Hero's Welcome

Hero’s Welcome by Stefan Markos

Swargul belched contentedly, took another drink, then broke wind. The force of it almost seemed to raise him out of his chair. He chuckled. Something about the lower gravity of the Retreat, he supposed, seemed to intensify his pleasures as well as the gasiferous properties of his favorite wine.

Or, perhaps it was simply being away from the cares of office and being surrounded by only his closest and most loyal followers during his holiday. All who were not 100 percent trustworthy had been sent packing. It occurred to him that having disposed of Thavas and the Nonsuch also contributed to his sense of well-being. He no longer had any serious potential rivals for power.

He leaned back in his chair and looked out over the remains of dinner at his guests. He tapped the side of his wine glass with his spoon.

“A little bit of business, gentlemen, before the festivities continue.”

His guests grew silent.

“I believe that enough time has passed since the departure of the Nonsuch that we must consider the probability that Commodore Thavas and his crew are lost.”

Several of the guests shook their heads, looking sincerely long-faced. One or two, however, covered their mouths and snorted stifled laughter through their noses.

“At any rate, gentlemen, we must consider the proper way to break the sad news to our people.”

Suddenly, his aide burst into the dining hall, strode briskly to the table, and whispered in his ear. Swargul started, then dropped his spoon. He stood up.

“Gentlemen, go on enjoying your wine. It seems that I have a small matter to attend to, then I shall rejoin you.”

He grabbed a wine decanter from the table, then motioned his aide to follow him. They headed for the control center. The news was giving him the shakes—the Nonsuch had returned! He took a deep pull from the decanter, then entered the control center and sat in the command chair. He turned to the communications officer.

Thavas appeared on the screen as Swargul started to take another swig from the decanter. He stashed the decanter under the control board, then forced a smile.

“Commodore Thavas! You’re back at last! We were starting to worry!”

“Greetings, Your Excellency. At one point, we were starting to worry also. You’ll read about it in my report.”

Swargul chuckled. “Time enough for the official niceties later, Commodore. Right now, you and your crew are to be my guests here on the Retreat. You’ve certainly earned it. Security will give you the coordinates of your parking orbit.”

“That is most gracious of Your Excellency.” Video contact ended.

Swargul turned to his weapons control officer. “Get the tractor/pressor up and running, and move the Object to these coordinates,” he said, motioning toward the scanner screen.

“Uh, Excellency, that is right in the path of the Nonsuch.”

“How observant of you, Major. Now, bring the Object around and I’ll take it from there.”

The major unlocked the control, a single, pivoting lever in front of a small viewscreen. The whole apparatus looked as if it had been recently added to the control board, which it had. He activated the screen, and made some adjustments. A blip appeared, and a number of streaks of light leading towards it. There was a blue central beam, surrounded by several smaller, curved, red beams. The officer started to move the lever, and the blip moved correspondingly.

“Frankly, Major, I don’t understand all those extra lines.” Swargul took a deep pull from the decanter. “It seems to me that they only complicate the picture.”

The officer suppressed a look of disgust, and patiently re-explained the device to Swargul.

“As you may recollect, Excellency, I pointed out in the briefing that whether the device is set for traction or pression, it must be anchored in space-time. Virtually everything it is designed to manipulate is many times larger than itself. So, when using traction, the blue beam on the screen, the anchor beams will be pressor beams, shown as the curved red lines around the central blue beam. Of course, when using pression, the anchor beams will be tractor beams.”

Swargul belched and broke wind, rising a bit from his seat.

“Very simple, Major, I believe I can handle it.”

“A word of caution, Excellency, the beam must be centered on the Object, or the Object could slide into the anchor beams.”

“Which would mean what? I’d have to back up and start again?”

“Uh, I’m afraid there wouldn’t be enough time. The Object would be coming back at you at near light speed.”

“Then, I shall have to be very careful. Now, if you don’t mind, Major, I think I’ll take it from here. Dismissed.”

“Very good, Excellency.”

The major bolted out of the chamber and down the corridor to the bay where he kept the scout vessel that he used for weapons system inspections. He flashed his ID at the guard, then stiff-armed him out of the way, jumped into the spacecraft and slammed the hatch. He didn’t even bother to strap in before taking off at maximum acceleration.                   

Swargul finished the last of his wine, broke wind again, then rubbed his hands together and laughed as he tracked the Nonsuch on the scanner.

