THE PALACE OF ANGELS

Peter Freewheel

Greg crept silently around the corner of the deserted, rubble strewn street, then swiftly darted back as he heard footsteps coming from a side road.. Everything was silent save for the echoing of the footfalls as they drew steadily nearer. He peered around the corner, straining to see clearly in the dim light of the early morning. It was an officer. Greg stepped out and the officer walked over towards him.. He was suddenly suspicious; this man wasn't walking like an officer, more like a Z! Greg raised his sub-machine gun and sent a stream of bullets pounding into the other as he approached. The man. staggered a few steps and collapsed to the ground. Greg dived forward and rolled over as a machine gun opened up from a nearby building, sending a hail of bullets whining all around him. As he rolled, he pulled out a grenade, jumped back onto his feet and hurled it at the window from which the firing had come. His uncanny aim seat the grenade spinning through the open window, and a second later a huge explosion rent the air. He hit the. ground once again as rubble rained down all about him. When the chaos had ceased he got to his feet once more, grinning with satisfaction at the huge hole torn in the building's side. He looked up and down the street, then satisfied that it was deserted, picked up his gun and continued his measured pacing along the sidewalk, searching all the while for his companion, Jun, who had been lost shortly before a fierce attack by the Zs. He had to be around here somewhere. After about three minutes he came to the mouth of a dark alley. At the end of it was a shadowy silhouette, which he recognised as Jun. He seemed to be staring down towards his feet. "Jun," he whispered. "It's me, Greg. Don't shoot." Jun continued, to stare blankly at his feet. As Greg walked up to him he saw the other man was staring at a bundle of blood spattered rags. "What is it?" Greg hissed, shaking Jun to rouse him. Jun looked up as though recognising his companion for the first time. He spoke in a flat monotone: "A door opened - a little girl came out. I thought she was a Z, but I couldn't be sure. I hesitated - she was running to me for safety, but I blasted her at point blank range." "We all make mistakes," Greg muttered. "Come on, let's get away from here." He grabbed Jun by the arm and led him back along the street. Suddenly Jun stiffened. "What now?" Greg asked, knowing that his companion was gifted with a highly acute sense of hearing. "Planes!" Jun rasped. "Ours!" "Then lets get the hell out of here," Greg muttered. "They're bound the bomb the guts out of the whole city!" He pulled out his communicator. "Come in base, Greg here. Come in." He cursed as the static crackled, then shrugged. "No good," he stated tersely. They ran out to the centre of the street, and stared up at the sky. A huge fleet of planes flashed overhead, deafening the two soldiers with the roar of their engines. But no bombs fell. "Must have been a warning," Greg commented. "They may well be back," Jun countered. "We'd better make for the shelter, just in case," Greg decided. They ran along the street until they arrived at a sign marking what had once been the entrance to a subway system. They descended into the tunnels, a hundred feet below the surface. Jun listened cautiously. "What now?" Greg hissed. "There is something moving further along the tunnel," Jun said. They both hefted their guns and moved on down the dark tunnel, towards the sound. They stopped before a heavy steel door. "It's in here," Jun stated. Greg lifted his gun and blasted the door in. The two ran inside, weapons at the ready. A startled, tattered man looked up at them with frightened eyes. "Don't shoot," he quavered. "What the hell are you doing down here?" Greg asked. "Couldn't leave," muttered the man. "Too dangerous." "Have you any idea of what they're going to do with this city?" Greg asked, aghast. "They can't hurt me down here, even with bombs," the man countered regaining some of his composure. "How about atomic bombs?" Jun muttered. "Hah! We wouldn't dare, and the Zs ain't got no bombs, AND they don't come underground. No I'm staying here, it's safer." "Are you alone?" Jun asked, peering. "We heard voices." The old man grinned. "You must have heard my triviewer," He leaned over and turned up the sound. It was one of the military stations that came through. "And now we are going over to Grendon, where our team have just been parachuted down on the outskirts of the Palace of Angels." "That's what those planes were," Greg stated. "They must be mad," Jun breathed. They don't stand a chance." As he spoke the picture changed from the studio to a shaky view of barren countryside swarming with troops. An announcer came into view, crouching low. "Jason Swarm, live from the outskirts of Grendon, " he announced. He looked behind him uncertainly at a rattle of machine gun fire, then continued : "Our boys are about to make an attack on the Palace. We're being backed up by bombers that are going to soften it up first." As if on cue the sky was suddenly full of planes. Behind the announcer someone pointed upwards and shouted, "get down!" There followed an uncertain scene, with men running in all directions and the camera swinging wildly about. Then, in the near distance came a terrific explosion. The picture rocked again, finally coming to rest and refocusing on the announcer who was now lying flat on his belly, still holding onto his microphone, spattered with dust and dirt. "Looks like one of our bombs went a little off target there," he said dryly, The picture rocked once more as further explosions ripped at the ground. "That was the other bombs," he added unnecessarily. He got up into a crouching position once again. The troops could be seen moving forward. "Our boys are going in now," he