ALTERNATE TALES OF THE STAR FORCE
STAR BLAZERS
FIXING A HOLE
Being the second part of THE RIKASHA INCIDENT
By: Frederick P. Kopetz
ACT FIVE-A DAY IN THE LIFE
" I Read the News Today, Oh boy..." -1967--John Lennon & Paul McCartney
I.TRACINGS
Space: Between the Earth
and the Moon
Space Battleship Argo
Central Tactics Room
Friday, June 23, 1967
8:05 AM, Local Time
"Good news," said Sandor during yet another staff meeting in the Argo's Central Tactics Room. "The warp mechanism and power circuits are repaired, but we still need to work on the recalibration job in order to reset the warp mechanism."
"How far have we gotten on the
recalibration work?" asked Venture.
"It's not complete yet," replied Sandor. "We now have the general day and hour in relation to astronomical time. What we're trying to estimate is the time down to minutes and seconds so that we'll be able to make our warp properly."
"How long will that take?" asked Venture.
"There is an eighty-two percent chance we'll have the timing calculated to within plus of minus five percent accuracy within twenty-four hours," said IQ-9. "There is a ninety-one percent chance that we'll have the timing calculated to within plus or minus seven percent accuracy in the same time."
"What do those accuracy figures mean?" asked Parsons.
"Even at our best, there is still a chance we will not arrive at precisely the right moment in our time," replied IQ-9. "We may arrive a few minutes or hours off in the past or the future, or a few days or even a few months."
"A few months?" asked Venture.
"Yes. We might even meet ourselves returning home from Iscandar," said IQ-9.
"What would happen then?" asked Dash.
"What would happen in that event is unknown," said IQ-9. "We might explode."
Venture stood in angry silence. "That's the best we can do, Sandor?" he asked.
Sandor just nodded. "It could have been far worse, without the help of Royster and the rest of my Group. I do have some good news to share, though."
"Yes?"
"Right after we finished, we began scanning for the Captain and Lieutenant Wildstar with a beta-neutrino scanner which I adapted from the Time Radar. We've located them."
"Where are they?" asked Venture as the briefing room was filled with hubbub.
"They're right
here," said Sandor as a graphic came up. "Northeastern
Pennsylvania, in the
"We've also created two portable versions of the beta-neutrino scanning apparatus we used to find them," said Royster. "We're placing one in a Starseeker jet recon boat, and the other one is being built into a hand-held unit. We've also tuned the electronic countermeasure packet in the jet recon boat so that it will provide a crew with a measure of protection to get in there, rescue the Captain and Nova, and get them back to the ship."
"All we have to determine is who would go down to Earth to pick them up," said Sandor. "They should be dressed in late twentieth-century clothing so that they could blend in with the populace and not be noticed."
"I think our most logical choices would be Ensign Hemsford of the Marine Group and one fighter pilot who could get in there quickly and get out," said Venture.
Hemsford walked up. "Sir, with all respect, that may not be such a good idea…at least with regard to my presence."
"Why not?" asked Venture.
"In the
"Thanks for the observation," said Venture.
"No problem," said Hemsford, with a hint of anger. "I'm not angry at you, sir," he added. "Just the situation. From a historical analysis, sending me into that time to act undercover in a time when they had race riots would make about as much sense as sending in a damn Orthodox rabbi to spy on Hitler."
"Then we'd need another volunteer," said Orion.
Paul Rosstowski strode forward. "Deputy Captain, I'd like to be considered."
"May I ask why?" said Venture.
"According to my
family history, many of my ancestors came from that part of
"That sounds logical," said Sandor. "Venture?"
"I hate losing you on the bridge in case that enemy fortress comes back," said Venture. "But, since you know the area, I guess you're the best choice. You're in, Rosstowski."
"Thank you, sir," said Paul.
"Now, all we need is a pilot," said Sandor.
Quite a few Black Tiger pilots, including Conroy and Hardy, were in the briefing room. However, to everyone's surprise, Bryan Hartcliffe strode forward.
"You're volunteering?" asked Venture.
"Yessir, I am," said Hartcliffe.
"Sir, with all respect, he'd fit in worse in that time than I would," said Hemsford.
"Why's that, Ensign?" said Hartcliffe.
"How many English
people were running around in the
"Not that many," said Sandor. "It doesn't seem like a good idea…," he added.
"But, sir, I've studied the 1960's, probably more than anyone on this ship," retorted Hartcliffe.
"I never knew you were a student of history, Mister Hartcliffe," said Venture dubiously.
"But I am, sir. I
studied every one of the rock bands of the period. The
Beatles, the Who, the
"Yeah, if we need a kamikaze pilot," jibed Rosstowski.
Venture put up his hand for silence. "That's enough, Rosstowski! Sandor, from what I've seen of the period, there were a lot of…disaffected youth, then. What were they called?"
"Hippies, as Mister Hemsford has said." said IQ-9. "Very astute observation for a Space Marine. Mister Hartcliffe certainly looks the part, Deputy Captain! Look at his mustache, his glasses, his long, stringy hair….he…"
"All right, he's in," said Venture. "Sandor, do you think we need any other volunteers?"
"No. The smaller the party, the better. Besides, if this comes off the way we hope it will, the Starseeker, or Astro Mallard, boat will be going down to Earth's surface with two aboard, and will return to the ship a few hours later with four aboard."
