'It'll be a breeze Paul,' Moss said with a grin, then purposefully made his way toward the perimeter track, whilst the other pair made their way back to the Shanoa.
Jenson and Sandpiper encountered no difficulty getting back on board the Shanoa and making their way back to the flight deck. Nor was there a problem initiating the destruct sequence whilst allowing the artificial singularities to dissipate harmlessly.
However, it was as the alarm klaxons sounded and a computerised voice announced the impending doom of the Dyason transporter that matters began to go seriously wrong. Samarcian technicians froze, and then ran in all directions. Two of the more senior and more courageous techs made their way to the ship's flight deck, running all the way, only to find Jenson and Sandpiper already there.
'What the hell's going on here?!' a distinguished looking scientist yelled at the Terrans, his face red with anger. 'How in blazes did the destruct sequence become active?'
'One of the computer files was corrupted, it must have set it off!' Jenson blustered in his recently acquired Samarcian dialect. 'We've got to get out of here; before the whole ship blows up!'
'Get out of my way imbecile!' another elderly technician shouted, pushing Sandpiper to one side and desperately punching at the engine control panel. 'There must be a way to deactivate the self-destruct sequence!'
'Warning, warning!' the computer intoned impassively. 'The ship will self-destruct in twelve minutes…warning, warning!'
'I don't recognise either of you; who are you?' the most senior Samarcian technician suddenly demanded. 'You're not on any of the remaining research teams. Who gave you the authority to be here?'
'We've got to get off the ship!' Jenson almost pleaded to the obstinate old scientist. 'This whole vessel is going explode into a million pieces in just a few minutes!'
'Never mind that! Answer my question!'
'It's no good…the controls have somehow been locked!' the other technician hollered from the workstation Sandpiper had been sitting at. He turned to the Terran and with a look of fear on his face demanded, 'What have you done?'
'Guards! Security!' the older scientist began to yell at the top of his lungs.
His voice was nearly drowned by the klaxons and the computer declaring, 'The ship will self-destruct in ten minutes…warning, warning!'
'Oh for God's sake, you stupid old goat, they're all running like blazes for cover! We're the only ones left on the ship and we should be running as well!'
'Guards! Security!'
Jenson decided he'd had enough of the obstinate Samarcian technicians. In two fluid movements, he struck the elder scientist on a pressure point at the base of the neck, and then threw the unconscious body over his shoulder. Sandpiper put the other technician in a stranglehold and put him to sleep as well.
'Time to leave!' Sandpiper declared as the destruct sequence continued to countdown to zero.
Adrenaline surging through their veins, the pair struggled under the weight of their loads to get off the Shanoa. Precious minutes slipped by as they negotiated the now deserted corridors of the doomed transporter. The first detonations began just as they hit the hangar floor.
It occurred to Jenson that they would be able to move a lot faster if they dumped the two scientists. Running with an over-weight, Samarcian slung in a fireman's lift was proving to be almost impossible. However, he was aware that the premature deaths of these men could irrevocably alter the future; so, the Terrans gritted their teeth and struggled on. Besides, they had no real argument with the Samarcians. Jenson just wished they'd been a bit less bloody-minded!
By the time they were outside the hangar itself, the chain-reaction was spreading throughout the Shanoa. Flames leapt through the shattered hangar roof, sending smoke and debris high into the afternoon sky. Using the last of their strength, they dashed for the cover afforded by a concrete blockhouse some four hundred metres from the disintegrating hangar.
They didn't need to run the last few metres. The Shanoa finally exploded in a blaze of pyrotechnics, which sent out shock waves in all directions. The Terrans were literally picked up and hurled behind the blockhouse, the back of their heads singed by the accompanying flash-flame. Unceremoniously, they were dumped along with their loads against the base of a wall. Pain lanced through their bodies from the force and pressure of the explosion.
Battered and dazed it was some minutes before either Jenson or Sandpiper moved. Groaning loudly, they raised their heads and looked about in wonder. The top of the hangar, which had housed the Shanoa, had literally been blown to smithereens, whilst the lower section had collapsed in-wards like a pack of cards. Of the Dyason transporter there was no sign; it had been obliterated, completely devoured by the self-destruct charges.
