by Ronan Frost
Mosata nodded uncertainly. "I hope you're right, master."
Shata sat cross-legged before a crackling fire, the smoke drifting gently out the smoke hole in the roof. He looked sharply up as the flap of the tent was thrown open.
"Mosata," he greeted as the hunchback bowed in his presence. "Come, take a seat."
Mosata did so, his beady eyes wandering about the tent impatiently. "I can't believe it! The very nerve of that old fool. I don't know how he escaped!"
Shata-Bera shook his head solemnly. "I entrusted his imprisonment to you, Mosata. I hope you don't fail me again."
Mosata grumbled and twisted his hands anxiously. "I shall not, master."
"What of the gas?" asked Shata suddenly. "Have you failed me on that account too?"
The hunchback raised his head, a sly grin across his face. "No, master. As you know, the chemist is nothing more than a blithering idiot and his equipment is a shambles, but with care I managed to find a few bottles of the stuff."
Shata's wide gemlike eyes lit up. "Where?"
Mosata opened up the inside of his cloak and withdrew a long, narrow glass jar. The jar was crudely made and its walls thick, but it served the purpose. A cork was jammed in the opening, sealing the green tinged gas inside.
"This is enough to kill a thousand Sunlords in a confined space," he grinned. "And I have five more in my tent. It is more than enough for our purposes."
Shata grinned and took the bottle from Mosata's hands. The glass was cool to the touch, and he held up it up look at it through the light.
"You have done well." He noticed the way small swirling patterns formed in the bottle as he moved, watching with eyes hungry for revenge. "Beautiful..."
Chapter Twelve
Union of Giants.
An empire founded by war has to maintain itself by war.
- Baron De Montesquieu.
Admiral Karthorn leant back in the padded acceleration chair, his broad hands clasped behind his thick bull like neck. He sat before an array of computer screens, the closest to him lit with the visage of Avatar.
"Have you cornered the rats yet?" the Admiral asked.
"In good time, sir," returned Avatar. The screen to the left suddenly winked into life, showing a black and white image, four figures distinguishable from the shadows. A white line of code flashed on and off briefly as the Admiral watched.
"The security bug caught them at 1834 hours," reported Avatar.
Karthorn leant forward on the narrow desk to better scrutinise the fuzzy image. He could make what looked like shadowy pipes in the background, static dancing across the screen intermittently.
"Where are they?"
"Electrical storage bay 19. They're sitting on high voltage cables - and that's disrupting the transmission a little." As Avatar spoke the image switched to infra-red, a humanoid life form standing out as a red and yellow splotch amongst the shielded pipes. Close by were small, pale blue figures moving close by, and the Admiral knew these must be the natives. He wondered briefly why they were so cold blooded, for even the sensitive scanners barely detected their heat patterns.
"What are you waiting for?" growled Karthorn. "Kill them."
"I have decided to wait," countered Avatar smoothly. "They're in the centre of a main power complex. It could cause difficulties if damage should come to them. Besides, they're just sitting there. In time they will have to move, and then the sniper droids will strike."
"They may damage the lines now," mused Karthorn, running his fingers through short cropped hair. "I don't like intruders just sitting contentedly on my ship."
"I'm watching them closely - as soon as they even attempt to cut a circuit the droids will be upon them. I have ordered the droids to wait. It will save any complications that may arise."
"What sort of damage did they cause in the med blocks?"
Four of the screens on the upper row flashed into life, showing the smouldering ruins of a room from all angles. The thick smoke had already cleared and a team of droids were already cleaning up the mess.
"Nothing severe. Crewman 09347-222 was the only fatal casualty, although soldier 15432-0 has suffered some sort of mental condition. The med crews are working on him right now..." Another previously black screen now showed a birds eyes view of a white room, a naked Hartrias warrior upon a stretcher in the centre. Various cords and leads lead into his exposed brain and delicate hand like robots cut away further scalp tissue.
Karthorn brushed this aside. "Equipment losses?"
