“Goddammit," she said angrily. Some of the more devout and newer members of the crew shifted their gaze around worriedly at this blasphemy, looking for support from their fellow crew members. Some even went as far as grumbling discontentedly under their breaths. Those that had been on the ship for longer kept their heads down. They knew better. The last person who complained about Gabriella’s sacrilege was escorted to the airlock. While the ship was in Nospace.
Gabriella chose to ignore the looks and mutterings amongst her crew. In less troubled times, she would have made an example of one of them. But not now. They could wait. The Overdrive couldn’t.
She sat back in her chair and tried to relax. If Tardieu was out of the picture, it was not a complete disaster. Felix and the Overdrive would have to come back up to orbit eventually or why else would they leave their friends in orbit? They could hardly wait down on the planet’s surface forever knowing that eventually Gabriella and the Areopagites would come down after them. Yes, they would come up and soon, and when they did, she would be ready for them. Hostages would give her some much needed leverage.
“Captain," she said, her voice authoritative and steady, betraying none of her anger and frustration.
“Take us down to a lower orbit and power up the weapons. Its time we showed these Frenchies who runs this galaxy.”
The Captain bowed to the inevitable and began issuing his orders.
◊
Logan brought the ship’s AG on line. It rose smoothly and silently out of its docking cradle.
His first impression had been correct. The ship was state of the art having been imported from New Mars only a few months earlier. Named the Puritan and designed as a long range intercept and assault craft, it came with all the bells and whistles.
His AI interfaced with the ships and he watched with growing pleasure as its performance stats scrolled down under his left eyelid. Excellent maneuverability and thrust. Two standard ship to ship plasma cannons tucked under each stubby wing.
The wings weren’t necessary for a space going vessel but provided a convenient location for the weapons. Besides, the designers thought it gave the ship a more predatory look.
It had no slipmissile batteries though as these would have made the ship more cumbersome and negated its overall maneuverability advantage it had over other ships. It did however, possess an infiltrator mode which enabled it to sneak up on other ships largely undetected. Once engaged, the infiltrator mode would allow the ship to avoid detention by all but the most sophisticated sensors. State of the art indeed.
Logan wondered how the Shepherds got hold of the ship in the first place, let alone getting it past Gitanian security and down onto the planet’s service. He was pretty sure the Gitanian authorities would take a pretty dim view towards any other group who possessed such a ship but then again, Ram Terry did say he had some contacts on the planet.
He took a moment to look behind him. Through the open pressure door of the cockpit, Ram Terry, Felix and Crystal had settled themselves into the spacious lounge.
The area had been designed to comfortably seat 20 with deep leather upholstered couches as well as individual seats. Five seats at the rear of the lounge were taken up by grim and slightly disheveled Shepherds, the only loyalist survivors following Tardieu’s attempted coup. Below the deck was a storage hold as well as a small but well equipped armory.
Before settling on the bridge, Logan had given the armory a quick inspection, discovering a variety of hand held plasma weapons and well as some standard sets of assault armor. Horatio had made sure the ship was prepared for any eventuality and had certainly not skimped when it came to kitting it out. Logan gave a silent prayer of thanks to the recently departed flock master for his foresight. He chose to ignore the irony of an atheist praying to a nondescript deity in the presence of Ram Terry.
“Everyone alright back there?," he asked. Crystal gave him a slight grin, still looking beautiful in spite of her recent physical exertions. Felix gave him the thumbs up. Ram Terry was curled up on a couch and didn’t bother to look up.
The ship continued its slow assent and had now risen 100 meters above the spaceport. His AI gave him a clear picture of the area having formed a link with the sensors on the outer hull. The thick brown mist had all but dissipated as the systems sun rose above the planet’s terminator.
Logan turned back to the bridge’s flight panel just as his AI informed him of a priority message from the spaceport control. A mans face appeared on the forward screen. He was middle aged with thinning dark hair and a thick mustache.
“Puritan, this is Gauches spaceport control. Why haven’t you filed for departure?”
Logan knew he’d forgotten something. He grinned in what he hoped was a winning fashion.
“Sorry about that. We had a few problems with our crew that had to be sorted out.”
The minor official seemed unmoved. His facial expression remained stony.
“Yes. That’s great Puritan,” his AI program interpreted the French into English, even managing to include the sarcasm, “but we do have rules and regulations that must be observed. Land immediately and then file for departure through the proper channels. We’ll send over a security detail to check you over first.”
That was the last thing Logan wanted. He was surprised that the disturbance outside the ship hadn’t already been reported. If he landed now and the security detail saw all the dead bodies around the docking cradle then he was pretty sure the only place he’d be going was a maximum security cell.
“Sorry Gauches," he said, trying to sound sincere. “We’re in a bit of a rush here. Maybe it’ll be easier to grant us clearance considering that this is an official church ship. I’m not meant to tell you this but we’re actually carrying the Holy Ram.”
The last sentence was delivered with a conspiratorial wink hoping he could win the man over by making him privy to some important information. Logan was disappointed. The man didn’t even blink.
“Hold your position please Puritan."
