“Well; I guess it matters little. Our ship will remain cloaked and continue with its monitoring. If anyone approaches then we’ll know of them before they ever realise that we’re here.”
“That’s good.” Vetty let a yawn escape his lips.
“Tired Vetty?”
“Very.”
“Then you’ll have to take some time-out for a rest. Lieutenant Brab will escort you to an empty chamber for a few hours sleep. I’ll wake you later.” He let a slight smile escape his closed lips and turned his attention, once again, to the ship and its monitoring of the space boundary and surface. He gave orders for a small group to search for the ore required. Some was soon found nearby. The Ziggurat remained where it was and the scorching sun disappeared but with little change to the outside temperature. He thought: ‘What could El Pasadora be up to?’
QUADRANT FOUR.
SPACE.
The Pizzamentino was shipped from Italy Earth during orderly evacuation of the planet. The ship had made its escape from the authorities by choice as many of its occupants wished not to be separated from their pets, personal belongings, friends, or relatives of different nationalities and religions.
The large ship had little armament; but what it had was good. It was last used as a heavy transporter for inter-quadrant exporting of the Earth’s mantle – used for its quality in the production of glass for space vessels, and mirrors as reflection wings in space boundary communications which worked on a particular frequency range.
The large bays were now crowded with farm animals, liquids, and food stuffs to last its 120 men and women three months of long travel, along the outside of QEM-gate corridors – 160 days if necessary. Due to the qualities of the mantle a high parsec of travel was unattainable and the controls to the ship portrayed this.
So they were on the run. They knew they could be easily caught and returned to Glaucuna for trial by the Mildratawa, but so many pirate ships existed now that the Mildratawa had little time to worry itself with every ship that was registered by their hidden probes in space. If a Mildratawa ship was to actually come across them in passing flight, or the ship in question had arrived at its point of destination, then and only then would the appropriate authorities be forced to take control of the vessel and all aboard her. The only pirate ships normally interfered with, were those which travelled in groups of three or more; these were considered a threat to populace peace, in particular the small colonies of outer space and stations of varying size – which were far and few between.
Greg was captain to the Pizzamentino and considered head of the family tree of Italians; although, he had Greek, Asian, and American blood in his veins, with the looks of someone from Arabia old. Next to him sat Rantino, a tall man, one hundred percent Sicilian.
Rantino turned his head in shocked surprise to the red flashing bulb on the console to his right. Turning to his left now, he looked to Greg. “They’re ellats. Five in all.” He tapped the small screen to his front, the deep space radar. Nothing. He closed his fist and pounded once; twice, and it lit up with a ping emitting from the small speaker as a circle rippled from the centre of the screen and out to the widest circumference of the monitor itself. Ping. “Closing fast. We should have visual soon. Shit! They’ve just armed an electro-static torpedo.”
Greg turned to his controls and found the magma shield button that protected from most torpedoes, in particular, the one that was directed towards them. He hit a button with little force before pounding it several times in a similar manner to Rantino. It registered the pounding commands of the fist. “Shield up.” The tiny cockpit gave little room for comfort but was replaced by easy to manage and easily assessable controls which sat within arm’s reach – although many didn’t work correctly. He turned his attention now to the warning of his relatives; the most important asset he’d ever known. He reached up and pulled a small mike from the roof of the ship, an electric cord was attached to the hand held communication device. “All family, strap in; men to the defences, five ellats approaching.” He let the mike go and it sprang back into place, his only link with the cargo hold directly behind, now cut off until it was reached for again. Mothers directed their children to the safety of their harnesses and men, both young and old, took to the neutron laser guns – a small replica of its bigger brother that was profound throughout the galaxy as one of the top ten best weapons known to intelligent life.
Rantino smiled. “If those ellat pilots only knew what we held; they wouldn’t approach to within ten seconds parsec of us. Let’s see how fast they withdraw once we’ve opened fire.”
“It’s not over until it’s over, Rantino. Our weapons may out-perform, but our human factor will hinder the accuracy of shot. Our men aren’t good at shooting, remember that.”
“But the automatic control; you said it was in operational.”
“I didn’t want to worry you.”
“Holy Mother of shit!” He turned a rapid glance down to the radar screen and whispered to himself: ‘Forgive me for being blasphemous and help us from this predicament.’
“Here they come, Rantino. Remember the starboard side has most of the working weapons, manoeuvre the ship so that they can engage the targets.”
“Already ahead of you there.” He jerked the wheel on the steering column to the left and his cousins, nephews, and brothers, opened fire.
Two ellats were shot to a million pieces, a small number compared to the shots fired. Several torpedoes hit their ship on the right flank as the ellats continued past, in a flash, overhead and out of view from the cockpit but still recognisable on the radar.
The radar suddenly went dead. “Holy Mother of God,” said Rantino as he punched it and it came back on line.
The ellat turned rapidly and approached from the port, shooting in bursts of accurate fire that followed the plunging torpedoes. The Pizzamentino shook violently and structural damage was inflicted upon the thick shell of the ship, made evident by tubes which ran the length of the ships ceiling, as they burst open and spent compressed oxygen, hydrogen, vapours of proton mist, and other gases into the breathable atmosphere. Chambers along the corridors to the Pizzamentino were automatically closed off as vapour meters detected the mixture of poisonous gases, lighting up a display of slit windows along the console in front of Greg.
