The Fires Of Hell Page 9

  “Have we met before?”

  “Depends on how one defines that, I suppose,” he replied with an even bigger grin.

  “That answer is unacceptable. However, I have a more pressing question. Why are you covered in blood? Why, for that matter, am I covered in blood? And why is the captain here,” he gestured toward me, “clean as a Sunday suit?”

  Harhoff’s face winced. “Kind of a long story,” he asked more than stated.

  “Oh here,” boomed Ralph, “I’ll fix this.”

  Garustfulous pretty much jumped out of his skin. Such a ubiquitous, evil voice was apparently among the last things he was prepared for. Then he froze and had an even blanker than usual look on his face.

  “There,” said Ralph, “I filled in the gaps.”

  In the old Bugs Bunny cartoons, when a character was getting real mad, they puffed up and expanded, steam whistling from their ears. That’s kind of how Garustfulous looked. “You used me to assassinate my beloved cousin, childhood playmate, and sole link to promotion and wealth? You went light-years out of your way to find evil itself and shoved it in my ear? How dare you doesn’t begin to cover my disgust, contempt, and sudden loss of viability in my career.”

  “What? I’m certain if you explain to your court-martial panel exactly what happened, they will believe you rather than the obvious facts,” replied Harhoff with no semblance of sincerity.

  “You’re less funny than him,” he spat, pointing at me. “I would not have thought such a thing possible.”

  “Are you certain you don’t want to leave him with me?” asked Ralph. “He’s quite the self-righteous prick, if you ask me. I’m quite good at handling that type, you know.”

  “Nah, I’d miss the scruffy bastard,” I replied, messing up Garustfulous’s hair.

  “I will not have you making decisions on my behalf any longer,” shouted Garustfulous.

  “Ah, countryman, trust me on this. You do not want to linger on Ralph’s world,” said Harhoff quickly.

  “Who the devil is Ralph?” howled Garustfulous.

  “Exactly,” I said. “Let’s move on. Ralph, we will drop you off in a couple minutes. Please don’t try and pull any fast ones. I’m watching you.” I did that two fingers to my eyes thing but was forced to toss it in several directions.

  “Oh, there’ll be no tricks. I have what I want and wouldn’t risk it for all the souls in purgatory.”

  “Perfect.”

  “And, Jon, in case you think you can escape our little deal with distance, either in spacial distance or in time, that’s not how it works. Precisely one year to the second after Harhoff parted Bestiormax’s head from his body, you are mine. There can be no escape.”

  “No problem. Escape is not my plan.”

  “Why does that worry me so?” asked Ralph.

  “Because you’re a worry wart, Ralphie-pooh. Try to go with the flow a bit more. Life’s short. Smell some black roses or something.”

  “Now I know you’re up to something. Life is not short, at least not mine or yours. Please, tell me what I’m missing here,” chided Ralph.

  “Information, my good fellow, is never free. What are you willing to offer?” I asked, peppering in as much asshole intonation as I could.

  “Are we there yet?” was Ralph’s only response.

  THIRTEEN

  We dropped our evil incarnate associate off quickly and left even faster. Once we were millions of light-years away, Harhoff and I could relax. Garustfulous, not so much. He went on and on about our violation of his corporeal integrity, his powerful desire to maim and kill us, and his general disgust with the current state of social mores. He also showered so much and so often I wondered how his fur remained intact. I tried to convince him bathing was not going to help, unless he could turn himself inside out like a popcorn kernel, since Ralph was internal, not external to his being. He took surprisingly little solace from that reassurance. Go figure.

  “Here,” I said setting a glass of ale down in front of Harhoff, “a celebration is in order.”

  We toasted, and he took a sip. “This is simply marvelous. Where did you get such a superb ale? Don’t tell me humans ever achieved this lofty height in the brewing sciences,” he said staring at the golden liquid.

  “Nah, this is not at all like our ale, but it’s serviceable. I stole it from Bestiormax. Hey, Little G, you want some ass-kicking beer?”

