Derek, in no mood to hear a discourse on how and why the Areopagite’s sucked, decided to interrupt. “I thought you were going to tell us about Novelle New Zealand and Ram Whatshisface," he said somewhat irritably.
“Oh yes," said the Grand Shepherd happily. “So I was. Perhaps another round of refreshments first. Can I interest you gentlemen?” Not waiting for the general assent he signaled to a scantily clad woman on roller skates who took his order and departed.
“Now then, as you probably know, Novelle New Zealand was colonised some 700 years ago by explorers from New Zealand. Even by that point we were already conducting genetic experiments on sheep, the beloved cornerstone of Earth’s New Zealand economy. We had made great strides by that point, doubling the size of sheep and their subsequent wool output. But it was more than that. Experiments taking place were able to engineer intelligence into a few normal sheep, so much so, that lamb shanks and mutton soon became a thing of the past. About time to,” he said, his face distorting in disgust, “the concept of eating a sheep is almost like cannibalism for us now.”
“Pity," said Derek, showing his teeth. “They’re quite tasty you know.”
The Grand Shepherd allowed the distaste to linger on his face a little longer before continuing.
“Charming I’m sure. But to continue: Five hundred years ago, some hundred years after these exceptional sheep got the vote; yes, you may laugh,” he said to Logan and Tarquin who were stifling laughter, “but by then, one in every 10 sheep born had intelligence equivalent of your average human.
“But that’s ridiculous," said a still smiling Logan. “You can’t engineer intelligence with a previously stupid animal on such a grand scale.”
Grand Shepherd Mattock smiled humorlessly. “Oh we could and we did and it certainly didn’t seem stupid to us. As I was saying, some five hundred years ago, the first genetic mutation appeared in a sheep – or should I say, the first unplanned genetic mutation. That is to say, a sheep, specifically a ram, emerged that appeared to possess a limited form of telepathy and presentiment. To whit, this ram could read minds and see into the future.” Mattock let this sink in to the open jawed wonder of his audience. Logan thought he was enjoying this.
“But how have you kept this quiet?," stammered Tarquin. “Why haven’t we heard about this before?”
“Novelle New Zealand is on the outskirts of the colonized galaxy. Scientific documents were published but either the information was found to be too disturbing, or not interesting enough to concern the rest of the galaxy. Either way, the fact that exceptional sheep were being born on Novelle New Zealand didn’t stir things up too much. Perhaps the rest of the galaxy likes lamb shanks too much. But I digress, this Ram, Ram Benjamin, our first saviour, proposed that in order to shake off the yoke of the Areopagites - who discovered our planet and gave us colonization rights, and to whom we paid taxes – we must do something drastic. Ram Benjamin set up the Church of the Holy Lamb, declaring the whole planet to be his flock, so to speak.” He chuckled to himself at his little joke. Noticing no one else was laughing, he continued. “By doing so we exempted ourselves from any taxes or ownership rights that the Areopagites had over us.”
“Clever," said Logan.
“For a sheep," muttered Tarquin under his breath.
“Now our new Saviour, Ram Terry IV, a young ram, had a disturbing vision some five years ago. He saw a galaxy completely dominated by the Areopagites, a galaxy where aberrations such as genetically enhanced sheep – or humans for that matter,” he said with a significant glance in the direction of the Transplanters, “would be wiped out.”
It was common knowledge that the Areopagites were less than tolerant of genetic enhancements of animals to produce intelligence. Significantly, despite their own widespread use of genetic engineering, the Areopagites were hardly understanding of others using the same methods.
Mattock continued. “Ram Terry IV saw that our only chance would be to break their monopoly on navigation and colonization. Hence our research into the Overdrive. Fortunately for us, the research was a success – thanks largely to your friend Felix.”
“And what do you plan to do with this technology now that you have it?," asked Logan.
“Why, use it to break the Areopagites monopoly of course. We do not seek galactic domination – unlike our winged adversaries – just to be left in peace.”
“Very charitable of you,” commented a wry Tarquin.
