The Evil of Zardo

This remarkable serial brought to you by Blue Coal, the cleanest burning coal on the east coast of the United States of America. Nine out of Ten housewives prefer Blue Coal to the next leading brand! Stock up on Blue Coal today and be warm tomorrow!

“No!” Jasmine exclaimed as she strode into the balcony that surrounded the vast gantry bay of Sky City.

“Yes!” Prince S’kye rumbled, while below them, technicians from the newly united kingdoms of Venus were at work, replacing armor plating, fueling vast water tanks, and finessing every weapon that they could aboard none other than the Atomo, Jasmine Starr’s very own atomic rocket. The earth built vehicle had been somewhat damaged during the long months between when Jasmine had seen it last and now – but as she watched, the forward nose cone had been swept off, and brand new death ray emitters were being affixed, to only improve the deadly elegance of the vehicle.

“Where did you get my Atomo?” Jasmine asked, while the Princess Snow laughed, leaning against her newly wedded husband, her hand sliding along his back gently. She was dressed in the traditional Sky City garb for a newly married woman – thin gauzy white fabric that left her glowing womb tattoo quite obvious on her midnight black skin.

“Where else? The Empire put it up for sale after capturing you – they saw it as a primitive vehicle, not worth keeping,” Snow said.

“We’ve upgraded a few components,” S’kye said. “But your rotational tumble jets and gyroscope navigator systems were on par, if not better, than some of our own. The only real weakness was your lack of a death ray and communication ray – we’ve fixed both, as well as including some brand new computer machines to help with navigation. There’s also a stash of ultra-sleep injectors and systems for wakening people from ultra-sleep when the ship detects something dangerous ... but best of all, we have attached some contact points here, here, and here – those will be able to run directly to the lines of a raylight tug.”

“Ah, one of those solar sailing vehicles!” Jasmine said.

“Yes, the Kingdom of Venus has control over some measure of the travel ray stations throughout the solar system,” S’kye said. “Since we are but humble vassals to the Empire, we are free to use them to accelerate our own tradeships. But if they notice that we are accelerating a rebel ship...”

“Then they will destroy your ray stations?” Jasmine asked, clicking her tongue.

“They will try,” S’kye said, chuckling. “But we are lucky in the orbits – the majority of the Empire of Space’s forces are on the far side of the sun from us. It will be a long, difficult crossing for them to reach our world – this won’t last for more than a quarter of a space year, but that will be enough we hope.”

Jasmine nodded.

“So, who is going to be my crew?” She asked, quietly. “The Atomo needs three crew – one gunner and one engineer to go with the pilot.”

S’kye clicked his beak, then puffed up his chest – but before he could, Snow grabbed and twisted his wrist. “Don’t you think of doing such a thing, you featherbrained fool!” She said, but her voice was filled with playful ribbing rather than anything nearly as hostile as it might have sounded. “No, no, we’ll find the best of our men and women to go with you on your rocket ship, Jasmine.”

Jasmine beamed. “That I trust, you two.” She said, putting her hand on both of their shoulders, gripping. S’kye swept her into a tight hug – but before he could let his hands glide lower than the small of her back, a harrumph came from behind them and all three sprang apart. Queen Evilla Spiderena and King F’eath Arr were approaching, flanked by their courtiers and hangers on. F’eath Arr put his hands on his hips and harrumphed again.

“I see my son’s eyes are wandering,” he grumped.

“Please, father, Jasmine and I are merely good friends,” S’kye said, his beak clicking as his ear tufts twitched upwards slightly.

“I remember what you do to good friends...” F’eath Arr grumbled, so Jasmine stepped forward and kissed his beak with a little smootch. He harrumphed even harder, while Queen Spiderena laughed gaily.

“So,” she said. “What exactly is your plan, Jasmine Starr? You can’t topple the entire Empire of Space with your own little rocket.”

