Ibhib the Gunner of Longville stormed in upon me as I sat in my den.

He had scoured the catacombs of Beauburg for the best part of a week. Wanting to know my whereabouts, he had inquired everywhere. He had made a spectacle of himself and had come to blows with a couple of batmen. He killed them; he did that, and drank their blood. The fickle bastard! After this, he took his time strolling along the banks of the underground river and had a fling with the swarthy broad Brunhilde. He had a mouthful of her tits and gave her such a hell of a thrashing that she hollered till there were cracks in the vaults of the galleries where the dormant corpses lay.

I followed Ibhib with my feelers. I couldn’t trust scoundrels like him. I hadn’t seen him since Moreaugarin had escaped us. The Gunner had not changed a bit. Maybe his belly heaved a little over the belt. A flimsy haze shimmered over his eyes. The scales on his strong chest seemed to have become rusty in some places. And his joints creaked, poor wretch! Well, the old space hound’s luck was running thin . . .

When I had heard the clang of his iron scales, I quickly doused the torches, killed the engines and pulled out my own iron from my chest. They I lay in wait. As he came into view, I shouted at the top of my lungs.

“Freeze where you are!”

Ibhib sneered, baring the silver spades of his teeth, and croaked something. I didn’t believe him. His nostrils flared. His chest heaved. He rolled his eyes. His soul seemed to carry a heavy burden. The bastard! Through a crack in his shoulder I saw the muzzle of his gun . . .
It was useless to wait. I fired a volley. The peeling roar resounded from the walls. The echo of the boom rolled to the surface and died in the tubular streets of Beauburg. The Gunner?

Hah, hah! Mealy-mouthed bastard! He played that dirty trick of his. Caught all the bullets between his silver teeth and spat them back at my head. I extended my hairy paw of a hand and Ibhib rushed out of the dark and hugged me, roaring with glee.

I thought he would break my spine. He was carrying his age well, the ass!

“Well, Max! Aren’t you getting moldy in this place?” Ibhib asked, flapping his drooling lips.

“Nope, not yet,” I said with a chuckle.

“When then?”

“What do you mean?”

“How’s the racket coming?”

“Stop ranting, you cur. You’d better tell me your business here. What’s this all about?”

“Well, are you well in the cash?” The Gunner scratched behind his flagging ear.

“I can't say that I am. Not even two nickels to rub together.”

“I’ve got a job for you.”

“Spit it out, don’t keep me guessing.” I whisked out a bottle of hard stuff from my cache.

“I met Moreaugarin.”

Well, that topped it all! That addled-brained scholar? Was that the reason for Ibhib’s coming and scouring the catacombs? Fat chance, old man. I snapped at him. “Go look somewhere else. We should have slashed Moreaugarin’s throat when we had the chance! The cheat said he’d pay us well. We sweated our guts out on Mars. We worked ourselves to death combing the QET Galaxy in search of that shitty toad with silicon brains. The one who had stolen planet Earth to add it to his collection. We ended up empty-handed. When we finished the job, that groveling son of a bitch, Moreaugarin came and said that he had found immortality and could be reborn from a single drop of blood or from his own footprint, even if it were one hundred years old. I know what these end-of-the-century scholars are up to, Gunner. They’d like to give us the go-by.”

“Now, what can I say? The man said this time we’re sure to hit the jackpot. Ever heard of ancient-light diamonds?”

“Some rumors, yes.” I absently rubbed my hands. “What about them?”

“Well, this Moreaugarin claims he knows where they can be found.”

“Don’t be so bloody stupid! An amphibian from the B’ol system told me that these diamonds are far beyond the edge of the cosmos, about fifteen thousand light years away. What then?”

“Listen, Max, this is the set-up. Moreaugarin showed me one of those stones. I took it to the jeweler’s at Grazzelli’s in Blue city. Cuts quite a figure in his field, you know. Can you guess what he says? Well, he says the stone is genuine. Then he takes a gun from a drawer and says he will prove it . . .”

“Well?”

“Well, he puts a slug through his head! Moreaugarin and I get splattered all over with his blood and brains. And then Grazzelli comes to life. Moreaugarin just touches his body with that stone and--”

“You’re a goddamn liar”.

“No, I’m not! That’s all there is to it!”

“You’re trying to piss me of. Shit”.

“The other thing is, Moreaugarin said that Pilgrims arrived in some spot on the Earth.”

“Big deal. I heard that one from a sea-devil!”

