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Canto 31 – Gaijin

      In Japanese the name Gaijin means “foreigner” or “gringo”.  It denotes a barbarian who is too close to nature to truly ever understand the ways of the celestial culture of the dragons.  It was an appropriate name for the planet.  All who came there, even the dolphins and whales, were foreigners and off-worlders.  The true culture was a secret deeply embedded in the planet itself.

Dr. Naylund Smith was an immortal.  He had lived on 17^th Century Earth and been among the first explorers to leave the planet in space craft stolen from the invading Tellerons.  He had met the original Sylvani, and loved them as a people.  He used his vast knowledge and medical skill to help them evolve into the people they were now.  He and his young daughter, Sara, were standing outside the Celestial City of Kiro as the spacecraft Megadeath touched down on the plains outside the Dragon Wall.  They watched the sleek war machine settle gracefully to the soil where no starship had been for nearly 800 years.  It was with a mixture of emotions that he watched it.  He knew that the ship carried what his daughter needed most.  He also knew that it would bring an end to the peace and unspoiled beauty of the world of Gaijin.

“Daddy, are they bad men?” asked eight-year-old Sara.  Her blond hair fell golden and beautiful over one eye.  Her little-girl body was nearly lost in the graceful white silk kimono she wore.

“No, Sweet One.  They are good.”

“Why are you so sad, then?”

“Because they bring the White Spider back to us.  Things will change here.  The Gaijin I love will be no more.”

“The White Spider from the stories?  That should be exciting, shouldn’t it?”

“Perhaps.”

The little girl put her soft hand into the gnarled old turkey claw that was Naylund’s hand.  He was comforted by the gesture.

The starship touched down in sight of the Dragon Gate.  The town was surrounded by an ornately carved wall that was shaped like a dragon’s body.  The only entrance was through the Dragon Gate, the open mouth of an ornately carved Celestial Dragon.  The city was secured behind the energy barrier created by the Sylvani Technology in the wall itself.  Naylund would have to escort whoever was inside the space ship through the Dragon Gate, because he did not wish them to run afoul of either the Gate Guards or the ancient energies of the wall itself.  Only those with proper chi, like himself, could pass through unchallenged.

He walked out to meet them.

The first down the starship’s exit ramp was obviously an Earther by heritage.  His skin was pink like Naylund and Sarah’s skin, not yellow or orange like the Gaijinese.  The boy that followed the man in the fedora hat, though, was a Nebulon, blue-skinned and yellow-haired.  The boy looked Naylund directly in the eye, and revealed himself as a telepath by doing so.  Naylund was not a Psion himself, but had come to know them because Sarah was a telepath, born of a Psion mother who died mysteriously during the birth.

“So,” said Naylund, extending a hand in a gesture of welcome, “welcome to the planet, Gaijin, Honored White Spider.”

“Why do you call me that?” asked the sharp-eyed man in the fedora hat.  “I am Ged Aero.  I am here because a Psion told me to come.  I don’t know you.  Why do you call me by that name that I’ve been hearing so much lately?”

“I hate to be the one to break it to you, Ged Aero, but by stepping out of that starship, you have fulfilled an 800-year-old prophecy.  The people here will hail you as a god reborn.  You are like Jesus Christ to them.  You are here to teach them, and lead them out of their millennium of isolation.”

“Perhaps you are mistaken.  What if I am not the White Spider you seek?”

Naylund laughed.  “Shan’s Prophecy tells how you would speak those very words when you arrived here.  The people would not follow a White Spider that never doubted himself and acted without reserve.  Those are the qualities of a Black Spider.  We have too many of them all ready.”

Ged looked the old man in the eye.  Naylund could see something there he had never seen before.  This man was a different sort of Psion.  He was a changer, one who could change himself, and by doing so, change the worlds around him.

“Exactly who are you, old man?” asked Ged.

“I am Naylund-sensei.  Naylund Charles Smith, Doctor, Adventurer, and Scholar.  I am from Earth, but from long, long ago.  Ged-kun, I will help you in your new role as leader of this planet.   I pray that you will learn to love it as I do.”

“Naylund-sensei?” said the little blue boy, “who is this lovely girl?”