The ellats passed over one more time, letting out their final leash of fire that ruptured an external fuel tank, momentarily sending the transporter ship into a slow but concerning spinning motion. This was soon taken under control and the radar showed the blinking eyes of Rantino that the now, single remaining ellat, had taken flight from the scene and had disappeared from view.
The legion officer came under a lapse of failing concentration as he made his escape. He hadn’t suspected a transporter of that kind to be armed to the teeth with such power. He literally shook the defeat from the head. The only satisfaction he had now was the fact that he’d gotten away without a scratch.
He took a deep breath and sat more relaxed, alone. The others, which normally accompanied him in his an ellat, had taken ill months before, when they were harboured up on planet Palmier. They would still be on that planet if it weren’t for the arrival of the men and women from Earth, conducting an exploration to the far side of the planet. He’d dropped his friends off, to be picked up by a medical ship, one that was from a civilised planet.
He was definitely alone now, not another ellat in sight. Where would he go? Would he have enough fuel? The last ship he had plundered gave him good measures of fuel, but this was running low now.
All of a sudden his radar bleeped, a red dot appearing. Again it came; a vessel was somewhere to his front. It wasn’t far off either. He scanned his controls and soon saw that it was a transporter from Zudomm. It sat stationary and seemed powerless. Possibly unmanned. He thought to himself of the Zudomminiums. He’d never seen one before. He’d heard a lot about them; a short brown creature that wore a robe as part of a religion; a Fio-nop robe.
&nbs
p; He watched with caution, the ship and his monitors. The vessel was dead. He had no idea of telling if life was in existence on board the elongated ship, a rectangular shaped vessel that had several control towers protruding the top surface, a possible bridge from where the vessel was commanded. No lights were on; it just sat there, stationary.
He decided upon a search. All appeared safe and no life evident after a ten-minute surveillance. He saw where the bay door was. He mentally went through his actions. If the power were off he’d be able to activate the bay door from his computer, and all other doors connected to the bay, after the portage of enough surging electro power to the operating mechanism itself, was delivered. All should open automatically. This would also refrain from allowing power to extend to the remainder of the ship, just in case a detonation device or preset parsec program had been fixed into place. Any number of offsets could have been placed into the ships memory banks.
His calculations took little time to figure and his small ellat entered the slightly illuminated interior, the power surge was enough to operate only the essential workings of the ship.
Within ten minutes he was wearing a spacesuit and the door of his ellat opened to the cold bay. An exit door was seen to the far end of the hold, an entry point to the front end of the vessel itself. He approached this slowly, mind scan pulled from his holster. He needed fuel and food badly, and although he knew the ship to be empty he was taking no chances, a protection of psychological value.
He studied the door closely and saw a small panel to one side. He pressed one of the two buttons, the door shooting upwards. The legion officer took a step backwards as his eyelids rolled back in shock surprise. There to his front was a Zudomminium, alive and dressed in his sacred Fio-nop robe, casually wearing a small mask that fed him oxygen.
The Verton fired his mind scan at the short brown human-looking creature.
Nothing.
He fired again.
Nothing.
Another Zudomminium raced up from behind to alongside his friend and pushed the bottom button on their side of the doorway, shutting the door to the bay as quickly as if had opened.
The Verton was even more shocked now. He didn’t know that this vessel was just temporarily out of commission due to power failure, and his act of powering up the Bay of the vessel must have notified those on board of his presence.
He ran towards his ellat and took flight through the open bay doors.
“Who was that, Nyot?” one of the Zudomminiums asked of the other.
“I have no idea.” He looked to his friend. “But I know of the weapon he had.”
“And how’s that?”
“Well, Cruft, I’ve seen pictures; I went to Earth once, with our leader Yambi.”
“Why do you think he shot at us? We meant him no harm.”
“He probably thought that we were like the rest of the galaxy; hateful and hurtful.”
“Why didn’t his weapon work against you?”
“Mind over matter, Cruft, mind over matter.”
“I think we should report this to the Mildratawa; as soon as we get our ship back into operation and it is safe to turn the power on again. Then we can head back into the corridor of QEM.”
“Yes, you are correct. We’ll have to let someone know that a possible murderer is loose. Let’s hope that they can talk him out of his hatred.”
They looked at the closed door momentarily and then back to each other. “Yes. Let’s hope that he can be forgiven.”
PLANET EQUATIA.
THE PALACE.
The Verton Empress Dimala entered the chamber to Queen Asti’s personal room of solitude, study, and rule. A large oak desk glimmered in the failing light which was emitted from the chandeliers above, and the Queen Asti seemed quite comfortable and mused by the fact that she was seated and Dimala was standing; although this was far from the truth.
Only two guard existed; one either side and slightly set back from the hand carved chair, its back support rising over the neatly arranged hair-rap of the queen, a spiral which showed hours of painstaking work.