"All minor, although a full listing will be logged for your inspection. That particular med room should be up and running in an hour."
Admiral Karthorn nodded briskly. He swivelled on his chair and stood quickly. A short walk and he descended some black metal stairs, to be before the massive panel below the main viewport. A smaller screen to the side blinked into life, and Karthorn was again confronted by Avatar's presence.
"Dispatch a message pod to the Kingdom," ordered the Admiral, reseating himself in the command chair. "Report all losses and current situation."
The signal would be passed through an open jumptunnel to reach the Kingdom flagship that lay more than fifteen light years distant in less than five minutes. Barely had the technician put through the message did the control board before him flash. Avatar reacted quicker.
"Incoming ship, sir."
Karthorn immediately picked up. His narrow eyes thinned. "Status?"
"Identification signal coming through...Royal Hartrias Fleet cruiser NX-13."
Admiral Karthorn relaxed back into the chair. "Then the Rplore is here at last," he breathed. "It's about time."
As he spoke he watched the three metre high screen above the control board displaying the depths of space and bright pinpricks of the stars. Two perpendicular lines suddenly flashed from the edges of the monitor - the computer targeting system - which moved quickly to the upper right to form crosshairs. A second later, dead in the middle of the crosshairs, a yellow-green light emerged as the jumptunnel opened and a ship emerged.
The Rplore was a ship twice as massive as the Urisa. Her hull flashed the sunlight, the new paint still fresh unlike the grey metal flanks of the Urisa. Eight huge battle cannons were set about the Rplore's edges, the other faces smooth and unblemished. The bottom half of the ship was cylindrical while the top half bristled with towers and various launch pads, details cloaked in deep shadow against the black backdrop of space.
She was a stout ship, designed for taking the brunt of an enemies firepower instead of avoiding it. Whereas the Urisa had been designed with speed and manoeuvrability in mind the Rplore's battle strategy was not unlike that of a brick.
Admiral Karthorn watched in silent appreciation as the massive five kilometre long ship pulled to a rest, his eyes gleaming with dream. She was indeed a beautiful ship.
"Rplore's weapons and shielding systems coming on line now, sir," reported Avatar.
Karthorn nodded absently. When a ship travelled through jumpspace it was defenceless, and it always took time for defence systems to warm up. That was why it was unwise to drop out of jumpspace in unsecured territory.
Karthorn leant over the arm of the command chair and held a button down. "Have the docking bays ready, Midshipman," he said into the mike. "I expect the Rplore will be in need of supplies after her long voyage."
"Sir," came the acknowledgment.
Admiral Karthorn sat back and templed his stubby six fingered hands in thought. "Put a call through to the Rplore, Avatar."
The computer did so. A second later the main screen blanked out to be replaced by a 3-D holographic image of the Rplore's Commander.
"Ah, Commander Loakar, it is good to see you once again," greeted the Admiral.
The holographic face nodded in greeting. "Indeed, it has been a long time. I have your status here..." Commander Loakar's image fuzzed a little with static but quickly reasserted itself. "If I may say so, sir, I must congratulate you. Your ship has made a momentous discovery - the critical poin
t is a valued prize."
The edges of Admiral Karthorn's mouth twitched up in what may have been described as a smile. "Thank you, Commander. It seems your ship showed up just in time - production of the land-based cannons starts in fifty six hours."
"The atmosphere and hab-zones have already been established?" Commander Loakar's face registered respect.
"The atmosphere is breathable with the proper intra-venous injections, and yes, the hab-zones are nearing completion. All that remains is to establish the cannons on the equator and poles then disperse Watcheye satellites."
"The Rplore shall help in any way it can, sir," returned Loakar.
Admiral Karthorn nodded, then turned his attention to another topic. "News of the war?"
Commander Loakar looked slightly uneasy. "The Royal Fleet has lost ground in the Boarke sector. We've lost three battleships to the Federation's one. We had to withdraw our forces and relinquish the system to them or face more losses. That's why we took so long to arrive here - the Rplore was the rearguard for the escaping fleet liners."