“No ... but...” She said, shaking her head. “When I left our world, we were launching suborbital rockets – both the United States of America and our enemy, the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. Both these powers have the world torn between them ... but now, we face an enemy, just as we did in the 1940s, that will require us both to clasp hands again and turn our guns upon them instead of one another. With the two of us working together, we can be so dangerous, so impossible to conquer that even Aytan Zardo will have no chance, no hope, of stopping us. Then we can send forth fleets of atomic rockets, to liberate the system. We’ve done it before, you know ... on one fateful day in 1943, my country launched the greatest amphibious invasion in human history – and I say now, by 1963, we shall do the same! But it will not be a landing upon a beach of the same world we came from but rather upon the icy world of Pluto – where we shall defeat Aytan Zardo and his vile plans for galactic conquest!”

F’eath Arr grumped. “And we’ll simply have to have a new Empire of Space, then!”

“Don’t worry,” Jasmine said, smiling cheerfully at him. “You won’t mind once you’ve gotten a taste of a hamburger with a side of french fries. American specialty!”

“But you said the fries are French!” F’eath Arr clicked his beak.

Jasmine laughed.

One of the three Lesbian Vampire Queens of Mars lay dead at Altair Polaris and Claudette T.S Grant’s feet and, around them stood every last one of the Death Commandos that had been ready to oversee Claudette’s execution. Claudette saw in their gleaming blades and readied rocket-bolt pistols ... death. And then, quietly, Altair whispered. “Stick close to me...” And her confident grin, her sharp little fangs, her gleaming eye, looking straight at some prize that Claudette could not see, all was enough to banish Claudette’s fear. She held in her hands the brutish Agony Gun that had been intended to slay Altair herself, then aimed it at one of the groups of Death Commandos.

A wailing screech burst from the milling crowd – and from it came one of the other Vampire Queens, Vorella, her arms raised above her head, her tentacles writhing in shrieking fury.

“My sister! You brutes! You fiends! You monsters! You have killed my very own sister! I was going to do that!” She sprang up onto the edge of the railing, moving with superhuman grace and speed, even in the lighter gravity of Mars. “Killllllll them! Cut out their hearts! Slit their throats! Spike their eyes!”

Claudette fired the Agony Gun – but Vorella was not so flat footed as her departed sister. She sprang up and arced into the air as the sizzling rod of barbed black metal plunged through where she had been. But even as she leaped up, the Commandos advanced, their blades glittering. Claudette squeaked as she was yanked forward, then upwards as Altair sprang up and up and up, her body shooting past Vorella and to the upper edge of the dome! Claudette cried out in shock – but she need not have been so surprised! Even Earth children knew that Mars gravity was a third that of Earth. This meant that Altair, already quite able to leap ten space feet in a single bound thanks to her strong and athletic Devilman legs was able to leap thirty space feet in a single bound on Mars. She slapped her free hand against the dome, hurtling back down again, and landed upon the red adobe roof of one of the dome buildings.

The Death Commandos were just as trained to fighting on Mars as she. They sprang after her – some aiming to land on the roof, others going for a fanning pattern that would land about them. Claudette fired her Agony Gun once, twice, thrice. Two shots missed, but the third slammed into the head of one of the Death Commandos, slaying him instantly. Then the gun CLACKED loudly, fully depleting its somewhat meager store of awful ammunition. With a despairing cry, Claudette threw the emptied pistol into the chest of one of the other Commandos ... and then saw, with her shock, that Altair was laughing – and acting.

The Devilman woman was keeping herself firmly rooted on the roof, using her toes to grip onto the adobe as she lunged across it, moving in a skittering, swift pattern. As Death Commandos came down slowly towards her, she snatched their ankles, twisted them around, and slashed the tubes connecting their backpack combat-chemical injector units. Sprays of hissing, greenish chemicals filled the air and the Commandos began to hit the roof twitching and spluttering. Altair snatched up one of their swords, holding it and her dagger in her free hands, then turned to face those that she had missed, laughing.

“Come at me, you half rate dead men! Let me show you how dead men die!” She sprang forward, then, and was upon three at once, her blades flashing in the ruddy red air of Mars!

