Another explosion shook the ground; the face of the mountain barely moved. No rocks this time, and only a swirl of dirt.
"A wise plan!" Berx said. "We can both speak well of him and the courage he's displayed way out here. Xara obviously has a soft spot for him. If she can get to O'Nay before those mugs in the SG do, perhaps the Emperor will dispense all charges against him and allow Hunter to stay a free man within the Home Planets system."
"It would make a fitting compromise," Erx agreed. "He could be happy there. I think…"
Another explosion went off.
Still nothing…
4
The six ships that made the voyage on from the Home Planets had been divided among the army raised by the UPF. The ships had been named accordingly: Europa, Africanus, Pacifica, South Atlantis, and lndia-Nepuso.
The sixth vessel was called America. It was the flagship of the small fleet.
These vessels were solid, reliable and, in a strange way, beautiful. Compared to the current wedge designs, these were a bit more styled. Where the modern ships seemed intent on meeting every angle with another right angle, these ships tended to round off every curve and blend it into the body. The exteriors were a combination of brightly polished chrome and deep blue superaluminum. Many current warships featured dull gray finishes, sinister in appearance. Finally, the bubble-top control stations — they being the massive cockpits located just aft of the needle nose — were made of superglass, of course. But on these ships they were about twice the size of contemporary ion-powered cruisers, and the bubbles were flared back, not concentric, as with modern models. All this gave the ex-BMK ships a classic design.
The only negative in all this was that the original BMK garrison on Moon 39 had been equipped with twice the number of these ships when it was sent out to the Home Planets system so long ago.
The other six had been shot down during the war on Planet America and completely destroyed.
Steve Gordon's office was located on the sixth deck of the America.
It was a small compartment; extra room was a premium on the corvettes. The office barely held a desk, a few chairs, a couch, and a small lamp in the corner. A few pictures adorned the otherwise plain white walls. The rug was standard gray. The office was actually a half-sized re-creation of Gordon's suite inside Weather Mountain back on Planet America, right down to the three letters painted on his door: CIA.
Gordon had been one of the top men in that highly secretive intelligence-gathering organization back on Planet America. He'd been a key player in the stunning victory over the BMK forces of Moon 39. Now he was part of the United Planets' invasion force. His job would be to analyze any intelligence the UPF gained from its occupation of Xronis Trey. So far, that had been very little.
The CIA agent had spent most of the voyage out from the Home Planets in this tiny office, debriefing anyone who would talk to him in order to get a familiarity with life in the Galaxy beyond. To say his own life had changed dramatically over the past six months was like saying a star was hot. He was fifty-eight years old when he left Planet America. Balding, with a slight paunch, 40/70 vision, and a habit of getting heartburn with just about everything he ate. He'd lived his half century-plus within the time bubble that was eventually revealed to encapsulate the entire Home Planets system. As with all the soldiers in the newly formed UPF, there had been some concern as to what would happen to Gordon physically once the six ships of the invasion force broke out of the time-slowing bubble. Would he suddenly age a thousand years or more? Would he crumble away into a pile of dust and bones? Would anything happen at all?
Something did happen, and it was somewhat unexpected. Gordon actually grew younger. Within fifteen minutes of breaking through the invisible bubble — all that was heard was a loud pop that had somehow made its way into the America's, intercom system — Gordon's hair began growing back. His stomach began shrinking, and he was able to discard his eyeglasses. By the time the transformation was complete, his body was rock solid with muscle, his eyes were like laser beams, and he was sporting a long, flowing mane. Similar effects had taken place among the UPF soldiers as well; this was one reason why they all seemed so big, so muscular, so youthful.
Gordon was still fifty-eight years old. But in a Galaxy where people living four hundred years or more was not uncommon, he was now a young man, and in its mysterious way, the cosmos had seen fit to reward him with this new, durable, mortal coil. Some people around the ship had even taken to calling him "the kid."
The only question that remained was this: What would happen to him — and the others — if they ever returned to Planet America?
Gordon was in place behind his desk, a large magnifying glass in hand.
His forte in the CIA had been in two areas. First, he had a brilliant mind for intelligence analysis, stats and numbers. He was also an expert at undercover operations.
Before him now, though, was something quite baffling yet, like the corvettes, oddly beautiful in a way. It was the mind ring Hunter had used, the one called "Last Time Here." Gordon had never seen a mind ring long enough to actually study it. They were strange-looking things. On one hand, they appeared to be little more than a simple gold ring — or more accurately, a gold headband — shaped almost like a piece of jewelry. Yet, close up, Gordon could see that the ring wasn't solid at all. It was more like hard liquid, if there could be such a thing. Solid yet fluid at the same time. Somehow, a mind ring was able to keep its shape when not in use yet could adapt immediately to whatever head it found itself on.
Being from Planet America, Gordon had very little un-derstanding of such things. The technology on his world had stopped once the automobile had been invented. Such things as mind rings and solid liquids and spaceships were beyond him. Or at least they used to be.
He held the magnifying glass closer to his eye. He could clearly see that the ring's liquids were running in two different directions: one band was moving clockwise, the other was going in the opposite way. Occasionally they would collide, almost like waves crashing into each other. There were traces of red mixed into the gplden waves. It was particularly stunning to see when magnified. And it looked very, very old.
As fascinating as the ring was, Gordon knew that it represented what might ultimately lead to the abrupt cancellation of the entire mission. He'd heard everything about Hunter's near-disastrous mind trip. Heard the crazy things the pilot believed he'd experienced while under the influence. It was his understanding that this ring was so old and so overused, it was not only useless but highly dangerous as well. Without any solid leads on the information they had come all this way for — that was, who was responsible for the deportation of most of Earth's inhabitants nearly four thousand years ago — it would be foolhardy to proceed any further. Even he knew six ships and a small army would not go very far out here.
Yet the real trouble had to do with simpler things, like distance, time, fuel, and gravity. The Milky Way was itself speeding through space, as were the Home Planets. But they both weren't necessarily going in the same direction. The Home Planets were actually veering away from the Galaxy, slowly but surely. The UPF fleet had left its home port on Planet America carrying enough ion-ballast fuel to reach Xronis Trey and make the return trip home, should something go wrong. Well, something had gone wrong, and every minute they lingered here now meant the Home Planets would be that much farther away from them if they had to make the trip back. The original plan was to lay solid on Xronis Trey and replicate an ion-ballast fuel plant. Ironically, this would take almost all of the fuel they had on hand for the return trip.