This is an age-old story. One million years ago these Pilgrims destroyed civilization on Venus by treason, perjury and crime. Pilgrims were sonorous beings born from the primeval sound of the Universe. They carried the walls of the Ideal City beneath their mantles of ancient-light. The Venusians couldn’t resist temptation. They wanted to become immortal, too. Abjuring their creed, they left their temples to neglect and decay. Next they stoned their priests. Then they marched together in the City. Yet the Pilgrims’ plan failed. The rage of the Venusians’ suddenly burst out. The walls collapsed under the cannon fire and it took the Venusians just one autumn to destroy themselves.

“Do you know what happened next?” Ibhib took slug from the bottle.

“You tell me.”

“These Pilgrims wanted to become masters of all the worlds in the Universe. They traveled from place to place hoping to find a spot to their liking. After they had destroyed the Venusians civilization they salvaged part of the walls of the Ideal City and squeezed through one of the hundreds of 'worm holes' crossing the Universe.”

“So where did they stop?” I asked, impatiently.

“Somewhere near here. On planet Terraria.”

“That imperfect copy of the Earth, right?”

“Right. But they couldn’t build their Ideal City there. The gravitational field was unstable. It seems a strong temporal vortex changed the geographic position of the settlements quite often. Garbage and other refuse dumped from the Earth appeared on the beaches in Terraria. Out of that putrid heap, all sorts of unimaginable beings came to life and they continuously changed the entropy index of the planet--”

“Listen to me--”

“Wait. I’ll be through in a moment. The Pilgrims got to--”

“To the Earth.”

“That’s it, Max boy. The Earth. The walls of the Ideal City are made of ancient-light diamonds.”

“And we grab them, all right?” In my eagerness, I shouted.

“Moreaugarin splits the stuff with us.”

“Look here, Gunner, do you trust him? I don’t. I suggest that we play his game up to a point then in some way or other we get rid of him.”

“We thought about that.”

“Who’s 'we'? What do you mean?”

“Well, there are others: Brulla, the man with the talking parrot and a barrel organ, Ploto the butcher from Venus, Vlasko the Trumpeter, Gargarelli the Philosopher, Totora the Circus man, and one thousand other rogues, just the best of the whole lot.”

I joined them. I had nothing to lose but my life. Seeing only the bright side of things, the boys in the gang were as excited as a pack of hounds on the scent. At the break of day we set off for Moreaugarin’s fabled castle. It lay beyond the high piles of radioactive waste, on the edge of the ocean. Our bellies groaned with hunger when we got there. We nearly broke down the gates of his castle. Moreaugarin the serpent treated us gently. Easy does it. Soft spoken. Honeyed eyes. Tricks we all knew…

He gave a speech. Without losing any of his starch, he showed us he still had his silver tongue. He perched on a funny-looking machine puffing out sulfurous clouds. I’ll never see the like of it again, and no one knew whether it was a scarab, a mechanical octopus, a demon of plastic, glass and metal or only a chimera.

The machine had sparkling red spheres, silver shafts full of spikes and multicolored prisms to read your past, present and future. A huge Fulton dynamo. Snaking inflatable pipes. Fire balls. A one-ton piston. A German revolving beacon light. A steel rammer. A Van der Graff jar. Shiny and slippery scaffolding. Catwalks. Cellophane snakes and winding holograms. Organic aggregates from which fearsome soldiers were born. A transparent pyramid emitting blue streaks of lightning. A launching pad. And a supercomputer--Mettryks.

Moreaugarin walked stiffly up and down the main deck and shouted.

“Welcome, my lions! My tigers! My brave fighters! I remind you that occult forces are trying to bring shame to my name. My scientific genius is not acknowledged. The Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals sued me for allegedly experimenting on a brontosaurus, which I reactivated without their approval. Hah, hah, hah! Moreover, they even want saddle the nuclear bomb to me. But forget those pygmies! We’ll show them good and clean, tigers! Quite soon! Swellings? Spittles? Booming farts? Vomit? We’ll dump them all. Now, listen to me carefully! The Ideal City was brought to Earth by Pilgrims. Intruders from beyond the cosmic horizon. They laid their hands on Its walls and carried It all over the Universe. We shall free It.”

That was nice. Soul lifting you might say. But we all really wanted to know how much of it would be ours. Moreaugarin began fuming.

