“No, sir; understood.”
He waved his hand as though annoyed by his presence. “Ensure that what I’ve said gets passed on. Be on your way. Navigator, execute the plans for landing procedure now. We’re going to be Shrinpooh’s guests a little earlier than first anticipated.”
“Right away, sir.”
The Ziggurat followed the path as planned into the far reaches of the Darkside and would land at the doorways of the palace within an hour. The single man pod also headed its course at parsec 20 by .6, for Earth, outside of the designated path of QEM. The pod was capable of a faster parsec than a small spaceship. The warning to El Pasadora would arrive in plenty of time, even though flight out of QEM-gate was quite time consuming.
The cloaking device of the small pod would cover its move towards Earth, and the Ziggurat; it was now decloaked. The floating Parene security spheres of the Darkside wouldn’t fire upon the ship, for the Ziggurat’s profile had been recorded upon all Parene memory banks, the threat of accidental disintegration thrown aside.
The surface of Basbi was still, although a blizzard was forecast for the late afternoon. The four spheres, each of two metres in diameter, patrolled the palace surrounds. The black security balls, their long metal legs drooping below and hanging from the undercarriage, moved continuously, scanning the surrounding atmosphere and ground for any alien life forms – natural or artificial.
One black mass stopped in mid-flight and an in-built camera focussed its lens on the approaching Ziggurat, relaying the information directly to the thousand-man garrison. It held its fire. The silhouette of the Ziggurat had been identified as friendly.
The sphere, however, wasn’t detected by the on board computers of the Ziggurat as it approached unhindered, the Parene standing superior as the Darkside’s security blanket. The navigator manoeuvred the large ship to the platform directly ahead. Small green lights indicated a vacant landing spot through the curtain of darkness that was handed the faintest of illumination from the stars above. All radar was turned on as the Ziggurat made its final leg to the palace, managing the gap between two large formations of rock.
It came into a steady hover and the undercarriage thrusters brought the ship to a steady landing. The engines were shut down and a walkway extended out automatically from the side of the palace, an arm of greeting and corridor of protection, protection from the outside temperatures.
It locked into place, allowing the ship’s doors to open to an escort of four men, each clad in nothing more than simple overalls. The warm air rushed in through the opening of the Ziggurat, in from the palace via the walkway – an obvious, pleasant, working atmosphere.
The men snapped to attention, the foremost giving a salute with his closed fist, thrusting it up and across his body to meet with his chest in fashion to a Roman salute. “Greetings from the Prince are extended to you, Pasha.” He returned his arm to his side, taken aback by not receiving a salute in return. “Please allow me to show you to his quarters. These three men will show your ships company to the quarters designated by their rank.”
“Very well, but I must insist on Lieutenant Brab’s accompaniment.”
“As you see fit, Pasha. Please, this way.”
Pasnadinko and Brab followed the man down the corridor of the arm and into the palace itself. The large hall was seen to be very crowded as men went about their business; all clad in an array of assorted – coloured – overalls. “What’s your name Guard?”
“Number Twenty Three, sir.”
“Well, Number Twenty Three, I see you have no uniform on. Is this the normal way in which you greet officials?”
“Our Honour Guard does have a uniform, Pasha, but your arrival was not expected so early. What you see about you is colour segregation, to more easily identify ones responsibilities. The bigger the responsibility, the better one lives. You may also understand that comfort is not an easy thing to come by, outside of these walls of course. Living standards are set by the amount of discomfort you get put through; the more hours you spend outside, the higher up your responsibility becomes; so the laziest of our workers stay warm inside the fortress but receive fewer comforts and privileges. Some take care to enjoy things whilst they can. Money is so short. As you are aware, Pasha, the House of Suudeem, when it existed, didn’t permit for such things as individuality or living standards. No one had any choice in any matter. Now we work to the standard that we wish to live.”
“I see your point, Twenty Three. How far to the quarters of the Prince?”
“Not far, Pasha. He’s preparing some refreshments as we walk. He’s eager to speak with you. News of any description had been limited. Even our progress over the Twilight is not fully known. The last reports we were given suggested a good stand against the Brightside, but things can change so unexpectedly.”
The conversation fell to silence and the walk came to an end. The door to the Prince’s quarters was opened and both Pasnadinko and Brab entered; Number Twenty Three remaining outside, closing the door quietly behind them.
A few servants were seen leaving through another entrance opposite, and the Prince lifted himself from his chair in the centre of the room. He cheerfully moved over to meet them. His large build and puffed out cheeks gave indication as to the way in which he fed his body, by the bucket full. His fat fingers were extended. “Well, we meet at last Pasnadinko. Earlier than expected, but no less welcome.”
They shook hands. “Thank you, Prince. This is Lieutenant Brab, an officer of mine who has proved his worth time and time again.”
“Good day to you Lieutenant.” He continued without allowing Brab the chance to reply. “Please, come and sit down. I have some food and drink to satisfy the biggest of appetites.”
