by Dave Barsby
“Well, not all worked out. Not in fine detail.”
“We don’t need detail.”
“Well, it’s just a rough, basic plan.”
“That’s okay. Let’s hear it.”
“It is more of a sketch, really.”
“And does that sketch,” Sanshar chips in, “involve someone running away with the Princess slung over one shoulder, throwing a stick of dynamite at the senate as they go?”
“No!” Rogdo insists, frustrated and annoyed. “How dare you suggest such an absurd notion!” His voice goes quieter, a little embarrassed. “There’s two people running away carrying her. And they’re throwing a round bomb with a big fuse.”
Tima bursts into laughter. Unsure what is going on, Gronk joins in and soon Bolland finds he can’t help but snicker.
“Well sod you all, then,” Rogdo shouts, genuinely annoyed, and storms out of the briefing room.
Like the slowing inertia of a dynamo, Tima’s laughter winds down and halts. “Was he being serious?” she suddenly says, concerned.
“Can’t have been,” Bolland answers. “It’s madness. Genuine Class-3 Madness. I should know: I was diagnosed with it twenty years ago.”
“Class-3?” Hiaelia asks. “What does that entail?”
“Manic depression. Violent mood swings. Possible blackouts.”
“So you could happily kill someone and not remember it?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
“Do my quarters have a lock on the door?”
“We’re getting off track, here,” Tima interjects. “If Rogdo is serious about this, what are our options?”
“Abandon ship,” Yew suggests. It is completely the wrong thing to say: it is one of the few recent sentences Gronk has understood, and he takes it to be a warning.
“Abandon ship,” he shouts, leaping up. Panicking, he looks round for the nearest lifepod. It takes four people literally hanging off his body to calm him.
With all this excitement, we are all unaware that Rogdo has re-entered the room and is watching the events with a bemused expression. I know his expression is bemused, because it is still fixed on his face when I finally spy him leaning next to the open doorway, a large sheet of paper clutched in his hands.
“Very entertaining,” he calls now he has been spotted. He walks over to the table as Gronk finally relents and sits back down. Rogdo places the paper on the table in front of him and remains standing. He addresses the expectant crowd.
“Oh, yea of little…” He pauses, looks at me imploringly. I whisper the word to him. “…faith,” he continues. “Here is the rough plan. A few minor details need to be worked out, but the gist is there.” He opens the paper for us to see.
The plan consists of two drawings, both cartoons. One shows Rogdo and Hiaelia running, carrying an unconscious princess with them, while in the background guards try to subdue an angry Gronk. The other displays Rogdo throwing a round bomb with a large fuse at Almudena from the cockpit window of the orbiting Diablo III. As drawings go, they are highly amusing. As plans go, more than just minor details seem to be missing.
“See?” he says proudly. “While Gronk creates a diversion, Hiaelia and I sneak into the palace, whup the Princess upside the head, sneak her back out then charge into orbit and destroy the senate with that smart bomb we’ve just acquired.”
“Sneak in?” Sanshar says, less a question than a disparaging comment on his plan.
“With the Cloak-cloaks,” Rogdo says, as though stating the obvious.
“Erm, Cloak-cloaks?” I ask, obviously having missed far more than my own eviction vote while recuperating.
“Also new acquisitions,” Rogdo points out. “Bolland? As the resident scientific genius, would you care to explain?”
“Not really,” Bolland answers, casting a disparaging look over the plans and sitting back down.
“Okay, I’ll explain,” Rogdo says disappointedly.
“If you don’t mind,” Sanshar chips in, “we all already know this, so we’ll retire and have a good think about your…ahem…plan.”
“I’ll stay,” Tima says quietly, feeling that, as second-in-command, she has a duty to remain until the end. The rest of the crew uproot.
“No one’s even touched my vol-au-vents,” Dirk comments bitterly. He grabs them with an angry swipe and storms off to the galley. The rest leave.
Tima lays her arms on the table and rests her chin on them, determined to pay as little attention as possible until Rogdo has finished his explanation of Cloak-cloaks.