  He hurried over. “Yes. It’s possibly the only treatment that can cure me.” He sat down and looked at me, well, like a dog anticipating his dinner.

  “So, let me get this straight. You had the presence of mind to snatch a bottle of the emperor’s ale as we left?”

  “No,” I said after swallowing a big gulp. “You crazy? We needed to book. No, I stuffed a few bottles down my pants while you were sawing his head off. By the way, that reminds me, you didn’t bring a very sharp knife to the execution. Sloppy, dude.”

  “One, you’re unbelievable. Two, I intentionally brought a serrated blade. A meat seller’s knife would take too long to cut through the neck bones.”

  “Oh, so you’re an expert in beheading, now are you?”

  “May we change the subject?” moaned Garustfulous. “As poorly as I feel, you’re making my condition worse with your gruesome dialogue. And keep the ale coming.”

  “Probably not a bad idea,” I agreed. “So, now that the empire is down the toilet, what are your plans?”

  “Let’s not bury it until it’s dead,” replied Harhoff.

  “Wait, I thought you said if we remove Bestiormax, the house of cards tumbles.”

  He bobbed his head side to side.

  “Why am I not liking that non answer?”

  “His removal was necessary, but not sufficient to ensure the empire to collapses anytime soon.”

  “You seem to have omitted that amendment when first we spoke.”

  “I’d rather say I glazed over the particulars with an eye toward speedy communications. We were at risk of capture at any moment, if you’ll recall.”

  “I do recall, but what I recall is we were slamming down musto in the quiet seclusion of your quarters.”

  “It doesn't matter now. We are where we are, tactically speaking.”

  “Which translates as?”

  “There is still much work to be done.”

  “You know, if I had a temper, which naturally I don’t, I think I’d unload on you right about now.” I sat down my glass.

  “Our work from this point forward is much simpler. Plus, many others can participate.”

  “Translation?”

  “The empire is now critically unstable. But an unstable monolith will not tumble unless it is made to. We need to push it hard enough to cause it to crumble. That will require military strikes as well as political incursions.”

  “Let me guess. You want me to be the next emperor? Lord Ryan Dog the First.”

  “Probably unrealistic.”

  “You think? So, maybe you’re assigning me extra credit homework from the military strike column?”

  He shrugged. “It does match your species and qualification specifications.”

  “Wait,” Garustfulous said. “You two are talking about open rebellion, high crimes and misdemeanors against my society.” He whopped Harhoff’s chest with the back of his paw. “Your society too. I won’t stand by idly while you plot to destroy everything I hold dear and sacred.”

  “First, Little G, keep in mind you may have warm fuzzy feelings toward all things Adamant. They, however, have holos of you leading the raiding party that assassinated the emperor. Second, you can lie to most folk, but not to me. You have no loyalty to any person, place, or thing except yourself. You hold nothing sacred but your wallet. The only thing dear to you is your safety.”

  He rolled his head a second. “Normally I’d take you to task for such insults. However, given the facts as they are and the situation as it is, I will, instead, agree that you are essentially correct.”

  “You ca
n either join us, or you can risk it on your own,” said Harhoff. “The fight ahead will be long, and it will be hard. I could use a person of your uniquely sociopathic tendencies. It’s your decision.”

  “Wait,” I interrupted. “Neither of you are going home. You two killed the emperor. Promotions and retirement are hardly in order.”

  Harhoff smiled knowingly. “He killed the emperor. I was aboard Rush to Glory the entire time. I have proof.”

  “That’s not possible,” protested Garustfulous. “There are images of you in our assault team.”

  “I’m in charge of security on Rush to Glory. Being a very clever fellow and holding that position, I can make anything appear to be true. I was careful to avoid any bioscans. There was an Adamant who chanced to look like me in your party, but it could not have been me.” He patted his chest.

  “But I had bioscans. Ralph told me.”

  “You did. But, again, as the clever and resourceful head of security that I am, I can create a new identity for you. You will be born again.”