The screen went into a holding pattern showing the holograph logo of Gauches spaceport. Good, thought Logan. He’s obviously checking with his superiors. With Ram Terry’s connections we’ll sure to be granted departure. Hope they give the contemptible little bastard a slap on the wrist.
Logan sat back in his command chair with a satisfied expression on his face. Two seconds later, the official’s face appeared. He was looking pretty pleased with himself. Logan sat forward and assumed a more serious face.
“Puritan. Be advised. You are to land immediately. Failure to comply will result in your ship being targeted by a PDS…”
Logan didn’t listen to the rest. He engaged the infiltrator mode and instructed the AI to take evasive action. Bracing himself in case the AG compensators couldn’t handle the increased G force, he idly wondered if there was anyone in the galaxy that wasn’t trying to kill them.
◊
Captain Richard Tate was only slightly drunk. That would be rectified shortly thanks to the 5 shots of cheap local whiskey now lined up on the bar before him. God knew there was nothing else to do with the time.
He picked up the first shot and drained it with a quick flick of his wrist, slamming the glass back down onto the counter. Two of his crew were sitting at the bar with him, the rest having left earlier seeking a more salubrious establishment.
With more girls, he thought sourly. Despite extensive cosmetic alterations, Richard Tate was still a very ugly man. It was more than skin deep as the many girls he’d try to bed had quickly found out. He’d given up trying it on with any of the station girls as word had quickly spread.
That’s why he came here. The Escargo bar was situated on one of the lowest levels of the huge PDS station, conveniently located near the docking bays and as such, popular with many of the ships crews killing time while waiting for their ship to be granted clearance down to the planet’s surface. It was also markedly seedy; its once fashionable décor now a couple of dec
ades out of date and in serious need of a makeover. Given the nature of the bar, there weren’t many available women, not that any of them would have looked at him in any case.
He put women from his mind and concentrated on more important issues. Like drinking, getting drunk and getting off this shitarse station. The first two shouldn’t be a problem, it was the third that was proving troublesome. All 12 of Gitane’s PDS stations had declared a combat alert thus making it impossible for all currently docked ship’s to leave. An old contact at the station couldn’t tell him what was going on or how long it was going to last for.
He’d been coming to this station for 26 years, making the 86 light year round trip from the Rosart system every two months or so with his cargo load of cheeses. His ship, The Star Tripper, was a 500 meter interstellar cargo freighter capable of carrying in excess of 20,000 tonnes. Gitane, with its population of 2.3 billion disposed of 20,000 tonnes of exotic Rosart cheese ludicrously easily. In fact, he was thinking of buying a bigger ship just to keep up with demand. Well he was until today.
If he didn’t get his cargo down to the planet’s surface within the next few hours, the importing company were threatening to use a different carrier for the next Rosart run. One with an Angel on board. He grabbed another whiskey and swallowed it in one gulp. If only they’d lift the alert.
He glanced despondently around just as three figures scurried in. One was very tall with an ebony muscular build and rugged good looks. Just the sort that wouldn’t have any trouble picking up women he thought bitterly. His companions were a shorter, chubby, red faced man and a gorilla carrying a long cylindrical package under his arm. Both men were dressed in plain coveralls. The gorilla had no clothes to speak of, just a utility belt around his waist containing a number of bulky items.
The trio hurried in and sat in a dark, unobtrusive booth in the far corner of the bar. He gave them no further thought and turned back to his whiskey. Even a transplanter raised little interest as the type were fairly common on his home planet.
He was about to have another drink when the holoscreen behind the bar emitted a priority warning signal. The volume of the screen immediately increased. Those engaged in private conversations found that the noise from the holoscreen was drowning them out. Only two people didn’t look up, having overdosed on whatever substance they were in to and as such, incapable of such action. The rest of the bar patrons turned towards the holoscreen with various degrees of interest and annoyance.
A suave looking Gitanian Captain appeared on the screen.
“Attention. All staff and residents to be on the look out for three men wanted by the authorities." A visual came on line displaying holoimages of the three men. One was a transplanter. A gorilla no less.
“If you come in contact with these individuals, then contact security immediately. Thank you.” The signal finished to be replaced by a Snareball game. Most of the crowd lost interest and returned to nursing their drinks.
Tate cast a surreptitious glance towards the corner booth. The gorilla had disappeared. The two men were talking to each other with quiet urgency. No one else in the bar was paying them the slightest bit of interest. Not surprising really considering the nature of most of these punters. Many would not relish an encounter with the PDS security crew given their less than wholesome backgrounds.
Normally Tate wouldn’t have bothered either but he had a nagging suspicion that these three were the cause of the current state of emergency aboard the PDS. If the alert was lifted, he could leave and with him his precious cargo and carrier fee. He ordered his AI to open a priority link with the PDS command.
◊
Walter was a bit concerned. As the Dirty Little Minx’s activity coordinator, his duties involved keeping every paying guest happy within the boundaries of Hedonistic and interstellar law. Lately he’d been finding himself on the other side of the law.
It wasn’t a state of affairs that he was too happy about either. Not that he could do much about it. Every time he thought that they were finally in the clear, someone else would find out about the Overdrive and all hell would break loose.
