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shrapnel being kicked up by the explosions was going right through the phalanx of frozen soldiers. In reality, this storm of high-speed, highly irradiated metals should have sliced right through the small legion, causing an ocean of blood and gore.
    But that did not happen for one simple reason: These soldiers weren't soldiers at all. They were holograms. Projections. Fakes.
    It took some more zigging and zagging, but finally the two men reached the relative safety of the huge door leading into the ice fort.
    It was locked.
    Tomm started pounding on the door. Another explosion went off close by. The door did not budge. More explosions, two of which were uncomfortably close. Tomm pounded louder, but again to no avail. Finally, Hunter drew out his blaster pistol and aimed it at the door's substantial lock. But before he could engage the trigger, Tomm reached up and pulled the barrel down.
    "No, wait, my friend," he urged Hunter. "I'm sure they're just a little slow in answering the door."
    Hunter started to protest, but then, sure enough, they saw the huge metal bolt running through the center of the lock begin to move slowly. Make that very slowly. It took what seemed like forever, but finally the lock sprang loose, and the door flew wide open. Hunter and Tomm tumbled inside.
    No sooner did they regain their footing when another explosion went off close to where they'd been standing just seconds before. The huge door took most of the blast, but the concussion was enough to knock Hunter's crash helmet nearly halfway around his head. Temporarily blinded, he heard the huge door slam behind him.
    He straightened his helmet to discover a dark figure was standing before them. They were in a vestibule of sorts, but it was nearly pitch black inside, so Hunter could only see an outline of this person. By the size of it though, he thought it had to be a child. But then a candle was lit, and by its light Hunter finally saw this person was actually a tiny, bent-over ancient-looking man wearing a garish red and yellow uniform, old, worn-down boots, a severely dented space helmet, and a frayed weapons belt, which held the most pathetically rusted sword imaginable.
    Tomm immediately leaped forward and embraced the man. The old-timer did his best to return the gesture; he was actually trying to laugh with joy, but he had not yet caught enough of his breath to let out anything more than a gleeful wheeze. There was no doubt, though, that he was very happy to see Pater Tomm.
    The priest turned back to Hunter and said, "Can you believe it? Here is the man himself! Answering his own door."
    But Hunter was having a hard time processing this information.
    "Do you mean?" he asked in a mumble. "That this is—"
    "Yes!" Tomm shouted. "Behold the Great Klaaz!"
    But this guy looked positively ancient. His beard was long enough to touch the frozen ground.
    "Padre," Hunter replied. "Surely you must mean this is Klaaz's grandfather ."
    But Tomm waved his words away. "No, my brother," he said. "This is Klaaz himself!"
    Hunter took another look at the very elderly, very broken-down soldier and uttered just one word: " Damn ."
    This is not what he had expected.
    Klaaz was finally able to get some air into his frozen lungs.
    'Tomm, my brother! Are you really here? Or am I dead and just dreaming?"
    "I am here old friend." Tomm replied.
    Klaaz wrapped the priest in a weak bear hug.
    "We have waited too long for this moment!" he croaked. "You are not only my confessor, you are one of the bravest soul seekers of our times!"
    Pater Tomm shook his head. "It is you who are the hero, Klaaz! Entire star systems speak your name in their histories. ..."
    "I just did my job." Klaaz replied with a wink.
    Pater Tomm opened his mouth to say something further, but a terrifying screech drowned him out. An ion shell had impacted right on the main door. The sudden green glow was a dead giveaway. That, and the ear-splitting noise.
    "Quickly!" Klaaz said, although he began moving