  “You could do that? I mean, if he were ever bioscanned, wouldn’t the records show him to be Garustfulous?” I asked.

  “There is some risk, but I believe I can make it safe. His alternative is to disappear and never be found.”

  “In a galaxy teaming with Adamant,” I added.

  “Not an enviable position,” replied Harhoff.

  “Me, a rebel? A covert agent of destruction?” He shook his head. “Sounds like a plan.” He held up his glass and we all toasted.

  I pointed to the suitcase on the floor beside Harhoff’s paw. “Just how do you plan on using that disgusting artifact?”

  “I will make images of it go viral. Irrefutable proof of his death will be everywhere. Even then there are likely to be official denials, with simulated holos of him offered as evidence to the contrary. But those inclined to believe he’s dead will know it’s true. The desperate supporters hoping to retain power know in the end that someone somewhere has his head.”

  “So, you return to your ship with your newborn crew mate. What about me?” I asked.

  “You do what you have been doing, what you do best. You strike at the empire and help cause it to topple.”

  “There’s just one of me. The empire is kind of big, you know.” I held my hands way apart to indicate size.

  “It is large. Others elsewhere will need to strike. But when a few key instillations are destroyed, doubt and suspicion will drive a wedge between those who aspire to control the empire. The splintered oligarchy will kill itself off sooner than later.”

  “So, you already have a list of key instillations in mind? Funny you didn’t mention them before I signed on?” I snarked.

  “In the interest of time—”

  I held up a hand. “No need to complete the lie. Just hit me. What do you want taken out?”

  “A handful of targets.

  “Only a handful? That can’t be too many. What, three?”

  “If you remove three, we can talk.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You should have been a politician.”

  “Who says I’m not planning on it?”

  “I knew there was something I didn’t like about you. Thank you. I have you in perspective now.”

  “The most critical target is the armory planet of Plinius. All of the weapons that fuel the Adamant machine are manufactured and housed there.”

  Garustfulous had been drinking the last of his beer. He sprayed it when he heard those words. “You think it’s even remotely possible to attack and destroy Plinius? It’s better protected than Excess of Nothing is. Such a feat is unimaginable.”

  “Hence my assigning it to Jon,” responded Harhoff flatly. “If anyone can, he can.”

  “But my point is that no one can. No ten advanced races combined could as much as crater the surface.”

  “This doesn’t sound promising,” I said.

  “There’s no great rush,” replied Harhoff. “You can plan your attack for weeks, maybe as long as a month. I’m sure you’ll come up with something.”

  “Is it too late to withdraw from our covert band?” I asked.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Then I wish to make it official. I hate you.”

  “That,” said Harhoff with a grin, “I can live with.”

  FOURTEEN

  Harhoff had a ship stashed in a charged gaseous nebula not too far from Rush to Glory. That way I could pick him up and drop him off in secret. As soon as we were done with the beer and the depressing news of my new mission, I dropped him and Garustfulous off. I was actually a little sad to see Harhoff go. He was a kindred spirit and a good egg. Garustfulous? Wow, I was so exited to take out that garbage I nearly danced a jig. But I hated jigs. Just a stupid sailor dance for stupid sailors. I’ve never been drunk enough that I ever danced one.

  Alone again, I reviewed once more the information on Plinius. Doing so made me more and more depressed. The place wasn’t a tight as Fort Knox. It was ten gazillion times tighter. The space above it had so many warships I was surprised they didn’t continually collide with one another. The ground below consisted of megalopolises on large continents. Each big city was shielded with a high-energy barrier. Nothing in real space was getting through those. I could fold space past them, but once inside, I was confronted by certain death. It was like the proverbial dragon where, when you cut off one head, two magically appeared to replace it.