“Ah, Commodore, how we’ll miss you and your ship. It will be so difficult without you. But, we’ll get by somehow.”

With that, he centered the pressor beam on the Object and set the power on maximum. Suddenly, a huge volume of gas erupted from his rear end, raising him from his seat. His arm jiggled. It took a second for his befogged brain to realize that the Object had gone off center and was starting to move backward along the anchor beams. In another second, he realized that he couldn’t do anything about it. The second after that, it was all over with.

Weapons Control Officer Major Buezh maximized the image of his rear video scanners even as he steered the scoutship away from the Retreat at full acceleration. He set the filtration level on “intense” in anticipation of what he knew must happen.

And, it did. An actinic glare, nearly a second sun, then a huge pillar of smoke, flame, and debris which reached the top of the atmosphere of the Retreat before spreading out. The shape of the cloud reminded him of the fungus that grew on some of the Outworlds—what was it called—the mushroom. He shook his head. As thoroughly as Swargul had provided for the moon’s defense, he could not defend himself against his own stupidity.

So, now what? The Swargul regime and all its top officials were gone. He shuddered to think who might end up taking over once the news was out. He did not wish to work for any of them. But, who did Swargul hate and fear the most? Thavas. That was recommendation enough for Buezh. He decelerated and altered course to intercept the Nonsuch.

On the bridge of the Nonsuch, all who had been facing the video screens were blinking away the after image of the initial flash. Thanks to automatic filtration, there would be no lasting visual damage. Thavas glanced at some of the other sensors. Something very big and very hard to understand had just happened on the Retreat.

Looking at the huge cloud rising up from the surface, it was obviously a massive explosion. Yet, how could that be? The Retreat was the most defended place in the Realm. Thavas watched as the top of the gigantic, brown cloud spread outward. An inside job? Sabotage? Highly unlikely, given the screening that all Retreat personnel had to go through.

The communications officer looked up. “Milord, we are being hailed. It appears to be a Major Buezh, a survivor of the Retreat event.”

“Very good, Lieutenant. Yes, I am very interested in speaking to him.”

The face that appeared on the screen was perceptive, intelligent, but tough. Yet it was without that certain ratlike quality usually seen in Swargul’s inner circle.

“Major Buezh, late of the Retreat Security Force, at your service, Milord.”

He saluted. Thavas returned the salute.

“You may dock and come aboard, Major. I trust that you can enlighten us on what has just happened.”

“Indeed, Milord. I await docking instructions.”

As Buezh was given his docking instructions, Thavas turned to Lieutenant Eleanna. “Lieutenant, conduct the major to the bridge as soon as he boards.”

“Aye, aye, Milord”

The major arrived a few minutes later looking somewhat frazzled, but still officerlike. He stood at attention before Thavas and clicked his heels.

Thavas nodded. “My first question, Major, is what was that explosive?”

“A TFM, Milord.

“TFM?”

“A Transtellar Fecal Mass. It had been captured and positioned as a kinetic projectile.”

Thavas had heard tell of such things. No one was totally sure of their origin. Some thought they were from unknown worlds that had no better way to solve their waste disposal problems. Others believed that they might even have originated in another universe. At any rate, new ones kept cropping up from time to time and were occasionally a navigation hazard.

“Well, that would account for the brown cloud,” he said,

 motioning toward the video screen, “but how did it penetrate the Retreat’s defenses? And the speed of it…”

“Premier Swargul pulled it in on himself. At near light speed, Milord. He kept the Object, as he called it, in orbit

around the Retreat to use as a secret weapon. He figured he could take a ship out with it and make it look like an accidental collision.”

“But how did he propel and aim the thing? I would suppose that he didn’t pull it in on himself on purpose.”

“There was an experimental tractor/pressor beam that he was not very adept at operating. He was trying to aim at the Nonsuch.”

Somehow, Thavas was not as surprised as he should have been. First, there was the basic weirdness of being ordered on a voyage to the Rim. Then, there was the bleeder they had found on the power pile. Finally, there was the ill-concealed look of surprise on Swargul’s face on the video. So, they weren’t supposed to get back, but if they did, there was one last contingency plan.

“You seem like a very knowledgeable man, Major. Could you venture an opinion as to why he was trying to take out the Nonsuch?”

