection system would be necessary to
guarantee that it would not. He also understood that, in the wrong hands, the
information gained in his project would be extraordinarily dangerous. He could
not allow this data to fall into the wrong hands. Therefore, intractable
loyalty would be the primary trait Crash desired for anyone involved with the
project. He hoped that he could find people that would fit the bill.
The arena of hyper-energy physics concerning the SEG device would be managed
by Crash himself. His expertise in this area of knowledge was unique.
Therefore, there would be no debate concerning this aspect.
After serious consideration, he recognized that everyone involved in the
project would have to be in total agreement with his goals. They must be
absolutely loyal to him and clearly understand the moral, political, and
military ramifications of the project.
Having decided on a fundamental course of action, Crash conducted interviews
of dozens of prospective candidates for each position. Many of the applicants
were technically qualified but lacked the objective moral clarity Crash
demanded. After several weeks of interviewing people, Crash concluded that a
large part of the so-called educated elite had succumbed to a mental disorder
he named "Ideologience Disease." In other words, their ideology overruled
their objectivity. Their opinions and beliefs, therefore, conformed to their
personal ideological view of reality, and not to a view generated by the
objective application of the scientific method. To his disgust, Crash found
that only three applicants qualified for his group.
For the Director of Construction and Operations he selected a young woman by
the name of Lynn Meisheil. She had earned doctorates in engineering,
architecture, and systems analysis. She had convinced Crash that she could
coordinate all of the various technologies into a functioning system that
could retrieve valid test results at a reasonable cost. Crash deduced that her
character was beyond reproach, as her opinions concerning the PLAG hegemony
would not win her any points with the State Police.
Lynn was a stunningly beautiful young lady: one blessed with long, flowing,
reddish-blond hair and sparkling green eyes. Noted for unbounded energy and
bluntness, she displayed all the appropriate mental, physical, and
psychological aspects for the task. A colleague would have to be dead not to
know where she stood on any issue, as she expressed her opinions with extreme
clarity. She possessed no moral gray areas that could cloud the transparency
of her character. Considering himself fortunate to have her in his
organization, Crash welcomed her without any qualms whatsoever.
Next, Crash selected a fellow by the name of Nessid Laffued as Director of
Computer and Sensory Retrieval. Nessi, as he liked to be called, possessed the
personal qualities that could only be described as an eccentric's eccentric.
An absolute perfectionist, Nessi possessed an obsessive intolerance of dirt,
wrinkles, messy hair, and sloppy work habits. His habitual nervousness insured
that his mere presence generally aggravated most of the people working around
him. In fact, most of his colleagues would become obsessed with nervous
trepidation within just a few minutes in his presence. Even though this trait
limited the number of assistants who could work with Nessi, his genius in
nano-electronic architectural design more than made up for this shortcoming.
Possessed of an exceptionally broad education, he had interests that ranged
from anthropology to zoology. As Crash explained the nature and goals of the
project, he could see Nessi's eyes light up with excitement and curiosity.
Nessi immediately understood the significance of the project, and appreciated
the great danger to humanity that would occur if this technology ended up in
the wrong hands. Nessi's acceptance of the position greatly pleased Crash.
Lastly, but potentially most importantly, Crash interviewed dozens of people
for the position of Chief of Security. During the course of these interviews,
Crash came to realize that he hadn't known that so many of the Rambo types -
the CIA and KGB types, ex-Army, ex-Navy, and ex-Marine - still survived.
Everyone from Mossad operatives and Gurkha warriors to South African

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Revolutionists applied. Until he conducted these interviews, Crash did not
know that the human race possessed so many paranoid, anti-social individuals.
Apparently, nearly everyone associated with some form of Government security
could be considered as such. This information so startled Crash that he
decided that he would have to consider the ramifications of this at a later
time.
After concluding all of the interviews, Crash realized that Sergeant Major
Decker Payne was the man best qualified for the job. There were big men and
there were fast men. There were strong men and there were smart men. These
attributes could be found in many individuals, but rarely were they all
contained within one package. Sergeant Major Decker Payne, being the one
glaring exception, possessed all of the necessary qualities Crash desired for
the job.
"DP," as Payne liked to be called by his friends, projected an awesome
physical presence. At six foot four inches and 245 pounds, he appeared to be
the physically perfect warrior. The unique combination of the abilities he
commanded would shock any man's sensibilities. He routinely bench-pressed 300
pounds forty times in one minute. He could run the hundred yard dash in 11.2
seconds in full battle gear. His diving skills were only exceeded by his
expertise as a parachutist. DP's knowledge of weapons, survival and defensive
skills were considered second to none. A true Marine to the bone, his ability
to improvise proved legendary. To top it all off, his IQ was 167. Crash pitied
anyone dumb enough to become this man's enemy. Crash did need to know,
however, whether DP had any mercenary tendencies that could possibly
compromise his loyalty and commitment to the project.
Crash voiced this concern directly to DP. "Sergeant Payne, you do understand,
do you not, that if we are successful, the knowledge we gain from this project
will change humanity's destiny by more orders of magnitude than any other
event in human history? In the wrong hands, this power could be used in ways
that would make fusion weapons look minuscule and irrelevant. I will not let
this happen under any circumstances. Your job will be to see that this does
not and cannot have even the remotest possibility of occurring. Recent PLAG
History does not encourage me to believe that it is capable of using this
power in a sufficiently beneficial manner to enhance mankind's general
welfare. Even though it is the WSC's money that will carry the project
forward, I feel morally obligated to insure that they do not end up with
singular control of this technology. Do you have any reservations whatsoever,
concerning my agenda regarding this matter? If you do, now is the time to
voice them."
Sitting ramrod straight in his chair, DP stared directly at Crash for a
considerable length of time. Crash could see his mind working in high gear,
but he did not believe that the decision from his point of view would be a
complicated one. Only a simple moral decision would be required, depending on
the man's opinion of the PLAG Hegemony.
Having digested Crash's words, DP finally spoke. "Sir, since the breakup of
the United States, I have served the Planetary Government on numerous
occasions. In the beginning, their goals were lofty and noble. I backed them
wholeheartedly. Over time, however, as they consolidated power and began
ruthlessly enforcing their vision, I came to realize that the moral
justification they used for this oppression was a sham. They enforced their
power purely to squelch anyone or anything that became critical of them. While
ostensibly promoting projects such as yours to use as examples of free
thought, they surreptitiously became the ultimate thought police.
Finally, one day, I realized that this dichotomy formed the overwhelming
driving force behind their vision. Since that day, I have vehemently opposed
both their methods and their ideological goals. Although I do not fully
understand the full nature of this project at this time, I fully agree with
your assessment: we cannot allow the WSC sole control of the immense power you
contemplate creating. Their wish to retain absolute power is the only reason
they are willing to finance the project in the first place. Considering their

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past history, I believe that they cannot be trusted with that much additional
power. Therefore, hire me, and you will have one hundred percent of my
attention and loyalty for as long as you want it."
Having evaluated DP's statement, Crash allowed his face to relax into a smile.
"Sergeant Payne, I think you and I will get along just fine," he declared
warmly.
"Sir, I prefer that my friends call me DP."
"OK, DP," Crash agreed. "DP it is. My friends call me Crash."
"If it is all the same to you," DP went on, "I will continue to address you as
sir. If you don't mind, of course," he added hastily.
"Why so?" Crash asked.
"Sir, I learned a long time ago that in this business you must maintain an
obvious chain of command. Also, you never act as knowledgeable or intelligent
as you are. The paranoid types always assume that they're superior to their
opponents. That flaw gives us an advantage over them that I would like to
maintain. It's best that we hide as many aces up our sleeve as possible while
dealing with the PLAG and their WSC cronies."
"Very well, if you feel it is necessary," Crash replied. "You are Chief of
Security."
"With your permission, then, I will take my leave, sir. I have a number of
details that I must attend to before we can get started with all of this."
As DP turned and left, Crash decided that he had chosen the right man. Upon
further reflection, he knew that he had chosen the best people for the needs
of the project. Now they just had to get to work.
***
P-Quan entered his private conference room in a huff. He appeared to be filled
with a sense of urgency that he rarely publicly displayed. The interview with
Tyson had not gone well, and he knew it. The young Tyson handled had him quite
well, considering his total ignorance of the true nature of the interview. He
had borne the full brunt of P-Quan's intimidation tactics without even once
appearing to show any signs of weakness, intimidation, or fear. P-Quan had
never before experienced anyone that impervious to demoralization. He realized
that this unprecedented situation must be handled correctly, or there would be
hell to pay. P-Quan recognized that this young Tyson fellow just might present
him with his first true challenge.
On rare occasions, Dr. Kurt had seen this mood in P-Quan, so he instinctively
prepared himself to bear the brunt of his colleague's infamous temper. He knew
that this meeting would not be a pleasant one, but he would manage. When push
came to shove, he could handle himself quite well. After all, being the
assistant director of the WSC had allowed him to acquire a great many
influential friends in the PLAG Senate.
After Kurt and Helosas seated themselves, P-Quan brought the meeting to order.
An air of apprehension filled the room. Both Kurt and Helosas thought they
were ready for anything P-Quan could drop on them. They were mistaken.
"Gentlemen," P-Quan stated, "we have an extraordinarily unprecedented
situation on our hands - one which will require our utmost care and attention!
It appears that our young Mr. Tyson wants to explore the universe. The method
he has proposed to accomplish this feat is interesting, to say the least. I
think we can agree that this fortunate development is unexpected, and if
proven successful, will offer us great opportunity for advancement. Therefore,
I have decided that this project will be given absolute priority over all
others. We shall give Mr. Tyson anything and everything he requires to bring
this experiment to its final conclusion. You will conduct your oversight and
regulatory measures accordingly. There will be no mistakes, gentlemen - none
whatsoever! Do either of you have any questions concerning your individual
responsibilities?"
"Yes, Chairman P-Quan, I certainly do," Kurt blurted out heatedly. Belatedly
realizing that he had overstepped his position, he added, "What I mean to say
is that we must coordinate this project with the utmost care, as you have
suggested. We cannot have any unanswered questions, on the remote chance that

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this crazy idea of his turns out to have any validity."
With a slight nod, P-Quan accepted Kurt's apology. "There cannot be the
slightest possibility of error, Dr. Kurt. You, as director, will oversee this
project. You will be held personally responsible for the acquisition and
retrieval of any and all data. I'm sure that Professor Helosas can assist you
to set up a failsafe system with the required redundancy to protect our
interests. Failure will not be acceptable under any circumstance. Is that
clear to the both of you?" P-Quan stated forcefully.
Kurt had never before seen P-Quan so intense. The gaze of his fiery eyes
pierced Kurt. Dead silence filled the room.
Helosas, being a very large person, had spent his time, as usual, analyzing
his notes. He did not appear to recognize or even acknowledge the seriousness
of the situation. He rarely took his eyes off of his notepaper, as doing so
would require the effort to raise his head, and that would be inefficient: a
waste of energy.
Breaking the deafening silence, Kurt inquired, "Why exactly is this project so
important to you, P-Quan? I understand the importance of exploration. Man has
not yet gone to the stars. If that feat takes a few more decades or even a
century to accomplish, the delay will not make that much difference to the
overall scheme of things. You apparently have an urgent personal reason to
elevate this project to a much higher level of importance. Is there some
significance to all this that we have not been made aware of?"
Upon hearing Kurt's renewed challenge, Helosas looked up with a dumbfounded
expression.
P-Quan could understand the reaction of the bureaucratically oriented Helosas.
Anything that needed to be handled quickly upset his mental metabolism, which
in turn caused him great emotional distress. Being extremely competent as a
master of deliberate organization, he never let anything get out of the
predetermined order.
" This young Tyson fellow might just put Helosas in his grave if he reacts to
the oversight controls we are going to place on him as I think he will, "
P-Quan thought . "But Kurt! Kurt should know better. I have confided to him
the nature of certain extremely sensitive political realities. The importance
of this research should be clearly obvious to him. The only reason Kurt got to
be a member of this Tribunal in the first place was his unqualified acceptance
of these realities and his agreement to aid in the fulfillment of these
political necessities without question. Perhaps I have overestimated his
worth. If he continues to mount these challenges to my authority, I may have
to re-evaluate his position on the WSC. I shall have to keep a closer eye on
him ."
Hiding the impatience generated by the complaints of his associates, P-Quan
went on to state, "The importance of this research should be self-evident to
the both of you. Since it is not, you shall simply accept the fact that I am
Chairman of this Tribunal, and in my judgment, this project takes priority
over all others. That is final! If you have any difficulty accepting my
decision, you may turn in your resignations immediately."
With that, P-Quan stormed out of the room.
Wide-eyed, Kurt and Helosas exchanged glances. Subliminally acknowledging
P-Quan's authority and accepting their subordinate positions, they immediately
left the conference room to organize the structural control over young Tyson's
experiment.
***
Lynn and Nessi were already waiting for Crash and DP as they entered the
conference room: a small but secure room designed so that no one could
eavesdrop on what was said inside. Crash had selected it so that the free flow
of ideas could occur. Wasting no time, Crash brought the organizational
meeting to order.
"First of all," Crash stated, "I assume Lynn and Nessi have each made the
acquaintance of the other."
The two acknowledged that they had done so.

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"Secondly, I would like to introduce our Head of Security to the both of you:
Sergeant Major Decker Payne."
Both Lynn and Nessi welcomed Decker to the team. As they shook hands, Lynn
said warmly, "Glad to have you on board, Decker."
Decker replied in his deeply resonant voice, "My friends call me DP."
"Very well," she acknowledged. "Then welcome aboard, DP."
As Lynn and Nessi would soon learn, DP's military nature prohibited him from
being a man of many words. His directly focused mind always went straight to
the heart of any situation with which he had become involved. Famous for never
being diverted by inconsequential peripheral issues, he bore a reputation for
efficiency that would soon be proven deserved.
Nessi, not being a very physically aggressive person, quickly recognized the
innate power that DP projected. This power sent chills down his spine and
intimidated him.
"I would like to welcome everyone on board," Crash stated in a matter-of-fact
tone. "We are about to embark on a journey without limits. It will require
hard work and long hours, but I believe we have assembled the best team to do
the job. Each of you will be responsible for assembling your own staff. As you
bring on more people, remember one thing above all else. They must without
reservation be loyal to our cause.
"There are many reasons for concern regarding this project. We will be dealing
with power and energy never before contemplated by man. In the wrong hands,
such power and energy could spell doom to what is left of mankind's free will.
I have just now received the oversight parameters the WSC is going to enforce
upon the project. It appears that they are attempting to guarantee their
complete control over all data generated from our research. I believe they may
eventually even try to cut us out of the data loop all together. As you can
probably guess, the WSC will then turn everything over to the PLAG and send us
packing.
"We cannot allow this. Therefore we must be more inventive than they are. Use
your imaginations! Expect the unexpected. Design and plan for the improbable.
Do not be caught off guard."
Having declared his concerns, Crash went on to state, "So, I'm open to
suggestions."
Lynn quickly offered an opinion. "According to their guidelines, they want all
data routed through only one retrieval system. Not only is this bad systems
design, it greatly limits data recovery in the event of a failure. One
unplanned power surge and all data could be lost. As things stand, it would be
simple for them to cut us out of the loop. All data would be dispensed at
their discretion, and we would be entirely at their mercy in regards to any
data acquisition. I believe it imperative that we somehow design around that
feature."
Nessi offered a possible solution. "Boss, I could develop several passive data
collection systems disguised as computer-controlled power regulators. The
basic design of the SEG device requires extremely sophisticated computer
control systems. The dual purpose of these systems should be relatively simple
to camouflage. It would be difficult for the WSC to discover their dual use
capability, if we set up several independent input subsystems ranging from
hard wired to electromagnetic and photonic communications systems."
"Do not underestimate these people!" DP broke in. "They are exquisitely
deceptive, very clever, and extremely ruthless. In the past, I have worked
with them on numerous occasions. Although Nessi's ideas are commendable, I
would suggest that we add a few twists to his ideas. Sometimes the best place
to conceal something of value is in plain sight."
Deception not being part of Crash's fundamental nature, he did not naturally
think in such terms. He considered DP's suggestion sound, and told the three
of them to put their heads together and develop a coordinated protocol that
would function within each of their individual requirements.
They all agreed.
"The next area of concern," Crash went on, "is how we can distinguish between

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our loyal people and the spies the WSC will undoubtedly plant within our
midst. All of our best laid plans could be for nothing if the WSC knows
everything as soon as, or possibly even sooner, than we do ourselves."
"Boss!" Nessi interjected quickly. "I am happily saying that I have been
developing a sophisticated recording device that can measure a multitude of
electromagnetic spectra. From a distance, I can record the brain waves,
heartbeat, and multiple psychological and physiological electromagnetic
emissions that the human body generates and emits. It should not be too
difficult to develop parameters by which we can distinguish loyal people from
deceptive infiltrators."
"How reliable and accurate would this thing be?" DP asked musingly. Nessi's
slightly broken English ticked his funny bone.
"That is hard to predict at this time," Nessi replied. "We might test it on
ourselves to get some sort of baseline parameter. That should tell us
something."
Crash thought it might be a good concept to develop. "If this works - if we
really can distinguish between friend and foe - we would gain some measure of
security," he agreed.
Not nearly as convinced that putting sole reliance on any purely technical
means was wise, DP said so. "There are other effective methods capable of
determining one's loyalties. I do not believe that we should limit ourselves
in our approach to the security of this project. The stakes are much too
high!"
Curious, Crash asked, "What exactly do you have in mind, DP?"
"Sir, it would be irresponsible on my part to disclose every security measure
I intend to implement. Security must be based on a need-to-know basis, or the
term becomes meaningless. My discretion will solely determine accessibility in
this area, and that is final!"
Everyone present knew that as far as DP was concerned, the final word on that
subject had been spoken. It appeared to Crash that Lynn and Nessi were
becoming increasingly intimidated by the domineering nature of DP's
personality. He felt he had better put this fire out before it got out of
control and affected their working relationships.
"DP," he said calmly, "I can see that Lynn and Nessi are somewhat, shall we
say, unfamiliar with your methods and the tactics you may employ regarding
your area of expertise. Perhaps you could familiarize them as to the basic
manner in which you will approach your task."
Although it did not show outwardly, DP was somewhat taken aback by Crash's
statement. "Sir, are you trying to say that I'm scaring them?" he quipped.
"What I'm saying, DP," Crash declared firmly, "is that the four of us are all
in this together. We are one team. We must know each other as well as we know
ourselves. We must know each other's job as well as each of us knows his own.
There can be no secrets among us. Above all, we must implicitly trust each
other. To be successful, we must implement as much redundancy as possible
concerning our interdepartmental leadership and management skills. I believe
this will become increasingly apparent as the project develops. Recent history
clearly demonstrates that the WSC is capable of initiating any number of
atrocious actions to cement their authority. We all know this. Therefore, we
must be prepared for any unscrupulous or deceptive tactic they throw at us. We
all must clearly understand and accept this!"
Humbled not only by Crash's statement, but also by the strength and depth of
the leadership Crash displayed, DP nodded. "Yes, sir. I see your point."
"Is everyone in agreement, then?" Crash inquired.
They all replied with an emphatic, "Yes, sir!"
Relieved that the team seemed to agree that they could develop an amicable
working relationship, Crash felt his confidence soar. He said, "OK, then,
let's get to work." They all had more than enough to do with regard to
organizing their individual departments in the next few days. Satisfied, Crash
adjourned the meeting.
After everyone had left, Crash reflected on the day's events. He felt certain

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that everyone understood how he wanted the project to function from this time
forward. Jumping on DP's abrasiveness at the very beginning had been a
necessity. DP's natural inclination to dominate and control would eventually
have fractured the group's working relationships. Not that DP's approach was
inappropriate; he just needed to be gently guided to a position where everyone
retained all of his or her body parts while he did his job. The primary reason
he had been selected as Chief of Security in the first place had arisen from
that aspect of his character.
The thought that on the morrow he would begin the final push that could lead
to his achieving his life-long dream excited Crash no end. All of the years of
hard work and sacrifice were finally going to pay off. I cannot fail. I will
not fail! echoed through his mind over and over. He could not believe that his
destiny involved any aspect of failure. He felt as if the rush of history had
pushed him into this place at this time. For whatever reason, he would play
the part and play it all the way. No half-hearted attempt or excuses. This
moment in time was for real. Tomorrow, he would begin cutting the cord that
for so many millennia had so rigidly tied mankind to this incubator called
Planet Earth.
Chapter Two
Considering the short time it had been in operation, the organization Crash
had created functioned extremely well: far better than he had anticipated.
Lynn had completed the basic design and layout of the test facility.
Construction proceeded on schedule and within the limited budget upon which
Crash had insisted.
Nessi had finished the design and construction of the sensors and computers.
They were ready for installation. DP assisted him in coordinating the
installation of the security systems with all of the appropriate safeguards
that had secretly been put in place. Both he and Crash were satisfied with the
system they had installed. They felt fully confident that it would work as
planned.
The WSC required that the test site be located in the ubiquitous wastelands of
what was formally known as the State of Wyoming. Kurt explained that if the
experiment blew up in Crash's face, nothing of value would be destroyed.
During the Second American Civil War, the "Wyoming-Is-What-America-Was State"
bore the brunt of the first nuclear strikes. The citizens there were at the
forefront of the initial rebellion against the Eastern Establishment's
suspension of constitutional government and the destruction of the Republic.
This suspension of the law caused an immediate destabilization of the world's
political and economic structure. In an attempt to stabilize things by
exerting extreme pressure, the UN and other failed socialist and dictatorial
states forced what remained of the American government to use excessive
military power against the rebellion. The example that was made of the rebels
was beastly and horrific. Owing to their absolute rejection of the UN's
proposed Socialist Utopian State, the patriots were eventually overwhelmed by
millions of UN troops from around the world, especially from the Mid-eastern
and Far Eastern states. Even average citizens were declared guilty of war
crimes and dealt with accordingly. Very few Americans from this region
survived the ensuing genocide. The majority of the people in the rest of the
heartland fought valiantly, but the residual fallout killed off most of the
animal life and contaminated a large percentage of the remaining food and
water supplies. Even to this day, respirators were required if a person
remained outside an air-filtered facility for any length of time. All water
from any source still had to be treated and distilled, so as to separate the
radioactive heavy metals and render the water supply potable.
In the aftermath of this orgy of death, the victors danced in the rivers of
blood they had created in their quest for equality and their version of
universal justice. In the end, however, the rivers of blood dried up, and all
that remained was the victor's responsibility for the realistic outcomes of
their own utopian revelations. The unwritten motivation of the third world
troops - people dominated by the jealousy-hate syndrome which had justified

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this genocide - was the fact that most of the world's population had never
learned that they actually had to perform work, if they hoped to acquire the
material benefits that the world could make available. The resulting
destruction of the worldwide economic structure and the massive famines that
resulted, led to the eventual creation of the PLAG and their hegemonic control
of the planet. The PLAG achieved the total subjugation of mankind. None of
their resources were wasted on even the slightest social irritations. You
conformed or you died.
Crash eventually understood the reason why the PLAG removed history from the
WSC's schools. If you could not remember the past, you could not learn from
it. You also would have no reason to challenge the present state of affairs.
Thus, mankind currently existed in a universal state of depressing malaise. In
this way, the government maintained its goal of peaceful social stasis.
Realizing that his thoughts had wandered again, Crash focused his attention on
the immediate matters at hand.
As Kurt had stated so eloquently in his cover letter, "The test site will be
located in the ubiquitous wastelands of what was once known as Wyoming. Thus,
if this theory of yours blows up in your face, it won't damage anything of
substantial value of the WSC or the Planetary Government."
Funny , Crash thought, people were not mentioned in any of his definitions of
value .
Kurt and Helosas had constructed a marvelous maze of autocratic red tape. The
basic framework of the WSC's requirements went as follows: you are to submit
all plans, documents, copies of internal and external communications,
electronic correspondence, blueprints, bills of laden, work orders and
purchases, medical records, and labor time sheets of every single person on
the project, through Dr. Kurt's office. Needless to say, this would allow the
WSC to know the position of every bolt and screw on the entire project.
There were ways around this carefully constructed trap the WSC had developed,
however. Crash had learned to fight fire with fire. If the WSC wanted
paperwork, paperwork is what they would get: mountains of it. Nessi had
devised a way to separate related items on requisition forms and make them
appear as unrelated systems by employing sophisticated fractal equations in
the printing system. A, B, C, would go in and B, C, D would come out - all
seemingly related but scrambled at the same time. Naturally, the bureaucratic
mind would spend months trying to make sense of the apparently minor
discrepancies. They would attribute those incongruities to the ineptness of
Crash's team rather than to their own incompetence or subterfuge. By the time
they figured out what had transpired, the experiment would be completed and
other plans would be in place. Therefore, Crash's staff brought paperwork in
literally by the truckload. The resulting backlogged confusion bought them
much needed time and separation from prying eyes.
DP had a few tricks up his sleeve also. Eventually, he convinced Crash of the
need for an independent security system totally isolated from the project's
basic system: the one they had previously put in place. Only DP knew the
nature and extent of this new system. He would not discuss it with anyone but
Crash and then, only minimally. After DP outlined what he had in mind, Crash
approved his idea without reservation.
"I knew you were good, DP," Crash said, "but this plan of yours is remarkable.
I'm impressed. We should consider ourselves fortunate that you're on our side
in this endeavor."
Frowning, DP stared intently at Crash as he remarked, "As I have stated, I
worked for the PLAG in the past. During my time with them, I discovered that
their major concern was crowd control - animal control, if you know what I
mean. Under their scenario, the bad guys always win. That gets boring very
quickly. What concerns me is that if we pull this charade off, the
consequences regarding this project's security will get very dicey very
quickly."
"You seem to have an excellent grasp of the potential political and scientific
implications this project might entail," Crash asserted.

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"I'm not ignorant of the sciences, sir. I simply prefer that the true extent
of my abilities be known only to me. If I thought you were some kind of
crackpot, I would not be here protecting you."
"Protecting me!" Crash exclaimed in complete surprise. "Why on earth would I
need protection? From whom?"
Looking Crash straight in the eye, DP observed levelly, "Look, sir, I've
worked for these people before. I know them. I understand them: how they think
- how they evaluate things. I've done things for them I am not proud of having
pulled off. I know they will do anything to maintain their absolute control
over this planet. If you are successful in this endeavor, you will be forced
to join them, or you will be quietly removed from the scene. The WSC fully
intends to control this power, with or without your participation or consent.
If this thing works, you will quickly become peripheral."
DP's directness shocked Crash. He knew how ruthless the PLAG could be, but
why, he wondered, would they need him dead if his theory proved successful?
The possibility of the PLAG's killing him over his success was so foreign to
his psyche that he had difficulty accepting it. He had never even considered
that possibility.
The silence was deafening. After a few moments, Crash looked inquisitively at
DP and asked, "When and why, exactly, did you decide I needed protection, DP?"
After hesitating briefly, DP offered a blunt explanation. "When you were nine
years old, you were placed on a list of promising individuals - people who'd
merit future consideration. When you were twelve, they elevated you to their
'continuous shadow' list. At eighteen, you were promoted to the 'permanent
contact and tail' group. On your twenty-first birthday, you were again
promoted to 'primary control status' and have been at that classification ever
since. In other words, there has not been a single second during the last
twenty years that you have not been under intimate surveillance by the WSC.
They know more about you than you probably know about yourself."
The seriousness and depth of DP's revelation jolted Crash as nothing had done
before in his life. The anger that welled up in him slowly percolated,
defining and refining itself. Generally, on the rare occasions when Crash's
anger reached this level, the object of this anger suffered. The complexity of
the eventual expression of Crash's anger always ended with an unquestionable
finality.
"How did you become aware that WSC drafted me into these programs without my
knowledge, DP?" Crash asked in an intense tone.
As DP squared himself in his chair, he took a very slow, deliberate breath.
DP's face turned wholly ashen as he looked directly at Crash and confessed,
"For the last eleven years, until a few weeks ago, I was the WSC's Security
Director in charge of your development."
This news so overwhelmed Crash that he fell back into his chair. For the first
time in his life, he had no words to express his thoughts. The totality of
these disclosures forced him into a mental state of pure, unmitigated chaos.
Crash's first response to this knowledge generated a fit of rage within him
that he knew no one should ever witness. "Why in hell are those damn bastards
so interested in me?" he bellowed. At that moment, DP beheld an apocalyptic
intensity in Crash's eyes that he had never before witnessed in a man. Crash's
whole body radiated contemptuous wrath. In all his years of observing Crash,
DP had never beheld this aspect of his personality. Taken aback by what he
saw, DP suddenly understood what P-Quan had seen in the young Mr. Tyson all
along. As P-Quan had stated many times about Crash Tyson, you could not bend
or break him. You could not intimidate or control him. You could only kill
him.
As his initial outburst waned in intensity, Crash's intellect regained some
measure of control over his emotions. Slowly, he turned his utter contempt for
this intrusion into controlled intellectual purpose and direction. The factors
forcing Crash into this mental state probably turned him into the most
dangerous human being on the planet. He did not take well to deception.
As his natural self-control returned, he once again became the analytical

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person everyone knew. The conversion of this emotional explosion into an
analytical problem that must be solved put him back on familiar ground. In his
mind, he simply reduced this information to another obstacle that had to be
overcome, so that he could complete the SEG test. Only now it was personal -
very personal indeed.
Crash sat in total silence, staring into space. Generally, at times like this
his mind worked in its most complicated multi-faceted intellectual
expressions. Finally his eyes focused, and he asked, "Why did you tell me this
now, DP?"
DP again hesitated, but forged on. "About a year ago, when you were finalizing
your initial computer proofs of the theory, I received orders to acquire them
and turn them over to WSC control. When they finally realized that you had
made the theoretical breakthrough, they thought they could finish your work
without you. P-Quan felt that his people could complete the details and build
the SEG device on their own. Being convinced that you would never willfully
join them, P-Quan decided that you would be impossible to control without
substantial disruption to their efforts. At that time I received orders to
terminate you. Simply put, P-Quan felt you would cause more trouble than you
were worth to them."
"Why am I still alive, then?"
"I disobeyed my orders."
"Why?"
Visibly at odds with himself, DP blinked as sweat began to pour down his
forehead. His distress became so apparent that Crash could not decide if DP
was being truthful or he was the greatest actor since Anthony Hopkins. He
decided to reserve judgment.
"Sir," DP replied, "I shadowed you for over eleven years. I watched you grow
up and mature. I watched you while you both worked and played. As you began to
finalize your concepts, your work began to fascinate me. I eventually became
convinced that you were onto something significant. The intensity and depth of
interest the WSC showed in you only elevated my opinion of you."
Crash studied DP intently. He did not understand what motivated DP to tell him
all of this. If DP had wanted him dead, he surely could have succeeded in
killing him. Hell, he could kill him right now for that matter. There must
have been plenty of opportunities to do so in the past. Something specific
must have given him a reason to refuse to carry out his orders. Not to do so
flew in the face of everything DP was, now and in the past.
"You still haven't told me why I am still alive."
Crash felt DP's stare: one that sent cold chills down his spine. "I eventually
realized that the innocent should not be sacrificed simply to preserve obscene
power," DP explained. "If that power had to be fueled and sustained by the
sacrificial death of the innocent, it should not continue to exist."
"What brought on this realization?"
DP could not contain the stress any longer. With great effort he said, "I hope
you don't take this the wrong way, sir. If you want me to resign after I
explain, I will understand."
"That sounds fair enough."
Reluctantly, DP admitted, "Recently, I was again in position to carry out my
orders. I went to great lengths to set up the conditions, so that no one would
believe that your death was anything more than an unfortunate accident. I
pulled the trigger. You should be dead at this very moment, sir!"
"And?" Crash inquired intensely.
"As I fired, a bird flew through my line of sight and took the shot instead of
you. That outcome astonished me, to say the least! It was as if the hand of
God swept past me and foiled the entire operation with the flick of a finger.
The moral conflict I had denied concerning the execution of this mission
struck me with full force at that moment. As I watched the bird tumble through
the air, an eagle flew down and grabbed it out of the air. Clearly, this
incident represented a metaphor concerning you and the PLAG. Your death would
have served no other purpose than to strengthen and sustain the power of the

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PLAG. To waste the life of a man whom I greatly admired suddenly became
untenable. The idea became hideously revolting to me. I experienced an
epiphany of sorts. I then decided to disobey my orders for the second time. I
did not fire a second shot. That is why you are alive today, sir!"
DP's confession rocked Crash to his core. Here, sitting just a few feet away
from him, sat a man who just confessed that he had been twice ordered to kill
him, because he could solve a certain problem which the Government could not
solve.
"What would the result have been, had you not had this fortunate flash of
conscience?" Crash inquired.
"Like a number of men before you, you would be dead."
Crash absorbed all the aspects regarding DP's revelation. The man's body
language, emotional contexts and inflections, word choices and groupings, eye
movements, and a myriad of other factors all pointed in the direction of the
truth. After due consideration, Crash decided that DP's demeanor attested to
the fact that he had not lied. A rush of adrenalin overwhelmed Crash as the
true meaning of DP's confession filtered into his consciousness.
"The last time I was in the mountains, you were there?" Crash asked in an
intense tone.
"Yes, sir. Across the canyon, slightly below you. I was there, all right!"
At a loss for words, Crash sat motionless, silent. Then a morbid curiosity
overcame him, and he asked, "Exactly how were you going to kill me, DP?"
"I used a pulsed maser weapon tuned to scramble your nervous system. You would
have gone into uncontrollable convulsions and fallen off the spire. It would
have appeared to anyone investigating your death that you simply fell. No
questions. No strings. Instead, the bird flew through my line of sight just as
I fired, and the bird fell instead. The only good thing that came from that
outcome was that the eagle got a full stomach."
Slowly, all of the pieces started to fit together in Crash's mind. The
seriousness of the matter with the WSC became crystal clear. He realized that
if it were not for the sudden moral epiphany that DP's conscience achieved,
the WSC would have already won.
"Do you have any further reservations or conflicts regarding your orders?"
DP stood at full attention. "No, sir. None whatsoever. I am without
reservation committed to you and this project, in that order, sir!"
Crash mulled over the new aspects that his little project had acquired in the
last few minutes. The road to completing his dream had just become much more
complicated. Not scientifically, but politically.
He then said, "We shall keep this event, or more properly, this non-event,
between us. We'll forget it ever happened. Can you accept this, and function
under those conditions?"
"Yes, sir. I can," DP replied stoutly.
"Well then, we shall have to be much more careful in the future, won't we?"
DP nodded. Relief overspread his face. The dark secret that he had hidden for
so many years, he now put behind him. No longer would he have to cover his ass
with double dealing and overt lies. The stress visibly drained from him. DP
suddenly realized that the friendship and trust that bonded Crash and his own
self at this moment would see both through anything the PLAG could throw at
them. His future had now become much simpler. He had only one purpose, and
that was to protect Crash Tyson and enjoy the ride along the way.
Crash sat in silence for several moments. Suddenly, he barked, "DP, I have
decided to make you my Chief of Staff as well as Security Director. That will
allow us better to coordinate the safety of all of us. If they wanted me dead
that badly, they could just as easily decide to take out Lynn and Nessi as
well."
"That sounds like a very wise precaution, sir," DP replied.
"I would like you to call a meeting for first thing in the morning with all
the department heads. We shall have to develop a secure course of action in
the light of this new information, and incorporate it into our system as soon
as possible."

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"Consider it done," DP said.
"Do you have any other issues or concerns you'd like to discuss?" Crash asked.
"Only this, sir," DP replied. "I'd like you to wear this." He handed Crash
what appeared to be an exact duplicate of Crash's graduation ring.
"Why, thank you, DP."
"It's not what you think, sir. If you ever get into a serious jam and need
assistance, push the center stone in and then turn it clockwise: one half turn
to the right. Once you do that, I'll be able to locate you anywhere on the
planet."
Crash exchanged the rings, and casually commented that this project was
starting to feel like some dime store cloak-and-dagger novel.
"You must consider this situation as a life and death matter, sir. I hope your
security status never degenerates to the point that you have to use that
ring."
"I hope so too, DP. There is one more thing I've thought of that you could do.
I want you to keep the WSC believing that you are still working for them. That
should allow you to learn at least some details of their plans without tipping
your hand. You must have some contacts there that owe you a favor or two."
"I've have already started to implement such a plan, sir. I should know
something of the details of their intended operation in a few days."
"The sooner the better," Crash said.
After DP left, Crash sat lost in thought. DP's disclosure absolutely convinced
him that the WSC would confiscate the project once they verified the validity
of the concept. He was also convinced that they would try to kill him and all
of his top people once they secured control of a fully operating SEG system.
For the present, he and his people should be relatively safe, as the WSC had
already tried and failed to complete his work without him. They still needed
him to finish the SEG device and verify that the technology would work.
Hell , he thought to himself, they most likely can't comprehend half of what
I'm doing. For now they need us. Once this project is proven successful…
That's when they'll try to cap me.
The deduction he had just made sobered him greatly. The danger to which he had
unwittingly exposed Lynn and Nessi was great. He made a private vow to protect
them at all costs.
***
At five A.M. on the next morning, Crash called the staff meeting to order. He
smiled somberly at each of the department heads, deliberately making eye
contact with each of them. Having noted his mental state, each of them grew
sober in his turn.
"In the last few hours," Crash started, "disturbing information has come to my
attention, concerning the security not only of this project, but of the safety
of all personnel working on it as well. I have become convinced that the WSC
is planning to seize control of all information and key personnel attached to
this project, at the moment we demonstrate a successful operating SEG device.
"I cannot allow the WSC to confiscate this technology and become the sole
heirs to the power it will eventually yield. If that were to happen, mankind's
future would be forever altered in the most negative manner imaginable.
Therefore, we must develop an absolutely failsafe system that will protect not
only the information that will be generated at the conclusion of the test, but
one which will also protect all of the project's personnel as well."
Crash leaned over the desk and put both hands on the table in front of him.
His piercing gaze swept over each member of his inner circle. After giving
each of them a moment to reflect on his comment, he said, "Ideas, anyone?"
As usual, Lynn reacted to the question first. Crash noticed a sparkle in her
green eyes as she declared, "The more I've become involved in the design of
the technical support structure for the SEG device, it has become clear to me
that the safety protocols we at first envisioned must be increased by several
orders of magnitude in order to guarantee containment of the SEG wave. The
magnitude of the energy generated by this experiment has never been even
remotely approached in human history. In any case, the control mechanisms have

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become so complex and sophisticated that diverting a concealed data stream to
a secure location should not be all that difficult. I have developed several
different approaches to accomplishing this. I'm confident that it can be
done."
"How much additional time would be required to accomplish this task, Lynn?" DP
asked. If it's an involved procedure, the WSC could start asking questions and
begin snooping."
"It will only require a few optical adjustments to separate and split the
photonic data steams and divert them to our system," Lynn replied. "I don't
believe that the WSC will ever question any procedure that we have
implemented. We can justify all of them as necessary for our containment
protocols."
"That appears to be a workable idea," Crash said. "Good work, Lynn. Begin
implementing it immediately."
Next, Nessi offered an observation. "Boss, if your information is correct, the
WSC must have already planted some of their agents within our ranks. We must
screen all the people working on the project with my physical-psycho-energy
screening device. We can then find out who is working for the WSC and remove
them from the project."
We don't want to do that!" DP interjected forcefully. "If we suddenly remove
all of their people, they will know we are onto them. We must find their
agents, put them in a box, and then carefully control them without giving them
any reason to suspect that we know who they are. I still do not want to become
overly dependant on this technological wonder of yours when it comes to
security. I still intend to implement some other measures that I trust more
fully."
"I agree with DP on this, Nessi," Crash stated. "DP, you do whatever you feel
is necessary. We'll keep their people on a leash and put them in non-critical
areas, so that they cannot interfere with the outcome. One or two of them will
have to be put in a relatively important position, or the WSC will get
suspicious anyway. They will have to be kept on a shorter leash than the
others."
DP then asked, "Just out of curiosity, Nessi, how exactly does this
contraption of yours work? If possible, I would like to see you demonstrate
it. I would really like to see it in action."
Pleased that DP finally gave him an opportunity to show off his pet project,
Nessi replied, "I am much pleased to demonstrate for you. As I said earlier,
it works by combining several technological developments. It then assesses all
of the electromagnetic waves transmitted by human beings' bio-electric makeup
and displays the results, showing the truthfulness, integrity, and future
intentions of the individual. It can distinguish between the different radio
emissions of many of the hormones related to emotions, and in some cases,
thoughts themselves. It is immensely more complicated than the old-time lie
detectors. It relies heavily on nervous system and brain wave activity. In the
course of my research, I have discovered many new aspects of brain activity
that have previously been unknown. It is extremely sensitive and accurate."
DP skeptically scowled on beholding Nessi's confidence. "I'll repeat again
that I do not like relying solely on technological wonders."
"We'll test the hell out of it DP," Crash said. "We'll test it on you, so you
don't have any doubts as to its legitimacy. Then we will test everyone here,
so we can all work together without any reservations."
"Sounds like a plan to me," DP said. "Let's get to it."
"It is now ready," Nessi stated. "I brought it with me. As a matter of fact, I
have been recording our general conversations since the beginning of this
meeting."
DP reacted first to Nessi's revelation. "Show me!" he said.
Nessi brought up the data on the computer screen. They all huddled around it
and began to examine the results of this new and novel information. The
refined information they each saw amazed and astonished them.
Crash and DP exchanged glances, and chorused, "Hook me up, Nessi!"

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"You said I could to go first," DP quickly asserted.
"OK, go for it," Crash replied.
The four of them spent the rest of the day with Nessi's machine. At the end of
the day their view of the world and the place of human beings in it had
changed dramatically and forever. The respect they had for each other grew
greatly. The group's already high opinion of Crash soared to unprecedented
heights, as the machine showed just how different and remarkable he was. His
leadership position would never be questioned or minimized by any of them in
the future.
Chapter Three
P-Quan sat quietly in his office studying the security reports Kurt and
Helosas had sent him regarding YTE issue. YTE had became his personal
anachronism for the "Young Tyson's Experiment." His laid-back mannerisms
belied his true nature to anyone that did not personally know and work for
him. He fanatically accepted his responsibility and relentlessly pursued the
goals set by it. If you worked for him, you had better do the same, or the
consequences would be unpleasant in the extreme. On more than one occasion, a
member of his staff who had not worked up to his expectations disappeared
without a trace, explanation, or inquiry.
In general, the WSC's security system seemed to be functioning satisfactorily.
There were several areas that could be tightened up, however, and P-Quan
intended to make Kurt aware of them the next time they met for a review of the
project. Still, in the back of his mind, something existed just below the
surface that just didn't add up. He couldn't quite put his finger on it. This
project just didn't feel right, and therein lay the problem. Not being aware
of and in control of every single detail under his command made him uneasy.
His mind had been perfectly trained for the bureaucracy within which he
functioned. His extensive conditioning required him to acquire an immediate
solution to the minutest of problems, or the subliminal conditioning would
kick in and literally torture him until a satisfactory resolution of the
problem could be achieved.
As he contemplated this apparent discrepancy, P-Quan heard an underling
announce Kurt. Having looked up and acknowledged his presence, P-Quan spoke.
"Ah, Kurt. I'm glad you stopped in. I have reviewed your report. I have a few
items of concern I'd like to discuss with you."
Kurt knew that P-Quan would be dissatisfied with the oversight documentation.
He always was. No one ever did anything well enough to make him satisfied.
But, over the years, Kurt had learned to anticipate such criticism and prepare
plausible explanations and justifications with which to rebut it.
"Tyson has become a problem," P-Quan announced bluntly. "I told you he would
be difficult to control. Your containment measures are woefully inadequate
with regard to his personal security and control."
"Mr. Chairmen, I believe that it was I who stated from the beginning that this
whole affair would end unsatisfactorily!" Kurt replied bitterly. "As far as I
am concerned, we are wasting our time with him. He's nuts. Why don't we just
put him down as we originally intended, and be rid of him?"
Sitting in contemplation of the problem, P-Quan tried to contain his
irritation with Kurt. There were times Kurt sounded like a damned fool. He
finally said, "As I recall, in the past, we thought we could develop and
complete Tyson's ideas without him. Luckily, at the last second, our agent
discovered that he had a conscience, and didn't kill him when ordered to. If
he had carried out his mission, the entire concept would have been lost to us
indefinitely. To this day, we still cannot program Tyson's mathematics into
our computers and make it work. He is involved in an entirely new area of
physics. He is the only human being who truly understands it. For now, we need
him alive. Is that perfectly clear, Dr. Kurt?"
"I understand your position, P-Quan," Kurt replied, "but you must have also
realized by now that Tyson is an absolute renegade. He is totally
unpredictable, in my opinion. I believe we should incarcerate him and
physically force him to complete the project under our strictest guidance."

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"Do you really believe that he would respond to threats?" P-Quan countered.
"He's an unqualified romantic idealist and stubborn as a mule to boot. We must
supervise him with finesse and intelligence. I cannot emphasize strongly
enough the importance of his work. In the past I have personally experienced
the results of mismanagement in similar situations. The consequence of failure
in those instances developed into the most unpleasant experience for all
involved. No, Dr. Kurt, I have become convinced that force will not work with
him!"
Again, Kurt took issue with P-Quan's view. He strongly felt that giving Tyson
a free hand would prove a very serious mistake.
"May I then suggest, sir, that we implement this fallback strategy that Dr.
Helosas has devised as a precaution to counter any deception on Tyson's part.
In case a breach occurs in our current containment measures - a disaster I
think very likely to happen - we must have an absolutely failsafe structure in
place that is capable of achieving instantaneous containment and control of
Tyson when the time comes."
P-Quan looked over Helosas's plan, and was most impressed. Helosas, as usual,
thoroughly covered every possible detail, even down to the most seemingly
irrelevant minutiae. Having made a few minor adjustments, he directed Kurt to
implement the plan immediately.
P-Quan's attention centered on the serious matter of the relationship that now
existed between Decker Payne and Crash Tyson. "I see that Professor Helosas
would like Sergeant Payne permanently removed from the equation," P-Quan
remarked. "I agree that his presence is a sensitive matter and does indeed
complicate our plans. However, if we neutralize Payne prematurely, it would
immediately tip off our young prodigy as to our real intentions. No, Dr. Kurt,
we shall deal with the sergeant at a later time. I think a little divisive
turmoil in Tyson's camp might serve us just as well."
Understanding the advantages of P-Quan's approach, Kurt acknowledged, "I see
your point, sir. However, time is becoming a factor in our decisions."
P-Quan seemed surprised by Kurt's appraisal of the situation. "Why is that,
Doctor?" he inquired.
"Sir, construction is well ahead of schedule. The matter/anti matter plasma
conduits have already been completed. Tyson claims that the SEG device will be
completed shortly thereafter. The only work that will remain then will be the
calibration and alignment of the sensors with the computer system. I believe
they will be ready to begin testing in less than four weeks. We should be
ready to implement our plan well before that time."
"That soon?" P-Quan exclaimed, his surprise apparent to Kurt.
"For some reason, his people are working like madmen," Kurt replied. As an
afterthought occurred to him, he added, "They are also considerably under
budget."
"This is most disturbing, Dr. Kurt," P-Quan retorted sharply. "This fervor you
speak of is unexpected. Having to deal with this renegade genius is bad
enough. But this news that he has now developed a fanatical following I find
quite alarming. This complicates the matter considerably. I do not like this
one bit!"
"I'm not sure that I would characterize the workers as fanatical followers,"
Kurt interjected.
Fed up with Kurt's stupidity, P-Quan shouted, "What else can they be, you
damned fool? This project is most definitely trending out of our control.
Ahead of schedule and under budget! Don't you see why? Aberrant events such as
this do not happen without deep-seated causes. These people are loyal to
Tyson. They believe in him. If we expect to maintain our control of this
project, we cannot allow this loyalty to his personality to continue unabated.
Is that clear, Dr. Kurt?"
For a brief moment P-Quan considered his options. He then snarled forcefully,
"I want you to expand Helosas's plan to include the retrieval of all of
Tyson's staff at the conclusion of the first test. Also, I want to double the
containment measures we just planned. There will be absolutely no mistakes or

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loopholes on this. Have I made myself perfectly clear, Dr. Kurt?"
Kurt visibly shrank under the fury of P-Quan's rage. "I shall see to it
immediately, sir," he replied timidly. He made a quick exit from P-Quan's
office, so as to remove himself from the thunder.
After Kurt left, P-Quan entered into a serious debate with himself. The
current state of control that the WSC actually wielded over the SEG project
was questionable at best. For the first time, he realized with horror that he
might actually lose functional containment of the project. The PLAG hegemony
would not react kindly to any failure concerning this matter.
On the other hand, he thought, Kurt unwittingly answered the nagging question
that has been bothering me about the project. Loyalty! Tyson's people have
developed personal loyalty to him! I would have thought that our social
conditioning measures would have wiped that primitive emotion out of existence
by now. There appears to be more resilience in the masses than we
anticipated.
He then realized just how much he truly hated the sentimental emotionalism the
human race so profusely exhibited. Emotionalism had destroyed more social
engineering programs than any other factor in human history.
It is the scourge of order , he decided. I shall have to deal with this
matter much more forcefully in the very near future.
Reaching under his desk, he activated a hidden switch. The wall in front of
him slid sideways to reveal a rather large screen.
A computer voice said, "Communications standing by, sir. Identification?"
"Professor P-Quan, Planetary Governor of Planet Earth."
The computer verified P-Quan's legitimacy.
P-Quan then stated, "I would like to speak with the Local Systems Director.
This is a priority communication."
As the communications system scrambled and coded the call, P-Quan's demeanor
became very stoical.
W e must control this situation at any cost, he silently railed . This young
renegade Tyson is not going to make a fool out of me ! There is much too much
at stake .
At that moment, the screen brightened and the computer replied,
"Communications are now open. Stand by."
Chapter Four
The day Crash had been waiting years to see finally arrived. Now that the SEG
device rested complete, the testing could finally begin. As usual, the bright
sun managed to penetrate a rather stiff breeze that rampaged across the
plains, only slightly warming the day. All in all, the weather conditions were
normal for the area. Dozens of technicians scurried to and fro, attending to
last minute checks and rechecks of the hundreds of sensory systems and
subsystems required to gather the test data. Tensions were high, but
expectations ran higher in advance of the upcoming event.
The test site, located in a huge desert region several hundred miles from any
population centers, met all of the WSC's requirements. The topography of the
area surrounded the test site with relatively flat desert plains. A rather
large mountain range located east of the test site formed the background.
Due to the potential energies that would be generated during the upcoming
test, the central control facility was located thirty-seven miles from the
generator site. Crash estimated that during the length of the test - one tenth
of the Plank Time - the energy generated within the SEG device would exceed
the total output generated by the sun during one full second. The SEG device
hopefully would transform the directly infused energy as well as the binding
dimensional energy as they untangled into the spatial exclusion wave field. In
other words, the device would sustain a standing wave exactly one hundred
eighty degrees out of phase of the natural spatial field as it is translated
through seven dimensions. If successful, a non-dimensional "space" should be
created, which should lack any dimensional field energy. If everything went as
planned, the containment field should hold it in place long enough to verify
the reality of the event before the SEG wave collapsed and normal space

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recoiled and re-established its natural field integrity.
The prototype SEG generator itself was not a large device. It had a spherical
diameter of about three meters. Although rather small as major test devices
went, it boasted a complexity vastly superseding anything previously built by
mankind. Forty-nine Mobius wave field coils covered its outside surface. These
coils would generate the spatial shearing effect as predicted by Crash's
Reactive Mathematics Theory. These fields would then synchronize into the
inverse spatial field and create the negative standing wave field. By slightly
varying the frequency and field strength of individual Mobius fields, Crash
hoped to be able to induce directional stability within the SEG field itself.
The SEG structure possessed a strikingly illusive nature. Its appearance
expressed a unique physical form representing mathematical functions of the
higher dimensions. The maze of field coils, power conduits, sensors, and
controls covered every square inch of its outer surface area. Power was fed
into the generator through six matter/antimatter plasma conduits. They were
surprisingly small, considering the energies they would transport into the
device. The plasma charges would be pulsed into the generator at near light
speed and produce the required energy and pressure to initiate the formation
of the SEG field.
Crash and Nessi checked and then double-checked every detail of the test
parameters several times. Having completed every quality control procedure for
the nth time, Crash turned to Nessi and asked, "Is there anything more we can
do here, Nessi? Anything at all? Is there anything that we have overlooked?"
Having done a quick once-over of his startup procedures and a final visual
inspection, Nessi replied, "No, Boss, I believe everything is in the best of
order we can make it."
Crash nodded in contemplative agreement. Slowly, he reviewed all of the work
that had gone into the preparation for this event. All the years of sleepless
nights and lost romances were now about to come to fruition: to pay a
dividend. As he took one last look, he suddenly realized that his anticipation
of this moment did not exceed the reality of it. The excitement he felt was so
deeply personal - so close to his being - that to most people he appeared
almost melancholy. Crash Tyson kept a close rein on his emotions. Well, most
of the time.
"Yes, Nessi," he opined out loud, "I believe we are as ready as we can ever
be."
Satisfied that everything that could be done had been done, Crash contacted
DP. "We are ready here, DP. What is your status?"
"All security measures are in place, operational, and accounted for. You can
fire when ready, sir."
"Then stand by, DP. The fireworks are about to begin," Crash replied.
"Yes, sir," DP replied crisply.
Crash then gave the order for everyone to evacuate the SEG site. "Let's head
back to the control center, Nessi. It's time to dance."
Nessi turned to Crash with the most perplexed look on his face and asked,
"Boss, do you really think we have time for that?"
Crash returned Nessi's look with one of equal astonishment. Suddenly, he
succumbed to thunderously bellowing laughter. "You do have a unique way with
words, Nessi," Crash finally managed to say. "You really do!"
As they drove back to the control center, Crash attempted to explain the humor
of Nessi's comment, but Nessi's mind was too logical really to grasp the
essence of it.
Each to his own , Crash thought. It takes all kinds to make the world go
round .
When Crash and Nessi returned to the control room, they found Lynn fully
engaged in the coordination of the many diverse functions that were directed
from that facility. In a rare moment of mental regression, Crash noticed for
the first time just how beautiful a women Lynn was. Her exquisite femininity,
embedded with her grace and dignity, flowed with her as she moved from place
to place. It suddenly dawned on him that he may have been standing there

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gawking like a lovesick teenager. Hoping that nobody had noticed his childish
reaction, he made a mental note to try to take time to get to know her on a
more personal level, once the experiment was completed. Time would be a little
less precious then.
As Crash's thought process momentarily diverted itself to the possibility of
that future event, Dr. Kurt stormed into the control room with two armed
guards flanking him on either side. This abruptly brought Crash out of his
daydream and back to reality. For the last couple of weeks, he had been trying
to avoid Kurt as much as possible, so as to reduce the possibility of a
full-fledged confrontation between the two of them. This work was too
important to have it delayed because of a head-butting incident with the likes
of the egotistical Kurt.
As Kurt stormed toward Crash waving a handful of requisition forms, he
obviously had something he considered important on his mind. His bellicose
shriek penetrated directly into Crash's auditory nerves and traveled to every
nerve fiber in his brain. "Where the hell have you been? I've been trying to
locate you all morning," he bellowed.
Crash calmly stared directly back at him for some time before saying, "If you
haven't noticed, Kurt, I've been quite engaged preparing for today's test. I
don't have time to discuss WSC oversight procedures every time you work
yourself into a brain-dead bureaucratic fit because of your perception of the
lack of WSC paperwork!"
"Tyson, you'll have time for me whenever and for whatever reason I decide that
you will have time for me. I'm in charge of this project. It's about time you
understood that. Now you'll answer my questions, or I'll have you forcefully
escorted back to the WSC's headquarters and let P-Quan deal with you himself.
In my opinion, this test can be finished with or without your compliance with
our orders. If it becomes necessary to remove you, I will do so, and I assure
you that it will be most unpleasant time you've ever experienced!"
Kurt's threat pushed Crash's temper to the breaking point. He instinctively
jumped to his feet and made an aggressive move toward Kurt. Intimidated by the
severity of Crash's reaction, Kurt involuntarily took several steps backwards,
as his guards raised their weapons and pointed them directly at Crash.
Crash's eyes blazed as he forcefully stated, "If I had the time, I'd step
outside and discuss this matter with you man to man. Luckily for you, however,
I am occupied at the moment!"
Kurt became unbalanced by Crash's unexpected move. It took him a moment to
gather himself. He finally said, "I want to know the reason for all these
security expenditures, and I want to know now! Did you think we wouldn't see
through your bookkeeping deceptions?"
Crash's accommodation of Kurt's tirade had come to an end. He quickly strode
over to the communications console and ordered DP to get some security into
the control room on the double.
"You had better not dare to challenge my authority, Tyson," Kurt blurted out
arrogantly. "You have no idea what you're dealing with, or how far we will go
to protect our interests!"
Turning toward him with a smile on his face, Crash replied, "Watch me."
Crash's outright defiance dumbfounded Kurt. Not only did Tyson challenge
Kurt's authority over the project, he openly disregarded Kurt's position as a
member of the WSC Governing Tribunal.
Just then DP and eight armed security men arrived. They immediately took up
positions around Crash.
Having recognized DP, one of Kurt's bodyguards said, "Long time no see,
Sergeant Major."
DP acknowledged the guard's comment and replied, "It must be several years at
least, I think, Major Ells."
DP and Captain Ells went way back. Their mutual respect was quite apparent.
Kurt suddenly realized the tenuous position he now occupied. The balance of
power had decidedly tipped into Crash's favor.
"DP," Crash ordered, "please escort Governor Kurt off the test site. Feel free

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to use whatever force you deem necessary to accomplish your mission!"
"You won't be so cocky tomorrow, Tyson!" Kurt replied angrily. "This isn't
over, by any means! I'm going to make you pay for this insubordination."
"Tomorrow is a long time from now, Kurt!" Crash answered defiantly.
DP approached Kurt and stated levelly, "Please exit these premises peacefully,
Dr. Kurt. I take a very dim view of having to clean up unnecessary messes."
Seething with anger, Kurt left the control room. Once outside the underground
command bunker, he immediately contacted the WSC central command. The furious
nature of his commentary did not bode well for the future. "This
insubordination will be severely dealt with!" he was heard to say. As he drove
off, DP chuckled, having noted that the only thing moving faster than Kurt's
wildly waving arms was his mouth. Amused, he told himself, I think the dumb
bastard can actually walk and chew bubble gum at the same time, after all .
Back inside, Crash forced himself to calm down. Lynn could see that Kurt's
intrusion had upset him greatly. Approaching him, she said, "You really riled
his feathers, sir. I think in a day or so he will calm down. We have more
pressing matters that need your attention at the moment. Don't you think?"
"I think I just opened a can of worms and threw the lid away," Crash remarked
absentmindedly.
Lynn caressed his arm slightly as she observed, "It will all work out.
Everything does, sooner or later. You'll see."
As their eyes briefly met, the communications system informed the control room
that it was T-minus 15 minutes and counting. This broke the subliminal
connection that had been so briefly established between them.
After the briefest of hesitations, Crash refocused his mind and returned to
the control panels that displayed and evaluated all of the telemetry being
transmitted to the control room at an increasingly frantic pace. It appeared
that all of the systems were operating within acceptable limits. After several
minutes of evaluation, Lynn informed Crash that the entire integrated system
was operating nominally.
"You can initiate at will, Crash," she stated.
Crash noticed that for the first time, she did not address him as sir. Wonder
why ? he asked himself.
Nessi's sensory systems and computer linkages were all operating nominally as
well. "All systems and backups are cooperating very well, Boss," he said. "I
think very much that it is a one hundred percent go." His broken English
seemed to come out more when he was nervous. This could be comical at times.
Regardless, Crash knew that Nessi was the most competent engineer he had ever
known. He respected him more than he could describe.
"If Nessi is ready, I am ready," Crash acknowledged.
Lastly, DP checked in. "Everything here is secure and in order, sir."
"Confirmed, DP," Crash replied. "Get to cover immediately."
It was now T-minus 60 seconds.
"Nessi, activate and synchronize the SEG field exciters," Crash ordered.
"I am activating, Boss."
"Synchronize the Mobies."
"The Mobius generators are synchronizing, Boss," Nessi replied.
"Lynn, charge the fuel rams," Crash ordered.
"The fuel ram magnetic valves are charged," Lynn stated.
Crash's mind, now operating at the highest level of which it was capable,
became a maze of calculations, relationships and ratios. The numerical
structures and equations crossed his mind's eye at incredible speeds. His
ability to see the answers to dozens of diverse parameters and then apply them
functionally was a unique ability. It required a very complex computer system
to manage the entire system, but Crash could crosscheck the computer's
management by doing most of the calculations in his head. Satisfied that all
systems were green and no glitches were apparent, he said, "This is it,
people. Let's see if we can redefine reality."
T-minus 10 seconds and counting.
At T-minus 5 seconds, Crash activated the initiation switch. The countdown was

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automatic from that point on.
T-minus 4, 3, 2, 1, zero!
At T-minus zero, each of the six fuel rams injected its one-kilogram load of
plasma into the SEG core at near lightspeed. Three were loaded with proton
plasma and three were loaded with anti-proton plasma. As the leading edge of
protons and anti-protons met at the center of the SEG core, the
electromagnetic rams activated and created pressures rivaling those that
existed at the center of a neutron star. The fuel load was compressed so
rapidly that all of the protons and anti-protons occupied a space smaller than
that of a hydrogen nucleus. The six kilograms of matter and antimatter merged,
and then combined, releasing the raw pent-up energy in extremely small
fractions of a nanosecond.
The design of the SEG device compressed this explosion of energy further, so
that it was reduced to its most fundamental form, and then translated it back
through the basic seven-dimensional field structure, releasing the
multi-dimensional pent-up binding energy of each dimension. The mobius fields
then isolated each dimension and disentangled them from each other while
simultaneously occupying the same space. Once the seven basic dimensions were
disentangled, the SEG reconstituted them as a mirror image of their natural
counterparts.
When this negative spatial reality was injected into positive or normal space,
the two spaces cancelled each other out and created a new dimensionless
reality: a spaceless region within space, so to speak. If this SEG field could
be properly shaped and made large enough, theoretically, one could manipulate
it to travel through normal space without the field entanglements between the
composite matter/energy/gravity/spatial fields and that of the underlying
supporting dimensions. With the advent of this new reality, it should be
possible to breach the light-speed barrier at that time. At least, that should
be the result, according Crash's Reactive Mathematics Theory.
In the first few nano-fractions of Plank Time, things went as planned, and the
reduction process worked as predicted. However, at the instant that the energy
exceeded the Plank Energy by 167 percent, an energy surge of unimaginable
magnitude occurred. The most intense and unique explosion in the history of
the world took place. A brilliant blinding sphere appeared and expanded
outward at extremely high velocity. Simultaneously, the outer edges of the
expanding sphere blackened, imploded inwardly and disappeared. It appeared as
if two opposing shock waves interacted and pasted through each other
simultaneously. The entire event appeared simultaneous to the eye.
After this phenomenon occurred, dead silence filled the control room. The
vision of this event held everyone in such awe that any verbal description of
it would have been meaningless. The observers' thoughts were completely
non-descriptive of what those people perceived.
Lynn called out an alarm. "Crash, site sensors indicate supersonic S and P
waves of 19.8 Richter headed our way. Hang on, people, we're going to get
hammered in just a few seconds!"
Crash's mind raced, seeking an explanation. What the hell happened? he
silently fumed. "Seismic waves? Lynn, is there any indication of surface blast
waves?"
"None indicated," she replied.
No blast wave? No blast wave ! he ruminated . That means no explosion
occurred!
"Nessi, any indication of ionizing radiation?"
Nessi nervously replied, "I am very much happy to report there is no
radiation, Sir Crash."
That's a relief, Crash thought. Evidently, whatever happened did not involve
the strong or weak forces: it wasn't a nuclear imbalance . Reflectively, he
mused, When this is all over, I've got to get Nessi an English tutor .
As he watched the monitors for the seismic waves that were so rapidly
approaching, Crash could see clouds of dust in the distance rising high on the
horizon. Suddenly he could see the ground swell, from the surface waves

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rushing toward them at supersonic speed. Plants, rocks, and boulders were
thrown wildly into the air by the onslaught of the uncontrolled energy wave.
The ground was being ripped and torn. Surrealistically, no sound accompanied
this spectacle, as the energy wave moved toward them faster than the speed of
sound. The earth's surface was being shattered and torn beyond description. As
the wave crest neared, Crash saw the ground rise hundreds of feet into the air
and simultaneously move directly at them. At that moment the seismic energy
reached the control room and raw hell hit them in the face.
As the wave pasted through the control room complex, it picked the room up and
threw it several hundred feet into the air. It came to rest in a most violent
fashion, burying itself some twenty-five feet in the fractured earth. Everyone
inside was violently thrown about. Crash, Nessi, and Lynn were somewhat able
to brace themselves against the control panels but were still slammed
mercilessly against the floor when the control room burrowed into the ground.
The control structure itself remained relatively undamaged, due to proper
engineering and construction. However, the impact destroyed all of the
equipment inside, and severed all power as well. When the tremor subsided, a
silent calm returned.
Having regained his senses first, Crash picked himself up off the floor. He
did not sense any broken bones, but he nonetheless felt as if he had been run
over by a train. Shaking off the pain, his first concern was to see if anyone
else was seriously injured. His first thought focused on Lynn. He found her
next to her console in a semi-conscious heap. Having reached her side, he
realized that she had incurred numerous bruises and abrasions. She was
conscious but in great pain. Carefully, he turned her on her back and put his
jacket under her head. She opened her eyes and looked up at him.
"You sure know how to show a girl a wild time," she quipped.
"I didn't mean for this to happen," he replied seriously. As he stared into
those beautiful green eyes, he could see that there was more than pain
present. He did not know how to respond to this not-so-subliminal message.
"Are you broken anywhere?" he asked.
"I don't think so. Just beat up a bit, I think," she replied.
"Stay here, and don't move until the medics thoroughly check you out," he told
her. "I'd better check on Nessi. I'll try to get back in a moment."
Just at that moment, DP called Crash on the mobile radio. He sounded frantic.
"Crash here, DP."
"Sir, I strongly suggest that you get out to the test site on the double. You
have to see this to believe it! I've sent a chopper to pick you up. It should
be there momentarily."
"Acknowledged, DP. I'll get there as soon as I pick up the pieces here. We got
hammered here. The shock wave upended the whole complex." As Crash clicked the
phone off, he could hear the chopper landing somewhere outside.
Several medics had already found their way into the control complex. They
quickly attended to the injured. Crash ordered them to help the most severely
injured first, Lynn in particular. Other people were beginning to stir as the
shock of the quake began to wear off. Upon surveying the damage, those present
were relieved, once they realized that no one had been killed during the
upheaval. All things considered, Crash thought they got through the ordeal in
pretty fair shape, considering the intensity of the shock wave. At first
glance, it appeared that no one had been killed and most of the injuries
appeared not to be that serious. The whole control room complex, however, was
a total loss.
I can hear Kurt's blubbering rant now , Crash thought wearily . 'I told
P-Quan this experiment entailed too much risk! Tyson should never have been
allowed any authority over this program from the beginning! If I had been
given total sanction over this project as I requested, this catastrophe would
never have happened!'
Crash decided that until he had time to figure out what had actually
transpired at the test site, he wasn't ready to say that the test failed.
Certainly, something novel had happened, albeit of a very spectacular nature.

