Sammael took the hint. “I’ll get onto our friend immediately. At most, he’ll only be a few hours behind."
Gabriella flicked him an irate glance. “You better pray that’s all it is.”
“Prayer? Now that’s novel coming from you."
“Don’t fuck with me Sammael. We need the Overdrive. Get this thing sorted. Now!”
Continuing to walk through the foyer, they were waved through the docking bay control gates by guards meekly trying to catch a glance of Gabriella, emerging at the bay for her ship - the one kilometer long Valkyrie Blazing Trumpet - a silver ovoid with thrusters jutting from the back and landing pads from its belly. The ships Captain and crew were all standing to attention at the foot of the entrance ramp. Gabriella didn’t even glance at them as she made her way up the ramp.
“Prepare to debark for Makon, Captain.”
“Yes Princess."
In his private quarters, Sammael opened a channel via his AI. A call like this would normally be prohibitive with normal communication links, but the Areopagites possessed the best private relays available. Gabriella had made it clear that she wouldn’t tolerate any delays and he certainly couldn’t wait the 12 hours it would take to reach Makon.
His AI reported that it had established a link, but no face or icon appeared under his eyelid.
“Sammael. Didn’t expect to hear from you."
“Yes, well. We’ve had a development. I know where you can find the one we seek.” He quickly coded the information and instructed his AI to send. “Better get your man onto it smartly. It seems that fuckwit Simbiel is closer than we are, so tell your boy to watch out. The general consensus is that Simbiel is an idiot but also an idiot that’s very prone to extreme violence if anyone should get in his way."
“That shouldn’t be a problem. Our agent is also, ah, shall we say, rather good at what he does. He’s also not very far away."
“He’d better be otherwise its both our nuts on the line."
“How are your nuts by the way? Still getting frequent attention from Gabriella?”
“None of your business. If you’re so keen to find out about Gabriella’s nocturnal activities, why don’t you go there yourself?”
“No thanks. You think I’m stupid?”
“Thought never crossed my mind. Now find that fucking Overdrive." He instructed his AI to cut the link and settled back into his seat. If worse came to worse, he could always step in directly himself. That would obviously reveal to Metatron and Michael that Gabriella was more involved than she’d let on and raise subsequent questions. He’d cross that bridge when he came to it.
◊
Even at over a 1km away, the Dirty Little Minx was an impressive sight. Resembling a watermelon in shape, and painted in what must be bright swirling colors (color had limited impact in nospace), the Hedonist Starcruiser was over 5km long and some 3km in diameter. Huge ion thruster nozzles thrust from the stern surrounding the relatively innocuous Slipdrive exhaust.
Tarquin’s AI reported that the Dirty Little Minx had taken over navigational control of his ship, so with little to do, he grabbed a beer for himself and Logan from his ships bar and returned to his seat in the bridge.
Logan accepted his beer with a grateful grunt and the two sat back to watch the docking procedure. At 300 meters out and heading directly for the midship docking bay area, both men could make out the figure painted near the bow. A woman, nearly half a kilometer tall, beckoned gaily with a smile and a wink. During the 10 minutes or so it took to dock, the men watched as the ships holographic namesake flirted with any ship passing near her hull. Ginormous curves competed with other more lurid gestures to get the attention of the slightly startled occupants of the Debacherous Weekend.
“Well," a thoroughly impressed Logan remarked, “I’ve certainly had less enthusiastic welcomes. I wonder if she’s on board in more manageable proportions?," he finished thoughtfully.
Tarquin raised his eyebrows. “If she’s on board, I’m sure you’ll find her Log.” He paused to have a slurp on his beer. “You even been on one of these Hedonist ships before?”
“Nope. You?”
“Nah. I doubt whether there’s much that these depraved weirdo’s have done that I haven’t."
“Think you’re quite the man about town, don’t you?”
“I like to think I’ve experienced much that life has to offer”
Logan raised his beer in salute. “I’ll drink to that."