“You were too dangerous to the regime, Milord. You’re seen as a hero throughout the Realm, you have the respect and admiration of your colleagues, and the loyalty of the rank and file. That’s not to mention that you command a planet-smasher class warship. In his Excellency’s view, you were the one person who had a chance of overthrowing him.”

He was afraid I wanted his job, Thavas thought. I wouldn’t have had his title for anything. “Well, Major, I learn too late the secret of working for Swargul. Just don’t do too good of a job. Now, speaking of jobs, what exactly was your job on the Retreat? Did you have anything to do with that pressor beam setup?”

“I designed it, Milord. In theory, I was to operate it whenever the need arose. I was probably the only one who stood a chance of making it work. The thing just wasn’t ready for general use yet.”

“So, how did you escape from the Retreat in time?”

“His Excellency told me I was dismissed, so I took it to mean I was ordered off the Retreat. I jumped in my scoutship and took off at maximum.”

Thavas looked at the screen and frowned, then turned back to the major.         

“We’ll need you on the bridge for a while, after which Lieutenant Eleanna will show you to your quarters.”

Buezh clicked his heels again. “Very good, Milord.”

Thavas mulled things over for a moment. It certainly looked as if the Swargul regime was wiped out. From what Buezh had said, there wasn’t much of a chance that any of the Swargulites could have run to shelter. In fact, it was doubtful that any kind of shelter would have helped anyway.

He turned to his flag captain. “Podengo,” he said, “Let’s take her in for a reconnaissance of the Retreat.”

“Aye, aye, Milord. A roboreconnaissance, I take it.”

“Of course.

The Nonsuch moved into as close a parking orbit as was safe under the circumstances. Podengo sent the probes in.

The visual transmissions began. Some simply showed a thick, brown fog. The images from other parts of the Retreat showed a smashed landscape, flattened buildings, scorched vegetation, and no signs of life whatever. The brown fog was starting to settle in these places, too.         

Podengo shook his head. “Is there any chance any human could have survived such an event?”

Thavas turned to Buezh. “Could they, Major?”

“Milord, everyone was in Swargul’s palace at some sort of event for his innermost circle. No one had the slightest inkling that this would happen except myself, and I only escaped by the skin of my teeth. Fortunately, those not belonging to the inner circle, rank and file troops and civilian employees, had been sent away beforehand.”

Thavas scanned the screens, and his eyes settled on the ones showing the location of the palace. “Let’s switch to the nonvisible spectrum and see if we can cut through this brown fog,” He said.

“Aye, aye, Milord,” said the crewman, his fingers flying over the controls.

The new image showed what seemed to be a gigantic crater. This was obviously ground zero. The readout at the bottom confirmed it as the location of the palace. There was no human life, or any other kind here. The exception might be whatever bacteria had been in the feces, assuming that it could survive being frozen in space for who-knew-how long, and then survivethe concussion of hitting the Retreat. Still, it would look better on the report to scan for life.

“Now, let’s scan for life processes.”

Suddenly, the air of the bridge was filled with the most revolting odor imaginable. Everyone, Thavas included, started wretching. Several actually vomited. The technician who had switched on the olfactory sensor was now one of the crew members vomiting his guts out. Thavas reached over and cut off the sensors from the ground zero probe. The janibots scurried out onto the deck to take care of the puddles of vomit, but started spinning helplessly in circles. What was going on? Several crewmen scurrying about the deck slipped in vomit. This was getting dangerous.

“Podengo,” shouted Thavas, “The janibots go by smell. The air smells so bad they can’t detect the vomit!”

“I’ll call Engineering, Milord. We’ll quadruple the rate of air exchange.”

The captain did so, and the fecal odor was soon gone. The odor of vomit was soon eliminated by the janibots, which were now able to do their jobs.                                                                                            

Podengo shook his head. “Milord, it’s as if some gargantuan cosmic being had broken wind.”

Thavas stared at the screen.

“Imagine,” he mused, “A fart that could wipe out a planet. Lieutenant, show the Major to his quarters. One of the special cabins, on “C” Deck.”

Eleanna stepped forward. “Aye, aye Milord.”

A few minutes later, Buezh was surveying his new quarters. Somewhat nicer, he thought, than what Swargul had provided. He wondered who his neighbors on “C” deck might be, since Thavas had given it a certain inflection when speaking to the lieutenant. He decided to go back out and have a look around. He grasped the door handle and tried to turn it. It wouldn’t budge.