The small table was overflowing with food and four large decanters of red wine. “I’m sure it will be satisfactory, Prince Shrinpooh. You are most gracious to present us with such delights.” Pasnadinko had forced a change to his everyday character. It was enough to shock anyone, but it was befitting to the task ahead. Even Brab couldn’t help but to look at him with disbelief in his eyes.
“Tell me, why is it you journey so early? Not bad news I hope?”
“Not at all, my prince. We have some news to suggest that a fighting force is preparing hostilities against your old friend El Pasadora. We thought it safer to visit you first hand and keep you up to date with current events.”
“That’s most kind of you.” His eyes darted around the table of food, they themselves deciding what would be pleasing to the palate. They soon fell upon a cream puff coated with chocolate, an imported recipe from Earth, and excitingly tasty. “Please, have something to eat.”
“No thank you, Prince. We have other matters which we are concerned about at this moment.”
“Oh, and what are they?” He placed the cake on his plate, interested to hear what this pasha had to say.
“We’re worried that your sanctuary may be in danger. As you well know, you have had no reports on your progress for a while.”
“Who has told you this?”
“Just one of your men, my prince. You must understand that he tells us this out of concern for you.”
“Of course. I know of my men’s’ loyalties.”
“Then you surely appreciate that our appetites are not present due to our worry for your safety. I must insist, for your own sake, that we take a force into the Brightside for a first-hand look at the situation. Your safety would be assured; believe me. The Brightside would expect nothing from us at this stage. We, ah, could be back in time for evening tea.”
“I don’t know that I like that idea.”
“You must lead by example, Prince of mine. On our way here we were told that morale is very low. There was even a hint of insubordination towards you.”
“Who dares to say such things? Tell me, now!”
“Number Twenty Three my prince. Although seemingly concerned, he is extremely brash and crude. He has a loose tongue. I would’ve disciplined him
myself but didn’t want to override your authority.”
“Quite right, quite right. I shall have him dealt with immediately.”
“What of the morale, my prince?”
“That we shall square away as soon as possible.”
“Could I be so bold as to suggest that Lieutenant Brab chase up an escort and have Number Twenty Three taken into custody? This will give us time to talk before you have to worry yourself with such scum.”
“Very well. That seems appropriate.”
Lieutenant Brab stood. “Thank you, my prince.” With a turn he departed their company.
It took little time after this to convince the prince, and a force was soon readied for penetration of the deep desert regions. Six captured ships and the Ziggurat were boarded. The accompaniment of soldiers was taken from the garrison of 1,000 men as suggested by Pasnadinko, 140 in all.
The prince was unaware of the coming conspiracy. A large portion of the thousand-man garrison was under direct command of Pasnadinko, and the remainder would soon be paid off – or die. Strong vows of support within this group were given to El Pasadora – those of a higher rank, and in control of the garrison, relatives of the soon to be Emperor of Basbi Triad.
Pasnadinko left his own crew behind, each of the ships now flying in formation for the desert under the command of one of these relatives, each holding twenty men in the likelihood that trouble should be met with along route. The prince sat next to Pasnadinko, quite happy in the knowledge that a first-hand look was going to be taken of the more important desert zones, increasing his knowledge on the tactical deployment of his men and boosting morale with updated news on the conflict, regardless of how small that was.
Daylight was soon seen to rise above the horizon as they crossed the Twilight, cruising at a top altitude of 2,000 metres. “Where is our first destination, Pasha?”
“We believe that a small skirmish exists in the plains of Wuarra.”
“No. That’s insane. No man can survive there for long. The winds come quite frequently.”
“That is okay, my prince. They have vehicles. I believe it’s a quick sweep to take care of some flanking enemy units.”
“Where do you get this information?”
“You ask many questions.”
“I am the Prince. I have all the right to—”
Pasnadinko turned to look him in the eye. “Shut up, Muat. I am starting to tire of your voice.”
The astonished look of the Prince pulled at the muscles of his fat face, nearly bringing tears to his very eyes. “What—? I— how dare you.”
“If you don’t shut your mouth, you fat loafing pig, then I’ll have you disembowelled!”
“Guard! Guard! Take this man and—” Shrinpooh was grabbed from behind. “What is the meaning of this?”
“Shut the pig up and get him out of here.” He was unceremoniously gagged and taken to an adjoining room.
The plains of Wuarra soon came into view and the formation of ships brought to rest on the golden sands. The heat was unbearable, especially for those unaccustomed to such temperatures.
Shrinpooh’s gagged and tied body sweat relentlessly as he was exit from the comfort of the ship, his thin layer of clothing saturated in seconds. He was unceremoniously sat upon the hot surface and forced to watch as a post was laid upon the sands. A crossbeam and footrest were then attached. They were going to crucify him. The busy workers looked up and over their shoulder periodically as they worked, a distant rumbling, like that of thunder, could be heard in the distance.
Twisting grains of sand sprout from the ground only kilometres away, easily seen as they formed a tornado shaped funnel. It was advancing quickly towards them. The pole was lifted upright and connected to a ground stake that penetrated deep into the planet – one of the planets execution posts – and Shrinpooh was stripped – all except the ties and gag. He tried kicking his assailants as he was secured to two rope pulleys, and hauled to the top of the fixed post, the ends of these ropes then tied at the base of the post to prevent the prince from falling to the ground. “Farewell, you grouse pig. I hope it’s a slow death.”
