What made this particular report odd was that shortly after sending the transmission, the listening station went dead. Attempts to contact it through strings, deep-space comm, and even ultraradio, had been unsuccessful. The situation took yet another unusual turn when the station that had initially reported that the first station had disappeared, suddenly went off the air as well.
That was two secret listening stations gone, plus a report of millions of people apparently fleeing something in deeper space.
The Two Arm was a strange place. It strung out farther than any of the Galaxy's other arms, yet about 90 percent of the planets were aware of the Fourth Empire. Those few who weren't, were considered backwater systems with little to offer the realm at the present time. Most of the area from the upper mid-Two Arm inward was under an unofficial protectorate of the Solar Guards, meaning it was a rare occasion for a Space Forces ship to pass through.
Though more or less peaceful, like many places out on the Fringe, the middle Two Arm could be a wild place, too. There were more than twenty million planets in the slender stream of stars that made up the midsection. Humans being what they were, at any given time, there could be as many as a million wars going on among these planets. Some could be particularly brutal. The SG only intervened in conflicts that posed a direct threat to the Empire, though. If the tax revenues or important trade routes were being threatened, the SG would stomp one or sometimes both sides of a dispute. Most times, though, they just let the combatants fight it out. And the planet's populations stayed in place.
"These doings are not so typical in the mid-Two Arm," Joxx Senior said now. "Refugees are usually a sign that something very big is wrong. I wonder what could be rattling the chains out there?"
The SG officers — close confidants all — offered various explanations for the sudden flow of the displaced: volcano orgy, a civil war, discovery of a pyramid on the world in question. All of these things would cause a planet's population to head for higher ground.
None of these theories satisfied the SG High Commander though.
"Or it could be the Banndx-Mayyx Gang," one officer tried again. "They go on a rampage every twenty years or so. And that's near their last known area of operations."
Joxx Senior pulled his chin in thought. "The Banndx-Mayyx were pretty much killed off after our last engagement with them," he said. "Though I suppose it's possible some of them could come back from the dead."
He snapped his fingers, and instantly there was a 3-D map of the area in question floating in front of them. Joxx Senior snapped his fingers again, expecting the 3-D map to light up with icons indicating how many SG warships were in the area.
He was surprised to see none.
"None?" he exclaimed. "We have no warships out there at all?"
"Many are here, just inside the Pluto Cloud," one officer told him. "Either that, or they're heading in, for the Race."
Joxx Senior was surprised. "Every one of our ships is coming in from the Two Arm for the Earth Race?"
The officer just shrugged. "It's the most peaceful part of the Fringe, sir. It rivals the Ball for sheer pacifica."
"But who signed off on the order to have all of our own theater warships sent in?"
The officers shrank back, but finally one spoke: "You did, sir. You felt you needed those men and their warships to be involved in the direct wagering that day, to boost the winning pots here on Earth."
Joxx Senior just waved this off.
"Well, we could have checked out this report in short order then," he said. "If the situation was normal."
"I'm sure it's just a minor thing," the boldest officer spoke again. "The mercs running those listening stations most likely want a boost in their fee."
The other officers nodded in agreement. Joxx Senior thought a moment.
"Probably," he said. "Still, I would feel better if we had a presence out there."
"Then, I will go."
All of the officers looked up at once. It was Joxx the Younger who had spoken.
"Out of the question," Joxx Senior told his son dismis-sively. "This is not important enough for you to miss the Earth Race."
Joxx the Younger took a giant step forward. The other officers parted way for him.
"Father, we are only talking about the mid-Two Arm. I can be out there in three days, do a patrol, and be back long before the Night Before the Race."
Joxx Senior shook his head no — with emphasis. He was a large man, bald, but ruggedly handsome. He turned back to his officers.
"We must have some ships out there somewhere," he said, referring back to the large viz screen in front of him.
"Here," one officer said, pointing to a system marked Cheyenne Ring 755. "This is a cargo shipment center we own. It's called TransWorld 800. Six cargo 'crashers, I believe. We can deep-string them and order a reconnaissance patrol in force through the area in question."
"No way," was Joxx Senior's stern reply to the officer's plan. "Those ships are unarmed cargo humpers. Their crews are trained not in combat but in the religion of logistics. We can't send them into the path of uncertainty. It would look so bad for us if anything untoward happened to them." He let his gaze rest for a moment on the Space Forces officers still lurking nearby.
Joxx the Younger finally pulled his father aside.
"I can be there and back in less than seven days," Joxx told him in a whisper. "I've been itching to get away. And I know that area very well."
But Joxx Senior was still shaking his head no.
"The Earth Race is the grandest day of the universe," he told his son. "I want my heir at my side when the racers take to the track."
"And I promise you, I'll be there," the younger Joxx replied. "Isn't a son's word good enough for his father?"
It took a few more moments, but Joxx Senior finally relented. He pulled his son even farther aside — they were almost in the forest now — and whispered in his ear, "Just tell your mother — and anyone you encounter out there— that you are on a scientific mission, a short-term cosmic ray thing. And don't be a hero, understand? You've done that enough times already."
Joxx the Younger smiled.
"Father," he said, "some things just can't be helped."
8
In his time out on the Fringe, Joxx the Younger had faced two kinds of enemy.
There were the roving bands of star pirates, a catchall phrase that included planet raiders, hijackers, and assorted criminal gangs. These outlaws would set upon an unsuspecting world and plunder it or sometimes attempt to take over a booty-laden ship while in flight. The second foe were the tax criminals, those leaders of a planet or a star system who'd decided for whatever reason that they weren't going to pay the Fourth Empire the vig anymore.
The Banndx-Maayx Gang was a little bit of both. More than a ragtag band of misfits, in the past they had raised substantial fleets by either hijacking ships or stealing tax revenues and buying vessels on the black market. Setting out from the upper part of the mid-Two Arm, they'd tried their fortunes deeper into the second swirl. Though they were really just fools looking for fool's gold, they'd captured entire star clusters in their time and had commandeered several dozen starships as well. The Solar Guards had faced them five times in the past 120 years and had virtually wiped them out every time.
But like ghosts, they seemed to come back on a regular basis to haunt the Two Arm again.
If the Banndx-Maayx Gang was starting up again and causing the trouble in the mid-Two Arm, the ShadoVox would make them pay.
Joxx had designed this magnificent warship himself. It thought with his brain; it beat with his heart. He knew every seam, every sensor, every weapon intimately. He was one with it. It carried a crew of 22,000 men, each one a highly trained space soldier hand picked by Joxx himself.