Naylund looked at the bright-eyed boy.  He was a handsome child with the beautiful powder-blue skin of a superior race of beings.  Naylund felt attraction to him immediately, though he had no idea yet why.

“This is my daughter, Sara Smith.  I pray that you both will learn to love her too, just as I do.”

Canto 27 – Worlds of the White Spider

      It is said that life in space exists on a spider’s web of invisible star lanes.  A photon drive can propel a starship only through certain well-defined mathematical probability arrays to a new location in geometrically-and-gravitically-folded space.  They work basically by popping in and out of reality, though you can only precisely describe the physics of it in mathematical terms.  So, of course, there are those who claim that if space is filled with spider webs, then God himself must be the Great Spider who spins it all.

The Megadeath roared into orbit around the bright blue planet that filled the life zone of a star listed on the charts as The Old Yellow Man.  It had been identified as a habitable system before, but no one had dared to come this far beyond the Imperial Borders to colonize before.  At least, no one these spacers knew about.

“This is a spectacular world,” said Vince Niell.

“Yeah, man,” said Nikki Sixx.  “Like a toatally gnarly hammertime world!”

“Wha…?” answered Cold Death.

Ged chuckled at the verbal density of his crew.  You have to be happy with the pick of the litter if the dog pound only has mutts.

“What do your sensors pick up, Cold?” Tkriashav asked Cold Death.

“Wha…?” the white-skinned bone man responded.

“Your instrument panel, you thick…” grumbled Ged.

“Oh,” Death said.  “Signal from the third moon of the big gas planet, man.  Like, ancient dudes put a scout base there.  Dead zone, dude.  No life.”

“Other signs of civilization?” asked Tkriashav.

“Stellar observatory in the third orbit.  Also dead zone.  One moon around this planet.  None around the planet in the first orbit.  Also dead zones, dude.”

“What about the planet below us?” asked Ged, beginning to grow impatient with the brain-dead zombie stoner at the sensor panel.  “Are there people or signs of civilization on this planet?”

“Whoa… Like two billion people.  Not human, man.  Humanoid, but definitely not human.”  Cold death shook his green Mohawk hair-do like a horse shakes flies off its mane.  He was definitely not human either.

“Vince?  Do you think you can land safely?” asked Ged.

“Yeah, boss man.  I can put her down on a dime.  I’ve never had such a sweet girl under my control before.  Yeah, baby!”

Ged ground a frustrated fist into his temple.  He knew there was something important about this mission because of Tkriashav’s damnable clairvoyance, but he felt he needed to know what.  Was it something for his own good?  Or something for the greater good that would mean sacrificing his own life?  He wanted to be able to make those choices himself.

“Cold Death?  I’m gonna hate myself for having to ask this, but do you find any signs of a starport down there?”

“Wha…?”

“A landing field!  A flat patch!  A place to put down where we don’t go CRASH!  BOOM! And blow up!”

“Oh, yeah, man.  Major city with walls, flat all around, dude.  Gnarly!”

“You see it, Vince?” asked Ged.

“I’m swoopin’, Daddy-o!”

“Ugh!  What does that mean?”

Ged looked at Xavier Tkriashav.  Tkriashav merely shrugged.

Canto 29 – Games with Bread and Cheese

      Ham and his little crew were taken to one of Oasis City’s finest inns.  It was a quiet little place called The White Sands.  The name was appropriate for the dry little desert world of White Palm.  The inn had a cozy restaurant and pub attached.  Having eaten Sinbadh’s stew, the crew of the Leaping Shadowcat opted for drinks.  Ham ordered a Questorian Ale, while the Madonna found a Nebulonin Root Beer on the back of the menu, and Sinbadh ordered an infamous Pan Galactican Gargle-Blaster, not knowing what it was or how it cleaned out both your sinuses and your bowels.

“You are most welcome to anything on the menu,” said the fawning gray-plated metalloid waiter.  “I understand it is all being paid for by Count Nefaria himself.”

“It is…?”  Ham was stunned.

“Yes, by means of his new heir, Count Tron.”

“Oh.”