Claudette, though, kept her eyes on the surrounding city. The civilians were fleeing, but Vorella and Skullra were gathering their forces around them. Death Commandos, some with deadly rocket-bolt rifles, were beginning to land across the street from them, on roofs of buildings that sprawled there. They snapped their rifles up – and Claudette lunged, tackling Altair down as the rocket-bolts hissed through the air above them! With time enough to accelerate, they blew hideous holes through the Commandos that did not dodge or drop at the same time.

Claudette, though, saw her chance: A discarded rocket-bolt pistol! She caught it into her hands, rolled onto her belly, and fired three of the rockets at the pointing Queen Skullra.

Two Death Commandos sprang between Skullra and the incoming bolts – and fell, dead!

“Hah! You think-” Skullra began shouting back at her.

Claudette fired until the pistol was empty – and by the time she was done, another Commando was dead and Skullra had been buried beneath two still living bodies, who had tackled her down. Then Claudette was upon her feet. “Off the roofs!” she shouted to Altair, then sprang off the roof – as Altair dropped easily. This meant that rather than dropping down as well, Claudette instead sailed upwards and over several buildings. Rocket bolts hissed past her as she squeaked, and heard the distant screech of Vorella.

“Kill that Doll!”

Claudette landed between two buildings, next to a tray full of food and salts that were being sold by a stunned looking Green Martian, who gaped at her as she looked over his cart, then grabbed onto the handle of a pot. The pot was covered with a heavy lid and looked for all the world like a pressure cooker, the kind used to cook rice. She saw through the glass lid that it was full of a bubbling, boiling broth. She ignored that as she turned and saw Death Commandos coming around the corner, then hurled the container, whimpering desperately.

She had worked in many a kitchen, and knew how unexpectedly deadly accidents could be!

A rocket-bolt, half accelerated, glanced off the pressure cooker as it sailed through the air. The bladed bolt sliced through it and the boiling water burst into steam, thick with food particulates! The boiling hot material splattered onto the faces and chests of the Death Commandos. They let out howls of fury and pain – and Claudette dashed down the alleyway, around the corner, and then leaped again. This time, she sailed upwards and took the time to look around wildly – and saw Altair was landing on the roof near her, clearly searching for her. Altair’s hand reached out – and Claudette caught her hand, and was swung onto the roof and into the Devilman woman’s arms. The two kissed, their mouths pressed together for a single fierce, hot moment.

Then, drawing back, Altair panted and whispered.

“We have to get out of this dome! The Salty Sirius can’t help us while we’re in here,” she said.

“That way,” Claudette said – she saw not only the edge of the dome ... but the unmistakable sign of boxy garage buildings ... and the doors to the garage opened both into the dome and out of it as well!

Altair and she sprang to the air, chased by hissing bolts and the screams of furious Vampire Queens! They came down again near the garage, to find that the front door was swinging shut, cranked quickly by a set of red martians. Altair sprang forward and placed her cybernetic palm between the door and the ground, locking her knees and pushing upwards with all her might. Her cybernetic arm hissed and flared, but it was not the arm’s strength that was lacking – it was the rest of her body. The attachment between arm and flesh clearly strained ... but it was enough for Claudette to throw herself under the door, roll, and came to her feet, aiming her empty hand at the red martians, as if she held a rocket bolt gun.

“Hands up!” She shouted, and they yanked their hands away, only to realize she threatened them with nothing at all when Altair threw herself into the garage and then snatched Claudette by the scruff of her collar. The light gravity made this less painful than it might have been, but Claudette still choked as she was thrown bodily into the back of the Martian vehicle that Altair had chosen. The vehicle itself had four large tires, built for the rough terrain of Mars, and connected to the chassis by spindly legs that looked as if they could flex and absorb shocks and impacts better than any Earthly vehicle. It had no armor or covering, but before Claudette could remark on that, Altair sprang into the driver’s seat and pulled a lever.

The garage began to howl and the red martians fled into a side passage. The back seat that Claudette sat in expanded a kind of rubber harness around her shoulders and neck, so that her arms were safely contained within the vehicle. Then she was sucked down into the compartment, finding herself snugly surrounded by the machinery of the crew-section she was holding. There was a set of rough handles that reminded her faintly of the Atomo’s guns, while her forward view was dominated by a buzzing, static filled video screen, which flared to show the world beyond, with a cross-hair painted across it. The whirring sound of extending metal filled the air, while a loud clunk clunk clunk started to hammer into her ears.

