Her AI reported an incoming message. Closing her eyelid, the smirking face of Asel, the Watcher Prince, appeared before her.
“Hello there beautiful,” he said.
Crystal glared at him. “What do you want?”
“How about a kiss?”
“How about ‘Get fucked’."
“Bit touchy I see." When Crystal failed to reply, he sailed on regardless.
“It would appear that you’re in a slight predicament. Your life support is failing - which means you will probably be dead by the time you reach safety. In addition, you’re about to be intercepted by some terribly violent and immoral individuals. As the leader of those terribly violent and immoral individuals, I would like to take this opportunity to deliver your options. Surrender or, um, let me think – oh that’s right. Surrender.”
“You forgot my other option.”
“What’s that then?, Asel said with surprise.
“Bite me.” Crystal cut the link.
◊
Asel smiled grimly as the face of the Shepherd woman disappeared from his eyelid. She would pay for that and he, Asel, would take a personal interest in the extraction of that payment. He ordered his ship’s Captain to power up the weapon systems as they closed the gap with the Hot Tucker.
The freighter was on the verge of the debris cloud that had once been the Divine Retribution when Asel gave the order to fire. A bolt from a field disruptor dispersed the weak field surrounding the ancient cargo ship. Precisely aimed plasma bolts targeted the life support compartment and the fuel tanks containing the plasma for the Ion drive of the now unprotected ship. Liquid plasma erupted out of the shattered tanks, combining with the debris cloud from the Divine Retribution and effectively concealing the stricken freighter.
Asel had the Captain move the Sweet Bejesus to within 500 meters of the freighter, matching velocity and trajectory of the now powerless ship. The Watcher Prince ordered a squad of combat Nephillim to suit up, ensuring that each was armed with an Afer in addition to plasma cannons, before leading them out of the airlock and into the space separating the two ships. Unsuited and largely unencumbered, Asel, surrounded by his glowing blue field nimbus, reached the heavily venting ship first and made for the airlock. Unbidden, his AI brought a burglar program on-line. Asel dismissed it, powering up his plasma cannon and setting it for continuous beam. He used the beam to slice through the airlock door and had just finished when his squad of combat Nephillim glided up next to him.
Forcing his way through the still glowing rent in the door, Asel led the way into the ship, ducking to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling of the small airlock chamber. He sent three of the squad to investigate the engine and cargo rooms, ordering the remaining three to accompany him to the bridge. The ship was oddly quiet and appeared to be deserted. All systems had been shut down - the otherwise dark corridor lit only by Asel’s glowing nimbus and the suit lights on the combat armor of the Nephillim.
The Watcher Prince cautiously entered the bridge, his field at maximum strength, expecting to find not only his quarry but some form of armed resistance. Disappointingly, the bridge was deserted.
He opened a link to his squad leader who was in the engine room. “Anything?” he said brusquely.
“No sir. Nothing. The two emergency capsules have been ejected however.”
“Fuck. Any sign of the Overdrive?”
“No sir, although it does look like something has been recently removed from above the Ion drive.”
“Well that’s just fucking great.” He cut the link and turned to one of his squad.
“I want this ship fully scanned. Bring a tech crew over and see if you can bring this piece of shits AI back on line. The rest of you get back to the ship.”
The three Nephillim saluted and hastily withdrew. Asel was left alone on the bridge. He stared moodily out of one of the bridge screens, surprised to note that he could see Gitane, partially hidden by the debris cloud that now surrounded the ancient freighter. The ship was so old that it actually had windows looking directly out into space. More modern ships normally buried their bridge deep inside their hulls and had screens that generated images from sensors on the skin of the ship.
Asel continued to stare out the window for some time, contemplating his next move. If he lost the Overdrive and Felix again, his father would be less than impressed, not to mention that he still had Gabriella and her band of merry Areopagites to deal with.
Distracted by such thoughts, he failed to note that three objects within the debris cloud had beacon lights.
