Exactly how many people were crowded into the Zee? No one knew for sure. The best guess could be determined by estimating 10,000 bodies per ship, multiplied by 50,000 ships. That was at least a half billion souls with nowhere to go.
In other words, the Zee was no longer just a truck stop among the stars.
It had turned into an enormous refugee camp.
The conditions inside the forgotten ships had been deteriorating steadily since the first week. These were not top-flight Empire vessels, in which just about every desire of comfort or nourishment could be had by a mere wish. These were civilian carriers, hardscrabble star buses and hastily converted cargo humpers that contained a few inches of space for each individual and accommodations that equaled the worst of steerage. Many people had already died from this overcrowding. Many more lay sick, especially in those vessels just outside the Zee.
That the SG so suddenly left them in this interstellar lurch was considered typical of the Empire's second service. As the Solar Guards were essentially the police force of the Galaxy, the Empire's citizens on the whole both distrusted and feared them. The SG was known throughout the Milky Way for being heavy-handed, corrupt, and ultra-authoritarian. While they were famous for going after some outlaws with a vengeance— such as tax dictators and space pirates — they were also known to be heavily involved with people of the same ilk. Rumors of shady alliances with space meres and freebooters for black-market wine, aluminum, and even jamma were rampant.
The SG's fascistic antics lately only added to this grim perception.
It would always be hard then to determine exactly how the startling news first reached the Zee. Few of the stranded ships still had workable scanners on board, and none of them had other kinds of deep-space detection equipment. What was clear, though, was that on the morning of their thirty-third day in limbo, a fleet of Solar Guards warships suddenly showed up close to the enormous floating refugee camp.
Absolute terror swept through the dour collection of ships, especially after it was determined, again somehow, some way, that the ships belonged to the SG's REF. Even isolated out here in the celestial wilderness, the refugees had heard whispers about the REF's atrocities across the Galaxy. How their intent these days was to inflict as much pain as possible upon the most innocent and vulnerable souls in the Milky Way.
And at that moment, there was no group of people more innocent or vulnerable than the unfortunates caught in the Andromeda Zee.
But then a string comm message arrived on all of the ships — this whether their communications systems were working or not. The message was from the REF, and it was very surprising.
They weren't here to harm anyone, the SG commanders said.
In fact, they told the refugees, the REF was here to take them home.
When word of this spread around the Zee, the SG were suddenly hailed not only as heroes but as saviors.
Their plan seemed simple, too. The trip back to the Two Arm would take just two days at ion-power speed, and it would be done under the protection of the SG warships the entire way.
It seemed too good to be true. The dispossessed had just one question: Once back in the Two Arm, what would be the procedure for returning them to their individual home systems, their home planets, their homes?
That's when the faceless SG officers running the operation informed the refugees that this was not part of the plan.
22
Agent Steve Gordon knew something was wrong.
He'd first felt it two days before. The universe had shifted a bit. A little cosmic energy had been lost.
Then, an overwhelming sadness had come over him, and even now, forty-eight hours later, he'd yet to shake it
Gordon was the one who stayed behind. To watch over the ship. To watch over the handful of Twenty 'n Six capsules the messengers now considered sacred. To be as close as possible to Zero Point without being detected.
He'd spent all of his time here alone, perched on the highest peak of die moon, very close to where the Resonance 133 still lay, hidden and battered, not far from die moon's immense pyramid.
He'd learned many strange tilings in this time here. That things like breathing and eating were no longer necessary, but a deep understanding of nature and the cosmos was. He'd watched the sky intently, these long days alone, studying the stars and thinking about them in a way he'd never been able to before. He also looked beyond those stars that were part of the Milky Way to the other pinpoints of light, up there in the heavens. Those stars weren't stars at all. They were other galaxies — billions of them. And they made up the universe of which the Milky Way was only a very small part.
Thinking beyond the realm. It was just not done these days — and hadn't been for thousands of years.
Until now.
It was while he was looking up at the skies, thinking about them in this new and different way, when another very distressing feeling came over him. Something was coming. In fact, it was heading right for him, traveling very fast, from somewhere very deep in space.
It arrived just a few moments later, screaming in like a small missile and crashing not a hundred yards from the Resonance 133. It caused a huge explosion on impact.
But it was not a missile. It was something else.
Gordon flew to the crash site in an instant. Here, he found the remains of 33418, Zarex's robot. Its knees were broken, its fingers were smashed, and it had two massive holes in the back of its head.
It was dead.
This is not good, Gordon thought. Not good at all.
He looked up at the stars and whispered a few words, and suddenly the others were around him.
Summoned through the ethers by this turn of events, Tomm, Erx, Berx, Klaaz, and Calandrx were not there one moment, but simply there the next.
They all hovered above the robot's mechanical corpse now. Profound sadness times six. They had all been fond of the mighty danker, almost as much as Zarex had.
"Not a random act, its landing here," Tomm said, lightly touching the bent and twisted remains. "Nor is Zarex's absence among us."
"Someone is trying to tell us something," Calandrx said. "And I fear it will not be the best of news."
They laid their hands on the tin man's remains, and after a while, a dark crimson mist began rising out of its chest. The red fog slowly coalesced into a viz screen. A recounting of actual events had been implanted in the robot's indestructible memory banks, events someone wanted them to see.
The images were like those in a bad dream. They were inside a dark place, misty and damp and the color of blood. Disturbing just to look at. Shadowy figures were moving back and forth through the scene; some were almost floating, but in a most unnatural way. Bizarre equipment that looked alive was jammed in everywhere. In the middle of this place was Brother Zarex. He was bound to a hovering chair.
The shadows became clearer. They were REF troopers — or at least some of them were. Unmistakable in their red uniforms. They were taunting Zarex even as he was struggling with them. They were telling him they knew exactly what was going to happen at Zero Point. They knew when the UPF fleet would be passing over, and thus, they would be in a position to destroy it when it did — and there was nothing he could do about it.
Zarex fought them bravely, tossing them about like dolls. But suddenly, he just stopped. And that's when one shadow ran him through again and again with a long shiny needle. A very painful way to die.
This vision faded to be replaced by another. It showed REF troopers rampaging through ships, slaying innocents, bombarding defenseless planets, vaporizing orphans and children. In one last hazy vision, so distorted the six knew it probably hadn't happened yet, they saw thousands of ships unloading millions of people on a very bleak planet. In the background hovered the Red Ships, weapons ready.