“You ignorant pitiful bums! Can’t you get it into your goddamned heads that you will be the Deliverers of the City? In the name of the Cross, we shall fight, my tigers! The Ideal City belongs to man. He was born in It millions years ago. He was banished from It. He was robbed of the City when he was still unable to speak. It is I, Moreaugarin, who will free It again! We’ll do it together, my knights!”

That was pushing a little too far. Knights. We were all weathered soldiers who had fought planetary wars. We kept weapons hidden in our bodies. We could say we were fallen angels, perhaps. Deep down, we were beasts. Downright frightening. If we were knights, we were the Knights of Apocalypse!

“Look, Moreaugarin, you say we should go on a crusade?” Brulla spoke casually as he stroked the ruffled feathers of his talking parrot. “What about the diamonds?”

Moreaugarin laughed. “Is immortality itching you? Now I see what your ture interests! You’ll be immortals. That much I can promise. You’ll ride through the centuries by my side!”

“Hold on a minute, don’t burn yourself out. You gave us the slip once before!” The voice of Totora the Circus-Man bleated out, his face contorting as he spoke. “We want to know the price. That’s where it hurts. The clink of money is the real tune we dance to. Then we can talk immortality. The crux of the matter is, what’s in for us if we slaughter the Pilgrims?”

“Oh, what a pity! God poured a drop of spirit in a whole barrel of hogwash! Look at yourselves, poor Totora! You’re festering with pus! We shall cure you by fire. I’ll burn you with the hot iron, you misbegotten son of a bitch. I’ll give you money. But glory? Did you think of that? We shall deliver the Ideal City! We shall throw Its gates wide open. So God’s sheep will drink the ancient light. On your knees, you God-for-nothing bums!”

We all fell in the dust full with shame. Moreaugarin stepped on a pedal and a green ray hurled into the sky. The air sputtered. Oh, God, that scholar was going to fool us again. We were hopeless. We’d bought ourselves a lot of trouble, for sure. We were his puppets. He could strangle us or break our heads open, fumble inside and suck up our vital fluids. Or he could slash open our chests and play with our hearts and make them sing by driving in his fingernails. We were mesmerized. We had fallen into his trap, all hope of escape gone.

We went aboard Moreaugarin’ s battle cruisers and started crossing the ocean, on and on, to the walls of the Ideal City.

Near the Horn of Africa we sank a pirate’s ship already cut to ribbons by a pack of cuttlefish, which had been busy with a spate of foolish things for the last hundred years. We took on supplies in Gibraltar and lied to the people, telling them we are going to fish for whales in the Far North. Well, the Americans, the Russians and the Spanish and the English got wind that something was afoot. Even the Genovese had an inkling. Add to that the people beyond Tibet. Others on a nuclear submarine followed us, as they wanted to take part in that terrible crusade, too. We laughed in their faces, cracked our chests and pulled out our heavy artillery and sent them flying. Poor Earthmen! How could they fight the Pilgrims if they had no idea how to shift time phase and tune themselves to the frequency of the Ideal City? We had to conquer it, get our pay, then rebuild It in the holy lands.

Moreaugarin constanly badgered the man in the crow’s nest from early morning till late at night. “Hey, can you see anything?”

“Just a desert of water!”

For a while we used the sail, keeping our store of coal for the great battle.

“Ship ahoy!” Vlasko the Trumpeter yelled one morning like a madman.

We rushed to the steel bulwark, gazed at the expanse of blue sea and shouted at the mechanics to stop the wind that blew from our stern pumps and filled our sails.

“This is heavenly.” Moreaugarin sprayed the waters with his green ray, and hit the boat.

“Oh God, it’s a monk!” Bloto burst into tears.

The monk was barely breathing. He had a wiry tangled beard. He looked emaciated, starving. His boat carried a strange device. He spoke in whisper.

“I’ve been voyaging for years with a secret yearning. I would like to record God’s voice: I implored Him to say one word to me. A single word. But He will not. I have records with me. And a gramophone. Yet, I won’t lose hope. If you give me some food I shall wish you every success, my sons.”

The skinny monk seemed worth his salt. Could he know what we were actually after? How? Could life in the desert waters have taught him to read others’ souls?

We swapped gossip and gave him some food. He ate ravenously. He explained how he worked his device. I could tell he was feeding us half-truths. My friends, the crusaders, stood rooted to the spot. They listend to the monk like dancers listening to some waltz, or a tango or a conga. The music of his voice semed intent on easing the creases in our brows, making us forget the business of war. But how did he know that deep inside us we had weapons that the eye could not perceive?