"What do you think the Captain and Mrs. Wildstar might be doing now?" asked Rosstowski.
"Well, neither of them had any 20th century money," said Homer.
"But how did they get that automobile?" said Sandor. "And the weird clothing they were seen in by Hardy and by our sensors when they appeared in the lower hangar bay?"
"Maybe they had help of some sort?" shrugged Venture.
"Sounds like as good of a possibility as anythin' else we've considered," said Hardy. "Didn't they disappear off the ship and reappear, after all, like I said?"
"Yes, the sensors did prove you to be right," said Sandor.
"So, what do you think they're doing?" asked Orion.
"Probably sleeping in that car and trying to keep a low profile," guessed Venture. "I know that's what I'd be doing in that sort of situation…"
II. PREPARING FOR A JOURNEY
Gus Genetti's
Pennsylvania Route
Friday, June 23, 1967
10:05 AM, Local Time
Derek Wildstar slowly woke up, yawning and stretching as he pulled himself out of bed in the motel room he was sharing with Nova.
One thing he discovered at once was that he was alone; Nova was nowhere to be seen in the bedroom, even though her side of the bed was rumpled (quite rumpled, he thought, remembering the previous night with a small smile) and obviously slept-in.
He got up, throwing a nearby towel around his midsection, and noticed a small piece of paper on the writing desk next to a Bible, which he noticed had been placed by someone known as "The Gideons" if the gold stamped legend on the front of the Good Book was correct, that is.
It was a sheet of Genetti's Motor Lodge stationary. On it, in Nova's handwriting was a brief note, which read:
Derek…..
Wake up, you sleepyhead! (only kidding, dear).
Seriously,
Mitzi got me up first by kicking at the door at 0700. She got a whiff of our
clothes and figured out that they were pretty dirty, so she took me shopping
for some new things for us that I think you'll like. I'm by the pool now,
plotting strategy with Mitzi.
Mitzi
says there's not much time, so you'd better hurry up. We have to be in
Love, Nova.
Wondering why the heck he had slept so long, Derek obeyed the summons and got into the shower.
About twelve minutes later,
decked out in white swim trunks and a new pair of brown sandals, he went out to
the pool, where he saw Mitzi and Nova playing in the water with three local
teenagers who had a beach ball. By the presence of the net stretched across the
pool, Derek guessed she and Mitzi were playing water volleyball with them; from
his experience with her in the 
particular game.
As soon as Nova saw him, she came out of the water with a cute smile on her face but a serious look in her dark eyes. Derek noticed that she was wearing an aqua two-piece bikini that looked simply adorable on her slender frame.
"What's wrong?" asked Derek.
"You took so long in there, Derek. Mitzi and I were getting worried about you."
"Why did I sleep so long?" he asked.
"I've got a theory, but we really can't discuss it here," said Mitzi as she swam over. Derek noticed that she had a black one-piece swimsuit on. "As it is, we've got to be at a local hospital by one o'clock."
"Why?" asked Captain Wildstar as he began removing his sandals so he could get into the water with Nova and the others.
"The Medical Examiner wants us there to help figure out a mystery about the death of one of those at the bar the other night," whispered Nova in his ear after she dived back into the pool. "Mitzi says it doesn't look pretty in the least."
Derek just nodded grimly.
"Don't be so glum," said Nova in a louder and brighter voice. "We could've used you in backfield before in that last game. Now that you're here, we've got a chance against Matt, Mike, and Jim there."
"Like to play again?" called out Mitzi. "Nova's husband is here."
"Sure!" called out a blond teenage boy in swim trunks.
"Derek, your serve," said Nova with a smile as she threw him the ball after he got into the pool.
"Okay, as long as this doesn't take too long," he said.
At that, Derek Wildstar served the beach ball over the net.
III.LANDFALL
Space: Between the Earth
and the Moon
Space Battleship Argo:
Friday, June 23, 1967
10:27 AM, Local Time
Lieutenant Rebecca Voorhees
came out of a hatchway in the
"What are you two looking so happy about?" asked Venture as he stood near the Starseeker boat. He was there to see Rosstowski and Hartcliffe off.
"Our handiwork," said Voorhees. "Todd and I put our heads together over this one over breakfast. Once we had an idea where to look, it was all too easy to put Nichols and her Supply Section Chief, Ensign Krauss, to work with Royster on solving this problem."
"What problem?" asked Venture.
"How we were gonna look in the sixties, sir," said Bryan Hartcliffe as he and Rosstowski came out together.
Venture's eyes almost popped out. Hartcliffe was wearing a weird multi-colored T-shirt, blue jeans, boots, and a vaguely Native American-looking headband, with his round glasses, and Rosstowski was wearing a beige high-collared jacket, jeans, and sneakers.
"What are you two supposed to be?" said Venture.
"Hippies," said Hartcliffe. "Voorhees did the research, and Nichols, Krauss, and Royster made the clothes. I got a tie-dyed t-shirt, man, and Rosstowski there's got a Nehru jacket. Cool, yeah?"
"What sort of necklace is that, Mister Rosstowski?" asked Venture.
"Love beads," huffed Rosstowski. "I've read about them, but when you put them on, they really look pretty stupid."
"No comment, Mister," said Venture. "Well, I guess you two look authentic enough."
