Earthman Jack vs. The Ghost Planet (44 page)

“So that’s all you care about?  Surviving?” Jack asked.  “Because
eventually, some day, the Deathlords are going to come to your homeworld.  And
when they do, you have to ask yourself if you’re going to be okay to continue
living after everything and everyone you’ve ever known have been destroyed.”

“I don’t care about me homeworld,” said Scallywag.  “I don’t
care about anybody except meself.”

“You say that now,” replied Jack.  “But trust me.  I watched
when the Deathlords destroyed my planet.  I saw it blow up right in front of
me.  Everyone I loved and cared about is gone, and that hurts.  More than you can
probably understand.  But the funny thing is, even the things I hated about it,
all the stuff I didn’t care about or didn’t like… I’d give anything to have any
of it back now.”

“Look, lad–”

“No, you look!” Jack persisted.  “I don’t care what color
you are or how badly you say you want to save your own hide.  When your world
is gone, it’s gone, and even the most selfish jerk in the universe is going to
feel that kind of loss.  You might be alive but if there’s nowhere left for you
to go, what’s the point?  What kind of life can you hope to live if you never
get to see your own sun come up, or taste the food you grew up with?  What
happens when you never get to see any of your own people, anywhere, and don’t
have a single memento of what it means to have been born at all?  What’s worth
living for, if everything you’ve ever known or loved has been erased from
existence?  You don’t just lose a planet, Scally, you lose a part of yourself –
a part that will never come back, no matter where you run to.”

Scallywag sighed and looked away.  If the alien had any
heart at all, Jack hoped his words were having some kind of effect.

“I’m the last of my kind,” said Jack.  “Do you really want
to be the last of yours?”

Scallywag’s shoulders slumped.  He turned to Jack, avoiding
his gaze, his mouth turned in a sad frown.  The pirate suddenly looked very
tired.

“I’m no hero, boy,” said Scallywag.

“No,” said Jack.  “But you’re what I’ve got.  I need you,
Scally.  I need all of you.  I can’t do this alone.”

“Earthman not alone,” said Grohm, standing up, now suddenly
fully awake.  Jack looked at the lumbering Rognok as the alien gazed down at
him.  “Grohm will go.  Grohm will fight.”

Jack smiled at Grohm.  “Thanks, big guy,” he said.

“Bloody Rognok,” mumbled Scallywag.  “He’ll go anywhere
there’s a fight.  He don’t care if he dies.”

Grohm looked at Scallywag, his red eyes narrowing.  “Coward,”
he said.

Scallywag raised his eyebrow.  “Beg yer pardon?” he replied,
somewhat taken aback.

“Grohm help you in Pit,” Grohm said.  “Grohm fight for you. 
Grohm protect you.”

“And now you want me to repay all that by going on a slagging
suicide mission?” asked Scallywag.

“Visini can run,” snorted Grohm.  “Or Visini can fight. 
Live life in fear, running away – or live fighting for something greater than
self.”

Scallywag looked at Grohm uncomfortably.  “Since when did
you become a bloody philosopher?” he asked.  “All that time in the Pit, I never
heard you string more than two words together.”

Grohm approached Scallywag, towering over the pirate,
meeting his gaze with his hard red and black eyes.  “Grohm sees more than
Visini thinks,” he said.  “Grohm hears more than Visini knows.  Grohm does not
sleep.  Grohm never sleeps.”

“What the blazes are you going on about?”

Grohm reached out and put his massive hand on Scallywag’s
shoulder.  “Grohm sees Visini pirate.  Hears him when Visini pirate doesn’t
think Grohm is listening.  Grohm knows why Visini fights.  Grohm knows what
Visini seeks.”

“And what’s that?” Scallywag demanded.

“Honor,” rumbled Grohm.  “Redemption.  Justice.”  Grohm
pointed at Jack.  “Earthman gives you chance for all those things, and you want
to run away?”

Grohm stepped back and stood side by side with Jack.  “Grohm
calls that a coward,” he said flatly.