The two Samarcian technicians lay unceremoniously at the feet of their rescuers. Jenson looked wearily at the elder scientist. It was with mixed feelings that he watched as his chest rose gently up and down. The other technician groaned quietly. Well, they would both have serious headaches when they awoke, but they would live. The time-line was safe; at least for the moment.
Jenson shakily climbed to his feet, shook his head, and then gave the elder technician a firm boot up the backside.
'That's for being an obstinate old git!' he muttered hoarsely. 'I told you the sodding thing was going to blow-up!'
'I guess that covers the diversion,' Sandpiper hissed in characteristic understatement. 'The rest is up to Moss now. Ouch,…I hope the bastard appreciates it! The things we do to support his mad cap schemes; that's what happens when you hang around with a galactic superhero.'
'Merde…' Jenson said with feeling then collapsed back on the floor, his hands cradling his sore and singed head.
Whilst his friends were making their way back toward the Shanoa, Moss constructively spent his time examining the uniforms of the Samarcian troops patrolling the perimeter of the security compound. Using an officer as his template, he carefully constructed an image in his mind. This he would project as he boldly strode to the detention centre. Despite the fact that he was wearing a technician's coat and looked nothing like a Samarcian officer, he would appear to anybody who saw him to be something else entirely; a senior officer in the security services.
When the first flames appeared from the top of the hangar containing the Shanoa, Moss ran up to the nearest patrol and breathlessly shouted, 'That's the alien vessel on fire! If that thing goes up, it'll take half the base with it!'
The troopers looked at what appeared to them to be a senior officer, they looked at the plume of smoke rising high into the sky, then they blanched. It never even crossed their minds that they were being confronted by anybody but a senior officer. Besides, after hours of complete boredom, their pulses suddenly rocketed. The explosions on the far side of the space-field sent blood coursing through their veins.
Hopping into the open-topped vehicle, Moss ordered, 'Get this machine inside the security wall and pass on the order to everyone else. At least the compound will offer some protection from the blast. Well, move damn it!'
The patrolmen didn't need to be told twice, their survival instincts were screaming at them to flee. The driver hit the accelerator and drove at speed toward the single entrance of the security compound. Moss was nearly flung out of the off-road vehicle, but just managed to hang on. Another trooper called out on the radio and within moments the remainder of the patrols were making haste for the detention centre.
The gates opened and the vehicle just managed to get inside when the Shanoa finally detonated, rocking the ground with the force of the multiple explosions. The Samarcians around him dived for the ground, sure that the released singularities were about to devour them all. Taking advantage of the confusion, Moss slipped through the main entrance and into the detention centre itself.
'Don't just lie there!' he bellowed at the guards lying prostrate on the floor of the reception area. 'There's people hurt out there! Grab a first-aid kit and do something!'
One of the
guards peeked a look at Moss and protested, 'But sir! We're not supposed…'
'Don't give me any feeble excuses, you yellow-pot bellied excuse for a trooper!' he hollered, giving the Samarcian a boot for good measure. 'Do as you're bloody-well ordered!'
As the last of the shock waves rumbled through the foundations, the four guards reluctantly clambered to their feet and went in search of first-aid kits. Moss neatly lifted a security tag off the nearest guard and quietly let himself into the interrogation area. So far, so good; the ruse had been totally effective.
Striding purposefully into the main detention block, Moss took the opportunity to glance into the cells as he marched by. Most were empty and those that were occupied clearly had nothing to do with the Shanoa. A rapid, but gentle scan of their minds revealed they were mainly crooks, drug dealers and gangsters hauled in by the Samarcian secret service for various misdemeanors.
The force of the Shanoa's demise had rocked the very foundations of the building, cracking concrete support pillars and shattering windows. It was therefore no exaggeration when he hollered at every Samarcian guard he encountered, 'Out! Out! Evacuate the building! This place could collapse at any moment! Come-on move! Get the prisoners out of their cells and into the compound!'