Tron and a man with a handlebar moustache appeared from the back hallway.  Tron nodded to Ham and came straight to the copperwood table where the three crewmen of the Leaping Shadowcat sat quaffing their various brews.  Or, in Sinbadh’s case, quaffing, choking, and sneezing them.

“May we sit?” asked Tron.

“Who’s your friend?” asked Ham as innocently as he could muster.

“This is Han Ferrari, Duke of the planet Coventry.  Duke, this is Ham Aero, the safari master and explorer I told you about.”

Duke Ferrari shook Ham’s hand firmly.  “Ah, Mr. Aero.  I’ve heard of your brother Ged.  I understand he’s something of a crusader along the Imperial Rim.”

“Yes,” said Ham suspiciously.  “What are you doing so far from home, your lordship?”

“Being rescued from kidnappers by Captain Tron, it would appear.  I am also a leader of the militant opposition in the Galtorrian Imperial Court.  Emperor Slythinus has apparently tried to do away with me by recruiting Count Nefaria to do his dirty work.”

“What are you here at my table for, Tron?” asked Ham nervously.  “I know Goofy is probably dead by now.  Will you take it out on me, too?”

“Now, Hamfast,” said Tron with a smile, “I bear you no ill will.  Trav Dalgoda is fine.  I have the Crown of Stars and the so-called Orb of Essence as well.  I even now own the planet of White Palm.  I couldn’t be happier.”

“The Galtorr Imperium won’t claim the planet for themselves now that Nefaria is dead or in prison?” asked Ham.  Purple gargle-blaster ooze was leaking out of Sinbadh’s mouth and nose.  His eyes were rolling back in his head and the Madonna was trying desperately to help him.  Ham tried to concentrate on Tron and the Duke.

“I am declaring independence from the Imperium,” said Tron with a satisfied smile.  “Arkin Cloudstalker and I will use our corsair fleets to defend this place.  Let Admiral Tang try and retake it!”

“You’d take on the whole Imperial Fleet?”

“He won’t have to,” said Duke Ferrari.  “The Imperium is tied up with both a border war with the Nebulons and another unification war with my planet and the planet Farwind.  They can’t spare enough of the fleet to defeat two corsair fleets.”

“And I’ve seen your setup at Don’t Go Here,” said Tron.  “You have a large ground-bound population depending on you and Ged for release into the stars.  I know because I’ve added to it myself on occasion.”

“So, what’s your point?”

“Don’t try to hornswoggle me, boy.  You are a nominal ruler of a high-population world beyond Imperial reach.  I know you came here to kill me and rescue Goofy Dalgoda and win back the Crown of Stars, but you are in a position to commit your new planet to an alliance with my new planet.  We can help each other.”

“You want to go into planetary government?”

“We can’t screw it up any worse than the Emperor and his cronies.  And besides, I want to throw in with Duke Ferrari here and help his interplanetary civil war.  I want to see an end to the Imperium.  You know, pirate is just another word for freedom fighter in many ports.”

“And you expect me to go along with your plans because you know where to find our planet and you have all the forces you need to take it from me and my brother?”

“I expect you to talk it over with Ged Aero and have the two of you on my side.  You both know it’s the right thing to do.  I’m not the criminal you think I am.  I know Ged sees things the way they really are.  You tell him my plan and see if he doesn’t agree.”

“Ged went further into the unknown.  I don’t know where he is or when he’ll be back.  I only know he will meet me at Don’t Go Here sometime in the future.”

Tron’s sudden anger was all the uglier because of the scar he wore through one eye.  He was about to start shouting when the Madonna diffused everything.

“We say with you, Tron.  Nebulonin, human, cave men, all one side…”

“You have a pretty accent, Sweetness,” said Tron, calming down instantly, “but what the heck do you mean?”

“She says we agree,” said Ham.  “You are right.  I know Ged would want to help you.  My planet and yours, then.  Two new worlds in a new alliance.  The only question is… what will we do next?”

Over ale and good, hot pretzels with cheese from Coventry, in front of a roaring hearth-fire, the fate of the Imperial Rim was altered once and for all time.