The door whizzed open, and Angelique Hartcliffe appeared in the room. "Aren't you supposed to be on watch?" said Venture.
"I'm on alert-thirty," said Mrs. Hartcliffe. "I've come to see Mr. Hartcliffe off, sir."
Venture nodded sympathetically. "Try not to take too long…time is of the essence."
"Of course, sir,"
said Angie as she walked towards
"You be careful down there," she said.
"Ah will be, luv. I
know that time like the back o' me hand," said
"Do you? You've only read about it. It can be very dangerous there," she said.
"Why? They're not as advanced as us."
"That's the problem,"
whispered Angie. "You're not taking a walk around the
"I'll only come back 'alf drunk," he joked.
"You come back drunk at all, and they'll court-martial you! Got it?" said Angie.
He only popped a cockeyed salute. "I'll join the Queen's Coldstream Guards in that time period if it gets too hot, luv. I think I'd look good in a bearskin hat, huh?"
"
"That's all right," he said, remembering how his relationship with Trelaina had affected his performance a few months ago. He was somewhat surprised that half the Hartcliffes, at least, seemed to remember what they were doing.
"Rosstowski," said Royster. "We briefed you on how to use this?" he asked as he handed Paul something that looked amazingly like a beat-up 20th century pocket transistor radio in a black plastic case.
"I think you did, but I could use one more going-over."
"Well… this device Sandor and I made is a beta-neutrino transceiver. It's somewhat like the tachyon energy indicator Sandor made a few months ago when he, Wildstar, and Sergeant Knox invaded the Comet Empire city-ship, but it works on a different principle. As a straight beta-neutrino receiver, after having dialed out the amplitudes that your body, Hartcliffe's body and your ship are giving off, it'll allow you to tune in on where the Captain and Mrs. Wildstar are, somewhat like an old-fashioned Geiger counter. See the "FM" switch there? Switch it to "FM", and you won't really get the "FM" radio band, you'll, instead, get static, like this…"
Royster flicked the switch, and a faint, staticy roar of white noise came over the speaker. "That's picking up the Captain and Mrs. Wildstar right now in subspace. The closer you get to them, the louder the roar will get. If you switch the small switch to "short-wave," you won't get "short-wave radio" as they called it. Instead, you'll get the "transceiver" setting."
"Pardon me, Royster. I'm a gunner, not a physics whiz like you," said Rosstowski. "What good will that do us?"
"Plenty. Switched to "transceiver", you'll get a short-range instantaneous subspace voice-only comlink back to the ship that'll pass through the Moon to us and vice-versa based on the principle of modulation of your own beta-neutrino traces. In other words, you're the power source, so to speak. This refinement…uh…was my idea. If we can perfect this, we'll have a means of communication even better than our subspace helmet radios, and in less space, too! Plus, no one on Earth can tap into your transmissions back to us, unless they have the same sort of technology we do," added Royster.
"That's good," said Rosstowski. "And what's the "AM" band for?"
"Perfect cover!" said Royster. "It's just a plain old "amplitude modulation" receiver."
"Which is?" said Rosstowski.
"A plain old 20th century radio!" said Royster with a chuckle. "If you feel anyone's watching you, just tune in and listen to the contemporary music! Just be sure not to play it too loud," he added.
"Right," said Hartcliffe. "If we get arrested, we can listen to the tunes."
"Just…don't listen too hard or too long," said Venture. "You and Rosstowski have your jobs…get them done and get back."
"Right," said Hartcliffe as he and Rosstowski saluted. Then, a moment later, he sealed the bubble on their Starseeker boat and began to power up.
Everyone else took that as
their cue to leave.
"Mallard One-Oh-Fiver, you're cleared to take off," said a female voice over the boat's speakers.
"Roger that," said Hartcliffe. "Open the 'atch and let us out!"
The launch bay opened, and the boat took off .
"Electronic countermeasures up and running," said Hartcliffe. "Rosstowski, you can relax, now, just a few minutes, and we'll be down, in hidin' in a nice spot near where the Captain is, under our ECM sensor blanket. We'll find the Captain and Nova, hit 'em over the bloody 'ead with soda pop bottles if we 'ave to, and drag 'em back to the ship and bring 'em home, even if they're unconscious."
"
"If yer chicken you can hit Nova in the 'ead with that pop bottle, mate. She won't fight back too hard if y' put in the boot just right."
"Hartcliffe, you are a felon!" snapped Rosstowski. "Lord, how did I ever get caught on a mission with this degenerate?" said Paul with his hands up in the air as they cruised over the surface of the Moon.
"You volunteered, mate?" quipped Hartcliffe.
"Remind me never to volunteer for any mission that might include you again," said Paul.
"Too late, son,"
smiled
"High Protector Gralnacz…a small ship has just left the Argo," said a minor Technomugar officer as the Sukalnach's commander reappeared on his ship's bridge.
"A small ship? Considering that I have not been able to reach the Lord Ekogaru in my meditations, we'll continue to handle this on our own, shall we? Leave them be, Lektat!" snapped Gralnacz, addressing the officer by the name for his minor rank in the Technoid language.
"D'ya," snapped the officer in return.