stated. The view lurched as the camera followed behind the troops. "I don't think that the bombs did much good," the announcer continued. "We should see some action soon; the troops are nearing the outskirts of the Palace." The view shifted forward in the wake of the advancing men and settled on the Palace itself, which glowed with a strange blue light. The camera refocused onto the faces of the troops. They were grim with determination. Figures began to pour forth from the front of the Palace. "Z's," rapped the announcer, trying to make himself heard above the rattle of machine gun fire. The next few minutes were confused and the announcer's voice was silent. When the battle ended the ground was strewn with bodies and the fact that the picture didn't shift suggested to Greg that the camera crew had met a similar fate to that of the dead soldiers strewn about. There was a sudden blur as a Z appeared in the picture, right in front of the camera, completely out of focus. Then the screen went blank. "Fools," Jun cursed. "What idiot sent them to the Palace? It was certain death." "It's safe to go back outside now," Greg muttered, ashen. Jun pointed at the old man. "What about him?" "Leave him here. He's harmless. If he wants to die down here, let him." They left the oldster gawping after them and made their way cautiously up to the street again. As they emerged, a teenage girl went darting across the road. Greg shot her without compunction. Jun grabbed at him angrily. "What if she WASN'T a Z?" "She shouldn't be in the city," Greg replied calmly. "Nor should that old man down there," countered Jun, "but we didn't kill him!" Greg shrugged, abruptly changing the subject. "It's Christmas day," he said announced. "What?" Jun breathed incredulously. "This is war" Greg shouted, thinking back to the girl. "There's no room for emotion. Anyway, it IS Christmas Day." Jun looked sick. "Perhaps she came into the city to try to find something decent to eat for Christmas. They don't get that much any good in the camps they've been moved to." He paused. "God, this war has been going on for eight months. I'd lost all track of time." "You'd better accept the fact that a lot more innocent people will die. It's them or us. You gotta-" Greg heard a sound behind him. A shape moved forward and he fired. There was a dull moan followed by a thud. The figure fell forward in the light of the early sun. "It's the old man from the shelter," Jun muttered. "He was right," Greg said bitterly, he was safer down there." Jun looked up at the brightening sky. "Curse the Russian Military," he shouted, his voice sobbing with emotion. Greg remained silent, thinking back to the day only nine months ago, when the Russians had announced that they had made contact with another entity. No-one took any real notice; it had been good for a laugh at the end of a newscast, that was all. Then, suddenly most of Eastern Europe was destroyed; so swiftly and violently that the entire world was stunned. Asia and America cowered at the mere thought of such violence. Before they could work out what had happened, a huge blue light rose up above the destroyed area of Russia. It spread across the world, dissipating slowly as it went. When it vanished, the Zs had arrived. In cities all over the world they had appeared. They killed with firearms, and firearms only, and, for some strange unfathomable reason, they could only BE killed with guns. Bombs, knives, swords, even atomic weapons, were all powerless to mark them -only a bullet could kill a Z. No-one know why. The blue glow had finally reappeared here in the town on Grendon. Slowly the Palace Of Angels had taken form and here it had remained for the last eight months, impregnable and invincible to attack. "Come on," Greg said. "Our turn of duty is almost over. Let's be getting back to base." Jun nodded silently. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ Their return to base was uneventful, but as soon as they were within the perimeter a man from the Commander's office rushed up to them. "Hey you guys," he called out. "The Commander wants to see you right away." "But we've just come off patrol," Jun argued. "Don't do you no good to tell me that, buddy," the man replied. "I just carry out the orders, and they are that you're to report to the Commander as soon as you return." Silently, they followed the man back to the Commander's office. The intercom bade them enter. They found the Commander seated behind his desk. "Ah, Gregson, Smith," he greeted them. "Sit down. You two have been chosen for a special operation. Now I want you to watch this film; it was taken during a recent battle with the Z's." The lights flickered out in the office as the Commander touched a small switch set into his desk. The far wall lit up with the projected picture of the battleground. "Now watch that man there," ordered the Commander. "He's dropped his gun. Now, as you can see, there are Z's all around him killing everyone on our side, but not him. See, now he's the only one left in the area but they don't seem interested. Watch, he's going for his gun. As soon as he picks it up, they shoot him." The lights flickered back on. "What does that suggest to you?" "He was lucky for a while?" Greg suggested. The Commander shook his head. "We don't think so. The Zs are too methodical in their killing for that. It is our belief that the Z's will not kill an unarmed person." "Have you any further data to verify that, sir?" Jun asked. "No. As you might guess, there aren't many people nowadays, even children, who don't carry a gun when they come into the city." "I can't blame them, either," Jun commented dryly. "Danger from the Z's is all around us," the Commander agreed. "I wasn't only thinking of the Z's," Jun retorted. "I'll pretend I didn't hear that," the Commander replied sharply. "Yes, sir," Jun