◊
Logan woke first and found someone's arse in his face. It was always disconcerting to wake up in a strange place, but to wake up in a strange place with a face full of arse was doubly so. He didn’t know what he was so worried about – it wasn’t too dissimilar from his University days. Perhaps, he thought, I’m getting old. Wherever he was, it was also rather cramped. In addition to the owner of the arse (he suspected, given its dimensions, that it was probably Walter’s), two other bodies were pressing into him. One, he discovered, was Felix who was still unconscious. On his other side, the hairy body of Bruce was snoring.
Logan raised his head and looked around. He found himself in a cramped, narrow space about one meter in diameter. Tarquin, also beginning to stir, was encased precariously in a storage locker above him. The former Snareball Gladiator gave a start and with a yelp, fell into Logan’s lap.
“Oi. Get off me you big lug,” a slightly winded Logan groaned.
Tarquin struggled out of Logan’s lap and hit his head on the storage locker above him as he tried to stand.
“Where are we?," he asked, rubbing his head and looking at Logan who was also unsuccessfully trying to stand.
“In a small cramped space?," Logan ventured.
“Yeah, nice one Log," he growled back.
A small door was set in the wall before them. After checking the bodies of Felix, Walter and Bruce and finding them still unconscious, Tarquin opened the door and peered into the adjacent room. He found a small cockpit, almost entirely filled by a command seat, and a screen showing what appeared to be space covered by mist. Cystal sat in the seat, her attention completely occupied by whatever she was doing. Ram Terry sat on the ground next to her, squashed into a corner. The Holy Ram turned to look at Tarquin.
“Oh, you’re up I see.”
Tarquin grinned wryly. “Very observant your Raminess.”
Ram Terry contorted his face in what Tarquin interpreted as a smile. “Is everyone alright?”
“Yes, your Raminess. Ah, just out of interest, where are we?”
“In the Hot Tucker’s escape capsule,” said Crystal, not taking her eyes off the screen. “Do you want to take over Tarquin? Its manual operated and a bit of a bugger.”
As Tarquin tried to squeeze into the chair, Crystal had to take her hand off the manual control as she edged away. The tiny capsule dipped alarmingly, throwing Crystal, Tarquin and Ram Terry into a confused heap of arms, legs, wool and hooves on the floor.
“What the fuck are you doing up there?," shouted Logan from the baggage compartment.
Tarquin ignored him, finally extracting himself from the tangle on the floor and inserting himself into the command seat where he immediately grasped the manual control toggle and righted the ship.
“So?," he said to Crystal, his eyes never leaving the screen.
“So, what?," she replied, edging her way backwards into the door, leaving only her head sticking out.
“What happened?”
“Oh. The Overdrive worked. We’re in Gitanian space. Unfortunately, so is Asel. He took out our fuel tanks and life support but not before I could steer us into this debris cloud. I loaded you lot into one of the escape capsules and ejected both into the thick of the cloud. Ram Terry got us permission to dock at the PDS. Just follow the beacon and it should guide us in.”
“What’s Asel doing now?," asked Tarquin.
Crystal shrugged. “N
o idea.”
“I know what he won’t be doing,” said Ram Terry. “Getting any closer. The Gitanian defense network has issued a general warning, advising all ships to maintain their current positions. Anyone approaching this close to the planet without permission will be targeted and shot down.”
Tarquin nodded. “Good."
In the storage locker, the others were coming to. Crystal retreated into the tiny space to see if the others required help.
Tarquin continued to pilot the tiny capsule, avoiding pieces of debris as he followed the beacon to the huge defense station. A large piece of what appeared to be debris shot up from beneath them and struck the capsule before disappearing out of view. The capsule shuddered and skewed off course again before Tarquin could right it. He ignored the general sounds of complaint issuing from the storage locker.
“Did you see that?," he exclaimed to the sheep next to him.