“All right, Claudette, you’ve got to watch our back,” Altair said, her voice coming through as a crackling buzz. “You’re in the 37mm six barreled nuclear pellet gun turret with enough electro-coils to accelerate a mountain of lead in six seconds flat with a coaxial death ray for precision work. We need to get to the pickup point but they will be sending everything they got. I’ll call out targets, but you will need to blast em! Can you do it?”

Claudette tensed, then squared her shoulders. “I can do it!”

“Okay! The trigger on your left fires the nuclear pellet gun. It shoots uranium that has been run through a reactor in a deplorable magneto-harness so the coils have something to push on. The trigger on your right activates the death ray – it’ll have a short charge up for the capacitors to prep then fire energy. The death ray can’t cut through armor fast, but if they lob any missiles at us, that’ll be the best way to take them out!” Altair sounded calm and confident. “We’ve got one hundred kilometers to go along ... the highway of death.”

“Is ... is that what they call it?” Claudette asked, her voice quavering as the engine revved, rumbled, and then the rover sprang from the garage, whipping past the opened doors and out onto the hard packed surface of the Martian roadway, which swept away from the dome city home of the Vampire Queens.

“They will once we’re done with it!” Altair laughed.

Claudette squared her shoulders, swung the turret about, and looked down at her sights...

At the dozens of winged rockets screaming away from the dome, leaving behind gleaming contrails of expanding exhaust as they cut through the air, swung around, and then dove towards the rover ... with their death rays blazing!

Mark Styles groaned as he walked forward, his boots sloshing in the thick, heavy liquid that ran through the thick tunnels that wound their way through the skin of the vast Ringcity-1’s outer levels. Behind him, the Star Princess Zella, Robin Robinson, C’law, and their newest addition, the jailbroken company bot GEN-V – Gennie to her friends – walked and winced their own way through the sewer systems. “How far do these tunnels go?” C’law rumbled to Gennie, who shook her head.

“They run through the whole outer skin. Sewage is pumped through the station – these waste water tunnels are this size so that people can maintain them. If what I’ve heard about the Underground is right, we’re on the right path.”

“If,” Zella said, her voice quiet.

Mark had to admit – after some time away from her, C’law and Robin, he was feeling a lot happier about being around them once more. Being trapped aboard a small rocket for so long was ... he wasn’t sure he could ever adequately explain exactly how horrid it had been. It was as if every tiny gesture, every most harmless and minor action she had taken had been like knives in his skin. Now, with some distance – and a few days of making sweet, sweet love to an illicit robot girl – he felt as if he and Zella could once be normal around one another ... but it was far more pleasing to feel the old camaraderie he had felt for Robin returning. A part of him had been worried that every so long apart, the months confined together would have done what Nazis and Aytan Zardo could not do: Drive him and Robin apart.

Instead, his love and best friend placed one purple hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently.

“I hear voices ahead.”

Mark nodded, then held up his hand, walking forward as the others paused. He came around the corner and, just as he had dreaded, found himself facing a completely blank wall ... he groaned. “We must have gotten ourselves turned around,” he said, then punched the wall with a sudden flare of frustration. His knuckles bruised against the sleek metal ... but it was his ears that perked up. For the wall, rather than making a noise he was accustomed to hearing – the dull thunk of metal – instead rang as if it were...

Hollow.

Mark’s eyes widened, but before he could call out to his comrades, the wall slid down, revealing four men and women of unknown species, their heads and shoulders covered with thick chemical masks and hoods. They held in their hands a mixture of death ray rifles and rocket bolt pistols, with one holding what seemed to be a crude spear tipped with a gleaming, monofilament blade, all of them aimed directly at Mark’s chest. He lifted his hands slowly, carefully, and spoke with the same measured cadence. “Whoa now ... we’re looking for the Underground of Free People’s.”

“Well, son,” the man with the death ray rifle said. “It looks as if you’ve found it. Bag them.”