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His primary concern regarded the retrieval of enough of the sensory data so
that he could figure out what had actually happened. These explosive results
were completely unexpected. One unrelenting thought kept running through his
mind: What did I miss and how did I miss it?
Suddenly a loud voice attacked the inside of his head. Crash realized that he
had not seen nor heard from Nessi since the blast. He called out for him and
searched the control room, but could not find him anywhere. One of the medics
said that he thought he had seen him go outside. Crash made his way though a
hole in the roof, as it was the only access to the exterior of the building.
Once outside, he found Nessi kneeling, apparently in prayer.
"Are you injured, Nessi?" Crash inquired solicitously.
Nessi took several long moments to finish his prayer before he rose and faced
Crash. The effervescent smile that normally graced his face had disappeared,
having been replaced with a deeply piercing fear.
"What were you doing, Nessi?" Crash asked, rather sheepishly.
So traumatized by fear that he could barely speak, Nessi managed to say, "I
pray to Vishnu for forgiveness."
"Forgiveness? Nessi, what on earth for?"
"I pray to Vishnu to forgive us for awakening Shiva."
Not prone to question anyone's religious beliefs, Crash quickly realized that
Nessi's fear had traumatized him to the point where he had grown irrational.
This type of behavior was completely out of character for him.
"Nessi," Crash assured his friend, "your unwarranted fear has compromised your
judgment. You are safe now. It's over."
"I see much telemetry before the earthquake. You are much mistaken, Sir Crash.
We shake the universe. Shiva, the destroyer, has been awakened." The fear that
engulfed Nessi did not subside.
Crash realized that trying to rationalize the situation would not alleviate
Nessi's problem. He had to find another approach and find it quickly, as it
seemed that Nessi's fear was approaching an emotional breaking point.
"Lets go and see what we did, Nessi. I'm sure we will all feel much better
when we get some actual facts about this whole situation." Taking him by the
arm, Crash led him to the waiting chopper. Upon entering the chopper, Nessi
fell to his knees and resumed his prayer.
As the chopper gained altitude, Crash could survey the area with more
perspective. The scene before Crash's eyes astounded him. It appeared that the
shock wave had dampened rapidly several thousand yards past the control
complex, reducing the damage to almost nothing past that point. The picture
toward the SEG site was another matter all together. The landscape had become
utterly unrecognizable. No semblance whatsoever of what had existed before
remained. The entire area had been completely laid waste. Twenty miles from
the SEG site, ridges of soil, boulders, and rubble were piled in concentric
rings around the center of the SEG site. These gradually increased in height
as they continued to move toward the site. At ten miles, large blocks of
granite had been pushed up and had intermingled with the surface materials.
The ridges now resembled small circular mountain ranges. The spectacle changed
markedly five miles from ground zero. All of the earth's surface material had
been penetrated by gigantic spires and blocks of basement rock hundreds of
feet in height. Numerous geysers were evident. Vast quantities of steam and
smoke gushed from the broken ground in many places.
As the chopper continued onward, the topography of the landscape took on a
more sinister aspect. The ridging effect reached its maximum about three miles
from the epicenter. The basement rock was piled into a gigantic granite
barrier several thousand feet above the surrounding plains. Huge spires of
bedrock were thrust vertically and piled randomly into an enormous wall of
huge broken granite boulders. Tremendous amounts of steam and smoke billowed
from the final ridge.
As the chopper crested the last mountain ridge, an enormous crater some six
miles in diameter and over three miles deep became visible. The power of the
SEG wave staggered Crash, as the crater's entire surface appeared to be fused

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into solid glass. The core of the crater, however, seemed surprisingly void of
smoke and steam. Apparently, the fused glass surface had sealed its surface
from the surrounding water table and prevented water from seeping in. Crash
noticed this and surmised that the glass must be many meters thick, to have
withstood the pressure from the surrounding groundwater.
Crash and Nessi gazed in astonishment at the unearthly scene before them.
Crash turned slowly to Nessi and asked, "My God, Nessi, what have we done?"
Stopping his silent prayer, Nessi stated in all seriousness, "We have shaken
the universe, Sir Crash. We have unleashed Shiva."
Deep down - very deep down - Crash wondered if there was not just a speck of
truth to Nessi's belief. However, he did not have much time to consider this
notion, as those thoughts did not produce an answer regarding what had
happened. There were much more important things that needed his immediate
attention at the moment.
"Nessi, you said you saw telemetry before the quake struck. How much
information did we actually get?
The need to think calmed Nessi's fears. He seemed to relax and focus a little.
"We received much information before the shock wave struck the control room,
Sir Crash," he answered weakly. "The explosion cut the primary telemetry
transmissions almost instantly. However, our diversionary backup system
transmitted data for several nanoseconds longer. I think we have a fairly
complete picture of what happened, at least for some of the vectors. All
available data is recorded and safely in our possession, Sir Crash." Having
answered Crash's question to the best of his ability under the present
circumstances, Nessi handed him several data disks with all the information on
them.
"These disks are invaluable, Nessi," Crash exclaimed. "We must protect this
data at all costs!"
"Yes, Sir Crash," Nessi answered. "These disks are the key to Vishnu's mind."
At that point Crash realized just how severely Nessi's psyche had been
affected by the day's event. He would require a long period of rest to recover
from the day's ordeal. That was certain.
As Crash returned his attention to the crater, he noticed two choppers flying
in a circular pattern down near the bottom of it.
"Pilot, get us down there on the double."
"Aye, sir."
Captain McCandles banked the old UH- 60 Super Blackhawk hard right and dove
straight towards the bottom of the crater. Crash's stomach rose into his
throat when the chopper dropped like a rock toward the crater's bottom.
The Captain took notice of Crash's and Nessi's greenish appearance and asked
with a grin, "Are we feeling a bit queasy this morning, sir?"
"Nessi is feeling a bit under the weather today, Captain" Crash replied with
an appropriate curse under his breath. "Where is the radio in this thing?"
"The headset is on your right, sir. DP has been trying to contact you,"
McCandles replied, and let out a loud belly laugh.
As Crash put on the headset, he recognized the humor of the situation and
chuckled a bit himself.
"DP, what's your twenty?"
"I'm at the bottom of the crater, sir. You had better get down here."
"We're already on our way, DP. We'll be there in a couple of minutes."
As Crash's chopper neared the bottom, he could see that the other choppers had
landed next to a large, jet black, elliptically shaped object unlike anything
he had ever seen. As Captain McCandles circled the mysterious object, Crash's
mind filled with a myriad of bewildering and conflicting questions. He
realized that the physical test results were becoming increasingly complex at
every turn. So many things that were not predicted in the computer simulations
had occurred that he began to wonder if P-Quan might not have been correct.
Surely, that could not be the case , he thought. I just could not have been
that far off . Although momentarily overcome with astonishment regarding the
sequence of events that had just occurred, he noticed that DP was approaching

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the chopper in a dead run. More astonishing than that, and truly out of order,
was the fact that DP was apparently screaming at the top of his lungs.
Chapter Five
Riglon, the latest and most advanced of the thirteen scientific observation
planets operated by the Cren Empire, hummed as smoothly and imperceptibly as
any finely tuned machine could. Covered on every square inch of its surface
with the most sensitive receivers, telescopes, amplifiers, and every other
sort of sensor that Cren scientists and engineers could devise, it bristled
with the latest technology. Being an artificially constructed planet
approximately twelve thousand miles in diameter, the outpost possessed a
resolving power capable of impressing even the most skeptical of the Cren
hierarchy. Deliberately positioned in the very remotest parts of the universe
and away from as much cosmic interference as possible, these scientific
research planets were not located near any stars or other natural energy
sources. They were all located in the vast intergalactic voids, millions of
light-years from any large concentrations of matter or energy. This extreme
isolation solved many problems as far as its purely scientific endeavors were
concerned.
However, the isolation also created other indigenous problems for these
facilities. As a result of being completely dark planets, their operations
required them to generate one hundred percent of their power requirements
internally. Although primitive by almost any standard, the matter/antimatter
reactors supplied more than enough energy for any foreseeable contingency. The
simplicity of these deliberately designed energy systems resulted in an
absolutely foolproof system of operability and reliability. Some of the
experiments conducted on site took tens of thousands of years to complete, and
therefore required this degree of reliability. These tests were of such
importance that they could not be interrupted for any reason. Each planetary
pole received its fuel load through a gigantic magnetic funnel. One pole
accepted the delivery of the normal proton plasma and the other received the
huge amounts of antiproton plasma delivered by freighters specifically
designed to haul such material. Deliver a few hundred billion tons of
antimatter into the planetary core and the lights would stay on for quite some
time. Surprisingly, the universe had an inordinately large supply of
antimatter. In certain regions of space, billions of tons of antimatter are
produced daily, so supplying these scientific planets' energy needs did not
pose a problem - if you knew where to look for it, of course.
The computer processing capacity of Riglon defied description. In theory, each
of the planet's ten thousand scientific specialties had its own specialized,
integrated Tachyon processor capable of many trillions of tera-flop functions
per nanosecond. Actually, no one really knew the ultimate capacity of these
systems, as their limits had never been reached. Some of the Cren computing
specialists theorized that the conglomerate planetary system had acquired
self-awareness once all ten thousand processors had been connected in
multi-dimensional parallel connections. Still open for debate, this question
had floated among some members of the elite scientific circles for millennia.
When asked this question, the conglomerate computer system informed the Cren
scientists that they should mind their own business.
The Riglon class stations were operated by the Luin Scientific High Council.
The Luin, the oldest and most advanced members of the Cren Empire, dominated
the highest levels of the government, both politically and scientifically. In
the beginning, they were the primary force behind the original Federation that
eventually evolved into the current Imperial structure. The original
Federation came into being some thirteen billion years ago. It lasted for
about a billion years.
Eventually, so many new species came into being that their individual
self-interest began to undermine Luin control of the Federation's fundamental
purpose. These lesser-evolved species' escalating demands to protect their
self-interest increasingly interfered with the Luin attempt to find the
solution to the "Universal Problem." Thus, increasing chaos eventually broke

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down the Federation's ability to function. The Luin solution to this
interference led to the creation of the Cren Empire. They ruled this domain by
employing the most Draconian measures ever conceived by any group of sentient
minds that had ever existed. In large parts of the universe even today, the
mere mention of the Luin brought fanatical fear to any sane individual, no
matter how advanced or evolved.
The true nature of the "Problem," fully understood only by the Luin High
Council and those specific Luin science officials coordinating all of the
research directed toward finding its solution, dominated the Luin reason to
exist. Most individual researchers were so specialized that they could not see
the big picture. If an individual researcher did put all the pieces of the
puzzle together, that individual was immediately brought into the highest
levels of the Luin hierarchy to ensure confinement of that knowledge. A few
specially chosen individuals from several of the older and more advanced races
were also aware of the nature of the "Problem," but only to the extent that it
helped them to extract promising information concerning the "Problem's"
solution from younger evolving races in the territories under their direct
authority.
A highly evolved race known as the Maen managed the largest portion of the
empire's overall governmental affairs. They could be characterized as highly
organized and disciplined. They despised any other race that might organize
societies and attempt to advance to a higher level than that to which they had
risen. You could exist in harmony with them as long as you were subjugated and
did not threaten to displace them as the applied political and military arm of
the Luin governance. Many promising species were subverted as a result of
their potential threat to the Maen's position and power. On countless worlds,
the repetitive rise and fall of civilizations most often resulted from the
direct intervention of the Maen Governor in charge of that planet's silent
government: the real government. Rarely did the lesser-evolved species ever
know the true nature of the actual Maen power base on their own worlds. Those
few individuals that did happen to realize this truth were summarily but
quietly removed. Across the universe, over billions of years, countless
trillions of sentient beings had died in ignorance, as a result of the actions
of this tightly held secret power.
Eons ago, the Luin had obtained the technical ability to ensure perpetual
life. They did not achieve true immortality, but there had not been a Luin
death from natural causes in over ten billion years. Owing to this
circumstance, the might of their scientific and technical expertise was
unparalleled in history. It had been said that every single atom in the
conglomerate universe had been accounted for at some time or another by Luin
scientists. The only question remaining for them to solve was "The Problem."
The solution to this question had become an obsession for the governing Luin
High Council. It dominated every policy decision they made.
Intently monitoring the numerous telemetry monitors in his laboratory, Zern
patently studied various bits of data as they became available. His study of
non- traditional sub-quanticized prespatial energy occupied all of his time.
The Luin hierarchy had taken notice of his rapid rise through the ranks. They
considered him a rising star, who in the future might indeed supply critical
information needed for the solution of their greatest concern. By obtaining
the rank of captain in only two hundred fifty-six million years, Zern had made
his technical assessments difficult to ignore.
Now, he sat at his technical station, as he had countless times before. Little
did he know that today would be the most momentous day of his life. Zern and
his assistant, Prien, while appraising the computer's interpretation of some
obscure bit of data, noticed one of the sensory data links flash an alarm.
"And what do we have here?" Zern asked in his typically cold, emotionless
tone. He had taken notice of a particularly sharp energy spike on one of the
telemetry readouts.
"It appears to be some type of spatial distortion, I would guess," Prien
stated.

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Impaling Prien with a stern glance, Zern responded coldly, "We do not make
guesses at the Riglon science station, Private Prien. Our concerns are based
in fact, not unfounded opinion. We observe, analyze, and decipher observed
facts only, my young friend. Do not forget that."
Prien, being a mere seventy-one million years of age, still suffered from the
brashness and recklessness of youth.
"I only meant that the data appears to be related to that general area," Prien
pointed out defensively.
"Making a thoughtless conjecture is reckless, and can be very dangerous,
Prien," Zern countered.
"I stand corrected, sir," Prien replied, being thoroughly embarrassed over his
blatant failure of not applying the proper amount of critical thought to this
situation.
Satisfied that his younger assistant had learned a lesson, Zern turned his
full attention to the scientific anomaly before him. He studied it for quite
some time before deciding on a course of action. Finally he said, "There is
something exquisitely peculiar about this, Prien. I cannot find any
correlating reference in any of the databases. I want you to run a telemetry
decompression and see if we can break this down to its fundamental components.
I want to know what this is."
Prien quickly loaded the data and set the decompression program for a factor
of one billion. The computers quickly did their job and displayed the results
on the main board. To Zern's surprise there was little if any apparent change
in the structure of the spike.
"Interesting, wouldn't you say, Prien?"
Prien didn't quite know how to answer, so he simply replied, "Yes, sir, it
most certainly is."
"Decompress it again," Zern ordered.
This time the results showed only the minutest widening of the spike. No other
detail became apparent.
"Now we are starting to get somewhere, my young friend," Zern said.
"Decompress it several more times."
"If we don't request a linkup with more processors, we will approach the
limits of our departmental system. Random prespatial sub-quantum effects
within the system could distort some of the detail," Prien warned.
"I am aware of that, Private," Zern said. "Run it anyway."
Prien did a mental shrug and ran the decompression several more times. After a
couple seconds the decompressed data became available on the main board.
Zern's interest in this little mystery intensified greatly. The spike was now
displayed as an erratic power surge in the initial and final phases, with a
controlled generation sequence between them.
"What do think that is, Prien?" he asked.
Still a bit punchy from their last exchange, Prien studied the waveform
structure carefully before answering. Finally he cautiously stated, "At this
level of magnification and energy, it appears to be an attempt at generating
some sort of spatial compression field."
"That may be close to the truth," Zern answered. "But I think there is more to
it than that. Call up the graviton density charts as well as the time dilation
parameters. I want to see if there is any correlation between them and this
event."
Prien called up all of the appropriate data and displayed it on the main
screen next the decompressed energy spike.
Zern focused his full attention on the data, trying to determine if there were
any apparent relationships between the various data presented to him.
After a considerable period of time, he observed excitedly, "Most novel.
Impressively novel!" Radiating satisfaction, he said musingly, "Let's apply
the substrate field dampening equations to these correlations and see if we
can determine the total energy of this event at the source. This appears to be
something new."
"We'll have to determine the exact location to make that determination, sir,"

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Prien declared.
"Contact two other stations and feed them our data, if they do not already
have it on their own. We can do a simple triangulation to determine a rough
location," Zern ordered.
Prien quickly notified several other stations on Riglon of their requirements.
Within seconds, the required data was encoded and displayed on Zern's computer
display. The substrate field dampening equations, however, were quite complex.
The computer required a full sixty minutes to decipher the data and provide an
answer.
"Data coming up, sir!" Prien announced energetically.
As Zern's eyes poured over the information, they slowly lit with excitement.
He compared the observed relationships with all known phenomena, both
observational and theoretical. He could find no apparent correlation with any
previous record. After serious deliberation, he realized that this event
definitely did not have a natural origin. Its propagation and generation were
both artificial and unprecedented.
"Prien, I have never seen, nor is there any record of, any wave structure this
compressed, prior to now. It appears to be an attempt at creating some type of
spatial exclusion or distortion wave, possibly initiated with some sort of
detonation that did not go quite as planned. For the first observed successful
attempt in history to create a spatial exclusion zone, I would say this
experiment went quite well."
"It looks like an uncontrolled explosion of some type to me," Prien said.
"Look at the phasing of the energy spikes. There is no controlled order
whatsoever."
"Almost all of the wave confusion occurs in the initial and final phases of
the energy spike, Prien," Zern reiterated. "That is probably due to substrate
dampening until the full force of the exclusion wave established itself and
overcame the recoil inertia. When the wave reached its full force, it
stabilized and became completely coherent and propagated for approximately
point five atto seconds. That is a very sizable length of time to un-create
any region of the Universe, no matter how small."
This new information completely mesmerized Zern. An accomplished Luin science
officer, he realized that the possible ramifications of this information were
mind-boggling. After due consideration he said, "Prien, I think we should
notify the Planetary Commander about this. In the meantime, I want you to
determine the exact location of this event."
"Yes, sir," Prien replied. He saluted smartly and left the station room to
ascertain the location.
Zern went over to the communications console and called Commander Treg. Upon
hearing Zern's explanation of the event, Treg informed Zern that he would
immediately come to his station to see this information for himself. A short
time later, when he entered the room, the air of power entered with him.
Wasting little time on pleasantries, Commander Treg focused his full attention
on Zern. "Captain, you have something of interest?" he asked.
"Yes, sir," Zern replied. He quickly displayed the information in an ordered
manner, so that it could be easily comprehended. Treg voraciously absorbed the
information.
After a few moments of study, Treg acknowledged, "This is very impressive
work, Captain. I commend you. Have you determined the time and location of
this event?"
"We have not had time to determine the exact location, sir. We do know that it
is located approximately twenty-seven billion light-years distant. We should
have an exact placement shortly."
"Do you think this could be the work of the Esog?" Treg inquired. "I cannot
over- emphasize the importance of our learning whether or not they initiated
this event."
"That possibility crossed my mind, sir. It would be most disturbing if that
turned out to be the case," Zern replied.
"Indeed, Captain. Most disturbing," Commander Treg stated in a tone of utter

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contempt.
At that moment Prien entered the station room and approached Zern with obvious
urgency. "Sir, I have determined the exact location." He handed Zern the data.
Zern's eyes widened, as he comprehended the significance of this new
information. Nervously, he handed Commander Treg the coordinates.
Commander Treg became visibly disturbed as his greatest fear was realized.
After a moment of hesitation, he said, "Captain, come with me. We must
immediately inform Lord Toll of this matter."
"Yes, sir," Zern replied crisply.
"Lieutenant Prien," Treg added, "you are now in command of this station. I
want you to run every possible analysis on this data. We must have a complete
and clear understanding of the entire situation. Spare no energy or resource."
Overwhelmed by the promotion that this event had suddenly thrust upon him,
Prien responded, "Yes, sir, I shall do my best." Still unsure of how great a
burden this unexpected event just forced upon him, he quickly stood at
attention, as he was trained to do.
"Of that I am sure, Lieutenant," Treg stated evenly. "Captain, we have work to
do. Come with me." Turning, Treg left the room as hastily as he had entered it
just a few minutes earlier.
Having turned to salute Prien and bid him farewell, Zern noticed that Prien
exhibited a great deal of consternation stemming from his new assignment. A
word of encouragement would do him some good.
"Lieutenant."
"Sir."
"Remember and use all of the techniques I have taught you, and you shall
perform your new duties with competence and honor."
"That I shall do, sir," Prien confirmed.
"Very well, then, Lieutenant. Carry on," Zern said. He gave Prien a final look
of approval before following Treg out of the room and on to his new
assignment.
Given that Commander Treg's office was located over two thousand miles under
the surface of Riglon, it took a considerable amount of time to get to it.
Even when using the high-speed transfer tubes, which were the fastest means of
transportation inside the planet, reaching the Commander's office required the
better part of two hours. Commander Treg's private sanctum, being the place
where he made all of his important decisions, required heavy shielding from
every known source of energy and interference, so that no outside energy
source and no other influence could interfere with the Planetary Commander's
decision-making abilities. False or misleading information could lead to
incorrect decisions, and that could not be allowed at this level of the
Empire's power structure. The Luin prided themselves greatly on their massive
intellectual superiority over all other life forms in the Universe. Making
erroneous decisions based on false or deceptive information was the Luin's
greatest phobic fear.
Once, many billions of years ago, a rival species rose and challenged the Luin
for the top power position of the newly formed Empire. Many false and
misleading ploys were used by the Sargen to subvert the position long held by
the Luin. Erroneous and embarrassing decisions were made, based on the false
information the Sargen had planted within the Luin hierarchy's decision-making
process. A massive war resulted: one that engulfed more than one-half of the
known universe. By the time this conflict ended, whole galactic systems were
laid waste and became uninhabitable.
In the beginning, the Sargen held the upper hand, as they cleverly manipulated
the Luin reactions and decisions in their management of the war against them.
In fact, for a time, the outcome of the war was in serious doubt for the Luin.
Eventually, however, the Luin discovered the breach in their security
structure and savagely closed it. The subsequent development of unimaginably
powerful weapons turned the tide of battle in favor of the Luin. Eventually
the Sargen were completely vanquished and destroyed.
The Luin believed, at the time, that by the end of that war every single

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Sargen had been killed. They mercilessly hunted down the survivors everywhere
in the known universe. Recently, however, persistent rumors of their continued
existence had arisen, as expressed by various exploratory races: races that
traveled to the farthest and most undeveloped regions of space. In any case
the Luin would never make the same mistake twice. They did not discount these
rumors as mere inconsequential legends. They followed every lead to its end.
Very few individuals were ever allowed such sudden access to a Riglon class
Commander's private chamber as Zern was about to be given. Once you entered
this level of authority within the Luin hierarchy, certain failsafe security
measures were introduced to those chosen individuals, which guaranteed their
perfect allegiance to the Empire. When informed of what would be required of
him before he could proceed any further with this mission, Zern
whole-heartedly accepted the required conditions.
Immediately following the implementation of these failsafe measures, Treg
sealed the chamber off from the rest of the universe. He then activated the
low energy tachyon beam that would put him in contact with Lord Toll's
headquarters on the planet Dschubba. Given that his headquarters doubled as
this system's Seat of Government, the Governor of Dschubba possessed a
tremendous amount of power, not only politically, but also militarily. The
rank of Military Governor automatically allowed Governor Toll membership on
the Luin High Council, an extremely powerful position. It also gave him
command of the Empire's numerous and powerful military fleets operating within
his jurisdiction and under his authority.
In a matter of seconds Lord Toll responded to Treg's message.
Treg stated, "My Lord, I have just become aware of an event that I believe may
be of extreme importance to the Empire. It is imperative that you are made
aware of this matter of security immediately."
"Yes, Commander Treg," Toll responded coldly. "If you feel it is of such
urgency, you may continue."
"My Lord, Captain Zern, one of my most capable researchers, has discovered
what appears to be the artificial generation of a spatial exclusion field of
extended duration. As significant as this event is on its own, it occurred in
one of our experimental systems where the Esog are currently challenging our
control! I have forwarded the data for your study."
"Yes, Commander, I have the data before me at this time."
Lord Toll, being extremely well versed in the sciences, did not take very long
to comprehend the significance of Zern's discovery. After carefully studying
the data, Lord Toll became convinced that the information was credible. "This
event does appear to be of an artificial origin, Captain Zern," he agreed.
"You have done well in recording such a small fluctuation in the substrate. I
commend you."
Before Zern could acknowledge Lord Toll's compliment, Treg forcefully
interjected, "My Lord, have you noticed the exact point of origin?"
Lord Toll reexamined the data and found the required information. As he
realized the historical significance of the point of origin, he became very
quiet. Slowly, the great Luin rage from ages past rose to the forefront of his
consciousness. That ancient conflict that had almost destroyed them so many
eons ago seemed once again to be raising its ugly head. This matter had to be
dealt with strategically, forcefully, and immediately.
After devoting considerable thought to the problem, Lord Toll spoke. "This
event is most likely the most important development in the history of the Cren
Empire since the end of the Sargen conflict. Captain Zern, you have done a
great service to the Empire by discovering this event in such a timely manner.
This strategic development is of universal importance to the Empire and could
signify the possible breakthrough we have been striving for so long. We must
take full advantage of this unexpected opportunity.
"Therefore, I am ordering you to investigate this incident personally. You
will gain complete control of this technology and of anyone connected with its
development. The entire resources of the Empire are at your disposal. You are
free to use whatever measures you deem necessary to insure the Empire's

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acquisition of this power. I do not have to tell you how crucial it is that we
prevent the Esog from acquiring access to this technology. This technology
would be better off destroyed than be controlled by our greatest enemy. I
shall request an audience with our Almighty Sovereign Tanas, and personally
inform him of this development. Colonel Zern, prepare yourself for immediate
transference to the location of this anomaly."
Newly promoted Colonel Zern and Commander Treg were stunned by the
aggressiveness of the measures being implemented by Lord Toll. Rarely did
anyone request an audience with Tanas unless the matter involved information
of which he was not personally aware. It was commonly understood that even a
member of the Luin High Council would rarely be granted an audience by Tanas
unless the matter involved the imminent destruction of the Empire. Zern felt
that there must be more to the problem than was commonly understood for action
this drastic to be ordered. He decided that he would have to study this matter
in greater detail in the future and more fully reassess its ramifications.
"I shall not fail the Empire," Zern replied confidently.
"Of that I am sure," Lord Toll replied coldly. "That is all that is required
of you at this time. You both may take your leave."
"Thank you, My Lord," the two replied simultaneously.
After severing the communications link, Treg acknowledged the promotion Zern
had acquired from Lord Toll.
"It appears you are in need of another star on your banner, Colonel Zern. You
have been just handed the single most important mission in the Empire. I
congratulate you."
"Thank you, sir."
"I shall attend to the preparations for your transference to your new
assignment. Be prepared for transference within a few days. It will take
several days to prepare your stasis modules on both ends. Go and prepare
yourself."
"Yes, sir," Zern replied.
Both Luin officers, being cognizant of their orders, parted and went their
separate ways.
Chapter Six
>From the get-go, as bad-asses went, Colonel John Laughton bore a towering
reputation for being such. As air combat pilots went, none possessed more
tenacity or aggressiveness in aerial combat tactics than did Colonel John
Laughton. In the closed community of combat pilots, his reputation preceded
him no matter where or how far his travels took him. In most cases he did not
have to ask for any amenity, as people would gladly give him all of life's
necessities just to hear him describe his aerial exploits.
Though not generally known outside of the fighter pilot fraternity, during the
Civil War he had literally bent more than one F-15 airframes during air-to-air
combat. The fact that he could withstand over twelve Gs before G-loc occurred
set him apart from all other pilots. Owing to his unique abilities, he had
never lost an air-to-air encounter from the very first time he set foot in a
fighter. His plane's frame might be twisted out of shape to the extent that it
wasn't serviceable any longer, but he always came away victorious. Opponents
trying to match his skills formed the vast majority of his kills. They all
made the same mistakes, and ended their careers experiencing the lethal
termination that all second-place pilots suffered.
From the beginning, Colonel Laughton's combat call-sign was Taun Rue. There
had been individuals knowledgeable in historical folklore who knew what this
call sign actually meant, but they were all dead. He kept the meaning a
closely guarded secret. When asked, all he would ever say about it was, "If
you need to know, you will." He would then walk off, laughing like a crazy
man. This odd behavior prevented his having very many truly close friends.
Most people knew of him and about him, but never really knew him on a personal
level. His naturally dominating nature made most people nervous and
uncomfortable. Colonel John Laughton was loose - very loose. To say that he
lived life on a razor's edge would be a gross understatement.

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It just so happened that his closest friend was Sergeant Major Decker Payne.
Their basic personalities were very similar. They thought alike. They acted
alike. They understood each other's probable actions in any situation, without
any need for discussion. Few words were required for them to communicate and
execute complex military strategy. Within their particular realms of
expertise, they were kings, and they both knew it.
Prior to the Civil War, Colonel Laughton had commanded several squadrons for
the United States Air Force. At the outbreak of the Civil War he chose to
fight on the side of the newly formed Western Republic. Though outnumbered
nearly twenty to one, he managed to down fifty-one enemy fighters in one
four-week period. His flying days ceased when the PLAG military planners
resorted to the use of nuclear-tipped air-to-air missiles, to which there was
no credible defense.
When DP approached him about the SEG project's security problems, he joined
immediately. The only requirement he insisted upon was that his subordinates
address him as Colonel Law. He said that so doing would define the mission for
anyone who did not understand the purpose of it. He had a grudge to settle
with the PLAG, and joining DP's team seemed to be a noble way to achieve the
moral equity he demanded.
In order to be of any use to DP's security unit, Colonel Law needed a few
reliable pilots and a couple of good fighter planes. Though he never disclosed
the methods he used to obtain the two-mothballed YF-23's, their covert
acquisition was a godsend for the defense of the SEG project. Many experts of
the day thought that the F-23 was the best fighter plane ever developed that
never saw production. A sizable number of experts of the time thought it
superior to the F-22 - that beat out the F-22 in the fly-off competition. It
may have been just a little too good for the mental well-being of its
potential enemies. Not producing it was said to have calmed the nerves of
certain political groups, both internal and external to the United States
Government. In any case, these two great planes were now in the possession of
Colonel Laughton, and they made up the core of his tiny Air Force.
With the indispensable assistance of Nessi, Colonel Laughton had certain
enhanced refinements installed into the two planes. The latest fighter engines
were retrofitted, thereby increasing the planes' already phenomenal
performance. Each plane now possessed well over one hundred twenty thousand
pounds of dry thrust, and fuel consumption was reduced by forty-three percent
over the original engines. The stealth characteristics were also enhanced,
making the planes virtually invisible to the entire electromagnetic spectrum.
With the substantial avionic upgrades and a few novel surprises of his own,
Nessi had achieved enhancements that made the two fighters at least an equal
match to any of the current fighters in the PLAG's inventory. Winning would be
up to Captain Law and his pilots.
Colonel Laughton selected the remaining pilots and ground crews based on his
personal experience. All of the men were men of honor: men he could trust
without reservation. The success of this mission as well as his life depended
on that circumstance. All of them were experts in their respective fields.
Colonel Laughton's wingman, Captain Quanta Parker, was the most notable of
these selections. Quanta Parker was the great, great, great, great, great
grandson of the famous Comanche War Chief. Many of his ancestor's genes must
have reemerged in quantity in Parker's genetic makeup, as he was a warrior's
warrior: one of the finest fighter pilots on the planet. He had racked up
forty-three kills himself during the war. The primary difference between the
two men's purpose in joining the SEG project was that Parker fought for pure
unadulterated vengeance.
Parker's singular attitude had developed when, after the war, the PLAG
absorbed all reservation land into its "Equitable Agrarian Reform Program."
Anyone who resisted the implementation of this program in the slightest degree
was summarily executed without a trial. When Parker returned home after the
Civil War, he found that his entire family had been put down like rabid dogs.
In fact, his entire community had been summarily executed without cause.

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From that point on, Parker's sole reason to exist was to exact revenge: to
inflict death and destruction upon the PLAG. Colonel Laughton felt that in
most situations, this attitude would be a positive asset, but in certain
situations it could result in Captain Parker's taking excessive risks. After
due consideration, however, the Colonel realized that this new mission was in
actuality wholly suicidal. Captain Parker, he decided, was exactly the right
man for the job.
Both Crash and DP thought it prudent to conceal the existence of their
security assets until after the test or until such time as their use would be
required. Therefore, the F-23's, Apache attack choppers, and the A-10 ground
attack planes were secretly stored at an old abandoned SAC airbase some one
hundred fifty miles from the test site. Due to the remoteness of the test
site, the C-17 heavy transport planes could be used openly without suspicion,
as they were required to deliver all of the materials and equipment. All of
these assets were kept inside old hangers and out of sight of the prying eyes
of over-flying satellites.
Colonel Laughton remained in constant contact with DP. Recent intelligence
reports indicated a large buildup of PLAG forces near the test site and
control facilities. At the instant in which the SEG test was initiated,
communications were disrupted, and the airwaves went silent for several
minutes. A few more minutes passed before the seismic effects were felt at
Colonel Laughton's position and the radios started clamoring. Within seconds
of these occurrences, he ordered all planes and choppers into the air. He knew
the PLAG would react swiftly and decisively to an event of such magnitude.
Every second mattered, if their forces were to get into position and counter
any move the PLAG military might take.
Within four minutes, the two F-23's were at ninety thousand feet,
super-cruising toward the test site at Mach 1.8. The other planes, being
considerably slower, would arrive as backup as quickly as they could. Colonel
Laughton knew that events would progress rapidly now. The F-23's would be over
the test site within six minutes. Both Law and Parker knew that they would be
vastly outnumbered. In just a few minutes, they would commence the hairiest
dogfight of their lives - one probably worse that those that occurred before
the downfall of the Western Republic.
To save time in communicating with each other, they decided to use abbreviated
call signs when relaying combat information between them. This would speed
communications while not disclosing their identities to the enemy. After all,
their arrival should come as a total surprise to the PLAG forces. The sudden
appearance of an unknown military force would shock the PLAG military to its
core. Their self-ordained image of possessing absolute power and control over
all planetary affairs would be suddenly challenged. The paranoia that this
would induce into their thought processes would become rampant in all of their
decisions. Colonel Laughton knew that this predictable reaction could be used
against them.
As soon as the two planes achieved cruising altitude, Colonel Laughton ordered
the engagement of the new passive sensory system that Nessi had installed in
each fighter.
"Notify me as soon as any airborne threats are confirmed, Cap," Colonel
Laughton ordered.
"Aye, sir. Scanning now," Captain Parker replied. "I have positive lock on
twenty-four high and fast at one hundred sixty miles bearing forty-one degrees
magnetic."
"Understood, Cap," Colonel Laughton acknowledged. "Check our six for trailers.
I don't want any surprises."
Cap rammed his F-23 hard right into an eight-G turn and scanned their air
space in a three hundred sixty degree arc.
"We have another twenty-four closing on our six, Colonel," Cap reported
unemotionally.
"Only forty-eight to two. Pretty good odds for such a bright sunny day,
wouldn't you say, Cap? Verify my surface scan. I show multiple heavies closing

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fast on the control center."
Cap adjusted his trajectory and scanned the surface in a fifty mile radius
around the Control Center.
"Verified, sir." he reported. "I show at least a division-sized ground force
with sixty heavy tanks moving on the control Center. It appears the surface
really got mangled by something. It looks like a big pile of rubble from here,
sir. They'll have a difficult time getting close to the command center very
quickly. Our ground attack forces should arrive in time to make things really
difficult for them. What the hell happened down there, anyway?"
"I don't know, Cap. According to DP, this test was supposed to be something
really big," the Colonel replied. "Right now, I don't care. We have more
immediate problems to deal with. It appears the PLAG is planning to make short
work of us. They're coming at us with two full air combat squadrons and at
least a division of heavy armor."
"They can go straight to hell, sir!" Cap replied.
"That's a big ten-four, son. We'll put them there soon enough," the Colonel
replied. "I'll report the tactical situation to DP before we start turning the
sky into an aerial junk yard."
"Yes, sir!" Cap replied vigorously.
"And Cap," the Colonel continued. "Activate Nessi's passive stealth system…
Now!
At that moment both planes became totally invisible to the entire
electromagnetic spectrum. They were alone.
***
DP's excited state exceeded anything Crash had ever seen in him before. As he
reached Crash's chopper, DP was brainstorming loudly on his communicator -
asking a myriad of questions. All Crash could decipher from his vantage point
were words such as, "When, where, what type, and how many?" As Crash observed
DP's state of mind, he could see grave concern become the dominant expression
on his face.
As Crash jumped out of the chopper, DP said, "Sir, we have big trouble coming
our way. The PLAG is attacking us on two fronts, with at least two divisions
of heavy armor and two full squadrons of combat aircraft."
"Two divisions!" Crash exclaimed vehemently. "From where?"
"One division is moving on the Control Center, and the other is heading toward
us here at the test site. They'll have a difficult time getting any ground
assault in here, but the Control Center is another matter. It is much more
vulnerable."
Temporarily numbed by the sudden, unexpected magnitude of the PLAG's reaction,
Crash looked down at the crater floor and then slowly upward. The newly formed
mountains rose over twenty thousand feet all around him. It seemed as if the
entire universe, at that moment, existed inside the crater he had just
created. He still could not believe what he saw. Any second now, PLAG troops
would storm them with vengeful fury. Ten minutes ago, his intentions were
simply to change the physics of the universe. Now, he did not know if he'd
even be alive in five more minutes. His mind became a whirl of conflicting
thoughts. He had to think, and think quickly!
"All right!" he exclaimed with sudden intensity. "We still have a number of
injured people in the Control Room. Lynn is still there, and she is injured
quite severely. We have to get all of them out of there. I have to get her out
of there."
"Yes, sir," DP answered. "I've already dispatched Sergeant Kragen and his men.
They should be at the control room in a few minutes. They'll get them out,
sir."
"Good thinking, DP," Crash replied. "Do we have control of all the test data?"
"Yes, sir. Both the primary and backup data are secure."
"Is our little surprise ready for our soon-to-arrive guests?"
"Yes, sir!" DP affirmed adamantly. "But I did not anticipate getting hit with
this much firepower on three separate fronts. It's going get hairy ugly, sir.
We could lose this one!"

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"Just do your best, DP. That's all you can do," Crash urged. "And remember, if
there is any chance that the data could fall into the possession of the PLAG,
destroy it! Lord knows what would happen if they got their hands on the real
thing."
"Understood, sir!"
Crash spared a brief second to look at the strange ellipsoidal object reposing
so quietly at the bottom of the crater. Tearing his eyes away, he asked, "Can
we get a cargo chopper in here and transport this thing out of here?"
"If it's not too heavy, sir," DP replied.
"Do it! Nessi, you stay with DP. Get this thing and get the hell out of here.
I'll catch up with you at the rendezvous site as soon as I can."
"DP, have the attack choppers, the A-10s, and the tanks converge on the
Control Center."
"McCandles, do you have any weapons on board?"
"Yes, sir."
"Get me back to the Control Center as fast as this thing can fly. Now!"
McCandles slammed the throttle home and the chopper roared into the air. As it
left, DP could see Crash ramming a double clip into his M-16A3 and shouting
more orders.
"I'd hate to see him pissed off at someone he really didn't like," DP remarked
blandly.
"I think very much we just have," Nessi replied.
"No, Nessi, he is just a little concerned at the moment. I've seen him angry.
He's not even warmed up yet."
Staring at DP, Nessi silently wondered exactly what kind of men he had become
associated with. Crash and DP were about to attack the whole PLAG military by
themselves and didn't seem all that concerned about it. The possibilities
scared him to the bone. At the moment, the only thing he knew for sure was
that they had to get out of there, right now.
Just then a large cargo chopper arrived with a loud roar. Several of DP's
marines bailed out and proceeded to secure the object with nylon straps. In
less than three minutes, the chopper lifted the dark object up, and was on its
away. The mysterious item did not prove too heavy for the chopper to lift. It
even seemed to possess some aerodynamic qualities of its own as it gained
speed, seeming to float behind the ascending chopper.
Having done everything that could be done; DP and Nessi boarded another
chopper and followed the mysterious object to the prearranged secret
destination.
***
Colonel Laughton and Captain Parker lit the afterburners, and vectored
directly into the vertical plane, gaining altitude at over fifteen hundred
feet per second. At one hundred twenty thousand feet, they leveled off and
prepared for combat. At this altitude the sky shimmered with a deep purplish
glow. In this cold silence some of the brightest stars appeared as brilliantly
lit orbs shining silently in space. Looking out of the canopy, Colonel
Laughton could easily discern the curvature of the earth. If the situation
were not so dire, he knew that he could contemplate many things at a moment
like this. Colonel Laughton understood better than most how the first men
reaching this altitude could actually have thought that they had slipped the
surly bonds of earth and gazed upon the face of God. However, if he did not
focus solely on the matter at hand, he would surely meet God in the next few
minutes, and he was not quite ready for that experience.
The success of the Colonel's attack plan depended entirely on the PLAG pilots'
failing to detect them during their climb to their combat altitude. Nessi's
enhanced stealth technology was probably more advanced than that of the PLAG,
although Nessi's system had not been tested under actual combat conditions.
This made it an unknown factor. They were still more than one hundred twenty
miles away from the PLAG planes, and the odds were that the PLAG pilots would
not be looking above and behind themselves for an attack.
It had been many years since the PLAG went up against any credible military

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force. Colonel Law was certain they would not be prepared for what was about
to happen to them - at least not during the first two minutes. In those first
two minutes they would be extremely vulnerable. They had very capable planes,
but they were being flown mostly by inexperienced pilots. In air combat, rusty
inexperience equated to death. Surprise, fundamental to the success of their
battle plan, would constitute all the edge they needed to raise a whole lot of
hell.
Laughton had armed each F-23 with twenty air-to-air missiles and eight hundred
20-millimeter armor-piercing rounds. Nessi had installed an adaptation of his
scanner into the avionic and computer systems. This device allowed Colonel
Laughton and Captain Parker merely to think of what they wanted the plane to
do, and it would do it. This would give them a fraction of a second advantage
during any maneuver or situation. Each F-23 could track forty targets and
target twelve at any one time. Individual missiles could be fired in less than
one-second intervals, which meant that a devastating salvo could be launched
from both planes within a twelve-second time period. If all systems worked as
planned, the results would be absolutely devastating for the PLAG aircrews,
and Colonel Laughton and Captain Parker might just survive the day. If they
survived the day, so might Crash and his program.
Colonel Laughton knew that the PLAG aircrews' primary mission would be flying
air cover for the ground attack forces near the Control Center. Colonel
Laughton informed Captain Parker, "The enemy planes' primary focus should be
searching for surface threats. We'll hit them just as they pass over the
Center. There should be a window of a few seconds when they will be primarily
concentrating on ground targets. They won't be expecting us to attack them
from above."
"That's exactly what I was thinking, sir," Cap replied.
"Ok, Cap, let's flame the bastards."
Both of the F-23s hit their air brakes and rolled one hundred eighty degrees,
diving savagely straight down on the unsuspecting pilots. The PLAG planes were
cruising at forty thousand feet and traveling at seven hundred miles per hour.
The passive electro-optical sights of the F-23s clearly displayed the PLAG
forces, and easily locked their missiles onto multiple targets. At eighty
thousand feet Colonel Laughton contacted Cap.
"Captain, are your targets locked?"
"Targets are locked, sir," Cap replied tersely.
"Fire salvo number one on my mark. Ready… Mark!"
Instantly, the bellies of the two fighters opened, unleashing flame and fire
on the enemy. Twenty-four missiles rained down on their targets at over five
thousand feet per second. As he watched the missiles track on to their
targets, Colonel Laughton was struck with a bit of melancholy as the cold
realization of what was about to happen set in. Those poor bastards won't know
what hit them, he thought. This brief but noble thought did not last long, as
the missiles struck their targets in less than eight seconds. After about one
second of reflection, he ended his thought with, Screw 'em! They're on the
wrong side of this one! They deserve what they are going to get.
Captain Parker had no such qualms about the matter. If attitude could kill,
all of the PLAG planes would have already been destroyed.
Possessing an altitude and velocity superiority, the missiles dove on the PLAG
planes with merciless precision. The first ten planes were taken out without
any reaction from their pilots. Their planes just exploded around them. Having
finally realized that they were under an air assault, some of the remaining
pilots initiated defensive maneuvers, but they did not recognize the true
nature of the threat quickly enough. Other pilots' first reactions indicated
that they thought they were under an attack from a surface threat. Five more
planes were torn apart before any defensive measures or maneuvers had any
chance of working. In thirteen seconds, the odds of success changed
drastically. It was now nine against two.
The Colonel and Captain Parker knew that they were now engaged in the dogfight
of their lives. As they flew through the remaining planes, they took aim on

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the nearest targets of opportunity. Two more planes were hit by cannon fire
and went down in flames. The battle changed from one of ambush to one of man
against man, machine against machine. The Colonel lit his afterburners, broke
hard left, and went vertical. Cap broke hard right and dove for the deck. This
maneuver split the remaining PLAG forces in half. They momentarily hesitated
on what counter measures to employ. This delayed reaction was all that Colonel
Laughton needed to regain altitude and reacquire the combat advantage. Having
turned, he initiated another attack run, diving hard on the three planes that
had followed Cap in his dive. The PLAG pilots were so occupied by watching
what they deemed Cap's stupid tactics, that he had no trouble ramming a
missile up each of their tail pipes.
The remaining PLAG pilots were not quite so stupid. They realized that they
were under a well-planned and well-executed attack - one mounted by
exceptional pilots flying advanced fighters. Finally understanding the true
nature of the attack, they went vertically to ninety thousand feet, to avoid
the remaining air-to-air missiles in the short term. That put Colonel Laughton
and Cap at a tactical disadvantage, as they were now low and slow relative to
their adversaries. They both went vertical to regain altitude, and began
searching with their passive infrared sensors. They had to find those four
remaining planes before those planes found them.
"Do you see them, Cap?" Colonel Laughton asked in an intense tone. "All my
screens are blank."
"No, sir, my screens are blank also," Cap answered back.
"Pick up your visual scanning. We've got to find them."
Both pilots visually scanned the sky, but failed to detect any hint of the
PLAG fighters. Not having a clear picture of the situation, the two pilots
could not acquire any comfortable assessment of the combat situation. They
knew that it was almost always the guy you didn't see that killed you. Sweat
poured from their brows as they vainly searched the sky.
"They have to be here somewhere!" the Colonel exclaimed. "Ten seconds ago they
were right next to me, going vertical like bats out of hell!"
"I'm hit!" Cap exclaimed. "Cannon fire on the left wing, breaking left!"
Colonel Laughton broke hard left into a two hundred seventy degree turn. The
two planes came within a few feet of each other as their paths crossed in the
frantic defensive maneuver. Immediately the Colonel activated all of his
detection systems. Having assumed that the enemy knew where they were, he felt
that giving his position away was no longer a concern. Cap followed suit a
fraction of a second later. Each F-23's canopy lit up, as it became a giant
heads-up display. A full three hundred sixty degree spherical sensor picture
instantly became available to each pilot. Target acquisition and firing
solutions were completely performed by mental commands between the pilot and
computer systems. By the completion of his turn, Colonel Laughton had acquired
a complete picture of the combat situation. With three planes hot on Captain
Parker's tail, his defense became Laughton's primary mission.
"Three bandits closing on your six! Hang on, Cap! Obtaining lock! This will be
close! Dive on my mark!"
Cap used every defensive maneuver in the book, and some that weren't in the
book, to keep the PLAG pilots from obtaining a lock on him. In air-to-air
combat, seconds could seem like minutes, and in the course of a minute or so,
his bag of tricks ran dry.
A seeming eternity later, Colonel Laughton's sights finally locked on to the
three planes. He then fired three missiles simultaneously at the pursuing
planes. If he didn't run the risk, Cap would be dead in a second or two
anyway. He just hoped that Nessi's new target isolator worked as well as it
was designed to work. If it didn't, there would be a very large explosion
directly in front of his plane, because the three missiles would track into
each other and explode.
The Colonel relaxed slightly as the missiles launched and tracked properly.
Just as they were about to impact their targets, he roared into his headset,
"Dive on my mark… Mark! Mark!"

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Cap violently rolled the F-23 and dove straight toward the ground with
afterburners blazing. The one hundred twenty thousand pounds of thrust slammed
the plane earthward with gut-wrenching force. Cap groaned in agonizing pain
during the high "G" turn. One half second later, just as the PLAG planes
started their counter-maneuver, they blew up. The three missiles flew right up
their tailpipes.
"You're all clear, Cap!" Law screamed. "Pull up! Pull up!"
Dead silence ensued, as Cap's plane continued its plunge earthward at two
thousand feet per second.
"Damned G-Loc," the Colonel muttered to himself. "Come on, computer, turn him
up!"
Nessi had installed a backup program for just such a contingency. While making
their battle plans, Colonel Laughton knew that they would be out numbered and
flying at, or most likely beyond, the flight envelopes of not only the planes,
but themselves also. He felt they needed this backup so they could fly with
aggressive abandon.
Cap had started his dive at forty thousand feet. That gave him or the computer
twelve seconds to pull his plane up, or he would spear his plane into the
ground at over thirteen hundred miles per hour.
Colonel Laughton watched helplessly as Cap's plane plunged toward the earth
like a falling meteor. Laughton knew that nothing he could do would alter the
law of gravity and change the outcome of Cap's free-fall plunge. Helplessly
observing events such as this were the hardest part of being a Commanding
officer.
Suddenly, compressional vortices appeared, and streamed off both wings as the
F-23 began to level off. The high speed and nearness to the ground would make
it a very close call. The plane's nose strained to lift itself to the
horizontal. The wing vortices increased to large steamy contrails extending
well over two hundred feet behind the plane. The stresses on the plane and
pilot were tremendous. With just forty feet to spare, the F-23 stopped its
fatal fall and leveled out, screaming over the ground like the angry predator
that it was.
At forty feet of altitude, with a velocity of close to fourteen hundred miles
per hour, its sonic boom hammered the ground hard and mercilessly. Dust
billowed in the wake of the plane as the supersonic shock wave hit the ground
and reflected in a myriad of directions due to the fractured nature of the
surface. Under certain conditions, these waves were simultaneously reflected
in phase into the same locations, which amplified them greatly. Some rocks and
boulders actually exploded from the overpressure of these amplified shock
waves. From the Colonel's perspective, it was quite a novel sight to see Cap's
plane skimming the surface with a trail of exploding boulders in its wake.
Nessi's safety program seemed to be functioning perfectly, keeping Cap's F-23
flying straight and level, although still precariously close to the ground.
The only question remaining for Laughton was the condition of Cap himself.
Before the Colonel could attempt to communicate, the F-23's nose lifted and it
began a steep climb. It then did a barrel roll, confirming that Cap had
reacquired control of the plane. Colonel Laughton felt tremendous relief at
this sight.
"You all right, Cap?" he inquired quickly.
"Yes, sir!" Cap assured him. "I think I might be a couple of inches shorter,
though. My G indicator is stuck at 16.4."
Just then the Colonel's plane came under heavy fire, which riddled his left
wing with cannon fire.
"I'm taking heavy cannon fire," he screamed over his headset. "Get up here.
I've got problems!"
The last of the PLAG pilots had found him. The Colonel banked and rolled in a
desperate attempt to shake his attacker loose and break the target lock on
him. He juked up and down, rolled and banked again, even as he read his
instruments so as to determine the location of the attacker. Finally, after he
performed several radical defensive maneuvers, the threat warning alarm

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stopped its vexing squeal. That gave Colonel Laughton a fleeting moment of
relief from impending doom.
That was a close one! he thought. Now it's my turn!
He checked his mirrors, rear and forward radars, thermal acquisition sensors,
and air disturbance indicators for any hint of his enemy's position. There was
just the slightest blip from his air disturbance sensor, indicating a possible
contact at two o'clock - 3.5 miles distant. He turned his plane directly at
this phantom blip and intensely scanned that region. His infrared sensor now
indicated a very slight heat source in the general area. Nothing showed
visually or on radar, however. A fighter-sized target should be visible at
this distance, but he could not visually discern any plane in that direction.
This is damn peculiar, he thought. The probability that they could have
stolen Nessi's stealth secrets seems low. Maybe they developed something
similar on their own.
"Cap, you on the horn?" Law inquired.
"Sir, climbing to sixty thousand and holding," Cap replied.
"Are you detecting any threat at twelve o'clock relative?" The Colonel asked.
"Nothing visual, sir. Infrared indicates a slight heat source from air
turbulence in that direction. Nothing definite," Cap replied.
Colonel Laughton continued tracking the ghostly heat source as he tried to
figure out a solution to the mystery. It was possible that the turbulence was
an isolated closed compressional vortex. There had been a lot of hard flying
going on, which could have produced such an effect. But there was still no
visual acquisition of the missing PLAG plane.
Suddenly, his eyes blazed cold as he thought, One plus one equals PLAGGER !
"Cap, target heat source and fire on my mark," the Colonel ordered.
Cap zeroed the laser designator on the phantasmal infrared blip, but could not
acquire a lock. He momentarily questioned the order, but he knew that the
Colonel was the best there was, and therefore must have a damned good reason
for issuing the order. He could still learn much from the old man. He then
added as a belated afterthought, If he doesn't get me killed in the next few
seconds, that is.
"Armed and ready, sir," Cap confirmed.
"Fire… Now!" the Colonel ordered.
The missile leaped from Cap's plane, riding the targeting laser beam towards
the unseen target.
Colonel Laughton watched the missile track on his search radar as it
approached the vicinity of the phantom image. Suddenly the infrared sensor
flared bright as the PLAG plane simultaneously dropped flares and lit his
afterburners.
"Sucker! I have you now, you dumb bastard!" Colonel Laughton exclaimed to
himself. He dove on the PLAG plane with hellish fury. His eyes were wild with
rage, his mind full of revenge. He wanted this PLAG bastard to know who was
about to kill him.
As the PLAG plane came into his gunsights, he opened fire with his 20mm
cannon. The depleted uranium shells shredded the engine compartments. Intense
flames blistered through one of the engine containment housings. One of the
engines shut down completely, and the other began smoking severely. The
multiple hits reduced the once mighty warplane to an underpowered glider
barely able to maintain its altitude. Colonel Laughton smiled with great
satisfaction.
The Colonel addressed the smoking plane. "Disabled PLAG aircraft, do you read
me? Please acknowledge."
For a moment no reply came from the damaged plane. Finally a cocky voice
crackled over the static of the damaged plane's radio. "Roger, enemy aircraft.
I read you. Who the hell are you?"
"This is Colonel Laughton of the Western Republic. Identify yourself!"
"We killed all of you bastards," the PLAGGER replied angrily.
"Yes, you did," Colonel Laughton confirmed. "But you didn't kill me! Your
mistake!"

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"Where in hell did you get those planes?"
"None of your business. Who are you?"
"I'm Colonel Mineti of the Planetary Government Air Force. You are under
arrest!"
Upon hearing Mineti's name, Colonel Laughton generated overwhelming rage.
Towards the end of the Western Republic's resistance to the PLAG takeover,
Colonel Mineti had ordered the use of nuclear-tipped anti-air missiles against
them. Because of this, Colonel Laughton considered him personally responsible
for the deaths of several thousand Western Republic pilots.
After gaining control of the surge of hate that overcame him, the Colonel knew
what he had to do.
He replied coldly and deliberately, "I would like to point out to you,
Colonel, that your degenerate slimy ass is mine for the taking. You are going
to die in the next sixty seconds by my hand!"
"I repeat," Mineti clamored, "you are under arrest for treason against the
Planetary Government. I order you to fly your plane to the nearest airfield
and surrender to Governmental forces!"
"You just don't get it, do you, Mineti ? You are guilty of crimes against
humanity and now, seconds from death, you're still giving…
Just then Mineti's plane exploded in a huge fireball.
"What the hell!" the Colonel exclaimed.
"Sorry, sir," Cap stated. "Your friendly discussion with that degenerate
bastard was about to get us killed. That other PLAG squadron is about to fly
up our asses and we are low on fuel and ammo."
"I stand corrected, Captain. Light'em up. We'll have time to reminisce later."
The two F-23s went to full afterburners, and climbed up to their cruising
altitude of one hundred twenty thousand feet. As the Colonel's plane reached
its cruise ceiling, he silently thanked himself for selecting Captain Parker
as his wingman. Parker had just saved his life. He also chastised himself for
making such a fundamental error as indulging in personal revenge during a
mission. It could easily have been a fatal. amateurish mistake under those
conditions. He vowed never to let it happen again.
The F-23's screamed though the stratosphere with all of their stealth armor on
full power. They had to refuel and get back into the sky to protect Crash's
withdrawal from the control Center. During a few brief moments of calm,
Laughton knew that the most dangerous aspect of their defensive battle still
lay ahead of them.
***
As the chopper lifted skyward and raced toward the Control Facility, Crash's
mind searched for options. The sudden change of events greatly disheartened
him. His overriding concern centered on the people that he had left behind at
the Control Center, Lynn in particular, rather than on the potential loss of
the test data to the PLAG. He had not expected a military attack of such
magnitude. In retrospect; he realized that leaving Lynn behind and alone was a
mistake. DP's initial assessment of the PLAG's reaction had proved much more
accurate than his own. He should have left those decisions wholly to DP, but
at the same time, he did not feel that they could have hidden a security force
much larger than the one they had deployed, without exposing it to an
excessive risk of discovery. If the PLAG had happened to discover their
security arrangements beforehand, the entire project would have been put in
immediate jeopardy and more than likely cancelled outright - or worse, been
taken over completely.
At the time he made the decision, he felt that he could not take that risk.
Now he wished that he had taken it. The one thing that had become crystal
clear to him was that he had to take this entire matter much more seriously.
It was now a matter of life and death for everyone associated with him. He
would be damned if any of his people lost their freedom or their lives because
of him. As DP had tried to tell him on numerous occasions, if the WSC thought
that the data they received was complete and accurate, they could easily kill
everyone associated with the project and not blink an eye or lose a moment's

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sleep over it. The fact that the WSC had acted with such phobic intensity
vindicated DP, but that circumstance also begged the larger question: why?
Was it possible that the obsessive acquisition of power became so addictive
that after a certain point it degenerated into a mindless function, eventually
developing into an emotional black hole that could never be satiated? Crash
could not believe that the events of the day could be answered so simply. The
truth had to be much more involved - much more complex. There must be other
cause-and-effect relationships influencing the PLAG's perpetually predatory
nature. Somewhere in the shadowy bowels of that hegemonic atrocity, someone
actually had to decide the what, when, where, and why of all things. He just
didn't know who that someone might be, or where or why that individual made
the crucial decisions. Not yet, anyway.
At the moment, however, he did not have the time to debate these questions.
His friends had become caught up in this conflict, and their immediate welfare
superseded all other issues. Lynn's welfare in particular concerned him
greatly. She had been severely injured and could not, on her own, make any
attempt to escape. She probably wasn't even aware of the WSC's impending
attack. He had to get back to the Control Room - and fast.
"Sir," Captain McCandles urged, "I think you had better get up here. You need
to see this for yourself."
Crash made his way to the cockpit and asked McCandles what was up.
"Look," was all McCandles said. He motioned for Crash to look forward, outside
the chopper's cockpit.
"My God!" was all that Crash could manage to gasp.
In front of him he saw burning hulks of over twenty crashed fighter planes. It
looked as if someone had stacked them on top of each other. They were all
downed within one mile of the Control Center itself.
"We didn't have nearly that many planes," Crash muttered.
"They don't appear to be ours, sir," McCandles said. "They all appear to be
PF-45's. Colonel Laughton must have kicked their asses."
"Can you contact Laughton?" Crash inquired.
"I can try," McCandles replied.
The scene of the crashed and burning planes around the control room reminded
Crash of the aftermath of battles he had witnessed during the Civil War when
he was a little kid. The sights had appalled him. He had observed destroyed
planes and tanks and parts of bodies lying all over the place on numerous
occasions. This battle's aftermath appeared to be just as bad.
"Sir," McCandles said, interrupting his thought, "I have contacted Colonel
Laughton. He said they got through it relatively unscathed. They were just
about back to base to refuel and rearm. They should be back in the air within
thirty minutes to cover our withdrawal. I also have Sergeant Kragen on the
horn. He says it's urgent that he talk to you."
"Tyson here," Crash said after putting on his headset.
"Sir," Kragen here, "it appears that the Control Center has already been hit.
There are no survivors. Everyone is either dead or missing."
This devastating news slammed Crash back in his seat.
"What about Dr. Meisheil? "Is she…?"
"She is one of the missing, sir. No sign of her at all. This whole place has
been torn apart and burned out, sir. All of the hard drives have been removed
from the computers and the mainframe's data bank has been downloaded and
erased. Then they smashed everything."
"We'll be there in a couple of minutes, Sergeant. Hang on till we get there.
Tyson out."
Those two minutes seemed like an eternity to Crash. The ambivalence he
experienced during those two minutes agonized him. Even before the chopper set
down, Crash leaped from the cargo compartment, gun in hand. Sergeant Kragen
stood at attention with his M-16 at the ready, and greeted him when he
arrived.
"What's the situation, Sergeant?" Crash inquired in a steely tone.
Sergeant Kragen's demeanor communicated more to Crash than any words could

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have. His eyes expressed anger, revulsion, and revenge all rolled into one
single facial expression. Finally, after several seconds, he answered.
"It looks as if our contingent of guards put up one hell of a fight here, sir.
It appears that all of them are dead. Both sides took heavy casualties. It's a
blood-bath down inside, sir. I've never seen anything like it. You had better
prepare yourself before you go down there."
Crash's eyes glazed over. His mind raced. His emotions whirled. Lurid
questions he could not answer danced on the peripheral edge of his awareness.
His acute mind simultaneously moved in a dozen places, overwhelmed by dozens
of images each trying to construct some sort of cohesive rationality to this
destruction. There had to be more reason for this morbidly hideous event than
the acquisition of his knowledge. His ideas couldn't possibly be of such
importance to warrant this much death and destruction. His confusion became
unbearable, torturing him to his core. After what seemed an eternity, deep
down in his being he became aware of a profound consciousness outside any
prior experience: a part of himself completely foreign to any previous
self-awareness. New and alien. Powerful and aggressive. Ancient genes that had
long since been buried and forgotten had somehow reactivated, and began to
stimulate the ninety percent of the human brain that for millennia had
remained dormant. His eyes shone with energy and power as never before. For
the first time, he felt complete in mind, body, and spirit. He had become
aware of a larger reality: a singular definitive purpose.
Crash's eyes gradually refocused on Sergeant Kragen. Never in his wartime
experience had the battle-hardened Sergeant witnessed such an expression of
focused determination. Kragen realized that he stood in the presence of a
uniquely changed man.
Crash directly addressed Kragen and said, "Follow me, Sergeant."
They made their way through the mangled, bomb-cratered wreckage of the battle
and up on to the roof of the Control Room. Dead bodies lay everywhere. Once
inside, the scene became truly grotesque. Parts of both man and machine were
strewn everywhere, in every imaginable combination. Clearly, no quarter had
been given by either side. This truly had been a fight to the death. Crash
quickly went to the area where Lynn's computer console used to be, to see if
he could find any clues concerning her. The pervasive putrid smell of blood
and death overwhelmed his senses. The entire facility was burned out and
kiln-dried. There was nothing left.
Crash surveyed the room and shook his head in disgust. "There is nothing left
here that can be of any use to us, Sergeant," he said solemnly. "There's
nothing more we can do here. Let's get out of this damned hell-hole."
As they climbed back out, Crash turned his head in a quick, cat-like reaction.
Kragen instantly went into a defensive posture.
"Did you hear that, Sergeant?"
Kragen answered affirmatively with a quick nod of his head. Both men's
defenses heightened as their bodies coiled for instant action.
"There it is again," Crash said. "Somebody is still alive in here!"
He immediately moved toward the barely perceptible sound. The soft groan was
coming from under a pile of blown-up equipment. Kragen found a large timber
and pried the wreckage up so that Crash could check under it. There he saw
Corporal Delrio lying in a mangled, bloody heap.
"Pry it up a little higher, Sergeant, and I'll be able to pull him out," Crash
said.
Sergeant Kragen arched his back and let out a gut-wrenching growl as he gave
the timber everything he had. Suddenly the wreckage broke loose and fell away
from the wounded man. Crash grabbed Delrio by the shoulders and pulled him
free of the remaining debris. Not far from him lay Lieutenant Goldman,
obviously dead from several extremely horrific wounds. Delrio had taken
several bullets and appeared to have numerous broken bones and severe
blunt-force trauma. Luckily, his flack jacket had absorbed most of the energy,
and had kept the shrapnel from penetrating any vital organs. He had taken
multiple hits in his arms and legs, however, which had caused him to lose a

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considerable amount of blood.
"Sergeant!" Crash barked fiercely. "Get a corpsman down here on the double!"
"Yes, sir."
Delrio, although barely conscious, tried to speak. Crash covered him with his
jacket, which he found on the floor, and made him as comfortable as possible
under the conditions.
"Corporal, help is on the way," he assured him. "Hang in there. Can you talk?"
Headstrong as he was, Delrio nevertheless had a difficult time excising the
extreme pain from his mind. Crash could see him mentally forcing his body into
submission in order to speak. After several long seconds he had gained enough
control that he could answer a few of Crash's questions. This demonstration of
mind over matter not only spoke well of Delrio as a man, but also of the
Marine Corps' training and discipline. This incident left Crash with an
impression that would stay with him the rest of his living days: an expression
of strength of not only the mangled man before him, but also of the qualities
that made this man what he was. That undetermined catalyst, which developed
the power of the human will to dominate and succeed when logic and reality
demanded otherwise, was something to be admired.
"Sir," Delrio said hoarsely. "Dr. Kurt had a small transmitter on his person.
After he left, we caught him sending a message to someone. I confiscated the
transmitter, but he must have completed his message. Within minutes after you
left to inspect the test site, we were attacked by several hundred PLAG
commandoes. Lieutenant Goldman and I put up the best fight we could, but there
were just too many of them. We fought to the last, sir! Eventually they cut us
off from Dr. Meisheil and threatened to kill her if we didn't surrender. The
last thing I remember is them carrying Dr. Meisheil out on a stretcher. Then
they dropped a bomb in here. Next thing I know, you showed up."
He managed to look up at Crash with wide eyes and said, "I am sorry, sir."
Crash surveyed the Control room one more time. The carnage and death present
in the room appalled him. At least fifty men lay there mangled and lifeless.
The smell of blood and guts filled the place. Looking down at Corporal Delrio,
Crash said grimly, "Corporal, you have nothing to apologize for, whatsoever!"
Just then the corpsmen arrived and asked Crash to back away so that they could
tend to Delrio's wounds. Field medicine was not one of Crash's strong points,
so he backed off and let the medics do their job. With a nod, he motioned to
Kragen to go topside with him. Once they made it to the outside of the
building, Crash commanded, "I want Delrio flown out of here as soon as the
Corpsmen stabilize him. Take him out in the chopper to the rendezvous point.
Dr. Nao can treat him better there."
"Sir," Kragen asked in surprise, "how do you plan to get out, then?"
"With you, in the tanks, of course," Crash replied.
"Sir," Kragen replied sharply. "There are two heavy armored divisions bearing
down on us. The odds of us getting through intact are next to nothing."
Crash responded fiercely, "The PLAG and their henchmen can go straight to
hell, Sergeant. It's personal now! Besides, DP has a couple of surprises
waiting for them. We won't go down easily or quietly. Of that I can assure
you."
Kragen returned Crash's glare and answered with a sharp, "Yes, sir!" Deep down
in his mind, however, skepticism overruled any rational hope of their
successful departure and escape. From his many years of combat experience, he
knew that sometimes willpower was not enough. This more than likely qualified
as one of those times. He figured, at best, that they had only a few minutes
left to live. But then , he thought, the Civil War never really did end. He
should have been dead a hundred times over already. Hundreds of men have
already died today and a few more wouldn't make much difference. Those PLAG
bastards can go straight to hell . He cocked his head and strode off to
prepare his tanks.
The Corpsmen finally stabilized Delrio the best they could under the
conditions, and strapped him to the chopper's gurney. Crash gave the pilots
some last minute instructions, and watched as they lifted off in a cloud of

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dust. Once the chopper rose out of sight, he approached Kragen's tank and
climbed aboard. Kragen had the tank warmed up. He sat in the Commander's
position in the turret.
"Where do you want me, Sergeant?" Crash asked.
"Man the 50-cal next to me, sir," Kragen replied.
Crash had barely strapped himself in when the turbines whined and the massive
tank lunged forward at a startling rate, abruptly throwing him back into his
seat in a not so gentle manner. Kragen had managed to secure the use of three
old M1-A2 tanks from an army boneyard. Within the time that had elapsed before
the test, he had managed to refurbish them to almost new condition and added a
few additional upgrades. In their day, they were quite formidable war
machines. As Kragen had reconstituted them, they would surely surprise the
PLAG if they were called upon to do so.
The three tanks accelerated to forty miles per hour in just a few seconds and
turned north. Their destination, an abandoned county airport some one hundred
fifty miles distant, was located in a sheltered horseshoe canyon about three
miles long but less than one mile wide. The canyon walls were only about seven
hundred feet high but were very steep. These steep walls protected the runway
from most cross-winds and allowed for operations in most in-climate
conditions.
This site had one overriding advantage, however - it had only one entrance:
one way in, one way out. Any ground assault could only come from the open end
of the canyon. It made the defensive strategy less complicated, especially
when you were outnumbered one hundred twenty to three. A simple point defense
could hold the PLAG attackers off long enough so that the C-17 transport could
get loaded and airborne - assuming, of course, that Colonel Laughton achieved
air superiority before they had to get airborne. Otherwise all bets were off.
A good pilot could approach the field and land from any direction under most
conditions. However, a heavily loaded transport would probably have to take
off toward the open end of the canyon, as it would have a great deal of
difficulty making it over the canyon walls at the closed end. This problem was
a future one, and would be dealt with, if and when it became a problem. At the
moment, two divisions of PLAG heavy armor lay between them and the airfield,
and they had to deal with those first.
The topography between the control center and the airfield consisted of broken
and rough desert terrain. Many deep gulches, gullies, and washouts occupied
the valleys between the numerous ridges and rocky outcrops forming the
landscape. Several ancient lava flows crossed the escape route and created
natural barriers that were almost universally impassable for any vehicle.
Prior to the test, Kragen had surveyed their escape route in detail and had
pre-positioned critical supplies and ammunition along the primary route as
well as on several alternate routes. As long as they could stay on one of
their predetermined tracks, they should not run short of fuel or ammunition
during their three-hour escape run. On a tank-by-tank basis, Kragen's tanks
should be able to sustain a considerably higher rate of fire than their PLAG
counterparts. He hoped that surprise and tenacity would serve to confuse and
demoralize the PLAGGERS long enough so that their escape could have a chance
to be successful.
Sergeant Kragen, a master tank warfare strategist, planned his withdrawal
well. He traversed the first forty miles of their escape in less than an hour,
without making any contact with the PLAG armor. Then, in quick order, all of
their sensors showed massed PLAG ground forces between them and the airfield.
Well over one hundred twenty tanks were closing on them from two sides. The
overall situation turned suddenly grave.
Kragen told Crash, "This is going to get gut ugly, sir. Hang on to your ass!"
He ordered the driver to disengage the governor. The turbine engine quickly
reached full power, and the tank's speed increased to nearly sixty miles per
hour. At that speed, the tank suspension system neared its design limits. The
ride became increasingly rough, to put it mildly.
Crash checked his gut as the rough ride savagely banged him to and fro in the

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gunner's seat. After several minutes of this, he realized that he couldn't
hear himself think. The roar of the engine and tracks began to deafen him.
Finally, yelling as loudly as he could, he asked Kragen, "Sergeant, at this
speed, are you going to be able to hit anything if you fire?"
Kragen stabilized himself with a smile and thundered a reply over the clamor.
"We upgraded the gun stabilizers. Once we activate them, the ride should
smooth out considerably. We shouldn't lose any accuracy whatsoever. We have a
couple of other surprises up our sleeve also."
Impressed and bewildered by Kragen's apparent lack of fear, Crash realized
that Kragen actually seemed to be enjoying himself. I suppose Kragen might
think climbing mountains is just as crazy , he thought wryly.
As Crash's group of three tanks came within five miles of the much larger PLAG
force, Kragen motioned for Crash to drop down and get inside. "We need to get
inside, sir. It's time for a whole lot of whoop-ass!" A strange smile on his
face betrayed his true concern about the situation, however.
Both men slid down and sealed their respective turret hatches. Kragen then
activated the "NBC" system, sealing the inside of the tank from the outside
world.
"Gunner," Kragen ordered, "activate all search and targeting systems. Load
weapons."
"Aye, sir," Corporal Jackson replied smartly. He immediately threw the proper
circuit breakers and the automatic systems quickly came on line.
"All sensory systems are up and running at one hundred percent," Jackson
stated. "All weapons are ready to fire."
Kragen drove his tanks into one of the myriads of gulches that covered the
area. These gulches could run for many miles and often interconnected with one
another many times. It was a maze of sorts, and once you were inside of it,
you had to know your way around or you would be lost for a very long time.
Kragen settled into his commander's seat and ordered, "Driver, come to a full
stop. Gunner, initiate a full spectrum scan, and give me a neutron count."
Corporal Jackson scanned his monitors as the systems' search mechanisms peered
into the unknown. Every known emission relevant to their mission was recorded
and analyzed by the threat assessment computer. The sensory system soon
acquired enough data so that the computers could give an accurate battlefield
assessment.
"Sir, infrared systems detect seventy-six line-of-sight targets spread out
roughly one hundred eighty degrees forward. Neutron counts suggest another
sixty-five targets in concealed positions intermingled within the same
pattern."
Jackson hesitated slightly. His voice wavered and became unsteady. "Sir," he
said, "confidence is high that they have nukes!"
Crash and Kragen exchanged looks of grave concern.
Kragen turned to the corporal and barked, "They've used them on us before,
soldier! The bastards ain't got no pity for no one. They'll shine their own
army, just so they can say they won - the sick sons-a-bi…"
"Sergeant," Crash interjected forcefully, "I want to talk to DP, right now!"
Kragen handed Crash the com link while setting the frequency and encryption
scrambler. DP answered Crash's hail almost immediately.
"Thought we lost you, sir. I was just about to say a prayer for you," DP
quipped.
"Knock off the pleasantries, Sergeant! We're coming in. Are you ready?" Crash
asked forcefully.
"It's now or never, sir."
"Make ready, Sergeant. Here we come!" Crash yelled combatively.
With a nod, he signaled to Kragen to move out. Kragen activated his com link
and ordered the other tanks to follow his.
"Commanders, follow us and try to keep up. Gunners, target the probable
nuclear weapons within each of your kill zones first. Make your shots count,
and wait for my mark to fire. Good luck."
Having situated himself, Kragen ordered, "Driver, bring us to maximum speed

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and hold it there."
The turbines' whine wailed loudly, and the tanks lunged forward. Crash's back
slammed violently into his seat. The battle was on.
The tanks emerged from the gully and turned directly towards the opposing PLAG
force at over sixty miles per hour. As the first PLAG shell hit home, Crash
finally knew at first hand the power and deadliness of tank warfare. The sound
of the explosion was more than deafening. It was nerve-penetrating. His body
literally vibrated from the effects of the concussion. Luckily, the armor
repelled most of the force of the explosion, just as it was designed to do.
Other than sustaining some slight hearing damage, the crewmembers were not
severely injured. This maneuver, however, deliberately drew enemy fire, so
that their positions could more accurately be determined and targeted.
"I have targets acquired and locked, sir," Jackson stated. "Neutron counts
suggest a total of twenty-eight nuclear weapons."
Crash could hear the targeting lock mechanism for the main gun working
feverously to maintain its lock. He wondered silently whether they would be
able to hit anything much smaller than the planet itself, at this speed.
Another shell hit the hull and rocked the tank savagely. Kragen drove the
tanks down into one of the large dry-run gullies that drained into the valley
below the canyon. This tactic cut off most of the line-of-sight fire from the
PLAG tanks. The other two tanks had received several hits each and received
some damage. They were still operational, however, and still in the fight.
DP and Kragen had armed the tanks with both conventional and special weapons.
They had acquired some old copperhead munitions and modified them with the
latest infrared-seeking technology. They also added small winglets to them,
which deployed after being fired. This extended the effective range of the
missiles by several miles and allowed them to dive directly into the top of
the enemy tanks. These munitions could be shot high into the atmosphere, where
they would acquire their targets with the satellite positioning, infrared, and
several other techniques. They were exceptionally effective. No tank could
withstand the impact of one of these shells' diving into it through the top
armor.
Kragen ordered the three tanks to a full stop. They now had a window of a
couple of minutes to fire accurately, as the depth of the gully obscured their
position from the enemy tanks.
"Gunners, fire on my mark!" Kragen barked. "Fire!"
All three tanks fired simultaneously. Every three seconds another shell left
the barrels of those powerful cannons. All thirty copperhead munitions became
airborne before the first ones fired hit their targets. The shells arched
thousands of feet into the air and began searching for their targets. When the
missiles reached the highest point in their trajectory, the copperheads'
targeting systems activated, and the active guidance directed each warhead
towards its individual target. After about forty seconds, the ground shook, as
the shells struck home.
"Gunner," Kragen inquired, "damage assessment?"
Jackson keenly eyed the neutron scanners. Upon careful evaluation of the data,
he stated, "Data indicates twenty-seven kills. It appears we got all but one
of the nukes, sir."
"It only takes one, son," Kragen returned evenly. Turning to Crash, he said
with a smile, "Better than I expected. Now we go one-on-one with them." He
barked more orders. "Drivers, follow me! See you in hell!"
The three tanks reared back on the heels of their tracks as they bolted
forward into the gully. Kragen wanted to stay within the protected shadow of
the gully for as long as he possibly could, thereby avoiding direct contact
with multiple targets until no other option lay open to him. He judged that
they should be able to get to within fifteen miles of the canyon before the
gully would become too narrow for the tanks to traverse. They would then be
compelled to advance into open country and go head-to-head with the PLAG tank
force. He knew that once they started their dash across the plain and towards
the canyon mouth, they would come under an extremely savage assault. The

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plain, relatively flat in this area, did contain a few gullies too small for
them to use as concealment. He hoped that DP's surprise would work perfectly.
If it didn't, the trek across the open plain into the canyon would prove very
short-lived.
The tank force continued down the gully for many miles in relative safety.
Eventually the route became too narrow for the tanks, and they had to stop. At
that point the gully had narrowed, but the vertical walls were still some
thirty feet high. Kragen ordered the three tanks to stop and close ranks, when
they were about fifty yards from a sharp bend in the gully.
"How are we going to get out of here?" Crash inquired. "We're trapped!"
"Right up that ramp in front of us," Kragen answered with a smirk.
"Ramp! What ramp?" Crash asked, bewildered.
"Fire!" Kragen bellowed.
The three tanks simultaneously fired high explosive rounds into the wall of
the gully. A wall of smoke and rocks pelted them. When the dust cleared,
Kragen looked at Crash with an impish smile and said, "That ramp."
Peering inquisitively through the periscope, Crash saw that the wall of the
gully had collapsed into a roughly excavated slope, which the tanks could use
to leave the gully.
With newfound respect, he observed, "Nice work, Sergeant."
Kragen gave Crash a slight nod of acknowledgement before commanding, "Gunners,
load your line of sight weapons. We're moving out!" He punched the throttle,
and the tanks roared up the side of the gully and out on to the open plain.
They turned hard right and raced toward the mouth of the canyon.
"I have sixty-plus heavies vectoring toward us," Jackson said.
"Gunners, fire at will!" Kragen bellowed.
Fire and death belched from the throats of Kragen's guns as the tanks drove
straight into the PLAG tank force. The PLAG commanders, having been stung hard
by Kragen's first assault, were ready for them this time. They fired back with
equal vigor. Even at their high rate of speed, Kragen's tanks took multiple
hits. The armor still held, but the occupants knew that they could not
withstand an attack of this intensity for very much longer. The armor
functioned at a particular rate of ablative attrition. In a matter of seconds,
a silver bullet would more than likely end their mad dash to freedom.
Kragen's gunners proved lethal as well. Every time they fired, another PLAG
tank melted in a mass of fire. The sabot penetrator rounds were not as
spectacular as the high explosive rounds, but in some ways were more lethal.
Most tankers would rather be blown up in a blast of fire than sucked through a
one-inch hole that had been punched through the tank's armor.
Suddenly Crash's tank shuddered and rocked as if hit by a massive explosion.
"That wasn't a tank shell!" Kragen roared. He motioned Crash to the periscope.
Crash scanned in all directions and sat back in his seat. When he turned,
Kragen saw that his face had turned deeply ashen.
"We lost number three," was all he said. Grief filled him, as he realized that
more people had died for him.
"We are going to beat those poor boys to hell if we don't get some help right
now!" Kragen blared sharply.
Before Kragen finished speaking, more heavy explosions impacted Crash's tank.
Crash checked the battle scene, and saw several of the PLAG tanks explode
right in front of him. Then he saw why. In the air were four planes blowing
the living hell out of the PLAG forces with a rear-end assault. The two Apache
attack choppers and the two A-10's had finally arrived.
Crash exclaimed to Kragen, "It appears that DP has arrived. By the looks of
things, he has them by their proverbial asses!"
The four planes were firing missiles at a hellish rate. The PLAG force was
completely caught off guard by the rear action attack. Their tanks were
blowing up everywhere. The PLAG attack on Crash quickly became disorganized,
and its intensity slackened considerably. There were still enough of the enemy
tanks to wreak havoc once they regrouped, however, so time was short.
Kragen instinctively knew this. He took advantage of the PLAG's momentary

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lapse. Turning his tank hard right, he headed straight for the airfield, now
only a couple of miles away, as fast as the tank could go. Just as Tank Two
turned to follow him, it exploded in a huge pyrotechnic fireball. Several PLAG
shells hit it simultaneously. The multiple hits overwhelmed the tanks armor
and it failed. Now only one of Kragen's tank force remained.
Crash got on the radio to DP. "DP, we're coming. Get the transport on the
runway!"
"We are all squared away here, sir," he replied. "Double-time your ass in
here. We don't have much time. The PLAG is not taking this rebellion of ours
very well. They're calling in more troops, planes, and heavy armor."
Because of wind conditions, the C-17 would have to take off toward the closed
end of the canyon. It had taxied out to the open end of the runway, and waited
for them with the engines on and the rear loading ramp open and down.
The four attack planes had done their job well. They had destroyed another
forty of the PLAG tanks in their assault. They were now out of ammunition and
low on fuel. They had to retreat back to the airbase to refuel and reload.
During the course of their attack, they had managed to open a large corridor
through the PLAG armor, giving Kragen's tank a clear run to the airfield. They
now had at least a fighting chance of making it to the airfield. There were
still plenty of PLAG tanks left, but they were several miles to either side,
and behind Kragen. It would be a race.
Kragen pounded the throttle down and his tank roared towards the runway at
over seventy miles per hour. The occupants of the PLAG tanks realized that the
threat against them was now minimal. They raced toward the lone enemy at an
even higher speed, firing with whatever weapons they had left.
Corporal Jackson scanned the pursuing tanks and stated with alarm, "Sir, at
their present closer rate, we'll arrive at the runway only a few seconds
before they do."
Kragen realized that the PLAG tanks had gotten into the canyon too quickly,
and that they could completely foil his escape plan. Grabbing the radio from
Crash, he barked, "DP, start your roll!"
"Sergeant, you're not loaded yet!" DP exclaimed.
"Start your roll now! Hold the transport at sixty five miles per hour and
leave the rear loading ramp open and down. That's an order!"
DP realized that Kragen had something up his sleeve or he would not have
issued an order to his superior. All he could think to himself was, This
should be interesting . After only a second of thought, he ordered the giant
C-17 to take off. The big plane's engines roared to life, and it started to
lumber slowly down the runway.
Addressing Crash, Kragen said, "When I tell you, push that red button on the
console to the left."
"What is it?" Crash asked.
"A little surprise. No time to explain," Kragen shot back.
The tank cleared the mouth of the canyon in a blaze of dust, sparks, and
thunder. The approach to the runway was clear, and Kragen could see the giant
C-17 rolling down the runway a few hundred yards ahead of him. He turned the
turret rearward and scanned for pursuing PLAG tanks. Two of them were hot on
his tail and rapidly gaining on him. They both fired, hitting Kragen's tank
squarely. The impact rocked it savagely.
"It seems the bastards don't want us going in here!" he bellowed loudly.
Chewing nervously on his cigar, he quickly pumped a sabot round into each of
them and destroyed both of them.
The tank, traveling at seventy miles per hour, gained on the transport. Kragen
barked loudly at the driver, "Tell me when we are fifty feet from the
transport and closing at five miles per hour. Give me continuous range and
velocity differentials."
Having focused his targeting laser at the huge plane, Jackson informed Kragen
of the readings. "Ten MPH and forty yards. Seven MPH and thirty-five yards."
The tank closed on the transport continually. All the while it gained speed.
Jackson finally yelled, "Five MPH and fifty feet!"

