‘Don’t you pay any attention to him…’ said Nimue, smiling at them both. ‘He’s a grumpy old man these days and forgets his manners.’ Nimue turned toward Miss Smith, gave her an appraising look from head to toe then said, ‘Laura, darling…. My, how you have grown! You were such a chubby, awkward child. I’m glad to see you’ve lost some weight and that flame-red hair suits you!’
Laura Smith smiled thinly back at Nimue in the way that only women and felines know how. ‘You’re looking good for a woman of a certain age aunt Nimue…’ she said venomously.
Myrddin looked out over the ruined New York Harbour and asked, ‘Is this all your doing then?’
‘Well, not just me, obviously…. With the aid of my beautiful daughter here, of course…. That and the stupidity of this planet’s bipeds…’ Dydnski replied with fake modesty.
‘Hmm…A dummy bomb filled with water, turned into zero-point energy thanks to a catalyst delivered by a vintage biplane. With just enough energy to put on a good show, but not enough to entirely flatten the city….’ Myrddin interrupted. ‘That’s certainly creative… What was the green smoke about?’
‘That? Oh, just some vegetable dye added to the water.’ Dydnski answered.
‘Why?’ Nimue queried. ‘Seems a bit unnecessary?’
‘That’s what I said,’ Laura Smith interjected.
‘Explosions are always followed by a deadly green mist!’ he retorted. ‘So, of course there had to be a green mist!’
‘You mean there’s always a green mist in those dreadful ‘B’ movies you watch,’ Laura Smith replied scathingly. ‘You’ve always been overly theatrical...’
‘You need to get out more Derek!’ Myrddin said almost jovially, enjoying any chance to make his nemesis feel uncomfortable.
‘All too harsh…’ Dydnski answered pretending to be hurt by the verbal barbs.
‘Well, if we have all quite finished, shall we get down to business?’
‘Indeed,’ Dydnski quickly concurred. For some unknown reason Nimue always made him feel like a misbehaving schoolboy, which irked him greatly. ‘What news? How is the latest edition to our great family doing? We would have loved to have come to the family gathering on Samarcia, but we never received an invitation?’
‘Did you not?’ said Myrddin innocently. ‘The post is shocking these days…’
Nimue gave her brother a quick withering look before answering the question. ‘Mother and child are doing well. The young Arthur shows great promise,’ she told Smith and Dydnski. ‘And young Arthur is the reason we are having this conversation…’
‘Oh yes?’ Laura Smith responded with a raised eyebrow. ‘Why so?’
‘So that we can pass on the message from our “head-office” that young Arthur is off-limits. He is not to be interfered with in any shape or form…Even when we are all deep in the characters of our role-play. Any interference by anyone, or anything from your side, will be seen as breach of the Samarcian protocol. Is that clear?’
‘Very clear Nimue,’ Dydnski answered with a nod and a quick glance at Laura Smith, ‘And also very interesting…’
‘Indeed,’ Laura smith added, looking directly at Nimue, ‘because we too have a message from our “head-office”…’
‘And the message is?’ Myrddin demanded his patience wearing thin.
‘The message is that our side has no intention in interfering with the development of young Arthur. We have been told to leave him alone.’ Dydnski responded staring hard at Myrddin. ‘Which begs the question…. Why?’
‘Yes, what is so important about this particular child?’ Laura Smith asked, ‘Granted he is of great lineage, the best genes anyone could hope for, but that doesn’t explain the blanket ban? Can you enlighten us?’
‘I’m afraid not Laura darling,’ Nimue answered with her most ingratiating smile. ‘In fact, we were hoping you might tell us? Perhaps your side has given you more information than our esteemed leaders?’
Miss Smith shook her head, whilst Bishop Dydnski remained poker faced. ’I’m afraid not aunt Nimue. Our lot likes to keep us poor squaddies in the dark as much as your bunch. We don’t have a clue!’
‘Hmm… is that so?’ said Myrddin cynically.
‘That’s a shame…but not really surprising I suppose.’ Nimue added with a thin smile. ‘Oh, I nearly forgot, we have one more message from “head office” for you to pass on to your superiors.’