As the Debacherous Weekend neared the docking bay, a field sprung out from the Hedonist ship to surround them. The field slowly contracted as the ship was brought in through the docking bay field and quietly settled between two larger ships.
“Still," Tarquin mused, “I’m bloody curious though."
“Be as curious as you like, just as long as we get Felix’s arse safely off this ship."
“You really think he’s in that much trouble?”
“Yeah, I do. Why else would he just up and leave without a word to either of us? And, oh. Let me think for a sec. If you’re work place and colleagues had been torched for no obvious reasons, wouldn’t that make you a bit nervous?”
“No need for sarcasm Log. A simple yes would have done the trick."
“Just as long as you understand that we’re not here for a holiday."
“Likewise.” He paused and added with gusto “Bring it on son," with exaggerated bravado. He finished by flashing a large grin at his friend. “Alright then, let’s get to it." With that, he stood up and made his way to the storage locker. Logan followed him out.
“Think there’s a dress code on the ship”? Logan enquired of his friend. He had instructed his coverall to take the form of blue jeans, a red shirt and a black thigh length leather jacket. Tarquin was dressed in black leather pants and a black t-shirt with “show us your arse” written on it.
“Nah. They’re Hedonist’s remember."
At an unspoken command from Tarquin, the Debacherous Weekend opened its hatch and extended a ramp down to the docking bay floor. The two men descended to find themselves confronted by a plump, rosy faced man dressed in a leather one piece, five hard faced men wearing the unmistakable garb of security and one large and menacing combat droid lurking in the background.
“Hello," the plump man began without preamble. “My name is Walter. I’m one of the ships activity coordinators," he said brightly. His overly large smile faded somewhat when met with the blank stares of Tarquin and Logan. “I’m in charge of familiarizing yourselves with the ship and introducing you to whatever activities or mores your hearts desire."
Walter paused slightly and went on in a slightly less enthusiastic manner. “It would, erm, seem, that, ah, your ship was detected as carrying a rather excessive amount of weaponry. As you know, we Hedonist do not value violence in any way, shape or form. In fact, we abhor it."
“And?," Logan prompted him.
“And, um yes, I’m getting to it." He paused to wipe away some non-existent sweat from his brow.
“We cannot allow you to bring any form of weapon on board. Unless," he added, a smile returning to his face, “its for some form of masochistic pleasure. These men," he said, gesturing towards the grim faced security guards, “will ensure that no such weapon is brought on board." He glanced nervously at Tarquin and Logan. “Would you mind presenting yourselves and your luggage for inspection”?, he finished hopefully.
“Yes of course. We’d be happy to," replied Logan.
Walter breathed a sigh of relief and his smile and jovial manner instantly reasserted itself. The security guards moved to examine the two men and their bags with portable scanners. Walter waffled on cheerfully. “You’ll find that every conceivable pleasure is available on this ship for your delight and amusement. The Hedonist’s value your privacy but if you’re interested in sharing, then many of our guests receive great contentment from doing just that. I’ll be happy, to um," Walter’s voice faltered as the security guards began dropping assorted weaponry foun
d on the men into the confiscation container, “show you around," he finished lamely.
“Goodness, but you arrived heavily armed for a pleasure cruise. You do realize, of course, that the safety of our guests is paramount, and no personal weaponry is needed, thanks to our top notch security men here,” he finished by again gesturing towards the aforementioned.
The security guards, having completed their search of the two men, left, taking the combat droid and a relatively large amount of confiscated weaponry with them. A somewhat nervous Walter was left alone with Tarquin and Logan. “Security will return your items to you upon your departure.” Attempting a bit of levity, he continued. “You don’t seem to have much luggage left," said Walter, in what he hoped was a jovial tone.
“It seems that way doesn’t it”?, replied Tarquin.
“Well, um, yes. Now then. Is there any particular sin or entertainment I can interest you in?”
“Not right now," said Logan. “We’re actually here to surprise one of our friends." He gave Walter Felix’s description. “You don’t by any chance, happen to recall having seen him?."