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Kragen yelled to Crash, "Punch it!"
Crash's fist slammed down on the red button.
The engines roared hellishly and the tank literally leaped forward. The rapid
acceleration threw Crash forcefully back into his seat.
"What the hell!" Crash exclaimed.
Kragen had an impish grin on his face as he turned to Crash and said,
"Nitro-methane."
The tank roared toward the transport at a rapid rate, and climbed the loading
ramp in a tumultuous hail of fire, sparks, and flame. The giant plane
momentarily slowed down, as the tank tracks grabbed hold of the deck and
pulled itself up into the cargo hold at over eighty-five miles per hour.
Once inside, Kragen hit the brakes. The momentum of the seventy-ton tank
surged through the plane, forcing it to gain speed. Observing the spectacle
from the far end of the cargo hold, DP immediately realized that the tank was
going to have a hard time stopping before it slammed into the front bulkhead.
As the tank skidded down the cargo hold, he dove for cover and jumped
headfirst down an access hatch. The tank screeched its way down the cargo bay
with smoke, fire, and flame belching, owing to the track's friction with the
deck. The spine-tingling, deafening screech ended when the tank stopped its
skid just inches from the forward bulkhead. Except for the whine of the
plane's engines, all was suddenly quiet.
Eventually, DP cautiously stuck his head up from the access port in the deck
and realized that the plane and tank had declined marriage. "Crazy bastards!"
was all he could mumble to himself.
The tank turret hatches eventually opened and a discombobulated Crash and a
smug Kragen brashly stuck their heads up.
"Are we airborne yet?" Crash quickly inquired.
"I haven't had time to check," DP quipped. "I've been too busy dodging tanks."
His face wreathed in a sly smile, he cocked his head and said, "What have you
two been up to lately?"
A look of absolute astonishment overcame Crash. He did not know quite how to
react to DP's cryptic question. He simply shook his head in disbelief at DP's
propensity for humor at a pressing time like this. Upon recovering from this
momentary diversion from reality, he stated urgently, "There's still one tank
with a nuke coming in right behind us."
DP quickly contacted McCandles and informed him of the possibility of a
nuclear strike.
Deep concern filled McCandles. He needed about one more minute to clear the
canyon walls. This would shield them from all of the tank munitions except the
nuke. "Hang on," he said. "We'll be leaving with a bang." He then engaged the
engine's water injection system, which increased the engine thrust by fifty
percent. With the additional power, the plane rotated and was airborne in just
a few seconds. The C-17 accelerated rapidly and cleared the canyon walls with
twenty feet to spare.
The transport had not cleared the canyon ridge by more than twenty seconds
when the blast wave from the PLAG's last tactical nuke hit them with no small
fury. The PLAGGERS had lobbed the nuclear warhead high into the air, for a
high-altitude detonation. The nuke exploded about two thousand feet above the
surface. The C-17 pitched and yawed violently as its control surfaces were
blasted and overloaded by the heat and overpressure of the nuclear blast wave.
McCandles kept the lumbering plane in the air with raw guts and tenacious
skill. The fact that the plane had gained only a few hundred feet in altitude
made his recovery all the more remarkable. They were lucky.
Crash and DP were forcefully thrown to the deck by the shock wave. It just so
happened that they were thrown into the same corner of the cargo bay at
exactly the same moment. Having collided, they landed as a heap of scientist
and soldier rolled into one. Upon recovering his balance, Crash stared at DP
and said in a serious tone, "We really have to stop meeting like this."
An impish smile came to DP's face. "Sir," he replied, "being tied up in a knot
with you at this particular moment will not be remembered as one of the

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highlights of my life. If you don't mind, would you remove your foot from my
ass? Oh, and please hurry!"
Just at that moment the giant transport shuddered and started to vibrate. DP's
demeanor changed instantly, and they unscrambled themselves from each other as
quickly as possible. Having ordered Kragen to secure the tank, DP, along with
Crash, made their way to the cockpit, so as to see just how badly the plane
had been damaged from the nuclear blast.
When they entered the cockpit, they could see McCandles soaked in sweat,
feverishly working the giant plane's controls. As he frantically tried to keep
the plane in the air, he continuously shouted vital orders to the entire
aircrew. When he disengaged the water injectors, some of the vibration coming
from the wings dissipated. The engines could only sustain the increased thrust
created by the steam from the water injection system for a very short period.
But this abuse was necessary to get the plane up to speed and over the canyon
walls. The severity of the structural oscillations told Crash that they could
not keep it up much longer, or the plane would shake apart. But McCandles, one
of the best pilots alive, slowly regained control of the plane. Under the
conditions, Crash, didn't have much choice but to trust McCandles' instincts.
He knew better than to stick his nose into areas in which he had little or no
expertise.
After accessing the situation, Crash asked McCandles, "How bad is she hurt,
Captain?"
McCandles replied, "The rudder sustained severe damage. Some of the ailerons
and flaps got hammered as well. She doesn't seem to have any fuel leaks so
far. I can keep us up, but don't ask for any maneuvering." Obviously
concerned, he added, "Sir, she just can't do much more than fly straight and
level. If we get jumped by anything bigger than a sparrow, we're going to
crash and burn."
Crash ordered, "Get me Laughton!"
"I've already contacted him, sir," McCandles replied. "Laughton and Parker are
directly above us, flying cover at ninety thousand feet. They are armed and
ready. The A-10s refueled before we took off, and are flying low and slow
alongside of us. As low as we are flying, they should be able to neutralize
any ground threats we come across. I ordered the Apaches to fly directly to
the rendezvous site and to try to avoid any enemy contact on the way. With
some luck, we should be able to make the coast. Once we're thirty minutes over
the ocean, we shouldn't have too much trouble staying under their radar net."
After a prolonged pause he belatedly added, "Sir."
McCandles' management of the situation greatly impressed Crash. Not being an
expert in military strategy anyway, he deferred to DP. "Do you have anything
to add, DP?" he asked.
"Yes, I do," DP answered forcefully. "Captain, can you keep this bird in the
air with the rear cargo ramp down?"
"As long as the deck ramp isn't lowered much past level, we should remain
stable. I'm not sure whether the top door can be moved," McCandles replied,
frowning. "With the damage we incurred, moving it might tear the tail off."
"Good enough," DP said. He quickly turned and went back down the hatch to the
cargo deck.
At that moment one of the A-10's banked hard right, and opened fire on a
surface-to-air missile battery with its thirty millimeter cannon. The exhaust
smoke from the big gun engulfed the plane, and it actually seemed to slow down
in midair from the gun's recoil. The pilot's excellent marksmanship enabled
him to hit the target, and the SAM site turned into a pile of junk in about
three seconds, as three hundred rounds hit their mark at over three thousand
feet per second.
"Nice shooting, Kohl!" McCandles exclaimed. Turning to Crash, he exulted, "I
told you we would make it, sir!"
McCandles' eyes told him a different story as he swept the sweat from them.
Crash could see a certain degree of uncertainty in his expression, but knew
that he would put his best face forward. Deep down, Crash knew that the odds

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of watching the sunset constituted a long shot at best. Everyone involved
would do his best. Of that he was sure.
"Dirt Digger. Dirt Digger, this is Colonel Laughton. Do you copy?"
McCandles' attention instantly redirected itself to the communications set,
and he replied, "Copy, Colonel. This is Dirt Digger. Go ahead."
"In about two minutes you're going to have twenty-four bandits trying to fly
up your rear end. We are intercepting. Laughton out."
Both Crash and McCandles realized the full meaning of Laughton's warning.
Their bodies visibly sagged under the weight of understanding.
"It won't be so easy for them this time. Will it?" Crash inquired somberly.
"We will be very lucky to see either of them again," McCandles replied
directly. "Better let DP know."
Without words, Crash hurried below deck to inform DP of the imminent threat.
When Crash reached the cargo deck, DP noticed the sober expression Crash
projected as he approached. He and Kragen were discussing the damaged
condition of the M-1A tank when Crash reached them.
Crash stated, "There are twenty-four PLAG fighters bearing down on us.
Laughton and Parker are intercepting them now. We have only a couple minutes
before…" Crash couldn't bring himself to finish his statement. He seemed
suddenly to stare off into space. His eyes were glazed and unfocused. He
appeared to be deeply involved in some sort of internal debate. His silence
lasted for several moments. Finally he refocused, and observed, "It looks as
if we might not be able to cheat our way out of this one."
DP's eyes hardened. "I expected as much, sir," he said. He put his hand on
Crash's shoulder and smiled. "It's not over till it's over. We still have a
couple of cards up our sleeve. If we lose, we won't go down easily. They will
have to pay a high price to take us out. Now is not the time to give up, sir."
DP turned to Kragen and asked him how much ammunition the M-1 still had.
Kragen informed him that they had two sabot rounds for the main guns and about
one thousand rounds for the 50-cal and a about an equal amount for the M-60.
He then ordered Kragen to load the main gun and the heavy machine guns. "If
they want to fly up our ass, we'll have a little surprise waiting for them."
DP went to the rear of the cargo bay and slowly lowered the cargo-loading ramp
into the air stream, stopping it in a horizontal position. He then informed
McCandles of what he intended to do. He ordered Kragen to back the tank slowly
to the rear of the plane. As the tank moved rearward, DP lowered the loading
ramp past the horizontal position, so as to increase the lift at the rear of
the plane and compensate for some of the tank's weight, given that the tank
now rested so far back from the center of gravity of the transport.
It suddenly dawned on Crash what DP had in mind. He asked, "Can you fire the
main gun from inside the cargo bay without blowing the plane apart?"
"If we get the end of the barrel out far enough from the end of the cargo bay,
I think we can." DP replied. "Besides, it doesn't really matter, does it?"
After a second of reflection, Crash realized that it didn't. They had been in
a win or die situation all day. It amazed him that all of them weren't dead
already. The PLAG had already nuked them once today. A plan with odds above
zero certainly beat any alterative option.
"What can I do to help?" Crash asked.
"Just stay out of the way!" DP replied bluntly.
A little taken back by DP's frankness, Crash realized that there was nothing
he could do there that DP couldn't do better. He returned to the cockpit to
see if he could do anything to help McCandles keep the damaged plane in the
air.
DP climbed into the M-1A and warmed up all of the targeting systems. He then
finished slowly backing the tank up as far as he could. He managed to get the
end of the main cannon's muzzle situated a couple of feet past the end cargo
bay. He hoped that the barrel protruded far enough out past the cargo bay so
that the muzzle blast wouldn't blow the plane's fuselage apart when it fired.
He scanned the sky behind the plane with the image intensifiers. In the
distance he could see Laughton and Parker engaged in a furious air battle with

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the PLAG fighter squadron. The F-23s were diving on the PLAG planes from
above. Suddenly air-to-air missiles began belching from them in rapid
succession. Sixteen contrails streaked from the planes as the missiles rained
down on the PLAG aircraft. This time, however, the PLAG pilots were aware of
the tactic and broke formation quickly. Only six planes were destroyed in this
first attack. Four of the planes continued on towards the C-17. The remaining
fourteen planes vectored up to engage Colonel Laughton and Captain Parker. At
least the tactic broke up the fighter formation and diluted its firepower
somewhat, at least as far as the C-17 was concerned.
DP could see the four PF-45 fighters diving straight at him. Their radars were
locking on, but they were not firing from long range. Good . DP thought. They
just need to get within two miles and I can give them a little bonus for their
caution .
Two of the PLAG planes moved into attack formation while the other two held
back in defensive air positions. The pilots obviously thought that the giant
transport plane did not pose any credible threat to them, especially in its
shot-up condition.
DP smiled predatorily as the two attack planes moved into firing position.
"Targeting lead aircraft!" DP shouted.
When the attacking planes came within ten thousand feet he yelled, "Fire main
gun!"
The one-hundred-twenty millimeter cannon roared, and the sabot shell left the
barrel at seven thousand feet per second. In less than two seconds it found
its target and smashed through the plane as if it were made of glass. The
PF-45 simply disintegrated in a huge fireball. Kragen reloaded the main cannon
in less than two seconds, and DP fired a second round into the trailing
aircraft. The plane's pilot had just started to make his defensive maneuver
when the shell hit him. The sabot round completely severed the engine
compartment from the plane's fuselage and what remained of the plane burrowed
into the ground in a cloud of smoke.
"So much for our turkey shoot," DP declared. "The next ones will have to get a
lot closer for the 50-cal to be of any use. They won't be so stupid this
time."
Having seen the two lead planes destroyed right in front of them, the two
remaining PF-45's bore down with rabid fury on the lumbering transport. They
locked their targeting lasers from long range. DP knew that they would not
approach very closely, because they were not sure exactly what had taken out
their two comrades. They remained a good five miles behind the transport.
McCandles had been flying the C-17 at one hundred feet to avoid as many
ground-based radar units as possible. The airborne radar systems could see him
from anywhere, so there wasn't any reason to worry about something he couldn't
control. Suddenly, out of nowhere, an A-10 streaked rearward from underneath
the C-17 and flew directly at the trailing attackers. This harrowing maneuver
shocked McCandles, but he realized that by using the C-17 as a radar shield,
it gave the A-10 a slight advantage by appearing to come out of nowhere. The
closure rate between the A-10 and the PF-45's exceeded one thousand miles per
hour.
The A-10's pilot knew that he was no match for the PF-45s in an air-to-air
combat confrontation. He had to use the few advantages he had, which was his
armor and the powerful GUA-8 Gatling gun. He flew literally in the dirt, just
a few feet above the ground, where surface obstacles could be used as
defensive counter measures. The trees and low lying hills served as radar
shields preventing the PLAG pilots from obtaining a positive targeting lock on
him.
It only took a few seconds for the PF-45's to come into range of the A-10's
Gatling gun. At a range of a mile and one half, the A-10 pulled up and opened
fire with his powerful 30 millimeter cannon. The effect of the PF-45 flying
into the one-hundred one-kilogram bullets was equivalent to the plane's flying
into a rock crusher. The hard-hitting rounds minced the PF-45, and shredded it
with the one-second burst. Unfortunately for the A-10 pilot, the PF-45's

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wingman managed to launch an air-to-air missile at the same time that his
partner was destroyed. His joy of victory lasted only about two seconds. The
anti-air missile stuck home and killed him. The A-10 rolled uncontrollably and
dove straight into the ground when one of its engines and the whole tail
section were blown off.
DP watched all this through the tank's targeting system. He bit his lip when
the A-10 went down. He realized that there was nothing between the transport
and the remaining PF-45. The PLAG plane quickly launched two missiles, which
streaked toward the C-17 at Mach three. He ordered Kragen to open fire with
the 50-cals, as he opened up with the M-60. As the two missiles converged on
the transport, a wall of lead spread out from the cargo plane, in front of the
approaching missiles. The anti-air missiles were forced to fly right through
that line of fire.
Luckily, both DP's and Kragen's aim proved dead on, and both missiles were
damaged to the point that they lost flight stability and flew uncontrollably
off course. One flew into the ground, and the other went straight up into the
air. DP let out a sigh of relief as he realized that they were safe for the
moment. Well, for a few seconds, anyway.
Kragen informed DP that they were completely out of ammo.
"We're down to throwing cans of beer at them, sir," Kragen stated. "I hope you
have a good fast ball?"
"Never played the game," DP answered as he searched the sky behind the
transport for more missiles. "Beer ball was never my game. Besides, I wouldn't
waste a cold beer on the likes of these lowlife bastards."
"This is a hell of a time to tell me that," Kragen stated dryly. "The Boss
ought to cancel your bonus for this year!"
"Bonus," DP quipped. "Right now I'd settle for a quiet bar and ten minutes to
savor a cold one." As he scanned the air space behind him the tank's sensor
alarms activated, indicating that a new radar lock had been established.
"They have a lock on us again!" DP exclaimed. "Two more planes have joined up
behind us. Looks like this is it!"
The two planes dropped down and joined up with the remaining PF-45: one flying
on each side of him. The PLAG pilot's jaw dropped when he realized that the
planes were F-23's. Panicking, he pulled straight up and banked hard to the
right in a desperate attempt to escape certain destruction.
"He's mine!" Laughton exclaimed loudly. He banked hard right, went to full
after burners, and climbed in predatory fashion after the PF-45. With the new
engines at full power, the F-23 could climb vertically at over two thousand
feet per second. Some pilots believed that the Colonel could force his plane
to go faster than this with sheer force of mind. In any case, he rapidly
gained on the PLAG plane. He was out of missiles and had only a few dozen
cannon rounds left, but that was all he needed. Any PLAG pilot would be a
sorry match for the Colonel under any circumstance, but especially so when the
Colonel was angry and had a point to make.
On this particular day, Laughton possessed both attitudes in the extreme. It
required only a few seconds for him to lock his gunsight on the evading PLAG
fighter. Colonel Laughton fired all of his remaining cannon rounds into the
engine compartment of the PF-45, and shredded it. Smoke and engine parts burst
from the plane's structure as it arched through the air in flaming splendor.
The Colonel followed the last PLAG fighter all the way into the ground, making
sure that it posed no further threat to them.
Satisfied with the finality of the PF-45's demise, the Colonel returned to the
right wing of Captain Parker. The second aerial confrontation did not go as
smoothly as the first one. Both of the F-23's had sustained considerable
damage, but Parker's plane had suffered the worst damage. One engine was out
cold and the other was smoking slightly. The fuselage was riddled with holes,
and small parts of the wings were missing.
Having inspected Parker's plane, Colonel Laughton concluded silently, That
plane is shot all to hell. He'll be lucky if it doesn't break up on him.
"Can you hold it together, son?" the Colonel inquired. "You're pretty shot

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up."
"I think so, sir," Parker replied weakly. "The fuel leaks have stopped, but
the engine oil pressure is low. I'm more worried about my leg. It's really
shot up. I put a tourniquet on it. The bleeding has slowed, but it hasn't
stopped. It looks bad, sir!"
This new information concerned the Colonel greatly. Powerless to do anything
about the injury, Laughton could only hope that Parker would rate some good
luck. "Do the best you can, son. I'll stay with you till we land at the base.
Hang in there as best you can."
The two F-23's moved up into formation off the right wing of the cargo plane.
On seeing the damage to both fighters, Crash was amazed that either of them
could still fly.
"McCandles," he asked, "can they make it?"
"Maybe, if the PLAG bastards leave us alone. Neither of those planes can do
any more fighting until they're repaired. It's remarkable that they're keeping
them in the air. Ninety-nine-point-nine-nine percent of the pilots anywhere
would have been flaming lawn darts after taking that amount of damage.
Laughton and Parker are really good."
The remaining four planes flew in formation at an altitude of fifty feet for
the remainder of the journey. Given the magnitude of the damage they had
incurred, they could only fly at three hundred fifty knots. It would take
several hours for them to reach their destination.
Crash and DP had appropriated and reconditioned an old MOB that had been
discarded after the Civil War. These Mobile Offshore Bases built by the U.S.
Navy were giant floating islands several kilometers long and one kilometer
wide. They had served as staging areas as well as airfields. They served as
mobile islands of the Sovereign American Territory during the worldwide
upheavals that preceded the Civil War. That period of history was confusing
and unimaginably violent. America had unwisely tried to raise all nations
simultaneously to a higher civilized standard. Only a few of the
lesser-developed countries appreciated and understood the gift they were given
and the responsibility that gift entailed. Most did not or could not
understand the work and effort required to maintain an advancing functional
culture. A majority of the undeveloped nations turned on the open hand that
fed them. This in turn forced military expenditures to an unsustainable level.
Eventually, this circumstance led to the economic collapse that triggered the
Civil War. The class misfits became the teachers. As a result of these
upheavals, the PLAG moved in and picked up the pieces.
It took several hours for the planes to reach the objective. The C-17 landed
first and taxied out of the way. The remaining A-10 landed next. Colonel
Laughton stayed with Captain Parker and talked him down. Parker, on the verge
of blacking out, experienced mounting difficulty in flying his increasingly
unstable aircraft. It would be a very dicey landing at best.
"Focus, son," Laughton said calmly. "Descend at fifteen feet per second.
Reduce your speed to one-hundred-forty knots."
Blood loss, color blindness and tunnel vision began to diminish Parker's
perception. Maintaining control of the aircraft became increasingly difficult
for him. His training conditioned him to function at high G-loads, the effects
of which are similar to blood loss. This conditioning was the only reason that
he managed to land in one piece rather than crash and disintegrate on contact.
When the medics reached him, they found him slumped over and unconscious.
Colonel Laughton landed as quickly as possible, once Parker's plane came to a
halt. His first order of business was to make sure that his wingman received
the best care they could give him.
Crash observed the fighters' perilous landings on the vast deck of the MOB. He
marveled as the planes moved onto the elevators and were quickly lowered to
the hangers below deck. Both fighter planes had sustained massive damage from
the PLAG fire. Bullet and cannon fire had riddled both of them. Pieces of
wings and rudders were missing on each and every one. It was truly amazing
that either of them had made it back.

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Melancholy overwhelmed Crash as he watched his men secure the planes. So many
of my people have given all they had for me, to get me to this point. He could
but wonder why. Why would they give their lives for someone they barely
understood? Was it him they cherished, or the brief act of defiance? Was it
him, or was it the knowledge he was trying to acquire that they valued? Was it
him, or was it the momentary freedom they experienced while working on the
project that they were so willing to die for? He decided that all of these
things were important, but least of all him. He was only aninstrument involved
in the process. In the big picture, no one was better than they were. He felt
guilty to be alive, when so many others were now dead. Tears clouded his
vision as a deep internal sorrow besieged his soul.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, an image of Lynn suddenly appeared. His
imagination went wild when he realized what the WSC might do to her. These
thoughts became untenable. This realization of his unspoken fear quickly
sobered him. He could not contemplate the reality of the consequences of this
vision. The consequences were simply too gruesome to consider. He decided that
his first priority must be to rescue her from the clutches of the WSC. His
resolve hardened. Crash Tyson would not break under the pressure the PLAG
would most certainly try and induce in him. He sucked in his gut and refocused
himself. His mind became crystal clear. He would win, or he would die trying.
DP approached, and informed Crash that all of the planes were now in their
hangers below deck. All of their defensive measures were in place and
operating.
"Sir," DP said, "it is time to get inside, so that we can submerge."
DP had modified the MOB so that it could submerge several dozen meters below
the ocean's surface. Although the MOB had not originally been designed to
submerge, DP had determined that it could be given that capability. Once the
MOB submerged, it would prove considerably more difficult for the PLAG to find
them. That delay would give them time to determine their next move.
"Once we're submerged, how long can we expect to remain hidden from them?"
Crash asked modestly.
"As long as we don't break radio silence, and as long as and we mask our
electrical transmissions, I think we can remain outside their net for quite
some time," DP stated. "It also depends on how hard they look for us. If they
pull out all the stops and have a little luck, they could find us in a matter
of days."
Having considered DP's opinion, Crash replied, "Let's hope we have enough time
to figure out what happened back there. They have Lynn, you know, and she must
be found and freed. We'll meet first thing in the morning to develop our
strategy. Right now, we all need to clear our heads. See you tomorrow."
With that, Crash went to his bunk and fell into a deep sleep.
Chapter Seven
P-Quan sat in silence at his desk, seething with rage. Helosas had planned
this operation with the minutest details in mind, and it had still ended as a
complete failure. P-Quan could find no fault with the plan or its execution.
Even nuking Tyson and his band of seditionists didn't work. It could only be
concluded that Tyson and his sidekick, Decker Payne, had simply outsmarted
him. That realization burned in his craw more than did his failure to maintain
total control of Tyson in the first place.
P-Quan did not take humiliation well. The WSC and the PLAG hierarchy could
not, under any circumstances, tolerate a perception by the masses that they
did not possess total hegemonic control over every single aspect of human life
on this planet. The foundation of the PLAG's power base required that the
masses accept its absolute control and political omnipotence. That perception
could not be compromised under any circumstance. Even the slightest sense that
a power vacuum existed had to be brutally squelched. The smallest crack in
that perception could allow some people to start thinking they had some
measure of free will. Any seed of self-reliance would have to be forcefully
eliminated before it sprouted and spread. Otherwise, it would inevitably lead
to another round of massive social cleansing. The plan would then have to be

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changed and modified to compensate for the economic destruction that would be
involved in the further purification of the social order.
There were times when P-Quan did not understand why people simply didn't do as
they were told. Everything would be so much easier that way. Why couldn't they
just be satisfied with what the PLAG gave them? It always seemed that some
obsessive individual would hold up a flag with the letter "I" inscribed in
blood, and try to destabilize the natural order of things. In P-Quan's mind,
Crash Tyson appeared to be the current bearer of that flag. He had to be
exposed, disgraced, publicly humiliated, and either brought in line with the
PLAG agenda or removed from the scene.
Although they did have Dr. Meisheil in custody, her containment had not truly
convinced him that she would give them all that much leverage over Tyson. He
would interrogate her regarding her involvement with the overall situation
soon enough. But the situation as it now stood did indeed pose a dangerous
precedent for the PLAG. Immediate and decisive intervention would be required
to prevent any further delay in their plan and to avoid any further damage to
the PLAG's rigidly constructed social framework.
Dr. Kurt and Professor Helosas entered P-Quan's office, carrying with them the
technical analysis of the test data. As usual, Dr. Kurt smiled with his usual
self-anointed arrogance. Also as usual, Professor Helosas entered in a state
so self-absorbed that he remained for the most part non-reactive to the world
around him. They both sat down at the desk opposite P-Quan.
P-Quan waited until both of his associates had time to squirm a little before
he addressed them. As serious as he had ever been in his life, P-Quan did not
appreciate the arrogance being portrayed by Kurt. Surely Kurt knew the dire
nature of the situation. His childish arrogance could not be justified under
the current circumstances.
Finally, he opened by saying, "As you both are fully aware, the Tyson
situation is untenable. I am most displeased with the both of you regarding
your failure to keep this matter from disintegrating into this abysmal state
of affairs. If either of you have an explanation for your inept handling of
your respective assignments, I will hear your defense at this time."
The smile on Kurt's face vanished. Quickly, he replaced it with a mask of
consternation and anger. From the beginning, he had regarded this experiment
as a foolish endeavor. He had expressed such an opinion to P-Quan at the
start. Besides, P-Quan did not have any justification to threaten them. He had
personally approved the entire operation himself. There must be some political
pressure coming from some high-up quarter of the Planetary Directorate for him
to attempt deflecting the blame away from himself so quickly. Kurt decided
right then and there that he would not be the fall guy on this one. He might
not be the Chairman of the WSC, but he did know people with considerable
authority on the Directorate's Executive Committee. If necessary, he would
call in a few favors they owed him. Many of them had acquired their position
solely due to his intervention in certain matters of state. It would remain to
be seen whose head would be put on the chopping block on this one.
As Kurt embellished himself within his self-proclaimed brilliance, Helosas
responded to P-Quan's challenge.
"Mister Chairman, the security arrangements for this project were meticulously
planned and implemented. Although at this moment it may appear that we have
failed to contain the situation, I can assure you that Mr. Tyson and his small
band of renegades will be under our direct management in the very near future.
They cannot remain invisible to our space-based tracking network for any
length of time. If they move, we'll see them. I am confident that any attempt
at escape will end in their immediate apprehension. A large number of Tyson's
people have been implanted with subcutaneous radio transponders without their
knowledge. Upon activation of the Individual Location Transmitters, we will
have a triangulation on their position. It is simply a matter of time, Mr.
Chairman, before they will be ours."
Raising an eyebrow, P-Quan replied, "You did not inform me that you intended
to use the ILT system on this project, Professor Helosas. I do not recall your

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ever mentioning it as part of the original plan." Vastly relieved, he added,
"Well done, Professor Helosas."
"I thought that a program possessing this degree of sensitivity warranted all
possible scrutiny," Helosas replied. "Having assumed that Tyson might possibly
succeed with his experiment, I felt we could not gamble with regards to our
gaining possession of technological power with such potential. It would appear
that the current situation has validated my assessment."
Thoroughly pleased with this unexpected layer of security implemented by
Professor Helosas, P-Quan replied, "It seems that the situation may not be as
out of control as I had first thought. If it hadn't been for Kurt's total
blundering of his portion of the containment plan, my current state of anxiety
over the matter would have been greatly lessened. Dr. Kurt, I hope you have a
plausible explanation as to our current lack of knowledge concerning the
whereabouts of Mr. Tyson and his merry little band of thieves?"
"Mr. Chairman, for other than purely political reasons, Mr. Tyson's location
is of little concern or consequence to us. I have thoroughly analyzed the data
we retrieved from the test, and I can clearly demonstrate that Tyson's entire
concept was fraudulent: in error from the beginning. The spatial exclusion
generator did not function, nor could it ever have functioned, as Tyson
predicted it would.
"The uncontrolled mixing of the matter and antimatter plasma beams in the
SEG's generator's core caused the explosion at the test site. The explosive
intensity of this mixing, however, was amplified by several orders of
magnitude, as it does appear that there was a momentary containment of this
released energy within the theoretical SEG field. This containment created a
super-dense energy flux, which, in effect, created nothing more than a large
matter/antimatter bomb with a yield somewhere on the order of five hundred
megatons or more. We have run extremely detailed quantum mechanical
simulations, and have achieved the same results to within ninety-nine percent
of the observed event.
"I see no reason for concern from a scientific point of view. Frankly, this
entire project was nothing more than an incompetent endeavor from the
beginning - one that has cost us a sizable percentage of our research budget.
Furthermore, someone in the near future will have to answer for the wasted
expenditure. The experimental failure of the test notwithstanding, this event
has clearly created political problems that may prove embarrassing to each of
us for some time to come. As you may recall, I vigorously argued against
proceeding with this project from the very beginning. Mr. Chairman, because
you went ahead with this project over my strenuous objections, we are now
bearing the fruits of your decision. I can only hope that similar errors in
judgment can be avoided in the future."
Smugly, Kurt sat down, filled with self-assured confidence. Profound arrogance
radiated from him. Convinced that he had clearly made his point, he was
confident that P-Quan could not punch any holes in his logic or deductions. To
his way of thinking, his argument placed all of the responsibility for this
incident squarely on P-Quan's shoulders. He felt that the blame for this
entire situation was cut and dried. Privately, he felt that P-Quan's error in
this matter was serious enough to get him removed as Chairman of the WSC and
to get himself appointed to the position in P-Quan's place. Only time would
tell on that. For now he was satisfied to let P-Quan sweat a little. There
would be time enough later to set the hook. He sat back in his chair and
glowered at P-Quan with aggravating deliberateness.
P-Quan sat motionless for several moments. Although he appeared to be
quiescent and thoughtful, internally he was seething with unmitigated
contempt. This simplistic, ignorant little man was really starting to get
under his skin. It will not be very long before I deal with you personally,
Dr. Kurt, he silently threatened. The finality of that conclusion gave him
some satisfaction and thus relieved much of his frustration. He could wait
awhile longer before implementing his final solution regarding the irritations
caused by this arrogant little primitive.

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After an appropriate length of time passed, he responded to Kurt's
allegations. As he crossed his arms and leaned forward on his desk, he
inquired, "Just how certain are you of your conclusions, Dr. Kurt? It appears
to me that the parameters and apparent contradictions of the test data suggest
a possible complexity to this event: one that may be vastly more sophisticated
and of a much more fundamental nature than you seem to be aware of. I am not
at all as certain as you appear to be that this event can be so easily
explained away."
Dr. Kurt had prepared himself for just such a question. "Mr. Chairman," he
stated vehemently, "I will not accept such insults to my integrity or
abilities! I and our best people have exhaustively studied the test results of
the event for days. We have considered every plausible as well as implausible
explanation to corroborate the data with the apparent results of event itself.
The conclusions we have reached concerning the true nature of this event are
irrefutable, Mr. Chairman! I stand by them without reservation!" His voice had
acquired a high-pitched shriek by time he had finished his rebuttal.
"That being the case," P-Quan retorted, "how do you explain the apparent
absence of any hard radiation at the test site? An explosion of that magnitude
- one that left a six-mile wide hole in the ground - must have released
tremendous amounts of hard radiation and heat. Why are there no detectable
radioactive isotopes present at the point of the explosion?"
Kurt responded, "We have determined that the SEG device momentarily restricted
the initial release of both the shock and blast energy and reflected these
waves back on to themselves. This in turn greatly compressed the point of
contact of the matter/antimatter reaction, allowing enough time for a near
perfect conversion to pure low energy photons. All of the hard radiation was
converted into the visible and near-infrared ranges of energy. Once released,
this energy flux instantly superheated and vaporized the surrounding
atmosphere as well as all of the surface material near it. These factors are
what caused the explosion. All of our computer-generated quantum,
chromodynamatic, and thermodynamic models have demonstrated this conclusively.
I have absolute confidence in the correctness of these results, Mr. Chairman!"
P-Quan gazed at Dr. Kurt with a skeptical eye, not at all convinced that his
explanation covered the whole story. Deep down in his gut P-Quan knew that
something of much greater significance had occurred. He just could not prove
it at this time. He finally had to admit to himself, however, that for now,
Kurt's explanation would have to do. His group contained the best minds on the
planet, and it appeared that this explanation was the best one his people
could come up with.
After due consideration of Dr. Kurt's reply, P-Quan coldly responded, "I
believe we should have some input from Dr. Meisheil on this matter. Perhaps
with a bit of properly applied persuasion, she may be willing to shed some
greater understanding on this entire event. This would go far towards
relieving many of my doubts concerning this matter, Dr. Kurt." P-Quan then
silently added, Your interpretation .
Dr. Kurt, visibly angered by P-Quan's inference, did not react overtly to
P-Quan's insinuation. However, he clearly understood the writing between the
lines as well as those things that were clearly understated. He decided that
there would be another, better time for confronting P-Quan. He would wait. He
simply shrugged his shoulders and said, "As you wish, Mr. Chairman."
With a stroke of his hand, P-Quan ordered the guards to bring Lynn into the
council chamber. She was confined to a wheelchair, as her right leg and left
arm were in casts. These injuries made it obvious that either she had been
severely injured during the firefight at the control center, or she had been
tortured while in solitary confinement. Her skin had taken on an ashen grayish
tint and the fine lines of stress were plainly evident around her exquisite
eyes. A close look into those eyes, however, would show them still full of
clarity and fire. As the guards positioned her in front of P-Quan, he could
clearly see the defiance and contempt she felt towards him. She will be
difficult at best, he thought.

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For several moments, P-Quan silently held his piercing gaze on her. From his
elevated position, he wanted to make sure she knew that he had absolute
control of her, and that he didn't give a rat's ass as to her personal
well-being. He also wanted her clearly to understand that her options at the
moment were less than zero.
Having accomplished that goal, he broke the ice by saying, "You have on
occasion looked much better, Dr. Meisheil. I assume that you have had ample
time during your recovery to consider the tenuous position in which you now
find yourself?"
"I have had time to consider a great many things!" Lynn retorted sharply.
"How trite," P-Quan replied with a sardonic smile. As he leaned forward over
his desk, his gaze intensified sharply. "We believe you possess certain
information we deem vital to our investigation of the Tyson incident. We
expect your full and unmitigated cooperation. Your failure to comply with our
demands will result in your immediate conviction and execution for sedition
not only against the WSC, but also the Planetary Government. You have no
options whatsoever! Do you fully understand this, Dr. Meisheil?"
"I - understand - you - fully!" she replied levelly, spacing her words for
emphasis.
P-Quan smiled to himself. If she only knew how ignorant that sounded. However,
considering the dire nature of her current situation, it took a considerable
amount of nerve for her to openly resist me.
"Good!" he stated as he sat back in his chair. "Maybe we can keep this
interview from becoming any more painful than necessary. Now, Dr. Meisheil,
where is Crash Tyson and his merry little band of thieving renegades?"
Lynn responded levelly, "I do not know his whereabouts. Furthermore, he is not
a renegade!"
Ah, P-Quan thought . More loyalty to him personally than to the group.
Interesting!
"Why did Crash Tyson sabotage the experiment, Dr. Meisheil?"
"Crash did not sabotage anything! The explosion surprised him more than
anyone. He left immediately to find out what happened. Your goons attacked us
shortly afterwards, and I have not seen him since." Smiling a coy smile, Lynn
added, "I assume from your questions that he outwitted you and escaped."
"I'll ask the questions here, Dr. Meisheil!" P-Quan retorted sharply. "Now,
for the last time: where is he?"
"I honestly do not know where he is. My position did not involve any phase of
the security arraignments. My work involved the design and function of the
test facility, which completely left me out of the loop regarding any security
aspect of the test. My primary task involved the design of the control room
and the energy conduits to the SEG device. Beyond that, my knowledge of the
project is quite limited. Only Crash fully understood the SEG concept, and he
kept that knowledge to himself. That is all I can tell you."
P-Quan's patience came to an abrupt end. He could see that she had some sort
of personal attachment to Tyson, and that in all probability, she would not
divulge any meaningful information voluntarily. He motioned to the guard,
using a prearranged signal. The guard did not hesitate for even a millisecond.
He strode over to Lynn. Grabbing her right arm, he pinned it in between two of
the struts of the wheelchair. With a slight grunt and all of his strength, he
pushed her arm forward. Her forearm snapped instantly. Lynn doubled over in
acute pain and let out a deafening scream.
Completely indifferent to Lynn's suffering, P-Quan sat back in his chair. As a
matter of fact, he enjoyed inflicting her with pain, in a sick sort of way.
Her defiance did not impress or amuse him in the slightest. He wanted answers,
and he wanted them now.
After letting her writhe in agony for several minutes, thereby giving her time
to reevaluate her situation from his perspective, he continued his
interrogation.
"As you are now fully aware, Dr. Meisheil, my patience is at an end. I'll ask
you one last time. Where is Crash Tyson?"

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As Lynn raised her head to face P-Quan, the pain engulfing her face
overwhelmed her. The fire in her eyes vastly overshadowed that pain, however.
Even the powerful P-Quan of the PLAG was astonished by her expression as she
said; "You can go straight to hell, you pile of sub-human genetic trash!"
Her response caught P-Quan completely off guard. He did not expect this kind
of reaction - her being simultaneously amusing and defiant - under these
circumstances. She must possess more strength and determination than she
projects on the surface, he thought . I may have to reevaluate her.
"Guard, take her to solitary confinement and place her on minimum nourishment.
Station two heavily armed guards outside her cell. If any escape is attempted,
use deadly force to stop it. Also, inform the duty master that she has been
found guilty of sedition and theft of government property and have him
schedule her for execution. Have him inform me as to the time the sentence
will be carried out, as I want to be there personally to witness it."
"One more thing, Dr. Meisheil. Before your execution, you will answer my
questions, or more of your precious little body will be broken in the most
hideous manner. I hope that this is perfectly clear to you!"
Lynn simply glared back at him. The defiance in her expression said everything
she had to say to him. P-Quan met her gaze directly. The apparently hopeless
nature of her situation notwithstanding, she did not cower in fear. Her
current circumstance seemed only to strengthen her resolve.
With a slight nod, P-Quan signaled the guard that he was finished with her for
the moment. The guard snapped a sharp salute and replied, "Understood, sir!"
As the guard wheeled Lynn out, P-Quan mused, Tough little female. I will not
underestimate her again.
Dr. Kurt, visibly shocked at witnessing the torture of Lynn, became very
distraught over her treatment. His reaction demonstrated that he was not
totally devoid of moral conscience. His outrage over the torture quickly
overwhelmed him. Rising, he blurted, "I will not be part of the torture of a
helpless female, P-Quan! We are not barbaric savages. I will not allow this
behavior on our part to continue! Be assured that the full PLAG Directorate
Council will hear of this!"
"Sit down and shut up, Dr. Kurt, or you will join Dr. Meisheil in her cell,"
P-Quan stated quite indifferently.
Given that Dr. Kurt did not acknowledge that P-Quan possessed the authority to
make such threats to a fellow council member, he would not concede his point.
"Dr. Meisheil's injuries are so severe that any further torture could kill
her. If she dies, we won't learn anything from her at all!"
P-Quan's patience came to an abrupt end. He replied forcefully, "The PLAG has
executed millions for much lesser crimes than hers, Dr. Kurt, and you know it.
You have personally ordered the termination of tens of thousands yourself.
Your concerns are irrelevant - inappropriate for a man in your position. Now,
for the last time, sit down and shut up, or I'll have you executed right here,
right now!"
Upon hearing P-Quan's threat towards Dr. Kurt, his personal bodyguard quickly
raised his weapon. Pointing it directly at Dr. Kurt, he asserted, "Ready,
sir!"
Infuriated by P-Quan's actions, Kurt stood up to protest. He heard the safety
switch of the guard's weapon click off. This shocked Kurt further, momentarily
stunning him.
As he recovered and was just about to open his mouth, the priority
communications console on P-Quan's desk activated. P-Quan angrily acknowledged
the call. "Yes, what is it?"
"Sir," the communications officer replied nervously, "you have a priority
communication!"
"Tell whoever is calling that I am not available. Is that clear?"
"But sir, the SDT has been activated!"
On hearing that the Sub Dimensional Transmitter had been activated, P-Quan's
attitude took an abrupt one-hundred-eighty-degree turn. Sudden fear showed on
his face. The moment before this call, he had been in total control of all he

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surveyed. Everything and everyone served at his leisure. Now, in an instant,
an ancient fear that had been buried deep in the core of his being resurfaced.
His future had suddenly become uncertain.
Outwardly, P-Quan recovered quickly. He responded evenly, "I understand,
Ensign. I will take the communication in my private chamber. That is all." He
quickly turned toward Helosas and Kurt and said, "Gentlemen, would you be kind
enough to follow me, please?"
Kurt became totally confused by the sudden change in P-Quan's attitude. Trying
to understand, he turned to Helosas and quietly asked him what an SDT was.
Helosas replied, "Be quiet, and come with us."
As the three WSC Tribunal members left the conference room, P-Quan motioned to
the guard to follow with them. As the guard approached, he took him aside and
gave him some private orders. The guard acknowledged with a terse nod of his
head.
The four men strode down the hallway and entered P-Quan's private library.
P-Quan immediately went to the classical section and removed an original old
edition of Hamlet. The shelves instantly retracted into the wall and revealed
an open elevator door. P-Quan entered it and motioned for the others to
follow. Once all four men were inside, the door closed. Kurt immediately felt
his stomach rise into his throat as the elevator rapidly descended to depths
unknown.
Once Kurt fought back his motion sickness, he inquired, "Where is this private
chamber of yours, P-Quan? Why haven't I been made aware of its existence?"
"You have not had any need to know of this place until this very moment, Dr.
Kurt," P-Quan replied. "As for the location, it is buried fourteen thousand
five hundred feet below us, in the primordial bedrock of this planet. I trust
that you will keep the existence and location of this installation strictly to
yourself."
Struck by an afterthought, he added, "Have I made myself perfectly clear, Dr.
Kurt?"
"Most certainly so, Mr. Chairman," Kurt replied sheepishly.
It took a good seven minutes for the elevator to reach the bottom of the
shaft. As it slowed to a stop, Kurt's stomach regained its proper position
rather abruptly and became heavy in his gut. His discomfort became obvious to
P-Quan, who seemed to derive some pleasure from it. A sly smile overspread his
face as the elevator door opened.
A large blast door, the first notable structure beyond the elevator, blocked
the tunnel before them. As it opened, Dr. Kurt grew amazed on beholding its
massive size. Well over six feet thick, it was fashioned of some very shiny
laminated metal. Once the blast door fully opened, another identical door came
into view only a dozen or so feet down the tunnel. Eight of these massive
blast doors were situated between the elevator and P-Quan's chamber.
The design of this system allowed only one of the doors to be open at any one
time. The chamber between each set of doors appeared to be a kill zone. A
plethora of lethal agents and weapons could be engaged within each zone to
prevent an unauthorized entry. It would take an entire army many days of
blasting and cost hundreds if not thousands of lives to gain entrance. It
quickly became clear to Dr. Kurt that P-Quan demanded absolute privacy at
times. This system certainly gave him that.
Once the group made its way through all eight of the security zones, the
delegation entered the heart of P-Quan's private chamber. The chamber
comprised a very large area with high vaulted ceilings and expansive arches,
which appeared to be made of the same metal as the blast doors. Because of the
size of the chamber, massive arches and columns supported the roof. Despite
the fact that an air of opulence permeated the place, the chamber was clearly
a military fortification. It would require the deployment of many dozens of
large nuclear weapons to penetrate the chamber at this depth. For all
practical purposes, P-Quan's sanctum was impregnable.
Overwhelmed, an awestruck Dr. Kurt entered the chamber. In all the years he
had served on the WSC, he hadn't gained an inkling regarding the existence of

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this place. He didn't think the technology even existed that would permit the
construction of such a chamber. The temperature should have been several
hundred degrees down this deep, and yet the air remained at a comfortable room
temperature.
It did not take long, however, for Dr. Kurt to regain control of his thought
processes. Quietly, he started to ask himself questions . What on earth could
make a place like this even necessary? What purpose could it have? Obviously,
P-Quan has deliberately left me out of the intelligence loop. How many things
have been going on in here that P-Quan has kept secret from me? What would
make it necessary for P-Quan to hide things from me?
I will have to make some very discreet inquires when I get back , he silently
decided. There is obviously something important going on, and I must find out
what it is. He started to calculate the possible political consequences of his
taking such action, but decided that he had no other recourse. He would have
to risk any negative fallout that might develop if it became known that he was
the one behind the inquiries . This is big! Really big! he silently
concluded .
Once everyone entered the chamber, P-Quan went directly to what appeared to be
some sort of control console. He activated the control that closed the last
blast door, which slowly swung shut. The heavy door hit the jamb with a loud
thud, which echoed noisily throughout the chamber. The large locking lugs
rotated into their catches and then magnetically sealed themselves in place.
The bunker was now secure, and, it appeared to Kurt, completely isolated from
the rest of the planet.
"Please, gentlemen, have a seat," P-Quan invited, rather nonchalantly. He then
went to another console and sat down. Having entered a code, he sat back in
his chair, turned towards Kurt and stared at him with a most curious smirk.
This silent treatment induced an intense sense of nervous anticipation in Dr.
Kurt. Obviously, P-Quan was waiting for something dramatic to happen, but was
not about to let Kurt in on what it might be. For Kurt, being left in the dark
only increased his apprehension of an already maddening situation.
Just when Dr. Kurt felt that he could no longer tolerate P-Quan's deliberate
intimidation, and prepared to demand an explanation, he grew aware of the
smell of ozone, which began to fill the chamber. In a corner, behind P-Quan's
console, a dull red glow became noticeable. As the ruddy glow pulsated and
intensified, the floor and ceiling became an even brighter shade of red. The
smell of ozone became intense. Suddenly, a bright column of ultraviolet energy
appeared in the center of the red beam, and an image began to develop.
Electrical static discharge filled the room. The air began to crackle and
sizzle, as the static discharge increased.
As the holographic image solidified, Dr. Kurt realized with shock that he
gazed upon the form of an alien being. The apparition appeared to be nine to
ten feet in height, with a rather long, slim, flowing frame. It appeared
roughly humanoid in shape, with slender arms and legs. The most prominent
physical feature was the disparity in the size of the head in relation to the
slightness of the torso. It occurred to Dr. Kurt that the alien's body might
not be strong enough to support its oversized head.
As he continued to stare at the being, Dr. Kurt realized that the being was
staring directly back at him. That inspection proved to be the most
penetrating gaze Dr. Kurt had ever encountered. He felt as if his mind was
being poked, probed, and x-rayed, all at the same time. This being's scrutiny
completely overpowered him. Grave apprehension gripped him, and raw fear
overpowered him.
The figure in the energy beam finally fully materialized. The loud noise of
the static discharge abruptly subsided. The sudden subsidence of the energy
discharge filled the chamber with a deafening silence.
P-Quan was the first to speak. "Your Eminence, your paying us this visit
constitutes a great honor. May I ask the reason for your distinguished
presence here?"
The alien did not react to P-Quan's inquiry. Its large, dark, roving eyes

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slowly surveyed the vaulted chamber from top to bottom and corner to corner.
It appeared to wish to develop its own assessment of those present, and
possibly of everything in the chamber. When its roving examination finally
ceased, it focused solely upon P-Quan, and spoke.
"I am Zern, science officer from the Riglon science station. A scientific
development has occurred on this planet: a breakthrough that may be of extreme
importance to the Empire. I have come here to ascertain the origins, nature
and possible significance of this event. If I determine that it possesses
sufficient value to the Empire, I will obey the order commanding me to see
that this development does not fall into the possession of our enemies."
P-Quan showed no outward emotion on hearing Zern's statement. "To what event
are you referring, Your Eminence?" he asked.
"I monitored what I believe to be a crude attempt at generating some sort of
spatial exclusion wave. Its generational sequence lasted only a few
trillionths of a second, but all thirteen of our science stations detected its
waveform almost simultaneously. The pre-spatial wave characteristics are of a
nature never before seen or predicted during our prior research. I believe
this event may be of sufficient importance to impact the Empire's security.
The point of origin of this phenomenon has been triangulated unquestionably to
this planet. We find this most disturbing!"
P-Quan now realized that his original suspicions were indeed correct. To some
degree at least, Tyson had managed to perform a successful test. He had also
managed successfully to divert the real test data results away from the WSC. I
might , he thought, just be able to use this fact to protect myself from a
Luin investigation .
"Your Eminence," P-Quan explained, "a local Primitive by the name of Crash
Tyson recently conducted an experiment along such lines. However, Dr. Kurt," -
turning, he pointed toward the man he named - "assures me that his attempt
proved an utter failure." Fixing a baleful glance on Dr. Kurt, he said,
"Perhaps the good doctor would like to speak for himself, Your Eminence. Dr.
Kurt, would you be so kind as to explain to our honored superior the nature of
Mr. Tyson's, as I believe you called it, 'complete and utter failure regarding
this matter'?"
Dr. Kurt's grip on reality almost failed at this point. His face flushed, his
hands trembled, and his body became soaked in sweat. His mouth hung wide open.
After what seemed like an eternity, he mustered the will to say, as he pointed
towards Zern, "What the hell is that?" Then, turning toward P-Quan, he added,
"And for that matter, what the hell are you, P-Quan?"
Scornfully, P-Quan replied, "I doubt that your mental limitations will allow
you to comprehend the true nature of what we are and how we function. Just
explain yourself to our superior as best you can, before you get yourself into
more trouble than you are already in."
Dr. Kurt was dumbfounded. "Mental limitations!" He suddenly felt as if he was
the one on trial because Tyson's experiment failed.
He finally gathered wit enough to blurt out, "Ah… Sir, I have researched all
of the data that Tyson provided us, and I can assure you beyond a shadow of
doubt that no such incident occurred. No spatial exclusion wave was detected.
All Crash Tyson managed to do was to blow a large hole in the ground at our
expense. Then, knowing that his experiment had completely failed, he
disappeared, so as to keep us from charging him with fraud. As far as I am
concerned, he is a criminal, a coward, and a complete idiot!"
Zern stood motionless for a considerable time. He did not seem to be amused or
impressed by Dr. Kurt's explanation. He just seemed to stare right through Dr.
Kurt, as if he were reading the finer points of the man's hidden thoughts.
Finally he spoke, as if addressing some far-off entity. "The fact of the
spatial exclusion wave's existence is unquestionable. Your explanation verges
on that of a bumbling idiot, Dr. Kurt. Therefore I found it necessary to come
to your world personally to find out the truth of the matter. Governor P-Quan,
I expect that you will have a completely detailed explanation of this incident
when I arrive. You are ordered to make ready the SDT chamber for my complete

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transference in the near future. That is all."
With that, Zern's image abruptly disappeared. Silence once again filled the
room.
P-Quan sat quietly for a moment, staring at his hands. Slowly, his hands began
to tremble with anger. By the time he raised his head so as to confront Dr.
Kurt, he verged on succumbing to absolute rage. In a deafening, unnatural
roar, he screamed, "How could you be so easily deceived, you damned simplistic
primitive idiot? You described Tyson as an idiot! What the hell does that make
you?" The power of P-Quan's voice shook Dr. Kurt to his core.
P-Quan's intensity so intimidated Dr. Kurt, that it induced a state of acute
mental distemper in him. He could not rationalize the events that had just
taken place quickly enough to put them in any logical order. His eyes dilated.
His face flushed, and he sweated profusely. He could not come to grips with
these events, as they were unfolding much too rapidly for him to grasp, or
even comprehend, for that matter. Thirty minutes ago he considered himself one
of the most powerful men on earth. Now, out of nowhere, colleagues that he had
worked with for decades were treating him like the most retarded patient in
some mental institution.
Deep down in the seldom-traveled moral section of his ego, the little man who
could only be a big man through the measured use of, intimidation of, and
infliction of harm upon others, became truly terrified. For the first time in
his life, he found his mental focus flittering to and fro, back and forth, up
and down. For the first time, the raw edge of reality began to cut and burn
him. None of his government goons were there to protect him. He felt
completely naked - totally alone. His mastery of a universe that he was so
absolutely sure of just a few minutes ago came crashing down on his puny
little head in a singular moment of truth. He realized for the first time that
he did not possess any power whatsoever. Everything he thought he was,
everything he had done, everything he had become, was a big lie! A great
fiction of arrogant, egotistical blindness!
For whatever reason, that little man managed to climb his way back into the
forefront of Kurt's mind. The little scared man and the new man merged,
combined, and surfaced as one. In an act of desperation and self-protection,
he managed to blurt out wildly, "What was that? What empire? I don't
understand. What's going…"
P-Quan cut him off with ferocious force, savagely pounding his fists on the
desk once again. His eyes were red with rage as he roared, "How could you let
yourself be so easily deceived by Tyson, Doctor? How could you have erred so
egregiously in your evaluation of the test data? I want answers, Kurt," he
shouted as he brutally pounded the desk again, "and I want them now!"
Kurt managed to regain a slight measure of composure. Looking down at his
notes, he weakly replied, "The data is all right here, P-Quan. It's all right
here. I…I made no mistakes!"
"Luin science officers do not make mistakes, Dr. Kurt!" P-Quan roared back.
"Your interpretation of the test is in error! I want an explanation - now!"
Managing to gain a little more control over the confusion that followed the
shocking events, Dr. Kurt finally started to think hard and fast. There had to
be some sort of logic, some plausible explanation, behind all of the
contradictions. He knew that there were no errors in his analysis of the test
data. On the screen of his mind, he suddenly saw the word diversion appear. A
light went on, and he replied, "Mr. Chairman, my analysis of this data is
correct. Tyson must have switched data on us, somehow, during the test. This
will only add to the criminal charges we already have against him." Then,
looking directly at P-Quan, he said, "Therefore, Mr. Chairman, I have
committed no errors whatsoever concerning this matter."
Dr. Kurt's arrogant ignorance outraged P-Quan past his ability to control his
emotion, and he exploded. "Your stupidity is going to get you killed, Kurt!"
he screamed. Then, after pausing a brief moment, he said, "Guard, escort Dr.
Kurt to the brig. Maybe he can find some legitimate explanations for his
incompetence in solitary confinement!"