‘And what would that be auntie?’ Laura Smith asked innocently. Dydnski raised an eyebrow quizzically.
‘We have been ordered to tell you, that our side have come to the decision to not interfere with or obstruct, your policies and actions on this particular world,’ Myrddin said, staring hard at Dydnski, who held his gaze.
‘Indeed?’ Dydnski responded gruffly, not taking his eyes of Myrddin.
‘Indeed….’ Myrddin answered. ‘You can imagine how happy I am at this political decision….’
‘Think of it as a reward for your non-interference with Arthur Jnr,’ Nimue added with her best crocodile smile.
‘So, the two of you are just going to sit back and watch whilst we complete our mission here?’ Laura Smith interjected in a cynical tone, ‘I find that hard to believe. Not after all the meddling on this world the two have you have been up to over the centuries.’
‘We let you get away with this theatrical explosion didn’t we?’ Nimue pointed out, still smiling. ‘We could have stopped you, but we didn’t…’
‘You could have tried, but would have failed…’ Smith retorted quickly.’Just like all your other recent endeavors here have failed…’
Myrddin opened his mouth to spit out his own retort, but stopped after he received a sharp elbow in the side from Nimue, who then replied, ‘Quite so, my dear…. Quite so….’
Through gritted teeth Myrddin managed to spit out, ‘Well, now that we’ve passed on all the required correspondence, I suddenly feel the urge to be elsewhere. In fact, I wish to be anywhere but here…’ And with a last dirty look at Dydnski, he span around on the heels of his worn lace-up boots and marched off across the ramparts of Castle Williams.
‘I swear he’s getting worse as he gets older,’ Dydnski mumbled watching the figure disappear into the gloom and rain. ‘No manners at all….’
‘Well, I guess I should be getting along as well,’ Nimue announced to the pair. She leant forward and air-kissed Laura Smith on each cheek. It was done in that manner of insincerity that socialites spend so long learning to master, whilst Miss Smith didn’t respond at all. ‘Lovely to see you Laura….Derek, a pleasure as always. I think it’s great how you carry all that excess weight around so well…’ and with that, Nimue also turned on her heel and followed Myrddin into the gloom.
‘God, what a bitch…’ Miss Smith said with feeling once Nimue was out of sight.
‘Yes, but she does it so sexily…’ Dydnski sighed. He winced from the pain of a well placed heel being ground into his foot.
Nimue found Myrddin easily, she had known him long enough to accurately predict his movements. He stood forlornly gazing at the upturned feet of the Statue of Liberty, at the very epicentre of the recent explosion. Except for the sound of the pouring black rain and wail of distant sirens across the harbour water, Liberty Island was eerily gloomy and quiet. Knowing his moods, she stepped up and stood beside him saying nothing. For several minutes they stood there staring at the ruined monument, watching the black rain stain everything except themselves, whom it dutifully avoided. Eventually, Myrddin said without turning, ‘Do you think they bought it?’
‘Nope, not a chance,’ Nimue replied, also without turning.
‘But they’ll pass the message on to the committee?’ he added.
‘They will,’ she answered.
‘I guess that’s good enough…’ he said.
Nimue turned toward her brother and examined his craggy weather-worn face carefully, ‘I know this is hard….having to step away from all this, but we have to think of the bigger pi
cture.’
‘I know,’ he sighed, ‘It’s just the sheer numbers of those that will suffer. It’s almost too much to bear.’
‘This world has been burning ever since it has been turning, brother dearest…’ she told him philosophically. ‘Some things are beyond even our control….’
‘Of course you’re right, dear sister. There is more at stake than just this world. I know that, but it doesn’t make it any easier…’ he said. ‘Then there is that poor young girl, agent Delaware. I promised I would avenge her death, you know….’
‘You will one day,’ Nimue replied, ’Just not on this world…’
They both stared at the fallen statue, lost in thought for another couple of minutes, the rain pouring all around them and forming pools at the bottom of the huge crater left by the explosion. Eventually Myrddin turned around and said casually, ‘Breakfast?’
‘Eggs, bacon, pancakes?’ asked Nimue.