“Hardly. Its a matter of self preservation. If we hadn’t developed the Overdrive, the Areopagites would sooner or later come calling again.”
“What’s stopping them from calling now?” enquired Logan.
Mattock shrugged. “Nothing really. But in a few hours it will be too late. The Overdrive data will be in safe hands and the Areopagites, or the Watchers for that matter will have nothing to gain by destroying us.”
“Umm. I don’t know. How about revenge? If someone had just taken away my galactic stranglehold on space travel, I’d be pretty pissed,” said Logan.
For the first time, the Grand Shepherd seemed at a bit of a loss. “I’m sure they wouldn’t do such a thing out of revenge. Surely not?," he finished hopefully.
“Believe it," said Tarquin. “These religious types tend to hold a grudge.”
Mattock looked thoughtful. “Perhaps we should ramp up our planetary defenses. We will have time given we are a few hundred light years from the nearest Areopagite held planet.” He stood. “Well gentlemen, its been a pleasure. I have much to do. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow at the audience with the Holy One.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world," said Logan.
The Grand Shepherd smiled again. “Excellent. Quarters have been prepared for you but I suggest you make the most of what Fever and Studio 54 has to offer before you retire for the evening. My assistants here," he said gesturing towards the two robed woman standing behind him, “will be more than happy to show you around.” Logan couldn’t be sure, but he swore one of the Shepherds had winked at him.
The Grand Shepherd walked off. A group of 4 robed figures, previously unseen in a nearby café, rose and fell in around their master.
“Guy comes prepared," commented Logan.
“Wouldn’t you, considering he has the most powerful group of psychopaths in the galaxy after his hide.”
Logan shrugged. “I suppose so.”
Tarquin rolled his eyes. “Gosh you’re cool.”
“Thanks. I know.”
The two men rose. The Shepherds, seeing that the men were leaving, walked over and introduced themselves.
The first one held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Shannon. This is Heather," she said, indicating her colleague.
“Very pleased to meet you," said Logan. Tarquin nudged him in the ribs to stop him leering. Both woman were rather attractive with olive skin and long think black hair. Logan suspected they were probably sisters.
Tarquin looked down at the others still sitting at the table. During the audience with the Grand Shepherd, Walter, Bruce and Derek had been getting quietly shitfaced.
“What about you guys. Coming?”
“Nah," said Bruce. “Me and Derek are gonna find our own entertainment. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
Tarquin nodded and turned to Walter. “What about you?”
Walter looked thoughtful and then downed his gin and tonic in one go. “If its all the same to our Transplanter friends here, I rather thought it would be fun to accompany them.”
Derek gave him a slap on the back almost throwing Walter off his chair. “Of course. We’ll see how much trouble we can get you in eh?”
Walter beamed idiotically.
“Well its settled then. We’ll meet you at the audience with Holy Lambshanks tomorrow,” said Tarquin.
The two groups parted company, the Shepherds leading Logan and Tarquin towards one of the 24 hour disco parties.
Tarquin looked slightly worried. “Think he’ll be alright?”
“Who?," a so
mewhat preoccupied Logan asked.
“Santa Claus. Walter, you idiot.”
“Oh yeah. I’m sure he’ll be just fine.”
Loosing interest in the conversation, Logan turned towards the two Shepherds. “Don’t you think you two will be out of place in a disco?”
Shannon cocked a saucy eyebrow at him. “You should see what we’ve got on underneath.”
She showed him.
Logan was confident it was going to be a good night.
◊
Knights Captain Tynan looked ridiculous and he knew it. When he wasn’t tripping over his white platform boots, he was pulling chest hairs out of his gold medallion. It wasn’t even mildly comforting to see everyone else in the bar looking equally ridiculous. Looking towards the door, he noticed the entrance of a diminutive disco clad figure entering the bar. The 4’ tall, green skinned Martian, spotting the Areopagite, made his way towards Tynan’s booth.
“I take it you got my message then”?
The Martian nodded.
“Can I interest you in a drink?”