When he got to the PDS, he thought that things were finally starting to come right. Of course he was wrong and now they were on the run again. This time from planetary officials.
After fleeing the crew lounge and almost loosing a few appendages to stray bolts of plasma fire in the process, Tarquin had suggested they find a quiet corner to hide in until they could rendezvous with the others. He’d led them to a seedy bar at the very bottom of the massive PDS station, his logic being that the equally seedy residents were highly unlikely to hand them in. Once ensconced in a corner booth, he’d told Bruce to take the Overdrive and make himself scarce until they called for him.
PDS security would probably be staking out the docking platforms and a station wide search would take some time to co-ordinate. With any luck they would remain at large until Logan came and picked them up.
Walter had started to relax and almost thought about ordering himself a drink when the priority signal from the authorities had come through on the holoscreen. Walter was all for running for it but Tarquin quietly grabbed his arm and told him to stay where he was.
“Why?," protested Walter. “We must leave at once."
Tarquin shook his head. “If we run now we’ll just draw attention to ourselves. I’ve sent a message down to Logan. They’re on their way. They’ll be docking with the station in about 15 minutes. All we have to do is keep our heads down until then and slip out to meet them on the docking platform."
Walter glanced around nervously. “I still don’t like it. What if someone reports us?”
Tarquin shrugged, unsuccessfully stifling a yawn. Walter envied the other man’s calm. How could anyone be that relaxed in this sort of situation?
“If they do, they do. I’ll think of something.”
Walter caught the eye of an exceedingly ugly man at the bar who was looking at them with some interest. The man quickly looked away. Walter was about to say something when an officer, followed by a squad of heavily armed Gitanian security marched into the bar. Most of the bars patrons suddenly became very interested in the contents of their vessels. All except the ugly man at the bar. He glanced at the officer and pointed directly at Walter and Tarquin.
The officer nodded and he and his men moved over to the booth.
“You three will come with us," he demanded imperiously.
“There’s only two of us," said Tarquin.
“Where is your companion?”
“He left”
The officer motioned with his head and two of the squad moved towards the toilets.
“Very well, you two will come with us."
“Why?” asked Tarquin innocently.
“My superiors wish to talk to you.”
“What happens if I don’t want to talk with them?”
The officer was beginning to get annoyed. He pulled out a plasma pistol and pointed it at Tarquin’s head. “Perhaps this will convince you."
Tarquin nodded. “Yep, that’ll do it."
The officer motioned for the two men to rise. Tarquin was just getting to his feet when he heard a commotion coming from the men’s toilets. There were shouts of surprise, followed by the unmistakable sound of a plasma weapon being fired and then two loud thuds. The officer looked around.
Tarquin saw his chance. With a practiced flick, he knocked the officer’s weapon out of his hand, years of Snareball giving him hand eye skills that even hardened military types couldn’t match. Catching it he used the pistol’s butt to hammer against the officer's temple. The man instantly collapsed onto one of his squad standing behind him.
The rest of the squad were aiming their weapons at Tarquin when the toilet door burst open.
A large furry grey shape flew out and crashed into the rest of the squad. One tried to rise but was immediately swatted by an enraged gorilla wielding the Overdrive two handed. The soldier flew against the bar wall, unconsc
ious before he made contact with the flat surface.
Bruce turned his attention on the rest of the squad, enthusiastically using the Overdrive as a mallet. One of the squad members managed to get a shot off, hitting the gorilla on his right arm. The hair and skin of Bruce’s arm immediately charred, the plasma eating into the heavy muscle layers beneath. The gorilla screamed but was not appreciably slowed as he pulped the soldier with his next blow.
Tarquin grabbed Walter and pulled him to his feet.
“Let’s go," he said dragging the portly man towards the exit.
“You alright?” he said to Bruce. The gorilla nodded and looked hungrily around for someone else to attack. The entire squad was now fully incapacitated, the majority lying in contorted postures scattered about the bar. With a satisfied nod, Bruce tucked the slightly misshapen Overdrive under one arm, grinned at some of the stunned bar patrons and followed the other two out.
◊
The small starship accelerated to Mach 5 in slightly less than 6 seconds, changing course erratically in its desperate attempt to evade the PDS’s weapon lock. Crystal’s field enclosed her immediately, more as an instinctive reaction rather than any conscious decision to negate the effects of the suddenly increased G force within the ship’s lounge. Logan had given them no warning of the sudden acceleration, hoping that the AG compensators would be able to cope.
Felix was pressed into the deep folds of the couch, looking like some titan had just stood on him. Crystal enlarged her field slightly to encompass him, watching relief wash over his face as the G force immediately dissipated. Ram Terry had also activated his field and was looking around worriedly. The five Shepherds at the back of the lounge weren’t faring quite so well. All five had been squashed back into their seats, stricken features distorted by the immense and sudden pressure.
The AG compensators finally came on line and the gravity within the ship returned to normal. Crystal and Ram Terry shut off their personal fields.
“What happened?’, shouted Crystal. Logan was too preoccupied to turn around.
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