Ram Terry nodded.
“What do you suppose it was?”
Ram Terry shrugged. “Beats me. Why, what do you think it was?”
Tarquin looked thoughtful. “Not sure, but my AI seems to think it looked like an intact bridge from an Areopagite Galley.”
◊
“What the fuck was that?”
The bridge of the former Areopagite war Galley, the Divine Retribution, shuddered as it impacted with another object.
The Captain turned at the sound of Tynan’s voice. He suppressed the urge to shrug and instead queried his AI. His AI had a link to what remained of the external sensors which he used to replay the impact. “It looked like an old escape capsule sir.”
Tynan breathed out slowly. He had almost panicked at the sound of the impact, believing that what remained of his ship was once again under attack.
“Very good. What news of Princess Gabriella?”
“Her ship is still an hour away sir. The Gitanian’s have ramped up their security forcing the Blazing Trumpet to detour slightly. In any case, we can’t be picked up until we’ve cleared this debris cloud and are out of range of the PDS.”
Tynan nodded slowly. He just hoped Gabriella got to them before Asel and his Nephillim did.
He let out a sigh. Something he’d been doing a lot of lately. It hardly mattered who picked him up first. Either way, he was in deep shit.
Chapter Nine
The small shuttle bucked sharply as it entered Gitane’s turbulent reddish-brown atmosphere. The shuttle’s AI righted the tiny craft before realigning its sensors on the spaceport beacon of Gitane’s largest island and capital – Gauches. It shuddered a few more times before settling into its flight path, now controlled by Gauches’ spaceport AI, which guided it down towards the island. Murky clouds parted briefly to reveal a large maroon and light speckled island below. It was 5am local time, too early for the sun to pass the world’s terminator and burn off the cloud cover.
Within the shuttles cramped compartment, 4 passengers stared at the forward view screen with varying degrees of interest. Felix and Crystal sat side by side, quietly staring at the screen. Both were clad in coveralls – the latter having belted on her sword with the optimistic intent of getting it past Gauches security. On the opposite couch sat Ram Terry, clad only in small jerkin. He seemed to be meditating or sleeping. Logan sat beside him, also in a one piece coverall, fidgeting and bored.
Ram Terry had so far proved to be rather less than communicative during the 60 minute trip from the PDS station to the planet’s surface. His Raminess had been most talkative when they had met with Gitanian officials aboard the PDS. The Holy Ram had used his influence to gain the use of one of the PDS’s shuttles, but once on board, had settled into one of the seats, almost immediately closing his eyes.
Logan’s choice of conversation partners was limited having left Tarquin, Walter and Bruce on the PDS to watch over the Overdrive. In search of diversions, he leant over the aisle and gave Felix’s ear a flick.
“You been here before?”
Felix shook his head. “No. You?”
Logan nodded. “A few years ago. Unamuno’s intelligence agency got itself involved in the ‘affaire du merde’ here when a group of political miscreants and naughty people decided to lynch the establishment and take power for themselves. Gitane’s surviving technocrats pleaded for liberation in exchange for a hefty discount on tobacco goods.”
Crystal turned away from her scrutiny of the screen in front of her. “What happened?," she asked.
“We liberated the technocrats, locked all the naughty people up, loaded our ship up with tobacco and got the hell out before the merde hit the fan.”
“So, is it still a volatile situation down there?, asked Ram Terry, who had also turned away from the screen. “I haven’t been here since the insurrection.”
Logan shrugged. “Nah. Not really. Security’s pretty tight though. The powers that be aren’t about to risk another incident. One thing though. I wouldn’t mention Unamuno down there if I were you.”
Crystal stared at him suspiciously. “Why?”
Logan looked uncomfortable. “It seems that we accidentally took off with the Presidents private stash of tobacco.”
Felix laughed. Logan felt his spirits lift at that happy sound. They’d been precious little to laugh about in the last few days and it was good to see his friend perking up a little.