mumbled. "Now then," the other continued, "we can't waste time. We must put this theory to the test at once. You two will leave immediately for the Palace Of Angels. Your mission: to attempt to gain entry to the Palace and destroy it." "But we've only just come back from a long patrol," Jun protested. "Smith, I'm not asking for a volunteer, I'm giving you an order. You two have been selected from a profile analysis as the right team for this job." "And what if I refuse?" Jun shouted. "Then you'll be shot," the Commander explained coldly. "I'm sick of this bloody war," Jun cursed. "I'm sick of killing innocent people!" The Commander looked up at Jun, who had leapt from his seat in the heat of the moment, his face creased with a great strain. "We're all sick of this war, Smith," he muttered, suddenly not at all like a Commander of Earth's' armed forces. "I think you might as well know that we're much nearer the edge of defeat than is generally realised. If you two don't succeed in destroying the Palace, or at least learning some of the it's secrets, we shall have no alternative but to order the commencement of the destruction of all of Earth's cities. For some obscure reason, as mystical as everything else about them, the Zs will not venture out into the countryside, save for this small area near the Palace." Jun stared at the Commander agasht. "Destroy the world to save it?" he gasped. The Commander held up a document. "This is the order from Supreme Command signed by the President himself. This town will be the first to go." Jun took the document and read it with trembling hands, He silently handed it back to the Commander, then saluted, turned and left. Gregson looked uncertainly at the Commander. "You're dismissed," the Commander said softly. As Greg reached out to open the door he added; "And good luck." Jun was standing white faced outside the door as Greg came out. "Destroy the world," he muttered. "It's up to us to save it." His voice became grim and determined. "We'd better leave right away; we don't have much time." He unbelted his gun and let it fall to the ground. Greg discarded his also. They went out to a waiting jeep and got in. "Shouldn't we have some sort of plan?" Greg wondered. "I think we might as well simply drive up and try to get in - the answer lies in the simplicity of it all. If they're going to kill us, even though we're unarmed, we'll die no matter how fancy a plan we think up." They drove through the rubble-strewn streets in silence. Every now and then they saw a figure dart out of the shadows and occasionally a burst of gunfire sounded in the distance. A few minutes later they had arrived at the outskirts of the Palace; all around were dead bodies and the ground was stained with blood. They drew cautiously to a halt and got out of the Jeep. They began to walk towards the entrance to the Palace. "Look," Jun whispered. From inside the Palace a figure strode out, and, as it came nearer they could tell from the orange eyes and the shapeless lumps that served it as ears that it was a Z. They continued to walk on, passing within a fear inches of the creature. It paid them no attention and the gun it held was not raised. "It ignored us," whispered Smith excitedly. "Maybe what the Commander said was true." "We're not inside yet," Greg cautioned, "but things do look hopeful. If we destroy all our guns we may at least be able to live in peace with one another." Jun Smith smiled sardonically. "Do you think High Command would be satisfied with a compromise? They want victory and nothing else." They had now reached the entrance to the Palace. They paused there, unsure whether or not to enter. "This is it," Smith said tersely. He stepped forward and disappeared from his companion's sight. Greg paused for a moment, waiting for him to reappear, then, with a deep breath, followed. He saw Jun standing gazing at the walls, which shimmered with a soft light, flickering pastel blue. Somewhere a muted musical instrument played. He remained silent, thinking that to speak in this place would be sacrilege. A feeling of well- being and peace pervaded his mind and relaxed the tense muscles of his body. "Jun," he whispered. "Is this real?" As if in a dream, Smith turned to face him, nodding. He motioned for Greg to follow him down a passageway. They walked on together. A Z suddenly appeared before them from a gap in the wall. It paid them no attention, but Greg and Jun gaped at it in awe, for in the reflected light of this strange place the creature glowed a soft yellow. They followed its journey down the corridor from which they had come until it was lost to their sight, then they continued on their own course, wondering at the beauty all around them. Finally they emerged into a large hall, which seemed to be the heart of the Palace. They guessed that all the corridors led into this vast area. As they gazed about them, awed for a moment by the dimensions of the massive room, the ceiling seemed to shimmer and cleared into a dazzling white. Abruptly there was a picture there, an alien being, unlike anything that the two soldiers had seen before. His face, and his naked body, were green, and every now and then a swirl of bluish vapour obscured the picture, hiding him from their view. "An alien," Greg breathed. "He's living in a poison atmosphere, too." "I wonder where that picture's coming from?" Jun muttered, his voice low. "It's not Earth, that's for sure." As the vapour cleared once more from the alien figure, Greg saw that Jun was right. Behind the being was what looked like a window, and the view outside was utterly alien to everything they knew. Greenish-blue gases swirled across a crimson landscape, and vague grey shapes, tantalising in their surrealistic motion, drifted across the landscape in the wake of the eddies of gas. The alien spoke, and it's lips moved at the