Men stepped from the shadows and the last thing Mark saw of the scene was the black bag that swept over his head!

Jasmine Starr swung herself into the cockpit of the Atomo and cried out in pleasure and surprise as she saw that her gunner and engineer were both people she knew and recognized. The engineer, first, was none other than the proud and brave hawkwoman S’hira, who was sporting a new pip on the thin collar that made up the majority of the upper half of her uniform – which, as it was, crisscrossed her chest with two bandoleers that barely covered her nipples, leaving most of her muscular shoulders, back, and belly exposed. Recognizing it from her study of the Hawkmen’s military, Jasmine slapped her shoulder. “Promoted from Scannerwoman to full on Engineer!”

“The Prince was pleased with my service,” S’hira said, grinning at her. “And when someone said that they needed a brave woman for your rocket crew, I was the first up.”

“And Lancer!” Jasmine said, turning her gaze upon the Faeman gunner that was nestled in the seat to her right. He was working his hands along the controls, having already swung the scanner-scope down and locked it into place so he could easily operate the weaponry of the Atomo. “I thought you were a Rocket Ranger – have you ever flown in the space forces before?”

“Of course,” Lancer said, laughing. “We Rocket Rangers may work best with our Hell Lances on the surface, but I’ve flown a few atomic teakettles in my day.” He flipped his dreadlocks back over his shoulder and flashed her a bright white grin against his midnight dark features. “Though, I did bring my rocket bike and Hell Lance along – just in case we end up needing it.”

“Are those any good in a space battle?” S’hira asked, sounding skeptical, as well she might considering a Hell Lance was little more than a long metal pole with a Void Burst Inferno Warhead – a unique construction built by the Faemen’s Rocket Rangers. They functioned by having an air filled cavity within the warhead, allowing the Hell Lance to focus the heat of the explosion into a penetrating blast that can cut through even the thickest, most heavily layered space steel armor.

“Of course!” Lancer said, nodding. “A rocket bike can fly in space as easily as it can on the ground – I removed the ground effect fins and upped the monoatomic hydrogen fuel mixture so it has enough maneuverability. If we’re in a close in orbit, I can pop out and lance a turret, or a cockpit.” He nodded. “It may be a mite dangerous-”

“A mite dangerous!” S’hira exclaimed. “A mite suicidal, more like!”

“Maybe for a Hawkwoman,” Lancer said, showing that some of the emnity between the two people of Venus had not fully subsided – despite the recent marriage of Prince S’kye and Princess Snow.

“Settle down you two,” Jasmine said, nodding as she strapped into her pilot cockpit. “We’ve got to get to Earth – it’ll be a hard run. Even with the raylight tug, how long are we looking at, S’hira?”

“It’ll be a space month and change,” S’hira said. “We’re using the sun’s illumination only – if we risk using local travel ray stations, we could cut that down to a week or two, since the ray stations give us better acceleration than generalized solar light.” She clicked her tongue. “And of course, there’s our nuclear rocket engines, which can get us there a lot faster, but we won’t have much to maneuver with.”

“Hows Zardo’s fleets looking?”

“Latest telescope observation puts most of their fleet in a trajectory towards Saturn, the base of his power,” S’hira said. “So, a month in ultra-sleep won’t be too bad.”

Jasmine nodded, slowly.

Countdown came after the system checks. A hawkman voice rumbled over her headset.

“Three. Two. One.”

Blastoff slammed into her as Jasmine felt the unspeakable joy rushing through her – of the Atomo rushing towards the heavens! She trembled and rocked in her seat, her eyes half closing as she watched the wreathing clouds of Venus dropping away and the vast, glittering stars above replaced them. They sailed upwards, towards the raylight tug, which waited in orbit, its vast spectacular scale all the more remarkable after so much time on a planetary surface. Jasmine used her reaction control cold gas thrusters to adjust the trajectory of her nose and brought the Atomo neatly into a parking orbit beside the raylight tug, which sent forth small tender robot rockets, which hooked the Atomo into the ten thousand kilometer wide sail array.

And thus, with the stars aligned and the orbits in the best place they would be, the Atomo began to lift towards the night.