"It may not be as bad as you think," said Gralnacz, who had changed back into his denims. "A minor matter. I can read their petty minds. They think they shall rescue their commanding officer? What a jest! What a joke! They play right into my hands! Let them operate unimpeded, and we shall have our free chance to attack the Terran pop group I desire to kill. Not long now," said Gralnacz. "I shall wipe you out, incite the revolution, and then play with the Star Force at our leisure. The Terranische fools. I have already killed several of them myself. What does it matter if I kill a very few more?"
"Not at all, sire," smiled the Lektat. "I hope to kill a few myself."
"I like that spirit," smiled Gralnacz as he playfully punched his subordinate in the arm. "Soon, my friend, you shall have the chance to activate your weapons and kill them like the vermin they are. Rejoice! Soon we shall be high in His Lordship's favor!"
At that, the Lektat smiled.
Just a few minutes later, Earth loomed large in the Starseeker's cockpit bubble. "Electronic countermeasures working normally. No sign that our approach has been picked up, sir," said Rosstowski into the small "radio" he carried.
"You're not being painted by any sort of radar?" asked Venture's voice over the tinny little speaker through a minor wave of static.
"Nothing," said Rosstowski nervously as he scanned the instrument array before him. They had just entered the ionosphere, and the boat's carbon-fiber coated hull began to glow just slightly near the nose. The glow increased, covering the wing surfaces, but increasing no further. Paul noticed that Hartcliffe had the approach curve just right, as if he was on a training flight.
Every sensor instrument was still at nominal. They might as well have been approaching an uninhabited planet.
"Good," said Venture over only a little static, another sign that the beta-neutrino set was working just as Sandor and Royster had promised. The usual brief re-entry communications loss that they had even with their 23rd century equipment was now practically non-existent. "Tell Mister Hartcliffe to put her down in as isolated an area as you can find that will be within the Captain's location."
"Don't worry; I've got the perfect spot planned," said Hartcliffe as the cloud cover cleared slightly, just enough for him to glance a smallish city-area with exactly two tall buildings to his right, with the bend of a small river visible right below him. "What is that place, anyroad? Or what was it?"
"Allentown-Bethlehem," snapped Rosstowski. "We're almost at the target. Keep us up in the overcast, Mister! Someone could still spot us visually if they're sharp enough!"
"Look, anyone spot us?" asked Hartcliffe as they descended down a little more out of the cloud cover, circling over some mountains. "We're in the middle o' nowhere, me friend. Comin' down just below Mach One'll tend to do that."
"How close are you to the target?" asked Venture over the radio.
"Close," said Rosstowski as he looked down nervously, switching the "radio" over to the straight detection band for a moment. The click and roar of the neutrino traces were quite loud now. "We're circling over a very small metropolitan area, coming down into some forest cover in some nearby mountains," said Rosstowski as he switched the radio back over to the "comm" band. "I think Hartcliffe's found us the perfect landing spot," said Paul as the jet recon boat slowed down drastically and dropped down into the forest canopy in a very tight spot…almost too tight for Rosstowski's tastes. "Sensors still "nominal"," reported Paul as the belly thrusters activated and the small ship bumped roughly onto the ground just as Hartcliffe activated its all-terrain wheels. "I'm no Analysis officer, Venture, but I read nothing but trees, squirrels, and maybe a deer a few hundred meters off. No human life signs at all around the woods, and they look almost impenetrable. If Mister Hartcliffe can find a place to guard this boat from prying local eyes, I would say that our arrival has gone utterly undetected."
"Good," said Venture over the comm unit. "Hartcliffe, you and Rosstowski hide the boat as best you can and get out there, find the Captain and Nova, and bring them back ASAP. We now have exactly twenty-two hours left before we're stuck here forever."
"Don't worry, sir, I've got a foolproof approach to this problem already at hand," said Hartcliffe. "There's a small hollow ahead of us. It looks like a long-deserted mine shaft of some kind. I'm putting the boat in there and we're hidin' the entrance with underbrush."
"Be sure you cover it up, but also be sure not to hide it so well that you can't find it within a few hours," said Venture. "Remember, that's your ride home."
"Roger that," said Hartcliffe. "Anything else?"
"Good luck," said Venture as Rosstowski nodded and switched the radio back to "detect" mode as the boat slowly drove into the semi-darkness.
"Stop here," said Rosstowski a minute later. "We don't want to go too deep. This thing could cave in on us if we hit one of those old support pillars the wrong way."
Hartcliffe stopped and relaxed as the boat's engine whirred softly and then went silent just as he cracked the canopy. "What a reek!" he yelled. "What did they mine down here, mate? Crap?"
"No, they mined coal down here," said Rosstowski as he emerged, grateful for his boots as a rat scurried over his foot. "The smell's because we're probably at the edge of a methane pocket. By the look of things, this shaft must've been abandoned for about a good forty years or so."
"Good. We don't need to do too much to hide the ship, then?" said Hartcliffe.
"No, we don't."
"Good. Let's get outta here, then. Back into daylight," said Hartcliffe as he looked nervously at the skeleton of a small tree. It had sprouted and then died here in the un-nourishing earth that was mostly slate dust with a smattering of coal dust that had been left behind even by the last of the miners who had trooped deeper into this passage years ago.
"Why? Don't tell me you're scared?"
"I am, all right?" said Hartcliffe. "I couldn't stand it in the underground cities, and I'm utterly buggy even down here, all right? I don't like nasty dark places underground, man. Y' might call that me phobia."
"Why's that? We had to survive down there," said Rosstowski.