same time, but Jun saw that the two motions were not synchronised perfectly. "Its speech is being translated for us," he whispered. "There must be a master computer somewhere in this place." "Welcome to the Palace," the alien's translated words came from the air about them, "you of your race have penetrated the Receiving Station. Doubtless you are eager for an explanation of our coming, and you shall have your curiosity satisfied." The creature shifted in its seat slightly then continued : "We Ygli are a race that has spread out across your Galaxy. We were at your stage in civilisation some thousands of your years ago. When we first ventured out across the stars we met all kinds of races, some friendly and peaceful, same hostile and war-like. We have given up all thought of war, and so an interstellar conflict would be unthinkable to us. Thus the Receiving Stations were developed to test new races. Our drone probes kept up a constant watch on all worlds of the Galaxy where civilised races were nearing the point when they would be able to venture out of their own systems and cross the interstellar gulfs. When a world reached this point in its development, as yours did recently, we dispatched one of our Receiving Stations to that Planet. Upon arrival, the Station attunes itself to the mood of the planetary inhabitants and reacts accordingly. If the planet's population are prepared to receive our station in peace, it becomes a school from the stars, dispensing knowledge and gifts of our technology. If on the other hand, the inhabitants greet it with hostility, the Station reacts in kind, fighting fire with fire, making sure that the hostile race never spreads out across the Galaxy to menace the Ygli empire. You will know by now how the Station has responded to the situation on your world. Even if you have met it with force, it is not too late to change it's programme. Lay down your arms, come here in peace, and our knowledge and skills will be made available to your people." The voice stopped and the screen went blank again. The harsh breathing of the two soldiers echoed loudly in the vast room. "Now we know why," Greg muttered. Jun nodded. "When the-Station landed in Russia they must have taken it for an American trick and blasted it or something." Greg looked doubtful. "No, their statement that they had made contact with some alien entity indicates that they knew that they were dealing with something from another world. More likely they were thinking that the aliens would help them gain mastery of Earth by force of arms. When it became obvious that the Station was not on Earth to help just them, their military must have lost their heads and tried to destroy it. And, of course, the Station reacted to the threat, and destroyed them instead. It's only a guess, of course, but I think that's what must have happened." "Yes, but even then it would not have been too late for the rest of the world. The Station destroyed only the east of Europe, then moved itself to a position in the territory of the other great power - America. Us! It was giving us the chance to behave differently from the Russians, and our Generals threw the chance away." "But why do they use only guns? And why is it that guns are the only effective weapon against then?" Jun shrugged. "Who can say. Maybe it's some peculiar sense of fair play programmed into the minds of the Z's, the fighting robots of their alien masters. Maybe the first contact they had with someone here resulting in them being shot at with a gun and so that's how they responded. This place is shrouded in mysteries, and we may never have all the answers." Greg shook his head sadly, then looked back at Jun as the other grabbed his arm savagely. "What is it?" he protested, shaking Jun off. Jun held up his watch. "Look at the time. We must have gone into some state of such well being that we lost track of reality. We have been in here far too long; ten times longer than it seemed. The destruction of the cities must have started. We must stop them and tell them the truth." They rushed back to entrance of the Palace, back into the open air. Compared with the brilliance of the Palace's interior, everything outside looked dull and flat. There was a sudden roaring overhead as Jun pointed up to the sky. It was black with swarming planes - bombs hurtled down. A huge explosion tore up gouts of the horizon, and the city was engulfed in a ball of fire. "My God," Jun breathed. 'We're too late." Greg pointed into the sky, screamed and pushed Jun down. A violent explosion tore the earth apart all about them and Smith was pummelled with flying debris. When the rain of junk stopped he got slowly to his feet. He looked all around, then gasped with horror. Greg's body lay still on the ground, half covered in jagged lumps of debris. He was obviously dead. Sickened by the sight, Jun Smith staggered away. A further bomb fell near him, mortally wounding him with the shock of its concussion, but still he plodded across the cratered wilderness that had been Grendon. Three hours later he was found, dead, by a platoon of soldiers combing the wreckage for Z's. By then, of course, it was too late to do any good. Beyond the chaos of the bombs' destruction, the Palace of Angels still stood, bathed in its blue glow, unharmed by the onslaught. One of the soldiers gazed up, his face lit by its blue radiance and cursed it long and loudly. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ "-and let this be a grim warning to us all," the General concluded his broadcast to the nation. "The Z's Palace still stands mocking the people of Earth. But we are not finished. Our cities must be destroyed, but we will continue the fight from the countryside, we will never give in. Our dead and lost will be avenged." And his mighty iron fist crashed down onto the table in further emphasis.

