The priest nodded gravely.
“They came here from afar to help,” he said. “They weren’t even getting paid. Rather they came because the people here were being attacked and were about to lose their freedom. They came here to protect this tiny rock because that’s what they’d done for centuries. And should there ever been any trouble here again, I have no doubt that more of them will arrive, and make the sacrifice this brave men did.”
“Why did they first come here, Father?”
The priest let out a long sigh. “A reason lost in the mists of time, I’m afraid,” he said. “A legend, a myth…”
“Please, Father, tell me what you can,” Hunter implored him.
Again the priest sighed. “Several thousand years ago, as the story goes, the brigade’s predecessors came here to set up what they called a ‘research station.’ It was a beacon of some sort, something that was supposed to call all of their lost brothers home again…”
Hunter felt excitement welling up in his chest. Could this be the lighthouse?
“Where is this beacon? Where is its location?”
The priest shook his head. “I’m not sure anyone really knows now — it was built here so long ago, and so much time has passed. But it was somewhere on this hallowed ground. This place where the brigade chose to make their last stand…”
The priest wiped his tired eyes.
“No one was like them,” he said, his voice cracking. “I have provided comfort for many soldiers from many planets — but none were more valiant than they. I only wish I had some of their blood flowing in my veins…”
At that moment, they heard a shout above the wind.
“Padre! Over here.”
Several Home Guard medics were going through the bodies about a hundred feet away from the reading of the names.
“We have found one alive… but you must hurry!”
Hunter practically carried the elderly priest over the bloody trench to where the three medics had gathered. Sure enough, they were hovering over a man lying prone on the muddy ground.
He was part of the brigade; his green combat suit was a sure sign of this. He was clutching a bloody cloth to his chest. It was clear that he was close to taking his last breath.
It was McKay, the man who had survived the horrendous yet crucial recon mission to Holy Hell; the man who had promised that the brigade would stay in Qez when the rest of the mercenary groups opted to bug out.
The priest immediately went to one knee and began reciting prayers at breakneck speed. McKay was quickly fading from view, not a painless experience.
The priest touched his forehead with a spot of holy oil. That’s when the dying man opened his eyes to see Hunter looking down at him. Hunter’s strange uniform gave him away.
“So the Empire finally reached the end of the Galaxy?” McKay asked him weakly.
Hunter nodded, then knelt down beside him.
“The bastards,” McKay said with a painful laugh. “There are many people back where I’m from that long to see the day the Empire comes crashing down…”
“Can you tell me why you came here?” Hunter asked him.
McKay’s voice was barely audible. Hunter leaned down even closer, trying to hear every last word.
“They used to talk… about the signal,” McKay said. “The legend… back where I was from. The call for the brothers. It had gone unheeded for centuries… but we were bound by honor to protect this place and the people who lived here… so if any of our brothers answered the call… this place would be here, with these people…”
McKay coughed hard. Hunter looked up at the attending medics. One of them slowly shook his head.
“The beacon used to sweep the Galaxy and point to the place where we are all called back to,” McKay forged on bravely. “If you are hearing the call, my brother, then you must be one of us, too.”
He slowly let his fingers unwrap the bloody cloth. Hunter picked it up and unfurled it — and felt a lightning bolt run through his body. The flag was exactly like the one he kept in his pocket. All stars and stripes.
Then McKay indicated a safe bag attached to his belt. One of the medics retrieved it and handed it to Hunter.
McKay gestured for Hunter to reach inside. He came out with a glass globe just big enough to hold in one hand. It appeared at first to be made of superglass; Hunter could see clear through it.
But then McKay indicated that Hunter should hold the globe closer to him. Hunter placed it in front of the dying man’s lips. With just about all the energy he could muster, McKay blew on it slightly.
Suddenly the globe came to life. It began swirling with different colors — first reds, whites, and blues, but then mostly blues, with some yellows and greens. Right before Hunter’s eyes the glass globe magically became what appeared to be a shimmering blue planet. It seemed at first to be mostly made of water, but then one large landmass became crystallized. Its terrain was green and brown, and there seemed to be many lakes and rivers running through it.
Hunter stared at the holographic image of the planet. He realized that this image most closely resembled the Earth. But not exactly, for its coastlines were irregular, and there were no triads or ancient bridges.
There was something else about it — it actually looked natural. No jewel-like shine of the Earth, no gleam like Mars, or the scent of manufactured paradise, as on Venus.
No, this place seemed real.
Hunter looked down at the dying man again.
“Where is this planet?” he asked him.
But it was obvious that McKay didn’t have the strength to tell Hunter its location.
“It’s hidden beyond some forgotten stars,” McKay said with a cough. “Ask the padre… he can tell you what I mean…”
“But what is it called?” Hunter pressed him. “I must get to this place. Can you at least tell me its name?”
That’s when the faintest of smiles came to McKay’s face.
“Everyone just calls it ‘home,’ ” he said.
29
It was a rare rainy day over Big Bright City.
Though they had tried, the weather engineers just weren’t able to make it pleasant and sunny.
A gray drizzle was falling instead; the streets of downtown looked dull, runny. Empty. No one was about, on the ground or above it. Most of the floating cities had drifted farther to the south to avoid the inconvenient atmospheric conditions.
However, the imperial city Number One had stayed overhead, casting its dull Holy Shadow across most of the old city, making a gloomy afternoon even gloomier.
An air-chevy approached the main entrance to Number One. A squad of guards lazily waved it through.
Covered in bulky, seldom-used rain gear, the soldiers didn’t even bother to scan the tiny flying car. They were too busy trying to stay dry.
The air-chevy zipped through the main gate, then negotiated the labyrinth of streets and alleyways, finally arriving at a nondescript building about half a mile away from the Imperial Palace.
A lone figure dressed all in black emerged from the air car and hovered unsteadily in the fog enveloping the floating city. No guards were on hand to greet him.
He glided up the back stairway of the building without an escort, arriving at a hallway where the light seemed dimmer than usual. Again, there were no guards on duty. He slipped down the hallway and reached the huge oak door. He knocked once. Nothing. He knocked again. Still no reply.
He lowered himself to the floor and opened the door himself. The two guards inside were asleep. He went by them silently, and into the next room, where the Empress was waiting for him.
The room was cold. There was no fire in the fireplace. Nor was there an assortment of liquor to choose from. Just a single bottle of slow-ship wine and an unclean glass.