Canto 27 – Blue Eggs and Ham

      The Leaping Shadowcat pulled into the orbit of White Palm just as the last explosions on the periphery of the battle site were dying out.  Sinbadh sat next to Ham in the copilot chair.

“So, Bucko, what be Questor like?  I have ne’er been in that there port.”

“It’s deep in the Imperial Interior, in the Phaetus Cluster with the systems of Phaetus, Xerxes, Perch, and the Talosian Systems I, II, and III.”

“Kinda the suburbs to Galtorr Prime?”

“Yeah, kinda.”

“Do it be easy livin’ there?”

“Yes, but…  Well, the Galtorrians house many of their slaves there.  Freaks, Unhumans, Mechanoids, Metalloids, all the basic slave races are housed in the ghettos of Questor.   It was oppressive growing up there and seeing all that injustice.”

“Me, I never had the chance to see the like.  My people were forever hunted out there beyond the borders, movin’ an’ hidin’, movin’ and hidin’.”

“You had it good.  When I was twelve, I had a friend who was a Mechanoid.   He was only ten when they reanimated him.  He would’ve never been able to grow up had he…  At school they caught me talking to him when he was supposed to be mucking out sewers.  They whipped me for talking to a slave.  They shut him down and scrapped him.  I found out, though, that he was still a person, just like me.  He told me all about his memories of his early life.  He remembered when he was still alive.  He felt love and fear just like we do.  I vowed after that that I would change the galaxy some day.  I wanted them to be treated the same as we are.”

“Ged feel the same?”

“He’s worse than me.  He’s careful and doesn’t get into trouble as much as I do, but he cares passionately about justice and morality.  He’s already done more to help the oppressed than I ever dared to even dream of.”

“Good man, that Ged.”

“You’ve no idea.  He’d give his life for an ideal.  He’d sacrifice himself to help you and me, too.”

It was then that the Madonna brought them lunch.  It was made of blue eggs from the starchickens of the planet Arriseah. They smelled foul and were served next to greasy slabs of fried bacon.  The meal was not healthy, but the planet-bound peoples of the Imperium believed the meal had the effect of a love potion.

“Madonna, my girl,” said Ham shaking his head, “I do not like blue eggs and bacon.”

The Madonna looked at him confused.  She wore a revealing flesh-wrap that effectively showed off her girlish blue figure.  Being a neotynous Nebulon, she had the physique of a fourteen-year-old human girl, even though she was a Nebulon woman of nearly thirty years in age.  Nebulons were child-like even when they achieved advanced age.

“I…  I read about your world… foods of love…”

Ham’s expression turned from one of disgust to one of sympathy.  He had grown fond of this Nebulon Princess.  He didn’t want to hurt her in any way.

“You don’t need to feed me Aphrodisiacs.  I love you without that.”

The Madonna smiled at him shyly.

“Well, says I,” said Sinbadh, “I better get to the galley and make this right.”  He took the eggs and bacon and headed out of the cockpit.  “I’ll make ye some of me best honey-plant stew.  I got a case of honey-plant roots on board for just such an occasion.  They can make ye fall in love too… with me cookin’, o’ course.”

The Madonna sat down in the copilot chair.  On the view screen, a large Pinwheel Corsair showed up.  Its weapons were visibly armed and ready to fire.

“Unknown vessel!” came a voice over the commo, “prepare to be boarded.”

“Negative, corsair.  You don’t need to board us.  We are friends of Captain Tron.  Radio him that Ham Aero is here to help.”

“Ham Aero?  Is Ged with you?”

“No.”

“Oh, okay.  Don’t make any foolish moves.  We’ll escort you down to the planet.”

Together the two spacecraft rolled to the left and inserted themselves into the atmosphere of White Palm.

Canto 25 – Count Nefaria

      The underground of White Palm was riddled with ancient tunnels and warrens that may have been caused by nature, or may have been evidence of a lost civilization.  They meandered everywhere just under the surface of an entire planet.  They varied in temperature from cool and dark, to bright-hot ovens.  Navigating them was perilous.