THE PALACE OF ANGELS

Peter Freewheel

Greg crept silently around the corner of the deserted, rubble strewn street, then swiftly darted back as he heard footsteps coming from a side road.. Everything was silent save for the echoing of the footfalls as they drew steadily nearer. He peered around the corner, straining to see clearly in the dim light of the early morning. It was an officer. Greg stepped out and the officer walked over towards him.. He was suddenly suspicious; this man wasn't walking like an officer, more like a Z! Greg raised his sub-machine gun and sent a stream of bullets pounding into the other as he approached. The man. staggered a few steps and collapsed to the ground. Greg dived forward and rolled over as a machine gun opened up from a nearby building, sending a hail of bullets whining all around him. As he rolled, he pulled out a grenade, jumped back onto his feet and hurled it at the window from which the firing had come. His uncanny aim seat the grenade spinning through the open window, and a second later a huge explosion rent the air. He hit the. ground once again as rubble rained down all about him. When the chaos had ceased he got to his feet once more, grinning with satisfaction at the huge hole torn in the building's side. He looked up and down the street, then satisfied that it was deserted, picked up his gun and continued his measured pacing along the sidewalk, searching all the while for his companion, Jun, who had been lost shortly before a fierce attack by the Zs. He had to be around here somewhere. After about three minutes he came to the mouth of a dark alley. At the end of it was a shadowy silhouette, which he recognised as Jun. He seemed to be staring down towards his feet. "Jun," he whispered. "It's me, Greg. Don't shoot." Jun continued, to stare blankly at his feet. As Greg walked up to him he saw the other man was staring at a bundle of blood spattered rags. "What is it?" Greg hissed, shaking Jun to rouse him. Jun looked up as though recognising his companion for the first time. He spoke in a flat monotone: "A door opened - a little girl came out. I thought she was a Z, but I couldn't be sure. I hesitated - she was running to me for safety, but I blasted her at point blank range." "We all make mistakes," Greg muttered. "Come on, let's get away from here." He grabbed Jun by the arm and led him back along the street. Suddenly Jun stiffened. "What now?" Greg asked, knowing that his companion was gifted with a highly acute sense of hearing. "Planes!" Jun rasped. "Ours!" "Then lets get the hell out of here," Greg muttered. "They're bound the bomb the guts out of the whole city!" He pulled out his communicator. "Come in base, Greg here. Come in." He cursed as the static crackled, then shrugged. "No good," he stated tersely. They ran out to the centre of the street, and stared up at the sky. A huge fleet of planes flashed overhead, deafening the two soldiers with the roar of their engines. But no bombs fell. "Must have been a warning," Greg commented. "They may well be back," Jun countered. "We'd better make for the shelter, just in case," Greg decided. They ran along the street until they arrived at a sign marking what had once been the entrance to a subway system. They descended into the tunnels, a hundred feet below the surface. Jun listened cautiously. "What now?" Greg hissed. "There is something moving further along the tunnel," Jun said. They both hefted their guns and moved on down the dark tunnel, towards the sound. They stopped before a heavy steel door. "It's in here," Jun stated. Greg lifted his gun and blasted the door in. The two ran inside, weapons at the ready. A startled, tattered man looked up at them with frightened eyes. "Don't shoot," he quavered. "What the hell are you doing down here?" Greg asked. "Couldn't leave," muttered the man. "Too dangerous." "Have you any idea of what they're going to do with this city?" Greg asked, aghast. "They can't hurt me down here, even with bombs," the man countered regaining some of his composure. "How about atomic bombs?" Jun muttered. "Hah! We wouldn't dare, and the Zs ain't got no bombs, AND they don't come underground. No I'm staying here, it's safer." "Are you alone?" Jun asked, peering. "We heard voices." The old man grinned. "You must have heard my triviewer," He leaned over and turned up the sound. It was one of the military stations that came through. "And now we are going over to Grendon, where our team have just been parachuted down on the outskirts of the Palace of Angels." "That's what those planes were," Greg stated. "They must be mad," Jun breathed. They don't stand a chance." As he spoke the picture changed from the studio to a shaky view of barren countryside swarming with troops. An announcer came into view, crouching low. "Jason Swarm, live from the outskirts of Grendon, " he announced. He looked behind him uncertainly at a rattle of machine gun fire, then continued : "Our boys are about to make an attack on the Palace. We're being backed up by bombers that are going to soften it up first." As if on cue the sky was suddenly full of planes. Behind the announcer someone pointed upwards and shouted, "get down!" There followed an uncertain scene, with men running in all directions and the camera swinging wildly about. Then, in the near distance came a terrific explosion. The picture rocked again, finally coming to rest and refocusing on the announcer who was now lying flat on his belly, still holding onto his microphone, spattered with dust and dirt. "Looks like one of our bombs went a little off target there," he said dryly, The picture rocked once more as further explosions ripped at the ground. "That was the other bombs," he added unnecessarily. He got up into a crouching position once again. The troops could be seen moving forward. "Our boys are going in now," he