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Going ballistic, Dr. Kurt charged to the front of P-Quan's desk, screaming at
the top of his voice, "I am a member of the World Science Council Tribunal! I
will not tolerate such unwarranted treatment, P-Quan! I have powerful allies
in the Planetary Directorate. You will pay dearly for this outrage. I will see
to it personally!"
Smiling ominously at Kurt, P-Quan snapped, "Guard."
Having quickly raised his weapon, the guard fired a three-round burst into
Kurt's head. He died before he hit the floor.
Professor Helosas glanced indifferently down at Kurt's dead corpse, as if it
had no more value than that of a dead insect. After a moment, he raised his
head and said, "Is it really necessary that we allow them on the council? They
never seem truly to comprehend the political realities, and they inevitably
get in the way. Your solution to the problems engendered by their stupidity is
always so messy! Frankly, P-Quan, you really are quite baroque in your
methods, at times. I sometimes wonder if you don't set up situations like this
just so that you can watch a Prim die, every now and then."
"You know as well as I, Professor, that the Luin do not get involved in local
situations unless there is a problem that could directly threaten the Empire.
You also know their attitude towards failure. As for Dr. Kurt, he was rewarded
for his feeble expression of intellect. He paid the price for his vain,
ignorant attempt to challenge me. I will not tolerate any such threat to my
authority by anyone!"
Turning his gaze from Kurt to Professor Helosas, P-Quan added, "And yes,
Professor, most of the time we do need them on the council, as buffers between
our power structure and their primitive nature. Actually, Kurt was quite
useful at explaining policy in ways these feeble-minded beings could
understand. It will be necessary to replace him. However, due to the apparent
importance the Luin have placed on this matter, I believe that human
involvement on the WSC should be suspended for the time being."
"How will you explain Kurt's demise to the Directorate without raising any
suspicions?" Helosas inquired.
"Dr. Kurt collaborated with Tyson. HE personally directed the diversion of the
real test data from us. When we found out about his involvement with the
deception and confronted him, he attacked me, and the guard shot him to
protect me. Isn't that correct, Sergeant?
"Yes, sir. Absolutely, sir!" The Sergeant replied emphatically.
"There, you see, Professor. A simple, truthful solution. Now, your immediate
overriding objective is to acquire control of Tyson and the legitimate test
data. You are authorized to use any resource you deem necessary to accomplish
this task. You will concentrate solely on accomplishing this mission. Another
failure will not be acceptable, even for you. Do you understand, Professor?"
Rising to leave, Professor Helosas replied, "Understood, sir. Fully."
After Professor Helosas departed, P-Quan sank into deep thought. The sudden
involvement of the Luin in this matter alarmed him greatly. In the past, their
involvement only occurred on those rare occasions when they considered the
issue at hand to be one of either potential strategic importance to the
Empire's security, or an immediate threat to that security. He did not pretend
to understand the interest of the Luin in Tyson. Few beings in the Empire
understood them or their methodology anyway. They were, after all, the
unquestioned intellectual elite of the Empire. They controlled all political
and military power in the vastly flung political structure.
Not that the Maen were an ignorant or unintelligent race - they weren't.
Compared to the average human being, the dullest of the Maen was a
super-genius. The fact that Tyson had so easily outsmarted him disconcerted
P-Quan greatly. In his vast experience as a planetary governor who had ruled
numerous developing worlds, he had never seen an event such as this brought
about by such a primitive backwards species. Tyson's ability to stay one step
ahead of him was truly an anomalous and unexpected situation, and most likely
the primary reason for the direct involvement of the Luin. He had to find a
way to protect himself in case this situation continued to go badly. He would

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not underestimate Crash Tyson and Decker Payne again.
After much thought, P-Quan activated a channel on his private communications
set, which connected him to the local head of security for the Kalimari
System. Magus was not only an old friend and head of the local military
intelligence, he also commanded all of the Morcor Military Forces for the
Kalimari System. In case Helosas failed to get Tyson under control, Magus and
the Morcor surely would.
P-Quan thought grimly, Mr. Crash Tyson does not have the slightest clue as to
what he has gotten himself into - not the slightest inkling whatsoever!
Chapter Eight
Captain Parker's condition deeply concerned Dr. Nao. Even though he had
applied all of his vast knowledge of vascular and neural microsurgery, Dr. Nao
realized that Parker's leg was not positively responding to his treatments to
any appreciable degree. He had tried every technique he knew, but to no avail.
The vascular damage was so extensive that the tissue-healing process
progressed at a much slower rate than that at which the tissue decayed. It was
only a matter of time before would gangrene set in. In all likelihood, Parker
would lose his leg: a pity, given that he was such a young man.
Dr. Nao cringed upon viewing Parker's wound. The sight brought back countless
morbid memories of the Civil war. So many millions died, he thought sadly. And
now that ugly carnage appears to be starting all over again . He wondered if
anyone could ever ascribe any point to any of it. Such human carnage revolted
him. But then, as one young Marine on his deathbed told him, "For free men,
freedom is all there is." With his last breath, he said, "It's all I really
have that's worth living for." He then died at the ripe old age of twenty.
Dr. Nao had attended to thousands of young men making that journey. After
years of witness, it became apparent to him that freedom, for some men - real
men - had developed into a basic necessity: a fundamental requirement of life.
He concluded that for these men, no gray area existed regarding this issue.
Either you exercised free will or you did not. Presently, one thing became
abundantly clear: life under the PLAG meant that you conformed, or you died.
It was that simple.
When Crash and Colonel Laughton entered the makeshift medical ward, they found
Dr. Nao bent over Captain Parker, attending to him. When they approached
Parker's bunk, Crash in particular found it difficult to speak to Parker,
after observing just how serious his injuries were. Colonel Laughton, on the
other hand, had seen so much carnage and death during the Civil War that he
had become inured to such sights. He was not indifferent, by any means, but
over time, he had developed the ability to suppress emotions that might be
seen by others as weakness. He dealt with his pain privately, away from anyone
who might interpret his true passion for his men as that of a weak-kneed fool.
Crash, on the other hand, was not so adept at achieving such public repression
of his emotions. He forced himself to put on a happy face, and hoped that he
could pull the deception off.
While Crash and Colonel Laughton knew that they were powerless to help Parker
physically, they could at least try to bolster his spirits. Colonel Laughton
believed that a man's proper attitude towards any challenging situation was at
least half the battle to victory.
As they approached his bunk, Parker turned to look at them.
"How much longer are you going to stay on vacation, son?" Laughton asked
jokingly. "You have half my Air Force grounded."
Crash and Laughton quickly realized that Captain Parker's trauma went much
deeper than just his physical wounds. "Have you ever known a one-legged pilot,
sir?" Parker replied abrasively. "The doctor says I'm probably going to lose
this shot-up piece of meat. It won't even make good dog food, the way it
smells!"
Laughton had been in this situation countless times before with other men -
some much worse than this. Some men healed; some did not. The individual's
attitude seemed to make the primary difference in such situations. He had to
get Parker not only to want to recover, but also to see a compelling reason as

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to why he needed to recover.
"Your plane will be back to full combat status in a few days, Captain,"
Laughton stated in a commanding tone. "Those old 23s were built to go to war
and come back. You did a fine job bringing her in son - a fine job. The
problem is, Captain, we don't have anyone else qualified to fly her. It's only
a matter of time before the PLAGGERS find us. We would be in a SOL situation
with only half our Air Force up there." He paused to let his meaning sink in,
before he went on to say, "I hope you're not telling me that your old plane is
tougher than its pilot?"
"Damn it, sir! Look at it! It's a mangled stump of rotten meat. I can't fly
like this. It's probably going to kill me if they don't cut it off!"
"Son," the Colonel said in a deliberate manner, "I realize that you're in
tremendous pain. I could BS you - blow smoke up your ass - for an hour, so as
to try to make you feel better, but I won't. I know you're more of a man than
that. I have only one thing to say to you. I hope that enough of your family's
honor has been restored from your sacrifice during our one-day war with the
PLAG, that you can comfortably rest in peace from this time forward."
Having said that, Colonel Laughton added fervently, "Semper Fi." Turning, he
left the room at a brisk pace.
Stunned by the frankness of the Colonel's remarks, Parker stared after him. He
had expected that he would get some sympathy from the Colonel, but instead, he
got a royal ass chewing. He urgently looked to Crash for some support.
Speechless, Crash stared at Parker. He did not expect such a blunt statement
from Colonel Laughton, either. But on some fundamental level, he understood
it. Now was not the time for timidity or self-pity. He felt as if his mind
spent an hour squirming in search of something to say, but he knew that only a
second or two actually elapsed before he said, "One thing that Colonel
Laughton did not tell you, Captain, is that the PLAGGERS arrested Dr. Meisheil
during their raid on the control room. You know better than anyone here what
they will do to her to get to us. We need to get her out of there, Captain,
and we cannot do that without you."
He turned to leave. Just as he reached the door, he turned to Captain Parker
and said forcefully, "Think about it, Captain!" He then left Parker to his
thoughts.
Overwhelmed at what had just transpired, Parker lapsed into deep
thought. Family's honor? He thought, My family are all dead. What honor do
they have left after all that has…
Comprehension rose to the forefront of his mind. He began to understand. The
PLAG, he thought angrily , killed my entire family just to make a policy
statement to the general population. I can't imagine what techniques they
might use on Dr. Meisheil, so as to get to Crash and his project. They
mobilized an entire Army and Air Force just to apprehend Crash's followers
after the test. The things they could do to her are unthinkable. There are
many things worse than death, and the PLAG seemed to have a monopoly on their
application, and expertise in the commission of such crimes !
He began to reassess his predicament.
***
For several hours, DP meticulously stalked the silent, unknown signal. He
repeatedly eyed the telemetry from his transmission triangulator, trying to
pin down a position on the weak but spurious signals he intermittently
detected. These signals concerned him greatly, as he had ordered the base to
be in a zero or black transmission mode. If not stopped immediately, these
signals would eventually give their position away to the PLAG. It seemed that
every time he determined the position of a particular transmission, it would
either move or stop transmitting altogether.
That circumstance maddened him, as he knew full well how dangerous these
signals were to everyone's safety. They needed time to repair their defensive
equipment and rearm. At the moment they were more or less defenseless: sitting
ducks for anything the PLAG might throw their way. Remaining
electromagnetically invisible was the only sure way of staying alive for even

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a few more days. He knew that there had to be a logical explanation for the
random nature of the signals, but what it was escaped him for the moment.
Instinctively, DP knew that he needed to solve this problem soon, or it really
would not matter. If he did not find the cause of the signals and stop them,
they would probably all be dead in a few hours.
***
The moonlight shimmered quiescently on the oceanscape. The tranquil setting
produced an effect opposite that of the rashness and violence of the preceding
day. As Crash moved slowly along the beach, he sought to imagine the cause of
the previous day's events. So much had happened in such a short time that most
of the exploits of that day were fragmented in his mind. Everything that had
happened was directly tied to him and his work. His worse fears had come true.
He realized that to the PLAG, he was just another source of power to be
manipulated and used to increase their grip over mankind. For better or worse,
that made him responsible for everyone involved.
The enormity of the event slowly began to sink in when he noticed how
intensely the moonlight reflected off the water. It was strikingly bright.
Looking up, he swore to himself that the moon appeared to be twice its normal
size, as if it had somehow moved closer to the earth. As he watched, what he
knew to be impossible happened before his eyes: the moon grew larger and
larger. It seemed as if it were falling straight down to earth, aiming
directly at his head. In the back of his mind he knew that he had to do
something.
The moon fell to just a few feet above him, and stopped. He looked to the left
and to the right and could see the moon's horizon arc up and away in all
directions. He raised his arms to stop it from coming down further. It touched
his hands. Its unbearable weight pressed heavily upon him. He felt as if it
intended to crush him - to smear him into a small protoplasmic film over the
entire planet's surface. It crushed down on him with relentless and
overwhelming force.
He knew that he could not stop its fall. All of a sudden, he felt sudden power
flow through his arms and legs. Although he now found himself crouched on his
knees, bent and almost broken, he had managed to stop the moon's fall. What to
do? He strained as he had never before in his life. Slowly the moon gave way.
It started to move away. Mustering all his strength, he gave it one last
mighty push upwards. It rose slowly at first, but steadily gained speed and
moved further and further away from the earth. In a few minutes, it was back
in its proper orbit and the earth was out of danger.
Crash found himself standing on a small mountain that the clash of gravimetric
forces had pulled up from the bowels of the earth. As he observed the
aftermath, he looked down on the earth far below him and saw that the ground
had cracked and fractured in all directions. At the base of the mountain,
millions of people scurried to and fro in complete pandemonium. It was clearly
apparent that tumultuous horror had engulfed them all. Crash had an oppressive
feeling that they were begging him to save them - that he was somehow the
cause of the tumult that had overcome all of those millions screaming for his
help. But why him? The entire sight deeply stunned him. He could not force
change on humanity's plight. The PLAG controlled every aspect of its
existence. He was powerless to…
Then Crash woke up. This dream, so vivid, so real, greatly bothered him. While
he lay contemplating the meaning of the nightmarish experience, he realized
that he was soaking wet and actually sore from the experience. He did not know
what to make of it. The experience disturbed him greatly. Never had he
experienced such a vivid ordeal in a dream. He knew that most dreams meant
something, but this was beyond…well, just beyond any previous experience.
This dream, this interloper in his mind, caused profound anxiety. He spent the
rest of the night trying to understand the deep sense of foreboding that this
vivid experience impressed upon him, but he could not. He finally decided that
understanding would have to wait. After all, it was just a dream, and there
were more important matters at hand that needed his immediate attention - real

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happenings that he could actually affect. He decided to go to the computer lab
and get to work. He had to get his mind off this disturbing incident and
return to the business at hand.
It took Crash many hours just to enter the preliminary test data discs into
the mainframe computer. It would take several hours more for the
super-computer to collate the results into even a rudimentary form. He just
hoped that when all of the results were in, he could make some sense of it
all. The nagging fear that his ideas may all have been erroneous never strayed
far from the forefront of his mind. He had to know what had happened during
the test, as soon as possible. The anguish grew unbearable.
Having completed the data entries, Crash decided to go down to the Engineering
Lab and see if Nessi had discovered anything about the object they had found
at the bottom of the crater. As he entered the lab, he found Nessi firing a
powerful laser at the object. It appeared that the material comprising the
mysterious object absorbed the five- megawatt beam without showing any effect
whatsoever.
Intriguing, Crash thought. Very few materials could take a ten-second burst
of that much energy and not show any effect at all. It didn't even glow from
the energy blast.
When the beam shut down, Crash asked, "Has our Strange Lady given up any of
her secrets yet?"
Perplexed, Nessi turned to answer the question. "Strange Lady, Sir Crash?"
Crash chuckled at Nessi's apparent confusion. "The object, Nessi," he replied,
tapping it with his hand. "This thing."
"Ah, Sir Crash, you mean the absorber."
Intrigued, Crash asked, "The absorber?"
"Oh, yes, Sir Crash. We have bombarded the Strange Lady with all known
radiations and it seems to absorb them all. X-rays, gamma rays, radio waves,
infrared, ultraviolet, and all visible spectrums - it absorbs them all
perfectly. No reflections, no refractions, no reactions of any kind. It did
not even heat up when we hit it with the laser. See?" He patted the spot
targeted by the laser to demonstrate its coolness. "I have never before seen
anything like it, Sir Crash," he declared bemusedly.
Gingerly, Crash touched the spot on which the laser had been focused. It
wasn't even warm.
"This is peculiar, to say the least," Crash stated pensively. This anomaly
greatly tweaked his curiosity. "From a thermodynamic point of view, the energy
has to be somewhere. It just could not disappear."
"I then ran ultrasonic and vibrational tests to determine some of the physical
properties of the object, but those tests failed," Nessi went on. "I am
sorry."
"What do you mean, the tests failed?" Crash asked.
"Sir Crash, the test results made no sense. They were in error. The data
indicated that the object's wall-thickness is nonexistent, which is
impossible. I can touch it. It is real. The data must be in error."
"That finding would seem most improbable," Crash agreed.
"I also tried to get a measurement of its mass. That too did not make sense."
"What do you mean, Nessi?" Crash inquired, intensely curious.
"It appears that it has almost no mass at all. I could barely believe my own
eyes myself," Nessi replied cryptically.
Crash's curiosity increased with every new revelation of the object's nature.
"Well, what did you determine the mass to be, Nessi?" he asked impatiently.
"When I tried to measure its mass, I found that it only weighed about
forty-five grams. That result would seem most improbable, Sir Crash."
"I agree, Nessi. That seems highly unlikely. It appears that we have a sweet
little mystery on our hands. I want you to download all of your test data onto
discs and give them to me. I'll enter them into the mainframe with all of the
other test data. Perhaps there is some sort of correlation between the object
and the test. Perhaps we'll gain some insight into the functioning of the SEG
device itself."

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"I'll see to it immediately, Sir Crash," Nessi replied. He began downloading
the information onto computer discs.
The seemingly contradictory data intrigued Crash more than just a little. The
object's observed properties seemed to conflict with the laws of physics and
thermodynamics, at least as he knew them. He knew that it would take some
creative testing procedures to determine the true structure of the object. He
loved new mysteries, and this one was a doozy.
Crash remained deep in thought when Nessi finished the data download and
handed him the discs. Thinking out loud, Crash declared, "Nessi, we need to
determine the surface structure of this thing. Use the electron tunneling
microscope, and get the most detailed pictures possible of the surface. Also,
try to get a Rockwell reading. I would like to know what the surface hardness
is." As an afterthought, Crash added, "Try to get inside it somehow. We need
to know if there is anything unusual in there. After what happened at the test
site, we can't rule anything out - or in, for that matter." Walking away,
Crash thought uneasily , This is just too damned strange for my liking .
"I will do my best, Sir Crash," Nessi assured him.
Upon returning to his lab, Crash tried to put together a rudimentary
assessment of the facts. There were not many. He knew that his Reactive
Mathematics Theory hinted at new relationships embedded in the
matter/energy/space/time interface. However, nothing specific could be
ascertained at this point of the theory's development that would clearly
define its nature or configuration. Until now, he had spent most of his time
looking into the spatial exclusion aspects of the theory. The one thing that
he knew was certain, however - if the data on the object was close to
accurate, that is - was that the object's makeup must consist of something
very dense and very new. This would require a very serious investigation.
As Crash drew near the entrance to his lab, DP brashly rounded the corner of
the hallway. He had a worried look about him. "Sir," he barked as he
approached, "we have a problem."
Crash responded, "Only one? Our luck is improving!"
"Seriously, sir, we need to talk!"
"Yes, yes, of course DP, come on in." When they entered the lab, Crash went
directly to the mainframe and inserted the discs Nessi had given him. He then
turned to DP and said, "OK, DP, what's on your mind?"
"Sir, I have been monitoring a series of very faint beacon signals for several
hours now. I have tried to locate them, but have been unable pinpoint their
exact location. They seem to change location or stop transmitting at random.
The bad part is that these signals are strong enough to be picked up by PLAG
geo-positioning satellites. If they happen to be looking our way, and you can
bet they are, these signals will give our location away in short order. It is
imperative that we find some way to stop them. I believe it is most probable
that we have one or more moles in our group, and that they are making these
transmissions."
DP had Crash's full attention. "Can we jamb or mask them somehow?" he asked.
"It's doubtful, sir," DP replied. "Our jamming signal would stand out like a
whore in church. The PLAG would be on us in a matter of hours. It's best that
we maintain silence and find out who or what is transmitting the signal."
"Do you have any idea how this signal is being transmitted, DP?" Crash asked.
"Yes, sir. It is a very weak signal that fades in and out randomly. There are
only a few ways that this could be done without our knowledge. In any case, it
means that the PLAG Security Apparatus most likely has penetrated us from the
very beginning."
DP's conclusion worried Crash a great deal. Potentially, it meant that the WSC
had compromised entire project from the start. In fact, the PLAG may have
deliberately sabotaged the project from the get-go.
"Have you talked to Nessi about this?" Crash asked.
"No, sir. I thought it best to consult with you first."
"Get with him immediately. Find out who or what is doing this, and stop it! I
don't care if you have to strip-search every single person here. You got

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that?"
"Yes, sir, I do. Consider it done."
As an after thought, Crash added, "Oh - ah, DP. There is one more thing.
Captain Parker is still in pretty bad shape. He isn't responding very well to
treatment. He may lose his leg. When you get time, would you stop in and try
to lift his spirits? Dr. Nao says company would help him more than anything
else right now. We really do need him back in the cockpit as soon as
possible."
With all that had happened, DP had forgotten about Captain Parker's injuries.
He had helped Colonel Laughton extract Parker from the F-23, and at that time,
he had realized that Parker could easily lose his barely attached leg. This
oversight on his part overwhelmed him with guilt. Feeling that he had been
selfish, he nodded. "I'll see to it as soon as I can, sir. Is there anything
else?"
"No. Just find the origin of those damn signals, and stop them!"
After DP left the lab, that sinking feeling one gets when the pilot informs
you that all of the engines have fallen off the plane and the landing gear is
stuck, intruded itself into Crash's mind. At first glance, there wasn't much
he could do about any of this mess. He would have to rely on DP's expertise in
security and his professional judgment, to solve this problem. He just hoped
he didn't have to bow down in submission to a PLAG storm trooper anytime soon.
He decided that his best course of action would be to immerse himself in his
work, and stop worrying about things he could not directly control. Any other
response would be a waste of time, effort, and energy.
As he sat there contemplating the situation, the computer began to print out
its preliminary colligation of the combined test data. Immediately, Crash
focused all of his attention on the printouts. The first information came in
the form of a slow motion calculation data-set of the SEG's ignition and
initial wave generation. The entire ignition event should have lasted only
about one atto second. Therefore, for the moment, this representation took the
form of a set of evolving equations representing the SEG wave's initial
generation. The computer indicated that it would take several days to
construct a visual three-dimensional time correlated reproduction of the
event. Crash would have to wait for that representation of the test.
The computer then produced a detailed description of the energy flux readings
from the core of the SEG itself. As he studied the data, Crash frowned
blackly. After several minutes, alarm bells banged on the inside of his head.
According to the data, a nuclear charge reversal occurred in the core of the
SEG, which created about 4.9 tons of antimatter. If this information was in
fact true, a sizable part of the Planet Earth should have been instantly
vaporized at the onset of the test. The instantaneous conversion of 9.8 tons
of matter into pure unrestrained energy would have created a much larger
crater than the one he had observed at the test site.
Moreover, the telemetry did not record or detect any hard radiation following
the event. That explained why Crash and his group were still alive. Either the
indicated charge reversal did not materialize, or the antimatter went
somewhere where it became isolated from the normal matter around it. It did
not appear that the explosion had kicked the antimatter backwards through the
magnetic valves and into the plasma conduits. They could not have handled the
influx of that much plasma without failing. The result would have been the
same. Therefore, if the antimatter did exist, where was it, and how did it get
there?
This obvious contradiction greatly mystified Crash. He did notice that the
mass of the SEG and the amount of antimatter indicated were nearly identical.
If the SEG worked even briefly, it may have generated a nuclear charge
reversal of the generator's core mass. Therefore, the SEG's core mass would
have been held within the interior of the spatial exclusion wave in a
non-spatial environment for the briefest time. But the antimatter should have
reversed charge again, as the shock wave from normal space recoiled back onto
itself and re-stabilized at the instant that the SEG shut down.

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As he contemplated this paradoxical data, a thought crossed Crash's mind. Was
there any connection between this paradox and the object they had found at the
bottom of the crater? He instructed the computer to cross-reference all data
concerning the object and the test data.
Feverishly, Crash studied the information, including the dimensions of the
object, which was forty-nine feet in diameter and twenty-one feet thick at the
center. Various hyperbolic and parabolic equations described the contour of
the outer surface. One strange facet of information greatly intrigued Crash as
he intently studied the data. The computer indicated that the mass of the
object should be about 4.91 tons.
Strange that its indicated mass is so close to that of the SEG's , he again
thought. There's beginning to be just too damn many coincidences here for my
liking!
He brought up all of the SEG's field reaction data and combined it with the
other data he had studied so far. He then asked the computer to determine
where the antimatter, if any, might be located, considering the known
circumstances. The computer hummed for several minutes and then began to
display the results.
Crash calmly read through the data until he came to the computer's suggested
location of the antimatter. In an instant, his face changed from an expression
of curiosity to one of unmitigated horror. The computer indicated that all of
the antimatter was located inside the object suspended in a non-spatial
negative inertia field. My God, he silently expostulated , if Nessi manages to
get inside that thing, he'll blow up the whole damn planet!
Bolting from the computer room, Crash ran towards the engineering Lab as fast
as his body would allow. As he drew near the lab, he could hear a loud whine
and a tumultuous clatter. Rounding the corner, he saw that the object had been
moved to the outer end of the launch bay. Parked next to it was an A-10 firing
a full burst from its GAU-8 cannon, at point-blank range.
Crash's emotions instantly accelerated far past the panic point. He charged
toward the plane, waving his arms and screaming at the top of his lungs. Out
of nowhere, someone tackled him from the side, and he hit the ground hard.
"Damn it, Boss!" DP yelled. "Can't you see what we are doing here? You're
going to get yourself killed, doing stupid things like this!"
"DP," Crash screamed, "that thing is full of antimatter!"
DP's eyes grew several magnitudes larger as the realization hit him. Jumping
to his feet, he charged the plane, screaming from the top of his lungs. As he
neared the plane, he grabbed a monkey wrench lying on the deck, threw it at
the cockpit canopy as hard as he could, and hit it squarely. The wrench's
impact got the pilot's attention. He stopped firing when he noticed DP's
wildly panicky behavior.
As the gun barrel's rotation slowed down, the pilot, seriously irritated,
opened the canopy. "What the hell is wrong with you, Sergeant?" he blasted.
"You could have been hit by a ricochet and gotten yourself killed!"
"Lieutenant Drexler," DP replied as calmly as he could under the
circumstances, "that thing is full of antimatter. Now kindly remove your plane
from here, and park it in its slot. That is an order."
Shocked, Drexler bellowed, "Antimatter!" His face whitened. He looked at the
object and then back at DP, and spluttered, "What? How? From where?"
DP cut short his query. "We don't have the slightest idea yet. Crash just
informed me of the situation."
Upon short reflection, Drexler stated, "If I'd blown a hole in that thing, I
would have been lucky if I didn't blow up the whole base. What's that object
made of, anyway? It should have been shredded to bits from all the ammo I hit
it with!"
Yeah, you're lucky all right, DP thought grimly. Drexler obviously doesn't
have a real grasp of what could have happened. "Just take your plane and park
it. That's an order, Lieutenant!" DP barked again.
Gingerly, Drexler turned the A-10 to the left and proceeded to park it in its
slot.

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As DP approached Crash, he remarked, "I'll bet when all of this sinks in,
Drexler has a drink or two. I sure as hell am going to!"
"This is not the time for self-indulgence, DP," Crash warned somberly. We have
a potentially grave situation on our hands. Our weird little friend over there
possesses some extremely dangerous secrets. Quite frankly, at this very
moment, a good part of the Planet Earth should not be here! We all should be
dead right now! The fact that we are not is mysterious enough. The reason that
we're alive is even more inexplicable. Do you realize that if it turns out to
be true that there are 4.9 tons of antimatter inside the object, we have
created thousands of times more usable energy than we used during the test of
the SEG? If all the SEG does is create the conditions that allow nuclear
charge reversal to occur, the test was an unimaginably awesome success,
notwithstanding the fact that it also insulates the antimatter from normal
matter in the process!"
"Do you think that this could be that important?" DP asked.
"Well, that's what we have to find out, isn't it?" Crash retorted quickly.
"Now let's take a closer look at our little friend over there and see if we
can figure out why there aren't any holes in it. That is the only reason
Planet Earth is still here."
As they approached the object, DP noticed a pile of rubble lying on the deck
next to it. Striding over to it, he could not believe what he saw. Lying there
in a pile were all the projectiles the A-10 had fired at the object. Not only
had the bullets not ricocheted from the object's surface, none of them were
deformed, even in the slightest way.
DP exclaimed in utter disbelief, "This is impossible!"
Crash noticed the pile of bullets almost as quickly as did DP. Instantly, he
realized the profound ramifications the pile of bullets represented. Without
conscious volition, he muttered, "This goes entirely beyond the laws of
physics as we know them!"
Simultaneously, both men turned towards each other with expressions of
confused disbelief.
This sudden change of events filled Crash simultaneously with dismay and
excitement. In the last couple of minutes, he realized that if his computer's
interpretation of the test data was correct, he may have created entirely new
realities. The unprecedented magnitude of the possibilities staggered him.
Crash was the fist to speak. "Nessi certainly picked the correct name for this
thing. It seems that it does in fact absorb all of the energy that it comes in
contact with. If I didn't see this with my own eyes, I would never have
believed it."
DP stared at Crash for some time before he finally replied. "What the hell are
you getting us into here, Boss? I don't believe what I'm seeing either!"
"I really do not know what all of this means, DP," Crash answered. "But I
fully intend to find out. Right now, this very instant, there should be a new
asteroid belt between Mars and Venus. The big question is this: what kept that
from happening? If we intend to keep our heads attached and functional, we are
going to have to be much more careful in the future!"
"Much more careful indeed," DP softly whispered.
As Crash and DP discussed various ways in which they might tighten up the
safety protocols being used, Nessi hastily approached them. Pale as a ghost,
he looked as though a grizzly bear had been chewing on his ass for a week or
two.
"Is it true what I have been told, Sir Crash?" he inquired in a shaken tone.
"Is the Absorber really full of antimatter?"
"That is what the preliminary data suggest, Nessi," Crash answered.
Having reflected for a moment, Nessi said dryly, "Vishnu has truly smiled on
us this day, Sir Crash. He has controlled Shiva. He has put him in a cage."
Inwardly amused by Nessi's cultural interpretation of the event, Crash
reflected on his realization that culture and religion could affect the
objectivity of even the most intelligent of people . I guess that not everyone
looks for a dog when he hears a bark, he thought. He instantly admitted that

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at this point, his answers were no better - no more valid - than was Nessi's
explanation. It seemed as though they were about to enter new arenas of
thought. Perhaps logic, by necessity, functioned differently at this level.
"What type of cage would that be, Nessi?" Crash eventually asked.
"Why, the absorber, of course," Nessi replied succinctly. "Shiva is held
inside the absorber."
DP tried to hold back a chuckle but did not do a very good job of it.
Crash looked at DP and shrugged. "What the hell. It's as plausible as anything
else, DP. Do you have a better explanation for how five tons of antimatter can
show up out of nowhere and not blow us all to Kingdom Come?"
DP's smile faded into a grimace as he agreed, "Yeah, what the hell."
"Come on," Crash said. "We have a lot of work to do, and not much time to do
it in."
Chapter Nine
P-Quan sat quietly alone, brooding over the Tyson incident. That bastard
Tyson, as he now sarcastically called Crash, was gnawing at his craw. He had
reviewed the entire structure of the test procedures several times, trying to
determine where Kurt's and Helosas' plans had failed him. Somehow, Tyson had
managed to circumnavigate every single security measure they had put in place.
He had obviously redirected the legitimate test data around all of their
countermeasures and had given the WSC nothing but erroneous and misleading
data. Everything they had received from Tyson was pure garbage.
As he contemplated the possible menu of deceptions Crash might have employed,
the klaxon on his private communicator sounded, jostling him back to reality.
When the screen came to life, the face of Magus appeared on the monitor.
Magus, the Empire's Commander of Security for the local Kalimari System, had
held that position almost as long as P-Quan had served the Empire as a
governor of the evolving primitive races in this region of space. Although not
a large system of galaxies - about thirty or so - Magus nevertheless held a
position of immense local power.
The vision of Magus simultaneously generated feelings of foreboding and
reassurance in P-Quan. In all his long life, P-Quan had never met a more
ruthless being than Magus. He would apply any method and use any amount of
force, no matter how hideous, to insure a successful operation. They had
worked together many times in the past, when absolute containment of a
situation was required. In his long life, Magus had never failed the Empire
when embarked on such missions. He therefore enjoyed the complete confidence
and backing of the Luin hierarchy in this region of the Empire.
The Luin confidence in Magus allowed him to use any method he deemed
necessary, without any interference on the part of the Luin. Magus's personal
intervention in this matter reassured P-Quan that the situation would be
contained in short order. It also produced a pronounced lump in his throat,
because you never really knew how far he would go to succeed. Friendship never
entered into the equation when Magus became involved.
"It is good to see you again, old friend," P-Quan assured Magus earnestly. "I
appreciate you contacting me so promptly. I know you are busy, so I shall get
right to the point. In the course of my duties, I have met with a singular
situation: one that has quickly evolved into a matter that may produce serious
security repercussions for the Empire. I believe it is of such importance that
it requires your immediate intervention."
Magus stared at P-Quan for several seconds before replying. After an
appropriate length of time had passed - time in which he grew assured that
P-Quan understood that he, Magus, was now in complete charge of this matter,
he replied, "I have already been informed about this situation by a very
aggressive young Luin science officer known as Zern. The regional Governor,
Lord Toll, has put Zern in over all charge of this operation. Once again it
appears that we have another LORD who's hell-bent on playing havoc with
reality. We have been in similar situations before, have we not, old friend?"
"Although this is not the first time we have encountered problems from similar
incidents, Magus," P-Quan stated, "this particular event immediately attracted

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the attention of the Luin. Even though it is true, in general, that the Prims
are slow to grasp the true nature of things, the individual involved here has
been quite novel and creative in his approach. As a result of his cleverness,
I have found it exceedingly difficult to keep him under surveillance and exert
the control deemed necessary by the Luin hierarchy."
Magus studied P-Quan for a moment before replying, "It is my impression that
this Prim, Tyson, has made an utter fool of you, P-Quan. Is it not true that
at this very moment, he is entirely beyond your grasp? Is that not a more
objective assessment of the situation?
Having hurled that blunt accusation, Magus leaned forward in the screen, and
added with ominous seriousness, "Is it possible, P-Quan, that your incessant
interaction with these Prims is starting to create a state of debilitation
within your thought processes?"
Magus's cross-examination reminded P-Quan of other investigations he had
witnessed: examinations conducted by other Luin High Council Officers. It was
possible that the last question Magus had asked was his attempt at a joke, but
one could never be sure with him.
After a few seconds passed, P-Quan replied in a equally serious tone, ">From
the beginning, when I first decided to fund this project, I worried about the
temperament and motivations of the Prim behind this project. I suspected that
he might react strongly to any overt manipulation that we might apply. As it
turned out, my original assessment proved correct. Even though there was only
a small probability of success, I knew that this Prim's approach to the
problem could be ground-breaking. I therefore went ahead with the project
while knowing the risks involved. We instituted what I thought would be overly
redundant safety measures. Since we are having this discussion, it is obvious
that they were neither overly redundant nor expansive enough. Regardless of
the current outcome, I still believe the nature of this work will prove
profoundly important to the Empire!"
Magus studied his notes for a short time before replying, "From my briefing
with Commander Zern, I judge that this Tyson fellow is making another attempt
to achieve faster-than-light travel. Possibly he has provided solutions to
other more important issues: issues that he most likely is not even aware of.
Do you think that this Primitive is any closer to solving the problem than any
of the other millions who have tried and failed? After all, as you well know,
the Luin have been trying to come up with a solution for several billion
years, and are no closer now than when they first took a look at the problem."
P-Quan realized that the Luin knew very little more than he did, or Magus
would have used that information against him at this point. They, or he,
wouldn't have asked that question, or even asked for his assessment, if they
were confident that they knew much more about it than he did.
Having decided that his position was not in immediate danger, P-Quan replied,
"I concur that the likelihood of success is minimal. But the fact remains that
I have never before dealt with a Primitive who has so completely anticipated
every containment measure that we implemented against him. This circumstance,
coupled with the fact that he blew a six-mile-wide hole in the planet without
producing any tangible radiation, has also tweaked my interest. Intelligence
has also reported that the Prim's people removed some kind of small object
from the bottom of the crater immediately after the blast. Furthermore, they
reported that they could not get any spectral readings on this object at all.
In and by itself, this is extremely unusual. We have no idea whatsoever as to
what the object was. I strongly believe that something unique is going on
here, and that it is imperative that we find out what it is, as soon as
possible."
P-Quan's tone became considerably more forceful as he asserted, "The main
thing that I want out of this is for that bastard Tyson to be brought before
me, so that I can personally squeeze every last bit of information out of him
with my bare hands!"
P-Quan's emotional outburst amused Magus. P-Quan rarely reacted to missions
with that intensity. There would be time to bask in personal emotional

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gratification after they reacquired control of the situation.
"Is it also true," Magus asked, "that this Mr. Tyson has managed to maintain
possession of all the legitimate scientific data from the test?"
"As I said," P-Quan retorted heatedly, "he has anticipated our every
containment procedure. At the moment, that appraisal of the situation is
accurate. Tyson is quite cryptic. A number of his associates are very crafty
in their own right. They have anticipated and countered our every move, and
bypassed every control measure we implemented. At the present time, his exact
location on this planet is unknown. Every planetary resource is being utilized
to pinpoint his location, but as of now, we have been unsuccessful. The
possible importance of this work precludes any more gaming. That is why I have
called you in for assistance. Quite bluntly, Magus, Tyson may even prove to be
a challenge for you!"
Magus became irritated at the very thought that any Prim could ever outsmart
him, or challenge his abilities. Even a brief contemplation of such a thing
angered him. Obviously, P-Quan had acquired some measure of respect for
Tyson's abilities, or he would not have allowed himself to become so enraged
by Tyson's victory over him. Over the eons, the Empire had come to regard
P-Quan as a very capable individual. Never, prior to this incident, had he
requested assistance at such an early stage into a project. P-Quan must have a
deeply rooted fear that the whole matter might spiral completely out of
control - to progress beyond their collective ability to manage it. This
conclusion perplexed Magus. For the first time, he detected a slight hint of
fear emanating from P-Quan. Therefore, he decided that it would be wise to
proceed cautiously.
He spent a moment organizing the information P-Quan had given him. "Do you
have any leverage over him?" he asked. "Anything that we can use to influence
his actions or decisions? There must be something we can do to make him emerge
from hiding and come to us."
"We have one of his top engineers in custody," P-Quan replied. "She's a female
who possesses quite strong convictions. She has been most uncooperative, even
under the application of severe physical persuasion. Considering the
complexities of their mating rituals, I suspect that she and Tyson may have a
relationship of sorts. She became quite indignant every time I mentioned
Tyson's name during the interrogation."
Magus pondered the situation. He had been involved in several situations
similar to this in the distant past, but he had never seen P-Quan become so
pretentious because of them. After a moment, he asked, "Is there anything else
pertaining to this incident, no matter how trivial, that I do not know about,
P-Quan?"
P-Quan thought for a moment. and then carefully replied, "Because of these
unforeseen circumstances, I prematurely removed the Prim liaison
representative that we allowed to work for us on the WSC. The ignorant little
Prim challenged my authority, and I did not have the time to educate him as to
the true nature of his station. With the situation as tenuous as it is, I felt
it necessary to simplify the matter. We do not need any loose ends getting in
the way. I came to the conclusion that he would become a severe security risk
if he ever found out the truth of the matter. On a personal level, his
behavior had become a perpetual annoyance anyway."
"We also have a number of Tyson's people secretly implanted with ILT's. We
should have a firm location on his whereabouts soon. Acquiring control of him
and his group will require your expertise in such matters. I regard your
intervention as the only way to guarantee the permanent acquisition of Tyson
and his information."
In short order, Magus decided on a course of action. "I believe this matter is
of significant enough importance to require my personal attention. It is
therefore required that I personally come to this planet to achieve proper
containment of this situation. I shall arrive within ninety days, using your
planet's time reference. Two divisions of Morcor troops and their associated
Fleet ships will accompany me. During the intervening time period, I order you

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to use the female in some manner that will force Tyson to react to us on our
terms. Then, in the strongest of terms, he added, "Is all of this clear to
you, old friend?"
P-Quan tried to read his old friend's body language and facial expressions,
looking for any covert message or understated threat. He knew that the Empire
treated with great harshness any individual or group they judged deficient.
The fact that Zern had already contacted Magus greatly disturbed him. That
being the case, he felt it imperative that he not show any doubt to Magus
regarding his decisions on this matter. Quite often false impressions could be
just as fatal as real ones.
"By the time you and your shock troops arrive, I will have Tyson begging for a
personal audience with you. It will be good to see you again in the flesh,
Magus."
"I likewise look forward to seeing you again, old friend. Magus out!" Magus
replied cryptically. With that, the communications monitor turned black and
went dead.
A cold shiver filled P-Quan's entire being. The abrupt end of his discussion
with Magus unsettled him. He did not like to be left hanging like that. The
sudden manner in which Magus ended their discussion could have been intended
as a subtle warning, or it could simply have been meant to motivate him a
little. In either case, it was out of character, especially considering the
lengthy working relationship P-Quan and Magus had enjoyed in the past.
For those unfortunate beings that have ever had an encounter with the Morcor,
just the thought of their becoming involved in this matter could unbalance the
recipient of that horrifying news. The Morcor were the most physically feared
beings in the universe. For over nine billion years, they had been the
military strong arm of the Luin hierarchy. From their very beginning, they had
been genetically altered, modified, and enhanced into what the Luin considered
perfect military organisms. Being approximately four meters in height and
weighing four thousand pounds, they possessed physical abilities that few if
any sentient beings could match. Designed with quadripedic locomotion, they
could move in any direction with equal velocity and quickness. Their basic
physical form was symmetrical from front to back and side to side. Their four
arms were mounted on massive shoulders that could rotate from front to back
and side to side, allowing them to enter into combat from any direction
without any loss of efficiency or effectiveness.
Their outward physical frame consisted of several integrated structures of
heavily armored exo-skeletal framework composed of a graphite carbide
material. The bio-mechanical muscular systems located within their
exo-skeletal structures were extremely rugged and powerful. A determined
Morcor could easily crash through several feet of armor plate or many feet of
concrete defense shielding as easily as a human could crush an egg with his
foot. If severe battle damage occurred, they could shed their entire
exo-skeletal armor and fight on just as effectively with their natural
biological endo-skeletal armor system, although at a relatively greater risk
to themselves. The silicon fluoride epidermis covering this framework made
them impervious to all known chemical and biological agents. All
battle-damaged biologically based structures and organs could regenerate in a
matter of hours. That asset gave the Morcor tremendous resilience.
The Morcor nervous system was silicone-based, which made their reaction time
about one thousand times faster than that of carbon-based life forms. Their
primary brain consisted of three separate tri-spheres with three internal
lobes each. If any part of the brain became damaged in battle, it could be
consciously separated from active function and regenerated in a matter of
hours. What appeared to be their heads had a roughly pyramidal shape with
embedded biomechanical and bioelectric multi-phased electromagnetic sensors.
This format gave them three hundred sixty degree stereoscopic vision. They
could literally see the entire electromagnetic spectrum and amplify or block
out any particular wave length at will. The brain itself, being deeply
embedded within the body armor, was exceptionally protected from serious

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damage.
The complex nature of the Morcor brain endowed the possessors with extremely
high intelligence. Only a handful of humans had ever possessed intelligence
equal to that of even the dullest Morcor. They were not only physically
intimidating. They were also intellectually superior to the vast majority of
the primitive species they might encounter. It has been said, however, that a
major difference existed between them and the primitive species they managed.
That difference was that the design of their mind and psyche was strictly
geared toward extremely aggressive military functions. Only a slight capacity
- one roughly equal to that of a highly intelligent human being - was used for
abstract thought. Most Morcor expended ninety-five percent of their energy on
honing their combat and tactical skills, and little else.
In addition to their heavily armored design, their primary brain possessed a
complex back-up system of nodal structures consisting of large bundles of
nervous tissue. These nervous system structures could sustain a Morcor warrior
indefinitely, if the primary brain became so severely damaged during combat
that it could no longer function. This redundant system also possessed
intelligence at least equal to the average individual Prim, and could function
independently from the primary brain if necessary. Defeat of a Morcor warrior
in battle was an extremely rare event. Not a single Morcor had died from
battle-wounds in many billions of years.
It had been rumored, however, that sometime during the last million years, the
Morcor had themselves altered their biological makeup to enhance the
redundancy of critical bioelectric systems. The Luin investigated these
rumors, but never revealed their findings. If the Morcor did alter themselves,
only the Morcor and their Luin masters knew of it.
The staggering array of weapons available to the Morcor had intimidated every
foe they had ever opposed. Their weapons ranged from clubs and spears to
charged antimatter particle beam weapons. Many observers, however, thought
that the most lethal weapon at their disposal was their unnerving ability to
attack their enemy with empathic mind-control techniques. They could, at will,
release a myriad of chemicals, hormones, and pheromones into the battle zone,
quickly inducing capitulation in most species. More times than not, just the
mere presence of a Morcor warrior would quell entire rebellions without a
shot's being fired. Most of the Prims that had come into contact with them
attributed those results to their simply having made a wise decision when
faced with an unbeatable foe. The truth of the matter was that their surrender
was induced by the Morcor's mind-control techniques. The Morcor were the
four-thousand-pound gorillas of the universe.
P-Quan knew from past experiences that the human culture on this planet could
not handle the shock of open Morcor intervention. Following other incidents in
other places, centuries had been needed to repair the mass psychotic hysteria
that resulted from the unexpected contact of Morcor with primitive cultures.
The induced psychological scarring damaged those races' natural development,
thereby costing the Empire much in terms of resources and retarded evolution
of their pet projects. The Empire had invested huge amounts of resources on
this particular primitive world and did not want those resources squandered.
He would have to plan this action carefully, so that the capture of Tyson
would not occur in public view.
Therefore, he set about developing a plan that would insulate the human race
from any possible interaction with the sudden appearance of the Morcor and
their fleet.
Chapter Ten
DP found himself at his wits' end. He had been unsuccessful at discovering the
origin of the spurious signals being transmitted from the base. He had
meticulously examined every piece of equipment and weapon on the base, but he
came up empty. All were found to be clean. Finally, he decided that the
signals had to be coming from a person or persons. It remained to be seen
whether the transmissions were deliberate, or if the PLAG had employed some
involuntary covert system.

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DP decided to gather all of the people in the group into the same place at the
same time and simultaneously screen everyone. That would at least confine the
problem to a single area, and expose any subterfuge on the part of the guilty.
DP intended to scan each person with an electrical induction device that
should trigger a transmission from any transmitter, regardless of the
transmitter's self-protection programming. The forced transmission would
betray the presence of the device.
After screening every member of the group, DP found that twelve members of
Crash's team had some sort of transmission propagating from their bodies.
Further scrutiny revealed that the transmissions had no common location. At
any given time, the transmissions would move to any part of their bodies. Dr.
Nao determined that a micro-transmitter suspended in the bloodstream most
likely was the culprit.
Dr. Nao devised a magnetic filter that could remove any foreign object able to
react to an electrical charge from the bloodstream. After subjecting the
entire group to the procedure, Dr. Nao obtained a pint of blood with twelve
transmitters floating in it. These transmitters acquired their power from
molecular-sized thermocouples specifically designed for human body
temperature. At ninety-five degrees, they would not transmit anything. Above
ninety-nine degrees, the power of the transmission would increase
exponentially for every degree the temperature increased. The PLAG must have
designed them so that they could track an individual if that person came under
increased physical stress, and was trying to avoid capture. In a pursuit or
combat situation, a person fitted with such an implant would stand out like a
lighthouse in the dark.
Confident that he had solved the problem, DP went to Crash with the good news.
He explained in detail every aspect of his investigation. Crash listened
intently to DP's report and considered the problem from the point of an
outside observer. Several things about it still worried him.
"How do you think they implanted the devices without our knowledge?" Crash
asked.
"Dr. Nao and I believe that the transmitters were implanted when the WSC
required us all to have the flu vaccinations. It's the only time they could
have acquired the necessary access of that type."
"Then you are certain that the problem is solved, and no possibility of a
recurrence exists?" Crash asked.
"Yes, sir, I do," DP replied. "I believe the problem has been completely
contained. Everyone has been screened."
"Not completely," Crash replied, surprising DP. "You did not check me!"
"Sir?"
"I'm no different than anyone else around here, DP. As a matter of fact, I
would be the most likely target of such a plan. For better or worse, I have
the unmitigated attention of the WSC and the PLAG in particular. I am the
center of their focus. That makes me their primary target, wouldn't you
agree?"
"Yes, sir. I concur," DP reluctantly replied. "But!"
"No buts, DP! Let's go down to med lab and see if our deduction is correct,"
Crash urged forcefully. "Then we can put this matter to rest once and for
all."
A short time later, Dr. Nao proceeded with the test. Sure enough, Crash tested
positive. Not only positive, but highly so. Crash had twelve of the
nano-transmitters roaming through his bloodstream.
"I guess they wanted to make sure that I didn't get lost on them," Crash
stated with a sly grin. "Nice of them to care so much about my welfare."
"You must be more than important to them than we realized, or they would not
have hit you with that much of an overkill," DP replied. "As it stood, you
couldn't have concealed your whereabouts from them if you wanted to."
"Exactly," Crash stated. "Now what are we going to do with all of these
transmitters? How do we destroy them?"
"I have a better idea," DP stated. "Just leave that up to me."

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"What do you have in mind, DP?" Crash asked.
"It is best that only I know what I'm going to do. There can't be any leaks
that way."
Although unsure of what DP intended to do, Crash did not argue with him. He
trusted DP's instincts and let the issue drop.
For the short term, DP put all of the acquired devices in a freezer to keep
them as inactive as possible. He then had a long discussion with Dr. Nao with
regard to some special items he would need. Dr. Nao said that it should be
possible to build them, and he would let DP know when he finished their
fabrication. He could then come down to his lab and pick them up. Dr. Nao's
response pleased DP, who departed the lab with a devious smirk on his face.
Satisfied with the current state of affairs, Crash returned to his lab, and
found that the detailed computer analysis of the test data was finished.
Eagerly, he studied the report, mustering a high degree of concentration. As
he read through the conclusions the computer presented, his eyes became larger
and larger. Fear and wonderment surged through him. Slowly but surely, he
began to smile. Shortly, uncontrolled euphoria overcame him.
"The damn thing worked!" he screamed out loud. "It really worked! It didn't
fail!
This detailed assessment of the test proved conclusively that the SEG did
generate a spatial exclusion wave, albeit for only about one and a half
trillionths of a second. Within that short time frame, the exclusion wave
expanded, created the crater, and then collapsed back onto itself. The report
also clearly presented the proof of the creation of a new order of field
force: a result that his theories alone had predicted. This new particle could
only be properly described as an elastic field bundle that existed at a new
energy level of reality previously unknown to human science. This field
structure existed at the incredibly small dimensions of minus seventy-seventh
power of a meter. Crash decided to call these new field particle bundles
Spatrons, as they appeared to be the generator of the spatial field structure,
which in turn generated the reality we all know.
The data also indicated that there should be a shadow remnant of the SEG
wave's reflection when it recoiled and collapsed. Crash soon realized that the
description of this reflection perfectly described the object they had found
at the bottom of the crater. The data also proved conclusively that 4.91tons
of antimatter did exist and was held in a negative inertia field inside this
reflection. He and his group had not blown up at the instant the SEG engaged,
because the exclusion wave traveled so many times faster than the
relativistically bound force fields of baryonic matter comprising the SEG. The
nuclear charge reversal occurred at so much slower a rate that it was
contained and bound within the insulating field from the very beginning. The
rapid propagation of the spatial exclusion shock wave horizon stripped the
nuclear charges away from the baryonic matter as it passed through normal
space. When the nuclear core charge was reinstated as the SEG wave collapsed,
the charges became reversed due to various spin and momentum differences
between the quarks, which reconstituted themselves as the elemental spatial
field reestablished itself.
The physical properties of Nessi's absorber were just as unique as the rest of
the new information. The ultrasonic and x-ray diffractional tests indicated
that the object's side wall was .1 nanometers thick. It held together with
field strength several orders of magnitude greater than that of the strong
nuclear force. The actual structure comprising this object truly startled
Crash. It appeared that the object was made of - for lack of a better term -
condensed space: Spatrons held within its own static field. That neatly
explained all of the properties the structure demonstrated, without violating
Einsteinian physics. It simply amplified those natural laws into a smaller
"condensed spatial field." Thus, it had only appeared to be a barrier. In
fact, it was more closely defined as a spatial force field threshold. It could
absorb energy much more rapidly than normal matter or electromagnetic photons
could transmit energy through it. Therefore, this force field absorbed a

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bullet's kinetic energy. The bullet then simply stopped and dropped. Mystery
solved.
Crash realized that he would have to team up with Nessi and devise a way to
get inside the absorber, and safely extract the antimatter. All the
information indicated extreme field stability in the absorber's shell
structure. The data indicated that no field decay or energy bleed had
occurred. That meant that it could be used: made to serve a function. A
focused low level SEG wave might possibly be used to penetrate the field
structure and create a temporary entrance. The negative inertia field could
then be contained in a strong magnetic bottle. A simple transfer of the
antimatter to these storage bottles could then be easily accomplished. Such
storage bottles could then be used as a simple but extremely powerful energy
source.
The last but most interesting data from the printout, Crash considered the
most important. This data indicated that inside the SEG wave as it propagated,
almost unlimited speed could be obtained. The spatial field-matter conflict
did not exist. In that regard, Einsteinian physics did not apply. Crash
realized that the combination of all this information meant that he could
build a ship using the absorber as a hull, the antimatter as fuel, and the SEG
as a propulsion device. He now had the required energy, and a tangible means
to use it. Only minor details needed to be worked out, such as navigation,
life support, and external sensors.
Crash could not contain his excitement. He had his secretary immediately call
a meeting of all department heads. As he waited for them to show up, he
started working on the specific requirements for which each department would
be responsible, and what they would have to produce for their new mission.
Within a few minutes, all of the department heads were nervously milling
around in Crash's office. The low mumble of discussion pervaded the room. As
Crash called the meeting to order, he noticed that DP, Colonel Laughton, and
Kragen were not present. He inquired if anyone knew where they were. Captain
Timer, an experienced submariner, informed Crash that he had overheard DP
saying that he, Colonel Laughton and Sergeant Kragen were going to be
indisposed for a while. DP then ordered him to take his place until they
returned.
Crash's first thought was that they must have decided to get a bottle, find an
out-of-the-way place, and howl at the moon for a while. Wryly, he decided that
after what they all had been through in the last couple of days, they deserved
a few hours of "personal time." However, it did seem strange that DP would
disappear without letting him know about it.
Since this meeting was basically a technical one anyway, having DP and Colonel
Laughton present wasn't absolutely necessary, so Crash brought the meeting to
order.
"Gentlemen, I've brought us together to report to you on what all of our
efforts concerning this test have yielded. I can tell you at this time that we
were successful beyond our wildest dreams. The SEG worked. We have indeed
succeeded at producing a viable Spatial Exclusion Wave. Furthermore, all of
the data indicates that we can reproduce this phenomenon at will, at much
higher power levels and for extended time frames."
Crash's announcement jolted everyone present, and produced starry-eyed
attention.
Crash continued, "It is therefore my intention to continue with this line of
research, and greatly expand it. In front of you is a brief summary of what
each department's responsibilities will be. The agenda I have laid out is very
aggressive and extremely time-compressed. After what we have all been through
during the last couple of days, I do not need to tell why this is necessary.
Time is our enemy! Just do your best."
As the head of each department read through his particular folder, Crash could
hear low level whistles and wows. After a few minutes of discussion among the
department heads, he said, "That is all. You may all leave and get to work.
Nessi, I would like you to stay on here a little longer. I have some

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additional issues I need to discuss with you."
After everyone else left, Crash informed Nessi that he had some "special"
items that would need Nessi's personal attention. He handed him another
folder. As Nessi paged through it, his mouth dropped open. "Sir Crash," he
said in a most startled manner, "what you are asking of me! It has never been
done before!"
"I realize it will be difficult, Nessi, but you are the only one who can do
it."
"Do you really think that what you ask of me will become necessary, Sir
Crash?"
"Nessi," Crash replied, "after serious consideration, I believe that there is
a strong possibility that forces and powers unknown to us may become involved
in this entire matter. The PLAG does not look kindly on defeat. If I did not
think that it is necessary, I would not ask you to do this."
"I see, Sir Crash," Nessi replied resignedly. "Then I shall then do my very
best for you. I must now go. I have much to do." Abruptly, he got up and left.
Crash realized that he had just set in motion a plan of action that would
sooner or later end up with the collision of himself and the full power of the
PLAG. No one in the history of man had ever survived such a confrontation. He
only knew that, owing to the present circumstances, this clash of divergent
ideologies would eventually become inevitable.
***
The salty spray bit deeply into DP's face. The invigorating experience
compelled him to hoot and holler like a drunken sailor.
"Damn, this is fun," he bellowed at the top of his lungs. He and Kragen were
strapped into the side door of the chopper, dangling their feet on the landing
struts. Colonel Laughton, flying the chopper just a few feet above the ocean's
surface, pushed the chopper right to its aerodynamic edge. The three men were
well on their way to implementing DP's plan to rid themselves of the PLAG's
ILTs. One aspect, crucial to the success of this mission, required them to
locate some large whales or dolphins. As it was late in the fall, they figured
that they had a good chance of finding some of them migrating to their winter
feeding grounds. That was what they were hoping for, anyway.
Quite some time elapsed before they were rewarded for their efforts. In the
distance, Colonel Laughton finally observed the telltale fountain of spray
from a whale venting on the surface.
"Whales ahead," he screamed over the noise of the chopper. He flew towards the
spraying fountains of sea water as fast as possible. As he neared them, he
realized that they had come across a pod of killer whales. This find couldn't
have worked out better for their plans. It was perfect.
DP and Kragen readied their guns. They took care not to damage the specially
prepared ammunition they had brought for this occasion. They loaded their
small caliber guns and waited for the right opportunity to fire the special
package they had prepared. Laughton skillfully maneuvered the chopper into the
middle of the pod. DP and Kragen took careful aim and fired one round into the
heavy muscular tail of each Orca. The small bullets penetrated deep into the
muscle mass of each whale and stopped. They then slowly began to dissolve. The
small wound created by the bullets did no permanent damage, and would heal in
a few days. Soon thereafter, the ILT's would start transmitting again, and
hopefully attract the attention of the WSC or the PLAG itself.
When they finished, DP turned to Kragen and remarked cunningly, "That ought to
trip their triggers. It might even get under their skin a little."
Kragen broke into a loud, uncontrollable laugh as Laughton turned the chopper
around and headed back to the base. Kragen then jawed back to DP, "Yeah, I'm
sure they will give us a medal or something."
Having accomplished the mission at hand, DP broke out a bottle of whisky and
took a swig and a half. Shaking his head, he boasted, "Damn, I'm good. They'll
be pissing vinegar for a week over this."
"Serves'em right," Kragen replied harshly. "Wish I could get a picture of the
PLAG bastards when they find this and the truth hits them right in the face."

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Laughton understood the humor but couldn't partake of it at that moment, as he
was fully occupied with trying to keep the chopper from flying into the ocean.
When they finally made it back to base, he made up for lost time. The three of
them let off a lot of steam that night. They deserved the break.
The next morning they were not so sure that their brains had not turned into
freeze-dried mush from their overindulgence the night before. DP could only
mumble to himself, "This used to be a lot more fun. I guess you have to pay if
you play." He then went for a twenty-mile run. The first five miles were
rough.
Chapter Eleven
"Professor Helosas," P-Quan stated coldly. "This is General Hartson, Dr.
Kurt's replacement. He will take over all of Dr. Kurt's duties, and will
assist you with some of our more immediately pressing security issues. I
expect you to accommodate him in every way possible regarding the military
aspects of our current security problem."
Caught off guard by P-Quan's decision, Helosas blurted out, "I thought that
Dr. Kurt's replacement would be another human being. It is well known that
Nomers are fundamentally antithetical to human primitives in every conceivable
respect. They would just as soon kill them all for sport as say hello to them.
I strongly feel that his appointment will only increase the separation between
our goals and any direct human input with regard to achieving them! Are you
sure this is a wise course of action, P-Quan?"
"The restraint we have thus far shown to these human primitives has come to an
end, Professor!" P-Quan retorted. "Since our last meeting, I have learned that
Zern, the Luin agent managing this incident, had already contacted the Morcor
Commandant for this sector prior to his discussion with us. Two Morcor assault
divisions are on their way here as we speak. Obviously, the Luin are extremely
worried about this matter. Therefore you should be as well. As the human
primitives say, 'The gloves are coming off.' There will be no more
half-hearted measures regarding this matter. Any future dealings we have with
Crash Tyson will only be considered in terms of an absolute finality. I have
authorized General Hartson to use any tactic and weapon presently available on
this planet to bring this matter to a close prior to the Morcor's arrival.
This fiasco involving Crash Tyson is going to end now!"
Looking directly at Helosas; he added very deliberately, "Have I made myself
perfectly clear, Professor?"
Taken aback by P-Quan's aggressive change in attitude and temperament, Helosas
became incensed when he realized that P-Quan's rage was wholly directly toward
himself. P-Quan's insinuating that he had held back anything regarding this
affair infuriated him. Unleashing the totality of the available weapons on
such a primitive race was almost unheard of, at least from an historical
perspective. As he contemplated the implications of such an action, he asked
himself, Is there an aspect of this situation that I have overlooked, for it
to have progressed so quickly to a point to invoke such extreme reaction on
P-Quan's part?
Desperation now began to seep into his mind. In order to maintain his air of
authority and composure, Helosas forcefully replied, "I fully understand your
position and completely support your decision, P-Quan. In regards to this
matter, if you recall, I recommended stronger action from the very beginning.
Hopefully it is not too late for us to obtain a solution that will prove
acceptable to the Luin, before the Morcor arrive. Having anticipated our
current situation long ago, I have devised a scheme that will make it
impossible for Tyson to ignore our pursuit of him for much longer. In order
for us to accelerate the implementation of our new policy, I have brought with
me an excerpt of a news release that will air on this evening's Planetary News
Report."
P-Quan sat intently listening to Helosas's bureaucratic response. Employing a
typical bureaucrat's tactic by not permitting himself to become an isolated
lighting rod regarding any policy issue, Helosas had made a direct attempt to
closely associate himself with P-Quan and their past tactics. This normal

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behavior prevented P-Quan from suspecting any covert change in his attitude
regarding this entire matter.
"Please, Professor, inform me to what your masterful scheme is," P-Quan
replied sarcastically. "I can hardly wait."
"Yes, Mr. Chairman," Helosas acknowledged. "This news broadcast will be aired
tonight, so as to give General Hartson time to prepare his strategy and gather
his forces. I have included many psychological parameters and sub-context that
should push the audience into a particular emotional state, as you will see.
At the very end of the program, our hook will be planted."
"How do you know what the news will be at some point in the future, Professor
Helosas?" General Hartson inquired, frowning in puzzlement.
"General!" Helosas replied condescendingly. "I know what the news will and
will not be twelve months from now. It is not news unless I say it is news. It
is not knowledge unless I say it is knowledge. And it is not relevant unless I
say it is relevant. Bluntly put, General, on this planet, reality is what I
say it is! Nothing more. Nothing less."
Being only a Nomer, Hartson was not privileged to know many details concerning
the administrational matters of this or of any world, for that matter. Nomer
were the lowest and slowest members of the Cren Empire's ruling classes. Even
though they were billions of years older than the human race, they were only
very slightly more advanced than human beings in terms of average
intelligence. This near equality, from an evolutionary point of view, endowed
them with an almost fanatical hatred of the human species. They primarily
served as the lowest order of military personal within the Empire's military
forces. Generally, they could be described as simpleminded, semi-sentient,
semi-intelligent, bloodthirsty predators and not much more. The Empire's
military rulers often used them as cannon fodder whenever they deemed it
necessary. The Luin hierarchy considered them expendable in the most liberal
sense of the word.
The general replied by acknowledging glibly, "I see."
Helosas put the "news disc" in the computer, where it quickly displayed on the
monitor. Looking deliberately at P-Quan he stated, "Here it is."
The news broadcast started with the typical scenario of impending gloom and
doom. Food shortages were rampant. The food that could be made available was
of the poorest quality and most likely would make the eater sick or even kill
that person. Industrial pollution was out of control due to the past
indiscretions of the previous order. Natural resources were just about
depleted. To survive much longer, all would have to get by on less. Less of
everything. Those few individuals and groups brazen enough to question these
facts and demand proof of these declarations had been rounded up by the PLAG
hegemony and put on trial. They were never been heard from again. Threats to
the social order from every conceivable quarter were clear and imminent. The
PLAG, in the guise of protecting the people, fought these problems at every
turn. This fight could be won, but only at an extreme cost in blood and
treasure. For the good of society, everyone would have to sacrifice just a
little more, so that final victory could be achieved.
At that point, the latest movie star or sports hero would come onscreen and
recite the "Citizens' Pledge to the PLAG." Thousands cheered in the background
as the daily executions for sedition and treason were performed live on the
nightly news. As the blood flowed freely every night, the dumb-downed masses
shed irrational tears of patriotic joy.
At the end of the broadcast the "talking head" added a final, personal note to
the news. It went as follows: "Today, Dr. P-Quan, Chairman of the WSC, happily
announced the apprehension of one Dr. Lynn Meisheil. This long-sought-after
criminal terrorist was finally apprehended after a violent gun battle with
PLAG security forces at her secret laboratory. Although the PLAG security
forces used every precaution and minimal force, she received serious wounds
during her armed resistance. Despite her treacherous behavior, Dr. Meisheil is
receiving the best of medical care and is expected to make a full recovery.
She will then stand trial for her crimes of sedition, treason, theft of

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government property, and multiple murders of numerous PLAG Law enforcement
officers. The planetary prosecutor confidently stated that her conviction for
these crimes against the people would be certain. He further stated that he
would seek the death penalty, as the seriousness of these crimes warranted
this punishment."
While the explanation was being presented to people, a picture of Lynn,
battered and beaten, occupied one corner of the screen. The "talking head"
went on to add a personal aside to the official PLAG statement. With a big
smile, she stated, "I would like to add my personal opinion that it is a great
day when our law enforcement officials catch up with and incarcerate this kind
of social riffraff. We are all safer when these degenerate and violent
criminals are removed from our streets and from our communities. I say to the
PLAG, well done."
P-Quan sat motionless for several moments before responding. Eventually he
said, "Well done, Professor. That should motivate Tyson to act quickly and,
hopefully, brashly."
"There will be additional nightly updates," Helosas added. "We will slowly
build a picture in his mind that will absolutely convince him that Dr.
Meisheil is in imminent danger. By the time I am done with this, the ignorant
masses themselves will be demanding her immediate execution without a trial.
Tyson will have no choice but to come to us willingly. When this process is
finished, I fully intend to have him before us, on his knees, begging for
mercy for himself and his associates!"
Helosas' eyes were on fire by the time he finished his tirade. P-Quan had not
seen such deep emotional involvement in him in several hundred thousand years.
That was a good sign.
Turning to General Hartson, P-Quan stated, "General, see to it that you are
thoroughly prepared when Tyson decides to make his move."
Then, as an afterthought, he added, "And General, do not underestimate him!
You will be the one executed if this plan fails. Is that perfectly clear?"
Hartson replied instantly, "Perfectly understood, Mr. Chairman."
P-Quan nodded his acceptance of Hartson's acknowledgement. He then asked,
"Now, is there anything you would like to add before we adjourn, General?"
Although a lowly Nomer, Hartson still possessed an IQ equivalent to about 145
in a human being. This fact, coupled with his absolute abhorrence of the human
race, made him one of the most dangerous creatures on the planet, at least as
far as human beings were concerned. "As a matter of fact I do, sir," he
replied. "The moment I took over this position, I intensified our efforts to
locate Tyson with the ILT system. Prior to now, we have not had much success
at tracking any consistent signals from the ILT's. As unlikely as it may seem,
the Prims may have found a way to mask their signals. I would like permission
greatly to intensify our efforts in this area, and incorporate more military
reconnaissance assets to the hunt."
Hartson's aggressiveness pleased P-Quan. "By all means, General," he quickly
replied. "Use what ever assets you deem necessary. Just remember that we want
him alive and unharmed. He is of no use to us dead. If he dies, this knowledge
of his that we so desperately seek will die with him. Do not forget that!"
Hartson snarled at the restraints put on him, but conceded by grudgingly
saying, "As you wish, Mr. Chairman. I would like to add, however, that
treating these simplistic Primitives with any compassion or respect is a
fundamental mistake. They should all be beaten into submission, and forced to
conform to our will. Much time and most of our resources would be conserved if
that became our standard policy."
P-Quan considered Hartson's statement. He did not detect any implied threat,
only disgust at any form of leniency being given to any human. "I was not
aware that our policies towards the human beings existing on this planet were
all that lenient, General. What would you have me do differently?" he asked
out of curiosity.
"They are a useless bunch of animals with no value to anyone. Hunt them down
and then kill them all! At least there would then be some sport involved in

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our mission here!"
Inwardly amused, P-Quan replied, "Just bide your time, General. That day will
occur soon enough. For now, just do what I ask of you. In due time, you will
get your chance at sport."
Hartson acknowledged P-Quan's wishes and left the room. Helosas closely
watched him as he left and then said, "They get terribly emotional quite
easily, don't they, P-Quan?"
"That is their nature, Professor," P-Quan answered. "They have been that way
for several billion years now. I doubt that they will change any time soon. Do
you?"
"Probably not," replied Helosas. "They have been stagnant for so long that I
doubt whether they possess even the slightest capacity to change themselves. I
can't imagine being so dim for so long and not knowing it."
P-Quan smiled as he observed, "Even an idiot is the master of his own mind,
Professor. That fact cannot be changed. The flame of a candle can be just as
bright as that of a blazing star. It is only a matter of perspective. Do you
think for even one second that you and I, even though we are Maen operatives
of the highest order, are even remotely equal to the Luin?"
Helosas's eyes widened. Hastily, he replied, "Of course not, sir!"
"That is correct," P-Quan stated in a commanding tone. "If the moment ever
comes when we think of ourselves their equals, we will quickly become nothing
more than prey to them, just as the humans have become to the Nomers. Do not
ever forget that!"
Deep down, the Professor knew this. Occasionally there were times when that
truth just didn't go down well with him. This happened to be one of those
times.
Chapter Twelve
For days, Crash worked feverishly, trying to understand precisely how the
SEG's wave propagated and neutralized the universal spatial field. After many
sleepless nights, his efforts finally paid off. He now clearly understood how
the spatial exclusion wave propagated, and how the space and matter-energy
matrix interacted with it. Most of the confusing issues and apparent
contradictions of the test results had been resolved to his satisfaction.
Confident that he could manipulate the SEG wave at will, and use it as he saw
fit, he drastically expanded his plan to use it.
His design for a propulsion unit for the first experimental ship was almost
complete. The fact that he had almost five tons of antimatter at his disposal
greatly simplified matters. Due to his foresight, he had enough spare parts to
build several more SEG devices. This would greatly facilitate his efforts to
penetrate the absorber and retrieve the antimatter safely. After considerable
study, he determined that a relatively low-powered SEG wave would deform the
standing spatial wave pattern of the absorber's hull and allow him to
penetrate it. He could then obtain access to the antimatter. It would then be
quite easy to isolate it safely in magnetic bottles. At that point, the
propulsion unit and the required flight systems could be installed without
much trouble. In a matter of weeks the ship should be ready for its first
flight.
So much progress had been made in such a short time that Crash could hardly
believe the overall extent of the advancements. He could barely contain his
excitement at the prospect of actually testing mankind's first really viable
space ship: one possessing truly extended endurance and mission capability. As
he contemplated the wonder of it all, DP entered his office for the first time
since the incident with the absorber.
"DP!" Crash exclaimed. "Where the hell have you been? I haven't seen you in
days!"
"I've been fishing, Boss," DP replied bluntly. "Laughton, Kragen and I had to
unwind by ourselves in our own special way. That's all."
"That's understandable," Crash replied frankly. He then continued, "While you
were gone, I made tremendous progress in understanding what actually happened
during the test. We have advanced our confidence to the point that we will

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need to bring in some specialists to continue with our development. Do you
know any submariners - men who can be trusted - who have expertise in
life-support systems? Expertise with oxygen generation and carbon dioxide
scrubbers would be very helpful."
"I believe that I could find a few that we could trust. The PLAG hasn't
treated the navy any better than the rest of the services. That should not be
a problem, sir," DP answered confidently.
"Good. Get on it right away. We need them as soon as you can arrange to get
them here safely. You might want to see if any machinist types are available
also. We will be building a lot of specialty items in the very near future,
and we won't be able to go to outside sources to get them."
"Yes, sir. Is there anything else?"
"As a matter of fact, there is. Have you solved the problem with the
nano-transmitters yet? I have great concerns about them."
DP resisted his desire to break out in a loud laugh, but managed to do so
nonetheless. "They are no longer a problem, sir. I disposed of them myself.
They no longer pose any threat to us whatsoever."
"Good. That is just one less thing to worry about then," Crash said.
Just as DP left Crash's office, Nessi entered the room, obviously exhilarated.
"I have good news, Sir Crash!" he stated energetically.
"Good, Nessi. What is it?" Crash replied.
"I have made much progress towards completing the tasks you set me. In ten
days, the items will all be ready for you. The generators, magnets, and
refrigeration systems will be completed and ready to install by then."
"Well done, Nessi! That is better than I had hoped for!" Crash replied.
"I also can say that at least one advanced profiler device will be functioning
by that time also. It should be working quite well by the time we will need
it, Sir Crash. If anyone does not tell the truth, we will know."
"That is excellent, Nessi," Crash acknowledged. "You have done well."
"I must go now, sir Crash," Nessi replied. "I still have much to do." Quickly
pivoting, he left the room.
This news pleased Crash greatly. It seemed that for the first time in a long
while progress was being made, and major problems were not occurring. Because
of this, Crash felt as though he might be able to relax a little. As he
contemplated the overall state of his project, his communicator sounded. Dr.
Nao came on the line.
"I thought you should know, sir, that Captain Parker's condition has improved
dramatically. I do not know what DP said during his pep talk, but what ever it
was, it really pulled Parker out of his emotional doldrums. In time, I believe
he will make a full recovery and be able to resume his duties without
restriction. I just thought you would want to know, sir."
"That is exceedingly good news, Dr. Nao. I am extremely pleased. His return
will be greatly appreciated by everyone. I would like to thank you for all of
your efforts on his behalf. It means a lot to me that Captain Parker will
fully recover."
"I am pleased also, sir. I've seen too many young men just give up in similar
situations. At least this time we won one. Nao out."
Crash savored the thought of Parker's recovery. He seemed to be a special
young man in many ways. This is great , he exulted.
Just as if it seemed that everything was running along smoothly, DP once again
entered the room.
Puzzled, Crash inquired, "Back so soon, DP?"
In a tone of grave foreboding, DP stated abruptly, "Sir, I have something you
need to hear. You won't like it." Without waiting for a reply, DP installed
the disc into the player and hit the play button.
Crash's good mood abruptly vanished. Upon hearing and seeing the PLAG news
broadcast and the charges being levied against Lynn, his world changed. He
replayed the broadcast several times. Each time his anger grew and his
restrained rage moved closer to the surface. Finally, the sight of Lynn being
beaten to a pulp pushed him past his limit of self-control.