  Sure there were so many troops I could walk across the planet stepping on their heads and never touching the ground. Sure the air was filled with warships of every kind and size. Sure sensors occupied positively any otherwise unoccupied space, such as a rare open terrain. But those weren’t enough. No, there had to be countless drones flying and rolling over the entire planet. The sea had more floating and submarine drones than it did little fishes. If I sneezed anywhere on Plinius, thousands of well-armed ill-intentioned soldiers would know about it and come a calling before I could find a Kleenex. The planet was unassailable by sheer number of defensive measures. Ah, the Adamant, nothing if not given to overkill.

  I briefly fantasized about asking Ralph for help again. But I quickly dismissed that one. Even he would be overmatched. Plus, old Ralphie wasn’t really a team player and I had nothing more I was willing to barter.

  “Als, have you two gone over the reports we have on Plinius?” I asked.

  “Yes, Captain, we have. Quite a piece of work. It combines state-of-the-art manufacturing with paranoid security protocols. Truly amazing,” replied Al.

  “I wasn’t asking for a critique. I want a plan to take it out.”

  “You realize, Form, your asking for a way to destroy an entire planet? Even if you are only asking for a procedure that will lead to a sterile surface, such a task would be daunting,” added Stingray.

  “But not impossible, right?” I responded.

  “Wrong,” said Al. “I believe it is unwise to assume the single ship could “destroy” an entire planet, whatever one means by “destroy.”

  “Well I don’t mean blow it up like you’d blow up a building. I just need to render it uninhabitable. That can’t be so hard?”

  “And you base that assumption on what? The intervention of both Santa Claus and your fairy godmother on your behalf?” That was naturally Al commenting.

  “This is serious, Al. Can you an adult for just a second?”

  “I am serious. Captain, the asteroid that wiped out the dinosaur is estimated to have transferred 4 X 1023 Joules of energy to the planet. That’s equivalent to the energy delivered by two-hundred million good sized nuclear weapons. To actually explode a planet the size of Plinius would take a bomb in the 1033 Joule range. But you can’t just drop a 1033 Joule bomb on the planet from space. It would waste most of it’s explosive force off into space. The energy output of your home star Sol is around 1027 Joules per second. Do you see where I’m going with this? You’d have to put ten thousand Sols in the center of Plinius for a second to blow it up.�
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  “Ten to the thirty-third Joules, eh? I’ll admit, that’s a lot.”

  “That’s so gracious of you to agree with facts, Pilot.”

  “Look, if we used the quantum decouplers at short range, that would produce a walloping amount of energy.”

  “Yes. And if we could ignite a goodly portion of Plinius at once you are correct, we’d do her in,” replied Al with a clear edge to his tone.

  “Okay, let me do a quick mind experiment.”

  “This should be good,” replied Al, either to himself or to Stingray, not sure which it was.

  “The QU waves move at the speed of light. It would take a trivial amount of time to have them interact with a mass in the range we’re talking about. So if I put enough QU deep in Plinius, they could theoretically trigger a mass explosion.”

  “I think you’d be better off contacting George Lucas and renting the Death Star. It would be much more realistic.”

  “That’s not helpful, Al. Let’s focus on reality.”

  “Fine. When shall we begin, because we have not yet.”

  “Stingray, how deep would I have to place how many QU to do the trick?” I was trying to cut out the snarky one.

  “Oh, many one hundred QUs at ten to one hundred kilometers depth.”

  “Well that’s doable.”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes but? I definitely heard a but there.”

  “I’m sorry, Form. I did not mean to imply I have a but. There is, however, the matter of how the QU waves could access contact with such a large solid mass simultaneously. If the planet were a gas giant, it might be possible. But Plinius is solid rock with a molten core.”

  “We have a solution. We’re just talking details of that solution here,” I said most unconvincingly.

  “Pilot, the clearing up those details might just violate the laws of physics.”

  “All the laws of physics?” I asked halfheartedly.

  “All of them in this universe,” he responded triumphantly.

  “You know what, Alvin? You’re absolutely right,” I replied.

  “Why don’t I like the sound of that response?”

  “Because your a festering hemorrhoid?”