stated. The view lurched as the camera followed behind the troops. "I don't think that the bombs did much good," the announcer continued. "We should see some action soon; the troops are nearing the outskirts of the Palace." The view shifted forward in the wake of the advancing men and settled on the Palace itself, which glowed with a strange blue light. The camera refocused onto the faces of the troops. They were grim with determination. Figures began to pour forth from the front of the Palace. "Z's," rapped the announcer, trying to make himself heard above the rattle of machine gun fire. The next few minutes were confused and the announcer's voice was silent. When the battle ended the ground was strewn with bodies and the fact that the picture didn't shift suggested to Greg that the camera crew had met a similar fate to that of the dead soldiers strewn about. There was a sudden blur as a Z appeared in the picture, right in front of the camera, completely out of focus. Then the screen went blank. "Fools," Jun cursed. "What idiot sent them to the Palace? It was certain death." "It's safe to go back outside now," Greg muttered, ashen. Jun pointed at the old man. "What about him?" "Leave him here. He's harmless. If he wants to die down here, let him." They left the oldster gawping after them and made their way cautiously up to the street again. As they emerged, a teenage girl went darting across the road. Greg shot her without compunction. Jun grabbed at him angrily. "What if she WASN'T a Z?" "She shouldn't be in the city," Greg replied calmly. "Nor should that old man down there," countered Jun, "but we didn't kill him!" Greg shrugged, abruptly changing the subject. "It's Christmas day," he said announced. "What?" Jun breathed incredulously. "This is war" Greg shouted, thinking back to the girl. "There's no room for emotion. Anyway, it IS Christmas Day." Jun looked sick. "Perhaps she came into the city to try to find something decent to eat for Christmas. They don't get that much any good in the camps they've been moved to." He paused. "God, this war has been going on for eight months. I'd lost all track of time." "You'd better accept the fact that a lot more innocent people will die. It's them or us. You gotta-" Greg heard a sound behind him. A shape moved forward and he fired. There was a dull moan followed by a thud. The figure fell forward in the light of the early sun. "It's the old man from the shelter," Jun muttered. "He was right," Greg said bitterly, he was safer down there." Jun looked up at the brightening sky. "Curse the Russian Military," he shouted, his voice sobbing with emotion. Greg remained silent, thinking back to the day only nine months ago, when the Russians had announced that they had made contact with another entity. No-one took any real notice; it had been good for a laugh at the end of a newscast, that was all. Then, suddenly most of Eastern Europe was destroyed; so swiftly and violently that the entire world was stunned. Asia and America cowered at the mere thought of such violence. Before they could work out what had happened, a huge blue light rose up above the destroyed area of Russia. It spread across the world, dissipating slowly as it went. When it vanished, the Zs had arrived. In cities all over the world they had appeared. They killed with firearms, and firearms only, and, for some strange unfathomable reason, they could only BE killed with guns. Bombs, knives, swords, even atomic weapons, were all powerless to mark them -only a bullet could kill a Z. No-one know why. The blue glow had finally reappeared here in the town on Grendon. Slowly the Palace Of Angels had taken form and here it had remained for the last eight months, impregnable and invincible to attack. "Come on," Greg said. "Our turn of duty is almost over. Let's be getting back to base." Jun nodded silently. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ Their return to base was uneventful, but as soon as they were within the perimeter a man from the Commander's office rushed up to them. "Hey you guys," he called out. "The Commander wants to see you right away." "But we've just come off patrol," Jun argued. "Don't do you no good to tell me that, buddy," the man replied. "I just carry out the orders, and they are that you're to report to the Commander as soon as you return." Silently, they followed the man back to the Commander's office. The intercom bade them enter. They found the Commander seated behind his desk. "Ah, Gregson, Smith," he greeted them. "Sit down. You two have been chosen for a special operation. Now I want you to watch this film; it was taken during a recent battle with the Z's." The lights flickered out in the office as the Commander touched a small switch set into his desk. The far wall lit up with the projected picture of the battleground. "Now watch that man there," ordered the Commander. "He's dropped his gun. Now, as you can see, there are Z's all around him killing everyone on our side, but not him. See, now he's the only one left in the area but they don't seem interested. Watch, he's going for his gun. As soon as he picks it up, they shoot him." The lights flickered back on. "What does that suggest to you?" "He was lucky for a while?" Greg suggested. The Commander shook his head. "We don't think so. The Zs are too methodical in their killing for that. It is our belief that the Z's will not kill an unarmed person." "Have you any further data to verify that, sir?" Jun asked. "No. As you might guess, there aren't many people nowadays, even children, who don't carry a gun when they come into the city." "I can't blame them, either," Jun commented dryly. "Danger from the Z's is all around us," the Commander agreed. "I wasn't only thinking of the Z's," Jun retorted. "I'll pretend I didn't hear that," the Commander replied sharply. "Yes, sir," Jun