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"Those dirty rotten sub-human bastards!" he screamed at the top of his lungs.
"She had nothing to do with any of that. Murder, DP? Two full divisions of
heavy armor attacked us! She killed storm troopers?" Crash's eyes could have
set asbestos on fire. At this point, he trembled so hard and his muscles were
so tightly flexed that he appeared to be on the verge of tearing them from his
bones.
"Sir," DP said as calmly as possible, "I realize how you feel about her - ah,
about this problem - but this move on their part has far more meaning than
appears to on the surface. In a way, this is good news."
"Good news! What on earth could possibly be good about them beating her half
to death?" Crash roared back.
"Sir, first of all," DP replied as calmly as he could, "it means that they do
not know where we are. If they did, it would be you and me on the video
instead of Lynn. Secondly, since they do not believe they will find us anytime
soon, they are using her to get to you. To the PLAG, she is nothing more than
bait. They want you to react in exactly the emotional manner you just
displayed. They're trying to force you to make a stupid mistake by recklessly
exposing yourself to them on their terms.
"With all due respect, sir, we cannot allow ourselves to fall prey to their
manipulations. Besides, there isn't a damned thing we can do about it right
now anyway. For the moment, they hold all the cards. The only thing that is
certain is that this will not be the only time they put Lynn on the news.
They'll use her repeatedly and ruthlessly as a psychological weapon against
you. As difficult as it will be, sir, you must be prepare yourself for this,
and ignore it."
Acknowledging the truth of DP's assessment, Crash forced himself to relax. He
started breathing again, but sweat poured more profusely from him.
"You're right, DP," he said brokenly. "I just can't stand to see her like
that. I should be the one being beaten, not her." Leaning forward, his eyes as
wide as the sea, he declared in an intense, almost irrational tone, "We have
to get her out of there!"
"We will, sir, but not until we can do it on our terms. We have outmaneuvered
them before. We can do it again."
DP's words calmed Crash down to the point where he could again think
objectively. Once he understood DP's viewpoint, his mind kicked into high gear
and raced through a myriad of tactical options. He not only focused on those
practical assets he presently possessed, but also on those assets he and his
group would possess in the very near future. Upon further thought, he realized
that they would have a pair of very big aces up their sleeve in just a few
weeks. The PLAG could not possibly anticipate how big they would be. This
reassuring realization mitigated his feelings of helpless outrage to some
degree.
"You're correct, DP. I apologize for acting so irrationally. We can't run off
half-cocked like some boneheaded nimrod. We must plan her rescue as
meticulously as we did the SEG test procedures. Overall, the test worked
pretty well. Now here is what I think needs to be done. First, I want you to
inform all department heads that the schedule for completion of all subsystems
has been moved up to two weeks from today. Installation and testing will be
completed no later than one week after that. Then we flight-test. There will
be no exceptions to this schedule."
"That is an awfully compressed time schedule, sir," DP replied.
"Time is something we can't afford to waste at the moment," Crash answered
passionately. "Have your Marines organize an extraction unit specifically
geared to retrieve Lynn. I will develop the plan to deal with P-Quan and the
WSC. We will co-ordinate our two plans in a few days. Is there anything you
would like to add, DP?"
"I will need to know the practical capabilities of the ship, in order to
formulate a functional rescue plan, sir. I don't have anything else to add at
this time, except that the ship does not have a name. What do you intend to
call her?"

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Having thought for a moment, Crash replied, "I'm not sure of what the ship
will be capable, other than it should be extremely fast. There is nothing the
PLAG has that should even come close to it. We'll just have to flight-test her
to see what other, if any, capabilities she possesses. As to a name, I believe
we shall call her the Icarus . That seems to be the most fitting name under
the circumstances."
"If I recall my Greek mythology correctly," DP remarked dubiously, "Icarus was
too ambitious. He was killed because he flew to close to the sun."
"DP, before this is over, we will be very lucky if all of us don't get burned
to some degree. Realistically, there are four of us going up against the
entire PLAG hegemony. The odds are overwhelmingly against us, wouldn't you
say?"
"We have beaten the odds before, sir. In any case, I'll start coordinating the
various aspects of the plan immediately," DP replied solemnly. "Once our
people know the facts, motivation will not be a problem." Having said all he
had to say, DP turned and quickly retired from the room.
After DP left, Crash became totally absorbed in thought. Until this moment, he
had not believed that P-Quan was capable of inflicting such inhuman brutality
on a helpless female. He now realized that the pain P-Quan inflicted upon
Lynn's person was really meant for Crash himself. That part of DP's assessment
seemed correct. As to eventually winning the battle against the PLAG, he knew
that such an outcome was uncertain. The WSC must consider this project of
extraordinary importance to go to such lengths to apprehend him.
What can be so damn important to compel them to employ such savage
violence? " he wondered. There certainly isn't any national government or
agency with enough power to challenge their hegemonic control over Planet
Earth. The PLAG controls every military and police organization on the planet.
No combination of organizations could ever possess enough power to become even
minutely threatening to their power base. Objectively, it seems as if the
whole project is becoming increasingly infected with some unknown outside
political purpose. It just doesn't add up.
Crash spent the rest of the night trying to develop an objective view of the
big picture. Given his analytic mindset, the facts must add up and make sense.
Try as he might, he made little progress making any sense of the array of
facts available to him.
***
As time passed, Crash became increasingly distraught. The daily news
broadcasts portraying Lynn as the pre-eminent and lone threat to world peace
and stability were becoming increasingly obscene. In actuality, preposterous
would more accurately describe the ridiculous charges leveled against her.
According to the PLAG propaganda, her singular actions caused all of the
planet-wide food shortages. Coincidentally, on the days these charges were
repeatedly made on the nightly news broadcasts, the food distribution system
conveniently could not supply an adequate amount of food for the citizens.
Like charges were made for the fuel and energy shortages. On those days, the
lights went out, or there was no fuel to be had at any price.
Not a single citizen asked himself how a person in solitary confinement could
cause all of these problems. But then, the PLAG had controlled the educational
system that had molded every individual since birth. Only a lucky few were
actually given factual knowledge, and this was provided only so long as the
recipient remained psychologically malleable by the PLAG power structure. Good
citizens did not question statements made by the government. The thought of
biting the hand that fed them was far beyond their comprehension - or more
accurately, that thought concerned them far less than did going without food
and freezing in the dark.
To keep his mind off of Lynn, Crash worked obsessively towards completing the
first experimental ship. It had been days since he had slept any appreciable
amount, and the wear and tear was beginning to take its toll. His appearance
had become haggard and his temper short. He pushed himself harder than anyone
thought possible. Therefore, no one complained when he demanded this task or

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that get accomplished yesterday. He managed to get an immense amount of work
completed in the two weeks he had allocated. Most of the systems were
installed, tested and operational, although they were quite crude and simple,
owing to the time restraints.
The only work remaining was the installation of the SEG's external field
coils. Crash had determined that the Icarus 's spatially collapsed hull would
insulate the ship and crew from the field effects, but that it would still
allow the SEG field to be generated externally. In essence, the ship would
exist in an isolated phase-state bubble of normal space surrounded by the SEG
field. Only a slight alteration of the harmonics would be required to reflect
the vastly stronger external SEG field away from the spatially collapsed hull.
This phase imbalance would protect the hull from dissolution and absorption by
the external SEG field.
During his detailed research of the test data, Crash discovered that he could
manipulate the structure and shape of the SEG field. This discovery allowed
him to design a considerably more advanced SEG generator than that of the
original test model. This advance, which he incorporated into the new field
coils, allowed for precise directional control of the SEG field, which in turn
allowed for precise navigation and velocity control of the ship - at least in
theory.
Crash finally relaxed a little, once he transferred all of the antimatter
found inside the absorber into stable magnetic storage bottles. He separated
the volatile fuel into one hundred separate containers, each containing about
ninety-eight pounds of antimatter the size of a baseball. During the process
of creation, the antimatter inside the absorber had become extremely
compressed and very dense. Each container, being about eighteen inches in
diameter, secured and isolated the antimatter inside a strong magnetic field.
Crash's new and improved SEG device allowed more precise management of the
fuel flow than did the original test model. The plasma injectors would
directly infuse the matter and antimatter plasma into the SEG core containment
field. This would be accomplished by simply heating the two fuels to a
ten-million-degree plasma state with radio frequency energy, and then
injecting the charged plasma into the SEG core with magnetic field plasma
pumps. Controllable magnetic valves could easily regulate the amount of fuel
being injected at any given time, even to the point of a single atom at a
time. The containment field would then compress the two fuels to a very dense
state and force them to combine and release their tremendous pent-up energy.
Four such injector pumps would be attached to the SEG core to power it,
although only two would be required to fuel the SEG device at any one time.
Crash had to force the containment of his expectations as the work approached
completion. After all these years of intense work and sacrifice, his dream was
about to achieve reality. The thought of that vindication staggered his mind.
He knew that if he succeeded, the event about to occur would be of a
monumental historical significance.
***
Once Nessi completed all of the tasks Crash had requested, he spent most of
his time fine-tuning the use of his profiler device. He claimed that it
functioned flawlessly - that it was one hundred percent reliable. Having
tested it on many different individuals, he refined it to the point of being
able to discern even insignificant white lies. He also came to realize, during
the course of his refinements of his device, that all human beings radiated a
common basic energy pattern. There were slight variations, but the general
pattern remained relatively constant.
Crash did not mind Nessi's spending so much time refining his new profiler
contraption, as the remaining projects could be completed without him.
Eventually, however, DP became so overwhelmed with his responsibilities that
he finally asked Nessi to assist him. Falling behind the completion curve
Crash set out for him had put a bad taste in DP's mouth: one he could not
tolerate.
Nessi agreed to assist DP in adapting the weapon systems that were available.

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Most of the weapons had been scavenged from aircraft irreparably damaged
during their escape from the test site. DP had the GUA 8/A gun from the
surviving A-10 warthog installed inside the largest hull opening of
the Icarus . Although it was a devastating close-in support weapon, compared
to the tactical nukes the PLAG military possessed, it could not be considered
a large weapon. The main gun on the Abrams tank vastly exceeded the GUA/8's
power, but due to its size, it could not be made to fit into
the Icarus. However, several 50-caliber guns were borrowed from other systems
and installed, allowing the Icarus to hold its own in a small firefight if it
had to. Much adaptation would be required before these weapons could be made
operational. Mounts and power supplies would have to be adapted before the
improvisations would become functional defensive weapons.
DP trained one squad of Marines in specific techniques for the defense of
the Icarus . Although relatively lightly armed, they were extremely lethal and
efficient. They were supremely confident that they could handle whatever
challenge came their way.
After many weeks of arduous toil, the outfitting of the Icarus finally came to
an end. The time for its first flight finally arrived. Crash gathered everyone
in his group into the main hanger in order to address them. He stood several
meters away from the ship, with all of the men behind him, and stared at their
creation, the Icarus . His emotions all but overwhelmed him. He knew, however,
that he could not let his memories of the sacrifices made by so many interfere
with this monumental moment.
Refocusing, he said, "Men, in the last few months, we have all had experiences
we could not have imagined just a few months earlier. Those of us that are
still here to appreciate them mourn for those who died so that our endeavor
might reach fruition. That day has come. If we are successful, we shall expand
mankind's horizon into previously unknown realities. Our destiny will serve to
give all of mankind a better future: a future that is free and sensible - a
future that is not dominated by slavery, oppression, or mind control. That is
the end for which we have all sacrificed. We shall not flinch from bearing
this responsibility we so freely embrace. With the launching of this ship, we
shall take the first step in achieving the destiny we have all envisioned."
Crash perceived the group as a whole, even as he saw everyone in it as a
unique individual. Calm permeated the air. Everyone seemed transfixed. Not a
muscle moved; not a sound could be heard. The silence was deafening. Tumult
suddenly engulfed him as the entire group of hardened men broke out with
cheers of unrestrained adulation. The uproar continued for several minutes
before it subsided.
As all of the men present released the pent-up frustration that had
accompanied their stint of hard work, Crash's emotions finally surfaced. He
clutched his fists and pumped his arms wildly into the air while screaming at
the top of his lungs, "Yes, Yes!" He now knew, deep in his soul, that these
men would follow him straight into hell if he asked them to. He knew this,
because they knew that he would be the first man in line to drop into the fire
himself. As the roar died down, Crash finished by saying, "As you all know,
the PLAG has captured Dr. Meisheil and has been torturing her so that we will
capitulate to them. This depravity - this savagery - will not continue. As
soon as the Icarus is deemed flight-worthy, we will embark on our first
mission: to rescue her. Are you with me?"
The men went almost wild with agreement. Their covenant was sealed. Crash was
satisfied.
He raised his arms to quiet the crowd. "Those of you chosen for this first
test flight, board the ship. We are about to get underway."
Crash, DP, and Nessi boarded the Icarus. This solemn experience simultaneously
excited and worried Crash. Despite all of his meticulous planning, there were
no assurances that any of them would survive this greatest of experiments. For
all they knew, the instant that he engaged the SEG drive, the ship might blow
up. The price of new knowledge was not without risk, and everyone to a man
willingly accepted that risk. Not wanting to endanger any more people than was

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necessary on this first flight, Crash kept the crew to a bare minimum. Once
the ship's systems proved out, operations could begin, and other people would
become involved.
Once inside the Icarus , Crash disengaged the weak SEG field that allowed them
to penetrate the Icarus's collapsed spatial field hull. The hull's hatch
opening instantly reintegrated and seamlessly sealed itself. The hatch field
coils mounted inside the hull drew power from the main generator. Once this
field collapsed, the occupants were for all practical purposes cut off and
isolated from the rest of the entire universe.
The bridge flight control console, though meager, supplied enough flight data
to enable the crew to fly the Icarus safely. It provided all of the necessary
information for the SEG drive control, life support, and navigation. Crash
would in essence be the flight engineer and captain. Nessi would function as
the navigator and DP as the life-support engineer. Each of them sat down in
front of his respective monitors and gauges and undertook his particular
duties.
DP immediately engaged the life support systems and verified that the oxygen -
nitrogen balance was correct. He then ascertained that the carbon dioxide
scrubbers worked, and that the dehumidifiers now maintained the proper
humidity inside the ship. After an initial inspection, he informed Crash that
all life-support systems were functioning properly.
Nessi booted the navigation system and verified the Icarus's exact location on
earth as well as with its position with regard to twenty-one stars of various
distances and directions from the earth: reference points whose positions were
stored in the navigation computer. All of their spectrums and positions were
recorded in the main computer, as well as in three backup computer systems.
Once the ship made it into space, Nessi could determine their exact location
by comparing the slight changes in the parallax of these stars. Nessi informed
Crash that he and all of the navigation systems were ready to go.
Satisfied that all sub-systems were functioning properly, Crash powered up the
SEG drive to an extremely small percentage of maximum output. This procedure
verified that all of the containment fields and backup systems functioned at
one hundred percent of their design specifications.
So as to insure that the crew could communicate with the outside universe,
Crash had installed several very small SEG field coils that would create
extremely small openings in the hull for a few nano-seconds at a time. These
openings would open and close so rapidly that the air molecules could not move
quickly enough to escape through the hull before the field reconstituted. The
transmissions would be of an extremely small duration and highly compressed,
but this method did allow for continuous communication with the outside
universe.
As the systems aboard the Icarus slowly powered up, Colonel Laughton and
Sergeant Kragen sat patiently at their respective communication monitors
inside the main hanger of the base. Crash energized the Icarus's communication
system, and it came on line.
"Base, this is Icarus 1 reporting," he said. "All systems are up and running.
We are go for launch."
"This is base," Colonel Laughton replied. "Copy that, Icarus 1 . We concur -
all systems are go. You are cleared for launch."
The intensity of the moment was oppressive. When Crash let out a hearty laugh,
DP and Nessi were startled, to say the least. "Gentlemen," he asked with a
sheepish laugh, "Where in the hell should we go? I never gave that any
thought."
Wide-eyed, DP and Nessi stared at each other, and broke out in an uproar
themselves. They had not given a destination any thought either.
"I've always wanted to go to Mars," DP finally said. "It's as good a place as
any."
"Mars it is," Crash answered back.
Having entered the proper co-ordinates, he waited for the navigation computer
to calculate the trajectory.

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After a few seconds the computer confirmed the projected course by blinking
green.
"Base, have you confirmed our destination?" the Icarus crackled.
"Your destination is confirmed, Icarus 1 ," Colonel Laughton replied. "You are
go for launch."
Crash looked at DP and Nessi and said, "Here we go, powering up to one
percent."
He engaged the fuel system that powered the SEG drive core. The spatial
exclusion field instantly engulfed the entire ship within itself. Static field
charges rippled between the conflicting spatial-non-spatial field interfaces,
blanketing the entire ship in a spectacular pyrotechnic display.
"All containment fields nominal," Crash reported. "SEG field symmetry stable
and balanced. Hull integrity uncompromised. Everything is looking good. I'm
powering SEG up to two percent."
Crash opened the magnetic valves just slightly more, and the field strength
doubled. The ship pulsed with energy as several grams of matter and antimatter
combined every second, thereby releasing more controlled energy than had any
other engineered system in recorded human history.
"I think this is enough power for our first run, gentlemen," Crash stated
carefully. "I shall now directionally unbalance the field for five seconds.
Hopefully, we should begin to move."
Crash induced the desired directional instability for five seconds, but then
frowned. The inertial navigation system detected no apparent motion
whatsoever.
From Colonel Laughton's and Sergeant Kragen's perspective, the Icarus simply
disappeared inside pyrotechnic display of the exclusion field. While SEG field
distorted the space around the Icarus , the ship could not be discerned within
the field. Then, after about ten seconds of observing the static field
display, they heard a tremendous explosion. The sound, which exceeded that of
the loudest thunderclap anyone had ever heard, hammered the base hanger with a
tremendous thud. The field and the ship appeared to vanish into thin air.
Colonel Laughton immediately attempted communication with the Icarus .
" Icarus 1 . Do you copy? Icarus 1 . This is base. Do you copy?"
Panic gripped Laughton and Kragen when no reply came from the Icarus . Staring
at each other, dumbfounded, they chorused, "What in the hell just happened?"
For hours, they tried to reach Crash and the crew without any success. For all
of that night they continued to try, and still received no reply. Colonel
Laughton ordered that someone continuously man the communications console
until they received definite answer regarding the crews' fate. He could only
hope for the best. He knew that they had entered new and untested territory,
and that most likely conventional assumptions would not be valid. As hard as
it would be to do, they would simply have to wait and see what turned up.
There was nothing else he, Kragen, or anyone could do.
Chapter Thirteen
General Hartson sat impatiently at his desk. For days he had been trying to
obtain a verifiable position on the ILTs implanted in Crash and his team. The
last few hours had finally yielded some tangible results. For the first time,
he had finally established a continuously traceable signal that could be
triangulated for an accurate position on Tyson and his renegades. A perverse
ecstasy filled him. He immediately informed his assault team that they would
be leaving on an airborne mission in fifteen minutes.
Tyson has finally made a mistake , he gloated to himself. I knew he couldn't
outsmart me. He's not that good. None of these damned humans ever end up being
as competent as the Maen hierarchy seems to think they are. I don't know why
they continue overrating them so. The next time that chance permits, I must
bring this continuous error promulgated by the Maen Governor up with the Luin.
Their erring so frequently on such matters does not serve the Empire well .
His eyes narrowed. He relished the impending pleasure of his perverse
indulgence in cruelty . Before I turn Tyson over to P-Quan , he thought, I
will have my way with that primitive degenerate. When I do turn him over to

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P-Quan, he will be alive, but that is about all he will be.
Upon getting the final bearing and speed of the ILT's signal, he quickly
joined his squadron of assault and attack choppers. Twenty-four choppers were
ready to go. Eight heavily armed attack craft and sixteen fully loaded troop
carriers went airborne in less than fifteen minutes after notification.
All of his men were hand-picked, experienced Nomer operatives. He would not
let human beings, with all of their weakness, incompetence, and prejudice get
in the way of a mission of such importance. With the help of the Luin, the
Nomer had long ago perfected the art of cloning the physical aspects of many
species and transferring the essence of themselves into those blank hosts.
This technology made it very easy for them to infiltrate almost any species
unrecognized. This strategy gave them the luxury of unrestricted action on any
world they inhabited. They were the largest group of eyes and ears the Empire
possessed, and they were used extensively for that purpose.
Hartson had triangulated the ILT signal position to about one hundred miles
offshore. It would take only thirty minutes to get there, but the flight
seemed like days to Hartson, given the intensity of his anticipation. As they
neared the location, they saw that the signal became continuously stronger.
There was still nothing but blue ocean for as far as the eye could see. He
started to worry that Tyson might have pulled some kind of diversionary stunt
to throw them off track. When they reached the strongest point of the signals,
all they could see was a pod of Orca whales. He checked the signal position
several times, but kept getting the same results. The signals could only be
coming from the whales themselves.
"I'll be damned!" he expostulated. "The dumb primitive bastards crashed into
the ocean and got themselves eaten by a bunch of fish!" He couldn't restrain
himself, being entranced by the humor of it. He relayed this message to the
rest of the assault force, and they all broke out in an arrogant fit of
perverse, degenerate laughter.
He informed his radiomen to get P-Quan on the horn. When contact had been
made, the General grabbed the headset.
"Sir, this is General Hartson. I have news on the location of that Tyson
fellow. I have obtained definitive proof that he and his group are all dead."
P-Quan frowned deeply upon hearing the news, and then roared into the speaker,
"I thought I made it perfectly clear to you that I wanted him alive, General!"
"Yes, sir, you did," Hartson replied. "Their deaths have not occurred through
any action on my part, sir. It appears that Tyson and his group crashed into
the ocean and were eaten by a bunch of whales, sir. I'm right over the whale
pod this very moment. The ILT signals are oscillating as the whales dive and
come to the surface for air. The number of signals coincides with the number
of implants. All twenty-four ILTs have been accounted for. There can be no
mistake about it, sir. Tyson and his men are nothing but whale blubber by now.
I would say that our problem has been solved for us, Mr. Chairman."
This development greatly disappointed P-Quan, but he kept his frustration to
himself. He did find it striking that Hartson could so easily self-elevate
himself to a position equal with his own regarding this issue. He would have
to deal with his big head at a later time. He finally replied, "Very well,
General. There isn't much we can do about that now. Well done. P-Quan out."
P-Quan called Professor Helosas immediately, and announced, "I have just been
informed by that idiot Hartson that Tyson and his group all perished when
their planes crashed into the ocean. It appears that when their planes went
down, all of them managed to get themselves eaten by a group of killer
whales."
"I find that rather hard to believe, P-Quan. All of them? One hundred
percent?"
"Hartson swears to it. I have more than a few doubts, however. At least a
couple of Tyson's group should have gone down with their planes, or simply
sunk to the bottom on their own. It's simply too perfect of a solution,
wouldn't you say, Professor?"
"It's a bit too perfect, but it certainly is pleasingly original. I would be

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willing to bet that this ploy is the brainchild of Decker Payne. It has his
mode of operation written all over it."
"I tend to agree, Professor. Accelerate your program. If Tyson is still alive,
and I'll bet that he is, he will be contacting us soon. Step up the
psychological pressure. I want him squirming in his own guilt. We need to
accelerate the conditions that will compel him to second-guess himself and
accept the blame for the plight of Dr. Meisheil. We have to force him to act
without forethought. That is the only way we will ever get him close enough to
us to contain him."
"I'll get on it this instant, sir. Helosas out."
Chapter Fourteen
Confusion gripped Crash. Serious doubts began to fill his mind. Having engaged
the SEG drive, he concluded that the drive unit must have seriously
malfunctioned. Other than their having felt an almost imperceptible bump, no
discernable event had taken place. Either nothing had happened, or his entire
theory was in error. At the moment, he did not know quite what to think.
"OK, Nessi," he said dejectedly. "Let's shut it down and see what went wrong.
I'll contact the base."
"Base, this is Icarus 1 . Do you copy?"
No reply came. Crash repeated his call several times, and still they received
no reply.
That's strange , he thought. He ran a complete system check, and all of the
communications systems proved to be operating perfectly. This is most
curious , he fretted. "Nessi, take a look outside and see if the base incurred
any damage that would prevent them from contacting us. Maybe the SEG field
containment wasn't as focused as I had hoped."
Nessi activated the appropriate wide-field camera and took a look outside.
Speechless, he simply stared. Crash repeated his order.
"Nessi, take a look…"
"Sir Crash," Nessi interrupted in his uniquely nervous, frenzied manner, "you
had better see this for yourself."
The tone of Nessi's reply jolted Crash. He barked, "What is it?"
"Everything is gone, Sir Crash. The world is gone!"
Crash's internal panic alarm went off. Quickly, he gazed at the monitor. His
opened just as wide as Nessi's had. He could not believe what he saw. They
seemed to be suspended in a featureless black empty void.
"Gentlemen, this is more than just a little peculiar," he said rather dryly.
"Nessi, let's use the laser range finder and spectrometer to try to determine
what some of the physical characteristics of our surroundings might be. Unless
we slipped through ten dimensions and into another universe, there has to be
something out there."
Nessi activated the spectrometer and fired the laser in a number of different
directions. The results were soon displayed on the monitor. The findings were
difficult to understand.
"Sir Crash," Nessi stated tentatively, "the data from the spectrometer
suggests that we are in a small cavern, and that we are surrounded mostly by
water ice and frozen methane."
DP couldn't understand how that could be, and said so. "How the hell can that
be? We were in the middle of the Pacific Ocean thirty seconds ago."
Crash took a more objective view. He knew that one of the best methods of
acquiring correct scientific data was to get spectrographic results. Matter
was what it was, and spectrographic readings of that matter could not deviate
from those facts. Such data could not be easily rejected.
"Objective science does not lie, DP," Crash stated slowly but forcefully. "We
simply need to ask the proper questions in order to understand what the
answers truly mean. It's kind of like playing Jeopardy."
Turning to Nessi, he ordered, "Run a detailed laser sounding of everything
surrounding the Icarus. I want a completely detailed picture of our
surroundings."
It took Nessi several minutes to do as Crash requested. Once he recorded and

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collated the data, he displayed it on the monitor. Crash simultaneously
whistled and smiled at the results.
"Just as I suspected," he said, radiating satisfaction. "The SEG field was
generated and properly contained. The size and shape of the void we are
suspended in is virtually identical to that of the SEG field we should have
generated at the power level we employed. It is too much of a coincidence to
be anything else."
"And what exactly does that mean?" DP asked.
"It means, DP, that we traveled somewhere and stopped. When we stopped, we
just happen to stop in a space occupied by assorted ices at the time of our
arrival. We most probably happened to stop inside a large comet, or some
similar body."
DP and Nessi stared at each other in complete bewilderment and then looked
back towards Crash. DP spoke first. "Say that again, Boss."
"It means that the SEG wave cancelled the spatial field surrounding
the Icarus, as it was designed to do. It also proves that the relationship
between matter, energy, and time cannot exist, as we know it, without the
existence and presence of the spatial field itself. The spatial field provides
the structure, the framework if you will, in which the four basic forces
interact with each other. Without the spatial field substrate, the
matter-energy flux cannot exist, at least as we currently understand it. I am
most pleased with these results!"
"That's great, Boss," DP exclaimed. "But where the hell are we? How are we
going to get out of wherever we are? In my wildest dreams I never thought I
would die inside a giant ice cube."
"No problem. You're not a Popsicle yet, DP. We can get out the same way we got
in. Crew, man your stations! We are leaving."
Crash turned his attention to his station, as did Nessi and DP. He set the
power level at only .01 percent, this time, and ordered Nessi to record any
change in the ship's surroundings as they moved. He then engaged the SEG
drive.
The Icarus had moved for only a second or two, when Nessi stated that it
appeared that they had cleared the ice structure in which they had been
encased. Crash ordered a full stop. He ordered Nessi to take another sounding
of their surroundings.
When he displayed this picture, nothing could whatsoever could be seen, except
for a few dim stars and a dark body that was probably the cometary body they
had just exited. Except for the light emitted by the dim stars, they were
engulfed in total darkness.
"This cannot be!" Nessi exclaimed.
By now DP had observed the same phenomena. "OK, Boss, where are we? Really?"
he asked skeptically.
"That is the question of the day, DP," Crash replied pensively. "Nessi, see
whether our navigation computer can determine our position relative to earth."
Having activated the inertial guidance system, as well as the other various
navigation sensors, Nessi sat back in his seat and let the computer do its
work. A dull hum permeated the ship as thousands of nano-openings (small
discontinuities in the hull) formed, so as to allow the taking of readings.
After several minutes, a group of coordinates appeared on the monitor. Three
pair of eyes hit the screen at the same time. Nessi understood what the
coordinates meant before Crash and DP did.
"Sir Crash, we have gone far!"
"How far, Nessi? How far?" DP asked in an intense tone.
"Sir Crash, if these coordinates are correct, we have traveled about five
point one billion miles. It appears that we are somewhere in the Kuiper belt,
Sir Crash!"
"We couldn't have gone that far, that fast," Crash answered. "Check it again,
Nessi. There must be some kind of error."
Nessi increased the sensitivity of the navigation system and ran another
sensor sweep. The second calculation, although more finally tuned, was almost

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identical to the first.
The revelation of this accomplishment staggered Crash. They had traveled five
point one billion miles in about ten seconds. Having made a quick mental
calculation, he gasped, "That's about twenty-two hundred times the speed of
light!"
DP reacted first to the revelation. "That's pretty damned fast, Boss. We're
going to get rich at Indy next year!"
Crash did not hear a word spoken to him. A thousand times before he thought he
had anticipated the significance of this moment. The momentousness of the
actual experience superseded his wildest expectations. He was numb.
After what seemed like an eternity, he finally heard voices again. Nessi and
DP were talking frantically to each other.
Crash interrupted the discussion abruptly, "DP. Nessi. Listen up. We have just
broken the light-speed barrier for the first time. As long as we have been
this successful, I suggest that we explore its potentialities in much greater
detail!"
Crash's words silenced them. Each of them realized the significance of Crash's
assessment of the situation. Just being excited about this would not get them
home or solve their problems.
Having given the assessment thoughtful consideration, DP asked soberly, "What
do you have in mind, sir?"
"Consider this. At two percent power, we obtained a velocity of five hundred
million miles per second. I think we should up the power levels a little and
see what happens. What would you say about going to Proxima Centauri? It
should only take a few hours to get there."
Skeptical, to say the least, DP asked. "Do you think the ship's systems are
reliable enough to risk such a bold test so quickly?"
Having considered DP's reluctance to continue, Crash realized that DP's point
was well taken. He then quickly issued new orders to the crew. "Nessi, I want
you to print up all of the SEG drive telemetry. We need to check the
integrity, stability, and strength of all the containment fields. Pay
particular attention to any erosion or other wear characteristics to the field
coils that might indicate any operational limitations. DP, I want you to run a
detailed check on the life support systems to make sure we won't run out of
breathable air if we decide to make the trip."
As it became available, Crash studied the SEG drive telemetry. After careful
study, he determined that the basic system functioned flawlessly. DP reported
that, as long as they had fuel, the life support system could operate
indefinitely at the current output levels. After conducting a thorough
investigation of the navigation system, Nessi reported that its accuracy was
sufficient to get them to a nearby star: one such as Proxima Centauri.
However, he informed Crash that traveling much further away from earth would
require a much more sophisticated navigational database.
"Sir Crash," Nessi pointed out, "if we intend to venture much further from
earth than the nearest of the local stars, we will have to use navigational
benchmarks that are much more distant than the ones we are currently using. I
suggest that certain quasars would best serve this purpose. They could be used
as stable navigational beacons for travel through out most of the nearby
universe."
"That sounds reasonable, Nessi," Crash replied. "As soon as we get back, make
that your primary objective. Now, gentlemen, after reviewing the telemetry and
flight data, I do not see any reason why we should not attempt a quick trip to
Proxima Centauri. Do either of you have an objection?"
DP and Nessi exchanged glances, and then focused on Crash. "If you're willing
to take the risk, Boss," DP asserted, "so am I."
"I be willing too," Nessi stated quickly.
Both Crash and DP did a double take after hearing Nessi's statement, but they
said nothing. They knew he meant well, and knew also that neither of them
could speak any language other than English. Any amusement at his error on
their part would be more embarrassing than was Nessi's broken English.

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"All right, then," Crash said, undaunted by the danger. "Make ready. We are
going to go."
He powered up the SEG to ten percent and then induced the directional
imbalance to the SEG field that provided the power for locomotion. Slowly, he
increased the power output to twenty five percent. At that moment, the SEG
released an amount of power never before utilized by mankind. Every second,
the SEG core converted approximately eighteen grams of mass into pure energy.
That meant that the SEG drive produced approximately four hundred fifty
gigawatt-hours of energy per second. All systems seemed to be operating as
they were designed to. The SEG throbbed with power: smooth, harmonic, and
deadly. When Crash realized the staggering amount of energy being generated
and controlled just a few feet away from him, it sobered him. Just thinking
about it was truly intimidating.
Turning to Nessi, he remarked, "Nessi, just think: a few months ago we thought
that achieving nuclear fusion was man's greatest possible achievement. That
goal pales to insignificance compared to this. At this very moment, with this
single small prototype generator, we are producing almost as much energy as
the entire Planet Earth is capable of producing at this time."
"It runs very much good, Sir Crash," Nessi replied. "Shiva not yet angry with
you. You very lucky man!"
Crash never ceased to be amazed by Nessi's use of reductionism to explain the
complexities of the work they did. The outcomes always seemed so preordained
to him. Nothing ever seemed to faze him, no matter how off-the-wall the
situation might become. Nevertheless, they both had jobs to do. They did not
have time to discuss their differing interpretations of this particular event,
at least in terms of their personal interpretation of universal causation.
Having absorbed Nessi's view without comment, Crash remarked, "Nessi, it
should take us about four and one-half hours to traverse the four point two
light years to Proxima Centauri. I want continuous monitoring of our position
relative to Planet Earth and Proxima Centauri. Inform me when we are thirty
light minutes from Proxima Centauri. We will start our deceleration at that
point."
Nessi nodded in agreement and refocused his attention on the navigation
computer. Crash then conferred with DP regarding a number of other issues.
Calling DP over to his console, he declared, "DP, it appears that the
technology we have developed works even better than I had anticipated. The
prototype SEG drive has changed the way we can react to and engage the PLAG. I
believe it is imperative that we reassess our approach and timetable at
freeing Lynn from them. We must also rethink the long-term development of our
overall plan for the future. In my view, if we choose to use the capability we
have just developed, we can become the dominant military force on earth, and
supplant the PLAG politically. As I see it, there is nothing much the PLAG can
do to stop us. So, the question is this: what is the best way simultaneously
to accomplish these multiple objectives?"
"Sir," DP declared forcefully, "our first objective must be Lynn's rescue.
Possession of the Icarus will aid us greatly in that mission. However, I must
point out that even our possessing this ship - one with vastly superior
capabilities - will not be enough to give us total military superiority. It
will take a lot more than the Icarus for us to make that claim and back it
up."
DP's assessment shocked Crash. He asked, "What more do we need to make that
claim?"
DP gave Crash's question a lot of thought. He eventually said, "We must
consider the total spectrum of military power - combined land, sea, air, and
space capabilities - in order to achieve that goal. One ship, even one with
the capabilities of the Icarus , does not give us military superiority.
Crash pondered DP's view for some length of time. After due consideration,
they both concluded that it would take some time to come up with a plausible
plan. DP finally made Crash understand that he could quite easily devise a
military plan, but its success would be entirely dependant on the amount and

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quality of the resources that Crash provided him.
For several hours, the two men discussed various methodologies they could use
to accomplish their goals. Slowly, a comprehensive plan began to take shape.
They were just putting the final touches on their objectives when Nessi got
Crash's attention.
"Sir Crash," he said, we are approaching Proxima Centauri. I am notifying
you."
Crash scrambled to the captain's console and reduced the fuel input to the SEG
drive, slowing the Icarus to about five times the speed of light. They cruised
to about two hundred million miles from the red dwarf star, and then came to a
full stop. Crash ordered Nessi to make a full sensor sweep. The data showed
that there were three planets orbiting the star. They seemed to be small,
rocky-type bodies whose orbits possessed ratios similar to earth's sun's three
inner planets. The innermost planet, about the size of Mercury, orbited the
star at about thirty four million miles out. The second planet, slightly
larger than Mars, orbited at seventy million miles out. Slightly larger than
Planet Earth, the third planet occupied an orbit that put it about one hundred
seven million miles from the star.
Crash decided that they had time to make quick flybys of each of the planets,
so that pictures and some data could be recorded about them. This would not
only provide a fair amount of detailed data on the first absolute verification
of rocky, earthlike planets outside our solar system, it would also verify
that they had actually made the flight in the first place.
Nessi recorded the positions of the three planets and downloaded the
information to Crash's flight control computer. Crash slowly increased their
velocity to several times light speed and approached the innermost planet.
When they were a few hundred thousand miles from the first planet, they
dropped down well below lightspeed and made two orbits around the planet.
While in orbit, Nessi recorded mass, temperature, atmospheric composition, and
numerous other data concerning the physical properties of the planet. When
finished, Crash repeated the same procedure on the other two planets. In all,
it took a total of about fifteen hours to complete the initial survey of all
three planets.
Completing this phase of the mission greatly pleased Crash. Turning to his two
companions, he exulted, "Men, this is not a bad bunch of work for our first
flight. I do believe, however, that it is time for us to head for home.
Colonel Laughton will think we blew up on the launch pad if we don't show up
soon. Do either of you have anything else you would like to investigate before
we leave?"
Neither DP nor Nessi could think of any pressing data-collection that they
felt must be done at this time. Crash entered the return coordinates into the
drive computer and increased the power to twenty percent. In less than five
hours, they transferred into an orbit around earth, and prepared to land back
at the base.
Chapter Fifteen
After the Icarus disappeared, Colonel Laughton manned the communications
center for almost twenty-four straight hours. Once every ten minutes, he would
transmit their call sign in the hope that the Icarus would answer. If Crash
failed to contact the base within the next twenty-four hours, he planned to
reduce the number of contact attempts to once an hour, and begin a slow
stand-down of the base. If something had gone wrong during the flight test,
and Crash, DP, and Nessi had indeed perished, there wasn't any reason to carry
on with the project, because they were the project. Only Crash understood the
SEG theory sufficiently to continue working towards the project's objectives.
Carrying on without him would be an effort in futility.
Laughton had just decided to make one last attempt before down-grading their
efforts, when the transmitter crackled. "Base, this is the Icarus. Do you
copy?"
Grabbing the microphone, the Colonel replied anxiously, " Icarus, this is
base. We copy. What is your condition? Over."

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"Base," Crash replied, "the ship and crew are fine. We will be approaching
base in a few minutes. In the course of our flight, the Icarus may have picked
up a large static charge. Once we touch down, maintain a safe distance from
the ship until the grounding clamps are attached. Over."
"We copy, Icarus. We await your arrival."
Colonel Laughton immediately sounded the base security alarm, and scrambled
everyone. His discovery that the ship and crew were still intact and had
returned safely filled him with ecstatic euphoria. A million questions flooded
his mind. He couldn't wait to hear the details of the crew's experience. How
well did the SEG drive function? Did it function as predicted? Being an Air
force brat, he wondered what velocity the Icarus could attain. Why had it
taken so long for them to communicate with the base? A large grin overspread
his face.
In just a few short minutes, the Icarus appeared directly above the base. The
vessel descended rapidly. As it neared the surface, large bolts of static
electricity discharged between the craft and the MOB. That display proved
quite spectacular.
After the ship touched down, Crash powered down the SEG drive unit. He then
attached the grounding clamps and engaged the hatch field, which quickly
opened the ship to the outside world. When the three men stepped out,
tumultuous applause erupted from everyone on the base. Every single person on
the base cheered. Colonel Laughton and Sergeant Kragen approached them.
Beaming with excitement, Crash stepped down and shook the hands of both men.
DP put on his usual face of overwhelming self-assurance. Nessi was Nessi: in
the throes of nervous introspection.
Unable to contain his enthusiasm any longer, Colonel Laughton asked the first
question. "How did it go? We thought that something had gone wrong when you
just disappeared, and we lost contact with you."
"Colonel," Crash replied, "it worked better than I ever expected. As a matter
of fact, it worked so well that we took a little trip to Proxima Centauri and
back! The round trip took a little less than twenty-four hours! We have
pictures and geophysical data to prove my claim!"
Colonel Laughton wobbled backwards as understanding sank in. This unexpected
information awed him beyond his capacity to absorb the significance of the
moment. After a couple of seconds passed, he regained his composure and said,
"You're kidding, right?"
"I'm as serious as I can be, Colonel," Crash retorted gaily. "The system
works. We have a lot of planning to do."
Before the Colonel could even ask DP the question scorching the tip of his
tongue, DP exclaimed, "It's true, Colonel!"
"Faster than light! I'll be damned!" the Colonel expostulated. "Hell, to make
a round trip to a star and back in one day… You went a lot faster than
lightspeed!"
"Come on," Crash said, "we need to debrief everyone about this. The balance of
power on Planet Earth is about to change. Our work has just begun."
Laughton's face suddenly betrayed concern. Facing Crash squarely, he asserted,
"Before we debrief, sir, there is something you need to know. The PLAG has
announced that it is putting Dr. Meisheil on trial for, as they put it,
hideous crimes against the state. The trial begins in a few weeks. They are
seeking execution as her punishment. I just thought you should know."
"That, Colonel Laughton, is our first order of business," Crash replied in a
compelling tone.
Crash and all of the command officers went into seclusion. Each side debriefed
the other, until everyone had a clear understanding of what had been
accomplished and what they were about to attempt doing. At the end of the
meeting every person knew, within the area of his expertise, what was expected
of him. The goals were clear, as were the means to accomplish them. The room
vibrated with excitement and energy.
Concluding the meeting, Crash ordered everyone out except DP, Nessi, Colonel
Laughton, and Sergeant Kragen. He had special tasks for them. Radiating

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determination, he addressed them. "You four men are central to the success of
our mission. On the way back from Proxima Centauri, DP and I developed a rough
draft of a plan to recover Lynn without losing our heads in the process. The
astonishing capability of the Icarus gives us several tactical advantages. The
PLAG does not have inkling of the existence of the ship, and they have even
less knowledge of what she can do or how she can do it. I intend to use this
advantage to its fullest possible extent.
"Once we recover Lynn, however, our problems will only intensify. I expect
that the PLAG will most assuredly go insane once we remove Lynn from what they
consider their unassailable grasp. We must, therefore, develop a failsafe
backup plan to protect ourselves from the military retaliation that will most
assuredly ensue. I believe that the military response we experienced at the
test site will be negligible compared to their reaction this time. DP feels
that the full weight of the entire PLAG military will be brought to bear
against us. Although we do not know the full extent of the Icarus's abilities,
or its limitations for that matter, I do not believe that even
the Icarus could withstand an assault of that magnitude. Men, we need ideas
and alternative options now! We all have to think outside the box on this one,
or all of our efforts will be meaningless short ones."
For several hours they hashed and rehashed numerous plans and sub-plans. By
the time they finished, they had changed Crash and DP's rough draft
significantly, to the point where it was no longer recognizable as their plan.
They all agreed that if everything worked as planned, they possessed a
reasonable chance of rescuing Lynn and not buying the farm in the process.
At the conclusion of the meeting, Crash dismissed everyone except Nessi. He
had special duties in mind for him. Crash handed him his request, and Nessi
let out a loud whistle.
"Sir Crash, this will be most difficult. Our resources are limited. I am
unsure whether or not this can be done."
"What do you need that you do not have, so as to accomplish this task?" Crash
asked.
"Portable energy. Much more energy than we have, Sir Crash!"
"I thought the same thing, Nessi. Here is what I want you to do."
Crash handed Nessi an overall blueprint of his strategy. As Nessi read it, he
became lost in its ramifications. After several minutes, he simply got up and
left the room, quietly mumbling to himself. Crash did not know what to say, so
he said nothing. He knew that Nessi, in his own mysterious way, would find a
way to get the job done. He had never failed Crash before, and there was no
reason to think he would do so now.
All things considered, the current situation satisfied Crash. Despite the
speed with which all aspects of the plan had come together, he felt confident
as he initiated his part in the operation. In only a few weeks , he
thought, Lynn will be back with me, and out of the clutches of P-Quan and his
PLAG goons.
***
Although several months had passed, the trial of Lynn Meisheil for the charges
leveled by the PLAG proceeded at a snail's pace. If the spectacle were to end
too quickly, the PLAG would lose the control value it gave them over their
population. That would be inefficient: a waste of resources.
Because of the slow progress of Lynn's trial, all of Crash's new projects
could proceed to their conclusions. Consequently, nearly all of the diverse
aspects of his plan fell nicely into place. The various mounts and power
assemblies required to operate the guns being installed on the Icarus were
completed. All of the weapons were in place and fully operational. Several new
hatch generators had been installed, so that more than one entry and exit
point could be used simultaneously. The extra hatches were mostly used as gun
ports, however, so access into and out of the ship, although better than it
was when the ship featured only the original single hatch, was still somewhat
limited.
During this time, the Icarus had been flight-tested dozens and dozens of

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times. Some of the extended test flights lasted for several days. The ship
preformed its assigned missions admirably. Confidence remained high.
DP furiously trained his marines. In their minds, they were ready for anything
the PLAG could throw at them. By the time they would be ready to go forward
with the mission, they would to a man feel ten feet tall and bulletproof.
While all if these things were going on, no one saw or heard a thing from
Nessi. He worked around the clock with his group to complete the construction
of the items Crash had requested. Of all the tasks, his was the most daunting
and complex. As he finished each item on the list, Colonel Laughton and
Sergeant Kragen would haul them off and incorporate them into the final
assembly of the overall design. By the end of the allotted time schedule,
Nessi had completed all of the tasks. Exhaustion set in, and he slept for over
twenty-four hours straight.
During the interval spent on preparations for the assault, Crash continued to
refine his understanding of the flight data. He greatly furthered his
understanding of the SEG field dynamics. He made tremendous progress in
understanding how the SEG field functioned. While he sat at his desk, deep in
thought, DP entered his office.
"Boss," DP said, "we are just about ready to go. As soon as Laughton and
Kragen return, everything should be in place. I believe it is time for us to
contact the WSC. They should be quite anxious to hear from us by now. I'm sure
that our extended absence has induced a measure of disquietude in them. After
all, the state of our welfare is most probably their primary concern."
"I agree," Crash stated. "I'm sure P-Quan and that bonehead Kurt haven't slept
a wink since we disappeared. My heart bleeds for them."
Turning to the communicator console, Crash activated a channel that he was
sure the WSC would be monitoring. He issued a bold statement over the open
channel. "This message is to be delivered to WSC Chairman P-Quan. This is Dr.
Crash Tyson. The time has come for you to negotiate a solution to our
differences. You can contact me on this frequency to receive the details of my
terms. Tyson out."
DP's jaw dropped. "If that doesn't stick in his craw, nothing will," he
declared. "You made it sound as if you have already defeated him in this
battle, and that we just issued our terms for his surrender."
"That's right. I'm sure I have become a thorn in his side. I want to make this
proposition as personal as possible. That way I know he will react to it. His
over-inflated ego won't let him react in any other way. It shouldn't take long
for him to respond."
Crash was correct. In less than five minutes, P-Quan returned an answer to
Crash's transmission.
"My young Mister Tyson," P-Quan enunciated with ominous deliberateness, "it
has been brought to my attention that you finally wish to admit your guilt and
make amends for your transgressions against the PLAG and the WSC. I would be
happy to meet with you in person and discuss what the proper reparations
should be. If they are acceptable to me, I might be persuaded to lobby against
the death penalty that has been imposed on you and some of your criminal
associates. If I am not…"
Crash forcefully interrupted, "P-Quan, shut up and listen to me! Here are my
terms. First, Dr. Meisheil will be released to me, unharmed, and with all
charges dropped. Secondly, everyone else in my group will be given full and
permanent amnesty. Once they are all safe, you and I might possibly work out
some type of an arrangement concerning the continuation of this project. That
is my only offer! These conditions are non-negotiable!"
Infuriated by what he perceived as Crash's impudence, P-Quan seethed. The gall
of this primitive, lowlife little bastard! " he thought venomously.
Controlling his wrath, he responded, "Your obscene impudence does not bode
well for an amicable agreement between us, my young friend. I do not believe
you fully understand how serious this matter has become in the eyes of the
ruling Planetary Council."
"Cut the diplomatic BS, P-Quan. Do you want to meet or not? This is your last

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chance."
"To show you that my intentions are honorable, I will agree to your terms. You
may freely come to the WSC headquarters tomorrow at noon. Someone will show
you to my office. We can discuss the situation in greater detail at that time.
Is that satisfactory?"
Crash responded quickly, "That is satisfactory. Tyson out!"
P-Quan figuratively bit his lip. That was much too easy , he mused
uneasily. Tyson gave the strong impression that he holds the controlling
position with regards to this matter. I believe he thinks he is actually
dictating the terms and conditions of the meeting. He must have a trick or two
up his sleeve that he feels will give him a decisive advantage, or he would
have demanded to meet at a neutral site. I must be very careful with him. He
has surprised me a time or two in the past.
Having immediately informed Professor Helosas of his contact with Tyson,
P-Quan congratulated him on the success of his plan to entice Crash into
coming out of hiding. "Once he is in my office, this issue will come to a
rapid conclusion," he told the Professor.
Helosas agreed, but cautioned that they had underestimated Tyson earlier.
"Until he is in chains, I would worry, Mr. Chairman. With your permission, I
shall meet with Magus and augment the containment procedures we'll initiate on
his arrival. I want this matter settled once and for all!"
P-Quan agreed. "There will be no escape for him this time, Professor. Make
sure of it."
At that same moment, Crash wore an irrepressible smile on his face. He was
positive that P-Quan did not have a clue regarding what was about to happen.
P-Quan had taken his bait, hook, line, and sinker. Exultantly, he
thought, Tomorrow, this matter will finally come to a swift end. Lynn will be
free, and it will be clearly demonstrated to everyone that the PLAG is not
the all-powerful hegemony they have convinced the human race they are. It will
be a good day .
Convinced that matters were well in hand, he fell into a deep sleep for the
first time in days.
Chapter Sixteen
Calm and bright, the sea shimmered in the moonlight. Small waves lapped the
shore, and a few gulls flew overhead. Radiance reflected off the ocean's
rippling surface. As before, when Crash looked up, the moon dropped
precipitously from the sky, as if trying to crush the earth. All that stood
between the orb and total annihilation was Crash. He fought mightily to push
the moon back from its collision course. It seemed heavier this time - more
determined than ever to end all life with one mighty, lethal impact. He
strained as never before. Finally, as it had so many times before, the errant
moon returned to its proper orbit. The thunderous claps of wind and storm
turned into, "Boss, are you awake? Sir, it's late, we must be going!"
Crash awoke abruptly, feeling dazed and exhausted. Every time this dream
occurred, it taxed him more. Rising, he grabbed a towel, and dried the sweat
that had poured from him. Just as Crash reached out to open the door, DP
furiously crashed through it.
"Boss," he exclaimed, "I was getting worried. I've been pounding on your door
for almost five minutes now. We need to get going soon, or you'll be late for
your meeting with P-Quan." DP then noticed how profusely the sweat still
dripped from Crash. After doing a quick double-take, he asked anxiously, "Are
you all right, Boss? You look like your sauna got hit by a Mack truck while
you were in it."
Crash replied, "Yeah, I'm fine DP. I just had that damn nightmare again."
Muttering as if to himself, he added, "It was just so damn real this time…so
daunting. It really got to me, this round." Forcibly focusing on the matter at
hand, he barked, "Get everyone together, DP. I'll be down in a few minutes."
***
When Crash arrived on the hanger deck, he found DP, Nessi, and Colonel
Laughton waiting for him. Having saluted Crash, DP declared, "We will meet you

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at the rendezvous point." He then entered the Icarus with his Marines.
Sergeant Kragen saluted Crash from the open hatch. As soon as the last of the
crew went onboard, the hatch disappeared, and the Icarus vanished into the
SEG's distorted spatial field.
The last three men entered the chopper, and Colonel Laughton whisked them
away. It would take several hours to reach the WSC headquarters, which gave
Crash and Nessi plenty of time to go over their strategy.
Before they knew it, they reached the teleport at the WSC. Crash and Nessi
disembarked. Colonel Laughton immediately lifted off and headed out. They were
now completely isolated, and on their own. Each of them carried two large
briefcases. Once inside the building, Armoni Nomi, the same strange doorman
who had guided Crash when he made his original presentation to the WSC, slyly
approached Crash and Nessi.
"Dr. Tyson," he said with patent insincerity, "it is good to see you once
again. How may I be of assistance?"
Crash had not felt at ease around this guy the first time they met, and this
time was no different. He simply said, "I have scheduled a meeting with P-Quan
in his personal office. He said someone would be available to show me the
way."
Surprised, Nomi replied, "His personal office, you say? That is a rare and
great privilege, Dr. Tyson. I would be honored to show you the way. You must
have been quite successful with your project, to be allowed such an honor."
"We did well enough," Crash returned. "I'm just here to work out a few kinks
in the details. That's all."
They strode through a number of hallways and rotundas, finally stopping at an
elevator. Awestruck, Nessi could not believe the opulence of the place. He
could not help wondering how much real science could have been paid for with
the credits spent merely on the maintenance of this facility.
The elevator door opened, and the doorman motioned for them to enter. As they
did, Crash put his hand on the outside of the inner door and secretly attached
a small transmitter to it. The door closed, and the elevator rapidly dropped
to depths unknown.
"How far down is P-Quan's office?" Crash asked.
Condescendingly returning Crash's stare, Nomi replied, "It is quite far, sir."
As they descended the shaft, Crash noted that the further they dropped, the
more the temperature rose. This office of his must be very deep , he
thought. I don't like this a bit! I hope I didn't jump into this confrontation
too recklessly.
After several long minutes, the elevator finally stopped. The inner door
opened and Crash immediately noticed a blast door in the exit tunnel. As they
approached this door, another blast door behind them closed, and the one in
front of them opened. Eventually, they made their way through all eight blast
doors. Crash realized that the design of this security system inhibited the
movement of anything in either direction.
Once they entered P-Quan's main office, the question of Crash's future grew
starkly plain. The last blast door swung shut with a bang, echoing loudly
throughout P-Quan's secret chamber. Crash couldn't do anything about that,
other than to reflect, Good. Now P-Quan can't squirm his way out of this one.
I have him right where I want him.
Having appraised the chamber, Crash observed that a table and chairs were
positioned in front of a raised platform. The raised platform appeared to be
P-Quan's and the WSC's seat of authority. The doorman escorted Crash and Nessi
to the table, and told them to sit down. They did so. They handled their
briefcases discreetly, so that no one would suspect that they were anything
more than what they appeared. After an appropriate amount of time, P-Quan,
Professor Helosas, General Hartson, and Magus entered the room and took their
positions. The air bristled with tension as P-Quan glared dourly at Crash and
Nessi.
I see the games have begun without a word's being spoken, Crash thought. Very
well then, there isn't any reason to beat around the bush.

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In an undertone, Crash asked Nessi to use his scanner device on the esteemed
panel members before them. "Just for the hell of it," he said, "I would like
to see what it says about these guys."
Having nodded slightly, Nessi surreptitiously turned on the recording device.
Before P-Quan or anyone else, for that matter, could begin to speak, Crash
brashly started the discussion by saying, "I have allowed this meeting to
occur for the expressed reason of meeting with the full Science Council. I do
not believe I know the gentleman to your right, Mr. Chairman. Where is Dr.
Kurt?"
P-Quan, already seething as he recalled the impudence of Crash's past
behavior, had to garner all of his self-control to master his rage. Very
deliberately, he put both hands on the desk top and ignored Crash's query.
P-Quan formally opened the meeting, stating, "I have commissioned this meeting
of the tribunal at the request of the Supreme Council of the Planetary
Government. The specific issue at hand is whether or not the actions of one
Dr. Isaac Tyson have become criminal in nature. The specific charges are
these: theft of Government property, the deliberate destruction of Government
property, theft of classified Government information, filing falsified
debriefing reports, and the diversion of Government financial resources for
personal use. Mister Tyson, how do you plead to these charges?"
P-Quan's arrogance angered Crash greatly. "When I agreed to allow this
hearing, my conditions required the presence of the full WSC council," Crash
shot back. "The absence of Dr. Kurt is a violation of the original conditions.
You have also failed to turn Dr. Meisheil over to me. Therefore, P-Quan, this
hearing will not start until Dr. Kurt is present and Dr. Meisheil is released
to me, and not one second sooner!"
P-Quan now failed to control his rage. Visibly fuming, he sought to master
that emotion before speaking. The insolence of this primitive animal, he
silently railed. He is just too much to take! If this issue were not of such
paramount importance to the Luin, I would execute him right here, right now,
without another word's being spoken! Having forced his mind into a more
rational state, P-Quan spoke in a most unaccustomed conciliatory tone.
"Mr. Tyson! My sincere apologies. I guess that the stress of my position has
allowed me to become slightly overzealous in my duties, thus causing me to
overlook the proper implementation of the conditions we had agreed to
previously. The matter of Dr. Kurt is a rather painful issue. Dr. Kurt met an
untimely demise some time ago. He was killed in a regrettable accident.
General Hartson, sitting here to my left, has replaced him on the WSC. The
other gentleman is Admiral Magus Vile. The Supreme Planetary Council requested
the Admiral's presence, so that he could observe these proceedings on their
behalf. The matter of Dr. Meisheil can be easily rectified. Sergeant at arms,
please escort Dr. Meisheil here. As we agreed, Dr. Tyson, she is now free to
leave when you do."
A side door opened, and a guard wheeled Lynn's wheelchair into the chamber.
Crash could not believe his eyes. She had been obviously beaten, starved, and
tortured. She looked as if she had aged twenty years or more. Her eyes, dark
and deeply sunken, stared first at Crash, and then at P-Quan.
Before the outraged instigator of the confrontation could react, P-Quan
interjected smoothly, "I realize that you find Dr. Meisheil's appearance
disturbing, Dr. Tyson, but her physical condition has actually improved
considerably since we found her in the bunker. She would have surely have died
without the extensive medical care we have given her."
Crash did not believe a word of P-Quan's drivel, but he realized that this
deliberate attempt to shake his confidence could not be allowed to interfere
with the larger aspects of this meeting. The time for directly challenging him
would come soon enough. Besides, Lynn was now back with him. Her pain-stricken
eyes met his for several seconds and exchanged an enormity of emotion to Crash
before P-Quan interrupted the silent exchange occurring between them.
"Now that I have met all of your conditions, Dr. Tyson, does the Tribunal
have your permission to start these proceedings?"

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Crash deliberately took his time before answering. When he did so, he stated
abrasively, "It appears that the Tribunal has met the minimum conditions that
I have demanded. Therefore, these deliberations may begin."
His face wreathed in an obviously false smile, P-Quan said, "Very well. We
will now get on with the Tribunal's work and arrive at a solution to this
problem. Dr. Tyson, I have previously detailed the charges against you. How do
you plead?"
Crash wasn't about to plead guilty to blanket charges. He demanded that P-Quan
precisely clarify the nature and scope of each individual charge.
P-Quan replied, "The most serious problem, as far as the Supreme Council is
concerned, is the fact that the WSC did not receive any factual data from the
test you conducted at our expense. We believe that you deliberately falsified
the data stream we received from the SEG test."
Crash replied, "I admit that the data we gave the WSC was falsified. It was,
and still is, my deeply held belief that this work is so sensitive that I
could not then, and cannot now, entrust it to anyone but myself. If this
knowledge gets into the wrong hands, the technology could be developed into
weapons of heretofore unimaginable power and scope. I cannot allow this to
happen until the theory has been completely verified and proper controls have
been developed, so as to assure its proper use."
Magus forcefully interrupted, "You were then successful with your proof, Dr.
Tyson?"
Slightly taken aback by the intensity of Magus's question, Crash replied,
"Sir, at this time, I prefer neither to confirm nor deny any aspect of our
results."
Magus's predilection for reacting violently, coupled with the outrageous
provocation provided by this primitive human being, led him to generate
towering rage, which he could in no way conceal. "Let me tell you something,
you insignificant little fool!" he grated. "You may think your simplistic ploy
puts you in control of this hearing. Nothing could be farther from the truth.
You will turn over to us all of your results, or you will pay a price you
cannot possibly imagine!"
Smiling at the Tribunal, Crash calmly stated, "I respectfully refuse."
Magus came up out of his chair and started over the desk towards Crash.
Grabbing him, P-Quan forcefully intervened, urging, "Admiral, this behavior is
unbecoming for someone of your station! Please control yourself!" He then
deliberately let a small smile grace his face.
The Admiral reluctantly seated himself, but his vengeful eyes remained focused
on Crash.
"I apologize for the Admiral's outburst, Dr. Tyson," P-Quan stated. "Tensions
on both sides are apparently quite high. Perhaps we could reach a suitable
compromise that would meet the needs of all of the parties involved."
Crash replied, "What do you have in mind?"
"The Supreme Council has authorized me to dismiss all charges against you and
your group, if you turn over all data and agree to continue the project at one
of our facilities."
Having considered that proposal, Crash replied, "I appreciate the Supreme
Council's offer, Mr. Chairman, but I cannot in good conscience comply with
such an offer. Therefore I respectfully decline."
Magus abruptly stood up and bellowed, "You dare challenge us? You will turn
over all information immediately or I will execute you myself this instant!"
P-Quan subliminally conveyed his agreement with Magus. Nodding, he declared,
"My young Mr. Tyson, it is obvious to me that you do not understand what you
are up against. If you do not accept this very generous offer, I'm afraid that
powerful forces beyond your comprehension and, for that matter, beyond my
control, may be unleashed against you. Once they are set in motion, I will be
powerless to intervene on your behalf."
Crash became more resolute than ever. "Mr. Chairman - P-Quan. It may appear to
you that I sit here isolated and helpless. I assure you that this is not the
case. Again, I cannot in good conscience accept your terms, therefore I

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respectfully decline."
Just as Crash finished his reply, the whole cavern started to pulsate with a
long wave vibration. Behind the Tribunal, a dark but shimmering light appeared
from out of nowhere. Other than the deep groan that suddenly emanated from the
earth, silence reigned. As the dark apparition brightened, red and purple
light entwined with the static discharge surrounding it. The room began to
fill with ozone and other acrid smells. The shimmering essence increasingly
took on form and substance as its dark essence projected its alien brilliance
throughout the room. The amorphous form gave way to pattern and design. Soon,
the full-blown three-dimensional figure of a tall, slender, alien creature
approximately nine feet tall appeared. At that point, the radiating darkness
dissipated, leaving the figure plainly visible.
With all of his powerfully dark brilliance, Zern stood there for all to see.
An aurora of unrestricted power emanated from him. His bright but deeply
violet eyes probed the entire room. Small electric discharges occurring within
his physical form interacted with the surrounding atmosphere, giving him a
slightly pulsating translucent glow. The space around him seemed to shimmer
and move within an unspecified field of darkness: a field devoid of light but
still possessing some type of form.
Caught completely off guard, dumbfounded, awestruck, Crash fought to regain
his composure. Quickly, he commanded Nessi to get readings of this being with
his recording device.
"I'm already on it, Sir Crash," Nessi murmured.
After only a few seconds, Zern's eyes stopped roving, and focused exclusively
on Crash. Absolute silence rammed itself into the heads of all those present.
P-Quan broke the tense silence by saying, "Mr. Tyson, as I feared, it now
appears that this matter has been taken out of my jurisdiction. The entity
before you is a member of the Luin Science Council of the Cren Empire. His
name is Zern. His authority is supreme in this matter. He will determine how
this dispute with you will be settled. I am now powerless to intervene."
Crash could feel Zern's piercing gaze inside his mind. It felt as if the alien
intended to pick his mind apart and rummage through the pieces. Once Crash
thought he understood the nature of this intrusion, he forcefully severed
those thoughts from his mind. At that instant, Zern unexpectedly reacted to
Crash's forceful action with a slight but noticeable flinch. Crash then
perceived what he interpreted as a frown on the alien's visage.
Zern finally spoke. "So this is the young Primitive that has caused all the
commotion. I have traveled very far to meet you, Mr. Tyson. I have been sent
here to resolve any conflicts or misunderstandings our local representatives
may have caused regarding your enlistment into the Empire's service. I
sincerely apologize for the tactless approach my underlings may have invoked
regarding your discovery."
Turning to P-Quan and Professor Helosas, he sternly stated, "You will pay a
high price for the blundering incompetence that almost cost the Empire access
to the greatest discovery in the history of the universe!"
Crash could not believe the sudden change in his circumstances. He finally
asked P-Quan for a time-out. "Before we go any further here, I have a few
million questions I would like answered."
P-Quan, somewhat sheepishly, turned to Zern. With a slight nod, Zern
acknowledged Crash's concerns. Obviously, Zern now held total control over
this meeting
P-Quan addressed Crash. "His Eminence has agreed to answer any question you
desire, Mr. Tyson."
This sudden change of events confused Crash. He needed to reestablish his
bearings regarding the entire matter. He did not know about empires. As he
studied Zern, he decided that the situation just did not feel right, so the
first question would be about this new player. He asked, "What the hell are
you, and where did you come from?"
If Zern could smile, he did. "I am a member of the Luin Science Council. At
present, I reside on a planet known as Riglon: a scientific research station

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of the Cren Empire. The Luin species, of which I am a member, possesses the
most intellectually capable minds among the millions of species that are
members of the Empire. Therefore, we are charged with the regulation and
management of the Empire's political and military functions.
"I perform my duties on the Riglon research station, which has been
specifically designed for scientific investigation and research. I was the
first to record the spatial wave recoil generated, we believe, by your first
attempt at generating a spatial exclusion wave. My reason for appearing here
is to investigate this matter and determine if it justifies the Empire's
direct involvement with your progress. We have since recorded several larger
events. I am curious, Mr. Tyson. During the interval while you were out of
contact with the WSC, have you further refined your techniques?"
Staring at Zern, Crash thought, This guy is really smooth. In thirty seconds
he went from supposedly explaining himself to asking me if I had refined the
end product of my entire life's work. Damn curious, if you ask me. He knows a
lot more than he is letting on.
Crash decided he needed more information. "How far is this Riglon? How did you
get here?"
Zern appeared unflustered. "Riglon is approximately thirteen billion light
years distant. What you assume to be me standing before you is actually a
hyper tachyon representation of my mental essence transferred into a host body
specially constructed for such purposes. In essence, I am in two places at the
same instant in time. Everything I experience here, I will simultaneously
experience on Riglon. It is actually a very simple process. Even some members
of your race in the past have actually understood the principle, in a
rudimentary sort of way. I believe your species simplistically calls it the
Bell Theorem."
Zern's reply only increased Crash's curiosity. "If all that you say is true,
why would you be interested in my attempt to travel faster than light? It
seems that you have overcome the need for such a technology." Crash noted that
Zern showed a slight sign of stress when the last question was asked. He also
noticed that the alien instantly repressed it.
Zern replied, "All knowledge interests us. That is why I have come here to ask
you to join us in that quest. You are the first to take this technology this
far, this successfully. It is our sincere hope that you will decide to join us
in this mutual endeavor. If you do, you will be given access to our most
advanced facilities so that together, we can develop your concepts to their
ultimate conclusion. By the way, I must add that the deception techniques you
used against our representatives here were most impressive. I compliment you
on their sophistication."
Crash became increasingly aware of the extent of Zern's mental power. Zern
could simultaneously communicate on multiple levels. While physically talking
to Crash on one level, he tried to pull thoughts from him in several different
ways. Crash could feel the spurious foreign thoughts rummaging through his
mind, looking for answers. He already knew the answers, so the questions could
only be coming from Zern himself. Again, Crash perceived this attempt and
severed his connection to those thoughts. This time Zern did not attempt to
hide his displeasure.
Crash wanted to play this out, so he asked another question. "Thank you for
the compliment, sir, but I felt it necessary to protect the integrity of the
technology. What I would like to know is this: what is this Empire you refer
to, and what is its extent?"
Crash could clearly see frustration developing in Zern, but the alien managed
to cover it quickly. He replied, "The Cren Empire stretches from one end of
the universe to the other. Politically, it is loosely organized into a
Monarchial Federation. Tanas has been our unquestioned ruler from the very
beginning of the Empire's creation. Because of his brilliance, the Cren Empire
continues to expand to this day. There will be ample time to discuss the
details of our origins later, Mr. Tyson. What is important now is that I
formally offer you an opportunity rarely given to any member of such a young

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species as yours. Would you like to join us, so that your work can be properly
completed in a timely manner?"
Staring at Zern, Crash asked guardedly, "May I consult with my associate?"
Zern replied, "By all means. Take as much time as you like."
Turning to Nessi, Crash asked, "What do you think of all of this, Nessi? I get
the distinct feeling that there is a lot more going on here than meets the
eye."
"You are correct, sir Crash. We are the only human beings in this room! Look!"
He showed Crash the reading from his multi-spectral device. None of the
readings were even remotely similar to those of any of Crash's group. The most
disturbing readings were from Zern, however. His profile appeared so
antithetical to the others as to be meaningless. The results were simply
unintelligible.
"I'll tell you what, Nessi," Crash said in an undertone. "Since the very
beginning of our association with the WSC, this project has been half a bubble
off. Now I know why. I really think we'd be better off on our own. I don't
want to play with these guys anymore."
"Do we have any choice, Sir Crash?" Nessi asked dubiously.
Looking Nessi square in the eye, Crash shot back, "Yes, we do!"
Turning to Lynn, he pulled her wheelchair closer and warned, "Hang on to your
butt. This place is about to go ballistic. He then hit DP's ring, activating
the ready signal and putting him on standby.
Knowing that this would be the final straw that would force Zern's hand, Crash
braced himself, and announced, "After due consideration, I believe that my
best course of action is for myself and my group to finish this project
independent of all outside interference. To complete my work under the
pretense of having freedom is akin to existing in an illusionary fantasy. It
would be unfair to everyone involved to do so. Therefore, I respectfully
decline your offer."
Crash could feel Zern's anger race through his mind. Zern stood motionless for
several seconds before reacting to Crash's reply. Eventually, he sighed, and
declared, "My rambunctious little Primitive, I am greatly disappointed with
your decision. You do not now, and in fact never have had, any choice in the
matter. You possess a much greater chance of changing the orbit of this
planet's moon than you have of changing the course of your future."
Noting the ominous change in the nature of Zern's statement, Crash retorted,
"P-Quan and the WSC hold that same opinion. They believe as you apparently do:
that every person exists only at your discretion. I would rather die fighting
in a war I cannot win than serve the likes of you! They failed, and so will
you!"
Smiling sardonically, Zern countered, "My ignorant little Primitive, I can
assure you with absolute certainty that neither you nor your primitive race
has the slightest comprehension of the true nature of war or how to wage it!
If you will not join us with respect, then you will do so with disrespect.
Either way, you will join us." Turning to Magus, he ordered, "Seize him!"
Smiling, Magus muttered, "Finally!" He signaled Regar. Within a second, the
entire room shook violently. Six Morcor storm troopers broke through the solid
six-foot-thick alloy-steel casing that lined the walls of the cavern. Using
their multi-megawatt plasma beams, the twelve-foot tall Quadripedal beasts
ripped through the casing as if it were soft butter, and peeled it back with
their arms and legs. Then they simply walked into P-Quan's office. Owing to
the pyrotechnics of the cutting beams and the dust from the pulverized
granite, the room quickly filled with smoke and dust that obscured everything.
When the dust settled, Crash grew astounded by the sight of the six Morcor in
full battle armor pointing their weapons at him. Bounding up and down on four
massive legs, each Morcor pointed four powerful weapons at Crash's head.
Crash's only option at that point was to implement his exit strategy. He hit
the red button that signaled DP.
Radiating diabolical vileness, Zern rasped to P-Quan, "This miserable
Primitive can't seem to understand that it would have been much easier on him

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if he had accepted our offer!"
Rising to his feet, Crash declared scathingly, "I am not going anywhere with
the likes of you!"
At that very instant, engulfed within a tumultuous field of pyrotechnic static
discharge, the Icarus broke through the ceiling of the cavern and came to a
stop, hovering a few feet above the floor. The hull opened, and DP and his
marines stormed out with guns blazing. Kragen manned the avenger cannon. When
he saw the six Morcor he involuntarily bit his cigar off, even as he opened
fire.
The small arms of the Marines produced no effect on the battle armor of the
Morcor. It didn't even irritate the wearers of the armor. However, the avenger
cannon was a different story. Its bullet-tips had been spiked with a small
amount of Californium. When the bullet-tips hit the Morcor armor, that small
amount of fissile material went critical and detonated, creating a small but
deeply penetrating nuclear explosion. This got the attention of the Morcor.
They immediately targeted the Icarus and opened up with everything they had.
The pyrotechnic display of all of the beam weapons and shaped micro-nuclear
charges going off at the same time was unimaginable. Plasma charges and laser
beams struck the little ship, but to no avail. The energy was simply absorbed
by the static spatial field comprising the hull.
In all of their long history, the Morcor had never before seen such a thing.
Through all of the commotion, Kragen saw Zern lurking in the background, and
instinctively deduced that "different" equaled "power." He opened up on him
with a full burst. As powerful as his attack was, his ammunition seemed to
have little effect on Zern. The explosions were deflected or absorbed by some
unknown force.
This action diverted the Morcor's attention long enough to allow Crash the
time needed to produce a small Mobius defensive field around his group. This
field deflected any fire from the Morcor, but it had a very narrow range and a
limited energy supply. DP made it to Crash's position in only a couple of
seconds. Crash ordered him to evacuate Lynn to the Icarus . Having gathered
the injured woman into his arms, DP hightailed it back to the ship. Crash and
Nessi followed, trying to protect themselves with what energy remained of the
Mobius field generator.
Once Crash, Nessi and Lynn came onboard, DP ordered his Marines to fall back
to the Icarus . All of them followed orders except one: Corporal Kaulpen. In
the middle of his charge, he seemed to recognize Zern. Changing direction,
Kaulpen charged straight at the alien with gun blazing. Zern withdrew in fear
behind the Morcor defensive shields. Seeing no way to get to Zern through the
Morcor, Kaulpen attempted to flank their defensive shields and attack Zern
from the side. As he moved into position, a Morcor warrior tried to cut him
off. One of the others moved around the group and got between Kaulpen and the
ship. This maneuver put the four-legged beast directly in front of and
slightly below Kragen.
On seeing the ambush, Kragen opened fire on the Morcor with the avenger
cannon. The Morcor took a full barrage of the spiked ammo from the GAU/8 at
point blank range. Each bullet exploded with the force of over two hundred
pounds of C-4 explosive. As Kragen fired, each round detonated deeper and
deeper into the dense defensive force field of the Morcor's shielding. In five
seconds, three hundred fifty californium-tipped penetrators hit this
particular Morcor's armor shielding, which eventually collapsed. The last
round penetrated the force field and breached the Morcor's exo-skeltal
physical armor. This caused the entire explosion to be contained within the
armor shielding. That highly effective tactic caused the Morcor to blow up.
Kaulpen then withdrew from his attack on Zern. Quickly, he made his way around
the Morcor's electrically charged burning corpse and boarded the Icarus.
During the course of the battle, scintillating fire had glowed everywhere
inside and outside the Icarus, as energy fragments from ricocheting plasma
rounds rattled the small ship. The tumultuous buzz of plasma energy being
discharged into the surrounding atmosphere permeated the fiber of every member

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of the direly stressed crew. Large sections of the interior wall of the cavern
began to melt under the intense energy flux. The dense, acrid smoke filling
the chamber started to blind everyone.
Once Kaulpen boarded the Icarus , Crash ordered Laughton to withdraw
immediately, before the ship was incinerated. Captain Parker disengaged the
hatch fields, which closed in nanoseconds. Having charged the Icarus's SEG
field, Laughton accelerated straight up through the fourteen thousand five
hundred feet of granite, at one percent of light speed. One second later the
vessel attained a height of about eighteen hundred miles above the earth's
surface. The whole firefight had lasted less than one minute. During that
minute, the Morcor suffered their first battlefield loss in over three billion
years of warfare.
Crash's thoughts focused first on Lynn. He yelled for Dr. Nao, who instantly
began tending to her various wounds and injuries. Finally, Crash had time in
which to study her appearance. Shock gripped him as he saw just how barbaric
the WSC's treatment of Lynn had been. Her captivity with the PLAG had left her
broken, bruised, famished and withered. Those mesmerizing eyes that previously
had so enhanced her beauty were deeply sunken and dark. Little light showed in
those eyes, where life's energy once flowed so freely. This sight overwhelmed
Crash, and served to reinforce his realization of the damage the PLAG could so
easily inflict on anyone who challenged its authority. This barbaric image
further convinced him of the justice of his cause.
"Doctor," Crash urged, "I want to talk to you as soon as you have done
everything you can for Lynn."
Without looking up, Dr. Nao replied, "Of course, sir."
Crash now turned his full attention to the flight status of the Icarus .
Having approached Colonel Laughton, he inquired, "Is there anything I need to
know about the ship, Colonel?"
"I believe we got away clean, sir," he replied. "We should be able to continue
on as we planned."
"OK then, Colonel," Crash replied. "Take us to our relocation area as safety
allows. We need time to regroup."
Laughton entered the coordinates. The Icarus blinked out at many times the
speed of light. It would only take a couple minutes for the ship to reach its
destination - a circumstance that didn't give the crew much time to settle
down into a routine.
After securing all of the weapons, Sergeant Kragen approached DP and barked,
"Sergeant Major, what the hell were those things that attacked us down there?
You didn't tell us we were going into combat against some kind of damn alien
freaks!"
DP's big grin slowly metamorphosed into an outburst of uncontrollable
laughter. "If I'd known it was going to be a freak show, Sergeant, I'd have
gotten you center-stage front-row seats. I know you like that sort of thing. I
don't know what those things were, any more than you do. But they were the
most professional bad-assed freaks I've ever encountered! That was the best
firefight I've ever been in. I wouldn't have missed it for anything!"
Dumbfounded, Kragen did a double-take, and stared back at DP, completely
baffled. Shaking his head, he walked away mumbling to himself. "Front row
seats, he says! Fun, he says! Wouldn't miss it for the world, he says! I
swear, you ask a dumb question of the management, and you get a dumber answer
every time."
DP understood Kragen probably better than he understood himself. Because of
this, he knew that Kragen would eventually get over his frustrations. It was
just his way at justifying his actions and relieving the stress produced
during the battle. All real men needed space to work out the frustrations
within themselves. Outside intrusions were not welcome and would be rebuffed.
Good leaders knew this, and DP was one of the best.
Nessi had been sitting quietly by himself in front of his computer for some
time. Completely self-absorbed, he focused on some problem. Crash approached,
and asked what he was doing.