Further interrogation of the matter was forestalled by the shuttle’s AI, reporting that the ship was about to land. With a slight shudder, the ship settled into its landing cradle and opened its hatch.
Logan turned to Ram Terry. “So, what’s the plan?”
Ram Terry hopped off the couch. “We have a small following here and some resources that will come in handy. A ship. Some Shepards. They are to meet us here.”
Logan nodded and began moving towards the exit hatch.
“What happens if we encounter some hostile forces?," asked Felix.
Logan turned and looked at him. “Don’t you worry my friend,” he said winking. “I’ve got my biodart in my little finger and a couple of these little beauties." He rolled up his shirt and showed Felix a tattoo of a banana on his shoulder.
“How’s a tattoo of a piece of fruit going to help us?” asked Crystal.
Logan looked smug. “Because it isn’t a tattoo at all. Its a revolutionary piece of military hardware designed by Unamuno’s military intelligence service. Turns into a bomb and is completely undetectable. Only reason I haven’t used it yet is because it hurts like buggery when you activate it.” He gestured towards Crystal and Ram Terry.
“Besides," he said, “chances are I won’t have to use it when we’ve got you two with us.”
Felix, hardly reassured, shrugged and stepped out onto the shuttle’s exit ramp and into the oppressive heat of Gitane.
Although Gauches space port stretched for many kilometers in all directions it was only possible to see a few hundred meters due to the thick brown tinged mist that covered most of area. The impact resistant and heat hardened plasticrete surface was littered with other ship cradles, some of which were occupied. The hum of anti-grav drives could be heard as other ships arrived and departed around their small shuttle.
A group of monk like figures in brown robes stood huddled together at the bottom of the ramp. Felix stood aside and allowed first Ram Terry and then Crystal and Logan to exit the shuttle. At the appearance of Ram Terry, the huddled figures bowed low and rushed to bring up a palanquin that was concealed in their midst. The leader of the Shepards stepped forward, pulling up his cowl to reveal a bald, heavily sweating and slightly chubby face.
“Your Raminess," he said in a thick French accent, bowing again. “It is an honor to receive you. I am Senior Flock Master Horatio. Myself, my acolytes and our humble temple is at your disposal. We have prepared a small service back at our temple. All our loyal adherents are looking forward to…”
Ram Terry briefly lowered his horned visage to cut short the obviously prepared speech. “Thank you Horatio. We are laboring under s
ome very serious time constraints and it is with great regret that I must pass on the usual formalities. I mentioned in my communiqué that we require a fast ship and a small flock of stout hearted shepherds. Is all prepared?”
Horatio failed to completely hide his disappointment but quickly rallied and regained his composure. “Yes, your Raminess. Of course. Our ship is on the far side of the port."
He gestured towards a group of his men who brought the palanquin forward.
“Please place your holy shanks in here and we will convey you and your companions to our vehicle and then on to your ship."
“My thanks," said Ram Terry, hopping up into the palanquin. Immediately, the rest of the Shepherds fell in around him. Horatio turned towards Crystal, Logan and Felix. “If you would follow me…."
Without waiting for a response, he set off, followed by his palanquin carrying followers. Crystal shrugged and hurried to keep up. Felix and Logan exchanged curious glances but followed without comment.
The party moved through the mist. The unmistakable shape of a large AG vehicle slowly emerging in front of them. The vehicle revealed itself to be a passenger truck; a nondescript, fully automated oblong floating a few centimeters from the ground.
Horatio signaled a halt and brought out a packet of cigarettes. His followers set Ram Terry on the ground and followed suit.
Crystal moved to stand beside Horatio. “What’s the matter?," she inquired.
Horatio indicated the cigarettes. “Do you mind? Cigarette break.” He gave a respectful glance to Ram Terry, who nodded his head in accent.
Crystal suppressed a grin. “By all means," she said.
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