mumbled. "Now then," the other continued, "we can't waste time. We must put this theory to the test at once. You two will leave immediately for the Palace Of Angels. Your mission: to attempt to gain entry to the Palace and destroy it." "But we've only just come back from a long patrol," Jun protested. "Smith, I'm not asking for a volunteer, I'm giving you an order. You two have been selected from a profile analysis as the right team for this job." "And what if I refuse?" Jun shouted. "Then you'll be shot," the Commander explained coldly. "I'm sick of this bloody war," Jun cursed. "I'm sick of killing innocent people!" The Commander looked up at Jun, who had leapt from his seat in the heat of the moment, his face creased with a great strain. "We're all sick of this war, Smith," he muttered, suddenly not at all like a Commander of Earth's' armed forces. "I think you might as well know that we're much nearer the edge of defeat than is generally realised. If you two don't succeed in destroying the Palace, or at least learning some of the it's secrets, we shall have no alternative but to order the commencement of the destruction of all of Earth's cities. For some obscure reason, as mystical as everything else about them, the Zs will not venture out into the countryside, save for this small area near the Palace." Jun stared at the Commander agasht. "Destroy the world to save it?" he gasped. The Commander held up a document. "This is the order from Supreme Command signed by the President himself. This town will be the first to go." Jun took the document and read it with trembling hands, He silently handed it back to the Commander, then saluted, turned and left. Gregson looked uncertainly at the Commander. "You're dismissed," the Commander said softly. As Greg reached out to open the door he added; "And good luck." Jun was standing white faced outside the door as Greg came out. "Destroy the world," he muttered. "It's up to us to save it." His voice became grim and determined. "We'd better leave right away; we don't have much time." He unbelted his gun and let it fall to the ground. Greg discarded his also. They went out to a waiting jeep and got in. "Shouldn't we have some sort of plan?" Greg wondered. "I think we might as well simply drive up and try to get in - the answer lies in the simplicity of it all. If they're going to kill us, even though we're unarmed, we'll die no matter how fancy a plan we think up." They drove through the rubble-strewn streets in silence. Every now and then they saw a figure dart out of the shadows and occasionally a burst of gunfire sounded in the distance. A few minutes later they had arrived at the outskirts of the Palace; all around were dead bodies and the ground was stained with blood. They drew cautiously to a halt and got out of the Jeep. They began to walk towards the entrance to the Palace. "Look," Jun whispered. From inside the Palace a figure strode out, and, as it came nearer they could tell from the orange eyes and the shapeless lumps that served it as ears that it was a Z. They continued to walk on, passing within a fear inches of the creature. It paid them no attention and the gun it held was not raised. "It ignored us," whispered Smith excitedly. "Maybe what the Commander said was true." "We're not inside yet," Greg cautioned, "but things do look hopeful. If we destroy all our guns we may at least be able to live in peace with one another." Jun Smith smiled sardonically. "Do you think High Command would be satisfied with a compromise? They want victory and nothing else." They had now reached the entrance to the Palace. They paused there, unsure whether or not to enter. "This is it," Smith said tersely. He stepped forward and disappeared from his companion's sight. Greg paused for a moment, waiting for him to reappear, then, with a deep breath, followed. He saw Jun standing gazing at the walls, which shimmered with a soft light, flickering pastel blue. Somewhere a muted musical instrument played. He remained silent, thinking that to speak in this place would be sacrilege. A feeling of well- being and peace pervaded his mind and relaxed the tense muscles of his body. "Jun," he whispered. "Is this real?" As if in a dream, Smith turned to face him, nodding. He motioned for Greg to follow him down a passageway. They walked on together. A Z suddenly appeared before them from a gap in the wall. It paid them no attention, but Greg and Jun gaped at it in awe, for in the reflected light of this strange place the creature glowed a soft yellow. They followed its journey down the corridor from which they had come until it was lost to their sight, then they continued on their own course, wondering at the beauty all around them. Finally they emerged into a large hall, which seemed to be the heart of the Palace. They guessed that all the corridors led into this vast area. As they gazed about them, awed for a moment by the dimensions of the massive room, the ceiling seemed to shimmer and cleared into a dazzling white. Abruptly there was a picture there, an alien being, unlike anything that the two soldiers had seen before. His face, and his naked body, were green, and every now and then a swirl of bluish vapour obscured the picture, hiding him from their view. "An alien," Greg breathed. "He's living in a poison atmosphere, too." "I wonder where that picture's coming from?" Jun muttered, his voice low. "It's not Earth, that's for sure." As the vapour cleared once more from the alien figure, Greg saw that Jun was right. Behind the being was what looked like a window, and the view outside was utterly alien to everything they knew. Greenish-blue gases swirled across a crimson landscape, and vague grey shapes, tantalising in their surrealistic motion, drifted across the landscape in the wake of the eddies of gas. The alien spoke, and it's lips moved at the