"Yeah. Y'ever thought about what'd happen
if it all came down on top o' yer head? That's the way me Uncle Max
died, mate. He was caught in the ruins, dead, when the underground city beneath
"What?" asked Paul quizzically.
Hartcliffe pulled up one leg of his blue jeans. "See that scar? Only Angie, Doc Sane, and Nova know I have that scar in me leg. Only Angie and you will know what it's from, and you ever breathe a word of this to anyone, Paul, I will hunt ya down and kill ya!"
"What's your
secret?" asked Paul, who was suddenly shocked as
"I was there with
me uncle, mate!" screamed Hartcliffe. "A big rock caught him
and crushed him into a bloody pulp! A little rock ripped me leg open
right here! Me uncle Max was a good man, you moron!! Churchgoin' and all that, and I had to lay there in the near-dark and hear him
die and feel his blood and gore and all that over me and…all that…it was…awful!
Horrid! That's why I'm so crazy, man! I'm tryin' to blot the bloody memory OUT!"
roared
"
"I wanna give Desslok
the finger, I wanna give Desslok the finger when I see him," sobbed
"Hey…Captain Wildstar lost his parents in the war…anyone ever tell you that?" said Paul.
"Good for 'im. If he can talk to Desslok like that, 'e must not be human!" said Hartcliffe.
"I didn't think you were until you told me this. How come you never open up to anyone?" whispered Paul.
"No one else here in this world I can trust. Somethin' funny tells me I can trust you. Don't know why…maybe you chose the wrong line o' work, Paul. You shoulda been a vicar."
"Once, my mother was trying to get me to be a priest," said Paul. "Long story."
"Good. Secrecy of the
confessional and all that?" sobbed
"Yeah. Sure, " said Paul. "I'll keep my trap shut," he said with a weak smile.
"Good," sniffed
"Yeah?"
"I won't…Hartcliffe," said Paul.
"thanks," he whispered. "Now let's hide that plane and get outta this hole. Now you know why underground places give me the creeps."
"I do," said Rosstowski. "Hartcliffe."
"Yeah?"
"Thanks for opening up a little."
"Don't mention it, mate," laughed Hartcliffe. "C'mon. We got work to do. We gotta find the Captain and his missus, even if we have to beat the crap out of them to bring them back."
"You're incorrigible," laughed Paul.
"You're pretty screwed up, too, Paul. Father Rosstowski, huh?"
"Don't you ever breathe a word of that to anyone, you sicko," chuckled Paul.
"Cross me heart and hope to die. I won't. Here, help me gather up these dead branches. Gotta hide the entrance," said Hartcliffe.
Paul helped him, rather
surprised that he had made a friend out of someone he had sworn was his enemy.
Later in the afternoon, after a long walk in the woods, Paul and Bryan came out of the woods near the edge of something that reminded them of a crater of the moon.
"What's this place?" asked Hartcliffe.
"They used to call these things strip mines," replied Rosstowski. "This was the next technological stage in coal mining. Some progress, huh?"
"Probably cheaper to dig a big hole on top o' the ground as opposed to goin' under it, right?" volunteered Hartcliffe.
"Right. You're a genius," chuckled Rosstowski.
"Also, we're near civilization. Look…up ahead, there's a road," said Hartcliffe. "Well, let's get on with it."
"What?"
"Our mission," chortled Hartcliffe. "How's your radio?"
"Getting slowly closer," said Paul as he listened to the static. "They can't be more than a few kilometers away, I guess."
"Stop sayin' kilometers. They used miles in this time," said Hartcliffe.
"Okay, we can't be more than a few miles away," said Rosstowski. "Hey, look at that. Cool!" he said.
"All I see is a beat-up mining locomotive, Rosstowski."
"That's the point!" said Rosstowski. "This was a real locomotive once, an authentic internal-combustion engine. Sure, it's covered with rust, now, but at one time, somebody drove this thing down a track."
"Track's buried, son," said Hartcliffe. "Don't tell me. Ya wanna play with trains, mate?"
"It would be so cool to see this thing run again," sighed Rosstowski while he tapped the cobwebbed bell on top of the small diesel switcher. The bell swung a little in its mounting cradle and the clapper made a sickly dinging sound. "I'm probably never going to see a train run on steel tracks."
"That's your dream?" said Hartcliffe.
"You must have dreams about what you would have like to have seen in the past…here," said Rosstowski. "What would you like to see?"
"John, Paul, George and Ringo playin' a concert. Probably never see that, mate. We're not gonna be here in the past for long."
"That would be neat to see," mused Paul.
"Oh? Another fan of
the Fabs?" mused
Paul nodded. "Yeah. I liked their music. They were one of the few bands from this time whose music lasted right into our time. Probably because there so was so much of it. Not even the Gamilons could have entirely wiped out the sound of the Beatles. Funny thing, isn't it?"
"Who's yer favorite Beatle?" asked Hartcliffe.
"McCartney," said Paul.
"Lennon," replied Hartcliffe.
"Guess everyone has their own tastes," said Paul.
"What do you mean by that?"
"No comment. Shoulda guessed you were a Lennon fan...you look kinda like the one picture I saw of him."
"What picture was that?"
"The one grainy black and white one in the schoolbooks," said Rosstowski. "Except that he didn't have a mustache in that picture, and his hair was parted in the middle."