“No, of course not," Walter let loose with a nervous chuckle. “I love to be able to help you, but this ship has over 20,000 passengers. I can’t be expected to remember all of them, but I do remember the special ones." He grinned at the men in a way that he hoped was ingratiating. “If you could provide me with your friend’s name, I’d be happy to check for you”
“No thanks. Not necessary. We can, I take it, check with the ship for passenger names?” inquired Logan
“Of course. Unless that passenger had requested anonymity”
Logan and Tarquin exchanged a glance.
“Now then," said Walter, choosing to miss the exchange and clapping his hands in enthusiasm. “Allow me to show you to your rooms."
Walter led them through a foyer. Many attractive males and females were arrayed as if for display. They were surrounded by a milling group of what appeared to be other new arrivals. All smiled invitingly in their direction as the three men entered the room.
“Any particular preference? We cater for all sorts here. Male, female, bi, uni, hemof, transplant, artificial etc." Walter looked slightly amused at the confusion displayed by the two men. “You do of course realize that your ticket comes with a companion for the duration of the trip."
The other new arrivals seemed to be socializing quite pleasantly with their Hedonist companions. More than a few appeared to be getting quite familiar with their very friendly Hedonist companions while some, obviously in a hurry to start their holidays, were already engaging in various sexual activities.
“Well, um, no," said Tarquin. He gave Logan, who was grinning like a banshee, a nudge in the ribs.
“My, my," replied Walter. “You are very new to all this. Well, its not compulsory you know, but I’m sure our companions here would be rather disappointed if you decide not to choose.”
Tarquin kept a straight face. “I think we might have to pass at this point. Perhaps later." Logan wasn’t even listening, having been distracted by a buxom brunette smiling winsomely at him.
“Well, if you change your mind, let me know. Now if you’d like to follow me…” Walter trailed off gesturing in the direction of a door guarded by two woman garbed in revealing leather and armed with whips.
“Lead on. Come on Log," said Tarquin grabbing Logan by the arm before he disappeared with the woman he was eyeing up.
“Yeah, yeah. Coming," a somewhat despondent Logan replied.
“What were you saying about not being here for a holiday?."
“I was just looking," said Logan defensively.
“Yeah, and I’ve got 3 testicles”
“That must be quite uncomfortable”
“Shut it”
Walter led the two men past the two dominatrix, through the door and into a corridor bathed in red light. Logan lit up a cigarette. A blue field sprung out immediately from an innocuous nozzle on the ceiling to surround him.
Walter observed this with a smile. “You will find the Dirty Little Minx to be equipped with all the latest in field technology. We have many AG bars also fitted out with various field generators to make your stay more interesting. Ah here we are."
Walter halted in front of an AG lift. The doors opened and Walter motioned to the two men to step inside. The blue field from the corridor shut down to be replaced instantly by one in the lift. Logan’s blue smoke field shrank to conform to its new environs. Even so, Tarquin’s head entered the field briefly.
“Oi! Keep your field to yourself”
“Blow it out your arse big fella. You really should give it a go. Its not as if they can kill you anymore."
Smoking had lost its following by the mid 21st century Earth thanks largely to legislation forbidding smoking in any public place whatsoever. That, and of course its major side effect – it killed you. The lid of the coffin of smoking was firmly hammered shut when smoking in your back yard (if you had one) was banned followed by smoking in your house unless you received special dispensation, were extremely sneaky, or hailed from France.
By the 22nd century, a cure for cancer had been discovered but by then, smoking was a lost art form to all but a few, mostly diehards located in France. The French colony world, Gitane, had been founded in 2240. It immediately declared itself “smokers paradise” and started cultivating large crops of tobacco for its residents and the slowly increasing off world demand. By now, any harmful effects caused by smoking could be easily countered with basic medical procedures, or, more expensively, by genetic engineering or GE’ing. Seven hundred years on and smoking once again had a strong and no longer harassed following numbered in the billions.