Soon, cell doors were slamming open everywhere, as guards and prisoners fled the detention block. Moss made good use of the confusion to scan the minds of all he encountered for any information on the whereabouts of the Dyason crew and passengers.
He was beginning to lose faith when a fleeting encounter with one of the guards made him pause. The Samarcian was hiding something deep within his mind, but was unable to control the shame and guilt he felt. Moss attempted to probe deeper, but the guard felt the intrusion. He suddenly turned and stared at the Terran telepath, momentary frozen like a statue whilst chaos reigned about him. Suddenly, he turned on his heels and began running as if pursued by the devil, screaming all the way. Moss let him go, his face an expression of disgust. He'd been unable to read what exactly was on the Samarcian's mind, but he had a pretty good idea what was there… What was more important, he now knew where to look.
Moving as fast as possible in the opposite direction to the tide of prisoners and troops flowing past him, Moss made his way down to the lower levels of the detention centre. Here the damage caused by the explosions was even more evident. The corridors were thick with dust and large pieces of mortar and concrete had fallen from the walls and ceilings.
This level was by now virtually deserted, allowing him to move faster. He wasn't entirely sure where to look, but he was able to perceive one solitary mind. This mind was young and frightened. Indeed, it was so frightened it had virtually shutdown. Unable to come to terms with the horrors that had beset the unfortunate soul, this person had withdrawn so far into itself, it was no wonder Moss had been unable to detect it's presence before. However, all that was about to change.
After a few minutes frantic searching, he finally stood before a locked cell door. This cell-door looked like all the others, but Moss knew the occupant was behind its cold, metallic grey exterior. The time for subtlety had gone. Moss wasn't exactly sure what had taken place with those walls, but he knew it was horrific. He was now fully prepared to use force to rescue this solitary soul. The type of force that only an operant like himself could muster.
There was a slight rushing sound, as if the air were being drawn in to fill a sudden vacuum. Moss gathered his will, storing power like a human capacitor until a halo of energy shimmered about his body. His raised his arm, pointed his index finger at the cell door and released the pent-up force.
The door glowed bright red, as it absorbed the flaming arc of pure power that erupted from the Terran operant's outstretched hand. It was an uneven battle and the door lost, exploding outwards, sending chunks of molten metal flying into the corridor beyond. Some of those red-hot lumps headed straight for Moss, but rebounded harmlessly off the halo of energy still surrounding his form.
Without even waiting for the dust to settle, he strode into the cell beyond and was immediately sickened and angered by what he saw. There, tied to a crude wooden form was a young teenage girl of perhaps fourteen or fifteen years. Her arms and legs were spread-eagled and firmly bound to the four corners of the frame. What remained of her clothes were in shreds and failed to hide the ugly red welts all over her immature body. Her head hung limply forward, the dark pits of her eyes distant and unseeing. The flame-red hair must have once been a source of pride, but now stuck to her forehead, grey and in clumps. There could be no doubt that this poor child had been brutally and regularly abused by her captors.
The Terran's attention was grabbed by movement from the rear of the cell, where there was a small antechamber. Snarling and carrying a menacing automatic rifle, a guard burst forth. The Samarcian was vastly overweight, bulging at the seams of his sweat-stained and disheveled uniform. His spotty and heavy-jowled features were gathered together in a grimace of hatred and anger.
'Who the frack are you!' he snarled, waving the rifle threateningly in Moss's direction. 'Get the frack out of here! This has nothing to do with you ass-hole!'
Moss looked at the piece of slime with cold calculation. Inwardly, he was seething, the rage he felt threatening to overwhelm himself and everything about him. However, he kept tight control of his emotions, channeling the energy it created into the vast storage of his operant mind.
'Oh, but it does my friend,' he answered slowly and deliberately. 'It would appear that you behaviour has been most…obnoxious. What has been happening here is abhorrent, and must be avenged. I, my friend, am your judge and executioner. I'm afraid that I find what you have been doing to this poor girl most unacceptable. Therefore this does have something to do with me!''