Scallywag stared at Grohm, eyes wide, unable to speak.  It
was obvious Grohm’s words got to him, and Jack didn’t want to let that go to
waste.

“I know what I’m asking of all of you,” said Jack.  “But
there’s a reason why it was the four of us who made it out of that mothership. 
Heckubus has the brains.  Grohm has the strength.  I have the tech.  And you,
Scally… you’re the survivor.  You know how to stay alive, no matter how bad
things get.  And among the four of us, I think we have a little bit of luck on
our side, too.”

Jack stepped toward Scallywag.  “I may just be a kid, but I
know what it takes to be a part of a team.  And like it or not, the four of us
are
a team.  A good one – a team that defied the odds and escaped something
everyone thought was certain death.  If we did it once, we can do it again. 
Because if we don’t do this – if we don’t act now to stop the Deathlords, they
win!  And if there’s just one thing you need to know about me, Scally, it’s
this:  I
hate
to lose.”

Heckubus clapped his tiny metal hands together.  “Oh,
bravo!” the robot said.  “If I had a heart, I’m sure it would be melting by
now.”

“Shut it, ya tin can,” grumbled Scallywag.

Scallywag stared at Jack for a heartbeat before cradling his
face with his hand.  The Visini rubbed his forehead, and his expression curled
up into the kind of look that told Jack the pirate knew he was about to do
something he felt he’d regret.

“I shoulda let ol’ Faruuz blast ya when he had the chance,”
smiled Scallywag.

Jack smiled back.  “Does that mean you’ll help?”

Scallywag looked from Jack to Grohm and sighed.  “There’s a
lot that could go wrong with this insanity you’ve hatched, lad.  This ain’t
some run o’ the mill prison break, or ship raid for that matter.  You know what
we’d be up against.  How do you propose the four o’ us deal with
all
that?”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Jack as he glared at the image
of the Ghost Planet.  “I have a plan.”

“Is that so?” replied Scallywag.  “Yer saying ya have a plan
that will allow us ta get past the planetary defenses, infiltrate the Deathlord
stronghold, and then escape the inescapable planet without getting killed?”

“I do.”

Scallywag and Grohm exchanged a skeptical look.

“Very well,” said Scallywag.  “Let’s hear it.”

“Heckubus…” said Jack.

“Yes?” replied the robot.

“Think of a plan.”

Scallywag laughed.  “
That’s
yer brilliant idea?  Ask
the robot?”

“Is he not the greatest evil genius criminal mastermind in
seven star systems?” asked Jack.

“Eight, actually,” corrected Heckubus.

“Well,” said Jack.  “Just imagine how many star systems
you’d be known in if we can actually pull this off and rescue the heir to the largest
empire in the entire galaxy.”

Heckubus tilted his head thoughtfully.  “Hmmm… interesting…”

“Forget it!” exclaimed Scallywag.  “I am not putting my life
in the hands of a bloody malfunctioning computer with legs.  He can claim he’s
the most brilliant criminal mind in the entire universe, but I have yet to
bloody see it.”

“Well, now’s his chance to prove it,” said Jack.  “What do
you say, Heckubus?  Can you come up with a plan?”

“Can it be an
evil
plan?” asked Heckubus.

“Yes,” replied Jack.

Heckubus twiddled his fingers excitedly. 

“Excellent…” the robot intoned.

Abraxas stood on the bridge of the
mothership, gazing up at the large viewscreen now filled with the thick blue
and purple cloud of the nebula.  He could feel the floor vibrate slightly as
another explosion rocked the hull, echoing a dull thud throughout the room. 
The Supreme had been sending shards into the nebula for months to try to clear
out the mines so the path to the Ghost Planet would be safe for the fleet, but
it seemed like no matter how many they got rid of, more would somehow appear in
their place.

After finally dropping out of hyperspace, Abraxas had sent
the other Planetkillers into the cloud ahead of the
Inferno
so they
might absorb the brunt of the damage during the journey through the nebula. 
Not that the
Inferno
couldn’t take the damage the mines posed to it, but
with what was about to happen, Abraxas did not want to take any unnecessary
chances.