“Surely you know of cloaking devices,” he begins.
“Yeah,” I answer.
“And you know how they work?”
“Well, they don’t work really. Thousands of cameras on one side linked to thousands of projectors on the other side, so they just transmit what is behind the object, making it appear invisible. But it only really works if it is a flat surface and you look at it straight on. Otherwise it all looks angular and displays an off-kilter image. They’ve been around for centuries and haven’t been effective once.”
“Well, you know your stuff…to a degree. Thing is, if they have been effective, who will have noticed something invisible? And who will be willing to admit to perfecting it, thus losing the advantage of surprise?”
“So cloaking has been perfected?”
“Yup, long time ago. Not many people know, though, and getting hold of an actual cloaking device is even rarer.”
I am impressed, not just that proper cloaking technology is out there, but it seems Rogdo has hold of one.
“So, you can cloak the ship, sneak it into the palace grounds and nab the Princess?” I ask in awe.
“Not exactly,” Rogdo answers, smiling. “The clue is in the name: Cloak-cloak.”
“Cloak-cloak?”
“Cloak-cloak.”
“Wait. You mean…” I don’t know what he means. “What?”
“Full body camouflage. Floor-length cloak with sleeves and gloves, and a head mask, all woven out of fine photopolymer fibre optic thread connected to an advanced AI chip which, combined with sensors, recognises the shape of the cloak…all the folds and such like…and compensates with the transmitted data. It even works with infra-red and laser beam security systems.”
“A cloak…” is all I manage, stunned. Isn’t technology marvellous. The ability to make a human disappear at the flick of a switch. A bit like a plasma blast, true, but this time they’re still alive.
“So, now we can get Gronk to create a diversion, sneak in wearing the cloaks, whack the Princess on the noggin and use one to cover her when we sneak out again.”
“Ingenious,” I say. “That is brilliant.”
“Thank you,” Rogdo answers proudly.
“How much do these things cost?”
Rogdo snorts. “Yeah, right, we paid for them.”
“Then how..?”
“You just need to know which ships to trade with, and how to pilfer their stock when they’re not looking.”
“One thing,” Tima suddenly chips in, resurrecting from her self-imposed boredom. “Run past me exactly how the diversion works.”
“Ummm, well…” Rogdo glances at the cartoon drawing. He points to the background. “Gronk can smash in the gates, and while the guards are subduing him in we go.”
“So, point one, are you sure there’ll be enough room for you to sneak in, and out with a body, between Gronk, the gates and the guards?”
“Well…if we’re really careful. Maybe.”
“Hmm, yes. Point two, the Princess, if I remember correctly, is usually most vulnerable in the inner courtyard, yes?”
“Yes. So?”
“So you have to sneak through the outer hall to get there, yes?”
“Stop asking me questions to which you know the answer will be yes and just get to the point.”
“The Cloak-cloaks will handily combat the infra-red, laser systems and motion sensors, but what about the pressure pads, heat sensors, climate contr
ol and sonic sensors?”
The pause that follows actually seems to bring with it its own chill air. I look to Rogdo to gauge his expression. It doesn’t look good.
“You always have to spoil everything, don’t you. Rubbish my plans, then come up with some oh-so-brilliant ideas of your own.”
“I thought all that mattered was getting the job done,” I say. “If emotions and morals don’t play a part, surely egos don’t either.”
“My ego is very tender,” Rogdo informs me. I’m not entirely sure he’s joking.
“I do have an idea, if you want to hear it,” Tima says.
Rogdo sighs. “Go ahead.”
“We need a diversion from the diversion.”
“Okay, good, we’ll do that.” He pauses. “Run it past me one more time.”
“A diversion from the diversion. Do the Gronk-gate thing, then when all the guards are clustered round, set off another diversion. Half the guards will run off to investigate that, leaving the way fairly clear for you to sneak in and out again. And if the second diversion is someone scaling the palace walls and running amok on the grounds, for example, all the alarm systems will be set off, there will be mass confusion, and it won’t even register that two people have rushed through the outer hall. The only thing we need to ensure for this to work is we wait until we know the Princess is completely alone in the inner courtyard.”