same time, but Jun saw that the two motions were not synchronised perfectly. "Its speech is being translated for us," he whispered. "There must be a master computer somewhere in this place." "Welcome to the Palace," the alien's translated words came from the air about them, "you of your race have penetrated the Receiving Station. Doubtless you are eager for an explanation of our coming, and you shall have your curiosity satisfied." The creature shifted in its seat slightly then continued : "We Ygli are a race that has spread out across your Galaxy. We were at your stage in civilisation some thousands of your years ago. When we first ventured out across the stars we met all kinds of races, some friendly and peaceful, same hostile and war-like. We have given up all thought of war, and so an interstellar conflict would be unthinkable to us. Thus the Receiving Stations were developed to test new races. Our drone probes kept up a constant watch on all worlds of the Galaxy where civilised races were nearing the point when they would be able to venture out of their own systems and cross the interstellar gulfs. When a world reached this point in its development, as yours did recently, we dispatched one of our Receiving Stations to that Planet. Upon arrival, the Station attunes itself to the mood of the planetary inhabitants and reacts accordingly. If the planet's population are prepared to receive our station in peace, it becomes a school from the stars, dispensing knowledge and gifts of our technology. If on the other hand, the inhabitants greet it with hostility, the Station reacts in kind, fighting fire with fire, making sure that the hostile race never spreads out across the Galaxy to menace the Ygli empire. You will know by now how the Station has responded to the situation on your world. Even if you have met it with force, it is not too late to change it's programme. Lay down your arms, come here in peace, and our knowledge and skills will be made available to your people." The voice stopped and the screen went blank again. The harsh breathing of the two soldiers echoed loudly in the vast room. "Now we know why," Greg muttered. Jun nodded. "When the-Station landed in Russia they must have taken it for an American trick and blasted it or something." Greg looked doubtful. "No, their statement that they had made contact with some alien entity indicates that they knew that they were dealing with something from another world. More likely they were thinking that the aliens would help them gain mastery of Earth by force of arms. When it became obvious that the Station was not on Earth to help just them, their military must have lost their heads and tried to destroy it. And, of course, the Station reacted to the threat, and destroyed them instead. It's only a guess, of course, but I think that's what must have happened." "Yes, but even then it would not have been too late for the rest of the world. The Station destroyed only the east of Europe, then moved itself to a position in the territory of the other great power - America. Us! It was giving us the chance to behave differently from the Russians, and our Generals threw the chance away." "But why do they use only guns? And why is it that guns are the only effective weapon against then?" Jun shrugged. "Who can say. Maybe it's some peculiar sense of fair play programmed into the minds of the Z's, the fighting robots of their alien masters. Maybe the first contact they had with someone here resulting in them being shot at with a gun and so that's how they responded. This place is shrouded in mysteries, and we may never have all the answers." Greg shook his head sadly, then looked back at Jun as the other grabbed his arm savagely. "What is it?" he protested, shaking Jun off. Jun held up his watch. "Look at the time. We must have gone into some state of such well being that we lost track of reality. We have been in here far too long; ten times longer than it seemed. The destruction of the cities must have started. We must stop them and tell them the truth." They rushed back to entrance of the Palace, back into the open air. Compared with the brilliance of the Palace's interior, everything outside looked dull and flat. There was a sudden roaring overhead as Jun pointed up to the sky. It was black with swarming planes - bombs hurtled down. A huge explosion tore up gouts of the horizon, and the city was engulfed in a ball of fire. "My God," Jun breathed. 'We're too late." Greg pointed into the sky, screamed and pushed Jun down. A violent explosion tore the earth apart all about them and Smith was pummelled with flying debris. When the rain of junk stopped he got slowly to his feet. He looked all around, then gasped with horror. Greg's body lay still on the ground, half covered in jagged lumps of debris. He was obviously dead. Sickened by the sight, Jun Smith staggered away. A further bomb fell near him, mortally wounding him with the shock of its concussion, but still he plodded across the cratered wilderness that had been Grendon. Three hours later he was found, dead, by a platoon of soldiers combing the wreckage for Z's. By then, of course, it was too late to do any good. Beyond the chaos of the bombs' destruction, the Palace of Angels still stood, bathed in its blue glow, unharmed by the onslaught. One of the soldiers gazed up, his face lit by its blue radiance and cursed it long and loudly. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ "-and let this be a grim warning to us all," the General concluded his broadcast to the nation. "The Z's Palace still stands mocking the people of Earth. But we are not finished. Our cities must be destroyed, but we will continue the fight from the countryside, we will never give in. Our dead and lost will be avenged." And his mighty iron fist crashed down onto the table in further emphasis.