Dana Cole led the way with Trav Dalgoda hovering right behind her.  She knew the passages Nefaria used, and she made Trav hold the densitometer, a gravitic device meant to read matter density and reveal open spaces, to read the makeup and general shape of what lay ahead.  Tron and Maggie came behind, pistols and lasers at the ready.  Artran came next with a stuffed Pleezy-bear under one arm.  Arkin Cloudstalker and Sheherazade came after the boy, also fully armed and ready.  The rest of the ground troops covered all exits from the Oasis City underground.

“We have to go carefully,” said Dana Cole.  “Nefaria imported tunnel fuzzies from Galtorr to serve as underground guard dogs.”

“Tunnel fuzzies?” asked Tron.

“You know,” she explained, “those acid-spitting green spiders with the hundreds of eyes?  The ones with the plastic fur that make insulation good enough to bathe in lava without getting burnt.”

“Fascinating,” said Cloudstalker ironically.

“There’s a large corridor ahead,” said Goofy, grinning.  “There’s a really big room beyond that.”  The densitometer made his face glow with unnatural purple light.

“This place sure is spooky,” said Artran.

Without warning, a stream of bright yellow-green acid flew over their heads and melted an alcove into the sandstone on the far side of them.

“Tunnel fuzzy!” cried Dana, scrambling to get down under cover as she looked frantically for the source of the toxic goo.

“I see it!” cried Tron, lasering into another dark alcove with his green pulse-laser rifle.

Acid splattered everywhere, leaving pock marks in the walls, sores on exposed skin, and holes in clothing and body armor.  Artran began to cry.

“Are you hurt, Snookums?” asked Maggie in parental agony.

“No.  It’s Little Goofy!”  The boy held up his now headless Pleezy-bear, the fuzzy smiley face burned off by acid.

“Keep a sharp eye out!” warned Dana.  “That could happen to any of us!”

Watching warily, the assault team inched forward.  Trav’s nervous eyes were glued to the densitometer screen.  They eased into the major corridor.  A quick firefight dispatched three of Nefaria’s police robots.  They were swept quickly away by the surprise attack.

As the group bolted through the door into the big chamber, they came face to face with Nefaria and Sorcerer 6.  Neither the monocled, gray-haired villain, nor the white-skinned Synthezoid were happy about the turn of events.

“Well, Captain Tron and friends!” said Nefaria, trying to act suave and sophisticated though obviously rattled.  “What brings you to my humble home?”

“I do,” said Dana Cole.  “You and the other members of Expedition One betrayed me.  One of your Sorcerers nearly killed me!”

“Believe me,” said Sorcerer 6, “no one regrets the failed attempt more than I.”

“Oh, I believe you all right, you slimy white android!”  Dana shot the new Sorcerer right between the eyes with an auto burst from her advanced combat rifle.  Microchips and synthetic flesh flew everywhere.

“Now, let’s not get vindictive!” pleaded Count Nefaria, his monocle falling out.

“Oh, I think we should!” cried Trav stupidly; pulling out the Skortch ray he had taken from the corpse of Sorcerer 3.  He skortched Nefaria before Tron could grab the illegal weapon.  The stunned Count dissolved into hot ashes in seconds, completely disintegrated.  The monocle tinkled as it hit the stone floor.

“You numb-noggin!” cried Tron, grabbing the deadly weapon out of Goofy’s hands.  “We still needed vital information out of that criminal bug-head!”

“Oh… gee… I’m sorry, boss,” said Trav, humbled.

“Kill the Goof now!” insisted Maggie.

Dana stepped in front of her beloved imbecile.

“Please, forgive Uncle Goofy,” pleaded Artran.

Tron looked down at his son’s cherubic face and lowered his guns.  “I forgive you, Goofy, but you will make it up to me with some hard work.  Man that densitometer!  We’ve got to find Nefaria’s prison and his treasure house.”

“Maybe Miss Cole can help with those, too,” suggested Cloudstalker.

“Maybe she can,” nodded Tron.

Sheherazade nudged with her foot the ruin that was once the Synthezoid, Sorcerer 6.  “Do you suppose this is the last one of these?”

“I doubt it,” said Cloudstalker.  “It has too much of the stink of Syn Corporation about it.”

“I hope it isn’t the last,” muttered Tron.  “I need to kill that conehead a few more times myself just to feel good about it.”