“That…” Rogdo is lost for words.
“That’s very impressive,” I fill in for him. “Sounds perfect.”
“One thing though,” says Rogdo, rediscovering his vocal capabilities. “Gronk, as we know, is thick as hell and very strong, so he can avoid trouble by saying he knocked on the door and it fell down. He doesn’t even need to take one step inside the palace grounds. What do we do with the second diversion?”
“Yew can do it.”
“Me?” Rogdo laughs. “I’m grabbing the Princess.”
“Not you. Yew.”
“Yew is an idiot,” I point out.
“Hey, I know you don’t like my plan, but less of the character assassination,” Rogdo says, wounded.
“Not you!” both Tima and I say in unison. “Yew!”
“Yew?”
“Yew!”
“Me?”
“Stop it!” I shout. “That joke is at least a thousand years old!”
“What joke?” Rogdo asks.
“Okay,” Tima begins. “Let me rephrase it. The useless, sexless freak can do it.”
“Yew?” says Rogdo, disgusted. “He’s an idiot!” He suddenly points at me. “I see what you said now!”
“I have every confidence in him being able to scale the wall,” Tima continues “Especially when he’s attached to a pulley system operated by Dirk.”
“Yeah, but what about after he sets off the alarms?”
“What about after he sets off the alarms? It’s Yew.”
Rogdo smiles. I really dislike Yew, but suddenly I get a nasty feeling in my stomach that I’m not going to like his part in the plan.
“Well,” Rogdo says. “We do only have ten cabins, and the Princess will have to stay somewhere.”
He gets up and moves to an intercom on the wall. “Yew?” he calls into it.
“Hello?” a crackling, nervous voice responds.
“If we said we have a task for you to perform in this next mission, do you think you could take a crack at it?”
“Oh, boy! Could I?!? You guys are giving me my first real task?”
“Sounds like it.”
6. THE PRINCESS
“I forgot to ask, why are you doing this?”
“We’re being paid.”
“No, I don’t mean that. Who is paying you, and why?”
Tima and I are the only two people aboard the orbiting Diablo III. Well, there is Torque but he doesn’t really count, being sealed in the engine room. The rest of the crew have taken the landing craft down to Almudena. Drift, as ever, will be on standby for a quick take off. Gronk is ready to create the first diversion. Yew and Dirk have secreted themselves behind a far wall for the secondary diversion. Rogdo and Hiaelia are already cloaked, invisible and ready to go. As the fastest of the group Sanshar is on hand to relay messages should the comms die. Bolland has accompanied the crew for a last-minute final check of the equipment. Then Operation Kidnap Princess (these people have no imagination) will be underway. As per previous discussions, I am not taking part in this mission, but I am allowed to sit in the cockpit and record events while Tima oversees the plan via a series of monitors using the Diablo’s scanners.
“The client has a vested interest in the Grangons winning this war,” Tima explains. There is little activity yet on the monitors.
“The Almudenians base their lives strongly on leadership. If we kidnap the Princess, there are no heirs to the throne, so complete control will go to the senate. If we then kill all the senators, there is no one left with complete power over the people. All the citizens will be lost without leadership and will be lost for nigh-on two years because they’d prefer to wait for a proper democratic election than hastily appoint an interim government. Of course, they’ll keep fighting with just as much vigour, but the day-to-day running of Almudena will be in absolute chaos. The Almudenians will do pretty much anything to have someone back in a position of leadership, such as agreeing to cease hostilities with the Grangons and allow themselves to be conquered just so they can get their beloved Princess back, as a figurehead if nothing else.”
“That’s not very fair, is it,” I point out.
“Rogdo ordered me to shove you in an airlock if you start lecturing on moral responsibility again, so be careful.”
“Tima?” Rogdo’s voice crackles through a speaker. We both glance at a monitor, a fruitless gesture when he’s cloaked. “How are we doing?”
Tima looks at another monitor. It displays the inner courtyard, a golden paved path running through scented gardens and tinkling streams. “Not yet,” she responds.