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"Sir Crash," he explained, "I have been analyzing the information gathered by
my recording device during our encounter. It is most troubling."
"Troubling, Nessi?" Frowning, Crash asked, "How so?"
A long delay occurred before Nessi replied, "The information is much
contradictory, Sir Crash. We were the only human beings in the room. Everyone
else was…" His brow furrowing, his expression fearful, he blurted,
"Different!"
"What do you mean, different? In what way?" Crash asked.
Nessi showed him the readouts of P-Quan and Professor Helosas. Their
psycho-electromagnetic profiles were clearly dissimilar to those of any member
of Crash's team. As a matter of fact, they had nothing in common with them
whatsoever.
This new information tweaked Crash's curiosity. "What about that Zern fellow?
What did you get on him?"
Nessi pulled up Zern's profile. To his surprise, it was almost completely
blank.
"Isn't that interesting!" Crash whistled. "He was there, because we both saw
him, and yet the data indicates he was not. How can that be?"
"I do not know, Sir Crash."
This information perplexed Crash. "What about those warrior things?" he asked.
"What did it show on them?"
Nessi displayed the data on the Morcor. It was similar to that of P-Quan and
Professor Helosas, but there were significant differences.
These differences quickly caught Crash's attention. "Those readings show
several clear similarities to P-Quan's, do they not?" Crash asked, frowning
thoughtfully. "There must be some direct relationship between the two. Perhaps
some type of selective genetic engineering has been used to transform one or
the other of them."
"I do not know, Sir Crash," Nessi replied, "but there is one thing more you
should see." He put in another disc and displayed the results. The readout was
very similar to that of Zern, except for what appeared to be a few additional
human characteristics thrown in.
"Whose readout is that?" Crash asked inquisitively.
Nessi said softly, "That is Corporal Kaulpen, Sir Crash."
A million alarm bells went off in Crash's head. "DP!" he yelled. "We need to
talk - now!"
DP came running on hearing Crash's frenzied outcry. "What is it, Boss?"
"How well do you know Kaulpen?"
Baffled by Crash's question, DP replied, "I've known him for quite a few
years, sir. He's a good man. Why?"
Eyeing DP sternly, Crash commanded, "Show him, Nessi."
DP's eyes opened wide when Nessi displayed the data. He then asked, "Does this
mean what I think it means? If this is true, we need to ask him a couple of
million questions right now!"
"I agree," Crash replied. "Keep a very close eye on him until we make our
rendezvous. Then I want him placed under heavy guard. We'll interrogate him at
that time. Is that clear?"
DP clearly understood the implications. Had the Icarus been a little larger,
they could have restrained him immediately. If Kaulpen was what he appeared to
be, attempting such a maneuver in such confined quarters could put the ship
and crew in serious jeopardy. After all, no one had the slightest clue as to
what they were really dealing with. A hasty stupid mistake could imperil them
all.
***
Not feeling any pressing need to hurry their escape, Laughton took his time to
maneuver the Icarus into a position behind Saturn. Once there, they were to
meet up with Crash's latest achievement, a ship about seven times the size of
the Icarus . Crash named this ship the USS Clark , after one of the great
American Generals of that dead country's Revolutionary War.
The Clark class of ships possessed vastly greater power and strength than did

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the Icarus . Crash's increased understanding of the physics of the SEG's field
structure had allowed him to fine-tune the reactive process. The ship
stretched out about three hundred forty-three feet in length, with a width of
some hundred fifty feet, and a height of one hundred feet. Its overall form
appeared much more elliptical in shape, giving it a more streamlined, elegant
appearance. The increase in size gave the hull a density over seven times
greater than that of the Icarus . This increased hull density occurred because
the of SEG's detonation inside Helene, one of Saturn's smaller moons. The
local spatial field density was greater, because of the combination of the
generally denser gravity well of Saturn's massive gravity field and the moon's
specific gravitational field. This combination caused a corresponding density
increase in the hull. The production of antimatter also increased, to over
fifty-eight tons of antimatter fuel.
Due to the time restraints placed on the preparations by the recent event,
the Clark's outfitting was very Spartan. For the mission at hand, it would be
more than adequate. At least, that is what Crash had thought.
As the Icarus rounded the huge planet, all of its defensive alarms went off,
as a tremendous thud suddenly rocked the ship. All hands were violently thrown
about. Laughton quickly engaged all forward observing sensors and displays.
What he saw stunned him. There in front of the Icarus were two large alien
ships. The radar telemetry indicated that these ships were about three hundred
fifty meters in length and about eighty-five meters in diameter. They were
rather bulky in appearance - obviously designed as bulk troop or cargo
carriers. On the top and bottom of each ship, extending forward of the hull,
were two externally mounted beam weapon emitters. One of the ships appeared to
be firing a beam weapon of great power at them.
Crash yelled to DP, "Who the hell are they?"
"I don't know, sir!" DP replied. "But I bet I know who does."
"Kaulpen!" Crash quickly answered back.
DP commandeered Sergeant Kragen and the two of them quickly approached
Kaulpen.
"Crash would like to have a little chat with you, Corporal," DP stated
forcefully. "Come with us. Now!"
The three of them approached the Command console of the Icarus , where Crash
waited for them.
"Corporal," Crash asked frigidly, "What do you make of those?"
He showed Kaulpen the ships on the viewer just as another powerful energy beam
struck the ship.
Despite the circumstances, Kaulpen exhibited little if any stress or emotion.
He stared at the two alien ships for quite some time without answering or
reacting to them in any perceptible way.
Due to the direct threat to the Icarus , Crash could not waste any time on
formalities or games. "Nessi," Crash said, "show the Corporal the information
we gathered during the firefight in P-Quan's office."
Nessi displayed the psycho energy profiles of all the participants of the
battle.
Kaulpen stared at the information for several minutes. His response startled
Crash.
"How did you come by this information, sir?" he asked.
"Right now, that is not important," Crash retorted. "The fact is that we have
it. Now, explain yourself!"
Kaulpen hesitated, and finally stated flatly, "It appears that you have
acquired information that you are not ready to comprehend or fully appreciate,
for that matter."
"Explain yourself. We are running out of time, Corporal!"
Kaulpen remained reluctant to discuss the matter. Having debated with himself,
he replied, "At some point in the future, I may be able to give you an
adequate explanation concerning all of these issues. But frankly, at the
moment, we have more pressing matters to deal with. I strongly suggest we
leave the area." Pointedly, he added, "With all due haste."

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Outraged, Crash replied, "We are not going anywhere until I get some answers!
Who are they?"
Realizing that Crash's stubbornness would become fatal to the crew, Kaulpen
reluctantly explained, "Those ships are Morcor assault transports. The Cren
Hierarchy brought the Morcor warriors to your world to apprehend you! They
never travel alone. The ships that escort them are immensely more powerful
than those you see. I strongly suggest that we leave this area before they
arrive!"
Crash quickly to put two and two together. Kaulpen's information closely
paralleled the information Zern had given them. He did not understand the
details, but he realized that the complexities of this game were increasing by
the second. At the moment, he decided that caution would be the better part of
valor. The other major problem confronting them, besides the current alien
attack, was that the Clark , due to DP's insistence, was under orders to run
silent until they rendezvoused. When the Clark did show up, it would find
itself in the middle of a battle it was ill-equipped to fight. They had no
choice but to stay until it arrived. Crash ground his teeth as he realized
that his hands were tied. Not knowing what military strategy might be
appropriate in handling the attack by hitherto unknown aliens, Crash asked DP
for options.
DP replied, "Since we don't have any space-based weapons, all we can do is run
circles around them and occupy their attention until the Clark shows up. Then,
if we are still in one piece, we can dock and leave."
Not being able to come up with a better strategy, Crash issued an order.
"Colonel Laughton, give our friends something to shoot at, but make it
impossible for them to hit us."
Shaking his head, Laughton replied, "And I thought you were going to order
something difficult, sir!" Just then another heavy blast hit the ship. This
time a slight glow appeared on the inner hull.
This latest development alarmed Crash greatly. He knew the physics of the hull
structure and the amount of energy required to stress the hull to that point.
The beams from the Morcor transports possessed energy and power of a magnitude
only dreamed of in mankind's wildest fantasies. If the Morcor escort ships
were as powerful as Kaulpen said they were, Crash's people would be in serious
trouble as soon as the enemy ships arrived.
Laughton engaged the SEG drive at very low power for one second, and pulled
the Icarus up several hundred miles. The maneuver confused the target
acquisition system of the Morcor ships, and they lost their lock on the little
ship. They ceased firing. It only took them a few seconds to reestablish their
lock, however, and the Icarus was again rocked by a blistering blast.
Laughton marveled at the rapidity by which the Morcor reacquired their
targeting capability. He made adjustments by continually maneuvering the ship
every couple of seconds in random directions. As good as the Morcor targeting
systems were, they could not react quite quickly enough to hit
the Icarus again. We're safe for the moment , the Colonel thought.
Just as Laughton thought he had developed a strategy for outmaneuvering the
Morcor transport vessels, two more black ugly ships appeared from behind
Saturn's moon Titan. They were slightly smaller than the transport ships, but
were clearly designed for heavy battle. Radar indicated them to be around two
hundred eighty meters in length and seventy meters in diameter. Three
ominous-looking beam projectors protruded from about one-third of the way from
the front of the ships, arced up and outward, and then curved back toward each
other about fifty meters in the front of the hull of each ship. Each projector
arm had an elongated arcing triangular appearance with a tightly wound coil
structure around its structural length. The arms that housed the projectors
glowed with a dull red light along their entire length. Each projector seemed
to possess the capability to move independently from the others.
Simultaneously, every defensive alarm the Icarus possessed went off, as the
approaching ships' targeting systems illuminated the Icarus with precisely
aimed radiation. Within a second both ships opened fire and hit their mark.

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Two enormously intense energy beams rocked the little ship, violently mauling
the Icarus . To make matters worse, the two transports opened fire at nearly
the same time. The hull of the tiny ship glowed red, but this time the glow
intensified and became brighter, rather than dissipating. Not only were the
two attack vessels' weapons several orders of magnitude more powerful than
that of the transports, they were not pulsed energy systems, as those of the
transport ships were. They fired accurately with a continuously generated beam
of deadly energy.
It amazed Crash how quickly the situation had changed. The intensity of these
energy beams, unimaginably more powerful than those of the transports,
affected the entire ship. The hull inside of the Icarus began to glow into the
orange part of the spectrum. He quickly asked Kaulpen what these new ships
were. Kaulpen told him that they were just small escort frigates and most
likely would be accompanied by at least one and possibly two considerably
larger destroyer class ships.
Crash had to make a decision and make it quickly. "Colonel," he roared, "Get
us out of here right now!"
Laughton engaged the SEG drive. For all practical purposes,
the Icarus vanished. To the sensors on the attacking frigates, it appeared
that the small ship had succumbed to the intense energy beams of their
weapons. A tremendous oscillation occurred as the beams interfered with each
other as they converged into the space where the Icarus once had been. A large
pyrotechnic photon discharge occurred, giving the impression of the detonation
of a rather significantly large nuclear device. To the sensors and to the eyes
of the Captains of the Morcor ships, that is what occurred. In their minds,
the Icarus and all hands had been completely destroyed. They claimed a total
victory.
Colonel Laughton had remembered his recent maneuver on earth when they rescued
Lynn. He flew the Icarus straight into Saturn and exited the other side of the
planet in a matter of a second or two. They were safe for the moment. Crash
asked him to plot a vector to intercept the Clark as quickly as possible.
The Clark's safety depended on their stopping it from it showing up at the
rendezvous site completely unprepared for what now awaited them there.
It took the Colonel only a couple of minutes to plot an intercept course. He
headed toward the oncoming Clark at over a thousand times the speed of light.
He started transmitting an emergency signal, hoping that the Clark might be
listening, so as to impede their blind progress into an awaiting hell-storm.
In just a few minutes, he received a faint coded signal that unmistakably came
from the Clark .
Major Kohl, the officer whom Colonel Laughton had selected to command
the Clark , answered the hail from the Icarus. "This is Major Kohl, Commanding
Officer of the Clark , speaking. We have received your emergency
transmission, Icarus . You have broken the silent-running protocol. Is there a
problem?"
Colonel Laughton replied, "We have been engaged by hostile forces. Abort the
rendezvous immediately. We will home in on your signal. Maintain your position
until we arrive. That is all."
Given the speed at which the Icarus traveled, it did not take long for the two
ships to meet. Major Kohl energized the newly designed hatch system, and a
large opening appeared on the topside of the Clark's hull. The Icarus easily
entered the docking bay of the larger ship.
Once the smaller vessel was safely inside, the docking portal quickly closed,
and attained its former seamlessness. After shutting down all of
the Icarus's systems, Crash and the crew disembarked from the battered little
ship. On inspection, the external hull showed serious signs of the battle. It
still glowed in various places where the most intense energy of the beam
weapons had scorched it. Static discharges occasionally jumped from point to
point across the little ship's hull. Upon seeing the intense scorching, Crash
realized that he would need to reassess a number of areas of his designs, if
they were going to compete with this new threat.

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As he stood there formulating new parameters, DP and Laughton approached him,
their faces contorted with dismay. They chorused, "Sir, we're going to need
much larger ships equipped with much more powerful guns!"
Crash replied tersely, "Gentlemen, we need a lot more than bigger guns and
ships. The beam weapons these Morcor possess are absolutely awesome. Before
today, I never thought any weapon could be constructed that could challenge
the hull integrity of this ship. We need to reassess our entire program. We
need to talk to Kaulpen right now, and get some substantive answers from him."
Crash ordered DP to bring Kaulpen to a suitable interrogation area for
immediate questioning. He then ordered Colonel Laughton to return the Clark to
their new base as quickly as possible.
***
P-Quan stared numbly at what remained of his cavern-office. Many areas on the
walls and ceiling were shattered and fractured, and they still glowed from the
numerous impacts of ordinance delivered from both sides. Zern stood in the
center, racked by disbelief regarding what he had just witnessed. Never before
in Cren history had any Primitive so thoroughly outmaneuvered the Empire.
Gazing down upon the corpse of the dead Morcor, his anger rose to a crescendo.
Someone would have to pay for this outrageous embarrassment. He looked toward
the members of the WSC tribunal. General Hartson stood nearest to him.
"General," he rasped accusingly, "you told P-Quan that these dimwitted
Primitives were dead. Now look what has happened because of your incompetent
stupidity! Are you not at all embarrassed by your having been so grossly
outwitted by such a lowly being?"
Hartson's hatred outweighed his sense of failure. He could not qualify his
reply because of his blind loathing of the human race. He grated, "This
incident only proves my contention that all humans should be eradicated from
the universe as quickly as possible. They are untrustworthy, unpredictable and
erratic. They require much too much management for any potential benefit the
Empire might eventually gain from them."
It became abundantly clear to Zern that Hartson had degenerated to the
shallowest level in which his mind could exist. He had lost all cognizance of
the Empire's goals and his sole purpose: achieving those goals. Therefore, his
usefulness had come to an end.
Zern's mind squashed Hartson's as if it had been a bugs. He unleashed a bolt
of mental energy so powerful that it instantly fried every synapse in
Hartson's brain. Hartson's eyes glazed over and went blank in less than a
second. His limp body fell to the floor in a dead heap. The Nomers were always
the first to pay. There were untold trillions of them throughout the universe,
and as far as the Luin were concerned, their expendability had never been
considered as either a moral or economic issue.
Zern now focused his attention on Professor Helosas and P-Quan.
"P-Quan, how could you have let this matter spiral so far out of control?" he
snarled accusingly. "Did I not make it perfectly clear to you that the Empire
considers this issue of the utmost importance?"
Helosas remained quiet but P-Quan spoke up. "Master, our plans were extensive
and thorough. We never anticipated such an exponential increase in ability
from such a primitive race. It is very difficult for anyone to classify these
humans as anything more than higher animals with only the most rudimentary
sentience. Look at their history and the fractured nature of their various
cultures!"
Zern countered, "Your mission here is to anticipate this kind of exception to
the normal progression of these Primitives. That is why we manipulate them
with such minute detail! The only reason they exist is to provide us with a
view that is radically different from our own. It is clearly apparent that
such an exception has just occurred. It is also apparent that you failed to
recognize this exceptional development and thereby lost control of this most
fortunate anomaly! What happened here today is unprecedented, and I now
believe that it quite doubtful that we can reacquire functional control of
this unexpected breakthrough without expending a great amount of the Empire's

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resources! This should not have happened!"
The directness of Zern's argument induced intense nervousness in P-Quan.
Zern's justifiable concern over his, P-Quan's, failure to contain Tyson could
prove fatal to him and Helosas. He had to come up with a legitimate reason why
the plan that they had so carefully developed and executed failed so
completely.
"Master, I believe this Primitive Tyson character may be many millennia ahead
of the curve. He is an anomaly that could not be foreseen. It is unreasonable
to assume that we could have anticipated such an outcome as this, at this
time."
P-Quan's explanations did not impress Zern. "Your primary mission is to
anticipate any genetic divergence that could lead to such an occurrence. That
goal is the primary objective of this project. You both have failed miserably
in your duties!"
Desperation began to overwhelm P-Quan, "Master, we had them contained down
here just as we planned. It was the Morcor who failed to apprehend them. I
cannot be held responsible for their inability to perform their mission
properly!"
P-Quan's statement took Zern by surprise. P-Quan's plan had indeed maneuvered
Tyson into a supposedly secure location, and the Morcor did in fact fail to
contain him in that location. Upon consideration Zern conceded, "Magus,
P-Quan's position is correct regarding the Morcor's failure. What do you have
to say for yourself?"
Magus reacted as only a Maen military officer could. "Master, P-Quan never
informed me of the potential intervention of technology superior to that of
our own. After witnessing the capabilities of that ship, I am convinced that
nothing I could have done would have changed the outcome of this mission.
P-Quan should have been aware of the possibility of this divergence, and
informed me prior to our engagement. Had I known, I would have engaged a much
larger and more heavily armed force."
Magus's explanation did not impress Zern. In his mind, someone of rank had to
pay for this embarrassing blunder. Since the Morcor had failed in their
mission, they were most directly responsible. Therefore, he decided that Magus
would pay the price for this failure. After a few seconds of contemplation he
said, "Commander, the orders that I personally gave you required that you
acquire Tyson. You failed miserably in the execution of your duties. I
therefore find you guilty of dereliction of that duty."
Zern immediately unleashed a viscous assault upon Magus's mind. The massive
bolt of mental energy overloaded most of his synapses, and bent him over in
excruciating pain. Given that he possessed an immeasurably more capable mind
than Hartson, Magus did not die instantly. When the Morcor troopers realized
that Zern intended to kill Magus, they came to his defense by activating their
shields and surrounded him. They then trained all of their weapons on Zern
himself. In a matter of a few seconds, twenty-four additional Morcor stormed
in and completely surrounded Zern, while keeping their weapons aimed at him.
As powerful as Zern was, he doubted that he could defeat thirty determined
Morcor assault troops on his own.
At this point, Zern decided that discretion would be a better course of action
than a demonstration of brute force, so he terminated his attack. To cover his
retreat, he said pointedly, "Magus, that is a brief demonstration of what
happens to those guilty of failure. In the future, make sure that each and
every member of the forces under your command understands this thoroughly, or
each will experience the same agony. Their punishment, however, will be
terminal. Have I made myself clear, Admiral?"
Although suffering from a serious mental shock, Magus still retained enough
mental power to render him able to acknowledge that he understood.
Zern then said, "Magus, you and your troops are dismissed. I order you to
evacuate this planet and redeploy all of your forces to the Sheol system. You
will receive new orders there. And Magus, I strongly urge you to step up your
training. I will not be so lenient with you the next time you fail! That is

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all."
After the troops left, Zern went into deep thought. Three major events of an
unprecedented nature had just occurred. He had witnessed the first Morcor
casualty in over three billion years. The technology demonstrated - even at
this small scale - by the young Primitive, Tyson, appeared to be superior to
that of the Empire's. And perhaps the most troubling aspect of all was the
fact that the Morcor had directly challenged his authority, when they
intervened to thwart the disciplinary action about to be taken upon their
commanding officer. The Luin High Council will be most interested in the
ramifications that these events might inject into the problem, Zern
ruminated . He felt strongly that his life would certainly become much more
interesting at this juncture than it had been for the last few million years
or so.
Deciding that he had gleaned everything he could about this sequence of events
on Planet Earth, Zern ordered P-Quan to activate the translator. The Luin
disappeared the way he had entered. The only difference was that when he
departed, the local host body died as soon as the mental essence of Zern's
mind had been translated back to its point of origin. That was the nature of
the system.
Chapter Seventeen
With all that had happened in the last few days, fatigue now took a toll on
Crash. He needed answers but had little time to acquire them. At times like
this, he normally sought some type of diversion to give his mind a break from
its own self-induced intensity. Usually, climbing mountains sufficed, but that
option did not exist here on the ship. The thought of Lynn popped into his
mind, and he realized that he did not have the slightest idea as to her
current condition. Hastening to the Medical Bay, he sought out Dr. Nao, who
was just finishing his initial treatment of her. As Crash entered the medical
facility, he detected an air of ominous foreboding - deep concern - issuing
from many of the medical staffers.
Approaching Dr. Nao, he asked, "How is she?"
Dr. Nao, looking quite haggard himself, replied, "Sir, whoever the
perpetrators were, they put Dr. Meisheil through hell. She has at least
seventeen broken bones, and her blood chemistry is totally off the wall. Had
we not gotten to her when we did, she would have been dead by now. She had
only a few hours left. We are filtering her blood and giving her transfusions.
The bone injuries will have to wait until we get her biochemistry back to
normal. I believe she will get through this, but her road to a full recovery
will be long and difficult. At a minimum, it will be several months until she
will be able to do much of anything.
Crash's heart rose and fell in his throat at the same time. He felt as if he
were about to burst. Even though he did not consciously understand how
important Lynn had become to him, he knew that her pain had turned into his
pain.
Crash's social dimwittedness concerning females still comprised a major part
of his psychological makeup. As a result, his true feelings failed to emerge
from the emotional confusion and social naiveté that dominated his psyche. The
only thing he really understood was that his concern for her was deep and
abiding. He did not understand why this was so.
"May I see her, Dr. Nao?" Crash asked meekly.
Frowning, Dr. Nao replied, "You can, but only for a moment. I doubt that she
will even know you are there, but nonetheless, keep it short. She needs
absolutely undisturbed rest for now."
Nodding in agreement, Crash entered Lynn's room. As his eyes rested on her, he
grew appalled. Her skin was every color of the rainbow. He judged that she
must have been repeatedly beaten and battered by P-Quan's goons. There were so
many tubes and lines hooked up to her that he stopped counting them. If there
was a bottom limit to his emotions, he reached it at that moment.
He approached her slowly. He could see that she was conscious, but only
marginally so. As he stood over her, she turned her head toward him but could

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not speak. Upon recognizing him, she managed to muster a small but perceptible
smile.
Crash's heart soared, and he smiled back. Although they only communicated via
eye contact, an immensity of unspoken thoughts and emotions passed between the
two of them during that brief time.
Crash said gently, "You get better, now. I need you."
On hearing Crash's words, Lynn mustered a tremulous smile, and then lapsed
into a semiconscious condition. As Crash turned and left the room, his memory
of that smile greatly heightened his realization of how personal the conflict
engaging him had become. He forcefully suppressed the rage that started to
work its way into his higher consciousness. There would be a proper time to
unleash the vengeance that he knew would eventually come. Those responsible
for torturing Lynn - P-Quan in particular - would pay. Now was not the time.
He knew what he had to do.
After leaving Lynn, he immediately sought out DP. Together, they went to
interrogate Kaulpen. Crash, tired of shooting blanks into a dark sky and
getting nothing of substance in return, needed some answers now, and he was
hell-bent on getting them. No longer would he play this game without knowing
what the game was and what its rules were. Bound and determined to get to the
bottom of all of the phantom secrets that seemed to have become the dominant
aspect in his life of late, he decided to press Kaulpen as hard as necessary
to get the answers he so desperately needed. Enough was enough!
Crash notified Nessi that he wanted him present, and ordered him to bring his
profiler device as well.
When Crash, DP, and Nessi entered Kaulpen's place of detention, he sat calmly
at a table. They sat down opposite him and arranged their papers accordingly.
Nessi set up his machine and indicated to Crash that he was ready.
Crash spent a few minutes sizing Kaulpen up. After a suitable length of time,
he stated, "Corporal, you have a lot of explaining to do. We have acquired
information that indicates that there is more to you than meets the eye. Now,
would you be so kind as to enlighten us, by explaining what the hell you
really are?
Kaulpen sat motionless, as he glanced from Crash to DP. He finally said, "Sir,
you have stumbled into an aspect of reality that you are wholly unprepared to
comprehend. I can enlighten you to some degree, but I am extremely limited as
to what I am allowed to disclose. You will have to be satisfied with my
replies under those limited parameters."
Bewildered, Crash turned to DP and asked, "Is he talking in circles, or am I
an idiot?"
DP urged, "Let me handle this, Boss." Crash nodded in agreement.
Rising, DP put both of his hands on the table in an attempt to tower over
Kaulpen and intimidate him. After staring at him intensely for some time, he
asked, "Who are you? What are you?"
DP's tactics did not shake Kaulpen's disposition, or impair his confidence. He
calmly admitted, "My real name is Chaelmic. I am an intelligence officer in
the service of the Esog Realm. I was sent here to assess your development and
keep an eye on any related matters that might concern us."
Disgusted, Crash growled, "Just what we need: another secret Empire! I suppose
that you and the Cren Empire are at war with each other, and we lowly humans
are just pawns in the middle of the game?"
Kaulpen replied rather cryptically, "Not exactly. From your limited point of
view, you could interpret our relationship in such light. But from our point
of view, we have a different opinion than do the Cren on how best to solve the
problem. This has led to a serious disagreement. These differences of opinion
have, on occasion, led to serious conflicts between our two realms of
influence."
Having digested that information, Crash asked, "What or who are the Esog?"
Kaulpen replied composedly, "The Esog are a vast conglomerate of races and
worlds wholly dedicated to acquiring a solution to the great problem.
Membership is entirely voluntary. The only requirement is that total

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dedication be given to finding a solution to this most vexing of issues."
"And this most vexing issue is?" Crash asked, frowning.
"That is something I cannot disclose to you. It is something you must discover
through your own volition. To do otherwise would cause untold damage to a race
as naïve, embryonic, and undeveloped as yours."
Unhappy with Chaelmic's evasive replies, DP asked, "If all of what you say is
true, what were you doing on my team?"
Chaelmic replied, "My mission is to make sure that any unforeseen
technological discovery related to the solution to the problem that might
possibly arise on your planet does not fall into the control of the Cren."
Not satisfied with that answer, Crash inquired further, "I thought both of
your Empires were working towards the same end?"
"In regards to certain particular manifestations concerning this issue, that
is true," Chaelmic replied. "The Cren, however, will not use the resulting
discoveries and the power they will eventually wield appropriately. Therefore
it is imperative that the Cren do not acquire sole possession of such power."
"And this power is?" DP asked tersely.
"The solution to the problem, as I have clearly stated," Chaelmic answered
frankly.
Crash's frustration visibly surfaced as he once again threw his hands in the
air and said, "This is getting us nowhere. Your answers are strictly circular
in nature. You still have not answered the question. What are you? Your
physiological-energy profile very closely paralleled that of that Luin fellow,
Zern. So what the hell are you?"
Chaelmic ruminated for a time before answering. He then replied guardedly, "I
am a member of a race known as the Briel. From all that we have learned, we
believe we are the oldest sentient life form in the known Universe."
Chaelmic's reply boggled the three men's minds. Rendered speechless, they
simply stared. Crash, the first to recover, inquired skeptically, "And just
how old might the Briel race be, Chaelmic?"
"In your reckoning, our preserved history goes back twelve point seven billion
years," Chaelmic stated matter-of-factly.
Unsatisfied with the direction in which Chaelmic's answers were taking them,
DP wanted a more concrete picture of the events that had just occurred. He
asked rather forcefully, "That's a fine and dandy bunch of BS, Chaelmic, but I
want real answers. Now! The biopsychic energy profiles we recorded of Zern and
yourself are almost identical. Why?"
For the first time, Chaelmic seemed uneasy. After hesitating for a few long
moments, he stated, "There is a simple reason why the energy signatures that
you have somehow managed to record are similar. They are similar because the
Luin and the Briel are in fact the same race. The minor differences you noted
are simply due to the peculiar differences of the host's physical form."
Chaelmic's reply left DP sitting with his mouth hanging open. Crash put the
picture together first. "Are you saying that both the Cren Empire and the Esog
Empire are dominated by the Briel race, or the Luin race, or what ever your
real names might be? Would that not imply that the most advanced race in the
Universe is, in effect, at Civil War with itself?"
"From the most simplistic view possible," Chaelmic replied, "that would be, at
best, only fractionally true."
"I don't understand," Crash stated.
"That is most certain," Chaelmic replied condescendingly.
"Why don't you enlighten us as to the full extent of our ignorance, then?"
Crash demanded.
Apparently feeling pressured for the first time, Chaelmic struggled to answer
Crash's question without sacrificing any significant information in the
process. Deciding on an approach, he said, "All of the historical information
you need has been available to your race for quite some time - for several
millennia, in fact. It is up to you to put the appropriate facts together and
come to a limited but proper understanding of your role. That is all I can
tell you at this time."

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Chaelmic's cryptic explanations failed to satisfy Crash. Although Chaelmic had
given him a very fragmented glimpse of the universe, there were still several
million areas of inquiry that needed to be resolved before any plausible
conclusions could be made. It suddenly dawned on Crash that everything that
had happened in the recent past was directly related to his successful test of
the SEG device. His sudden exposure to two separate and opposing Empires of
universal magnitude was perplexing to say the least. Apparently, however,
these two Empires' primary interests only concerned the direct results of the
SEG test and its possible military use. He had to have more detailed and
factual information in order to generate a clearer picture of the situation.
He decided that he would have to press Chaelmic harder for more information.
"Look, Chaelmic," Crash declared evenly, "I don't know what this problem that
you keep referring to is, and frankly, I don't care. It doesn't concern me.
What does concern me, however, is how I and my people and the whole human
race, for that matter, became so deeply involved in a civil war that has been
going on for - well, how long have the Cren and the Esog been at war?"
Smiling, Chaelmic stared directly into Crash's eyes. Suddenly, Crash could
feel him probing his mind, reading his thoughts as he thought them. The
sensation virtually duplicated Zern's intrusion, which he had experienced
earlier. He made a very deliberate effort forcibly to expel Chaelmic's
intrusion. Exerting heroic effort, Crash successfully forced those foreign
thoughts out of his mind. The instant Crash succeeded in severing that deep
telepathic link, Chaelmic grew visibly shaken. Obviously, he did not expect
that to happen.
"Mr. Tyson," Chaelmic stated in a startled manner, "I am most impressed by
your conscious awareness! I did not expect that you would be aware of my
probing. My apologies."
"Is that what you call it?" Crash replied sarcastically. "That Zern fellow
tried to do the same thing, only his technique was not nearly as subtle as
yours. Even though his probing was easier to recognize, it was much more
difficult to expel."
"The Cren do not recognize the mental sovereignty of any beings they consider
less evolved or intellectually inferior to themselves," Chaelmic stated
frankly. "Since they consider themselves the most evolved species in the
universe, they look on all other life forms, including us, as nothing more
than a tool to use as they see fit. Your experience with the PLAG, as you call
them, should give you a clear and unambiguous picture of their basic nature.
That is one of the fundamental differences between us. I am quite surprised
that you could have overcome his mind probe, considering your naiveté and lack
of awareness of such matters."
"It is nice to know that they consider me nothing more than a bumbling lug
wrench," Crash replied. "If they're so intelligent, what do they need me for?"
"Over time," Chaelmic replied, "knowledge can get so top-heavy that the most
basic foundations of that knowledge can be forgotten. That is why."
"So you're saying that they have become so intellectually evolved and
knowledgeable, that they have become ignorant. Is that right?
"In a sense, that is correct." Chaelmic replied. The same problem exists with
us."
Crash just shook his head incredulously. "I really do not know what to think
about that, Chaelmic. I really don't." He then contemplated what his next move
would be. He finally decided on a course of action.
Nessi," he asked, "how truthful has Chaelmic been in answering our questions?"
Nessi hesitated as he studied the data stream. He finally replied, "It
appears, Sir Crash, that he is basically telling us the truth. However, it
would seem that he probably possesses much more information than he has
revealed. I believe he is holding much back from us." Frowning blackly, Nessi
asked, "Sir Crash, is it wise to rely on this partial truth that he has
revealed to us when we plan for the future?"
Appreciative of Nessi's perspective - one that differed from his own - Crash
considered Nessi's question before declaring, "Look, Chaelmic, I don't have

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time to learn all of the details concerning the twelve billion year history
the Esog, the Cren, or the Briel. I do know that there is an imminent threat
to the human race on earth, and I need to rectify that problem first. When we
solve that problem, maybe then we can deal with your problems."
Chaelmic sat in silent contemplation for a moment before he answered. A small
but perceptible smile developed before he replied, "What you have to realize,
Mr. Tyson, is that our problem and your problem are one and the same. You do
not have the vaguest understanding of what the true manifestation of the
universe is. Reality cannot be dissected and understood through wishful
thinking, ideology, religion, or even embedded philosophical ignorance. You
need to learn much more before anything you think you know will have any
possible relevance to the universe at large. This you will eventually come to
understand."
Chaelmic had pretty much cornered Crash, and limited any other questions he
might have. Crash decided that he would have to consider this new viewpoint
before he could decide upon a proper course of action.
Colonel Laughton's voice broke the silence when he contacted DP over his com
link. "Sir, we have arrived."
"Copy that, Colonel," DP answered.
Gaining DP's attention, Crash gave him that Should we or shouldn't we? look.
DP shrugged his shoulders, silently communicating; It's your call, Boss.
After a brief moment of consideration, Crash said, "Chaelmic, I have something
I would like to show you. Come with us."
Having left the interrogation room, they proceeded immediately to the bridge
of the Clark and the Captain's station, where Colonel Laughton and Major Kohl
were seated.
Crash asked Laughton to give the ship's position.
"We are about four hundred thousand miles from planetary orbit, sir. It will
be just a few minutes until we decelerate and establish orbit," he replied.
Crash called Laughton aside and spoke to him in an undertone. Nodding in
agreement, the Colonel returned to his Command chair. He then gave Major Kohl
several orders. Kohl replied smartly, "Yes, sir." Proceeding to the navigation
console, he began entering instructions.
Returning to Chaelmic, Crash said, "What you are about to see is known only by
the people on this ship and those you will meet on the ground. I expect that
you will keep this information absolutely confidential and reveal it to no
one!"
Chaelmic hesitated slightly before replying, "You do realize that my mission
supersedes any special exclusionary treatment that I could ever agree to give
you, sir?"
"With all due respect, Chaelmic, I believe that once you understand the
importance of what you are about to see, you may want to reassess that
obligation."
"I cannot make that judgment until that information is made available,"
Chaelmic insisted firmly. "I promise you that I will agree to your request, if
I consider agreement warranted, but first I must assess the nature and
importance of this information. That is as far as I am willing to go in that
regard at this time."
Still uneasy, Crash asked DP what he thought.
DP said, "Sir, I have known Kaulpen, or Chaelmic, or whatever his real name
is, for many years. In all that time I have never seen him do or say anything
harmful to our cause. Besides, if he does represent an Empire as large and
powerful as he claims, how long could we keep what we are doing from them,
even if we wanted to? Surely, if there is any truth at all to what Chaelmic
has stated, the Esog possess technology equal to that of the Cren. The Cren as
well as P-Quan knew of the SEG test, almost a quickly as we did ourselves. I
don't see that we have any choice."
Recognizing the logic of DP's assessment, Crash grudgingly agreed with it.
Turning to Chaelmic, he said, "At this point, I will trust your judgment
regarding this information. But I want to make one thing perfectly clear to

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you: don't ever give me cause to believe that you have crossed me or have sold
us out. You will not like the consequences."
The fervor of Crash's statement pleased Chaelmic. Now he clearly understood
one of the reasons why all of Crash's people were so staunchly loyal to him.
Nodding, Chaelmic replied, "Agreed."
Addressing Laughton, Crash ordered, "Take us down, Colonel. Give us a visual
as we descend."
The Colonel opened the main viewing screen. As the viewer activated, it
displayed a magnificent blue planet of exquisite beauty, hanging below them in
space. All present stood in awe as the Clark descended rapidly toward the
planet at a breath-taking velocity.
"This must be a planet in the Proxima Centauri System!" Chaelmic exclaimed in
amazement. "We surely could not have traveled much further in the time that
has elapsed since we left Planet Earth!"
"Actually, Chaelmic," Crash answered, "we have traveled some one hundred
seventy light-years from earth in a little over six hours. This is a planet in
the Matarin star system. Since my youth, it has been my lucky star."
Astounded, Chaelmic inquired, "What is your calculated velocity, sir?"
Crash frankly stated, "We have maintained a velocity of about twenty eight
light-years per hour or a little over seven thousandths of a light-year per
second."
Stupefied by this amazing feat, Chaelmic exclaimed, "To my knowledge, this has
never been accomplished by anyone in the history of the Esog!"
"That is not the best of it," Crash continued.
Major Kohl maneuvered the Clark out of orbit, and the ship descended rapidly
towards the planet's surface. In just a few seconds, they were at two hundred
thousand feet traveling at about five thousand miles per hour. They moved
rapidly over islands and oceans. Having gradually slowed, they descended
further as they approached a large continental land mass. Covered with
scattered areas of forests, lakes, mountains, and prairies, the continent
strongly reminded all of Crash's crew of Earth's western hemisphere. As they
continued inland, a large, snow-capped mountain range dominated their view. By
this time, Major Kohl had reduced the velocity of the Clark to just a few
hundred miles per hour. As they slowly traversed the mountains, they came upon
a large forested basin surrounded by towering mountains on all sides. In the
middle of this basin a clear prairie region of considerable size appeared.
The Clark slowly hovered over this area, giving everyone in the ship a
marvelous view of the landscape. Below them, a massive, sprawling construction
base became visible. Several dozen ships, similar to the Clark , in various
stages of completion, were aligned in rows. Many ships, similar in size and
configuration to the Icarus , were likewise lined up in rows. Thousands of
workers scurried to and fro, tending to the various tasks necessary for each
ship's completion.
The sight dumfounded Chaelmic. He could not believe his eyes. "How could you
have accomplished so much in such a short time?" he asked in amazement.
"Come," Crash said in a tone infused with intensity, "I will show you."
Turning to Major Kohl, he ordered, "Take us down, Major. We have a lot to show
Mister Chaelmic."
Major Kohl dropped the Clark down towards one end of the base, landing it
gently. Chaelmic and Crash disembarked, and strode amongst the ships being
constructed at the sprawling base. The first thing that Chaelmic noticed was
that most of the people working there were not from Planet Earth. Although
physiologically very similar in form and structure to the human populace of
Earth, the native Matarin inhabitants possessed a striking bronzed skin color
and deeply recessed eyes, most likely due to the greater brightness of the
Matarin sun relative to Earth's sun. The planet's gravity being twenty percent
higher than Earth's gave the Matarin an accordingly heavier frame and muscular
structure. Once Chaelmic recognized the physical features peculiar to the
Matarin, he knew exactly where he was. This confirmed to him that Crash had
told him the truth about their location, and thus, the velocity obtained by

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the Clark .
Chaelmic quickly reflected upon his knowledge concerning the peculiarities of
the Matarin culture. At the present time, in some minor aspects their society,
he considered them slightly more advanced than that of Earth's populace. But
in most respects, he thought Matarin culture considerable less advanced. Over
the course of time, a religious theocracy had become the dominating aspect of
their culture. Therefore, no social change could occur outside the embedded
social realities as defined by their theocratic interpretation of any
particular event or issue.
Most of the Matarin cultural energy was invested in the moral interpretation
of events and issues, rather than in the intellectual understanding for the
causation of such events. The Matarin did maintain, however, a small but
energetic core of scientists who were relatively free to pursue any line of
inquiry they desired. However, any discovery they might develop was strictly
suppressed by the ruling religious oligarchy until it could be "properly
integrated and tempered" into the correct theocratic law. It was not uncommon
for a new device, thought, or concept to take well over a century to be
introduced into Matarin society.
Many thousands of years earlier, the Matarin culture had possessed technology
considerably more advanced than even Earth's current state of development. At
the time, Matarin society not only accepted rapid technological advancement,
they demanded it. The resulting rapidity of social and cultural change
eventually led to total social and moral chaos.
As one post-collapse historian noted, The "god syndrome of lesser minds"
eventually evolved into an accepted social state of mind: one that misguidedly
demanded the destruction of the cultural morality that had endured down
through time. Mass naiveté soon degenerated into social attitudes that
rendered any perceived restriction of an individual's "free will" as a crime
of prejudice or bigotry. This childish sense of "fairness" destroyed their
civilization.
The resulting backlash produced a reactionary movement that evolved into
Matar's current government: a controlled political theocracy.
Their culture had not become so intractable, however, that it failed to place
value on unexpected and extraordinary events. If a prophecy could be found in
their old religious texts that closely paralleled an unexpected event, the
event would be used to validate the legitimacy of the old texts, which, in
turn, further empowered the ruling Theocracy. When Crash first landed on their
world, the Matarin reacted by exhibiting extreme curiosity. To maintain the
relevance of their theocracy, the political theocrats quickly sought out the
old texts that described flying machines and other wonders. These
descriptions, once considered fables and fantasy, now took on new relevance.
When undeniable reality clearly presented itself to the masses, the Theocracy
could not dismiss it out of hand. The rulers adapted quickly. Crash and his
people were welcomed as a proof that the ancient texts were based in truth.
The Theocracy, in turn, thought that this would further solidify and justify
their continuing control and manipulation the Matarin culture.
The small Matarin scientific community made the initial contact with Crash.
Their progress in the realm of theoretical mathematics and physics greatly
surprised him. Since they could not validate their work publicly, the paper
proofs of their theories were incredibly thorough and precise. The group had
learned long ago to keep most of their real findings a closely guarded secret,
if they were ever to break the anti-intellectual stranglehold the Theocracy
had placed on their work. After all that Crash had been through in the last
few months, he could closely identify with their reaction to their
predicament. A considerable empathy quickly developed between Crash and the
Matarin scientific community.
Virtually all of the non-Earth workers on Crash's project came from the
scientific culture on Matar. The rest of society, primarily agrarian in
nature, did not possess the skills to participate to any large degree. The
Theocracy allowed this format to exist after Crash showed them how to increase

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food production through the selective use of hybrids: both plants and animals.
The ruling oligarchy eventually decided that the benefits of this simple
technological knowledge did not contradict their theocratic interpretation of
the ancient law. They therefore allowed the implementation of this technology.
This simple decision eventually alleviated the chronic food shortages that had
ravaged their society for centuries, without interfering with any theocratic
policy. The oligarchs were very appreciative.
As Chaelmic slowly strode amongst row after row of ships, the scale of this
feat overwhelmed him. When he considered the short length of time that had
passed since the first SEG test, he found the scope of this project
mind-boggling. In a six-month period, Crash went from the initial test of the
SEG device to what could be considered full-scale production of sizable and
useful faster-than-light spacecraft. Never in his billions of years of
experience had Chaelmic witnessed such a technological feat, especially one
accomplished by so few people. Astonishment gripped him.
Upon completing his tour of the production yard, Chaelmic withdrew within
himself, as if he were considering the magnitude and scope of what he had just
witnessed. Eventually he broke his silence by asking, "Commander Tyson, how do
you supply the energy and materials for production on this scale?"
Smiling, Crash thought, Finally, after thirty years of my working on this,
someone actually recognizes the value of my passion. He gleefully replied,
"The breakthrough came once we realized that when the spatial field wave
recoiled and reestablished itself after being displaced and cancelled by the
SEG wave, a sizable amount of antimatter was created. It is purely a fortunate
byproduct of the process. From that point on, it was relatively simple to
develop MAM (matter/antimatter) reactors into usable power sources. We
currently reserve ten percent of all antimatter for base construction efforts.
Forty percent is held in strategic reserve. The rest is used for the
production of new hulls. The gross power conversion ratio is about eighteen
hundred fifty to one. In other words, for every pound of antimatter we use, we
produce slightly less than one ton of additional new fuel. At present, we have
slightly more than 4500 tons of antimatter held in reserve. Once we have
enough ships to provide an adequate defense, I intend to build several very
large ships designed solely for additional fuel acquisition."
Chaelmic realized the true significance of Crash's accomplishment. Amazed by
the scope of this achievement, he asked, "How many ships do you currently have
under construction?"
Crash proudly replied, "At this time, we have completed 147 Icarus -class
ships. They are simple, fast, and do not require large amounts of resources
for construction and operation. We have devised a way greatly to increase
their on-board fuel supply, which has given them tremendous range and speed.
They are excellent scout ships. Many of them are currently patrolling at a
twenty-light-year radius around Matar.
"Concurrently, we have also constructed twenty-one Clark -class frigates
similar to the ship in which you arrived here. Seventeen of these are
completed. The remaining four will be operational soon. After our recent
encounter with the Cren ships, I have concluded that we will need to develop
some very serious offensive armaments, if we are to have any chance against
them. I originally thought that the purely defensive properties possessed by
the hulls would give us sufficient protection. That supposition is obviously
incorrect."
"That is a wise course of action," Chaelmic interjected. "The Cren possess
weapons unimaginably more powerful than those you experienced from the small
frigates you encountered at Saturn."
Alarmed, Crash asked, "How much more powerful?"
"Quite frankly," Chaelmic stated levelly, "entirely beyond your comprehension!
The energy projection weapons you encountered today have been obsolete for
eons. They are used only in the most primitive undeveloped regions of the Cren
Empire, where there is no perceived threat to the Empire's autonomy."
Shaken by this news, Crash suddenly realized that science and technology must

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exist that was so advanced, so alien, so different, that quite possibly he
would not be able to fathom the scientific basis for its existence. That dark
supposition made him realize that his personal mountain had just become
steeper and much higher.
His face ashen, Crash almost inadvertently took notice of his timepiece.
Coming out of his blue funk, he contacted Colonel Laughton. When he heard
Laughton's reply, he mustered a beleaguered but perceptible smile, and urged,
"Chaelmic, look up."
Chaelmic did so. After he gazed upwards for a few seconds, his jaw dropped.
There, high in the Matarin sky, three huge ships were descending
supersonically toward the base. Large compression jets trailed for many
hundreds of yards behind them as they descended. The sight of these massive
ships overwhelmed him. Gradually, the ships slowed and came to a stop a few
hundred feet above the base. Hovering motionless, their huge forms blocked
most of the light from the bright Matarin sun. About a minute after they first
appeared, loud sonic booms could be heard throughout the base. Chaelmic and
Crash then heard a commotion as the workers at the base panicked on
experiencing the affects of the huge ships' thunderously sudden and dramatic
appearance.
After allowing everyone to view their majestic presence, the ships slowly
maneuvered to an unoccupied section of the base and landed in single file.
Crash looked at Chaelmic and said, "Hopefully, these ships will level the
field a bit and allow us to compete from a more equal position."
Chaelmic remained silent and just stared at the three huge ships. He finally
turned to Crash and asked, "Where and how did you construct such large ships
so quickly?"
"Once I verified that the technology that created the Icarus could be
reproduced in a reliable and dependable manner, I sent Major Kohl on a survey
mission to nearby sun-like stars. This survey identified several planetary
systems similar to our own. Upon further investigation, we came in contact
with the Matarin. Although their culture is rigidly dominated by ancient
religious dogma, our arrival did not seem to startle them. Their leader,
Nengis Herthos, stated that their ancient scriptures had foretold our coming
and that our arrival was not all that surprising. After a rather long
negotiation, Nengis agreed to allow their small scientific community, known as
the Homamdar, to assist us. In certain ways, the Homamdar possess a passion
for this project as great as our own. In their own way, the Matarin are quite
a remarkable people."
"Once we completed the production of a whole class of scout ships, we explored
many of the nearby star systems. We discovered many lifeless planets around
many of the red dwarf stars. Three small planets were appropriated and used as
spatial field amplifiers for the SEG device. By detonating a much larger
version of the SEG at the exact center of these planets, the combination of
the increased spatial field density and a further refinement and control of
the SEG wave recoil at its point of re-collapse allowed us to produce hulls
for these ships nearly one inch thick. I can't imagine anything that could
possibly penetrate them."
Crash's last statement greatly distressed Chaelmic. Even though he was
personally unaware of the exact nature of the collapsed spatial field and the
ensuing properties it gave to these ships' hulls, he feared that Crash did not
even slightly comprehend the true nature of the danger facing him and his
group. He knew that the Cren would go to any length - destroy whole star
systems and eliminate entire civilizations if they deemed it necessary - to
protect their interests and acquire sole control of this potential power. He
also realized, however, that at this time he could not reveal any more
information to Crash than he already had, regarding the nature of the
universe. For the good of everyone, Crash would have to learn these lessons on
his own. Therefore his response would, of necessity, be highly guarded and
diversionary. The conversation then moved in a different direction.
"These three newest ships are most impressive, Commander Tyson," Chaelmic

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observed. Just how large are they?"
Chaelmic's question seemed to lighten Crash's mood. The sparkle in his eyes
returned as he described the size and nature of these newest ships. "These
ships are 2401 feet long and about 580 feet in diameter," he replied. "As you
can see, they are considerably more elliptical and streamlined than the
first Icarus -class ships."
Crash went on to describe the four elongated bulges that housed the newly
designed field coils for the SEG propulsion system that traversed the entire
length of the ships. "By placing the field coils externally in a doubly
reinforced hull," he continued, "we eliminated the internal gravitational
field anomalies, while at the same time generating a SEG field exterior to the
ship's hull. I believe the hulls of these ships to be quite invulnerable to
any conceivable outside weapon or threat. I have decided, therefore, that this
class ship will form the centerpiece of my fleet. After we free Earth from the
PLAG, I intend to begin a detailed exploration of the universe with them."
Chaelmic remained silent for quite some time. Pensively, he contemplated
Crash's future vision. During this mental exercise, it became obvious to him
that he would have to inform his superiors of this development before Crash,
in his youthful inexperienced exuberance, did anything really stupid or
dangerous. His meddling could easily cause an unintended uncontrollable
escalation of the Esog's ongoing conflict with the Cren.
Once, long ago, a similar situation ran out of the control of both the Esog
and the Cren. The war that resulted from that incident lasted for almost two
million years. Thousands of promising young sentient species, both natural and
artificial, perished in the most hideous ways. The carnage that resulted from
that conflict was, even for the Cren, beyond description or comprehension.
Chaelmic knew that a similar conflict at this time must be avoided at all
costs. This entire incident must be dealt with immediately.
The Cren were already aware of the significance of the development of the SEG
and had a considerable head start to react to it. In his opinion, even though
he had been a member of Crash's team from the very beginning, the Briel were
considerably behind the Cren in gaining control of the SEG technology.
Chaelmic addressed Crash in the most authoritative manner he possessed.
"Crash, I truly believe that the reality of the Esog and yourself will become
inseparable from this point in time forward. You must realize, however, that
this scientific breakthrough of yours will, in the very near future, bring the
wrath of the Cren Empire down on your head. They will stop at nothing to
acquire you and learn what you know. In the very near future, you will
consider your experiences with the PLAG on Earth as the best and most relaxed
time of your life. The vile consequences that the Cren will unleash upon you
and your people will transcend your ability to comprehend it. Anyone and
anything you have ever known or have ever valued in the past is in the gravest
danger. The Cren will inflict an infinite number of tortures worse than death
on you and your people until you capitulate. You must understand this."
It seemed to Crash that Chaelmic's words were coincidentally distant and
piercing at the same time. His mind began to reel from an overwhelming
confusion. He became aware that Chaelmic was transmitting more knowledge to
him than just with his words, but this time, he was powerless to stop it. The
overwhelming power of Chaelmic's mental intrusion stunned him; he staggered
and hit the ground. The last thing he could remember was a vision of Lynn in
the grips of a Morcor storm trooper with Zern standing by interrogating her by
dissecting her mind, piece by piece. His world then turned suddenly and
silently black.
Chapter Eighteen
Zern snapped out orders before his mind fully reintegrated into his natural
body back on Riglon. This level of excitement had not been seen in a Luin for
an eon or two, and it immediately gained the attention of the security guards
on duty. By the time Zern's mind had fully reanimated, the transference
facility teemed with dozens of heavily armed Morcor soldiers.
Upon full reintegration, Zern, very animated for a Luin, took notice of the

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many Morcor surrounding him in the facility. Remembering the confrontation he
just experienced with the Morcor storm troopers on Earth, a wave of fear
passed through him. Upon realizing that the flashback was just that, a
flashback, he boldly demanded access to the planetary communications system.
The transference officer, realizing that Zern's behavior was extremely out of
the ordinary, quickly provided him with a communicator. The last thing any
subordinate wanted to experience was the wrath of an angry Luin science
officer directed solely at him.
"Lord Toll," Zern stated with perceptible agitation, "I have just now returned
from Planet Earth with most disturbing news. It is imperative that I meet with
you at once!"
Amazed by Zern's unexpected emotionalism, Lord Toll refrained from comment for
several seconds. The uncharacteristic impudence of Zern's demand startled him.
No one except Tanas himself could make any demands of an Elder Council member
in such a manner. This insolence would be remembered in any future appraisal
of Zern's judgment and his future service to the Empire. This behavior
disappointed Lord Toll greatly.
"You seem uncharacteristically disturbed, Captain," he observed. "What
information could be so ominous as to induce what can only be defined as a
state of panic? Must I point out to you that this type of aggressive behavior
is unbecoming to any Luin science officer? Report to me in person,
immediately. I wish to learn what induced such inappropriate behavior on your
part."
Zern came to perfect attention as he replied, "My apologies, sir. I shall
report to you at once!" He immediately went to a transfer tube.
When Zern reached Lord Toll's office, an intermediary gave Zern immediate
access. As he entered Toll's private sanctum, he noticed Toll leisurely
preparing a couple of drinks. After taking more time than was necessary to
prepare the drinks, Toll turned to Zern and appraised him with a penetrating
glare.
He finally said, "Captain, I thought you might appreciate a glass of cold Ain.
In my experience, I find that its calming affects aid one in adjusting to the
affects of transference. Here, help yourself, and take a seat."
"Thank you, My Lord," Zern replied. "That is most considerate of you." Having
taken the drink, he sat down.
"Now, Captain, what has made you so agitated?"
"My Lord, I believe that a Primitive by the name of Isaac Tyson has indeed
developed and successfully tested an operational spatial exclusion technology
system."
Lord Toll stiffened with deep concern. He barked, "How can you be sure of
this?"
"My preliminary assessment of the data proved correct, My Lord. I have
personally seen the technology demonstrated. I was within close proximity of
their ship, which featured a spatial exclusion field propulsion system! There
can be no doubt whatsoever as to the validity of this technology's existence."
"Standing next to a ship does not prove that, my young friend," Toll declared
skeptically.
"My Lord, I agree. However, the incident that I witnessed occurred at a depth
of over fourteen thousand feet inside the Planetary Governor's private
sanctum. You know how heavily fortified those chambers are. The Primitives
flew the ship through the planet and into Governor P-Quan's sanctum as if it
did not exist. They then rescued one of their people that the Planetary
Governor had held as hostage, in order to lure this Primitive into coming to
them. In the process, the Primitives engaged a full squad of Morcor storm
troopers. They managed to kill one of the warriors and wound several others.
In fact, the Morcor became so enraged that I thought my well-being might be at
risk when I attempted to discipline their Commander for allowing the
Primitives to escape."
If a Luin could be shocked, Lord Toll most assuredly was. "A Morcor killed by
a Primitive?"

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"Yes, My Lord," Zern asserted in an intense tone. "I witnessed the altercation
myself. The Primitives possess some sort of a semi-nuclear rapid-fire weapon:
one that overwhelmed the Morcor's defensive shielding. One of the explosive
rounds eventually penetrated through the entire shield structure and detonated
inside the containment field. The resulting implosion was exceedingly
destructive! My Lord, it was most disturbing to observe this event in person!"
Zern now had Lord Toll's full attention. Although a mere corporal during the
conflict with the Sargen, Toll remembered that war well. Now, the sudden death
of a Morcor brought back a myriad of ancient memories, most of which were
exceedingly abhorrent. He assumed at that time, that after defeating of the
dreaded Sargen, he would never again have to experience such wanton
destruction. Now, he could no longer be sure that this long-held supposition
could be taken for granted. It appeared that Zern's concern was fully
justified, after all.
"Are you positive that there were no Sargen present, Captain Zern?" he
inquired.
"Yes, My Lord," Zern replied confidently. "None of our sensors indicated the
presence of the Sargen. However, there was at least one Esog operative
present."
This bit of knowledge heightened Toll's concern, and moved the entire issue to
a higher plain of importance. Concern quickly turned into anger. "I assume you
fulfilled your sworn duty? That you engaged the Esog operative and killed
him?"
"I attempted an engagement, My Lord, but the circumstances did not allow my
succeeding. The battle between the Primitives and the Morcor, being very
brutal and extremely brief, did not allow me time to engage the Esog. The
entire engagement lasted less than a minute. By the time the Morcor had been
killed, the Maen operative's chamber had become engulfed with smoke, debris
from explosives, fire, and some sort of distortion field of an unknown nature.
The Primitives escaped within seconds after that. I found it impossible to
fulfill my sworn duty, My Lord."
Thinking out loud, Toll replied, "Then this incident is truly a new and
anomalous event!" "Is there any other information you gathered that I should
be aware of?"
"Only that this Tyson fellow seemed to have formed an emotional bond to the
female the Maen governor used as bait, to lure him into our control," Zern
replied. "I do not believe there is anything else of importance that I could
add at this time."
"I want a detailed written report as soon as possible, Captain. Apprise me of
even the most seemingly irrelevant details concerning this incident! Leave
nothing out! Is that clearly understood?"
"Clearly, My Lord," Zern replied.
"That is all, Captain," Toll said. "You are excused."
Zern saluted smartly, turned, and quickly left Lord Toll's sanctum.
Trepidation gripped Toll. The fact that two such unprecedented and anomalous
events could occur simultaneously greatly disturbed him. Pure chance could not
be postulated as an explanation. A powerful new force in the universe had
reared its head. The containment plan organized by the local Maen operative
should have been more than adequate, and yet Tyson and his group escaped their
grasp with ease on two separate occasions.
Even the Morcor had become unsettled over this incident, and that was unheard
of. Was it possible that this Primitive, Tyson, had truly discovered a major
part of the solution to the Problem? If true, that technological leap would be
unparalleled in the history of the Empire. It became obvious to Toll that he
did not have enough hard information to make that judgment at this time.
However, one thing was certain: the entire Elder Council must be made aware of
this development immediately.
It became abundantly clear to Lord Toll that a new and more aggressive
approach must be taken to regain control of this untenable situation. He
possessed the power to do this on his own, and therefore took immediate and

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decisive action. He contacted the local Commanding Fleet Admiral for that
sector of the Empire.
That local cluster's military commanding officer, Admiral Shaulindar,
commanded the military fleet, which governed the Empire's military affairs in
an area encompassing one hundred thousand galaxies. Within his jurisdiction,
he could bring unimaginable military power to bear wherever and whenever he
deemed it necessary. He commanded millions of ships and untold billions of
Morcor, and he knew how to use them. His aggressive military strategy was
instrumental in the final defeat of the Sargen. Certain that he would directly
intervene once he became aware of the nature of these recent events, Lord Toll
activated his priority military communications net and contacted the Admiral.
"Admiral Shaulindar, it's a pleasure seeing you again," Toll greeted him, once
communications were established.
"The pleasure is mine, Lord Toll," the Admiral returned. "How can I be of
service to you?"
Having gathered his wits before engaging the Admiral, Toll stated, "There has
been an incident of some importance that I believe you will find needs your
immediate personal attention."
"And what incident are you referring to, my old friend?"
"A Morcor has been killed in combat with a primitive race on an exceedingly
undeveloped planet. The race involved happens to be one of our experimental
incubated species projects. An individual of that race appears unexpectedly to
have exceeded our genetic expectations. He has prematurely acted considerably
outside the expected productivity curve!"
"Yes, My Lord," Shaulindar interjected. "I have just received a report on that
incident myself. It is most disturbing!"
Lord Toll continued, "Admiral, that incident is not the most disturbing aspect
of this incident. This individual of the primitive race in question may have
indeed discovered applicable spatial exclusion technology. He managed to
escape our containment measures and retains sole possession of the technology.
I am sure that you remember the conflict that ensued the last time something
like this occurred. In addition, we are quite certain that an Esog operative
was present while this incident played out. I have no need to inform you of
the significance of that circumstance!"
Admiral Shaulindar, normally methodical in manner, exclaimed, "An Esog, you
say! If this is true, it makes this incident one of our most primary
concerns!"
"I concur fully with that assessment," Toll replied. "Therefore I am ordering
you to take whatever action you deem necessary to regain control of this
situation! I will back you fully in what ever you decide."
"Do you happen to know the current location of the Primitive responsible for
this?" Shaulindar inquired.
"Shortly after their escape, the Primitives encountered two Morcor transports
ships and their escorts. The commanding officer of the lead escort frigate
stated that he had destroyed them in a firefight. Our Luin operative, however,
had ordered them followed by a fast-tracking ship. Although the escaping ship
appeared to be able to achieve a much greater velocity than our fastest ship
could obtain, the commanding officer of the tracking ship reported that he
managed to track the spatial shock wave it created as it moved through space
after the encounter with the frigate. It appears that they were not destroyed
during the firefight with the frigate after all. Hopefully, we should obtain
their precise location in the not-too-distant future."
"I shall attend to this personally, My Lord," the Admiral declared. "A matter
of such potential importance to the Empire cannot be subject to error. I shall
take my leave of you."
"Just one more thing, Admiral," Toll added. "Do not underestimate this Tyson
fellow. This Primitive seemed impervious to all of the Maen Governor's
extensive control measures. Not only did he manage to escape, his ship
withstood a full assault from two of our frigates. Do not take him lightly."
"I will keep that in mind, My Lord. By the way, which Maen Governor was in

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charge of that particular incubation project?"
"Governor P-Quan and his assistant Helosas," Toll replied. "I'm sure that you
are acquainted with them."
"P-Quan's reputation is well known through out this sector, My Lord," the
Admiral asserted. "He possesses a reputation for being efficient and
competent. I shall seek his knowledge and experience regarding this matter. Be
assured that I will aggressively prosecute this situation. Shaulindar out."
Toll reflected on the situation. Confident that Admiral Shaulindar, the most
aggressive military commander under his command, would quickly gain control of
this aberrant situation, he decided that his next move would be to inform the
Elder Council of this matter. That would insure that Tanas could judge this
matter for himself. Only Tanas had the final word on matters of such
importance. He did not want to be perceived, under any condition, as acting
outside the embedded political structure of established Empire policy. To be
so perceived would jeopardize his long-term survival.
Chapter Nineteen
The water shimmered in starlight as Crash once again walked in solitude along
the beach. This time, however, the turbid air abounded with an uneasy
quietness that betrayed impending tumult. Something was watching, calculating,
and scrutinizing him with critical judgment. He could not see what it was but
he could feel its intrusive presence. The moon fell rapidly toward the Earth,
dark, ominous, almost black in color. Surrounded by millions of people, he
heard them demand that he do something to protect them.
He looked up again just as the moon was about to smash into the Earth. He
threw up his arms and grabbed it, stopping its decent. It crushed down on him,
heavier than ever before. Tremendous lighting bolts arced between the two
worlds as billions of gigawatts of differential static charge strove to
achieve a balance between the two bodies. Smoke, fire, and ozone filled the
atmosphere. Pandemonium ran rampant through the hordes of people, filling the
core of their being with a fearful horror. The moon pressed down further,
forcing Crash to his knees, and then to his back. He was down, broken, and
defeated. Unbearable pressure added to his sense of imminent death.
Crash became desperate. He must act. With all his mental and physical
strength, he forced the mass above him to halt and then to move ever so
slightly away. He pushed harder and harder, and the mass moved further and
further away. With one last mighty effort, he tried to put the universe back
as it should be. His effort failed. Both physically and mentally spent, he had
nothing more to give to accomplish this task. The moon resumed its frightful
plunge. This time he would fail and… Horrid banshee screams from the darkness
filled his mind as he prepared to die.
A hand tenderly stroked his brow. "Crash," a soft voice purred. "Wake up. It
is only a dream. Let it go! Wake up."
Crash became confused, disoriented, disconnected from himself. The voice kept
calling, but he could not relate to it. It seemed beyond him, and yet it was
very near.
"Open your eyes, Crash," the voice said. "Look at me."
Crash became alarmed when the Earth suddenly shook in violent quakes. He knew
he had to move, to leave, but as hard as he tried, he could not. The quake
became more violent, and the voice grew louder. "Crash, wake up. Look at me!"
He tried to open his eyes but it was difficult. Finally, unfocused light
impinged on his senses. Slowly a figure began to appear. Foggy at first, but
bit by bit, a goddess appeared before him.
"Crash. Wake up, Crash. Look at me!
As Crash's eyes slowly focused, the warmth of Lynn's gaze fully engulfed him.
What a surprise! The sight of her face, framed in reddish-blond hair, and her
eyes radiating warmth shocked him.
"Lynn!" Crash blurted. "It's you! What happened? Where am I?"
"Crash," she replied softly. "You have been asleep for three days. Apparently
you pushed yourself so hard that your body simply gave out on you and went to
sleep. In time, you'll be fine."