She sat steady as Dimala approached, unaccompanied. She strode up, her hands clenched into a fist and holding the draped dress up as it flowed over the tiled floor and onto the rug where the desk sat. She stopped in front of Asti, a two-metre gap, and only the oak desk coming between them both. “How dare you squander the time I have remaining with my people. I have little as it is. Haven’t you taken enough from me? Now dare you kidnap me and hold me prisoner.”
“Do you feel like a prisoner?”
“I do.” She sat in a huff, uninvited, but the chair had been purposely set in such a position to suggest an invitation, slightly agape from the table in presentation to her.
“Then that’s good.” Dimala stared with hatred and astonishment to the sarcastic and teasing power of voice. “Now you know what it feels like.”
“I don’t know what Vetty bestowed upon you, but whatever it was, it was no fault of mine.”
“You deny the facts then?”
“What facts?”
“The fact that you intended to hold me a slave within your palace for eternity, and had my husband put to death.”
“I knew not of any arranged death. I could have told you that during the signing of the treaty; but what would be the point.” Her voice had calmed slightly, a plea of innocence now ending her frantic words. “And as for the imprisonment into slavery; I know not of any such arrangements. If any does exist, I must say that I knew nothing of it. You failed to bring such to my ears during the signing.”
“I didn’t think it was necessary.” Queen Asti came to the conclusions for both of them. “It would appear that Vetty had done us both an injustice.”
“He was so forceful at times. His power was stronger than that of any other warlord. How could I not give him permission to try and seek the power he was after? If I had told him to stop in his persistence my people would have been brought to civil war, a war ten times worse than that of any other world, even Basbi. Verton doesn’t have a Bright and a Darkside, it doesn’t lack in scientific advancement. Instead, we have the mind scan and other great weapons of destruction. My world would have been brought to a cinder if I were to have denied Vetty his war. The wars prior to this one proved that life could still be maintained after such a great loss. Even now my people are enjoying a better life than they would have if civil war had broken out. Many side with Vetty, but I also have a lot of support, people who believe in the Monarchy.” She lowered her head slightly. “I had no choice. I did what I had to do, even if my people don’t understand that.”
They looked into one another’s eyes and Asti felt that Dimala’s words were truthful. Asti did believe her. “I have bad news— news; and; more news.”
“Please.”
“An earth friend of mine, one who is very powerful with the mind; he told me to bring you here. I didn’t know why at first, but now; I think I understand. I have brought you here for sanctuary, to live in peace. You’ll be given all that you wish and no harm will ever come to you; in time you’ll be able to travel from quadrant to quadrant, but for the time being you would be restricted to Quadrant Three only. You must be assured of your freedom, but the Mildratawa must not know of your existence. I risk a lot by allowing you these comforts; but as I have said, I have a friend who’s mind is very strong with all knowledge of life and the power to read one’s mind on occasion.”
“They’ll know when they visit Verton; and besides, I couldn’t leave my planet.”
“What planet?”
Dimala looked puzzled and slightly shocked. She understood but didn’t understand; she was puzzled and mystified, but knew all. “You’ve lost me.” She shook her head, to wave the blockage from her mind, to live in a second’s worth of denial. “I don’t understand; I think….”
“Your planet is to be expelled and all your people will die.”
PLANET EQUATIA.
THE PALACE.
Que
en Asti was slowly getting used to the Verton Empress’ presence and minded little her outbreaks of temperament that were brought on by the smallest of comments. Living with the standards of such a society as Verton, and the planet’s climatic conditioning, had obviously taken its toll; in a lot of cases she considered herself nothing more than a puppet on a string. The Empress Dimala found the sudden weight of ecstasy, elegance, and manners – not to mention the lack of yantus milk – all somewhat depressing on Equatia, and no longer would her ears hear the truth of the yantus, the truth that was derived from the mind’s eye.
Both ladies sat to either end of the dining table. The meal had come to its end and Dimala had said nothing more than a few words – which were mostly in answer to questions posed by one of the other guests. Doug, Mintou, and Tiny, sat respectively down the left-hand side of the table in orientation to the Queen Asti, and the other seats opposite these three remained empty – but prepared – in respect to the persons normally seated along that edge. The order of arrangement baffled the Verton Empress, but she said nothing; she had been invited to dine with these guests so as to become used to, surely, similar to the way in which a human becomes acquainted with a pet dog or cat.
“So, tell me Sualimani; how did you find the yoebla steak?” asked the Queen of Equatia.
‘The Imperial War Lady, Empress Sualimani Natashafuna Dimala the Fourth, that’s my proper name and title. Shall it ever be heard again?’ “I found it tender and very juicy; Druad.” Dimala stared for a brief second to each of the guests in turn, as though she’d done something almighty wrong and knew it. The others returned her look, unaccustomed to the Queen of Equatia being addressed as such; they turned to her now and she smiled. They were confused, residing too easily in wrongful conclusion, but it did seem that the two High Ladies had taken time to study each other’s idiosyncrasies, and had become friends of a strange variety.
“I’m pleased.” A few seconds of silence now played strange to the seated guests and hostess to the meeting. She turned her attention to Doug, forcing another smile, hiding her discomforts well. “You’re not back with your wife yet, Doug?”
MILDRATAWA Page 33