“We're done for the day,” I said, looking him straight in the eyes. “We can talk again tomorrow, Your Holiness. Wouldn’t you like a soft bed?”

He agreed. His eyes sparkled. He mumbled something under his breath. Leave him; I couldn’t sleep anyway.

I heard him at midnight. He tiptoed all but noiselessly on to the deck under the moonlight. He went to the stern and fumbled in the dark. I watched him closely. I saw him taking out his gramophone, going through his records and choosing one of silver. He had no sooner placed it on the turntable than I leapt like a bobcat. The other bums were sleeping soundly. Moreaugarin’s snoring could be heard from well beyond the Polar Circle.

“Your Holiness, did you not fall prey to sleep?”

“Oh, is that you, boy?” The monk mumbled rather than spoke. I chalked it up to embarrassment. “I was just taking a walk. I thought I heard a voice. It might be God’s, I thought, so here I am.”

“It isn't God’s voice. ItI's the whales’ song, Your Holiness.”

“You may be right, my son. Wonderful work, this song!”

“If you say so.” I sneered and reached for my chest. “Um, just what monasteries are--”

I stopped in mid-sentence. The monk placed the gramophone needle onto the record and some angelic music began, flowing above the waters. I felt blood bursting out of my mouth and nostrils. I collapsed among the barrels full of finish. I nearly fell into the water. The sounds turned into poisonous arrows. My feet, shoulders and palms bled.

I managed to rise to my feet. My head swelled to the point of bursting. I cracked my chest and fired a volley of red-hot bullets, ripping into the gramophone.

“Treason!" Ibhib the Gunner was shouting as he came galloping like a storm, dressed in his underwear.

“Pirates!" Gargarelli the Philosopher yelled as he began throwing swords of fire through the air.

“The enemy!" Ploto the Butcher hollered as he ripped at everything in sight with his steel claws.

The monk had vanished. Moreaugarin hugged me. In recognition of my bravery and resourcefulness against the monk, I received a medal in a quick and unrehearsed ceremony. Moreaugarin kissed both my cheeks and promoted me to Rear Admiral.

Later on, Moreaugarin and I each lit a cigar and talked while the useless dregs again slept, snoring like hell.

“Rear Admiral”, said he “do you believe in fate?”

“I don’t like to waste my breath with bullshit.”

“Can’t you feel the liberating spark burning in your guts? Hasn’t your spirit ever yearned for the ancient light from the beginning of the Universe? What will you do when millions of people pour through the wide open gate weeping with happiness once they have regained the Ideal City?”

“I don’t know. I . . .I’m afraid to find out.”

I spoke no more. We sailed through troubled waters. We all believed that the Pilgrims had tried to kill us, that the monk was one of them. Perhaps by now they had prepared bubbling craters and heaps of asteroids to stop our march, to slay us and throw us into the sidereal chasm.

“What will you do with your diamond?” Moreaugarin puffed billows of smoke from his silvery cigar. “Will you swallow it to become immortal? And then, how will you use your immortality? Well, boy? What, then, Rear Admiral?”

The scoundrel! He was trying to sound me out. The old bastard in him was coming out again. He wanted me to give him my diamond. Oh, the selfish glutton! I laughed in his face.

“Why shouldn’t I be immortal?”

“You are naïve. You should have been prepared for that long ago. It won’t be easy. As soon as you swallow the diamond you’ll never die. What I’m asking is . . .”

“What?”

“Will you sell it to me? I plan a memorable experiment. And I lack one diamond”.

Oh, God Almighty! What a dog he was. What a groveling wretch. Moreaugarin had no intention to liberate the Ideal City and offer it to the people. Oh, he had tricked us with fine words! I vented my spleen on him and I went to sleep.

I tossed in bed all night. In the morning, as we sailed past icebergs, we set our watches for a one-second hop. Our armor clanged. We fell into formation on deck. We knelt and crossed ourselves. The great moment was coming.

Ibhib the Gunner pulled my sleeve and drew me aside to show me a pouchful of money. He let out a sigh.

“Max boy, let that immortality dream go. What do you care? Look here, we have all sold Moreaugarin our share of the diamonds. Go sell yours while the price is still high. Good money for the wet days ahead!”

I hit him so hard on the back of his head that rust fell off the scales of his armor. I pulled his flapping ears and, seething with fury, I slapped him on his jaw. Fucking cheap phony! I knew better than to sell myself to Moreaugarin.