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Crash sat up suddenly. "The last thing I remember is that Chaelmic and I were
talking about the new ships, and then moon crashed down on me. And then you
were here."
"I won't tell anyone if you don't," Lynn assured him, smiling. "You were
having a terrible nightmare. It's over now!"
Crash replied grimly, "I wish I could be as sure of that as you are! What has
happened while I was asleep?"
"Nengis wants to speak with you. He seemed quite agitated about something. I
think it would be wise to see him soon as you're up to it."
"How is the outfitting of the ships going?" Crash asked as he stood up. Then,
seeing all of her casts and stitches, he realized what an ass he had made of
himself. "Forgive me, Lynn," he added shamefacedly. "How are you feeling? You
shouldn't be worrying about me. You're the one who should be in bed!"
"I'm healing up quite nicely, Crash," Lynn replied, smiling. "Doctor Nao is
highly skilled. We are very lucky to have him on our side. The ships are
coming along quite well. The crews are ahead of schedule, in fact. DP,
Laughton, and Kohl are doing a marvelous job of managing the outfitting. If
everything goes as planned, all of the ships should be complete within six
months."
"We will have to add some formidable weaponry, or all of this work won't mean
a damn thing," Crash opined dourly. "Chaelmic just informed me that we are up
against an aggressive Empire of universal proportions - one that will attempt
to gain control of the SEG technology at any cost. Actually, he claims that
the PLAG is a small part of them. If that is true, it may explain how they
seemed to have unlimited funding whenever it was required. Their monetary
resources and their actions have never added up, you know! In any case, we are
going to have to leave here soon. They are looking for us as we speak."
Crash realized that Lynn had moved closer to him. "I know, Crash. I know."
Their eyes met. Before he knew what had happened, their lips moved closer and
were just about to touch, when…DP walked in.
Quickly, they pulled apart, hoping that they had not been seen. A big grin
overspread DP's face. "I can certainly see that you're feeling much better
now, boss," he remarked. "Need any help?"
"Mind your own business," Lynn replied sharply. "Crash doesn't need any of
your help here!"
DP broke out with a huge belly laugh and slapped his thigh. Gaining control of
himself, he cocked his head and asked slyly, "You sure?"
Simultaneously, they broke into uncontrolled laughter, howling until it hurt.
The three of them had needed that emotional release for some time. When the
humor of the moment finally subsided, they were much more relaxed and
clear-headed.
After this episode had played its course, Crash regained his composure. "Well,
now," he opined, "I think it's about time we got back to some serious work.
Wouldn't you all agree?"
Lynn did not respond, but DP was still slightly red in the face as he agreed,
"Yes, of course, Boss. Back to work."
"DP, you witnessed the fire-power possessed by what Chaelmic called "small
frigates." We need weapons with vastly more power and lethality if we're going
to have any chance whatsoever of surviving the coming battle. Do you have any
ideas on how to achieve that goal?"
"I personally can't help you in this matter, boss, but I do know people who
can. The only problem is that they are back on Earth."
"How difficult will it be to acquire their services?" Crash inquired.
"Acquiring their services is not the problem," DP stated. "Physically
acquiring the people is the problem. They all work in PLAG research centers,
which are under tightest security imaginable."
"Are you saying you can't get to them?" Crash asked skeptically.
"I'm not saying that, Boss," DP assured him. "I only mean that it will take a
lot of planning and some luck to pull it off. But I believe it is possible."
"OK, then," Crash replied. "This mission is your top priority as of right now.

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Use whatever resources we have to accomplish this. And remember, if even a
small part of what Chaelmic has told me is true, time is of the essence. We
cannot stay here much longer. If at all possible, try to assemble all of these
people here in the next couple of weeks."
DP's eyes opened wide as he exclaimed, "Two weeks!"
"Two weeks," Crash returned evenly. "Sooner, if possible."
"You never like things done the easy way, do you Boss?" DP replied jokingly.
"As long as I'm going back there, do you want me to overthrow the PLAG in my
spare time?"
"Well," Crash retorted, "if you think you have the time, you might as well do
that too."
DP just crossed his eyes and bit his lip.
Turning toward Lynn, Crash said, "If you're up to it, I would like you and
Nessi to assist DP. Your knowledge of systems and his engineering expertise
might be useful, both in organizing this mission and selecting possible
candidates to assist us. It is very important for our survival!"
"Of course, Crash," she replied. "I'll help anyway I can. You know that. I'm
sure Nessi feels the same way."
"Then it's settled. Let's get it done."
DP helped Lynn to her feet, and they turned to leave the tent. Just as they
reached the door, Lynn looked back over her left shoulder, and with a slight
smile, blew Crash a small but perceptible kiss.
Dense as he was in these matters, Crash stood rigidly still, as if he were a
statue of bronze, paralyzed and cold. As usual, he didn't truly comprehend the
meaning of that simple gesture until after Lynn had left. As had happened so
many times in the past, he belatedly realized that it was too late to do
anything about it.
***
Crash spent the next few hours studying the latest data on the SEG wave
functions: data acquired during the creation of the hulls for the three latest
ships. In the course of his study, it dawned on him that these new ships did
not have a name or Class designation. In light of Chaelmic's recent
revelations, he pondered this question for some time, within the context of
his present and future objectives. Eventually, he decided that they would be
designated as a destroyer class of vessels known as the Hakarsha class. He
truly believed that he would be able, in conjunction with the Clark class
frigates, to defend his fleet adequately against any conceivable threat. He
also realized that Chaelmic would most likely disagree with that assessment.
While contemplating this overall situation, Nengis entered his tent in a huff.
Obviously agitated, he did not attempt to conceal his disgruntlement.
"Nengis," Crash greeted him, surprised by his unexpectedly sudden appearance.
"How can I be of assistance?"
The highest-ranking religious figure on Matar, Nengis expected anyone he
confronted to cower face down in total submission at the instant he entered
any room. He stood there full of regal pomposity, waiting for Crash to bow
before him in homage. When Crash asked him if he would like to take a seat, he
became unhinged.
"I am deeply insulted by your uncivilized irreverence, Mufrid Tyson," Nengis
stated sharply. "You must recognize and respect my position as religious
leader of the Matarin people. It is expected!"
Realizing that he had just made a serious cultural gaff, Crash quickly bowed
with his hands folded, and said in a placatory tone, "I meant no disrespect,
Qa'id Nengis. I was simply preoccupied with serious matters and startled by
your unexpected arrival."
Nengis stood motionless, staring down at Crash with piercing eyes, so as to
insure that Crash clearly understood his superior position. Little did Crash
know how much more was about to occur.
Nengis continued his piercing gaze for quite some time before he replied, "You
truly are Mufrid, the Solitary one. Your universe truly lies beyond that of
mortal men! It is I that should bow to you, Mufrid Tyson."

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Uncomfortable being assigned any role in any significant cultural ritual,
Crash sought to dissuade Nengis from viewing him that way.
"Nevertheless," Nengis continued, "You are what you are, even if you are not
yet aware of it."
In order to deflect any hostility that might arise through such a debate,
Crash graciously accepted Nengis's culturally biased opinion. Hastily changing
the focus of the discussion, Crash asked, "What matter do you wish to discuss
with me, Qa'id?"
Nengis stood silently for a moment before stating; "The appearance of the
three great ships has brought consternation to many of my people. I fear that
these ships may be a sign of the imminent return of the Ta'irjaun - that they
will bring great misfortune to us all."
"The Ta'irjaun?" Crash asked. "I do not understand."
"The great black flying beasts," Nengis replied. "Where they go, only death
survives them."
"Surely that is nothing but an ancient myth, Qa'id," Crash replied
reassuringly.
"Ancient, yes," Nengis replied. "A myth? That is not as certain."
From under his garment, he removed a rather large artifact. "This is the
ancient Holy Book of Quan, by which all our people live," Nengis stated. "One
of its most sacred tenets is this: 'Seek not the unknown. To do so shall
surely bring thine own destruction.'"
Having opened the ancient Holy Book of Quan, he handed it to Crash. "See for
yourself."
Upon hearing the name of Quan, all of Crash's internal alarms went off in his
head, screaming like a banshee between his ears. After considering all that
had recently happened in conjunction with Chaelmic's warning, he could not
accept the coincidence and similarity of the names. It brought back many
recent memories, all of them bad. As Crash slowly paged through the Book of
Quan, Nengis described the various meanings of both word and picture. Crash
turned one more page and his eyes froze onto an almost perfect representation
of a Cren frigate: an artifact that Nengis described as the Ta'irjaun.
My God! Crash thought . The ramifications of this are staggering. The
drawings of the frigates and the name Quan are much too relevant to the
current situation to be considered coincidental!
Panicked, Crash searched for answers. His tone intense, Crash asked, "Nengis,
who is this Quan?"
Nengis nervously peered at Crash for several moments before replying. "Many
thousands of years ago, during the height of our civilization's great quest,
Quan was the leader of our people. Being the first to realize the errors we
made as a people, he wrote a new path of life for the Martarin people in this,
his book of fulfillment. Even today, some believe that P-Quan came from the
stars themselves. Most believe, however, that he was born on Matar. In any
case, he saved us from the certain destruction that we were about to bring
down upon ourselves through our reckless quest for the new knowledge we were
about to discover."
Crash's mind reeled. He could think of several very convoluted variations to
the meaning of the word destruction that could be applied here. None of them
were good.
"Qa'id," Crash said in the most serious tone. "I believe I know Quan. I have
spoken to him myself!"
His glare as hard and bright as diamonds, Nengis asked, "How do you know Quan?
He is not of your people. During the time of the great upheaval, he died here
on Matar, in the turmoil of his time. Only his thoughts as written here in his
Holy Book survived him!"
"Nengis, he is the leader of my people at this very moment," Crash replied
with equal force and clarity. "His oppression is the very reason we fled our
home world! I must show you something that will prove this for you. Please,
come with me."
Crash escorted Nengis to the Icarus , where he brought up the visual records

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of their meeting in P-Quan's compound. Nengis sat quietly and observed the
record. As he watched the meeting and the firefight, the entrance of the
Morcor produced an immediate, astonished response.
"Morcs!" Nengis exclaimed loudly. Then in short order he asked, "You have
battled Morcs on your planet and defeated them?"
"We engaged them, yes," Crash replied. "Whether or not we defeated them is a
matter of perspective. We surprised them, and we were incredibly lucky. There
is much more you must see." Crash continued to show Nengis the visual record
of their escape, and their confrontation with the Cren frigates. Nengis's
recognition of the Morcor caused a significant reaction in him. When Crash
presented him with the visual record of the Cren frigates, his face turned
pallid, and he suddenly became filled with apprehension and fear.
Looking up and pointing toward the sky Nengis said. "The Ta'irjaun return."
Crash responded, "That may be true, Qa'id Nengis, but as you can see, they
could not defeat even our small scout ships. I do not believe they will return
to Matar anytime soon! We encountered them far from here, and they must learn
how we escaped from them before they can again take any action against us. It
will take them some time to prepare and return to Matar."
As if talking to himself, Nengis continued, "It is said that if Ta'irjaun were
ever to return again, it would be for the last time - that all life on Matar
would end in terrible destruction." Visibly distraught, he cried out, "It is
now certain that the death of the Ta'irjaun will follow you here, Mufrid
Tyson!"
Crash's mind scrambled to phrase a reply. He realized that Nengis would
require more than just his word to quell his apprehension and fear. To be
asked to leave Matar before the fleet was fully outfitted would most likely be
devastating not only to the Matarin, but to his group as well. Grabbing his
communicator, he placed a call. "DP, have Chaelmic meet me in the Icarus on
the double!"
Turning to Nengis, he pointed outside, and said, "The very reason we are
building this fleet is to defend ourselves against what you call the
Ta'irjaun. Without the help of the Matarin people it is doubtful that we can
complete this fleet in time to protect both our peoples. It has come to my
recent understanding that the Ta'irjaun, as you call them, are but a small
part of a much larger force that spans the known universe. This force is known
as the Cren Empire. It would seem that our two races face mutual problems that
are closely linked: problems that stem from a common origin."
Nengis sat in silent contemplation, overwhelmed by what had just transpired.
After due consideration, he spoke. "If this Empire is as large and powerful as
you say, how can such lowly beings such as ourselves even begin to oppose
them?"
"I have confronted them and defeated them. I have also learned that we are not
alone in this struggle. There is someone I would like you to meet. He may be
able to address your concerns better than I can."
At that moment, DP entered the Icarus with Chaelmic at his side. "Reporting as
requested, sir," DP announced crisply.
"Nengis, I would like you to meet Chaelmic," Crash stated warmly. "He may be
able to answer some of your questions concerning the Ta'irjaun better than I
can."
Suddenly, Chaelmic's deepest reservations about the current interaction
between the Humans and the Matarin came to the forefront. His fear that these
two primitive peoples might become involved in a struggle that neither of them
could possibly comprehend seemed to be coming to pass. He would have to be
quick-witted to avoid catastrophic results.
Nengis studied Chaelmic before asking, "You know of the Morc's and Ta'irjaun?"
Chaelmic replied tentatively, "I do."
"Tell me what you know of these things," Nengis demanded.
Chaelmic repeated the same details he had given to Crash. His explanation
reinforced what Crash had told Nengis earlier, but added nothing more.
Nengis turned away from them all and stood silently pondering what he had

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heard. After a time, he said, "Mufrid Tyson, by your arriving here, I believe
you have unknowingly brought death to my people. I also believe that fate
required you to come, as the destruction of our civilization has been
prophesied for thousands of years. I have therefore decided that my people's
only chance to survive the return of the Ta'irjaun is for our two peoples to
work as one, for the benefit of the both.
"I shall put the entire Matarin people at your disposal, to assist you in your
quest, providing you agree to one condition. That condition is that you build
enough ships to remove all of the Matarin people from Matar if it becomes
necessary to do so. I do not wish my people to die once again by the hand of
the Ta'irjaun beasts. If you accept my offer, I shall also instruct the
Homamdar to make all of the ancient knowledge in our possession available to
you. This knowledge may prove beneficial to us all."
This development alarmed Chaelmic greatly. He knew that this could be the
spark that triggered a new insurrection, which could easily evolve into a
full-fledged war between the Cren and the Esog. He also knew that he could not
intervene in the matter without revealing more information, and that his doing
so could also force events towards war. He remained silent and stolid.
Overwhelmed by Nengis's statement, Crash exclaimed, "I do not know what to
say, Nengis. What you ask will be most difficult to accomplish. This task is
not only completely outside the parameters of what I had planned, it is most
likely beyond our resources and abilities to accomplish. The number of ships
required to transport your entire population would be staggering. By the way,
how many Matarin are there?"
"About twenty-six million," Nengis stated frankly.
Crash could not believe what he heard. "Transporting that many people would
require many ships much larger than the Hakarsha Class! It would also require
many more military ships to protect the transports. Nengis, this will be
impossibly difficult to accomplish in any short timeframe!"
"Do not make a final judgment regarding my request, before you see how the
Homamdar can assist you," Nengis stated. "I believe you will find that the
ancient knowledge will be of considerable assistance to you. Until this
moment, I believed, as all Matarin do, that the ancient knowledge we
discovered caused our tribulation and downfall. I now clearly see that this
was not the case. Our downfall was forced upon us from the outside, by Quan
himself. We did not bring it about by our sins. If I may obtain a visual copy
of your encounter with the Morcs and the Ta'irjaun, so as to show all the
Matarin people the truth, they will support my decision wholeheartedly."
Stunned by Nengis's offer, Crash implicitly knew that Nengis had just
experienced an epiphany of sorts concerning his people's true history. He now
realized there was more at stake than just his goals and that of the
Earth-based human race. His future had once again become bigger, more complex,
and much more challenging.
In the farthest reaches of his mind, Crash knew this development was an
inevitable consequence of his relentless pursuit of the truth. He now fully
realized that the truth, as an existential concept, existed as its own
reality, and was self-sustaining unless coerced, perverted, or otherwise
hidden by an outside force. Apparently, this pattern of historical concealment
was not solely confined to the human race. The Matarin had likewise become
pawns of this game, even earlier than the humans had. It now became clear to
Crash that this concealment technique may have become a universal problem for
all sentient beings, rather than one confined to the minions of the human
political gamesmanship sponsored by the PLAG on Earth.
Having organized his thoughts, he addressed Nengis. "Nengis, before I can make
a decision regarding this matter, I must see and evaluate the ancient
knowledge of the Homamdar. It would do neither of our peoples any good if we
commit to this goal, and then end up unable to defend ourselves from the
Ta'irjaun and Cren Empire. Both our peoples would suffer greatly in that case.
Surely you understand this?"
"Mufrid Tyson, this is Ra'i Giz of the Homamdar, keeper of the ancient

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knowledge. He shall make available to you all of the ancient knowledge in our
possession. Once you have studied this knowledge, inform me of your decision."
Nengis abruptly turned and departed, leaving Crash, Chaelmic, and Ra'i Giz
standing alone.
"Well, Chaelmic," Crash asked, "what do you make of this sudden change of
events?"
Chaelmic hesitated to answer, realizing that anything he said would only
complicate the situation even more. After considerable thought, he declared
soberly, "Under the current circumstances, I must consult with my superiors
before I interact further with either of your races. You must both do what you
feel best serves the interests of each of your respective species. That is all
I am prepared to say at this time, other than this: you both must understand
that we will not, under any circumstance, allow the SEG technology to fall
into the sole possession of the Cren! The Esog will do whatever they deem
necessary to keep that from happening. This must be clearly understood by both
of your races."
Chaelmic's bluntness startled Crash. He had hoped to hear that the Esog would
aid in the protection of the knowledge he possessed. It seemed, however, that
this was not about to happen, at least in the short term. Chaelmic's statement
could be interpreted as having more than one meaning, and some of those
meanings were not necessarily beneficial to Crash's cause. Crash had become
increasingly aware that the conflict between the Cren and the Esog involved
much more than Chaelmic had revealed to him thus far. He felt that in the near
future he would have to pressure Chaelmic more intensely, so as to acquire a
more complete understanding of the conflict between these two powerful
universal forces. In any case, his immediate task would be to determine if the
ancient knowledge the Matarin claimed to possess could be used for their
immediate common protection and survival.
He turned to Ra'i Giz and asked him the location of this ancient knowledge.
Ra'i Giz gracefully answered, "It is not far. Please, follow me."
Ra'i took Crash to a nearby mountain range. There they approached the face of
a large rocky cliff that had been covered by significant rockslides and large
broken slabs of granite. At the base of the cliff, huge house-sized boulders
were piled randomly onto each other. Others were embedded into the cliff
itself, and protruded outwards.
Having approached the pile of boulders, Ra'i pointed to an opening under one
of the large granite slabs that lay atop some smaller, randomly strewn
boulders. Crash followed him into this dark passageway. They traveled along
this path, which was dimly lit by sunlight penetrating through cracks in the
pile of boulders overhead. Eventually they came to the entrance to a cave,
which the Matarin had honed out of the solid rock of the mountain. Crash
marveled at how well-concealed the cave was, within these large boulder
barricades. The placement of these boulders made sighting the cave entrance
nearly impossible from any angle, even from the air.
Behind the cave's entrance lay a long, winding, tunnel that led them into a
large chamber deep inside the mountain. The chamber appeared empty to Crash,
giving him the impression that he was about to be handed something akin to
stone tablets. His expectations changed when Ra'i went to one particular place
along the wall of the chamber, picked up a small stone, and inserted it into a
nondescript depression in the wall. He did this three times at different
locations along the face of the chamber wall.
After Ra'i placed the third stone, Crash heard what he thought might be the
whine of some type of power unit activating. After a few minutes, the sound of
power generators grew unmistakable. Suddenly, a portion of the chamber wall
opened up, revealing a large metallic opening. Inside this opening, Crash
discerned a large, heavy metal door. The door and frame were covered with
hundreds of identical decorative depressions.
Having retrieved the three stones he had inserted into the depressions, Ra'i
thrust them into three specific depressions in the door frame. The door
opened, revealing a small chamber. Turning to Crash, he said, "Come." After he

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retrieved the three stones from the door frame, they entered the chamber.
The heavy door closed behind them. As before, the chamber's wall, floor, and
ceiling were covered with hundreds of similar depressions. Ra'i inserted the
stones into three specific openings and Crash felt his stomach rise into his
chest. The chamber floor suddenly dropped rapidly downward.
As they descended, Crash asked Ra'i how he knew the combinations to activate
the security system. Ra'i replied, "Only two members of the Homamdar know the
combination at any one time. If the wrong combination is entered, the correct
combination is automatically scrambled to new settings and two other randomly
selected members become aware of the correct positions. At this time, I happen
to be one of those randomly selected persons."
Impressed, Crash said with newfound respect, "That sounds like a thoroughly
thought-out security system."
Eventually the elevator came to a stop. The door opened, and Crash's heart
stopped. There in front of him was an exact duplicate of P-Quan's underground
complex as it existed on Earth.
Crash's first reaction was to think, Boy, have I been snookered. I can now
kiss my ass good-by!
But no attack came. Ra'i remarked calmly, "From your reaction, Mufrid Tyson, I
judge that you recognize this place. This is an exact duplication of the
complex we were forced to build for Quan many thousands of years ago. To this
day, only a very few of the Matarin know of its existence."
Crash replied with adamant force, "I most certainly do recognize it! We just
fought our way out of a similar bunker on Earth a few days ago." The deeper
implications of this complex then dawned on Crash. He realized that this
bunker confirmed his suspicions that thousands of years ago, not only were the
Martarin as or more advanced than were the human beings of today, they were
also managed by P-Quan as minions of the Cren Empire, just as the inhabitants
of Earth were at the present time.
"You say this place is a duplicate?" Crash inquired.
"Yes, Mufrid Tyson. Quan forced us to build the original complex for himself
and the Morcs. He then killed everyone involved in that project, and thought
that no one knew of it. But during that time, our ancestors wisely thought
that if it were so important to Quan, it would be advisable to have a similar
complex for ourselves. Luckily, just before the uprising destroyed Quan's
complex and killed him, we managed to acquire the technical specifications of
his facility. That is how this place came to be."
Minute by minute, Crash's respect for the Martarin culture kept increasing.
"This is excellent, Ra'i. Now, could you show me where the ancient knowledge
is stored?"
Ra'i led Crash through the eight blast doors and into the chamber, where stood
a raised platform identical to the one P-Quan used on Earth. He showed him how
to activate a sophisticated computer console. Crash tied his laptop computer
into this console, which quickly translated the Matarin symbolism into
English. As the breadth and scope of the information became apparent, Crash's
eyes opened wider and wider. A distinct smile crossed his lips. There were
whole categories of projected energy beams, plasma, and electrical discharge
weapons that only recently did he even dream were even possible. There were
also complete families of stealthy mines, torpedoes, missiles, and mortars.
Some of the weapons were so foreign to him that he wholly failed to comprehend
their functions, uses, or the science behind them.
The most potentially important document among the volumes of information was
labeled Philosophical questions and their related probabilities of application
in light of our increased understanding of the Universe. This last set of
statements would require an immense amount of study. Overall, the depth and
breadth of the basic sciences presented to him overwhelmed his sense of
superiority. His newly generated profound respect and admiration for the
Matarin people came as a complete and pleasant surprise to him.
As he continued to study the Matarin "New Knowledge," he thought musingly, It
is quite obvious that you can't judge a race's intellect by its religion.

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After studying the information for a considerable time, he looked up at Ra'i
and said, "Tell Qa'id Nengis I would like to meet with him as soon as
possible. We have much to discuss."
Chapter Twenty
DP, Kragen and a hand-picked group of Marines detached four Icarus- class
scouting ships from the Clark, which had just buried itself inside Sedna, a
small sub-planetary-sized icy body orbiting the Sun at the innermost regions
of the Kuiper belt. DP hoped that by burying the Clark inside the cold icy
body, it would remain concealed from any Cren sensors that happen to be
looking in that direction.
Kragen, at DP's side as usual, complained about his latest hair-brained
scheme.
"Relax, Sergeant," DP said soothingly. "We are only twelve billion miles from
home. You should be happy about that. In just a few hours we'll be back on
Earth, and then you can re-supply yourself with those rotgut things you call
cigars."
Kragen, chomping on his last cigar, replied, "First thing I'm going do is get
me some more Zino Reds. Let's get there. I've been nursing this one for a week
and it's starting to talk back to me."
"We'll tend to your vices after we complete our mission, Sergeant," DP
asserted sternly. "Now, Sergeant, have you double-checked your men and
equipment? We can't afford any screw-ups cooking off in the middle of this one
and biting us in the ass. This mission has to go down as unobtrusively as
possible. Stealth and surprise are our greatest assets, this time around.
After what we just pulled off with P-Quan, one slip-up and the entire PLAG
military, not to mention the Morcor, would fry our butts in an instant! I
seriously doubt that P-Quan and that Zern fellow think that we would dare be
so audacious as to return to Earth and acquire the best part of their
brain-trust, just a few days after our initial encounter with them. It is the
one thing we are most counting on to guarantee the success of this mission."
Kragen just grumbled under his breath, "Aye, sir. You're correct as usual,
sir!"
DP understood Kragen probably better than Kragen understood himself. He
instinctively knew that unless Kragen was planning - or involved in - the next
firefight, he felt that his life was going to hell in a handbasket. He had to
keep Kragen thoroughly occupied in order to keep him happy.
DP then contacted Laughton, Kohl, and McCandles in the other ships. They all
reported that they were good to go.
"Very well then, gentlemen," DP responded. "Let's head to Earth at just below
light speed until we are inside the orbit of Mars. Then slow your velocity to
about one-half light speed so we don't draw any unnecessary attention to
ourselves. Proceed to your contacts and complete your assigned pickups as
quickly and quietly as possible. Then return to the Clark . Is everyone clear
on the parameters of this mission?"
The Captains of the other three ships replied adamantly, "Yes, sir."
All right then, let's go."
The four small ships, having engaged their SEG drives at low power, traversed
the two hundred miles of ice between the Clark and Sedna's surface in just a
few seconds. Once they breached the surface, the four ships streaked towards
Earth, as their respective Captains increased the flow of plasma fuel to the
SEG drive. The trip would take about eighteen hours, as Crash had ordered DP
to not draw any undue attention to the ships by creating the spatial shock
waves predicted by his theory at speeds much above light-speed (LS 1.0).
As Crash had hoped, the flight to Earth went as planned. Upon reaching Mars,
the ships separated so they could approach Earth from four different
directions. If, perchance, the PLAG did detect the approach of one of the
ships, that sighting would most likely draw all of the PLAG's attention,
thereby allowing the other three ships a better chance to complete their
missions. As DP remarked sardonically, "Four plague-infested mosquitoes in the
hen house have a much better chance of going undetected than does a single fox

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with a chicken in its mouth."
DP reserved the most difficult mission for himself. His task involved the
acquisition of the services of MIT Professor Dillon Hughes. A leading
researcher in directed electromagnetic propagation, Hughes had acquired
well-established, worldwide connections to others in that and related fields.
From time to time, Hughes articulated views that were antithetical to the
PLAG's hegemonic policies, stating that the latter were unduly restrictive and
needlessly repressed human advancement.
DP's plan, of necessity, was quite elaborate. By sending the Icarus diving
into the Atlantic Ocean far offshore in complete darkness, and then burrowing
deep into the oceanic crust, he hoped to eliminate any chance of detection by
the PLAG's aerial and naval surveillance systems. Once reaching his desired
depth, deep under the oceanic crust, he leveled out and tilted the ship
slightly, thereby creating a larger horizontal profile than was needed by the
ship for lateral movement. He then proceeded slowly underground toward the
Professor's private quarters, using the PLAG's naval "extremely long wave"
communications network as a navigational beacon.
Once DP determined that he had reached a position directly under Professor
Hughes' quarters, he navigated the Icarus vertically. Gingerly, he penetrated
into the lowest basement level of the dwelling. Opening a small exit hatch on
the very top of the craft, he quickly disembarked, so as to make contact with
the professor. He found Professor Hughes sitting in his study, engrossed in
writing one of his research papers.
Not knowing a really good way to approach the man, DP simply knocked on the
doorjamb of the study. Startled, Professor Hughes looked up with considerable
apprehension and said, "Oh my! Who are you? How did you get in here? What
could you possibly want from me?"
"You have nothing to fear from me, Professor Hughes," DP replied calmly. "I am
Sergeant Major Decker Payne. My employer has sent me here to offer you the
opportunity of a lifetime. If you hear me out, I believe that you will find it
the most intriguing offer of your life."
Professor Hughes eyed DP further and then said, "I know you. You're one of the
insurrectionists the PLAG is looking for. They have a fifty million dollar
bounty on each one of you, you know!"
Unabashedly, DP replied, "Only fifty million, you say? I am insulted! I
thought we were a bigger thorn in their side than that." On hearing this news,
DP realized that the PLAG obviously did not regard them as strictly a local
problem, or the bounty would have been much larger. All things considered,
this confirmed Crash's view that the problem they created on Earth with the
PLAG was only a very small aspect of the entire situation. It also gave
credence to Chaelmic's suppositions. His conclusions provided fresh impetus
for DP to vigorously press his case with the Professor.
"Professor, I do not have time to waste, so I shall get right to the point. I
am sure that by now, you have heard of Dr. Isaac Tyson. He would like you to
join our group as Head of Research - specifically, to conduct research on
directed-energy weapons. In order to proceed with your work, you will have at
your disposal facilities and resources the sophistication and power of which
you cannot imagine."
Startled, the Professor dropped his pen. "You must be delusional to think you
can hide from the PLAG forever! They control practically every square inch of
the planet, now. Why should I put myself in such foolish jeopardy? It would be
tantamount to suicide!"
Prepared for such a response, DP replied, "Professor, we have, at this very
moment, a massive base and research facility operating completely outside the
sphere of influence of the PLAG - a facility located where they can't
intervene. I can personally show you, if you would care to look."
"I am sure you are aware, Sergeant," the Professor replied belligerently,
"that I do not support the PLAG and its policies anymore than you do. But you
are asking that I risk putting a bounty on my head, based solely on your word.
You have to do better than that, Sergeant Major!"

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"Professor, I can offer you irrefutable proof that what I say is true," DP
declared fervently. "If you will give me just a few hours of your time, you
will clearly see that what I am offering you is not a fantasy. After you
witness this proof for yourself, I believe that all of your doubts will be
eliminated."
Professor Hughes thought for several moments before replying to DP's offer.
Having opened his scheduling book, he studied it for a moment before saying,
"Very well, it seems that I am free for the rest of the day, Sergeant. I will
take the time to see this proof of yours."
"Excellent, Professor. If you would please come with me, you will shortly see
what we are offering you."
DP took the Professor down into his basement. When they approached the hull of
the Icarus, which protruded through the concrete floor, with its bright
interior lights streaming into the dark basement, Professor Hughes shouted,
"What in God's name is this?"
DP replied calmly, "Don't be alarmed Professor. This is the hatch to our ship:
the Icarus. "
"What on Earth are you - mole people?" the Professor expostulated. "How in
hell did you get this so-called ship under my house? I'm not going any
further, until I get a reasonable explanation!"
DP had planned for the possibility of such an emotional reaction. "Please,
Professor, I assure you that we will answer all of your questions in due time.
But we cannot remain here for long. This ship, even at rest, generates six
gigawatts of power, which the PLAG can easily detect. We really need to
leave!"
Professor Hughes mumbled absentmindedly to himself, "Six gigawatts, you say!"
Having stared in wonder at the hatch, he agreed to continue, and followed DP
as he descended to the deck of the Icarus .
Turning to Captain Parker, DP commanded, "Close her up. Then take us to
the Clark at best sub-light speed."
Stunned by all that had just occurred, Professor Hughes glanced upwards. The
hatch in the top of the Icarus vanished, and seamless hull appeared right in
front of his eyes. "How did you do that?" he gasped.
DP replied, "It is but a small thing, compared to what you are about to
witness."
Unsatisfied, the Professor then asked, "You also said best sub-light speed,
Sergeant?"
"Yes, sir," DP replied. "It will take us a few minutes to clear the Atlantic's
surface and exit the atmosphere. After that, we can accelerate to point nine
eight light-speed. We have to maintain that slow velocity so as to not draw
any undue attention to ourselves."
The Professor had a hard time accepting the reality of DP's casual statement.
Once again, he turned a skeptical eye on him.
Captain Parker skillfully guided the Icarus back through the tunnel they had
previously burrowed, only this time he proceeded at a much higher velocity.
The ship exited the ocean's surface in a manner of minutes. Parker then flew
the little ship straight up and out of the atmosphere, and went to high
sub-light speed as he headed towards Sedna. Professor Hughes gasped in shock
as they passed the moon in just a couple of seconds.
"We are running at four percent maximum, sir. Point nine eight light-speed
achieved," Captain Parker stated nonchalantly. "ETA to Sedna is approximately
eighteen hours."
"Exit the Atlantic! Point nine eight light speed? Sedna?" the Professor asked
in amazement.
"Yes, sir," DP replied. "We had to make planetfall some hundred miles off
shore, so as not to make ourselves obvious to the PLAG's defense net. If by
chance they did detect us, we would appear to be just a large meteor hitting
the ocean. We also have to maintain this slow velocity so the Cren cannot
detect the theoretical spatial shock wave Crash - er, ah - Dr. Tyson, says may
exist at super light-speed velocities. Our mother ship is located near a small

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planetary body known as Sedna, which is located in the Kuiper Belt. The Cren
will have a hard time detecting us there, and even if they do, we have more
defensive options available there, than we would if we were close to Earth."
His perception of reality having been challenged so directly, Professor Hughes
became dumbfounded by such a sudden reorientation of scientific facts as he
had known them. He appeared pale and seemed emotionally unbalanced.
Eventually, he managed to say, "I urgently need to sit down, Sergeant. Who or
what is the Cren?"
"Of course, sir. I understand completely," DP replied reassuringly "Come, sit
over here. He patted the seat next to Captain Parker. "I'm sure I can answer
many of your questions concerning the Icarus and the Cren, and also a number
of other questions that will undoubtedly come up. It will be some eighteen
hours before we rendezvous with the Clark , so ask away."
For Professor Hughes, the eighteen hours to Sedna seemed like minutes. Only a
small fraction of his questions got answered before Captain Parker announced
they were coming up on their final approach to Sedna.
"OK, Professor," DP warned in a matter-of-fact tone. "Don't freak out over
what we're about to do. I assure you it is perfectly safe."
Captain Parker slowed the Icarus to eight hundred miles per hour, and flew the
small craft straight into the surface of Sedna. As the Icarus plunged beneath
Sedna's surface, Professor Hughes' eyes enlarged to the point that his whole
head seemed one big eyeball. Sweat poured profusely from his entire pale face.
It took about fifteen minutes for the Icarus to descend the two hundred miles
to the Clark and dock. A small hatch opened in the side of the Icarus ,
exposing the Professor to a view of the interior of the Clark.
"I assume this is your base of operations?" he inquired.
"Not by any means, Professor," DP replied. "This is merely one of our frigate
class vessels, the Clark . "Please come with me, Professor. There is much I
must show you."
DP took him to the bridge of the Clark and indicated a seat, which the
Professor took. He then explained, "What you are about to see is a recording
of our main base of operations. Please view the entire record before asking
any questions."
DP activated the viewer and showed the Professor a comprehensive record of
their base on Matar.
At the conclusion of the record, Professor Hughes sat rigidly still, in
absolute silence. Many minutes passed before he spoke.
Addressing DP, he said, "It is very clear that this base of yours is not
located on Earth. Those other beings assisting you obviously are not human.
Where is this place?"
"Professor, I cannot reveal that information to you unless you agree to
wholeheartedly join our cause," DP replied sternly. "If you do decide to join
us, we would require you to enlist as many trustworthy qualified assistants as
you feel necessary fully to staff your area of research. You must understand
that we operate under the most intense war footing status you can possibly
imagine. The information revealed to you thus far is only the tip of the
iceberg."
"I have a million questions, Sergeant Major," the Professor retorted.
"I'm sure that you do, Professor," DP acknowledged. "However, you must make
your decision on the information I have presented to you thus far. I can
assure you that the reality of this situation is more fantastic that you can
possibly imagine."
After debating with himself for a brief time, Professor Hughes announced, "I
join you wholly and freely. If the information you have presented to me is
true, and I have no reason to believe that it is not, you may be humanity's
last chance at ridding Earth of the stranglehold the PLAG has forcibly imposed
on us."
Smiling, DP smiled replied, "Welcome aboard, Professor. You made the right
decision."
Upon shaking hands with Professor Hughes, DP noticed that Colonel Laughton,

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Captain Kohl and Captain McCandles had also finished docking their ships, and
were off-loading their contacts. A deep sense of gratification overcame him.
Now that he would have the help of Professor Hughes, whose character was above
reproach and whose prestige was enormous, he entertained high hopes that most
if not all of the initial recruits would join their cause.
Professors Kodai Shin, Markus Sonigan, and Vladimir Shutzen were escorted to
the bridge of the Clark and shown the same information that had been presented
to Professor Hughes. After a brief but intense discussion, the four scholars
agreed to join Crash's group.
After being informed of their decision, DP played a message that Crash had
recorded for the group. "I am pleased that all of you have decided to assist
us in our quest to liberate Earth from the treacherous PLAG," Crash announced.
"As you may have surmised, this endeavor may be more complicated than simply
removing the PLAG stranglehold from Earth itself. Although this information is
almost as new to us as it is to you, it appears that the PLAG is part of, or
is supported by, a much larger power base of universal dimensions."
Crash's message went on to show the four Professors the record of his recent
engagement with the Morcor in P-Quan's office, and the firefight with the Cren
frigates. This visual information generated dynamic gasps and ahs from the
group.
When the gasps died away, he continued, "With the help of the Matarin, we
shall attempt to build a military force of sufficient power and capability to
win both our peoples' freedom. This will not be easy. It is imperative;
therefore, that you assemble your respective teams, enlisting individuals who
back our cause completely. Those people must display unlimited loyalty. Once
anyone agrees to join our group, he will not be allowed to turn back. All of
you should consider this as a permanent assignment of an indefinite duration."
Crash let the seriousness of the matter sink in before he continued. "I would
like to introduce you to Lynn Meisheil. She will be in charge of integrating
the various systems each of you will be developing, into the overall design of
each class of ship. Each of you will need to have your individual systems
approved by her, during the final development stages of each of your
respective projects, and prior to their installation into the fleet. Her word
will be final on these matters."
"I would also like to introduce our power systems coordinator, Nessi Laffued.
As you will soon learn, you will be required to think in totally new terms of
energy management. Nessi will explain this aspect to you upon your arrival at
our base."
"Each of you will immediately return to Earth and assemble your teams. On the
return flight to Earth, each of you will be given the general parameters of
your project's goals. Please give us a rough idea of the relative size of your
teams, so that we can arrange for their immediate and timely transportation.
Additionally, please remember that secrecy and rapidity will be vital for the
success of this operation."
"There is just one more item I'll mention before you are released to assemble
your teams. The local residents of our base of operations, and in particular,
their scientific community, will be of immense help in our quest. I have
learned that many thousands of years ago, their civilization was considerably
more advanced than is our current civilization on Earth. If you have any
lingering doubts about the legitimacy of this endeavor, you should review the
brief history of the Matarin people that I have prepared for you. This history
will clearly demonstrate their current indirect and past direct relationship
with the Cren Empire, and with P-Quan in particular. I believe that you will
see an alarming number of parallels with Earth's history."
Crash seemed satisfied that his message had covered all of the necessary bases
- at least well enough to get things kick-started. He then declared that he
was looking forward to meeting each of them in person, once all of their
staff-members arrived on base.
DP then escorted the professors back to their respective ships so that they
could return to Earth and recruit their teams.

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Chapter Twenty-One
Chaelmic wandered off by himself, seeking a place of solace. He took his time,
meandering along a random course into the heavily forested mountains,
eventually ending up on a high but very secluded peak. Once there, he made
sure that no one had followed him, by scanning the area with his special
multi-spectral sensor.
Having determined that he was as alone as he could be under the circumstances,
he energized his communications device and made contact with the local
system's Briel Command Center. He then relayed a brief but accurate assessment
of the recent events he had witnessed.
After a few minutes' delay, he received new parameters to his general orders.
These new orders basically required him to maintain his close personal contact
with Crash, to protect him, and more importantly, to protect the technology
Crash had developed. His orders also directed him to report any covert Cren
interference. More detailed orders would follow after the regional commander
and the Supreme Council of the Esog could make a more thorough review of the
situation.
Chaelmic understood the hidden meaning lurking between the lines of his
orders. He immediately returned to the base. His greatest fears concerning
this entire situation were obviously shared by the regional Commander. From
that time forward, Chaelmic never let Crash stray far from his sight.
***
Crash stood upon a hill over looking the sprawling construction site. Several
months had passed since his new team had assembled. The outfitting of the
ships was proceeding rapidly. Over 4400 of Earth's best scientists and
engineers had decided to join the group. With the help of the Matarin and the
Homamdar, 547 Icarus- class scout ships had been fully completed and were now
operational. They were proving invaluable at scouting out new resources and
gathering intelligence. Crash had over three hundred of them patrolling at
slightly over a light-year radius from Matar, searching for the expected Cren
response. It would be very difficult for any ship or hostile force to approach
Matar undetected. The remaining ships were used to scout out new resources and
aid in the accelerated outfitting and completion of the larger combat ships.
As Crash gazed down on his life-long dream come true, he smiled to himself.
The base, now many times larger than it was just a few months earlier, had row
after row of Clark -class frigates with only a few remaining in the later
stages of completion. Within the week, 147 of them would be completed: ready
for duty.
His spirit soared as he looked toward the far end of the construction site.
There, behind all the rows of frigates, lie twenty-one mighty Hakarsha -class
destroyers. Their huge forms stood out like small mountain foothills behind a
boulder-strewn valley. Seventeen of them were completed, and being stocked as
rapidly as possible. The remaining four, whose hulls had just recently
arrived, would be completed within the next few weeks.
Suddenly, the scene produced a melancholy mood in Crash. The sight brought the
entire matter before him to a very sharp focus. He realized that these
destroyers would most likely be the determining factor in his people's
maintaining their freedom. If these ships failed, so would they. When the
realization dawned on him that his original plan did not incorporate a single
military use for his technological discovery, a great sadness overcame
him. What a waste , he thought. What a damned waste!
Beyond the Hakarsha Class destroyers lay three behemoth craft rising as
gigantic mountains above the rest of the valley, dwarfing everything in their
presence. Each of these ships was 16,807 feet in diameter and 6401 feet in
height. Crash decided to call these ships the Transport Class. Their massive
bulk would house the Matarin people as Nengis had requested.
Most of the outfitting effort involved the completion of these ships. Two of
these transports were already nearly complete. However, even with the entire
Matarin race aiding in the effort, the third transport ship would take quite
some time to complete, as the basic ship's hull had just arrived a short time

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ago. As Crash observed a multitude of Icarus -class ships slinging load after
load of stores into the last of the transport ships, he savored a heady
feeling of pride.
Chaelmic, who, during the past several months, had never strolled far from
Crash's side, remarked, "In all of my life, I have never seen so much
accomplished in such a short period of time. This is truly an accomplishment
of historical proportions, Mr. Tyson." Turning to stare at Crash, he added,
"Sir, you have vastly exceeded our most optimistic expectations. This
remarkable accomplishment of yours will be remembered as one of the pivotal
moments in the history of the universal time stream."
Uncomfortable when singled out for personal praise, Crash did not openly react
to Chaelmic's complement. He instead declared, "It is imperative that we
complete these ships as quickly as possible. Because we created so many large
hulls so rapidly, it is certain that the Cren have detected the spatial shock
waves generated from their creation. It will not be difficult for them to
determine our location, because of the SEG'S effect on the spatial field
structure. If the Cren are as powerful as you claim, we must be mobile by the
time they arrive or, in the blink of an eye, all of what we see here could go
up in smoke."
Chaelmic replied, "I have not overstated the Cren Empire's power and their
willingness to use it in the slightest, Crash. If anything, I have minimized
the true extent of their power, to keep you from becoming demoralized. You
must accept the fact that you truly do not grasp how far they will go to prove
their point. I absolutely agree that it is paramount that you complete what
you have started here as soon as possible. It is the surest way to prevent
your immediate destruction."
Although skeptical, Crash considered Chaelmic's cryptic statement before
replying, "My primary concern is that our weapons development program is not
progressing as well as I had expected. I had hoped that with an almost
unlimited energy supply and some of the Homamdar's technical data, Professor
Hughes could have progressed further towards the development of directed
energy weapons, by now. I may have to become personally involved, if more
progress is not forthcoming soon."
Chaelmic nodded, but said nothing.
"On a positive note, however," Crash continued, "DP's recruitment of
ninety-seven hundred of Earth's finest military officers and men has been an
unexpected bonus. Additionally, Colonel Laughton has done a marvelous job
organizing the Matarin into a first rate Air Force. DP has instilled the
proper discipline needed for them act independently when necessary. After
Kragen received his new supply of Zino Reds, he displayed the gruffness every
good military needs, so as to stay sharp for extended periods of time. All in
all, I believe we are in good shape, considering how rapidly everything has
progressed."
Both Crash and Chaelmic refocused their attention on the sprawling base spread
out below them. Neither of them could really believe what their eyes forced
them to accept. All of this was really happening.
***
It took Admiral Shaulindar several months to gather enough facts so that he
could comprehend, to his satisfaction, the true nature of this incident
between P-Quan, the Morcor, and the Primitive Tyson. All of the testimony and
recorded telemetry he had received strongly suggested that this incident was
indeed new in both nature and scope. He could find little if any flaw in the
containment controls implemented by P-Quan. He grudgingly concluded that the
embedded control system on this particular experimental planet was simply not
prepared for such an unexpectedly large increase in performance above the
expected genetic parameters of the experimental goals. He would strongly
recommend that, in the future, the governing council implement new and more
stringent controls for this and other similarly experimental species that the
Empire managed to aid in achieving their goals.
As his ship approached Earth and transferred into orbit, he contacted P-Quan

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and informed him of his arrival. P-Quan dutifully departed his sanctuary and
boarded the Admiral's Flagship in its secluded orbit behind the moon. Not
knowing what conclusions the Admiral had drawn regarding his, P-Quan's
performance in this matter, P-Quan was understandably nervous. It would be
best , he thought, for me to show no doubt or concern to Shaulindar regarding
my actions relating to the entire incident .
Upon entering the Admiral's private quarters, P-Quan took the initiative, and
greeted him while projecting the most positive attitude he could muster. "It
has been much too long since we have had the opportunity to meet again in the
flesh, old friend," he declared warmly.
He reached out to greet the Admiral in the conventional Maen manner. "How long
has it been? A couple of hundred millennia at least, I would dare to guess?"
"All of that and more, I would say, P-Quan," Shaulindar replied with sincere
warmth. "Come and sit down. Would you care for a drink of Ain? You probably do
not have much opportunity to partake of the more cultured varieties out here
in the undeveloped regions. Here, help yourself." He handed P-Quan a glass and
a bottle of his finest reserve.
P-Quan sat down and took a sizable gulp. As he leaned back in his chair, he
said, "I imagine the reason for this visit concerns the Tyson incident of
about a year ago. I can assure you that my procedures were more than adequate
for such a primitive race as these human beings. The incidental outcome of
this event, as it unfolded, completely exceeded any expected reaction or
ability the human Primitives have ever shown throughout their entire history.
The resulting end-product of this unanticipated discrepancy between Tyson's
ability and our management of him occurred completely outside the expected
genetic productivity curve at this stage of the experiment."
Silently, the Admiral sized up P-Quan. At length he replied, "I have come to
the same conclusion, P-Quan. You can relax all of your pretenses. You have
nothing to fear from me."
P-Quan, being the ever-opportunistic bureaucrat, affirmed brashly, "The
thought that I have failed in my duties to the Empire has never crossed my
mind, Admiral. The concept of failure is unfathomable to me."
"Yes, yes, P-Quan, I am well aware of that," the Admiral responded
comfortingly. "However, I still need to know your opinion of this Tyson
fellow. Is he a precursor of the expected new order?"
Not quite prepared for such a direct question right off the bat, P-Quan
realized that he had not seriously considered the full ramifications implied
by it. After calculating the repercussions to several different approaches to
an answer, he replied, "I am not an expert in genetic mutation, Admiral. But I
must say that Tyson's behavior has been novel, unexpected, and above all,
sophisticated enough to easily circumvent our very best experimental
procedures. The fact that his followers possessed the ability to kill a Morcor
storm trooper during this incident should get the attention of everyone. In my
humble opinion, even those at the highest levels of authority in the Empire's
hierarchy should be concerned."
"That is exactly why I am here, P-Quan," the Admiral asserted firmly. "Lord
Toll has given me a free hand to acquire Tyson and his technology. I have been
given authority to access all Empire assets in acquiring this primitive
anomaly. As you well know, the Empire - at great expense, mind you - created
this local spatial bubble of reduced radiation on the chance that it might
accelerate our long-term evolutionary goals for these Primitives. Since you
have spent all of your time in this region since its inception, and have had
direct personal contact with this Tyson fellow on several occasions, I would
like you to accompany me on this mission. You might provide some insight not
covered in the reports. This may prove valuable in our reacquisition of this
impetuous Primitive and his technology. Do you have any objections to a
temporary reassignment of your duties?"
"Of course not, Admiral," P-Quan replied quickly. "I live to serve. When and
where do I report for my new duties?"
"You already have, old friend. We are already underway. The first fleet is at

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station, keeping out well beyond the heliopause of this system. The Riglon
science station has recently established a firm location of Tyson's new base
of operations. We will arrive there in a few months. The Luin science officer
in charge of this entire matter has reported that there has been a significant
increase in the number of spatial field disruptions in the last few months.
Those center near a particular G-type star. I believe that you have had
extensive experience on Matar, haven't you? We are quite interested in what
this activity may mean, especially considering the outcome of your last
encounter with the inhabitants of that system. Therefore, I have assembled a
military force with ten times the power normally required to complete a
mission of this complexity and importance successfully. This Primitive Tyson
will not escape from our grasp this time, P-Quan. Of that you can be assured!"
The intensity of Shaulindar's statement startled P-Quan. It was unheard of for
any Maen, especially one of fleet command rank, to show emotion under any
circumstance. The Luin took a very dim view of such breaches of conduct. The
successful implementation of Imperial policy required razor-cold detachment
and the suppression of one's personal emotions. There were no exceptions to
this rule.
"I am sure that your strategic plans will be most successful, Admiral," P-Quan
quickly stated, so as to cover the Admiral's indiscretion. "The Imperial Fleet
has never experienced a defeat under your command. Even with this new
technology, I do not believe that Tyson is capable of fighting the combined
forces you are going to unleash on him. He doesn't have a clue regarding the
magnitude of the power he will face. He is simply outclassed. He doesn't stand
a chance!"
"I hope your assessment of Tyson is correct, my friend," the Admiral replied
stolidly. "In the past, he has shown a remarkable ability to function outside
of our expected parameters. He has managed to slip through our fingers."
"In the past," P-Quan answered pointedly, "we did not understand the nature of
his capabilities. We now have a history and pathology to his methods. He will
not escape us this time!"
"Of course not, P-Quan," the Admiral replied stoically. "We shall see to it
that he does not."
Chapter Twenty-Two
To say that Captain Kohl possessed a complicated mind would be a gross
understatement of his internal complexity. His background, replete with
various hidden agendas and secret associations, made him a valuable asset to
DP's team. Long before the destruction and dissolution of the United States,
he worked for many years as an informant for the U.S. National Security
Agency. During that time, his covert employment at DARPA allowed him to become
familiar with aspects of almost every ongoing ultra-classified military
research program of the time.
To say that he was a crafty and stealthy individual would be an exaggerated
dismissal of his true abilities. He often commented to himself that he could
hide as a lake in the middle of the desert that would never be noticed by the
goat herders living there. His ability to hide in plain sight was phenomenal.
This skill was one of the primary reasons why DP put him at the top of his
recruitment list. These innate abilities gave Kohl a unique ability to sniff
out kindred spirits and uncover any clandestine plans they might spawn. On
this particular day, his uniqueness became the salvation of both the Human and
Matarin races.
Captain Kohl had been on patrol for several months some 1.2 light years from
Matar. He leisurely meandered on his patrol route at a mere five hundred
thousand miles per hour in the Audacity , the last and most advanced of
the Icarus -class ships. Given that the Audacity was equipped with the latest
and most complete array of sensors that Nessi and Dr. Shin's team had produced
to date, Kohl felt certain that if anyone or anything approached Matar,
the Audacity 's sensors would find them.
During the routine course scheduled for this day, Kohl noticed something odd.
His gravity field sensors began beeping in a low methodical tone. The sound of

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the sensor alert was not in itself alarming, but what it indicated sent
shivers down Kohl's backbone. The sensors began to show a small but clear
gravitational deflection to the flight path the Audacity had been programmed
to take. Some new gravitational influence had begun to pull the small ship
away from its orbit around Matar, by 1.2 degrees. Kohl knew that there were no
natural celestial objects in this area of space massive enough to cause this
deflection. On this day, however, something massive had suddenly begun pulling
the ship off course.
Most interesting , Kohl thought. I have been patrolling this route for almost
three months and now, out of the blue, something has changed the gravitational
field balance of the entire region.
He programmed the operations computer to simulate the possible causes of such
a deflection at the observed rate of change. After several minutes of number
crunching, the computer displayed its results. To his surprise, the computer
suggested that only one thing could cause such a disturbance. That one thing
was a single body of eight point one solar masses traveling at extremely high
velocity on a vector directly toward Matar.
All of Kohl's internal alarms simultaneously thundered through his
head. Either we are experiencing a once-in-an-eon coincidence , he
speculated, or whatever is causing this anomaly must be of artificial origin.
In either case, the anomaly represents a clear threat to Matar.
Captain Kohl immediately turned the Audacity toward the oncoming phenomena and
increased its velocity to .99 light-speed, so as to intercept the unknown
factor. As he traveled in the direction of the disturbance, its effects became
notably stronger. After cruising toward this phenomenon for about ten days, he
came upon the cause of the disturbance.
For the first time in his life, Captain Allen Kohl grew psychologically
paralyzed. Words could not describe the thoughts entering his mind. There in
front of him on the view screen was a fleet of hundreds - no, thousands - of
ships. At the core of this fleet were three gigantic ships, which comprised
ninety-nine point ninety-nine percent of the mass of the fleet. The laser
ranging system indicated that these three massive ships were traveling in a
perfect triangular formation about one hundred miles apart. It also indicated
that these three central ships were roughly hexagonal in shape, thirty-six
miles in length, with an approximate diameter of six miles.
So massive were these ships that the spatial field between and around them was
visibly twisted and distorted by their gravitational fields. Between these
gigantic ships, massive spatial field frame dragging was easily visible to the
naked eye. Spectacular and scintillating emanations filled the space between
the ships, as massive, bluish-violet discharges of Cerenkov radiation
permeated the space separating these massive ships. It appeared to Kohl that
in the direction of travel, the spatial field was being sucked into this
disturbance, compressed, and then exhausted behind them. It seemed as if the
fabric of space itself was being absorbed into and destroyed by the
gravitational field generated among these ships.
After recovering from this initial shock, Kohl quickly activated all of his
recording systems and made a record of this unprecedented sight. To his
surprise, the alien fleet appeared to be moving through space at super light
velocity, while not violating the laws of relativity. The mass of the central
ships must somehow be the cause of this phenomenon. They seemed to be dragging
the entire fleet along within this gravitationally distorted bubble of space.
It appeared that in front of the fleet, space was being stretched or sucked
into the field disturbance. Behind the fleet, it appeared as if space was
being compressed and then exhausted as some sort of thrust. The fleet rode
along on the bow shock of this spatial field compression wave.
Surrounding the three massive central ships in a spherical formation were
several dozen ships about half their size. These vessels flew in a perfectly
symmetrical formation around and in front of the larger ships at gravitational
Lagrangian points of the generated field. They were big, black and ugly:
obviously meant for heavy combat. Three massive beam projectors protruded from

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large, tentacle-like structures located towards the front one-third and rear
one-third of their hulls, each extending several thousand yards beyond each
end of the hull itself. These tentacle-like structures swept slowly back and
forth, as if they searched for a target on which to lock. The lighting within
these ships gave them an extremely intimidating appearance from the outside.
Around these ships were over two hundred smaller ships approximately nine
miles long and three miles in diameter. They possessed six smaller but similar
extended weapons-bearing arm-like protrusions. As in the larger ships, three
pointed forward and three were projected to the rear of the hulls, with
similar but smaller weapons emitters. Kohl reasoned that these ships were
designed more for ship-to-ship combat, as he could see the weapon-bearing
structures rapidly slewing back and forth at various angles, as if practicing
tracking and obtaining weapons-lock on fast-moving targets. These ships looked
eerily like gigantic squids on the hunt, as they moved through space.
There were many hundreds of smaller ships of about three miles in length and
one mile in diameter. They were flying in formation around the outer edges of
the fleet in a clearly defensive arrangement. As Kohl made recording of his
discovery, ten blips on his radar screen veered away from the main body of the
fleet and moved directly towards the Audacity at high speed. He focused his
sensors on them. His mouth dropped when his sensors indicated that their hull
form appeared to be similar but slightly larger to that of the frigates Crash
and DP had engaged near Saturn some months earlier. Compared to the capital
ships in this fleet, they appeared as small insects flying around a giant
light bulb. They were miniscule in comparison.
By this time, Kohl had acquired enough information to enable Crash to assess
the nature of this threat. He shut down his instruments and turned back toward
Matar. Having been discovered, he felt there was no longer any reason to
attempt to hide from the invading fleet. After engaging the SEG drive, he
accelerated to .2LYS. He set the Audacity down at the base on Matar fifteen
minutes later.
Having quickly exited the Audacity, Kohl headed directly for Crash's compound.
As he approached Crash's headquarters, he heard two loud sonic booms, each
coming from a different direction. He turned to see what caused the noise, and
saw two other Icarus -class ships making what appeared to him to be emergency
landings. Both the pilots quickly left their ships, and made a beeline up the
hill toward Crash's office. Kohl decided to wait until they reached his
position. As Captain Parker and Lieutenant Flannigan approached, Kohl could
see signs of serious distress in their body language. Deep within himself, he
instinctively knew what it meant. This was not going to be a good day.
As Parker reached Kohl's position, his apprehension grew evident. Before he
could say anything, Kohl interjected, "Let me guess. Three big black ugly
ships with a thousand escorts are heading straight for us?"
"That's right," Parker said. "You saw them too?"
"Yes, I'm afraid so," Kohl replied.
At about that time Flannigan arrived and recounted the same news to them.
Kohl, being the senior officer, took command. Quickly, he led the pilots into
Crash's office.
Crash and Nengis were discussing the time frames for the final completion of
the three transport ships when Kohl, Parker, and Flannigan entered Crash's
office. Crash had just informed Nengis that two of the three transportships
were completed and almost fully stocked. The third one was flyable, but not
capable of much more at this time. Crash looked up as he heard a commotion in
the outer office. Just as he was rising from his chair to ascertain the cause
of the commotion, Captain Kohl barged into his office with a secretary hanging
on to his back, trying to impede his progress.
"What's the meaning of this intrusion, Captain?" Crash demanded sharply.
"Sir, we are about to be invaded," Kohl announced in a loud voice, as he held
up his recording disc.
"Explain yourself, Captain," Crash demanded.
"Sir, it would be much more efficient to show you!" Kohl asserted, patently

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agitated. "Where is your computer display?"
"Over here," Crash responded. "Show me what you have."
The secretary eventually slid off Kohl's back as he inserted the recording
disc into the reader. As Crash observed the recording, his gut began to twist
into knots. After it finished, he sat in silence, shocked to his core.
During this silence, Kohl added grimly. "Sir, there is one more thing you need
to know. There are two other nearly identical fleets approaching from two
separate directions. It would seem they mean to surround us and prevent any
avenue of escape."
After a brief hesitation, Crash responded resolutely, "Captain, find DP,
Chaelmic, and Laughton, and get them and yourself back in here on the double!"
"Yes, sir!" Kohl replied. He and the other two officers turned and literally
ran out of the office.
His face a portrait of dismay, Crash turned to Nengis. "It seems that we both
will have to make some very hard decisions in the next few minutes. We simply
are not prepared for an attack of this scale. At least not right now."
Recognizing the nature of the Cren Ships from the descriptions in the Holy
Book of Quan, Nengis said, "The prophecy has been fulfilled, Mufid Tyson. The
Ta'irjaun do return." Then looking directly at Crash said, "We must leave
before they arrive."
"That's the rub, Nengis," Crash replied. "Because the third transport is
nowhere near completion, we do not have enough space in the ships to fit
everyone at this time. Our storable rations are not nearly adequate to support
your entire population. Some of your people may have to be left behind!"
"I shall go to my people and invigorate them," Nengis replied forcefully. "I
must take my leave of you, sir." Rising, he left in a huff.
Just as Nengis left the office, DP, Chaelmic, Laughton, and Kohl entered.
Nengis strode right pass them as if he did not even see them.
Crash told everyone to take a seat. "Captain Kohl has something to show you,"
he announced. "Proceed, Captain."
Kohl activated the viewer. It took only a few seconds before subdued gasps
filled the room. Nothing but dead silence followed.
Crash let the gravity of the situation sink in before he spoke. "As you can
see, gentlemen, our hand has been called. Its time to pay up or shut up."
Looking directly at Chaelmic, he said, "I hope you can enlighten us to as the
nature of these approaching armadas."
Chaelmic knew he could not explain the situation diplomatically. He now knew
that his fear that this matter would eventually escalate into a confrontation
was about to come to pass, regardless of anything he could say or do. Fancy
explanations would sound hollow, so he told them what he knew.
"Each of these fleets are what used to be, long ago, a standard Cren attack
force. The three large ships that center the fleet are Planetary Attack
Weapons Ships, also know as PAWS. They are constructed from the cores of dead
neutron stars. Their energy is derived from the spatial vacuum energy that
becomes focused between them from the directed gravitational field they
generate. They are held apart and in formation by the generation and great
amplification of the Cosmological Constant, as you call it, or the
Multi-Dimensional Repulsive Force, as we know it. They can store an
unfathomable amount of energy among them. Because these ships are of a very
ancient design, they are now generally used to sterilize planets for the
eventual reintroduction of new life forms. In a pure sense, they are not now,
as they have been in the past, considered frontline war ships. But they can be
used as such. Because of their age, they are now used only in very undeveloped
regions of the Cren Empire. In most aspects, they are quite obsolete."
Stunned, DP and Laughton exchanged glances, before their eyes simultaneously
rolled into the back of their heads. DP was the first to respond. "Chaelmic,
just how old are these backwoods ships of theirs? They look awfully new and
advanced to me!"
"These fleets are relics of the Sargen Wars. That would make them on the order
of at least seven billion years of age, by your reckoning."