"That picture," said Hartcliffe. "From the inside of the White Album? The one where McCartney didn't shave?"
"They made a white album? What was that?" said Rosstowski.
"What they called
recordings then," said Hartcliffe. "They came on big black disks, and
they had to be held in these, like, special bindings. I saw one in the museum
in
"Venture once said
that he and Wildstar saw the site in the old seabed in the
I've heard tales that part of the Yamato's scrap metal even ended up being re-smelted into the metal that made up the Argo, which was almost formally called the Yamato until Captain Avatar renamed our ship."
"So?"
"It got into the movies and all, that image of the old Yamato's rusty bridge tower, or a simulation of it, jutting up out of the dry seabed like it was waiting to be reborn, which, in a sense, she was when the Argo burst up out of it. I wasn't on the ship until a day or so later, but Venture and Wildstar both told me how that image looked…a new ship coming out of the ruins of the old," said Rosstowski.
"So what's that have to do with this rusty locomotive?"
"It kind of reminds me of the way the old Yamato looked, that's all," said Paul. "Like it's waiting to rise again."
"Like that'll ever happen," said Hartcliffe. "This thing will probably sit here and rust until the Gamilon war blows it into a zillion rust particles. "
"It'd be nice to see it running again," insisted Rosstowski. "Or to see a train like it going down a track. Like the old Pennsylvania Railroad, for instance."
"Yeah. Like it'd be nice to see the Beatles perfomin' live for us. Not our luck, mate. We're soldiers. Soldiers of love. Nothin' nice ever happens to us," said Hartcliffe.
"You never know," said Paul. "You never know."
Both men sat in thought for a bit until they realized they had to walk towards the road.
"We'd better go, Hartcliffe," said Rosstowski. "Our mission awaits us, and duty calls."
"How are we gettin'
down the road?" asked
"We look like kids of this time," said Rosstowski. "We'll hitch-hike."
"What's that?"
"You stand, like this, by the side of the road, with your thumb out, and you wait until a car stops to give you a ride," said Paul. "The old stories say it worked every time you needed a ride."
"Yeah,
right. We'd be
better off walkin'," said
"No, we'll get a ride," said Paul.
Hartcliffe shrugged, smiled
inanely, and joined Rosstowski by the side of the road with his thumb out. "Whatever you say, my friend. Whatever
you say."
IV. KEYSTONE (one)
St. Joseph's Hospital
Office of the Luzerne
County Coroner
Hazleton, PA
Friday, June 23, 1967
1:13 PM, Local Time
"I've seen this before, believe me," said Mitzi Shavirov. "And the sight of this sort of thing still makes me ill, Derek."
Derek Wildstar was standing against a cold glazed-brick wall in a basement room that looked ancient. He had changed into a white turtleneck, dark brown vest, fresh pair of jeans, and a pair of black boots that Mitzi had gotten him as his new outfit. Even though he still looked mod, his new clothes were at least cleaner than the others, even though he'd never quite worn clothes like this in his life…nor was he sure he'd want to.
Mitzi had changed into a dark jacket, miniskirt, and boots, and she was chewing her nails, quite an uncharacteristic gesture for the otherwise confident secret agent.
Derek wasn't chewing his nails, but he felt as if he wanted to, especially if he looked at the sight in the middle of the room hard enough.
In the middle of the room, there was a cold steel table, around which three figures were working, all in bloody green scrub gowns. On the table lay the remains of Francis "Frank" McCauley, who had been killed last night in McAdoo by Gralnacz in Butala's Bar.
The first figure was Constantine Gisewski, MD, the elderly Luzerne County Coroner.
The second figure was Ben Lambert, MD, a much younger man, who was Dr. Gisewski's assistant pathologist.
The third figure was Nova, acting as Gisewski's nurse-assistant because his regular nurse had called in sick today. Further, Shavirov, who was in charge of this autopsy for her organization, had talked them into using Nova as a "special expert" in pathology to allow this procedure to go on without undue delay.
All three of them wore long green scrub gowns that came down to about their knees; Lambert and Gisewski wore their usual white jackets, slacks and shoes beneath their scrubs; Nova had previously changed into a new outfit Mitzi had gotten her. It was a pink jumpsuit one-piece jumpsuit with hot-pants style shorts that looked a lot like one of her favorite outfits back in the 23rd century; she wore a new pair of pink sandals with this outfit.
"Have you got the cranium open, Lambert?" asked Gisewski.
He nodded, handing the bone saw over to Nova, who handed him another instrument with which he opened Frank's skull.
"Oh, my GOD," said Lambert. "Doc, look at this! This is impossible!"
Gisewski came over, looking inside Frank's cranium. "He must've been in an electric chair too long…everything in here is a charred mess."
Nova, trying to keep down her breakfast (due to the unusual and morbid way in which Frank had died) came over and said, "No. He was thrown on top of the bar by Gralnacz, his assailant…and he was simply touched by him. I saw Frank twitch three times and then die with smoke coming up out of his right ear…right here," said Nova, pointing in with an instrument. "You can see that here, even the bone was charred on the inside of the auditory canal."
"He must've had a flame-thrower or fuel-air bomb of some kind," said Gisewski. "This is impossible."
"Then how come there was no damage on the outside of his head?" countered Lambert. “This is too weird!”
"I…I don't know," said Gisewski.