The Admiral did not take this news well. "If the Federation holds the Boarke sector they have cornered that arm of the galaxy! Why did you pull out so quickly?" he accused.
"We were lucky to escape," Commander Loakar rushed. "The Federation has grown considerably in strength since they formed the alliance with the Skeeters."
The Admiral was silent in thought. The evacuation would explain all the disturbances through the critical point, although the Urisa had chosen to let most of the traffic pass through unmolested; for the moment the Federation had a reprieve. But the fate of the Sarthchild was but the first in the line of what would be many Federation ships to fall.
"Have an update beamed to me," finished Karthorn. "The Urisa has enough supplies if you wish to restock..." Seeing the Commander had accepted his offer eagerly, he continued. "Have your construction teams and a war suit squad ready for landfall in twenty hours."
"War suits?" interrupted Commander Loakar. "Have you had trouble with the natives?"
"No," replied the Admiral, glancing uneasily to a side monitor which showed the black and white image of the four intruders sitting in the heart of his ship. "None at all. Just be ready."
* * *
They huddled in a narrow walkway, a grating at their feet and literally thousands of pipes in all directions. Shaun sat with his back against an upright girder, breathing heavily in an attempt to smooth out the stitch that had formed in his side, recalling his last decent meal had been more than seventeen hours ago. Just thinking about nourishment lead him to the conclusion that he would do almost anything for a jug of synthi-beer, even just some of the cheap stuff they served in the Federation training messes.
But here he was, dead in the heart of an enemy mother ship, his only companions three fur clad spear wielding natives. Although they had saved his life, another part of his mind mused. There was certainly something about the natives, something that told Shaun there was more to them than what met the eye. Take the strange telepathy for instance...
Shaun tilted his head back, feeling his breathing slow as he rested. If he stopped and held his breath he could hear the steady, barely audible hum of high voltage transformers.
Capac broke the silence with a wry comment. "I'd kill for a drink."
"I was just thinking the same," commented Shaun. "Perhaps if we ask nicely...?"
He stopped suddenly as a movement flicked in the shadows. Cursing beneath his breath Shaun rolled to cover, the natives startled into doing similar. Capac had also seen the motion from the corner of his eye. "Something's there!" he hissed.
From his shelter Shaun nodded. "They've been there for some time, I'd assume - they didn't want to make a move because we are sitting on their power source." It was not by chance that Shaun had chosen this place to rest; he knew the way Avatar's mind worked. "But I think they've given up waiting. They're closing in."
"Do something!" whispered Ashian.
But Shaun was already at work, prising at the base of the burner retained from his exploits in the med-bay. At last it broke and a gush of cold burner fluid splashed out over the cables between his feet.
"Time to blow this joint," he warned his companions.
A split second later he leapt aside, triggering the flint in the burner. The fuel erupted in a brilliant wall of fire as he scrambled back, the light of the flame covering his retreat, forcing the natives hurrying before him.
Shaun ducked instinctively as there came multiple noises of bullets ricocheting behind them. He counted five shots in all, each in quick succession. Shaun raised his head, his heart thumping, suddenly very glad to be still alive. Their ploy had worked; the flame had blinded the infra-red scanners of the watching sniper droids long enough for them to make their escape.
Walls seemingly closing in on them, as if trying to pin down their movements, they rushed through pipes and leads knowing pursuit was close behind. The catwalk they scrambled along seemed to get smaller and smaller yet they had to keep moving faster. Imagination blended with reality as Shaun thought he heard the clicking of metallic footsteps on the metal pathway behind. He followed behind the back of Myshia, who was crawling through the choking confines with deceptive ease. Behind Shaun came Ashian, his hands touching the pistol in his belt, his mind debating whether to use it in self-defence. Following him came Capac, his long bladed knife strapped to his belt catching repeatedly on nearby pipes. He was the one bringing up the rear and more than once he felt the presence of the sniper droids behind. They were catching up!