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This information staggered DP. Speechless, he just stared at Chaelmic.
Chaelmic continued, "The large ships in formation around the PAWS are what you
would call Battleship class. They are designed to be the primary defensive
shield for the PAWS. They also have significant capability for surface
bombardment. They are known as Paws Defensive Platforms or PDP's.
"The remaining ships - the cruisers, destroyers, and frigates - were all
designed for overall fleet point defense and ground assault for the Morcor. It
appears, gentlemen, that the Cren have taken a very serious interest in your
recent achievements. Your overt insurrectionist activities have given them the
perfect political cover to unleash their armadas upon you. By the way, it has
been at least a billion years since they have reacted in such a rapid and
forceful manner."
Captain Kohl forcefully interjected a comment. "That is not the half of it,
DP. There are two other identical fleets vectoring toward us from two
different directions. I believe they intend to surround us."
Shocked on hearing this additional intelligence, DP realized that this was
their final showdown. This overwhelming show of force even shocked Chaelmic,
who was clearly taken aback on hearing this additional information.
"What is their estimated ETA, Captain?" DP asked in an intense tone.
"Sir, it appears that all three fleets were just over a light year distant
when we encountered them. It was difficult to estimate their velocity, due to
the intense spatial distortions generated by the PAWS drive engines. That
whole region of space near those ships is so convoluted from the intense
gravimetric distortions that I cannot give you an accurate estimate."
Turning to Chaelmic, Crash asked, "From your past experience with the Cren, do
you have any way of estimating when their fleets might arrive?"
Chaelmic became visibly uneasy. His greatest fear that this matter would
escalate out of control had truly come to pass. Technically, it was beyond the
scope of his orders to become directly involved. It was also true that he was
directly ordered to protect Crash and his technology from falling into the
hands of the Cren, and that possibility did seem imminent. In his judgment,
the latter order superseded the former. He therefore said, "The Luin have
developed a way to manipulate the limitations of what you call Relativity
Theory. This technology is not very well understood outside of the Cren
Empire. The time dilation is somehow dissipated into their propulsion energy
and controlled to their advantage. I cannot say with certainty as to when they
will arrive, but I suspect that they will arrive here in three to six weeks.
That is my best guess."
"Well," Crash said as he nervously wiped his brow, "at least that gives us a
little time to prepare. Captain Kohl, have Lieutenant Parker inform all
department heads to meet me here in one hour. Then get your butt back in here.
Since you were the first to find the attackers, I want you involved in our
military strategy planning."
Crash then turned to the rest of those present and said, "Because of this
unexpected change of events, we have three weeks to prepare for the coming
onslaught. We have to complete all of the combat ships by then, or it will be
a very bad day for all of us. In the meantime, I shall confer with Nengis as
to how to get as many of his people as possible safely off Matar before the
Cren fleets arrives. That is all!"
Chapter Twenty-Three
Nengis exited Crash's office as rapidly as he had ever moved in his life. In
just the last few minutes, all the years of regimented religious
indoctrination had suddenly culminated in the realization of his greatest
fear. The Ta'irjaun were indeed returning to Matar. His mind raced wildly out
of control, overwhelmed by panic. During all of his adult life, he had
prepared his people for the coming onslaught and their imminent deaths at the
hands of the returning Ta'irjaun. But all through that process, during all the
speeches and sermons, he had never thought for an instant that these
ideological concepts would ever involve him personally. The physical reality
of the Ta'irjaun's return shattered that belief. Now, suddenly, he felt that

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the forthcoming attack was aimed directly and solely at him. The sudden
personal nature of impending doom caused his mind to function at the edge of
irrationality.
Nengis's first rational thought compelled him to seek the help of the
Homamdar. Ra'i will know what to do, he thought. As the head of the Homamdar,
he will know more of these things than any other Matarin . He quickly summoned
Ra'i to his quarters.
Ra'i arrived in short order. Nengis showed him a copy of the recording of the
oncoming Cren fleet. Ra'i sat in silence after the presentation of the record
had concluded, waiting for his religious superior to speak first.
Finally, Nengis nervously exclaimed, "The Ta'irjaun are returning, Ra'i! We
must hastily prepare for their return, or face certain destruction. What
should we do?"
Perplexed by the overwhelming expression of fear displayed by Nengis, Ra'i
somehow understood how centuries of arbitrary theocratic indoctrination could
twist one's ability to perceive reality. However, he felt that this irrational
demonstration was ridiculous: unbecoming in his leader. Even with a looming
threat as serious as the return of the Ta'irjaun, the engrained rigidity of
their theocratic culture would not allow Ra'i freely to express his true
opinion on the matter. He knew that he would have to tread lightly, or risk
being judged guilty of blasphemy. And the penalty for blasphemy was beheading.
After considerable thought, Ra'i finally decided on an approach to this most
vexing problem. If Nengis did not accept his opinion, and ordered his
execution, that circumstance would matter little to his long-term survival
anyway. Calmly, he stated, "Qa'id Nengis, as you know, for many millennia, the
Homamdar have been charged with protecting the ancient knowledge. I regret to
say that during this time, some of us have done more than simply preserve it.
Over the course of centuries, some of the Homamdar have chosen to investigate
the nature of this knowledge. Eventually, some of us acquired some
understanding of the ancient ways. We have used that understanding subtly,
without the knowledge of the ruling Errai. In this, my self and several others
are presently guilty.
"It would now seem fortunate, however, that with the help of Mufid Tyson, our
understanding of this knowledge can be of great assistance to the Mufid in his
effort in saving our people from destruction by the Ta'irjaun. With your
permission, we would like to assist the Mufid in saving as many of our people
as possible."
Nengis, stunned that such a trusted and honored group as the Homamdar, and
Ra'i in particular, could possibly be guilty of such a serious transgression,
found it difficult to believe what Ra'i had just told him. However, the
revelation did bring him out of the panic that had so overwhelmed him. He
focused on this most shocking of revelations. Now, the anger that he focused
on Ra'i because of his transgression of the law became more relevant to him
than his fear of death by the Ta'irjaun.
Nengis' rage openly boiled over. A guttural scream issued from the bottom of
his lungs. He roared at Ra'i, "How dare you violate the sacred laws that have
protected our people from the Ta'irjaun for so many millennia? They return
because of your sins!"
Ra'i fought for calm in the face of Nengis's outrage. He finally said, "Qa'id,
the Ta'irjaun return to Matar in search of Mufid Tyson, not because of our
inquiries. You have stated yourself that their return has been prophesied. We
should assist Mufid Tyson in his endeavor, in order to save as many of our
people as possible. Certainly you can see the wisdom of this?"
The logic of Ra'i's statement notwithstanding, Nengis continued to glare at
him with savage revulsion. Eventually he said in a threatening tone, "You will
answer for this blasphemy, Ra'i." His fiery crazed eyes glittered as he
roared, "Answer for all of your sins you shall indeed!"
Then, calming himself as his rage subsided, Nengis declared, "However, for the
moment, we must work together and do all in our power to save our people.
Therefore, I order you and the Homamdar to assist Mufid Tyson in saving our

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people. The prophecy clearly states that the Mufid will be the primary
instrument of our salvation. Now go. See what he requires from you and the
Homamdar. Assist him in anyway you can. In the meantime, I will organize the
rest of our people to assist the Mufid in other ways. You may leave me."
Having bowed respectfully, Ra'i declared, "I shall do my utmost to assist
Mufid Tyson in saving our people, Qa'id Nengis." He the then turned and left.
Musingly, he concluded that Nengis had taken the news fairly well, considering
the magnitude of the breach of faith that he, Ra'i, had committed in Nengis's
eyes. He would face the consequences of that charge when the time came. For
now, to fulfill his charge from Qa'id Nengis, he felt it imperative that he
consult with Mufid Tyson in regard to the ancient knowledge. What Mufid Tyson
thought he knew of this ancient body of knowledge was only the tip of the
spear. The segments of this knowledge that Ra'i had presented to Crash lacked
all of its truly important and substantive aspects. The total extent of the
ancient Matarin knowledge contained elements so powerful - so broad in depth
and scope - that it directly affected the solution to the Problem that the
Cren and the Esog had fought over so many times in the past. The fact that the
Matarin had managed to conceal much of this knowledge from Quan during those
ancient times had almost led to the total annihilation of the Matarin. Ra'i
knew that he would have to be very careful how he dispensed this knowledge to
Mufid Tyson, especially with Chaelmic present.
***
Professor Shutzen having finally arrived, Crash began the emergency meeting.
Wasting no time beating around the bush, he immediately displayed the record
of the invading Cren fleets. Gasps of awe filled the room.
After witnessing the record, Professor Sonigan remarked in a very whiny voice,
"What in God's name have we gotten ourselves into, here? I did not sign on to
get involved in someone else's war. I agreed to help the human beings on Earth
rid themselves of the PLAG! I strongly believe that we of Earth will be much
better off if we do not become involved in this planet's problems. The Matarin
problems are not ours! We should spend our time and efforts protecting
ourselves!"
Crash thought contemptuously, " How could someone so intelligent become so far
removed from reality? How could he fail to be aware of the true extent of his
intellectual isolation ?
"Professor Sonigan," Crash stated forcefully, "I have reason to believe that
the entire human race has been involved in this conflict since we first
climbed out of the trees. Therefore, you personally have been involved, since
you took your first breath. Why do you think we fled Earth to come here? Our
problem and the Matarin problem are one and the same. They arise from a
singular cause. I would strongly advise you to grow up soon, before your
detachment from reality gets you killed!"
Crash's directness shocked Sonigan into silence. Fuming, he mumbled something
under his breath, but he did shut up.
"Now," Crash went on, "each of you has very little time in which to expedite
your respective projects and conclude them as best you can. They must be
finished in no more than three weeks - preferably sooner. All work on any
project that cannot be operational within that time frame should be suspended
immediately."
As Crash slowly peered across the room at all those present, he said, "I am
open to suggestions. Professor Hughes, where do we stand in regards to
weapons?"
The Professor let out a nervous, growled gruffly before answering, "Well,
merging our technology with that of the Matarin has proven a more difficult
task than I expected. In certain areas of endeavor, their theoretical
knowledge is vastly more advanced than our own. Frankly, it will take a
considerable length of time for us even to understand the fundamentals of some
of their theories in certain fields. Because of this, I have no idea how long
it will take to fully integrate their science with ours. However, in two
particular areas we have made substantial progress. Within a few weeks, we

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should be able to demonstrate a beam weapon approaching a continuous
generation of one hundred megawatts of power. In a few months thereafter,
there is a reasonable chance we will be able to develop a pulsed system which
should be able to generate a one second pulse of ten gigawatts every five
seconds or so."
"The other possibility is that we could manipulate the raw energy of the SEG
plasma fuel and focus it into a beam of extremely hard radiation and irradiate
parts of the enemy ships. It could cause considerable disruption to their
crews and some ship systems. Certainly any unshielded crew-members would die
from radiation exposure in a relatively short time. That is the best I can
offer in the time we have."
Having considered Professor Hughes' statement, Crash asked, "How long will it
take to install these systems into all of the ships?"
"Well," the Professor stated, "with enough manpower, we may be able to outfit
one weapon system per ship in the time we have. I believe that is all that is
practically possible."
Nodding energetically, Crash replied; "See to it immediately, Professor.
Professor Sonigan, I want you to assist Professor Hughes in installing these
weapon systems into all of the military ships. Do what ever you can to assist
him. Professor Shutzen, have you anything to add regarding life support? It
may prove to be our Achilles heel in this entire matter."
"Assuming that we survive long enough to get off Matar," he replied,
displaying typical Russian pragmatism, "we should be able to support roughly
fifteen million people for six months, or thirty million for three months. It
will be up to you as to how to allocate our resources to our best advantage."
Professor Shutzen's response greatly impressed Crash. "That is better than I
had hoped. Well-done Professor Shutzen! Professor Shin, where do we stand
regarding our research on the sensor arrays?"
Professor Shin stood up and bowed to the group before answering. "Nessi and I
have made much progress in the theoretical quality of our sensor arrays.
However, due to the nature of this new technology demonstrated by the Cren
ships, it will require entirely new scientific concepts in order to provide
any meaningful sensory data from them. We have benefited from the assistance
of the Homamdar and from their ancient technology. Both we and the Homamdar
agree that it will eventually be possible to penetrate the enemy systems at
some point in the future. As of this moment, however, our ability to acquire
data from their ships will be quite limited. Eventually, however, our
technical ability to mass-produce extremely advanced systems will give us a
considerable advantage over them. It will take us some time to reach that
level, however."
Professor Shin's answer did not surprise Crash. He said, "Would it be possible
to install one rudimentary proto-type system in one ship, Professor Shin?
The professor replied, "With enough help, I believe that a very crude
proto-type system could be installed in the time we have."
"Very well then," Crash stated. "Install one sensor system array in
the Hakarsha as quickly as possible."
Professor Shin bowed and said, "We shall do our best, sir."
Crash then continued, "I believe everything that we must do is secondary to
weapons installation and life support. The rest of you coordinate with Lynn as
to how you can best help expedite these systems to enhance our survival.
Except for the military personnel present, you may all leave and get to work.
Thank you."
After all the civilians had departed, Crash addressed DP, Laughton, Kohl and
Parker. "OK, gentlemen, we need some ingenious strategy, or we are all dead!
What can we come up with that can save our rear ends?"
Chapter Twenty-Four
As Admiral Shaulindar watched the tiny Excalibur -class ships continually buzz
and harassed his armada, he became quite amused at their antics. They were so
miniscule and insignificant to him that they became the butt of many a joke.
Deep down in his heart, he had no more fear of their endangering his fleet

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than he did of the pressure differential of empty space rupturing the hull of
one of his battleships.
"You know, P-Quan, these Primitives' antics remind me of the fire bugs of
Corinthia Prime. They can appear out of nowhere in great numbers and fly all
around you, but they never do anything but annoy you. They never bite."
P-Quan understood the Admiral's wit well, but also recognized the danger in
his dismissal of any tactic Crash Tyson might use.
"I do not think you should so easily underestimate this particular Primitive,
old friend. He bested me at practically every turn."
P-Quan's statement surprised Admiral Shaulindar. "P-Quan, you cannot possibly
believe these small ships of theirs pose any threat whatsoever to the combined
firepower of three full PAWS combat fleets, do you? We will have close to six
thousand ships surrounding this little planet of Prims. Even the Sargen in
their time would have been intimidated by this great show of force!"
"Although I believe there is little chance of failure, Admiral, I think
acquiring that damned little renegade with his technology intact will prove
more difficult than you believe. Do not underestimate him and those supporting
him. You are aware of the recent history of Planet Matar, are you not? If the
Matarin combine their tenacity with Tyson's ingenuity and Decker Payne's
military tactics, their combined wit may prove more potent than you give them
credit for."
"I am aware of the Matarin history in general, Governor. I believe this planet
was one of our first attempts at controlled evolution in this particular
radiation void. As I recall, in some respects, the test progressed quite well,
but eventually had to be terminated due to the uncontrolled acceleration of
these Primitives' intellectual and technological advancements. Due to their
inherent primitive nature, the Matarin did not understand the true
significance of what they had created. Because their overall limitations were
unbeknownst to them, they began to consider themselves nearly our equals.
Their animal instincts soon overwhelmed their innately limited intellectual
control of their emotional nature, and they eventually turned on us when we
attempted to rein them in. If my memory serves, I believe they were
neutralized, expelled from the Empire, and prohibited from receiving any
further aid or assistance. As you are well aware, this same accelerated
sequence has occurred many times before. Why does this current particular
incident we find ourselves involved in cause you such concern?"
"Speaking as one who was the Governor of this planet during that time, I am
well aware of the potential tenacity engrained within the Matarin character,
Admiral. Even though we installed a strict theocracy to control their basic
temperament in the future, I personally never grew convinced that its
imposition would indefinitely satiate one hundred percent of their offspring.
I believe that we should approach this situation carefully, with open eyes."
"I will take your opinion under advisement, P-Quan. That is why you were
brought along on this mission. You have been personally involved in the
management of both of these Primitive races' accelerated genetic programs. As
it appears that both of these experiments have resulted in exceptional
accelerations, we shall soon see if your fears are justified, or simply rooted
in your personal fear of a second potential failure on your part."
"Yes, Admiral, to twice be so close to success, only to fail, would be a great
loss for the Empire. The Council of Elders, to say nothing of Tanas, would
take a very dim view of it."
Even an exalted military hero such as Admiral Shaulindar could easily envision
the consequences of the wrath his failure would generate in Tanas. "We shall
make sure to arrange this matter so there is no possibility of failure. Is
that not correct, old friend?"
P-Quan silently nodded in agreement with Admiral Shaulindar's assessment, and
then smiled as only a Maen of the highest political order could.
***
Twenty days had passed since Captain Kohl discovered the approaching Cren
Fleets. During that time an extraordinary amount of work had been

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accomplished. Nengis had motivated the Matarin people to an unbelievable
degree. They worked like madmen. Crash could not believe how tenaciously the
Matarin tackled their work assignments. Because of the extraordinary
assistance offered by the Matarin, all of the Clark -Class Frigates had been
outfitted with two directed energy beam weapons of one hundred megawatts each
of continuous fire. The twenty-one Hakarsha destroyers had been fitted with
four quad beam projectors each, both fore and aft.
Thanks to an ingenious adaptation and merging of both Earth's and some of the
old Matarin technologies, Nessi developed a system that allowed these directed
beam weapons to be fired as single beams. Also, their output could be combined
into two coherent beams of eight hundred megawatts at each end of the
destroyer's hull. Lastly, one single beam - sixteen hundred megawatts of
continuous fire - could be directed from one end of the ship's hull.
Crash hoped that this degree of destructive power could do enough damage to
get the attention of the Cren. One of the Destroyers - the lead ship of the
class, the Hakarsha - had been fitted with a single experimental beam emitter
that could fire a one second pulsed burst of forty gigawatts approximately
every five seconds. Due to the limited time available for installation of this
system, adequate testing of the true power and reliability of this weapon
could not be preformed. However, Professor Hughes assured Crash that he was
fairly confident that it would perform close to what his theoretical model
indicated.
Because Crash's construction assets were strained beyond reason, it had been
decided that the three large transports would not be equipped with any weapons
systems. Certain that the sheer size and extremely high hull density of these
ships would provide an adequate degree of protection for their passengers,
Crash decided that the protection of the transports could be better served by
arming the dedicated warships. They were considerably more maneuverable and
built solely to fight.
The Icarus -class scout ships had been dispatched to follow the Cren fleet and
keep Crash apprized of the Fleet's progress. As Crash had feared, the three
Cren fleets arrived at the outer regions of the Matarin system earlier than he
had hoped. The three fleets entered the outer part of the Matarin solar system
on the twentieth day after their discovery.
Large masses of the Matarin people had begun loading on to the transports ten
days earlier. When the first indications came that the attack had commenced,
there were still several hundred thousand that had not been lucky enough to be
on board their designated transport ship.
As Crash gathered up the last of his personal material, a series of unexpected
seismic tremors suddenly struck Matar's surface. He knew that the Cren fleets
were still a day away, and was quite certain that this could not possibly be
any sort of aerial bombardment. As he contemplated the possible causes of the
tremors, an excited Dr. Shin rushed into his office loudly yelling, "Gravity
Waves! Gravity Waves!"
Crash instantly understood the reason for Professor Shin's excitement. He
suddenly realized he had never considered the effects of the mass of nine
neutron stars in such close proximity to the planet. His concern grew when he
realized that the effects of this disturbance were most likely going to become
unimaginably greater as the PAWS drew closer to the planet. Realizing the
significance of such planetary-wide seismic upheavals, he decided that now was
most definitely the time to go.
Just as Crash and Dr. Shin were leaving the compound, Chaelmic approached,
affording Crash the opportunity to ask, "What the hell are they trying to do?
Are they going to tear the planet to shreds and kill us all that way?"
"I have never seen them do that, sir," Chaelmic shouted over the oppressive
rumble of the increasingly violent upheavals. It's not their way. The intent
of the Cren power structure has always been to demonstrate their absolute
power over anything or anyone they consider part of their domain. They have
always arranged matters so that those whom they intend to defeat know who it
was that defeated them. Their goal is to capture the leaders of this

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insurgency of yours and personally interrogate them. You experienced a mild
version of their obsessive behavior, when P-Quan attempted to gain control of
you and your technology back on Earth. I believe that their fleets must have
entered this system slightly out of gravitational balance, which caused this
slight gravitational imbalance on the planet's surface. I expect this errant
gravitational disruption to subside shortly. Just look at this event as a mild
wakeup call."
Crash replied caustically, "Let's hope your right, for the sake of us all."
As he looked around at the damage caused by the imbalance of the gravity
waves, he noticed DP approaching rapidly, yelling, "Sir, the quakes are
knocking the hell out of us! Because of the damage they have caused, it will
now be several hours before we can lift off! Besides that, there are still
several hundred thousand Matarin that have not boarded the last transport. It
will take several more hours to get them all loaded!"
Crash understood the implications immediately. The Cren would be there before
the last transport could lift off. "Ok, DP, get all of the military ships up
as soon as possible to provide perimeter cover. Have the two loaded transports
depart ASAP. Have eight Clark frigates and four Hakarsha destroyers escort
each ship to our rendezvous point. The remainder of the Frigates and
Destroyers will provide cover for the last transport until it's loaded.
Instruct Colonel Laughton to implement Plan Omega, and wish them all the best
of luck."
"Understood, sir," DP quickly replied. "I will meet you on the Clark shortly."
Turning, he departed at a dead run.
Crash immediately grabbed his communicator and started giving various
department heads their last-minute orders. While he did this, Nengis and Ra'i
arrived. Extremely distraught, Nengis kept shouting, "The Ta'irjaun! The
Ta'irjaun have returned! Save yourselves! Save yourselves as best you can!"
Crash immediately deduced that the imminent fulfillment of the prophecy
instilled in Nengis by years of indoctrination had amplified his greatest
fears and become more than he could handle. Clearly, he had become emotionally
unbalanced.
Crash gave Ra'i a stern look that said, Get him under control or I'm going to
knock him out!
Instantly comprehending, Ra'i grabbed Nengis by the shoulders and shook him
extremely hard. "Nengis! Qa'id! It will be all right." Nengis simply could not
overcome the fear that had been so deeply ingrained in him ever since he had
taken his first breath. Seeing that Nengis had lost all semblance of self
control, Crash slapped him across the face. It sobered him up, but only
slightly.
"Qa'id, Ra'i will take you to the Clark ," Crash said calmly. "You will be
safe there."
In a broken voice, Nengis finally managed to say, "Save my people, Mufid! Save
as many as you can!"
"I am doing my best, Qa'id. Now go with Ra'i. He and Dr. Shin will take you to
safety."
In a vague, disoriented manner, Nengis grabbed hold of Ra'i's arm. Ra'i and
Dr. Shinai escorted him to the Clark , proceeding as fast as they could make
Nengis's legs move. Under the conditions, theirs proved a demanding task.
Having finished gathering all of his personal things that he thought he would
need in the future, Crash made a beeline to Lynn's tent. On entering, he found
her gathering a few last remaining items. Although many months had passed
since her interrogation by P-Quan, the sight of her fumbling around in her
casts and splints while trying to do things her body simply could not do,
struck Crash deeply. He quickly approached her from behind and said, "Let me
do this!"
His sudden, unexpected appearance startled her, until she recognized who he
was.
"I'm glad you stopped by, Crash," she said. "I am having some difficulty
getting my things in order."

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Crash looked at her squarely and said, "Don't think anything of it, Lynn. In a
matter of minutes, we are going to have more important things to deal with.
All of these things, at the moment, are quite inconsequential as compared to
what is about to happen." Quickly, he finished packing her things and closed
the case. He then grabbed her by the arm and said, "We have to get to
the Clark as quickly as possible!"
They slowly made their way through what used to be the base. The seismic
upheavals had caused so much topographical displacement that the former base
had now become nothing more than a debris field. The initial quakes had
destroyed most of the equipment. Fire and smoke filled the air. Breathing
became increasingly difficult for anyone without a respirator. Most of the
temporary structures had succumbed to the powerful quakes. This caused
numerous obstacles and unexpected hazards to be breached.
In addition, dozens of house-sized boulders had been uplifted through the
planetary crust by the gravitational imbalance caused by approaching PAWS. The
base had become such a maze, that no one knew the correct path to take. As a
result, traversing the base to get to the Clark became very difficult and
extremely dangerous. It took Crash and Lynn a considerable time to reach
the Clark, because Lynn's casts prevented her from moving very quickly. It
became so difficult, in fact, that Crash had to carry her the last few hundred
yards, as her body simply gave out.
Once they made it inside the, Clark , Crash ordered the nearest soldier to
take Lynn to her quarters. He then went directly to the bridge. Upon entering,
he noticed DP bellowing orders to ten different people all at the same time.
In spite of the imminent danger that faced them, the sight brought a smile to
Crash's face. Damn, he's good, he silently acknowledged.
Crash asked DP to update him on the gravity of the situation.
"Sir, the scout ships have just informed me that the three Cren Fleets have
achieved orbit much more quickly than we anticipated. I expect them to hit us
at any moment."
Even before DP finished his sentence, a tremendous bolt of energy hammered
the Clark. Its impact threw nearly everyone to the floor. Crash yelled out,
"Brace yourselves! This is only the begin…" Another bolt savaged the ship
before he finished his statement.
Amongst the turmoil and confusion, Crash managed to ask DP, "How many Matarin
are still on the ground?"
"About fifty thousand, sir. They need a good hour to finish loading!"
"OK. DP, order all of our ships except the Hakarsha to form a defensive
umbrella at the upper edge of the atmosphere. Order the Hakarsha to hover over
the transport and give her as much point protection as she can. Let's see if
the rest of our ships can form an umbrella over the area and give the damn
bastards something else to shoot at." Looking around, Crash then yelled out,
"Where the hell is Chaelmic?"
***
Upon reaching Matar and establishing an orbit, Admiral Shaulindar issued
orders that resulted in his fleet's immediately forming into his prescribed
battle configuration. The three sets of PAWS had set up positions equidistant
around the planet. They had re-established perfect gravitational balance among
themselves only a few minutes after their arrival into the solar system.
During that brief period of gravitational imbalance, however considerable
disruption to Matar's geophysical structure occurred, due to the exceptionally
strong gravitational tidal effects.
Shaulindar indulged in a cryptic thought regarding the imperfect entry of his
fleets into this solar system. Oh well . So goes the imperfections of war.
Perhaps this slightly imperfect entry will impress these Prim bastards enough
so they can finally understand the true nature of the power they are up
against. Too bad for them.
Up until this point, the battleships had maintained their defensive positions
around the PAWS to protect them from any possible threat from any quarter.
Determining that there was no possible threat from above, they began to

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separate, positioning themselves in an equidistant umbrella around Matar
itself. Once established in their prescribed positions, nothing could leave
the planet's surface without coming under simultaneous fire from at least
three of these devastatingly powerful ships.
The several hundred cruisers then took up positions around each of the
battleships. Likewise, the destroyers and frigates broke formation and
surrounded each of the cruisers, each in descending order of power. Being much
more maneuverable, these smaller ships could herd any ship rising from the
surface into the brunt of the larger ships firepower. There was no way off
Matar, except through this amassed fleet of ships. Their combined fire power
could easily vaporize a very large moon in a matter of seconds. In the last
several billion years no ship, even from the most advanced races opposing the
Cren, had withstood such a concentration of firepower such as this for more
than a few seconds.
Satisfied with the fleet's battle configuration, Admiral Shaulindar turned to
his fleet Commodore and asked if they had located the Primitive Tyson's base
of operations.
"Yes, sir," Commodore Bresk affirmed crisply. "Intelligence has intercepted
numerous communications, and has determined the location of the enemies'
Command Ship. With your permission, sir, we shall attempt to isolate that
vessel from the rest of their fleet and capture it."
"See to it at once, Commodore Bresk," Admiral Shaulindar replied.
Admiral Shaulindar then sat quietly, thinking. He could not conceive of any
possible way that these Prims could escape from his massed forces. The last
time he had assembled such a powerful force around a single planet was during
the final stages of the war with the Sargen, and they lost.
Considering the elusiveness this Prim Tyson has demonstrated in the past,
perhaps I should test this Prim's new technology and see if it is the great
advancement the Luin think it is, he ruminated. If worse came to worse, he
could always use the full power of the PAWS and destroy this entire system and
them with it in a matter of seconds. In his mind, the Prims were in a hopeless
situation: one from which they could never escape. He decided to test them,
more for sport than anything else.
"Commodore Bresk," the Admiral Shaulindar stated, "our orders demand that we
assess the full nature and extent of this supposed new technological
development of theirs. I intend to do just that. On second thought, let them
rise and meet us in combat. I want to see just how effective this new marvel
they supposedly have come up with performs in real combat. Target their
Command Ship, but do not destroy it. I want that Primitive pariah to
understand thoroughly what it means to contradict Imperial policy, before I
personally interrogate him."
"Yes, sir," The Commodore answered. "As you wish."
***
Even after more than an hour of frantic loading, several thousand Matarin were
still on the ground, attempting to board onto the last transport ship.
Fortunately, Crash had ordered the other two transports and their escorts to
depart earlier at supra-light-speed. Because they departed at such a high
velocity, the Cren sensors noticed only a small transitory flash on their
sensor recorders. Believing in their absolute technological superiority, all
of the Cren sensor operators dismissed this flash as a meaningless sensor
glitch. After receiving a strongly worded suggestion from DP, Crash decided
that defending all three transports simultaneously would greatly dilute the
effectiveness of the limited firepower available to Crash's small fleet. The
possibility could then exist that they couldn't properly protect any of the
transports. All things considered, sending the transports away was a smart
move.
During the next ninety minutes, the Cren fleet bombarded Matar with astounding
weapons. At least they seemed astounding to Crash. The cruisers opened fire
with surface beams that incinerated the surface at a rate of many square miles
per second per ship. In a matter of a few minutes, thousands of square miles

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of the continent surrounding Crash's base were completely laid waste. Nothing
on the surface remained but burning embers and the scattered pools of molten
Earth that covered large areas of the landscape. As the water in the crust
flashed to steam, great explosions occurred everywhere these beams of energy
touched. Whole mountains were blown into dust in milliseconds. Crash could not
believe the magnitude of the energy being employed. The sight of a mile-wide
energy beam traveling toward him at hundreds of miles per hour, vaporizing
everything in its path, intimidated Crash more than anything had in his life
prior to now.
As he watched this spectacle unfold, Chaelmic approached him and said in a low
tone, "Do you now see what I meant earlier, sir? Do you finally understand the
magnitude of the power you are up against?"
Crash could not find the words to describe the devastating scene before him.
"The power of these PAWS ships is beyond description," he admitted. "I don't
believe my eyes!"
Awash in consternation, Chaelmic retorted, "You truly do not understand, sir!
This modest demonstration of power is only meant to get your attention. The
attack you have witnessed so far has only been carried out by the Fleet
Cruisers. The Battleships and the PAWS have yet to engage you!"
Dumbfounded by this revelation, Crash nearly fell to his knees in a panic. DP
also heard what Chaelmic said, and saw the effect it had on Crash. Grabbing
Crash by the arm, DP tried to calm him. Having given him a slight shake, he
looked Crash squarely in the eye and said, "Sir! Do you not find it odd that
they have not fired on any of our fleet ships yet to any large degree? I
certainly do!"
Crash, his mind racing as never before, finally understood what Chaelmic had
been trying to tell him all along. Returning DP's glare, he replied coldly, "I
do not find it odd at all, Sergeant Major! They're scared!"
DP did a triple double-take on that one. "Sir?"
Just as Crash attempted to explain what he meant, the entire interior of
the Clark lit up in an unnatural purple light that seemingly penetrated
everything from the outside of the ship. Even the ship's hull glowed with an
eerie, translucent light. Almost immediately, a loud, deeply sizzling
vibration embedded within an extremely loud sonic thunderclap penetrated and
razed the ship. The concussion of the beam threw Crash and DP to the deck.
Chaelmic informed them bluntly, "Sir, that would be the PAWS."
One of the PAWS opened fire with its primary weapon right in the middle of the
base. A hellish purple beam about six feet in diameter stood perpendicular to
the ground, reaching skyward as high as the eye could see. It penetrated
straight through the crust and down into the upper mantle of the planet in a
matter of seconds. Then, small rapid pulses of energy could be seen shimmering
down the beam and into the planet's core.
Crash hastily asked Chaelmic, "What the hell are they doing now?"
Chaelmic calmly replied, "They are making volcanoes. Beams like this have most
likely hit the planet in hundreds of places. They are injecting sizable
amounts of antimatter into the planet's mantle and core. It will quickly heat
the planet's interior, and create massive volcanic eruptions. Every fault line
and every volcano on this planet will become active very quickly. Within
minutes, this entire area will be flooded under hundreds of feet of molten
lava. In twenty-four hours the entire planet will have literally turned itself
inside out. I believe now would be a good time to leave."
Stepping outside, Crash and DP stood next to the Clark and watched this
spectacle in absolute awe. The PAWS energy beam lasted about one minute.
Shortly thereafter, lava began to emerge from the cavern the beam created. A
great volume of lava began to flow over what was once the construction base.
Shortly after that, the ground quaked unbelievably as a tremendous lava column
erupted many thousands of feet into the air. The throat of the lava discharge
had quickly grown to several hundred feet in diameter. A mountain of lava
thousands of feet in height began to rapidly sprawl outward from the central
column and engulf everything in its path. The whole place turned into a

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hellish nightmare on a magnitude and scale never before witnessed by the eyes
of either human being or Matarin.
There were still many thousands of Matarin scrambling to board the last
transport. They never had a chance. A wall of lava several hundred feet high
rolled rapidly toward them as they tried in vain to board the ship. The lava
quickly engulfed thousands upon thousands of them. When the spreading lava
rammed into the hull of the transport, the Captain had no choice but to take
off. There were no Matarin left alive on the base to rescue anyway.
It took several minutes for the transport to rise from the ground. Luckily,
the hot magma had no effect on the hull of the transport. Except for
the Clark and the Hakarsha , the other ships had already reached their
intended positions, and now waited for the transport to reach their altitude.
All twelve remaining Hakarsha destroyers held their positions in a cone
formation at three hundred thousand feet. Ten to eleven Clark frigates
escorted each of the destroyers, forming a single fire group with a destroyer
at its center.
Once the transport reached its position in the center of the defensive cone,
Crash gave the order for the entire fleet to leave the planet. The instant
Crash's fleet began to accelerate, all of the Cren frigates within range broke
formation and headed directly toward the point of the fleet's defensive
formation. Once they were in firing range, they all opened fire on the lead
ship.
The Talon , the lead Clark frigate, took the brunt of the barrage. Its hull
flamed brightly as over one hundred fully powered directed energy beams from
the Cren frigates simultaneously attempted to burn the ship to ash. It looked
as if the little ship had become immersed within an electric arc furnace.
Thanks to the externally mounted SEG field generators, however, the powerful
Cren energy beams simply washed over the perimeter of the Talon's hull. The
SEG field successfully repelled the tremendous energies from all of the Cren's
frigate's energy beams. In actuality, the beams never even touched
the Talon's hull, but were displaced by the SEG field along the surface of the
ship's hull and dispersed back into space.
The Talon and all of its accompanying frigates immediately returned fire on
the Cren frigates. The seven nearest frigates coordinated there targeting
solutions and simultaneously fired on the closest Cren frigate. The seven
six-inch-diameter plasma beams totaling fourteen hundred megawatts of energy
simultaneously engaged the Cren frigate with pinpoint accuracy. Still, after
ten seconds of continuous fire, the enemy frigate seemed totally unaffected.
The Talon's accompanying destroyer then joined the fight and fired on the Cren
frigate with its four forward combined beams, targeting the same spot as the
frigates. The combined firepower of the eight ships immediately breached the
frigate's hull. In fact, the combined energy beams practically cut the Cren
frigate in half. It blew up in a tremendous explosion.
Crash watched this spectacle from the Clark with increasing concern and alarm.
The combined firepower from eight of his ships was barely capable of engaging
and defeating the smallest of the Cren warships. Realizing that his weapons
were dangerously underpowered as compared to that of the Cren's larger combat
ships, he accepted that this was going to be a very long day, and one that
most likely had a bad ending. On the good side, however, sensor data did
indicate that the SEG field seemed to provide adequate defensive shielding
from the Cren beam weapons fired from the Cren frigates. Crash could only hope
this would also hold true for the weapons possessed by the much larger Cren
capital ships as well.
Quickly understanding that new tactics were needed, he ordered the entire
fleet, except the Hakarsha , to fire at will. Within minutes, the commanding
officers of each battle group reported that the simultaneous blasts from all
the ships in each fire group could take out a Cren frigate with only a two
second burst. This tactic quickly allowed Crash's fleet to clear a sizable
path through the Cren screening frigates without suffering any discernable
damage. It did not solve the problem of the Cren's main force of destroyers

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and cruisers, however. At the moment, he could not even contemplate engaging
the massive battleships or, God forbid, the PAWS. In Crash's mind, in this
battle between David and Goliath, Goliath probably did not really know he had
been attacked yet. The Cren Commander probably would have noticed the sting of
a swarm of insects as more bothersome than this initial engagement with
Crash's fledgling fleet.
As Crash watched a path being cleared through the Cren screening frigates, DP
notified him that several hundred destroyers and several dozen cruisers had
begun to move toward them in five separate attack formations.
Crash now understood everything that Chaelmic had tried to tell him. He now
knew beyond the shadow of any doubt that this confrontation with the Cren was
inevitable. Whether it happened today or it happened tomorrow, it would only
be a matter of time before the hammer hit the head of the nail. Only this
time, Crash's head sat on top of the nail.
***
Admiral Shaulindar observed the first skirmish with the Prim Fleet with
increasing interest. The more he studied the initial encounter, the more
concerned he grew. A myriad of ancient thoughts crossed his mind. It had been
several eons since any force had established any credible challenge to Cren
military supremacy. It now appeared that this Prim and his band of renegades
had done just that. The lead Prim ship should have been vaporized the instant
it was struck by the full power of over one hundred frigates. During this
initial attack, it did not attempt to withdraw or take any defensive action
whatsoever. It just continued on its course straight into the center of his
mighty fleet, seemingly unaffected by the weapons employed against it. In
fact, it appeared completely unscathed by the assault. Telemetry did show a
slight one percent fluctuation in the little ship's energy output. But as the
attack increased, it seemed to adapt quickly and absorb the weapon discharges
quite well.
"Commodore Bresk," the Admiral said, "have your Engineers investigate that
energy fluctuation on that lead ship. See if they can detect some weakness
there that we can exploit to our advantage."
"I shall have them look into it immediately, Admiral," the Commodore replied.
The Admiral turned to P-Quan and asked, "What do you think of our little
campaign so far, Governor?"
P-Quan seemed quite serene considering the scintillating nature of the
spectacle. "Actually, Admiral, I believe this first encounter has probably
justified the concern the Luin have been demonstrating. That ship should not
have stood a chance under those conditions, and yet it is still there - still
resisting us as we speak. I think it imperative that we further explore their
technological limits in greater detail. We must know at what point this
technology of theirs fails to protect them."
"I fully concur with your assessment, Governor," Shaulindar replied.
"Commodore Bresk, order three hundred destroyers and fifty cruisers to engage
the enemy's fleet. Have them fire for maximum effect. Excepting only the
enemy's command ship, no quarter shall be given. I want that Prim bastard
alive. Is that clearly understood, Commodore?"
"Clearly understood," the Commodore replied. He quickly gave the orders.
Within seconds, the Cren ships began to maneuver into their attack formations.
Somberly, the Admiral muttered, more to himself than to anyone else, "We shall
now see the true nature of what this Prim's ability portends, Governor."
The Admiral immediately engaged the Fleet Combat Awareness System. In an
instant, he and P-Quan were centered within a spherical projection of the
entire battle area. Matar lay majestically below them, with each ship, both
Cren and Prim, clearly displayed above the Matarin atmosphere. With a simple
thought, he could change his perspective to anywhere inside or outside the
battle scene and draw specific information on any ship in the battle. The
F-CAS system was truly a marvelous system of combat management.
The Cren attack force quickly assembled into five separate groups, with ten
cruisers and sixty destroyers each. Each cruiser was flanked by six

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destroyers, above and below and to either side. The capital ships assembled
into an octagon formation, with two Cruisers occupying the center of the
circle. The point of attack was strictly forward, as every ship had an
unimpeded field of fire in the forward direction.
Admiral Shaulindar's fleet executed his attack plan flawlessly. The Cren
destroyers targeted the frigates, which they outnumbered six or seven to one.
The power of each of the six beam projectors on these destroyers was minimally
several orders of magnitude greater than the total output of the one hundred
frigates they replaced in the battle. The Clark class frigates came under a
horrific assault. Those that did not or could not increase sufficient energy
to their SEG fields were overwhelmed by the tremendous influx of energy in the
first few nanoseconds of the battle. Twenty-eight were lost almost
immediately.
The Cren destroyers' combined plasma beams overloaded the SEG field generators
of those ships that had not fully powered their SEG fields prior to the
attack. When their generators tried to compensate, they attempted to draw more
fuel plasma than was available, and, for just a nanosecond or two, lost power.
That was all it took for the Cren's destroyer's plasma beams to bath their
hulls with millions upon millions of megawatts of energy. Their end was
determined in billionths of a second. The explosions that ensued were on the
order of many thousands of megatons as the recoil energy of the collapsed
spatial field instantly released all of its pent-up vacuum energy.
Forty-two of the Cren Cruisers simultaneously fired one of their three forward
plasma beams at each of Crash's destroyers. With the numbers on their side,
two Cren cruisers targeted each of Crash's destroyers with a precisely
coordinated attack. As the beam projectors fired, the arms on the ship that
contained them seemed to recoil slightly in a pulsing manner from the thrust
of the energy projections themselves. The millions of terawatts of power
projected from their primary beam weapons exceeded the human mind's capacity
to comprehend it. At first, each of their plasma beams propagated in a rather
widely dispersed format, similar to their surface attack mode, and had little
effect on the destroyers. They then refocused the weapons into extremely
narrow beams of only a couple inches in diameter. At that moment, all hell
broke loose.
Two of Crash's destroyers were instantly destroyed. The tremendous power of
the combined Cren plasma beams tore through their hulls as if they did not
exist. The ships lit up like light bulbs, shining incandescently for a brief
moment, before exploding in a fireball the magnitude of which has rarely been
seen in the history of the universe. The fabric and structure of space itself
was compromised for a brief instant, briefly revealing another phase of
spatial reality never before witnessed by any sentient being.
The remaining eleven destroyers, which had their SEG field strength high
enough to withstand the initial assault, fared only slightly better. They too
were in extreme jeopardy, as their SEG output was at maximum and they had
little remaining power to transfer to their weapon systems. They could
withstand the attack, but were helpless to do much of anything else. Simply
put, they were sitting ducks. As additional beam projectors from the Cren
destroyers joined the attack, the increased energy output savaged Crash's
destroyers. Slowly, one by one, destroyer after destroyer succumbed to the
power of the Cren fleet.
***
Positioned above the transport and directly behind the Hakarsha ,
the Clark finally reached its position inside the fleet's defensive umbrella.
Quickly, Crash became fully engaged in battle management. Secure data links
transmitted all battle information from all ships to the Clark where Crash and
DP could make their battle assessments. As soon as Crash ordered the fleet to
move out, the first hints of impending disaster appeared.
When the Cren cruisers first opened fire, Crash's destroyers held their own.
The incoming telemetry showed that the Destroyer's SEG field integrity
protecting the ships' hulls maintained coherency with little additional

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expenditure of antimatter reserves. That condition changed rapidly, however,
when the cruisers narrowed the focus of their plasma beams into lethal
two-inch diameter beams of hellfire. At that moment, the Clark began receiving
frantic distress calls from all of the frigates and several of the destroyers.
When the Cren destroyers fully engaged all three of their forward firing
projectors at maximum power, twenty-eight of Crash's frigates vanished from
sight and were destroyed in an instant. Two of the destroyers were also lost
in the first few seconds of the attack. The imminent destruction of the rest
of the fleet became quickly apparent to Crash and DP. Realizing that he was in
danger of losing the entire battle in the next few seconds, Crash desperately
sought out suggestions for a new defensive strategy.
"DP!" Crash shouted. "I need a miracle fast! What the hell can we do?"
DP thought a moment, before frantically replying, "We had no trouble flying
through moons and planets. Perhaps we can do the same to their ships!"
Crash instantly understood the brilliance of DP's proposed tactic. He
immediately opened fleet communications, and ordered all of the nearest scout
ships, which had been at station-keeping, some one-half light-years away, to
engage the destroyers by ramming them at high speed with maximum power given
to their SEG fields.
The scout ships, piloted mostly by Matarin, proved more than eager to execute
the order. Within seconds and without warning, dozens of Excalibur class ships
began ramming into the Cren destroyers at one hundred and eighty thousand
miles per second. From an outside view, it appeared that some unknown and
fantastic weapon had punched large holes through nearly all of the attacking
destroyers. As the scout ships penetrated the destroyers' hulls, the ships'
hulls simply flowed out of the way and around the SEG field. Large gaping
holes were left in their wake. The rapid decompression and the grounding of
incompatible energy systems did the rest of the work. Enormous uncontrolled
pyrotechnic explosions detonated inside every one of the damaged Cren
destroyers. Every destroyer attacked suffered multiple catastrophic breaches
in the hull. Most of them were damaged beyond repair or destroyed altogether.
This entire devastating attack took less than thirty seconds to execute.
"Well done, DP!" Crash replied ecstatically. "That was a life saver." The
tactic worked so well that Crash suspected that it might work even better
using the frigates, which had much more powerful SEG fields. He ordered two of
the remaining frigates to ram the nearest cruiser in a like manner. Two
frigates paired up, accelerated to one hundred and eighty thousand miles per
second, and rammed the nearest cruiser.
The attack on the cruiser did not go quite as well, however. These ships did
not damage nearly as easily as did the lowly destroyers. The cruiser's
massively thick and dense hulls were made out of some form of super-dense
carbon-carbon carbide that did not yield as easily to the SEG field. The
combination of hull density and atomic bonding resulted in a hull structure
that had nearly one-half the density of a neutron star. This hull material
also possessed a molecular bonding energy hundreds of times stronger than that
of diamonds. Being over two hundred feet thick, the cruiser hulls posed a much
more formidable obstacle to penetrate than did that of the destroyers.
The makeup of the cruiser's hull absorbed such vast amounts of energy while
being deflected by the SEG field, that the frigates' SEG field became drained
before it penetrated all the way through. Initially, the frigates penetrated
the cruiser's hull, but they decelerated so rapidly that they became stuck
within the enemy's hull. They looked like a bullet that had penetrated halfway
through armor plating. One half of the frigate was stuck inside cruiser's
hull, while the remaining half protruded outside of the hull.
Panic gripped Crash once again. " The bigger these Cren ships are, the harder
they are to destroy, he silently raged. His mind raced through a myriad of
solutions before coming to a decision. He then ordered two other frigates to
accelerate to light speed and ram the cruiser with all weapons firing at the
point of impact. Just as they were about to impact the cruiser, they were to
slow to a much slower speed: only two thousand miles per hour. He figured that

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the solution was simply a matter of energy density verses matter density.
This perception proved correct. Like a slow motion movie, the two frigates
bored holes right through the Cren cruiser. Billowing gas, smoke, and massive
electrical discharges exploded from inside these giant damaged ships.
Crash did not even have to give the order. Within two seconds, all of the
remaining frigates swarmed onto the attacking cruisers and demolished them by
making multiple passes through several ships at once. The resultant massive,
stupendous interplay between matter and energy resulted in a visual
pyrotechnic display beyond anyone's wildest imagination. Enormous electrical
currents were generated as the dissimilar ships passed through one another.
This in turn generated gigantic electrical discharges that jumped from ship to
ship. In less than a minute, all fifty cruisers became burnt-out cinders:
nothing more than piles of junk. The Cren fleet, for the moment, could no
longer fire at anyone or anything.
***
Admiral Shaulindar could not believe the scene of devastation that lay before
him. Not since the Sargen conflict had there been losses of such magnitude.
This unanticipated humiliation stunned him. The staggering losses numbed his
emotions almost to the point of paralysis.
P-Quan, on the other hand, quietly smiled to himself. He knew deep down that
Shaulindar's failure on such a massive scale would remove all doubt of his,
P-Quan's, personal incompetence concerning his previous actions and decisions
regarding this matter. He would be personally vindicated, and would not have
to endure the wrath of Tanas after all. He did decide, however, to lend as
much assistance to his old friend as possible. The Admiral had not experienced
a failure of this magnitude in billions of years, and the shock of the sudden
turnaround had obviously horrified him to his core.
Turning a critical gaze on the Admiral, P-Quan clearly saw his deep distress.
Deciding that, for the moment, the Admiral seemed incapable of making an
immediate response, he persisted, and finally penetrated the Admiral's mental
stupor. "Admiral! You must change strategies! Admiral! You must reassess your
battle strategy at once!"
Admiral Shaulindar could hear P-Quan, his old friend, speaking from afar. It
was a distant, soft voice that seemed tranquil and soothing to his mind. Its
soft harmonic resonance created a sense of reassurance. As he pondered the
meaning of this circumstance, the voice became louder and more poignant,
projecting a state of urgency. Slowly, he turned his gaze toward P-Quan, who
seemed distant and remote, despite his radiating frantic urgency. The Admiral
again turned his gaze toward the burning hulks of three hundred fifty of his
best ships floating aimlessly, dead in space. Suddenly, he came sharply to his
senses, and he was not amused by the scene!
"Commodore Bresk!" he roared in a deafening voice. "Order all battleships and
PAWS to engage and destroy that Prim bastard's fleet immediately!" Suddenly,
his eyes blazed with frenzied fire as he gazed at the battle scene. "I don't
want one single molecule of that Prim fleet and the Prim that created it, left
intact!" Then, turning directly to the Commodore, he screamed an ominous
question. "Am I clearly understood, Commodore?"
Commodore Bresk trembled as he replied, "Absolutely, sir. But if we move the
PAWS, the planet will be ripped to shreds. The Luin will take a very dim view
of that action."
Screaming in rage greater than any he had ever before experienced, Admiral
Shaulindar roared at the Commodore, "The Luin are not in command here,
Commodore! I am!"
The vicious intensity of the Admiral's response - one that clearly verged on
sedition - astonished even P-Quan. He now sensed that the Admiral perceived a
grave danger here: one that even he, P-Quan, did not. Uneasily, he began to
suspect that perhaps his position was not as secure as he had previously
thought.
"I warned you not to underestimate him," P-Quan interjected in an intense
tone. "As I have repeatedly stated, the sum of this Prim's demonstrated

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genetic anomalies could prove to be extremely dangerous to the Empire. If we
cannot securely control him, then, for the good of the Empire, I strongly
suggest that he should be annihilated!"
"I concur fully, P-Quan." Shaulindar stated grimly. Turning to Commodore
Bresk, the Admiral ordered, "Commodore Bresk, annihilate that primitive
bastard. Annihilate him right now!"
By this time, Crash's fleet had moved several thousand miles above Matar's
surface. Commodore Bresk ordered all of the remaining destroyers and cruisers
to retreat into concentric defensive positions surrounding Crash's fleet,
which now orbited high above Matar. All sixty-three of the battleships then
moved in closer and surrounded what was left of the small insurgency. The nine
PAWS moved to positions just outside that of the battleships, removing any
possibility of Crash's fleet escaping to deep space. Upon observing these
maneuvers, Crash realized that the Cren were attempting to establish what they
perceived as an impenetrable barrier around his fleet.
Admiral Shaulindar smiled smugly. The rapidity of the maneuver impressed even
him. In the wake of the rapid movement of the Cren fleet, Matar slowly began
to tear apart from the ensuing gravitational tidal effects. The entire planet
rapidly turned into a ball of magma. Its entire surface roiled and boiled in a
tortuous dance of disintegration. The movement of the PAWS with their massive
gravity fields increased the gravitational imbalance. With every passing
second, the planet's geophysical disruptions grew amplified. In a perverted
way, however, the sight was unique, if not beautiful to behold.
Deep in the back of his mind, however, Shaulindar admired this unruly Prim
that he was about to destroy for the good of the Empire. He had obviously
gained control of a power the Empire had sought for eons. It would be an utter
shame to lose him. He also knew, at a much deeper level, that if this maneuver
did not work, and the Prim did indeed escape, the Cren Empire and the ESOG
would most certainly enter into an all-out war over which side would control
this Prim and his power. In that event, both sides would unleash weapons that
would make this little sparring match look like the Prims' use of clubs and
spears.
***
New intelligence supplied to Crash and DP cast light on the change in tactics
obviously being employed by the Cren fleet. They exchanged anxious glances, as
both men knew that this would be the final battle of the day. In the next few
minutes, they would win or they would lose and most likely perish. There could
be no middle ground now. Their final die had been cast.
Crash's forces had been whittled down to slightly more than one hundred
frigates, ten destroyers, and the transport. The Cren battleships could surely
destroy any ship in his fleet with ease. He did not want too even think what
the PAWS could do to them. He made some quick mental calculations and
determined that the focused energy densities of the PAWS' weapons greatly
exceeded the entire core energy of a G-type star by several orders of
magnitude. He had to face the fact that he had indeed opened up a can of worms
that he could not close.
Chaelmic had been standing silently by in the background, not intervening
unless requested. His face white with stress, Crash turned to him, and asked,
"If we run, they will simply follow and hunt us down like animals, won't
they?"
Chaelmic said in a compelling tone, "Respectfully, sir, there is no place for
you to run to! They are everywhere."
Crash knew the answer before he asked the question. "OK, then. We make our
stand here." He pondered his options. His mind accelerated to a state that he
had reached only one time before: when he made his initial breakthrough in
Static Point Number Theory. This time, however, he considered an entirely
different set of parameters, and sought to discover how to survive. His mind
ranged over the entirety of his knowledge, searching every realm of his
consciousness. Finally a thought came to him: a wild thought, but a thought
nonetheless.

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"DP," he stated hoarsely, "we are in a desperate situation, which will require
a desperate solution. Order all of the frigates and destroyers except
the Clark to dock with one another as closely as possible. Put the Hakarsha at
point. She possesses the most powerful weapon we have.
"Have all of the ships energize their SEG fields to as high an energy state as
possible. Then order them to try to merge their individual SEG fields, by
modulating them into a single unified field, so as to engulf the entire
formation to the largest degree possible. We shall attempt to merge each
ship's individual defense around the combined output of all of the ships. In
theory, the individual fields should combine and augment each other.
"If we are lucky, the combined fields just might reach the next spatial field
density threshold and become immune to their weapons altogether. Hopefully,
the ships will be able to withstand the attack long enough to ram a few of
those battleships and damage enough of them so that the Cren will back off.
The Clark will dock with the transport and do the same. Simply due to its
size, the transport's shielding and hull is several orders of magnitude higher
than even that of the destroyers. Remember, this is a battle to the death!
Only one side will walk away from this fight intact!"
DP fully understood the situation. He had come to a similar conclusion on his
own, only from a more purely military point of view. He gave the orders.
Immediately, the destroyers merged into as tight an elliptical formation as
possible and energized their SEG fields to the maximum output of their SEG's.
As they did this, an unexpected thing occurred. A large portion of their
hulls, to a large extent, merged also, forming one extended ship roughly one
half the size of a Cren destroyer.
When the remaining frigates linked up, the aggregate ship took on the look of
a deliberate design. The combined fields seemed to distort the cohesiveness of
reality itself. It looked as if the combined ships' hulls were semi-removed
from this space-time continuum and forced to exist partially within some other
dimension altogether. The energy discharges from the spatial field distortions
and the apparent inter-dimensional conflicts were breathtaking: beyond an
observer's normal ability to formulate a description. One could distinguish
the individual ships if he looked for them within the matrix, but it was
extremely difficult to discern them as individual entities.
Crash did not immediately understand exactly what had just happened. "Nessi!"
he yelled. "Record as much of this disruption as you can! We are going to have
to look at it in greater detail later. Also, run a simulation. See if this new
configuration possesses any vulnerability that could be exploited by the
enemy."
"Yes, Sir Crash, I've been recording an extensive telemetry record since the
PAWS attack on the surface. We should be able to determine what the extent and
nature of this anomaly is at a later time. I shall try and determine if there
are any weaknesses that could prove us to be in danger."
Nessi's positive attitude pleased Crash. Nessi had never let him down before,
and Crash did not expect him to do so now.
Crash decided not to worry at this time about the exact nature of the anomaly
he had just created. He ordered the Clark to dock internally with the
transport. The smaller ship pulled close underneath the transport's hull,
where its Captain engaged the force fields of the hatch system.
The Clark easily made the transit through the transport's hull, and docked,
out of sight of the Cren sensors. Once the captain secured the ship, Crash and
DP rushed directly to the bridge of the giant ship.
On the way to the bridge, Crash and DP discussed the situation. "So, DP, do
you have any suggestions on how we can get out of this hole that we have dug
for ourselves?" Crash asked.
"As I see it, sir, our back is against the wall. I believe our best course of
action is to plow right through them and inflict as much damage as we can
along the way."
"I don't see that we have any other viable alternative either, DP."
Crash ordered the transport to pull up behind the newly configured combined

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frigate-destroyer ship. By this time, the Cren battleships had reached their
positions and obtained station keeping around Crash's fleet. The PAWS had also
reached a point of gravitational equilibrium around the battleships at a
distance of around three thousand miles. It really did not matter in what
direction Crash attempted to move his fleet. All escape routes were equally
covered.
Once the transport reached its position, Crash ordered both of his ships to
head out at five thousand miles per hour, straight through the heart of the
Cren fleet. The instant his ships began to move, the sixty-three battleships
opened fire with hellish plasma beams of an absolutely incomprehensible power.
Forty of the battleships targeted the destroyer conglomerate ship and fired.
The combined SEG fields deflected the onslaught, but just barely. As the
combined SEG fields interacted with the plasma beam's unprecedented power, the
ship glowed brightly in an astounding multicolored spectral discharge of
scintillating intensity. This conflagration appeared to an outsider as if the
cores of a dozen large fusion bombs were continually being detonated on the
ship's hull every second. The Captain indicated that the SEG field at its
maximum output could barely withstand the onslaught from the battleships. This
created a dire situation. If there were any additional increase in the energy
of the attacks, it would surely destroy them.
Quickly, Crash ordered the transport to speed up and engage the nearest
battleship at point one light-speed. Within a second, the transport rammed the
battleship head-on, causing a massive divergence of matter, energy, and space.
Although the smaller transport's size could not be compared to the
eighteen-mile-long battleship, its impact rocked the larger ship to its core.
At the point of impact, a massive gash over five thousand feet deep breached
the entire front of the ship's bulkhead.
This gash exposed the front part of the interior of the ship to the
uncompromising vacuum of space, killing many crewmembers. This damage did not
hinder the effectiveness of the ship's weaponry, however. The battleship's
weapons continued firing, unleashing their hell-fire directly onto the
transport. The arms housing the weapon's beam emitters ached upward at a steep
angle away from the battleship's main body, and then brought the beam focusers
down directly above the transports hull in three locations, and opened fire at
point-blank-range.
The fearsome impact of the battleship's weapons threw Crash to the deck. He
quickly realized that he would have to destroy the articulating arms housing
the plasma beam projectors themselves, in order to change the combat
effectiveness of these ships. Although the articulating arms were many
hundreds of yards in diameter, he pulled the transport out and away from the
battleship's bulkhead.
He then moved the transport around the front of the battleship and rammed the
arm of nearest articulating beam projector on the ship he had just rammed, at
an extremely high velocity. This maneuver cleanly sliced the beam projector
off the body of the ship. At the point where the beam projectors were severed
from the ships body, stupendous uncontrolled energy discharges propagated to
other parts of the ship, causing great damage to the ship and crew.
Having observed the success of that tactic, Crash immediately rammed the other
two beam emitters, quickly destroying both of them. He quickly ordered his
other ship to coordinate with the transport and employ the same tactic. The
two ships rammed into one after another of the battleships' weapons systems,
disabling them in rapid succession. The combined firepower of the battleships
slowly dwindled, as more and more of their beam emitters were sliced off the
ship bodies, putting these giant ships out of action.
Not satisfied with just damaging the battleships, Crash decided to make a
statement to the Cren Commander by completely destroying all of them. When
there were only a few of them still firing, he turned the transport around and
savagely attacked one of the damaged battleship's cores. He increased his
velocity to just under light speed. Flying in a gigantic loop, he rammed the
transport into battleship after battleship in one continuous pass. In the wake

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of the transport's attack, each battleship bore a large, gaping, sixteen
thousand foot hole in its hull.
One after another, the Cren battleships met destruction. Within thirty
seconds, forty-four battleships were damaged beyond repair, their burning
hulks floating aimlessly in space. Just as Crash targeted the remaining
battleships, every safety alarm in the transport screamed to life.
Simultaneously, a tremendous blow racked the transport. The whole interior of
the ship became engulfed in a deeply purple, hellish light. A profound
throbbing vibration emanated through out the ship in simultaneous synchrony
with the intruding energy beam. The transport's hull literally sizzled from
the blast.
Crash's and DP's eyes met at the same instant. The word "PAWS!" left their
mouths at the same time.
The tactical display indicated to them that one of the PAWS groups had fired
on them, scoring a direct hit. The energy readings of these beams were off the
scale, and could not be accurately determined. Heat from the energy beam
radiated through the transport's SEG field and into its thick hull. Crash
could not believe that this was possible.
"Nessi!" Crash screamed over all of the noise. "How much is it?"
Nessi, slumped over his computer screen, frantically tried to assimilate the
data, all the while ignoring all of the commotion within the ship. After a few
very long seconds, he screamed back over the deafening noise, "It's an energy
beam, Sir Crash! Holy Shiva! It's over five hundred billion Kelvins!"
Crash literally fell back into his chair. From his long years of research, he
knew that energy levels of that magnitude were only obtained in the cores of
supernova explosions or the collisions of two large black holes. He did not
believe this to be possible, and yet it certainly seemed to be happening. He
knew that now was not the time to debate the causes of this phenomenon, as
immediate action would be required to save the ship and crew from this
extraordinary attack.
"DP!" Crash yelled. "Order the destroyers to disengage and leave the area
immediately at maximum velocity. They won't survive an attack of this
magnitude. Tell them we will meet them at our rendezvous as soon as we can."
"Aye, sir!" DP replied.
"Captain Parker," Crash continued, "ram that bastard firing on us at 2-FTL!
Ram 'em right now!"
"Aye, sir," Parker replied crisply. He engaged the SEG drive at full power.
The transport ship's SEG field quickly reformed into its propulsion format. To
the Cren sensors, it simply blinked out and disappeared. A nanosecond later,
the PAWS, which, just an instant earlier, had verged on destroying the
transport, were hit by a force never before seen in the universe. A clash of
multi-dimensions - the very force of Creation itself - rose in dynamic
conflict. Unequivocal proof of Pauli's Exclusion Principle was laid bare.
Crash rammed one of the PAWS in the triad with the transport. The repulsive
force field generator on one of the PAWS, which created the static field that
kept the trio of PAWS ships from collapsing into each other, was destroyed by
the impact. The finely tuned gravitational forces keeping the three massive
ships separated were interrupted. They quickly failed. As a result, the
inherent gravitational force fields of the three massive neutron star hulls in
such close proximity to one another quickly accelerated this imbalance. The
three ships began an uncontrollable death roll towards one another. In just a
few seconds, the three ships traversed their artificially bound, one hundred
mile separation, merged, and collapsed into one another, instantly creating a
gravitational singularity.
At that point, all hell broke loose. The gravitational imbalance compressed
the spatial field around them to such a degree that it sucked in all of the
matter inside its event horizon, deconstituting it as it fell to its demise
within the singularity. Many of the dead battleship hulls were caught up in
this maelstrom. When they hit the event horizon, much of their mass was
converted into pure energy. The resulting explosions destabilized the battle

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formation of the Cren Armada. Many of the smaller vessels were destroyed
outright by the intense blast waves generated by these explosions. Even some
of the larger destroyers and several cruisers that happened to be too close to
the event horizon were simultaneously sucked in. Within just a few minutes,
fully one-half of the ships forming the Cren Armada were destroyed or severely
damaged.
Luckily, Crash suspected that these events might happen, and had moved the
transport a full light-year away at the instant the attack ended. This allowed
the SEG field to protect the transport from the effects of this explosion.
Crash watched in wonderment. In just a few minutes, a majority of the powerful
Cren ships were rendered militarily impotent. The balance of power in this
local region of space had just changed to Crash's favor.
While that this event progressed, the planet Matar had become increasingly
geophysically unstable. It began to move toward the newly formed gravitational
singularity.
***
Admiral Shaulindar, although impressed by Crash's maneuver, became more angry
than embarrassed. That impudent Prim had just destroyed over three hundred of
his finest ships with barely a scratch to any of his own. This intolerable
situation could not be allowed to go unanswered. As he gazed at the tactical
battle display, he thought balefully, that little Primitive bastard is now
surrounded by sixty-three of the Empire's most lethal ships, not to mention
the nine PAWS. He will soon understand justice and know what it means to cross
the Cren Empire!
Turning to P-Quan, he casually asked, "Do you think I am over-reacting,
Governor?"
P-Quan had taken solace from the results of the battle. As it now seemed plain
that the mighty Cren Empire could not control this lowly Prim, surely he could
not be held personally responsible for the matter's going this awry in the
first place. As things now stood, this entire issue should certainly be
considered to be out of his hands. An internal, unspoken serenity filled his
mind. He felt that his future well-being was now secure.
These thoughts having raced through his mind, he replied, "I believe that you
should kill that little Primitive bastard right now! Fire everything you have
at his ship, including the weaponry of all nine PAWS. Get this over with while
you still can!"
Taken aback by P-Quan's open demonstration of fear, the Admiral queried
anxiously, "Do you believe the situation that grave, old friend?"
"Admiral, I believe we just might possibly be dealing with a Progenitor Being.
We may have been more successful in our experimentation than we ever thought
possible. In my opinion, it has been clearly demonstrated here that the Empire
is not prepared to deal with a Being of such power. Kill him now, before he
becomes fully aware of his true nature!"
Admiral Shaulindar was taken aback by the boldness of P-Quan's suggestion.
Recalling that his orders were explicit and specifically ordered him to seek
P-Quan's advice in this matter, he felt obligated to respect his long-time
friend's opinions. After considering the implications of P-Quan's fears, he
turned to Commodore Bresk and commanded, "Have all battleships fire at will
the instant they all have computed their targeting solutions."
Commodore Bresk issued the order.
Almost before the Commodore Bresk finished giving his order, all sixty-three
battleships opened fire, two-thirds of them at the combat ship and one-third
at the transport. Both of Crash's ships were instantly engulfed by plasma
beams of trillions of tera-watts of energy per square millimeter. They should
have vaporized almost instantly. The combat ship seemed to do exactly that.
Once engulfed by the tremendous energy stream of the battleship's combined
plasma beams, it vanished in a ball of plasma fire. The transport, however,
did not. Admiral Shaulindar's eyes widened and his jaw dropped. He could not
believe his eyes.
Frantic, P-Quan screamed, "Use the PAWS Admiral! Engage the PAWS, now!"

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At the instant that the Admiral gave the order for the PAWS to fire, they
opened fire with all nine of their monstrous beam emitters. In that same
instant, the transport ship accelerated rapidly, made a radical maneuver, and
rammed the nearest battleship head on. This sudden maneuver caused the PAWS to
miss their target. The entire front of the rammed battleship's de-energized
neutronium hull shattered at the point of impact with the transport's SEG
hull. Nearly five thousand feet of it was torn to shreds.
The impact did not reduce the combat effectiveness of the battleship, however,
and it continued to fire at point blank range. Its articulating arms
containing the weapon projectors twisted frantically toward the transport, so
as to reacquire a target lock. Admiral Shaulindar then watched in horror as
the renegade transport turned sharply and rammed head-on into one of the
articulating arms housing the plasma beam weapons, cleanly severing it from
the ship's hull.
What happened next horrified the Admiral even more. The enemy's other ship
emerged from the plasma fireball that had engulfed it. Although scarred and
somewhat fried, it still possessed enough power to move quite rapidly of its
own accord. It also began to attack the battleships by ramming them in a like
manner.
Admiral Shaulindar became enraged at the destruction of his most prized
vessels. He frantically repeated his order to Commodore Bresk to engage the
PAWS. "Commodore," he bellowed, "Get the PAWS on line now, or I will have you
thrown out of an airlock!"
Commodore Bresk replied frantically, "They fired, Admiral, but they missed.
They will reacquire their targets any second now!"
The gigantic PAWS searched desperately to acquire a targeting solution for the
fast-moving transport. Having mastered a complete understanding of classical
spatial curvature long ago, it took them only a few seconds to succeed.
Firmly reestablishing the target lock, Commodore Bresk shouted, "Firing,
Admiral!"
The nearest PAWS fired and hit the transport dead on. The Admiral relaxed
slightly at the sight of the enemy ship's being inundated by the massive power
of the PAWS' plasma beam. Within seconds, several PAWS' beams hit the second
enemy combat ship simultaneously. Instantly, a tremendous billion-gigaton
explosion consumed the ship.
"That's one down," P-Quan excitedly exclaimed.
Admiral Shaulindar grunted, granting himself a brief moment of satisfaction
over the apparent destruction of one of the enemy's primary ships. "Commodore
Bresk," he ordered. "Confirm the destruction of that ship immediately! Have
all of the PAWS target and destroy the remaining ship with all due dispatch."
"Aye, sir," Bresk replied.
"It appears that their technology does indeed have a breaking point after all,
Governor," the Admiral declared confidently to P-Quan. "It's a damn high
threshold, though. You can be sure that the High Council will take a very
close look at this entire incident."
"You still have the other ship to contend with," P-Quan reminded the Admiral
grimly. "This is not over yet."
Before P-Quan finished speaking, a second and then a third PAWS beam hit the
Prim transport. Even when engulfed in a plasma field only generated in the
core of an exploding star, the transport remained intact and apparently
undamaged. Having accelerated at a fantastic rate toward the nearest PAWS, it
blinked out of sight.
An instant later, the PAWS nearest to it was rocked by the impact an unknown
force that severely damaged the repulse generators that stabilized triune
structure of the three PAWS ships' unified gravitational field structure. The
damaged ship's innately high gravity field absorbed practically all of the
force from the impact, but the impact did its damage nonetheless. The relative
positions of the triune of PAWS ships quickly destabilized, as the intricately
controlled repulsive force of the universe that kept them separated and at a
constant distance failed. Their mutual gravity fields forced them into a death

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spiral that lasted only a few seconds. They merged in a galactic explosion of
historic proportion. As the three two-point-seven solar mass ships collided, a
gravitational singularity instantly formed.
Shocked out of his wits by this unprecedented event, the Admiral screamed,
"How can this be possible? PAWS are indestructible! Even the Sargen required
massive fleets on suicide missions to destroy them!"
"How did their single ship survive the attack from three PAWS and then escape
to attack and destroy them?" P-Quan bellowed back.
As the Admiral and P-Quan stared at each other in horror, Commodore Bresk
sounded the alarm. "Admiral, the fleet as well as the planet are being pulled
into the singularity's gravity well. The planet is going to hit the event
horizon in a just few minutes. Once that happens, there will be a catastrophic
detonation. Sir, if the fleet is in close proximity to the explosion, it will
most certainly be destroyed by the ensuing blast. We must pull the fleet out
immediately, in order to save what is left of it, sir!
The Admiral's head hung low. He realized that he would be held responsible for
this catastrophic failure. If he was lucky, the only consequence would be that
his career would end. For the first time in Cren history, a PAWS unit had been
destroyed in combat by a single ship - a Prim ship, no less. He had lost
nearly one-half of his fleet and been beaten by a Prim. Most likely, the Luin
would surely execute him for his embarrassing incompetence.
"My dear friend," he glumly stated to P-Quan, "I am so sorry that I may have
drawn you down with myself into this abyss. I believe your opinion regarding
this matter has been proven correct. This Prim may just be the Progenitor
Being we have sought after for so long. If he proves to be so, I have let him
escape, and I've given the ESOG a tremendous advantage towards their acquiring
the solution. Once the High Council learns of my failure, war with the ESOG
will be all but inevitable. It might be wise for you to leave me here alone,
and to my disgrace. Take one of the remaining cruisers and return to Earth. I
will do my best to remove you from the consequences of my humiliation."
Overwhelmed by the guilt expressed by his long-time friend, P-Quan considered
the events as they had unfolded. He fervently believed that weakness the
Admiral perceived in his position was not as bad as the Admiral thought.
"Admiral," he asserted, "you have most likely just verified the discovery of
the solution to our most serious problem. The Luin High Council may greatly
appreciate the fact that you have proven that our experimental efforts have
finally paid off. You cannot be held accountable for the outcome of this
event, simply because the results of our experiment have exceeded our
expectations to such a great extent."
Admiral Shaulindar weighed P-Quan's opinion. It made sense to him, and his
spirits rose. "Yes, I see what you mean," he stated soberly. "Perhaps we
should stay here as long as possible and bring back as much information to the
Luin as we can gather." Having pondered further, he added, "Yes, that is what
we shall do. We shall not cower in the light of this development."
"Commodore Bresk," he asked, "order any of the remaining ships that still have
propulsion power to depart immediately to a safe distance. Have the dedicated
science vessels stay behind and record as much data on this event as possible
without putting themselves in jeopardy."
"Aye, sir," Commodore Bresk replied.
Immediately, the ships that that still possessed enough propulsion energy
exited the vicinity of the singularity, without incident. The two remaining
PAWS groups engaged their massive drive engines and left the area also.
The contorted spatial field backwash from the engines of the PAWS impinged
upon the remnants of Matar itself. It just happened to increase the planet's
momentum toward the singularity. The end came quickly. The entire planet,
which had now become a ball of spinning liquid magma, flattened out into an
elliptically shaped, pancake-like structure. The magma from around its equator
made contact with the event horizon first. The event horizon absorbed the
entire planet in a matter of seconds. The impact of the planet's matter and
the event horizon converted a large percentage of the planet into energy. The

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resulting explosion created a quasi-stellar flare that would be seen from many
billions of light-years across the universe.
***
Crash sat quietly alone. The ship and crew were safe for the moment, but he
knew that this was only a transitory condition. He had kicked the Cren Empire
in the teeth and gotten away with it. They would be back, and the next time
they encountered each other, the Cren would have a much greater understanding
of the extent of his abilities. He knew that his life would only become more
difficult from this point forward. He also knew that he could never return to
Earth, at least not until he could guarantee its safety from an all-out
assault by the Cren Empire. That guarantee would only be possible a long way
off in the far distant future.
In fact, Earth's liberation might never become a reality. If the Luin were to
bring the full military power they possess against him at the present time, he
could not conceive of a way for him or his people to survive. He and his small
group of human beings, as well as the remaining Matarin, were truly on their
own, with no recourse but to carry on with their mission as originally
envisioned.
Crash reflected on all that had happened in the last year. He had progressed
from being an idyllic young man with a passion for mathematics to becoming the
leader of a few human beings who believed in him and the importance of his
cause. Along the way, he had somehow become the savior of an alien race,
which, six months earlier, no human being had even known existed. Thousands of
people had died while assisting him on this mission. An even greater number of
Matarin had given their all to see his project through. It seemed that his
life had now acquired a direction and destiny of its own, and he was just
along for the ride. He could not go back, and he could not just say, "I quit!"
Because of his actions, ancient and powerfully aggressive forces had been
unleashed. Those would be brought to bear against not only himself, but also
against all of the Human and Matarin races. For now, he could only react to
this power. He could not ignore it or run from it. The Cren would follow him
wherever he went. Whatever hiding place he might find, the Cren would
eventually find also. It seemed that at the moment, the universe had become a
very small place, with only enough room for him and his enemy to square off in
a knife fight. This thought perplexed him greatly.
For the immediate future, Crash knew that this ragtag band of human beings and
Matarin that somehow ended up following him on his quest must find a place of
solitude - a place in which to hide and lick their wounds. They needed time to
regroup: to rebuild the fleet with bigger and better ships. To survive this
challenge, they would need weapons of vastly greater power and energy to
compete with that of the enormously superior Cren fleets. The solutions to
these problems would, of necessity, be his first order of business.
His second order of business would be to try to understand the Cren, the Esog
and the nature of their conflict. The unknown nature of the "problem" that
Chaelmic kept referring to seemed to be central to these most powerful races'
mutual animosity towards each other. What part did its solution play in their
continual disagreement, and why? Had he unwittingly become the focal point of
this ongoing multi-billion-year-old dispute, between what appeared to be the
two most ancient and powerful life forms in the universe? These questions he
could not answer with the limited facts he possessed at this time. However, he
knew that eventually he must answer them or die.
The third order of business that troubled Crash concerned his basic lack of
understanding of most of the ancient knowledge the Matarin had kept secret for
so long. Much of their theoretical science seemed to be far in advance of that
of Humanity's. Depleted photons possessing zero energy states, one of the most
intriguing subjects contained within their knowledge base, greatly fascinated
him. Crash realized that he didn't even understand the underlying science of
much of the Matarin knowledge, and he would need to invest a great deal of
time to study their data, in order to comprehend it. He could only hope that
some of this information would assist him in protecting the group during their

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quest.
As he sat by himself pondering these questions, Lynn silently approached him.
Sitting down beside him, she simply held his hand. Crash turned to her, and
their eyes met and locked. During the next few moments, an eternal bond melded
their minds and spirits into one seemingly unbroken consciousness: that of one
being, one existence, and one purpose. At that moment, this singular
expression of humanity's greatest gift was all the reality Crash really wanted
to experience. It was long overdue.
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