He sat tensely in his command chair on the Vixen's bridge. His strong features betrayed none of his anxiety. Absently he fingered the deep white scar that ran vertically down one side of his face. The sword cut that had made the scar had also cost him his right eye. The empty socket was covered by the black lens of an implanted sensor.
The helmsman turned and looked at Thongar. "Beam down minus ten seconds, Captain."
Thongar hit the communicator stud on the arm of his chair. "Transporter room?"
"Yo!"
"First wave of ground attack ready to beam down?"
"All ready, Skipper."
"Commence."
"Aye, Skipper."
The planet that lay beneath the Vixen was a small, arid world. It had been halfheartedly colonized during the years of the great exodus. All that remained of that were some half a million inhabitants. About a third of these lived in the only city that had grown up around the planet's single shuttle port.
The rest of these displaced Earthmen were spread over the surface of the planet. They were ragged prospecting miners looking for instant wealth in the rich but scattered lodes of dilithium crystal that were this world's only resource.
Thongar also intended to find himself a fortune in dilithium. He was simply going about getting it in a much more direct way. If it had been a bigger planet it might have been necessary to subdue it with prolonged phaser fire from out of orbit. As it was, with such a small population, no storm of fire was needed. A sudden surprise attack by ground-level shock troops would be more than enough to seize control.
Thongar stood up. "I'm going to join the second wave down planetside. Take over, Number One."
Juno the Cruel moved toward the control chair. She was a tall, statuesque woman. Her skin had the distinctive blue tinge that was characteristic of those who had grown up in the Vegan settlements. Many years before, she and Thongar had been lovers. Now they were just comrades in arms.
At the door to the ship's elevator, Thongar was met by his servant Y'dug. The tiny figure bent under the weight of the black-winged pressure helmet and the heavy belt that held Thongar's hand phaser and power ax. These made up the rest of Thongar's battle equipment.
As Thongar entered the transporter room, the second wave of shock troops were preparing to beam down. The privateers wore no regular uniforms. That was for the lackeys of the Federation. Although all of the privateers' armor was similar in design, the function dictated this, each had embellished his own in unique individual style. The space armor was painted, engraved, and decorated with baroque figures. It was as though super technology and barbarian splendor had clashed head on.
A huge man in red armor with inlaid, and mainly obscene, figures all over it detached himself from the mass. Two horns curved out from his helmet. It was Hengist the Red. He and Thongar had been together since their earliest days on the privateer space lanes. He clapped a huge mailed hand on Thongar's shoulder.
"Are you coming down with us for the kill, Skipper?"
Thongar looked at the man who even towered over him. He knew that the body inside the red armor was at least half made up of artificial replacements for flesh and bone that had been blown or hacked away in a thousand privateer battles.
Thongar smiled one of his rare smiles. There was no humor in it. "Yes, I'm coming down with you."
Hengist looked around at the other men waiting to board the transporter. "You hear that, lads? The skipper's coming with us."
Thongar's helmet radio was jammed with cheering and laughter as he strode toward the transporter. The machine flickered and glowed with static as the warriors were beamed down in groups of ten.
It was a scene from hell that met Thongar's eyes as he reassembled on the surface of the planet. Punching the servo controls on the hip of his suit, and thumbing off the safety of his power ax, Thongar instantly became a part of it. With the suit's motors boosting his own combat-hardened muscles, he made for the thickest of the fighting with great twenty-foot bounds.
Already the battle was almost over. Buildings were burning and most of the civilian population was running in aimless panic, looking for a place to escape the phaser beams and swinging blades of the savage invaders. The only real resistance was coming from a few small groups of uniformed men. Thongar presumed they were either local police or militia.
Some way to his left, five of them were attempting to set up a photon cannon. Thongar swerved in midstride and raced toward them. He smiled grimly at the men's agitation as they worked desperately to assemble the weapon before the deadly figure in black armor and winged helmet could reach them.
The power ax seemed to take on a life of its own as Thongar squeezed the grip. It struck the first defender on the shoulder and, with hardly any effort on the part of the wielder, almost cut him vertically in two.
A second defender pulled a phaser from his belt. Thongar manipulated the grip on his ax. The man's arm was transformed into a bloody stump. On the return swing a third man lost his head. Seeing the fate of their companions, the remaining two began to run. Thongar coolly burned them down with his own phaser, then he sprang away in search of fresh slaughter.
He rounded the corner of a high-rise building. Flames gushed from the upper stories, causing a sinister flickering glow to illuminate the fighting. He was poised to launch himself on another superhuman leap when a girl burst from the building and ran straight into him. Almost as a reflex Thongar seized her in one steel-gloved fist. Two armored privateers came storming out of the building in hot pursuit. They pulled up short when they saw Thongar holding her. If he had been another privateer, they might have argued over the girl. Nobody argued with Thongar.
For the first time, the Planet Waster looked down at the girl who still fought against his merciless grip. She had flaming red hair and an attractive, independent face. Her clothes were sufficiently torn and disheveled to reveal that her body was pliantly rounded and very desirable. Thongar laughed one of his humorless laughs.
Dragging the still resisting girl behind him, Thongar started off in a new direction. His objective was a small, almost undamaged, single-story building. He kicked in the door with a power-assisted foot and routinely sprayed the interior with rapid phaser fire.
A fast look around assured him that the place was, in fact, empty. The girl continued to fight him, beating on the breastplate of his armor with her free hand. He kicked the door shut behind him and threw the girl roughly into a corner. She leapt up and tried to run for the door. Thongar laughed and hurled her back again. She made a second attempt to get up, but then seemed to change her mind. She lay back on the floor and turned her face away from the black-clad giant. It was as though she realized that further resistance was useless.
With a grim, satisfied smile, Thongar broke the seals on his space armor.
"IE IS DREAMS MADE FLESH is fantasy made real is everything you ever wanted."
Barney Rooter liked the feelie commercials. He wasn't all that keen on the audio. He would rather turn off the TV sound and put on a solid tension tape. He did like the visuals, though, the soft, rounded, abstract shapes that weren't really anything but suggested everything. Even the colors seemed to offer all kinds of not-quite defined delights.
Barney Rooter wished the feelie commercials went on longer. He would really dig to lie back and just watch them, the latest tension tape pumping out while he snurfed on a can of Solvex until he was totally jammed up. That would be really neat.
One time, when his folks were away, some of his friends had come around. They had tried to get a visual like a feelie commercial by pulling the TV out of its wall mounting and messing around with the insides. They had honked up some of the old Solvex and it had been great, while it lasted. Trying to put the set back to normal at the same time as dealing with a Solvex comedown was beyond them. All they had managed to do was completely unsync the picture. When they had wanted to watch Wildest Dreams, all they had gotten were random shapes.