Jasmine sighed as she settled into her seat. “Anything we want to share, before we settle into our ultra-sleep?” She asked.

Lancer grinned. “Not that I can think of, Captain. I’m ready to see this Earth...”

“How are you going to convince the Brotherhood of the Stars to let you through?” S’hira asked. “The Sword fires on anyone who attempts to approach – including Zardo’s ships, including ours.”

“Don’t you worry about that,” Jasmine said – having thought of several possible plans. None quite seemed right yet, but she was more than happy to improvise when the time came to it. She adjusted herself in her seat, then frowned as she looked down at the telescopic observation map of the solar system – at the many thousands of rocket plumes that traced their way across the vast solar system. One of the rockets that was traveling seemed to intersect with their course. She tapped it. “What rocket is this?”

“The Salty Sirius, out of Eros,” S’hira said. “They’re on a fast burn course for Mars, they’ll reach it in about two space weeks.”

Jasmine frowned.

The fast burn trajectory, the telescopic information on the rocket, they caught at her flexible and fast mind like a little a net snagging on the edge of a coral reef. She leaned back in her seat as the solar sails bloomed and the almost imperceptible pressure of the acceleration began to ghost her back into her seat. She tapped her screen again. “Five second ray delay for a communication...” she said, then picked up her microphone. She dialed in the Salty Sirius. “Rocket ship Salty Sirius, this is the Atomo, stop. We are interested in your course and need for haste. Stop. Your trajectory will cross ours. Stop. Do you need us to give greater way? End Communication.”

“It’s space, Captain,” S’hira said, sounding faintly confused. “Our near pass is still larger than your largest Earth ocean.”

“I’m curious, S’hira,’ Jasmine said, smiling. “And a five second light lag is no nothing to us, we’re going to be spending a month in ultra-sleep.” She tensed as, ten seconds later, a communication ray came back. Rather than being text only, it was a visual beam, which transcoded itself into the grainy image of a grim looking red skinned woman, lovely beyond compare with a gleaming metal eyepatch on her face that covered her eye.

“Rocket Atomo, I don’t normally respond to random strangers – but I’ve never been on a course this important. Identify your captain or else, in two weeks, we’ll have to continue this conversation with roundshot and sandcasters.”

Jasmine whistled. “A pretty girl wants to kill me, be still my fluttering heart,” she murmured, then shrugged, turning on the camera. “My name is Captain Jasmine Starr. I just wanted to be friendly, considering our future near meeting.” She smiled, slightly. “But you seem a bit tense.”

Ten seconds passed.

Then another ten.

Jasmine frowned. “You think she got mad at me?” she asked Lancer and S’hira who both looked skeptical.

Then Lancer cried out in shock. “Racing Rockets!” he said. “I recognize that woman!”

“You do?” Jasmine asked.

“That was Altair Polaris – the Pirate Queen of Ceres!” Lancer said. “She’s captured dozens of ships – she’s wanted for a hundred thousand Zardo dollars!”

Before Jasmine could respond, the screen flicked on.

Altair Polaris looked at Jasmine as if she had given a lifeline after some time afloat, drifting. Her eye shone with hope and she was leaning forward. Her voice was as controlled as she could be, but even so it betrayed a quaver of emotion that was impossible to repress. “Jasmine Starr,” she said, quietly. “Do you know ... Claudette T.S Grant?”

The name struck Jasmine’s chest like a hammer blow. She put her hand to her breast, her mouth opening, then she spoke into the microphone camera. “Yes, yes I do!” she exclaimed. “Claudette ... is she with you!?”

The ten seconds of delay were an agony – waiting as the communication rays dragged themselves across the nearly infinite gulf of space between worlds and rockets in the careless depths of space. Jasmine barely heard the soft conversation between S’hira and Lancer, for S’hira had been there when Jasmine had learned, many months before, of Claudette’s demise. Until now, Jasmine had never before had reason to hope ... but now ... but now! Her breath caught as the video screen flared once more to life and Altair Polaris spoke once more.

She explained, quickly, with curt sentences, of her chase – hounding after a fast burn rocket fleeting from Eros towards Mars...