"I can tell you why," said Shavirov as she came over, trying not to look too hard at Frank's corpse.
"Why?" asked Gisewski.
"This news is not to leave this room, and is to go only in the report you give us," said Mitzi. "This man was killed by an alien from deep space with extraordinary powers. What you've revealed there…proves it."
"How do we know you're believable?" countered Gisewski.
"Your temporary nurse collaborated my account when she told you what happened. She was an eyewitness, like the young man over there. They both know what happened."
"We know the cause of death now," said Lambert. "Do we need to go on with this?" he asked. "We've already examined his chest cavity and found nothing unusual there, sir."
"I guess not," sighed Gisewski. "All right. You and Mrs. Wildstar are to close up and get this poor devil ready for the undertaker. I'll meet with all of you in my office in forty-five minutes. Excuse me, but I need a stiff drink," he said after the pulled off his gown and lit up a big cigar. Running a hand over his balding pate and grey hair, he said, "Damnit, I'm getting too old for this crap. See you later."
With that, he left, leaving Derek, Nova, Mitzi and Lambert looking at each other with surprised eyes.
"Is he always like that?" asked Nova.
Lambert just nodded.
Out on Route 309, Hartcliffe and Rosstowski had been waiting for quite a while for a car to stop and pick them up.
So far, they had met with no success.
"Y' think it's the way we're dressed?" said Hartcliffe.
"No, I think it's because you've been smiling like a psycho for forty minutes," rejoined Rosstowski.
"You look stoned," said Hartcliffe.
"At least I don't look like I'm going to kill anyone," said Paul. "We should've asked for hats or something. All this time with the sun beating on your head…"
"Let's walk
then," said
Rosstowski began to follow, but, all of a sudden, a black, very beat-up, very old Ford came to a stop on the shoulder near them. It looked as if it was something from the late 1940’s or early 1950’s.
"Hey you," said a growling, grumbling voice from with the car. "You kids wanna ride?"
The voice, they noticed, was attached to a face that looked somewhere around eighty-five years old, with bloodshot eyes, crazy grey-white hair in a mop, and a crazy, scraggly beard.
"Should we?" whispered Rosstowski. "You think he's safe?"
"It'll save us a hike," said Hartcliffe. "Let's go."
They got into the car with the old fellow, and, immediately, Rosstowski sensed that something didn't seem to be right about their driver.
"What are you doing?" asked Rosstowski.
Paul noticed that the old man was taking a swig of what looked like water from a beat-up old bottle. However, it didn't quite smell like plain water.
"Nothin's wrong," growled the old man as he put back his bottle. Rosstowski winced at his odor, confirming his suspicion; the old man was drinking booze, openly, in the driver's seat of his car.
"Do I smell…?" asked Paul.
"Do I detect a moron?"
asked the old man. "You can get a ride t'
Paul began to open the door. "Hartcliffe, we don't need this. This guy's a rummie."
"Y'leave, you'll never find Wildstar," growled the old man.
"Did y' say Wildstar, mate?" asked Hartcliffe.
"No. I said I'm blowin' me nose," grumbled the old man. "COURSE I said Wildstar, ya geeks!" yelled the old man. "My name's Melvin Seadragon, and it's my fault he's here, that Nova's here, and that you space cadets are here! Wanna take my help, or do ya wanna go play with daffodils?"
"What do you want from us?" demanded Rosstowski.
"Need your help, youse guys. And unless you two are louses, ya need mine," said Melvin as he shifted back into gear and began to signal for a right turn. Having it, he sped out, shifting the column shifter in his ancient car up to "second" and then "third" in a hurry.
"Can you deliver on what yer sayin', mate?" asked Hartcliffe.
"Can do that and more," said Melvin. "I'm an alien freak, but don't worry. I'll take you guys right to where Wildstar and his missus are…no tricks. I promise that."
"You trust him?" whispered Rosstowski.
"Yeah…sort of..," said Hartcliffe.
"Shuddup back there and lemme
drive," growled Melvin. "Let me tell ya how I got mixed up in this
and why I'm drivin' a '49 Ford with a flathead V-8 right about now…"
V. WRATH
The Grand Technomugar Fortress
Approximately One Million
Lightyears from Earth
January 10, 2202
0154 Hours
The Dark Lord Ekogaru, Gralnacz's Master and the so-called "War god" of the Rikashans and their warrior-priest caste, the R'Khell, sat on his shiny Obsidian throne in his Grand Technomugar Fortress, smiling as, far below the huge dais, Generalissimo Vergar and Marda, his High Prophetess, prostrated themselves on a black runner of carpet five meters below his throne, which was in the center of his vast Audience Chamber.
"Good," thundered Ekogaru from his throne. "You may stand and reflect before I am ready to speak to you."
"What are you doing, Lordship?" asked Marda nervously.
"Reflecting. Disturb not my meditations for the moment."
"Of course," she replied.
Both cyborgs quaked a little as they stood before their Lordship's presence. Vergar looked to be middle-aged, although he was, in truth, about 3,000 years old, give or take a decade. He had been Ekogaru's right-hand man ever since the Dark Lord had begun his mad rise to power 3,000 years before as Rikasha's chancellor…before he had devastated the planet with nuclear weapons and left the survivors of the war to rot and mutate until he needed them again.