‘Of course…’ he replied.
‘Why not?’ Nimue confirmed and they stepped away from the edge of the bomb crater and disappeared into the ash created gloom.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
CNK 24hr streaming news network studios, Montreal, Canada. 11.02hrs, Universal Standard Time. August 21st 2057.
The haggard face of Bruce Quaid, lead anchorman of streaming channel CNK, stared into the lens of the camera as he tried to read the words from the auto-cue. His calm and authoritative demeanor had gone, lost in the terrifying events that had engulfed the planet in the past twenty four hours. His skin was pale and sweaty. His usually perfectly quaffed hair, lank and greasy. His eyes were bloodshot and haunted. Here was a man who had recently seen what a person should never have to see. And now he was going to try and report what he had seen to those viewers that remained. Which wasn’t many…
‘For those of you who are still watching; who are still able…I urge you to lock your doors, shutter your windows… do not go outside! Do not approach anybody, or anything!’ he declared earnestly, his voice shaky, barely controlled. ‘In the hours since the global riots started by the “Triplanetary Church”’ and the explosion that has destroyed New York harbour, a terrible fate has engulfed the planet…’
Footage from the previous day showed the devastation surrounding New York Harbour and then cut to the footage from inside Boston Medical Centre. The advancing green goo, complete with tiny arachnids which devoured everything and everyone before them, was still horrifying to watch. The scene changed to the exterior of a different hospital, this time somewhere in South East Asia. The signage above the hospital entrance briefly identified the location as Tianjin, China, before it was obscured from the camera by a convoy of military vehicles. Soldiers in bio-hazard suits, complete with gas masks, assault rifles and what looked like flames-throwers, poured out of the back of armoured personnel carriers. They entered the hospital at a run, through the large automatic doors and into the accident and emergency department. There was gunfire, explosions and flames—lots of flames. There were screams, more gunfire and more explosions. The video feed was cut just as bodies engulfed in fire, tumbled out of the entrance and fell onto ground outside. More troops opened fire and dispatched the poor souls.
The face of Bruce Quaid reappeared. He leaned forward earnestly and the camera zoomed in until his face filled the screen. ‘There is some sort of virus sweeping across the globe. There is a pandemic horrifying in its actions, terrifying at its speed of contagion,’ he said, bloodshot eyes staring into the lens. ‘This virus, which seems to have come from nowhere in the past twenty four hours, starts with a fever and ends with hordes of small arachnids swarming out of the hosts’ body, in a sea of green bodily fluids that exit every body orifice. The host is left for dead…
‘We know nothing more about this new virus, except that everyone seems to have been infected at the same time….defying all laws of virology.. Hide, lock yourself away, do not talk or touch anybody or anything…’
A frown creased the brow of the CNK anchorman. He began to scratch his left cheek viscously, which began to ooze a green liquid. Bruce Quaid shook his head in agitation and his eyes widened in alarm. He opened his mouth to say more, but no words came out. Instead, vast quantities of the green goo poured, each drop containing dozens of the small crab-like, arachnid creatures. There was a single gunshot. The bullet left the firearm he held to the side of his head, entered his brain and ended his nightmare. The screen went blank. CNK and Bruce Quaid had made their last broadcast. The seasoned anchorman would never win another broadcasting award.
Three World Defence Fleet.
16.19hrs, Universal Standard Time. August 21st 2057.
It looked like a scrap-yard, or at the very least the engineering shed for old car-banger racing. Sad looking crippled Flyships and Snubfighters lay strewn over the hangar floor, their innards exposed and their hulls scorched and riddled with gaping holes. Flight engineers poured over the carcasses, ripping out their innards, cannibalising parts. The pilots of these wrecks were the lucky ones, they’d made it back to Excalibur. The rest of their squadron mates weren’t so lucky, their bodies and souls were now lost in the ether.
Peter Black weaved his way around the hangar deck shaking his head at the carnage he saw. Ground crew worked feverishly on the few still serviceable fighters, rearming and fitting scavenged parts to replace bits that had been shot-to-hell. Every so often he came across one or several ground crew lying under a work-bench or fuselage, grabbing a few minutes rest in a bid to stave off exhaustion. Every person on this deck had been in constant action since they first engaged the Starweb fleet some fifty hours ago. It was an amphetamine driven miracle any of them were even still standing, let alone working.