'Frack you!' the guard spat, squeezing the trigger of the rifle. However, the weapon was suddenly ripped out of his hands by an unseen, but powerful force. The single round missed its mark and embedded itself in the remains of the melted cell door.
'No, my friend,' Moss almost whispered in a cold, deadly voice. 'I think you have this all wrong. I am deadly serious in my intent to end this abuse. It seems to me that you've been doing enough fracking already!'
Once again, he lifted his arm and an arc of flaming-energy erupted from his outstretched hand. The obese, perverted guard was lifted off his feet and thrown against the rear wall of the cell. Screaming like a sow about to be butchered, he held up his hands imploringly toward the Terran, suddenly and unmistakably aware of his impending fate.
Moss was however, beyond dispensing mercy. As far as he was concerned, there was no room for vermin like this scum anywhere in the universe. Which was why he allowed his anger and aggression to pour out of his index finger in a surge of unremitting fire.
The guard was consumed by the incredible energy, his flesh melting on his bones, able in his final moments to smell the sickening odour of his own body fats cooking. However, that fire wasn't the cause of the greater pain. The greatest agony came from the lance that entered his mind and ripped out huge chunks of information. As his body was being consumed, his soul was being shredded, leaving him with nothing…not even his perverted memories. Death when it finally came was a blessed relief. Moss wondered almost idly if he had let the fat bastard off too lightly.
Ignoring the charred remains of the Samarcian guard, Moss gently removed the bonds holding the abused Dyason teenager. At the same time, he projected feelings of warmth and security toward the withdrawn mind of the girl. She collapsed into his arms with a groan and cradling her like a baby, he strode out of her torture chamber toward the sunlight above.
As they made their way through the debris of the deserted detention centre, she put her arms around his neck and whispered, 'they're all dead…all dead…'
'I know,' Moss murmured back, holding the poor girl tight, projecting strength and security. 'I know…'
Jenson and Sandpiper managed to steal a lorry and hide their motorbikes onboard without diff
iculty, thanks to their act of sabotage. The Samarcian spaceport was in a state of total confusion with emergency vehicles screaming in all directions now that the explosion of the Shanoa had settled down to a steady blaze. Jenson managed to confuse matters even more with a couple of well placed grenades on delay fuses, whilst Sandpiper did his bit by sending any troopers he came across in search of a fictitious army of terrorists.
As smoke and flames continued to climb high into the afternoon sky, diffusing the light of the bright sun, the Terrans in their stolen lorry threaded their way through the milling Samarcians. Nobody questioned them as they drove at speed toward the crumbling walls of the detention centre. As they neared the security compound, they slowed down, looking desperately for the familiar face of Moss; but all they saw were the blank, uncomprehending stares of the evacuated prisoners and their equally confused guards.
The hour was nearly up and Moss should have been out of the detention centre by now. The fact that he wasn't, clearly indicated something had gone wrong, Jenson thought to himself. He desperately wished he were a telepath himself, so that he could at least make contact with his prodigy and friend. Unfortunately, he wasn't and neither Sandpiper nor himself had been contacted by the Terran operant.
Jenson was just beginning to think they had no option but to go in after the younger man, when all the Samarcians abruptly stopped whatever it was they were doing and turned to look at the badly damaged detention centre. He followed their gaze and was amazed to see two figures emerging from the debris of the larger detention block. One figure was well built, and strode with a confident purpose. The other was young and pale, with ugly welts across it's back. The smaller figure was being carried in the arms of the other, like a father might carry an injured child.
Jenson knew immediately that this was Moss carrying a survivor from the Shanoa. Even if he hadn't recognised the posture and walk, the angry red halo of energy that glowed about his body was unmistakable. The Samarcians stared in awe as the incredible apparition strode toward the awaiting truck. They parted like a wave, allowing the Terran and the teenage girl to pass unhindered. Their senses were literally overwhelmed by the intense anger being projected by Moss. Nobody there that day had the courage to confront him...
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