“We shall see, Gunner. I’ll make up my own mind.”

The battle began. Heavy mists descended from the sky, as did snow. Blocks of ice fell on the deck of our battle cruiser. The Pilgrims fought like devils. We chopped them to pieces. Ibhib pulverized them with his temporal gun. Vlasko the Trumpeter slaughtered them with their own songs that he turned to dynamite. Moreaugarin yelled above the din.

“For the Ideal City, fight on! Well fought, my tigers. Let us liberate these ancient-light walls, which gave birth to humanity. Hurray!”

Well, this did not square with the situation. He was playing it off-key. The air trembled. Crackling. Moaning. The frozen waters began to boil off, creating great gouts of steam. The orange sun was detailed against the blue sky. A sickly looking star hung high above all this.

And then the battle was over. We had won.

“Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!” Ibhib shouted, pulling faces at Moreaugarin.

“In the name of the Cross!” Ploton roared.

“Hurray!”

Then there was silence over the wide expanses buried in deep white snow. It snowed for hours. We thronged at the foot of the Ideal City and started to clean our armor. The spotless walls shone blindingly. Moreaugarin looked for a dry patch of high land to exhort the sinners anew. He kept looking at me because he knew he had to give me one of the ancient-light diamonds. The other ruffians didn't care about me. They were already stewed to the gills with booze and singing bawdy songs. True blooded sidereal hounds.

“Thank you, tigers of mine!” Moreaugarin began. “My knights . . .”

No one was listening to him so he gave up, took out his dagger and started scraping the walls of the City.

I followed him. He roared madly at me.

"I told the Gunner to let you rot in your den. Boy, I never liked you!”

“Moreaugarin, you promised you would give those walls to the people.”

“Oh, yes, you’re impassioned. Romantic. Melancholy. How could you be a true sidereal hound? You’re a double dealer, Maxim, that’s what you are!”

“And you? You’re a wretched bastard. I know you well. You’ve tricked us again. You, the great crusader. What experiment are you preparing? What is above immortality? You said you have already discovered it, didn’t you? You could be reborn out of a drop of blood or--”

“You are as ignorant as dirt.” Moreaugarin pursed his thick lips. “I said, I said, I promised. Knowledge, my dear fellow, is above all else. Knowledge.”

“I hate you!” Tthe sidereal chasm swallowed my desperate words.

I pelted him with my hatred. I told him to get off the walls and return to Beauburg.

“Don’t be a spoilsport. How could you ask me to do that? I must have all the diamonds. You’ll give me yours, won’t you? I’ve got money. I sold the Ideal City to the shitty toad with silicon brains in the QET galaxy. For solid money. He went crazy at the idea of having it. We’ll play the old game and cheat him. That wouldn’t be the first time for a cur like you. Am I wrong, Max? Have you forgotten you’re a fickle bastard, an outlaw hiding in the catacombs? You’re nobody! How can you compare yourself to Moreaugarin? Hey boy, don’t stink, will you? You would break me to pieces, that I know, boy!”

“I’ll kill you one of these days, you bastard. You and that toad!”

“Hah, hah!”

His unfathomable machine suddenly appeared, whirring down from above. Moreaugarin howled and chased me with its green ray.

“Oh, boy, you have a lot to learn. We are different beings. Take my head if you can, come on, do it! Ha, ha! Good-bye, my boy, good-bye!”

And, in a puff of dark blue smoke, he was gone. With him went the Ideal City…

At dawn the next day we were again in Beauburg at the edge of the ocean. We weighed anchor and lay basking in the sun, exhausted. Sunlight made the anchor chain twinkle. Reddish sparkles played on the crests of the onrushing waves. The other scum had started shooting craps--old habits die hard--and wound up fighting and trussing like madmen.

I threw my armor into the ocean and stayed awhile on my knees to watch it sink. I lay on the warm sand and fell asleep, dreaming of the ancient-light walls of the Ideal City. Through the haze I could make out Moreaugarin’s figure. I called out to him. I felt I could kill him in my dream. I opened my chest a crack and pulled out my gun.

The report of the volley shattered my dream and my soul. Moreaugarin stumbled and fell face down in a puddle of corrupted blood. I ran up to cut off his head and take it as a bounty. Kicking the body, I turned it over. Ready to sever his head, I shuddered and froze. I was looking at my own face.