War is hell, which befits the site of a hospital and war museum on a particular asteroid. But yet, the asteroid is attacked, particularly the museum. What was stolen for the museum, and just who’s trying to get it back?
There’s probably no museum dedicated to the history of warfare in the entire galaxy larger or better stocked than the Imperial War Museum on asteroid PTSD-33 in the Morgul system. But, then, there’s probably no more successful band of warmongers than the Human Interplanetary Alliance. If there’s a war somewhere in the Milky Way, there’s a high likelihood they’re part of it. Which translates into a lot of junk brought back as memorabilia.
The other side of the asteroid – the museum taking up over half its surface and interior – is given over to St. Wilfrid’s Veterans’ Hospital. Presumably, somebody decided that the one thing every maimed and traumatized veteran of war wants is easy access to reminders of the violence that chewed them up and spat them out.
Maybe they were right. After all, I was there, having finished my convalescence and merely waiting for a seat to become available on a flight back to civilized space. Call it a certain perverseness. Call it the utter boredom of nothing left to do other than stare at the walls or plug my mind into the uplifting sim-library of sanctioned ballads. Call it the need to get away from the officious nurses. Whatever the reason, I was there.
I’ll admit it was interesting. Probably, it helped that the reason I’d been in for treatment was due to injuries received while dealing with some human space pirates, a group that the museum showed zero interest in, so there was nothing among the weaponry and armor, even in their display showing the evolution of blaster triggers that was likely to trigger any traumatic memories. Had I been gutted by a Thanarl Warrior or lost my limbs to an Algolian Arachnid, I might not have been so happy to risk coming across their displays.
Now, if you have an interest in military hardware, or the depiction of humanity’s greatest battles against each other or their alien neighbors, this is the place for you. I learned about a number of wars I was unaware of, involving the invasion of worlds I’d never heard of; and some planets with which everyone is familiar, but perhaps didn’t know once had indigenous inhabitants. I sure didn’t.
I’d just worked my way along a fascinating display of Gargenthirian Force Halberds and onto a case containing several Nablox psi-seaxes when it happened.
I’d just bent a little to get a closer look at one of the psi-seaxes when the case exploded and shattered plasglass all over me and the surrounding area.
A beam of flaming plasma shot over my head and I turned to see it hit and shatter another case. One of the blue-uniformed museum attendants was forced to leap out of the way and took shelter beside me.
“What’s happening?” I asked, wondering if one of the exhibits had somehow accidentally discharged.
She looked at me with terrified eyes, but shook her head.
There was another explosion, then a voice shouted, “You have my father!”
I risked a quick glance over the rim of the psi-seax case. Several figures in full Hagalax Powered Armor were standing among the exhibits, plasma guns smoking.
“Give me my father!”
I ducked my head and looked at the attendant. “Do you have a Hagalax on display?”
She shrugged. “I don’t think so.”
I supposed it was impossible for any individual working in the collection to know everything it contained.
I also supposed that, if a museum had put my father on display, I wouldn’t be too happy about it.
Still, randomly shooting the place up with plasma-fire wasn’t exactly boosting my sympathy.
Looking over at an undamaged case filled with lasguns, I asked the attendant, “Are those things functional?”
“No. Well, they are, but we don’t keep the packs charged.”
So, no good to me. What else?
I remembered a case with antique projectile weapons. It had also contained bullets. I understood the concept well enough, having played some historical sims as a teen. Maybe…
More plasma shot over our heads.
“Stay here,” I said and, pausing only to grab a psi-seax from where it had fallen on the floor, crawled over to the case I wanted, keeping low to avoid further shots.
Not having any psi-ability, the seax was nothing more than a lump of metal in my hands, but it served well enough to break the case and reach the weapons I wanted.
I grabbed a couple of what the accompany signs referred to as revolvers and slipped bullets into their chambers.
Then, I stood and began exchanging fire with the Hagalax who’d invaded the museum. As I dodged from cover to cover, the bullets sparked uselessly off their powered armor, but there was always a chance I might get lucky, hit a weak spot.
Well, you’ve got to hope, haven’t you?
I was, at least, serving as a distraction, so I shouted to the attendant: “Run!”
She nodded and did so, staying out of sight.
Blasts of plasma were exploding past me, destroying more of the exhibits and gouging holes in the museum walls.
One of the Hagalax produced a thermal detonator and threw it in my direction.
Desperately, I leapt out of the blast radius and behind another display. Several cases filled with the relics of war were vaporized behind me.
I couldn’t quite remember how many bullets I’d fired. Unlike the guns I was used to, these revolvers lacked displays. But, I was pretty certain I was nearly out.
I dodged behind another display, then paused. It contained something that looked almost like a gilded sarcophagus – a suit of ornate Hagalax armor in a powered-down mode.
This had to be it…
“Hey,” I shouted. Another flurry of plasma blasts came my way.
“Hey! Cut it out! Look, I think I’ve found your father.”
“Speak,” called back the irate Hagalax leading the attack, but there were no more shots.
“There’s a suit here, in this case.” I stood and waved at them. “If that’s really all you’re here for, take it and go. I’m pretty sure that security must be on their way by now. I’m going to fall back and leave you to it.”
Praying that they would just take it and go, I retreated back to hunker down behind a suit of B’Mothian Fear-nothing armor as the Hagalax warriors cautiously advanced.
“This is it!” exclaimed their leader. “Daddy!”
They broke the case open and three of them seized it up, the others providing cover for their retreat.
From somewhere nearby, I heard a cry of “Security.”
“They’re going,” I called back.
Some black-armored guards ran up. “Where are they?”
“They’re leaving.”
“Which way are they going?”
I guessed that they weren’t going to be dissuaded from pursuit – I suppose they regarded the alien’s father as their property to be retrieved – so made the decision to point them in the opposite direction to the one the retreating raiders had taken.
“That way.”
Hopefully, I could buy the Hagalax enough time to get away and avoid any more violence. I wasn’t certain, not having witnessed their entry into the museum, but I didn’t think anybody had been hurt, and certainly didn’t want that to change now.
As the guards ran off, the attendant came over, glancing about nervously.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
Handing her the revolvers, I said, “Yeah.”
I just hoped the incident didn’t affect my discharge from the hospital. I’d by far had my fill of all things military. What I really wanted, now, was a good and peaceful rest.
The question was: Was there anywhere in the galaxy where I could find one?
I had to hope the answer was ‘yes’.
Ends