“Just a quick beer. We still have preparations to make.”
A waitress came over and took their order. Tynan used the opportunity to scrutinize his new ally. The green, oval shaped head was dominated by large, disproportionate eyes. They would have appeared larger but for the afro that was covering the usually bald Martian pate. He appeared somewhat agitated, eyes nervously moving around the bar.
“Everything alright?," Tynan asked.
The Martian nodded quickly. “I’ve received the go ahead from our Emperor, but it doesn’t make me feel any better about this whole thing.” His beer arrived and he took a sip, his long, extra jointed hands completely wrapping around the glass.
Tynan smiled. “Look Captain. You’re getting a good deal out of this whole thing. All I’m asking from you is a small act of sabotage, perhaps a bit of back up, and in return you receive the Overdrive data. What more could you want?”
The Martian fidgeted with his glass. “You promise they won’t get hurt?”
“You have my word.”
The small green man’s lip twisted in derision. “The word of an Areopagite? What’s that worth? Fuck all in my book.”
“In addition to carrying a hand cannon, I also carry the authority of Metatron.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“No, of course not," Tynan said reassuringly. “I’m just stating the facts. Any deal I make with you now will be fully ratified by Metatron and the ruling council of the Areopagites. I’m sure you’ll go back to New Mars a hero of the people. Probably an exceedingly rich hero.”
The Martian looked despondent. “But they saved our lives.”
“Yes. Which puts you in an excellent position to gain access to their ship.” Tynan watched the Martian nod slowly and knew he had him. “And I’ll need you and your men armed and ready to go tomorrow morning. Just for show of course but the Shepherds won’t give the data over without a bit of persuasion.” He raised his glass. “Tomorrow then.”
Captain Zoltan, formerly of the ship Frying Saucer, finished his beer in one gulp.
◊
Archangel Gabriella was on all fours getting taken from behind by one of her Templars when an urgent message came through her AI. The Templar, energetically banging away for all he was worth, had her wings firmly gripped in his hands in an effort to gain more leverage. Her large breasts swung gaily at each thrust.
Answering, she pushed him off, sending him sprawling on the floor. For the life of her, she couldn’t remember his name.
“Yes?," she said impatiently.
“Sorry to disturb you Princess, but we’re about to dock with Fever.” Sammael’s face appeared under her eyelid. “I wasn’t interrupting anything important was I?”
“Nothing of any value,” she said, looking down at the naked Templar lying on her bedroom floor. “I’ll meet you on the bridge.”
“Yes Princess.”
She cut the channel and used her personal field to gather her clothes from the floor. Without looking up, she addressed the Templar.
“Get your clothes on and get the fuck out of my room. I’m sure you have duties to attend to.”
“Yes Princess," he stammered, gathering up his clothes and all but running out.
◊
Gabriella’s Valkyrie, the 1km Blazing Trumpet, emerged from Nospace. Apart from regular updates from their spies, allies, and assets, the voyage from Makon had been uneventful. Gabriella had spent much of the time testing the mettle of the men under her command. And under her covers.
Sammael was already on the bridge by the time Gabriella walked in. He stood to one side of her command seat and bowed slightly as she seated herself. The large screens in front of her showed a large disco ball hanging before the orange and yellow backdrop of the gas giant.
“What’s the status of our asset?," she asked without turning her head.
“He’s already arrived Princess. Other sources reveal that the data exchange will take place tomorrow.”
“Good. I’m still rather surprised it was the Shepherds that developed the Overdrive. Never thought they had it in them.”
“Survival often engenders innovation.”
“That’s very good Sammael," she said, smiling and turning to her assistant. “Make it up yourself?”
Sammael grinned back. “Just then actually.”
“I’m impressed. I knew I kept you around for something.”
“I thought you kept me around for a few more reasons," he replied, looking petulant.
“Oh for fuck’s sake. You’re not going to get huffy with me because I been shagging the crew now are you?”
“No Princess. Its just that I thought we had an arrangement.”
