Bonz was thankful the hum beam was securely in place. Very little of the history of the empires had survived the handful of Dark Ages that separated the realms. In fact, very little was known about the Galaxy prior to the rise of the Fourth Empire. But still, such talk as this — even in idle conversation — was pure sedition and probably punishable by death.
The Secretary continued anyway: "And so, the story goes, it was from this knowledge that Hunter and some of his confederates — a pack of old-timers, so I'm told — somehow raised an army, launched the invasion of the Two Arm, defeated Joxx on Megiddo, and then stole the six cargo 'crashers from Trans World 800. It was only that they ran up against the REF and their antistarship weapons that they didn't march right up to the One Arm itself. Had that happened, who knows what could have come next…"
"Are you telling me the buzz around the Imperial Court is that Hawk Hunter was the leader of the invasion fleet?" Bonz asked incredulously.
His boss nodded.
"And that somehow Xara was involved with him?"
The Secretary nodded again. "We know they've had a liaison in the past. If it's still true today, then the Princess Herself is in league with these invaders. Not something we would normally expect from the daughter of the Emperor."
Bonz sat back in his chair. "Well, at least the story has a romantic spin to it," he said. "Who told you all this, if you don't mind me asking?"
The Secretary sat back in his chair as well. "An Imperial Court spy."
Bonz rolled his eyes. By strict definition, he was a military intelligence officer; he garnered information that might affect the Space Forces in time of war or peace. He was, in fact, a soldier first, a spy second.
The Imperial Court spies were different. They were civilians, strictly cloak-and-dagger types who were more interested in Palace intrigues than seeking out intelligence that might help the Empire. There was an unknown number of them, but certainly more than a hundred just here on Earth. They could usually be seen in their long capes and floppy black hats, skulking around the floating city's old section, entering or leaving the rambunctious Imperial Court by hidden doors, or deep in hushed conversations with the high court officers in the back rooms of the immense palace.
"Those guys spin more tales than witches these days," Bonz said.
The Secretary nodded. "But that doesn't necessarily mean they aren't true."
They both sipped their drinks in silence.
"What does Kid Joxx say about all this?" Bonz asked. "After all, he's supposedly in the middle of it."
The Secretary frowned, the most natural expression for him. "Young Joxx is not talking. In fact, we have information indicating he's been acting rather irrationally since all this occurred."
"Irrationally? How?"
"My source claimed he's been spotted carrying a silver dagger in his belt…"
Bonz gasped. A silver dagger was supposed to be the traditional weapon for would-be imperial assassins. Why would Joxx be carrying one of those?
"What's more," the Secretary went on quietly, "my source claims Hunter had actually been captured by the SG at one point in all this. But he went missing again, somehow managing to disappear from his jail cell at the bottom of an SG warship even as it was speeding to an isolated planet where he was due to be executed and buried in an unmarked grave."
"And Kid Joxx was involved in that?"
The Secretary drained the last of his drink. "It's a deep secret, but some people think the kid helped Hunter escape just hours before his execution. Just how Joxx aided him, we don't know, though we have one report that the jail cell Hunter was sitting in was at the bottom of Joxx's own ship, the ShadoVox. In any case, Kid Joxx has refused all orders and has dropped completely out of sight."
Another silence; the rain began beating against the windows again.
"Well, we are certainly living in interesting times," Bonz finally said. "Though I understand that was meant as a curse, thousands of years ago."
"You know how superstitious people are across the Empire," the Secretary told him. "Rumors are already rife that things are not right here on Earth, and especially within the Palace. As word travels around about these invaders and Hawk Hunter and the disappearance of Xara, people are going to start asking what it all means. And you know to at least a few hundred billion of our citizens, it will mean nothing less than the first step in the fall of the Empire."
"Ask anyone down on the street of any planet," Bonz replied soberly. "Chances are they will say that the cracks have been showing for some time now."
"Well, we just can't have that kind of thinking," the Secretary said sternly. "It's not good for any of us. We need to get at the truth — whatever it may be — and make an informed report to the Court. After all, that's our job, whether the SG likes it or not. But we have to gather the evidence quietly. Very quietly.
And that means someone has to infiltrate this No-Fly Zone and indeed set up a subatomic sweeper — and hopefully lead us to some answers."
He lowered his voice a notch. "We must find out three things: Did this battle take place out there or not? Is Princess Xara's disappearance connected with it somehow? And is this Hunter character involved in any of it? Again, we think it is wise to send someone out there and find out these things for ourselves."
He snapped his fingers, and a silver dish appeared in midair in front of him. On it lay a single bubble of clear fluid; a thought drop containing a multitude of information for anyone who put it on their tongue.
The Secretary directed the hovering dish across the desk, away from him.
Then he said, "And that someone, Mr. Bonz, is you."
2
The small starship named ZemVax left Earth just after midnight the following day.
It was 250 feet long and, just like everything else flying in the Galaxy these days, was shaped like a wedge. But while most ships leaving Earth were somewhat sleek and new, the ZeroVox was anything but. Its fuselage was dented and twisted. Its underbelly was patched with strips of atomic tape. Its bubble-top canopy was cracked and scratched. Even its stubby communications mast was leaning askew.
The ship's interior was no better. The rear quarter was home to a very elderly looking star engine, one that appeared, at first glance anyway, to be solely ion-ballast powered, as all civilian ships in the Galaxy were. While still extraordinarily fast, ion-powered vessels could travel at barely one-twentieth the speed of Supertime-capable Empire ships — and that was only with a very good power spike on a very good day. Not only did ion-ballast ships have to stop to refuel frequently, they also broke down a lot, especially when those power spikes gave out. This meant extremely long-distance interstellar travel was usually very uncomfortable in ion ships, or sometimes, if the distances were too great, virtually impossible.
The ZeroVox had a battered cargo compartment, a pathetically small crew quarters, and a laughably old flight deck. Small and smelly, with only one seat for the pilot, its flight control panels were flame-scarred and leaking bubble fluids. The deck's half-dozen portholes were scraped and dirty, the floor panels thick with metal shavings and yellow atomic cigar ash. Everything visible to the naked eye up here led to only one conclusion: the ZeroVox was a space truck, used for hauling things between the stars. And a very old space truck at that.