Myshia, in the lead, was the first to come out of the claustrophobic tunnel. One moment they were in the confined space, and the next she sensed they were in an open environment, dark and mysterious. She paused momentarily, ears cocked, as she heard the echoes of her movements bounce down into infinity. Then the shadowy shapes resolves themselves and she saw the catwalk was now like some sort of bridge spanning across the width of a great chasm. Looking upwards she saw the chasm continued, faint light smeared in the distance, as if they were inside the gullet of a huge whale.
Then Shaun was behind her, pushing her forward. She moved along, suddenly aware of a steady breeze blowing upwards, as if the giant whale was breathing out. Clamping down her teeth in determination she put aside her fears and crawled forward.
By the time Ashian had emerged she was almost across to the other side.
"What is this place?" breathed the currach in awe, his words startling loud as they reverberated about the sides of the steel windpipe.
"Keep moving," boomed Shaun's voice. Although his tone had been low his words echoed loudly.
Meanwhile Capac was having trouble of his own. His damn knife had gotten caught again and...
He paused, breathing shallowly, as he heard the steady clink-clink of an approaching droid. His heart leapt to his throat, his muscles working futilely to free the himself from the tightening pipes, twisting and pulling frantically and in his haste only jamming himself further in.
He slipped free suddenly and fell back, driving the breath from his lungs as he hit the steel grating of the catwalk. His eyes were wide but useless in the dark as he heard the droids closing. They were too close...
Blinding yellow light exploded up the steel windpipe, rushing up more like a wall of water than fire. Shaun gasped as the blinding light seemingly burnt out his retina's in a split second. He fell, shielding his eyes and yelling his surprise. The shock wave concussed against his ears and he fell backwards, arms pin wheeling.
The ground opened up beneath him, the yawning chasm effortlessly swallowing him alive. He reached out instinctively and his hand caught about a twisted metal cross support firmly. Confusion of the instant slowly cleared itself as he realised the blast had shredded the supports of the catwalk away.
"Capac!" he bawled into the darkness. The light of the flame had died, leaving his eyes with dazzling afterimages. When no answer came to his calls he knew the worst had befallen his compan
ions. His night vision had restored itself enough for him to see he was indeed hanging from the shredded catwalk. Crazy, nightmare shadows rose up out of the destruction like skeletal fingers.
Shaun heaved himself up and swung his leg over what seemed to be solid flooring. As he moved his forearms contracted in effort, muscles aching and over-exerted. Breathing harsh and fingers moving in the darkness Shaun established he had not been skewered by shrapnel, although he would not have been surprised if he found a length of steel through his guts. In shock one doesn't feel pain - the pain comes later.
It just seemed his eyebrows had been singed; a lucky escape. Dread lay heavy in his heart as Shaun began the search for his companions, moving aside jagged splintered steel, going more by feel than by touch. He moved carefully, uncomfortably aware that a near bottomless shaft dropped away at his feet. It was just so dark!
"Here."
Shaun spun as he heard Myshia's voice from the debris. He scrambled through tangled obstacles and met with Myshia's outstretched arms. The native's long thin arm closed about his neck like a parasite. She was shaking uncontrollably.
"W..What was that, Shaun?"
"An explosion," he explained, his tone unsure. "I don't know...it sounded bad, as if the ship took a nasty hit." In the darkness his eyes wandered, as if the answer to the mystery would perhaps be written on the wall in bold letters. "I'd say from where we are," he deduced, "we must have taken the full brunt of the blow."
Myshia withdrew back, seeming to pull herself together. Her mind was firm and disciplined and within seconds had steadied her hands. "It sounded so close...like thunder."
"Torpedo hit," corrected Shaun. "I just hope it hasn't broken the hull - without masks or proper suits we're lost. He regarded her face in the intense darkness. "What about Capac and Ashian? Are they okay?"
Myshia froze solid, her gemlike eyes boring into his own. "I can feel their minds..." she said haltingly. "They fell. They are far below."