We’ve been waiting for twenty five minutes so far. According to our intelligence gathering, Princess Larisa takes a walk in the inner courtyard at 1pm every day. It is her quiet time, completely alone, unguarded, unprotected so she can soak in the tranquillity of the gardens. As Sod’s Law dictates, today she is late.
“Well, where the hell is she?” Rogdo demands.
“Patience, my good man,” Tima responds. “Patience.”
“The Cloak-cloaks are getting rather hot, you know,” Hiaelia complains. She breaks wind. On the monitor we see a sliver of Hiaelia unfold vertically as she briefly opens her cloak to check her decibel counter. “Dammit,” she mutters. “Twenty one.”
“I can trust you not to do that when we’re trying to be stealthy, can’t I?” Rogdo asks. His head suddenly appears as, sweating, he pulls off the Cloak-cloak’s mask and breathes a big sigh of relief. “These are ridiculous.”
“Wait!” Tima calls. I turn my attention to the inner courtyard monitor. Sure enough, there is movement. “Here she comes.”
“Oh for…” Rogdo groans before slipping the mask on again.
“Yep,” Tima continues. “It is definitely her, and I’m not reading any other people in the immediate vicinity. We are go.”
The Princess looks breathtakingly stunning even on the monitor screen. She is wearing a floor-length white ball gown with ruffled shoulders. The gown is threaded with delicate silver and gold patterns, the edges trimmed with diamond studs. A glittering bejewelled tiara adorns her head. Her hair is tied in a bun to allow an unimpeded view of her ridiculously expensive necklace. As he has all the morals of a gnat, I’m surprised Rogdo doesn’t just kidnap the Princess for her clothes and jewellery – surely they’re worth more than he’s being paid.
“God, she’s beautiful,” Tima whispers in jealous awe.
“For that alone, she deserves this,” Hiaelia insists. “Let’s go, people.”
“Hold on,” Rogdo says, slightly annoyed. “I’m the Captain!”
&
nbsp; There is a pause. All the mercenaries on all the monitors are poised to move. They are poised for quite a few seconds.
“Okay,” Rogdo finally says. “Let’s go, people!”
Tima shrugs apologetically at me, but there really is no need. I have spent long enough in Rogdo’s company to know his ego problems.
“Gronk,” Tima says. “Knock on the door.”
Gronk lumbers up to the palace’s entrance with heavy, slow, rumbling steps. A thick, strong double gate bars his way, the kind of gate that would stop a tank at 80mph. Considering the strength of the gate, I am impressed with Gronk’s work. He hammers on the centre of one gate five times. By the time it is opened by a guard the hinges are already loose.
“Can I help you?” the guard asks suspiciously. Wisely, he keeps his body hidden behind the gate, only revealing his somewhat shocked face to the behemoth.
“Hello,” Gronk answers with a dumb smile. No acting required from this lad.
“What do you want?”
“It’s a pretty palace,” Gronk answers.
The guard is looking a little worried now. The figure in from of him is certainly imposing. Two more guards join him, spy Gronk and quickly take two steps back.
“No tourists,” the first guard insists. He closes the gate.
“What do I do now?” Gronk asks, clearly having forgotten the plan.
Tima sighs. “Gronk, wouldn’t you like to meet a real princess?”
Gronk hammers his anvil-like fist on the gate again. Having already weakened, the cowardly hinges give in like a criminal suspect undergoing ‘special questioning’. With a mighty groan, the 15-ft gate pitches back. There is a brief scream, followed by a whump. One lone hand can be seen protruding from under the gate.
“I want to see a princess,” Gronk demands.
“Alpha Team, go!” Tima calls into her headset. We can hear the panting of Rogdo and Hiaelia over the speakers and if we study the monitor really closely we can just make out the freshly-made imprints of boots on gravel inside the perimeter.
Five guards have already clustered around Gronk, their weapons aimed. Many more are flooding in from barracks further into the palace grounds. Gronk is making good work of his role, demanding to know why he can’t see the Princess, then genuinely failing to understand the reason.