The bearded face of Vergar still looked much as it had 3,000 years beforehand, save that the process of making him into a cyborg in the image of his Master had turned his skin blue.
He glanced around as the Dark Lord rotated his back to them with the touch of a button. Once this very chamber was on old Rikasha, he thought. Then, it was merely the Grand House of Parliament, and His Lordship's seat was the Chancellor's seat, which sat behind and above the high seat of the Assembly Speaker and the Royal Seat of the Lord of the House of the Peerage, he who exercised power when the Chancellorship was vacant. I know. I was then the Speaker of his final Assembly, which once sat row by row behind those pillars with the Peerage. I killed most of them before we lifted the Government House into space, and before we built it into the ship. And I still wear my Speaker's Cloak! Now, we rule not over a handful of planets, but over untold thousands of worlds. How far we have come!
He glanced at Marda as he fiddled with his sky-blue tunic. She wore the same sort of tunic, save that hers was burgundy, and a little longer than his own; it served her as a minidress. She wore a short black cape, black open-toed gladiator boots, and she stood holding her silver helmet and face-mask, decorated with its blue plume.
"You're here more than I am," he whispered. "As his Chief Prophetess, do you know what he's thinking?
She smiled, showing the delicacy of her orange-skinned Rikashan features. "No, Generalissimo. In some things, you know that great mind better than I do. You have been with him for three thousand years. I have been with him for but two hundred. I was then a mere trader and fortuneteller, who miswarped and found myself in his realm. I suffered pain, but, eventually, the rewards were worth it, as was eternal life."
"I am glad to hear you still have such a high opinion of me," said Ekogaru as the throne turned back around again. "Vergar. How goes the Fortress?"
"The repair work still continues, my Lord."
"Wonderful. Marda…have you found my Gralnacz?"
"No, lord, it is my duty to report unto you that I haven't. Neither myself, nor your other sixty-five Prophetesses have felt anything of him."
"I know where he is," said Ekogaru.
"Where, Lordship?" asked Marda.
"In the past, gypsy. Earth's past. I think he's hatching a fine plan: destroy the meddlesome planet at its root. I am not sure what he is planning, but I endorse it. He is most inventive, but irrational. If he fails me, it will not go well for him when he slinks his way back here to my Presence. If he succeeds, on the other hand, he will put you two to great shame. Why didn't you think of this?"
Both of Ekogaru's servants bowed their heads in fear. "Fear not. I like Gralnacz…as I like both of you. Now, go. Find for me Desslok. See to it that you rid me of this troublesome Gamilon."
Both of them knelt again, and then Ekogaru said, "Leave me. Now."
Both of them left the Audience Chamber just as Ekogaru began to dim the spotlight that shone down on his throne.
"Marda, Marda," whispered Ekogaru to himself as the heavy doors slammed shut, wielded by two more of the sixty-five women that Marda had under her command as Ekogaru's personal guard and psionic advisors. "Little do you know that you have already failed your final test, along with Second Prophetess Jirgenda, and along with Gralnacz, whose plot, as I have foreseen, will collapse under its own weight, leaving Earth to trouble us, until I can deal with it. I shall not take Gralnacz's life…not yet. Soon, however, I shall take your life, fortuneteller. I enhanced you, but not enough. When my plan comes into fruition, Aliscea of Pellias shall take your mantle from you and serve beside me, hopefully to be dragged here by her father and my new Second, she whom I will have to enhance greatly to command and advise the forces of this Galaxy in Jirgenda's stead. She shall like it more than Jirgenda, and she shall come to me of her own accord, as opposed to the mighty Aliscea, you, and Jirgenda."
Ekogaru chuckled to himself as he opened up a strangely-trimmed computer terminal from one of the arms of his throne. He typed one of the keys, marked with the strange half-Arabic, half-runic-looking letters of old Rikasha, and brought up a fat, withered, evil-looking face.
"You'll love serving under me, Yvona Josiah of Earth," chuckled Ekogaru. "You shall not have Earth, directly under your heel, madwoman, even though you shall, after a fashion. After all, you will have your youth back, and with it, you shall bring your niece to me, either to serve willingly or unwillingly as the new Viceroy over Earth. If she won't serve willingly, you will make her do it. For, you shall have a small share of my own psionic when I rebuild you as a cyborg, and she will not."
Ekogaru waved his hand over the screen again, making Nova's face appear over it as she sat listening to the discussion in Doctor Gisewski's office in Hazleton, PA 235 years or so in the past. "You look pretty in pink, my dear. You shall look prettier in burgundy and white, as my hand, my governor, my Viceroy, over the conquered Earth." He smiled, making a marker appear in his hand. With it, he drew a sick-looking "smiley" face over Nova's image, gleefully drawing a pair of devil's horns on top of her head as he chuckled like the psychopath he was.
"You see, conquest is not what gives me pleasure the most," said Ekogaru. "What gives me the most pleasure is corrupting the innocent, taking what is good and pure and perfecting it according to my higher moral law. And you, and your husband, shall be quite enjoyable to corrupt!"
The Dark Lord suddenly stood. He smashed the crystal globe-like head of his sorcerer's staff straight into the monitor, laughing as he watched the video image dissolve in sparks and flame. Then, he stood, throwing his head back and laughing his glee and mad defiance straight towards the heavens themselves.
Here ends Part Five of Fixing a Hole
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Incident
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