The Deathlord paced back and forth, gazing at the bridge’s Acolytes
as they silently manned their consoles.  Acolytes were an efficient lot, but their
inability to control the ship while the prisoners had made their escape was
something that would need to be addressed.  The higher in rank a Deathlord was,
the more self-aware he became, and Abraxas worried the rank-and-file among the
ship’s crew were not sufficiently equipped for what had transpired.  After the
Earthman’s ship had disappeared, full control had been restored, which led the
Vicar General to conclude that the vessel had somehow infiltrated their systems
when it was supposed to have been the other way around. 

After admitting this mistake, the Deathlord Supreme had
rightly culled the Vicar General for his failure.  Abraxas hoped his
replacement would be far more capable (and far less annoying).  He had always known
they should have simply destroyed the ship when they’d had the chance.  Perhaps
next time the Supreme would take his suggestions more seriously.

Abraxas flexed his hand as he paced.  He always hated how
stiff new bodies felt so soon after reincarnation.  He’d have preferred to take
the time to pull his former body back together after the Regal had suckered him
with that cheap thermal grenade trick, but the Supreme did not want to afford
him that luxury.  By the time the Earthman and his friends had made their
escape, the
Inferno
was almost to its destination, and Abraxas would be
needed to look after the ship while the Supreme carried out his duties.

Another explosion echoed throughout the bridge as the ship
hit yet another mine.  Abraxas approached a console and called up more views
from the outside.  The nebula cloud was thick with dust and gas, making sensor
readings impossible.  All navigation had to be done by sight, and even that was
a chore.  Most of the navigation beacons they had seeded throughout the nebula
during their time searching for the planet had been destroyed or had gone
missing.  New ones had to constantly be deployed and replaced.

On the port and starboard side of the ship, Abraxas could
see the tiny beads of light mounted on the escort shards, which flew in formation
around the vessel.  Their job was to intercept any missiles that might be fired
at the ship from the hidden weapon platforms strewn about the cloud – either by
shooting them down or ramming them before they could reach the mothership. 
Missiles were always more troublesome than mines.  The missiles could zero in
on engines or shield generators or any number of places that could cause major
headaches should they be damaged in some way.  And with visibility so low and
sensors not functioning, a missile could creep up on them before they knew it. 
The mothership’s shields would, of course, protect them from such an attack,
but they were under orders to preserve as much power as possible and, thus, to
leave the shields to a bare minimum.  Couple that with the constant mine
strikes, and the journey to the Ghost Planet suddenly became quite problematic.

But then, it would all be worth it when they finally
arrived.  The Supreme had alluded to what would transpire once the fleet had
reached its destination.  It was not Abraxas’s habit to doubt his superior, but
even he harbored some skepticism about what was going to happen.  However, if
what he had heard were true, then all aboard the fleet would witness something
beyond even their wildest imaginations.

“We are nearing the nebula oasis, Warlord,” reported one of
the Acolytes.  “Estimated time to the Ghost Planet is five minutes.”

“I shall inform the Supreme,” replied Abraxas.  No sooner
had he completed his sentence than the main entrance to the bridge rolled open
and Zarrod stepped through.  Somehow, the Deathlord Supreme always seemed to
know what was happening on his bridge.

Hanging in the air beside him was the Regal girl.  Her body
was ridgid, her skin was pale, and her face was twisted in pain.  Abraxas enjoyed
seeing the suffering of such inferior life-forms.  As he understood it, the
Supreme had decided to spend the remainder of the journey torturing her to advance
the assimilation process.  The girl floated beside Zarrod as he walked and was
thrown to the ground like a dying animal when Zarrod reached Abraxas’s station.

