High above the rocky terrain, the G15, like an ominous bird of prey, moved silently toward the city of Newusa bringing with it a terrible arsenal of destruction.
Ben watched through the dusk of the morning light. He peered into the ship’s viewer screen. The gates of the city dome, still in the shadows of the low mountains, loomed large in the distance. The two sets of gates, one which was structured with locks and three sets of huge sliding doors to allow larger machinery to pass in or out and a smaller set of sliding doors, used for traffic consisting of people or smaller vehicles such as two man patroller crafts, were built into the huge base of the dome for the purpose of keeping the city from being exposed to the outside elements of the planet, and also to keep out the toral. Controlled by two men stationed in a room next to the gates on the inside of the dome, they were operated and opened for only those with clearance.
This morning they would be opened by force.
“The gates await us,” said Ben. And then he thought, Soundlessly they will become a pile of glittering dust to be trampled and scattered under the boots of the charging revolutionaries. Ben had left the city through these gates when he was transported to the prison, but this time, when he reentered, there would be no gates.
When the gates were less than half a mile away, the Galaef, in a booming voice, said, “Fire when ready, and then take us to the tower.”
In spite of all the wars, which broke out on planets or between planets, Ben realized the Galaef had never been in a battle. Personages of high royalty were not intended to participate in war, instead they remained in a safe and secure location while the warriors went into battle. In this situation, however, the Galaef wanted to be in control, to make sure everything went according to plan. After all, yesterday he commanded the entire Federation fleet, which included millions of warships built to keep the peace, or for war if needed. Today he commanded one destroyer.
Taul sat in the commander’s chair at the far end of the oval plot-table, watching intently with a keen, but concerned look in his eye. He gave the orders and those around him obeyed, not only because he was the Galaef, ruler of the Galactic Empire, but because he had an air of authority which came naturally to him and which battered down on those around him and made them slaves to his will. It seemed to permeate outward from his being. Ben was sure this was one of the traits the computer looked for when choosing a man to be the next Galaef.
Phist sat at the opposite end of the plot table watching the screen in front of him and piloting the ship along the chosen course. He had his feet on the peddles maneuvering the speed, while his right hand turned a little yellow ball, half of which was protruding from the surface of the table. His left hand operated a small toggle stick, and the ship moved silently toward its destination. Zorn sat at the sonic bomb control station, while Brale and Xilil sat at the rapid-fire phasors stations with their fingers on the triggers.
There was nothing in Newusa, which could stand against the tremendous power of the G15, and this made Ben smile, as he thought about Hurd’s reign coming quickly to an end.
“Remove the gates,” commanded the Galaef.
Zorn obeyed and pushed the button.
Ben watched the viewer screen as the gates suddenly disappeared. They fell to the ground in white, glittering powder, the finer particles floated in the air creating an eerie white haze, which reflected the morning sunlight in all directions.
Zorn fired two more shots and then there were three half circular holes in the hemidome reaching to the ground and allowing the cold summer air to creep into the city.
"Here we come," said Ben. To say the least, he was not happy with Hurd. This one man (with the help of Thorne) had completely ruined his archaeological expedition—one which had yielded the most amazing discovery in thousands or hundreds of thousands of years.
“That’s right,” said Sam as he nodded his head in agreement and vigorously stroked his red, handlebar mustache. "Get ready for the reckoning."
The reckoning, indeed, thought Ben. During his studies and in-depth delving into the artifacts of lost civilizations, he had seen the effects of insanely greedy dictators, and it wasn’t pleasant. So he understood Sam’s resentment. After all these years the day had finally arrived to throw down Hurd's invidious government and stamp out his hateful oppression. The long time sought after peace and happiness would become a reality, and fairness would become the bottom line for government. Starvation and poverty would be eradicated from the lives of the people, as would unfair imprisonment, torture, and death.
Ben continued to watch the screen as Phist brought the destroyer lower, until they were no more than thirty meters off the ground, and then he piloted the ship through the hole and up again. They flew slowly toward the middle of the city coming ever closer to the infamous tower.
As the destroyer cruised between the buildings, the nether screen, located to the Galaef’s left, revealed people looking up at them and then, like little ants, they quickly scurried away to find shelter, hiding from the coming battle. Or perhaps, thought Ben, to grab their weapons.
Brale, who was also acting as communications officer with the ground troops, motioned to the Galaef. “Dahms wants her ground troops to start the attack now, before Hurd can reinforce the opening created by the sonic bombs.”
“Tell her to go ahead,” returned the Galaef. “It’s only a matter of minutes before we take down the tower.”
The destroyer moved into Government Square and flew to the level of the scent release doors.
For the second time the Galaef said, “Fire when ready.”
They had decided earlier to destroy only the top of the tower, which would alleviate the threat of the scent. The remainder of the tower, with the majority of the people in it, would be preserved and would only be destroyed if deemed necessary.