Shrinpooh watched with tears welling in his eyes as the seven ships departed in a direction to skirt around the approaching funnel of death. Another two minutes and the first of the sand grains lashed out at his skin, adding to the torment of the burning rays of the sun Quaker.
He tried crying out in pain as he wrestled with the ties. Blood tracks formed around his wrists of fat, and at his ankles his shins reddened against the rope ties. Still conscious his ears were slowly eaten away by the tiny yellow grains and the wind slowed in its ferocity. It was going to be a slow death.
He finally lost consciousness. His eyelids had worn down to bare eyeball, and these fell to the foot of the post before rolling away in the sandstorm once blasted small enough by sand. The post was also eaten away as time passed, until all evidence had been taken from the scene, only the metal ground steak remained.
Pasnadinko would return to the Darkside’s main fortress with the bad news on the lost fight that had taken the Prince’s life, in the arms of the Brightside’s warriors. Pasnadinko also had over a hundred witnesses to prove his words as being true. They would all believe that the Prince had died a courageous death, and those faithful to the Prince would soon take sides with that of Pasnadinko for his efforts in trying to save their once loved saviour’s life. Only those of the garrison whom were loyal to El Pasadora knew the truth, but sealed this way in the back of their minds. No one wished to die by the sands of Wuarra.
CHAPTER SIX
PLANET EQUATIA.
SPACE.
The Verton war machine was on the move. Muriphure Vetty headed the assault against Equatia as planned. Ten divisions of Legion Millennium were under his control. Each division consisted of three legions, the best fighting forces in the history of Verton existence. 180,000 troops.
Eighteen battle cruisers came out of Parsec, undetected from the surface of the planet, and on each of the cruisers lay over one thousand attack craft. Only eight cruisers were to take part in the taking of Equatia, the others would remain on call from nearby positions around the planet.
The cruisers positioned themselves ready for battle, a dark menace like that of a bird of prey hanging over its victim, allowing a last breath of life before plummeting down and taking its feed within its talons.
Muriphure’s net was ready and the signal given. Attack craft spilled from the belly of the cruisers like a plague of locusts, heading down towards the unsuspecting lives on the planet’s surface below. One after the other they exit the dark interior of the cruisers, no set formation undertaken; only a simple plan; overkill by shock deliverance.
Little need was required for the annihilation of the inhabitants but a strong presence of overwhelming numbers was a psychological advantage. The cooperation of the King and Queen was required but not absolutely essential. The operation would still be a success, regardless.
To the Vertons’ knowledge the cavalry had not yet arrived from the Mildratawa and in that they were correct. A hundred men against 180,000 was no measure for concern. Although the knowledge of these one hundred men was not available, the Vertons were accepting any face value card that could possibly be played by the opposing players at this present time; a reconnaissance force was expected to have been delivered by the Mildratawa.
The remaining stationed cruisers remained at battle stations ready to be deployed on any of the warlords’ commands, prepared to strike any other planet within the quadrant. The Legion Millennium were one of the most battle ready formations the galaxy had ever seen; it was surprising to many of the quadrants that an organisation of some description hadn’t been formed to control and monitor the Vertons more aggressive of forces. The galaxy wouldn’t make the same mistake again.
The Vertons knew that this would be their last stand against the Mildratawa and the last remaining opportunity to rule the galaxy, as they understood it. This was r
eason enough to overdo any invasion, to take by force or submission any underdog – any life form other than their own. Either way, the Vertons cared little. If the quadrants submitted themselves to the Verton sanctions, then that was fine. If annihilation was the only avenue to take, then that too was acceptable.
The attack craft spilled their troops onto the planet with no resistance being met and the short trek for Muriphure’s personal bodyguard of ten thousand was aided by high spirits, for the warriors knew that they had air superiority. They closed to within one kilometre of the palace before a message of surrender was received from Commander Younge. His knowledge of the coming assault had arrived too late for him to contemplate evacuation, resistance, or the dispersion of his one hundred men. Muriphure’s anti-radar jamming procedure had worked well, like an invisible entity, and moving along the jungle paths in silence the Vertons had appeared without warning.
The Legion Millennium took the palace without a shot being fired, the unconditional surrender being accepted. Muriphure only thought now was to segregate Commander Younge’s men from the other planet occupants, in order that he could commence his dealings for recruitment of the mercenary forces. Even now, as he sat down opposite the King and Queen of Equatia, the ten remaining battle cruisers had been passed the word to begin their move towards Nougstia, Equotor, and Stia.
The warlords amongst these cruisers were forewarned of possible inserted forces on the other planet surfaces, but he too well knew that if such a force did exist that it would only be small in comparison to the one he had just encountered.
“Well, well, well; King Salama. How would you be on a fine day such as today? Happy to see me I bet.”
“We are a peaceful planet, a quiet nation. We have no trouble with you or anyone. I must warn you however that I have been informed of your coming. My people have been instructed not to take up arms against the Mildratawa.”
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