“Yes we do," she said, steel entering her voice. “Get me the Overdrive and I let you live.” She watched as anger and frustration crossed his face before being wiped off and replaced with his normal lack of expression. She’d have to be careful with Sammael. He was prone to acts of extreme violence if provoked and he was, after all, still rather useful.
Her voice suddenly changed, dripping seduction. “And if you do, then I will certainly honor our so called arrangement and allow you back into my bedroom.”
A smile briefly crossed his lips. “Yes Princess.”
◊
“If you put that wig anywhere near me, you loose the arm.”
The Nephillim aide hurriedly pulled the offending wig away. Asel glared at him. The Nephillim took another step back.
Asel and 10 of his Nephillim were standing in the customs area of Fever. Despite stern, vigorous and even threatening protests, the customs officials had refused to relent on the dress code. Three of them were huddling to one side casting nervous glances at Asel.
“We should send a few ships to pulverize this rock.”
“Yes my Prince," the nearby Nephillim dutifully chorused.
“Its a disgrace.”
“Yes my Prince.”
“Who wears these idiotic clothes anyway?”
You do, thought 10 Nephillim minds.
“I’m told,” said one of his bolder Nephillim, “that these clothes were rather popular 1000 years ago on Earth.”
“Yes, well, its not 1000 years ago and we’re not on fucking Earth are we?”
“No my Prince.”
Asel lent closer to his aide. “Are you sure the meeting is set for this morning?”
“Yes, my Prince.”
“Don’t you ever say anything but, No my Prince, Yes my Prince.”
“Yes, my Prince.”
“Get out of my sight.”
The aide, about to open his mouth, thought better of it and moved hastily away.
Asel, barely meeting Fever’s basic dress requirement, sauntered through customs. His Nephillim followed at a polite distance. One of the braver or perhaps suicidal customs officials, acting in his fully authorized role as a fashion policeman, attempted to stop Asel, intending
to arrest him. His colleagues, fearing the worst, grabbed him and gave him a good kicking in the corner.
Once through customs, Asel led his men to an AG capsule, directing it to take them to Studio 54.
He’d left some men behind to incapacitate Tarquin’s ship in the unlikely event that he failed to retrieve the Overdrive. In addition, some underworld contacts were to provide Asel with all the weaponry he would possibly need. He was confident there would be no mistakes this time.
◊
Walking arm in arm and surrounded by competent looking Shepherds, Felix and Crystal made their way towards the audience chamber of Ram Terry IV.
“Feeling better?," asked Crystal.
“Yeah. Momentary loss of reason yesterday. Its just, well I thought that after the last few years, I was going to offer the galaxy a gift devoid of all religious bullshit. Its hard when all your beliefs come crashing down and you have to build them from the ground up again.”
Crystal hugged his arm reassuringly. “I know. And you are giving the galaxy a great gift. I explained to you last night that the Shepherds and the Church of the Holy Lamb are against the likes of the Areopagites. All we seek is a bit of balance and some galactic harmony.”
“Spare me the sermon.”
Crystal sighed dramatically.
“Oh, all right. I’ll try to be nice. But its the proof of the pudding and all that you know. Besides, I’d like to think all my friends back at Nebula Inc didn’t get incinerated trying to stop one religious group intent on galactic domination, only to find another, not dissimilar group was our employer all along.”
“I think you’ll change your mind when you meet Ram Terry IV. He’s very charismatic.”
“Have you met a lot of charismatic sheep in your time?”
“A few, yes.”
“Have you ever, you know…” He trailed off with a grin on his face.
Crystal hit him playfully on the arm. “No of course not. Dickhead. Think you’re pretty funny don’t you?”
“I’ve spent 28 years trying to become so.”
“Well, its not working. I think you should take lessons.”
“I bow to the superior wisdom of the lady.” He performed a mock bow. “It will be a relief when all this is over. Fancy a nice quiet holiday, just the two of us after this? I don’t think these guys,” he said, indicating the robed protection squad surrounding them, “would look too comfortable in swimwear.”
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