The girl hit the ground heavily and Abraxas heard the sweet
sound of a sob escape from her as she was suddenly able to breathe once again,
free from the clutches of the Supreme’s soul grasp.  Abraxas glanced at her
briefly.  Tears stained her cheeks; her blonde hair, thick with sweat, clung to
her skin.  Her hands trembled, and her body shook as she coughed.  But when she
looked up at them, Abraxas could see in her eyes that she still remained
defiant.  Her will was strong, obviously, but in some way Abraxas was glad she
was resisting.  It just meant she’d suffer longer.

“Report,” commanded Zarrod.

“Most of the fleet has reached the Ghost Planet and taken
position around it as ordered, Supreme,” replied Abraxas.  “The first ones
through the nebula report severe damage to their ships, though nothing that
will impede the mission.  Most others have only reported moderate damage to
their hulls.”

“And what of our ship?”

“We’ve had a few mine strikes, but nothing serious,” said
Abraxas.  “The ship should be in almost perfect condition to make our descent.”

“Excellent,” said Zarrod.  “Tell the Acolytes to prepare the
shield generators.  We will need them shortly.”

Abraxas nodded and relayed the Supreme’s orders.  Zarrod
stood gazing up at the viewscreen as the blue and purple of the nebula swirled
before it, as if parting to allow them through.  Abraxas stood by the Supreme’s
side patiently, awaiting further orders.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” said Zarrod softly.

The comment caught Abraxas slightly off guard.  His mind
understood the concept of beauty, but Abraxas himself had never actually
experienced it.  He looked at the Supreme curiously.

“Beautiful, Supreme?” asked Abraxas.

“The moment,” said Zarrod.  “These quiet moments before the
storm.  There’s a certain energy to them.  Can’t you feel it?”

Truth be told, Abraxas felt nothing.

“Of course, Supreme,” he replied.  “It is… quite exciting.”

Zarrod looked at him as if he knew Abraxas had no concept of
what he was talking about.  But it didn’t seem to matter.  He turned his gaze
back up to the viewscreen.  “We stand on the precipice of our ultimate triumph,”
he said, “to achieve that which our Lords have set before us.  The part we’ve
played will be the first step in their plan.  Soon, all life in this wretched
universe will be extinguished… and we shall bear witness to its beginning right
here.  These moments leading up to that… what could they be called other than
beautiful?”

“Futile,” came a quiet voice.

Zarrod and Abraxas looked down toward the Regal girl as she
gazed up at them, her sapphire eyes hard and cold.

“Enjoy these moments while you can, Deathlord,” she said. 
“Because your plan will not work.  Whatever it is, I’ll see it fail… so help me,
I will.”

Zarrod stepped forward and reached out his hand.  The girl
was jerked up into the air, her body twitching as his invisible hooks dug into
her.  She was raised to eye-level with the Deathlord Supreme, who gazed at her
with his terrible, burning red eyes.

“Still trying to fight me, I see,” said Zarrod.

“You might as well kill me…” said the girl through gritted
teeth.  “I’ll never help you.  Never!”

“You will,” said Zarrod.  “You’re strong; I’ll give you
that.  I was hoping to have control of you by now, but it matters not. 
Eventually you’ll succumb to the slythru.  But until then, I have other ways of
controlling you.”

“You have nothing,” the girl replied.

“Don’t I?” said Zarrod as he released the girl from his hold
once more.  She fell to the ground as the Deathlord moved to a nearby console. 
“Your will may be strong, Blood of the Ancients, but you do have one glaring
weakness…”

The girl gazed at him defiantly as if daring him to reveal
her shortcoming as Zarrod tapped a few keys on the console. The Deathlord
looked at her, happy to oblige.

“You care far too much for your friends,” Zarrod said.

With one more push of a button, a flash of purple light
teleported two more Deathlords to the bridge right behind the girl.  When she turned
and looked at the new arrivals, she gasped.  Between them was an ugly alien
creature, with an oblong head, large eyes, and green skin.  The Deathlords held
him up limply between the two of them, and his large eyes drooped half-closed
from either pain, exhaustion, or a bit of both.

“Professor!” squealed the girl.