Zorn set the coordinates, targeting the top of the tower, and pushed the button. There was a flash on the screen as the sonic bomb was propelled with great speed from the G15.
Nothing happened.
Only the paint on the outside of the building disappeared from the effects of the sonic bomb, and the blue-green sheen of norimuinatit sparkled brightly in the morning sunlight.
“By the Zorgs!” yelled Phist. “Hurd built the tower with norimuinatit.”
“Why didn’t it work,” yelled Sam with a look of horror on his face.
Brale answered him. “It didn’t work because sonic bombs have no effect on norimuinatit.”
Sam jumped out of his seat and started to say something, but the Galaef interrupted. “Remain seated,” he said. And then he commanded Brale and Xilil to burn a hole through the scent release doors with the phasors. “Then we’ll proceed as planned,” he ended.
Sam was still standing when Phist explained to him that as long as they were hovering outside with a loaded sonic bomb cannon, Hurd’s men wouldn’t be able to open the doors to release the scents.
Sam sat down and watched.
“Depending on the thickness of the norimuinatit,” said Brale, “it could take up to thirty minutes to cut the hole. We’re aiming for the space between the door and the doorframe, which will speed up the process.”
Fifteen minutes had passed. Ben watched as the two continuous phasor beams slowly cut through the door and the doorframe causing molten metal to build up around the edges and to run down the crack—some of it dripping on Government Square far below.
Suddenly the ship lurched.
“What the Hell?” yelled Ben as he gripped the sides of his seat.
The lock-in system kept the phasors on target, but Ben and the rest of them were thrown violently about in their chairs. Roqford had to grasp with his paws around the base of the Galaef’s chair to keep from being hurtled across the room. If it hadn't been for the strap-ins, many of them would have been thrown onto the deck.
The ship lurched again.
"We've been hit!" yelled the Galaef. "There's a phasor canon on top of the tower. Activ
ate the shield. Phist what’s the damage?”
Phist pushed a button in front of him and the shield went up protecting the ship from anymore hostile shots. He brought up a hologram of the ship and pushed several more buttons on the panel. It showed a red path to the middle of the ship. “They knew exactly where to shoot,” he yelled. “Two shots—one to open us up and the next to take out the engine. The engine is going down and so are we.”
The gun fired twice more. The red beams leaped out, struck the shield, and were reflected harmlessly into the air. The destroyer lurched and then began to careen out of control.
"We can't maintain it!" yelled the Galaef.
"By God," said Sam, "the tower's got to be destroyed. You understand. It’s got to be destroyed."
Phist was trying desperately to bring the ship under control. "It’s damaged too badly,” he yelled. “We won't even make it to the streets below. We're going to crash." The sound of panic had turned to desperation in his voice. If they were to drop from this distance, it would mean death for all of them.
"Bring it up," yelled Ben. The phasor beams suddenly shut down. The circuits were burned out.
"What?" yelled Phist without turning his head. He was concentrating on the ship.
"Bring it up," ordered Ben. "Our only chance is to land on top of the tower."
"We'll give it a try," returned Phist.
With the engine winding down, the ship wobbled from side to side as it struggled to rise in the air. Once it came so close to the tower Viella let out an audible gasp. But finally with a lot of finesse Phist coxed it over the top.
They were only a few feet from the top of the building when the engine gave out.
"Everyone hang on," yelled Phist as he gripped the arms of his chair.
The ship crashed down hard, tipped to one side, and then rolled up on the other side, rocking back and forth a few times before it came to rest. The impact was so great that the Galaef's chair was ripped from its mounting, throwing him and the chair across the table toward the other side of the ship. The side of the chair glanced off Em's forehead sending him reeling in his chair. The chair with the Galaef in it slammed against the bulkhead, slid down the side, and came to a stop in an upright position.
Ben undid his strap-in and rushed to the Galaef. "Are you hurt?"
"No," said the Galaef as he released himself from the chair. "But you better look at Em."
Blood was soaking through matted hair close to Em’s right temple and running down the front of his head. His eyes were closed and his body was limp.
Viella grabbed a medical kit and ran to his side. She wiped away the blood and sprayed the wound with a coagulator and disinfectant. "There's nothing broken," she said as she ran an analyzer close to his head and face.
Ben was feeling for a pulse. "His heart is still beating," he said. Ben’s frown depicted concern. "We'll have to check for a possible hematoma." He began digging through the box Viella had set on the floor.
"Not now," yelled the Galaef in a commanding voice. "The war won’t wait that long.” He looked at Brale. “Open the rear emergency hatch,” he ordered. “We've got to take out that phasor cannon." He quickly stood up and went to the control-room weapons locker motioning for Brale to follow. As the door slid open the Galaef started handing out phasor handguns and rifles first to Brale and then to the other crewmembers.
Brale grabbed the phasors from Taul, placed the hand phasor on his right hip with magnetic cloth strips, and holding the rifle in his left hand, he ran out of the control room.
*