‘How many serviceable chief?’ he asked.
‘Only sixteen captain,’ Flight Chief Aroha replied quietly. A veteran of the Dyason wars, Aroha was as exhausted as her team. She’d not had any sleep for days and she’d had her fill of amphetamines. ‘We can maybe get another two or three airworthy in a couple of hours. If we can find the parts…’
‘I don’t think we have a couple of hours chief…’ Black replied in a subdued voice. ‘Six squadrons down to a flight of sixteen…that’s not good….’
‘I know captain. We’ve scavenged what we can from the wrecks. They’ve been at it non-stop since before we engaged their fleet. We can’t do more… I’m sorry boss…’
Black reached out and touched the chief briefly on the shoulder, ‘I know chief, I know…’
Before he could say more there was a commotion not too far from where he stood. There were flames from what looked like a discarded pile of oily rags, and a young technician stood unmoving over the rags with a red hot welding torch in her hand. She stood motionless and expressionless; except for her mouth, which kept opening closing, mouthing unheard words. There was a rush of activity as one of her colleagues grabbed a fire-extinguisher and quickly put the fire out. Several others grabbed the torch out of her hands and forcibly dragged her away. Fire alarm klaxons reverberated briefly across the vast hangar floor, before they were canceled and reset. ‘What the hell?’ Black exclaimed and strode over to where the incident had taken place. Chief Aroha got there before him and glared at her ground crew.
‘What the frack is going on?!’ she swore at the group. ‘What happened here? You could’ve set light to the whole hangar! For frack’s sake!’
‘She just picked up the torch and set light to the rags!’ a distraught young technician told her. His eyes wide and bloodshot, the mix of fatigue and adrenaline visibly lining his pale face. ‘One minute she was crashed out on the deck asleep, the next minute she was trying to set light to the hangar…’
Black looked at the young woman being restrained by her team. She sat on a container, unresisting but still mouthing words. He thought he could make out the phrase, ‘Only through penance can you seek redemption...’ He pressed the comms unit fixed into his earlobe. ‘Security to hangar deck three on the double…’ he ordered. Black
knew what those words meant, and it meant trouble—big trouble.
‘Acknowledged. On our way,’ came the immediate response. Black was about to try to talk to the strangely afflicted young woman when he was simultaneously interrupted by the hangar tannoy, and his comms unit. ‘Captain to the medical centre immediately,’ the tannoy barked. At almost the same moment a voice spoke into his ear comm unit.
‘Captain, bridge’, was the urgent call.
‘Go ahead bridge,’ Black responded, lightly pressing the transmit button on the small ear-piece.
‘Sir, you need to get to the medical centre urgently,’ a voice he recognised as his number two Vassilis said.
‘I know, I just heard the Tannoy. What’s going on Lauryn?’ he asked.
‘We’re getting reports from all over the ship of people going into some sort of trance and then attempting to do some sort of damage to Excalibur, or themselves.’ Vassilis told him.
‘And then they murmur “Only through penance can you seek redemption...” ?’ Black second guessed.
‘How did you know?’ was the reply.
‘I’ve just seen one of them here on the hangar deck. Some poor lass in a trance tried to set light to the place,’ he answered.
‘It’s happening all over the ship, but Dr Berry thinks she knows why,’ Vassilis told him, ‘I’d explain sir, but I really think you had better get over there and see for yourself.’
Black thought about getting his number two to tell him more, but then thought better of it. Vassilis wouldn’t tell him to go see the doctor without good reason. ‘OK I’m on my way,’ Black acknowledged. He took one last glance at the impassive young technician still being restrained, then turned to Aroha and said, ‘Sorry Chief, but I’ve got to go. I know you and your team will do your best. That’s all any of us can expect from you. Just keep an eye out for more poor buggers losing the plot like this young lady. It looks like there’s an outbreak of similar incidents across the ship.’
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