The alien looked up, his eyes widening slightly at the sight
of the Regal.  “Your Majesty…” he started to say before one of the Deathlords
reached up and began culling him.

The Professor’s ghostly image seeped through his skin and
the alien started screaming in agony as he was being torn between life and
death.  His cries of pain echoed throughout the bridge.

“NO!” cried the girl as she attempted to get to her feet and
rush to her friend’s aid.  But before she could even regain her footing, Zarrod’s
clawed hand clamped down around the back of her neck and held her still,
forcing her to look at her friend as he was tortured.

“Think back,” Zarrod grumbled.  “Think about what I was
doing to you after you tried to escape me.  And now, imagine it ten times
worse.  That’s what he has been going through.”

Fresh tears found their way down the girl’s cheeks as the
Deathlord guards released their hold on their alien captive, who crumpled to
the ground in a heap, blubbering and sobbing pathetically.

“The type of pain we can inflict, Princess, is beyond
anything you can comprehend,” said Zarrod.  “We can keep you alive
indefinitely, never allowing you to escape it.  We can hold off the madness, to
prevent you from accepting it.  We can give you unending agony for as long as
we wish.”

The Deathlords reached out toward the Professor again, and
the alien started to spasm, crying out at the top of his lungs as his captors
ripped at his soul.

“STOP!” cried out the girl.  “PLEASE!”

The alien screamed louder.

“It will be never ending for him,” said Zarrod.  “Unless you
cooperate.”

The girl stared wide-eyed at her companion as he convulsed,
thrashing about as though he were being ripped apart by the invisible knives of
the Deathlord’s magic.  She hesitated, knowing what it would mean to give in,
and yet, it was obvious what decision she would ultimately make.  The Supreme
was correct – she did have one glaring weakness, which she now had to accept
she was unable to overcome.

“I will!” she said urgently.  “I’ll cooperate!  Just,
please, stop hurting him!”

Zarrod gave a nod to the guards, who released the alien from
their death grips.  The pathetic beast lay on the ground, whimpering, as Zarrod
released his hold over the girl.  She scrambled to her friend’s side.

“Professor,” she said quietly, cradling his head.  “I’m
sorry… I’m so, so sorry…”

The alien’s large eyes focused upon her.  “Your… Majesty…”
he said weakly.  “You mustn’t… help them…”

“Shhhhhh…” said the girl, softly stroking the alien’s
forehead.  “It’ll be okay.  I promise.  Just… just stay with me.”

“As always…” the alien responded.  “I am… at your service…”

A sad smile grew on the girl’s lips.  Abraxas found their
entire exchange pathetically annoying.  So much so, he had to resist the urge
to punch something.

“We are approaching the oasis, Supreme,” reported an Acolyte,
blissfully taking Abraxas’s attention away from the lesser life-forms.

Zarrod turned and gazed up at the viewscreen as the last
remnants of the nebula cloud cleared away, revealing the Ghost Planet of
Terahades.

As though its mere presence were enough to scare away the
dust and gas, the planet sat in the middle of a large empty oasis within the
nebula.  The planet glowed pale white, as if it were being illuminated by a sun
that was not there.  Its surface seemed to move and shift, so slightly one
would think his eyes were playing tricks on him.  And surrounding the planet
was a large, slightly golden shell – the planet’s shield – around which the
Deathlord fleet had already taken position.

“Open a channel to the fleet,” ordered Zarrod as he
approached the holo-transmission platform on the bridge.

The Acolytes did as commanded, opening a fleet-wide
holographic transmission, blasting the Deathlord Supreme’s image to every
Planetkiller ship.  Zarrod stood, proud and imposing, gazing up at the Ghost
Planet on the viewscreen as his ship began its approach.

“My followers,” he said.  “For years, we have worked.  For
years, we have waited.  And now, the time has come for our efforts to be
rewarded.  Before you is the task handed down to us from our creators.  They
charged us with freeing their brethren from this prison, and on this day, we
will have achieved that goal.”