Logan had started smoking 5 years ago to the disgust of Tarquin, who although was no stranger to chemical body additives, for some reason couldn’t tolerate the habit.
Tarquin was looking dubiously at Logan’s cigarette. “Yeah, but it makes you smell like an armpit."
“Well, keep your fucking great bonce out of my field then." Both men grinned at each other. Walter, who was about to summon security, breathed a sigh of relief.
The portly activities organizer shut one eye and consulted his AI. To purchase tickets on a Starcruiser, passengers had to send full descriptions - including holographic identification - to the ticketing agent, descriptions that the staff of the Dirty Little Minx could then access.
“Gentlemen, you both have suites on Electric blue - level 30. Mr. Pope, you’re in room 30216 and Mr. Compton-Burnett, right next door in 30217. You’ll find they are luxuriously appointed but if you have any complaints, please do not hesitate to call upon me.
Both Tarquin’s and Logan’s AI’s registered receiving Walter’s Eddress and their room entrance codes.
“You can also access any information about the ship, or talk to the ship directly, via your AI implant. The ship can also communicate verbally if you so desire, if fact, I believe it wants to welcome you personally as we speak.”
A sultry, feminine voice seemed to surround them in the lift.
“Welcome to you both, gentlemen. I am the Dirty Little Minx. You may, if you so desire, call me Minx. I am at your disposal.”
“Thank you Minx," said Logan.
“My pleasure. Firstly, I would like to familiarize yourselves with my general makeup. All ships functions are regulated by me. My bridge is located on level 60 and you are welcome to visit personally if you so desire. In fact, I’d love for you to visit. I do retain a number of human staff – bridge overseers, maintenance and engineering crew, and of course security. All droids on board are controlled directly by myself."
“Reassuring," replied Logan, a trifle sarcastically.
The Minx, fully capable of detecting such mannerisms, decided to ignore Logan’s comment.
“I am 5.5kms in length, 2.2 in diameter and 2.3 in height. I am capable of accommodating 22,600 passengers and 3,000 crew. I have 60 levels. Levels 1-10 are designated docking, storage
and administration, levels 11-20 have the designation of physical recreational pursuits. Levels 21-29 are devoted to bars whether they be S&M or YV&COM."
“YV&COM?," Tarquin queried.
“Young vixens and Crusty old men."
“Oh." Logan was trying unsuccessfully not to laugh.
“Levels 30 through 50," continued the Minx unperturbed, are the accommodation sections, and levels 51-59 are designated “Private pursuits."
“Dare I ask?," a grinning Tarquin asked Logan.
“Best not to," he replied. Logan put his cigarette out in the disposal unit provided. The blue field disappeared taking any traces of smoke with it.
“The journey to Revel will take approximately 2 weeks. You have arrived just in time for our twice weekly Deviant Ball held tonight in our largest venue, the Meat and Two Vege club encompassing levels 24 and 25. You are encouraged to attend. Costumes can be provided by Walter here if you are unwilling or unable to use your Coverall.”
“We’ll see Minx," Logan said non-committedly. “Actually, we’re hoping to find one of our friends. His name is Horace Belloc. He would’ve checked in a few hours before us."
“Of course. Mr. Belloc has been allocated room 32762. Would you like me to contact him for you?."
Logan shook his head. “No thanks."
The AG lift began to move. Not that it was actually appreciable, but the holographic display on the walls changed every time they got to a new level.
“If there’s anything else you need, you are encouraged to talk to myself or Walter. A partner or even groups can be sent to your room at any time during ship day or night. Welcome aboard and enjoy your stay”
“Thanks again Minx," said Logan.
A beaming Walter, struggling to remain silent during the conversation, finally got his chance to speak again. “There you have it. The little lady herself," he said proudly. “Isn’t she wonderful," he gushed. “We’ve got 30 StarCruisers in our Hedonist fleet now, and she’s by far the most popular.”
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