“Calm yourself, man. Clearly your education has been grievously lacking. The one thing any first mate-worth his salt-should know is how to handle a rampaging Gammo- erm, Aplubian queen, however, now is not the time for a lecture. Slow us down and I’ll favour you with a demonstration.”
I laid my hand on the brake and Captain Space Hardcore drew his pistol and marched to the rear of our balloon where Queen Hydrangea was closing in on us.
“I’ll watch with baited breath, sir”, I shouted.
“I’m sure you will; maybe you’ll even learn something useful for once.”
“Be sure to give him a damned good thrashing”, I called before turning my attention to the controls.
“That’s the spirit, Funkworthy!” he answered with all the bravado I could muster (which, despite the circumstances, was still a whole great big heap of bravado).
The thunderous roar of the cannon fire drowned out whatever he called to me next.
I tilted my head to the side slightly as a cannonball whizzed past my head with enough speed and proximity to dislodge a little pearl of earwax from my right ear. Damned inconvenient blighters, those cannonballs. They had already torn up the deck, and we were losing speed and fuel in equal measure because of their interference with our structural integrity. I stared out at my enemy, the rapacious Queen, as her ship flew through the air at us.
But now was not the time for coolly appraising the situation while dodging fire as casually as a normal man would swat away gnats. No, now was the time for action.
I squinted my dreamy blue eyes, and they pierced through time and space to a place on the side of the enemy’s balloon. I saw it there, winking at me in the moonlight: my pistol Pew-pew. I squinted further at it and saw its handle. I knew that inside of that would be the energy cell that powered it.
This style of Felloxiton-based fuel cell had been outmoded almost as soon as it had been released due to its somewhat combustible nature. I had carried on using it because of sentimental reasons, and because I knew that a shot from a weapon like that could take out a Droxian shrieking skin hawk on the wing at twenty paces. Besides, if holding a weapon that was powerful, respected and outlawed in many civilized parts of the universe in my hands was a problem for me, then I’d have a very difficult time urinating. I was used to the powerful pistol, but I knew the dangers of the fuel cell. I planned on using that power in a different way today.
As I thumbed back the ancient titanium hammer on Felipe’s gun, I was quite confident this small cell would be enough to penetrate the balloon of our dread pursuer. The Queen's craft closed the gap, sighting weakness as tarry smoke vomited out of the holes in our craft and Funkworthy let the remaining engine idle. She roared toward us, bigger than life, as serious as the grave. As she accelerated, she let out another impressive volley of weaponry. I saw the cannonballs flying through the night sky and felt as if I could simply pluck them out of the air. I knew it was time. I had entered into a higher state of being; I had attained a state in which I could appreciate tiny events: a heightened sense of things. The flap of fabric, the motion of the winds themselves, the wing beats of a nearby turbo-hummingbird were as the movements of a glacier to me at that moment. Some monks and holy men might call it enlightenment and look for it in prayer and sitting around playing with gongs; I just call it ‘the zone’, and find it when the chips are down and a hero needs to rise.
Needless to say. I was right in the bloody middle of the zone.
I calculated wind speeds, angles of impact and other very complicated physics things in my head without even needing a calculator. These kind of on-the-fly feats of mathematicary are second nature to me now, since I so often need to make such nigh impossible shots. Still, as useful as advanced space-trigonometry was, it’s nothing without gut instinct, nerves of steel and the heart of a goddamned lion. Luckily I had brought all seven, so I had little need for maths.
She closed in, her ship close enough that I could see her eyes peeking out through one of the portholes. She saw me and flashed a look of triumph as if she believed she really had bested Captain Space Hardcore; I knew then that she was truly mad.
She was close enough for the shot, but if we didn’t move now, she’d simply ram us out of the sky.
“Step on it!” I bellowed in Funkworthy’s direction and he did indeed step on it.
I stumbled as Ebenezer wrung every piece of acceleration out of the dying engine. I steadied myself and looked through the smoke and flames toward the top of the side of the balloon. My target jiggled in the netting, dancing like it didn’t really want to get blown up. It would be a tough shot to make. Aim true, Hardcore, I thought. Throw straight, and look the devil in in the eye.
Chambering the single bullet into the gun, I rested the muzzle on my forearm and sighted the fuel cell with clarity and precision akin to the marksman eagles of the planet Kel’daw.
One shot, one chance.
I compensated for the bucking craft.
I held my breath.
“Time to abdicate, Your Majesty.”
I pulled the trigger.
It was merely that heightened sense of things that let me see.
I saw the bloom of orange leave the muzzle as the gun bucked in my hand. I saw the pellet leap out of the fire and into the black air. I saw its path, the slight rise and fall of it as force and momentum worked on it. I saw it ignore these because of my guiding will. I saw it angle straight at the green handle of Pew-pew, as straight as a laser. I saw it sink in, puncturing through the molded handle that fit my grip so well. And in the moment before the flash of light, I looked back through the porthole at the Queen and saw a quizzical look in her eyes.
.
.
.
The explosion was impressive, even by my standards. It threw me backwards in the craft, giving me a perfect view of the mushroom cloud that sprouted from the side of the balloon for a second before the blinding flash made me look away and shade my eyes. As the glare finally left the skies, I looked back out to where the craft had been, expecting to see the slowly deflating sack of the balloon falling down over the cabin as the Queen waved a makeshift flag of her own panties out a window to ask for clemency. But that sight wasn’t there.
A titanic farting noise, like a giant ripping a sheet of paper, filled my ears. I looked around for the source, only to find it, fleetingly, before it blew away. The balloon was deflating all right, but the aperture created by my explosion was forcing all the gas out of it at once and in one direction. This led to the slightly undignified scene of the balloon whipping and zipping through the air as it expelled all of its gas and went ‘phruuuuummph’. It whipped around the sky, and dipping and finally crashing entirely, demolished a huge stained glass window of a nearby building.
I walked over to where Funkworthy and Felipe were on deck, interrupting the quiet moment they were sharing together. They had probably been trying to think up a suitably poetic or evocative way of summing up the titanic deeds of superhuman greatness they had just witnessed.
“Well, that was bracing, eh? I should really name that manoeuvre. Take a note of that, Ebenezer”, I said, picking a speck of dirt from my shoulder. “But there’s no time for awe now. What’s that building?” I asked, pointing to the shattered window.
“It’s the royal banquet hall”, answered Felipe.
“Really? We’ve looped back around to the northern province?”
“Seems that way, Captain.”
“The universe has a funny sense of humour”, I commented sagely. “We all come back to where we began. Circle of life. Makes you think. It’ll finish where it began.”
“What do you mean?”
“I keep forgetting, son, you’re an Aplubian, you’ve never been off-world. I have. I’ve been all over the verse and I've seen damn near everything she has to offer. This isn’t the first blimp crash I’ve seen-hell, it isn’t the first one I’ve caused-and my experience tells me that that queen
is still alive. And I would have words with her before we finish this thing.”
Funkworthy peered at the northern province. It was swarming with life.
“My brothers”, cried Felipe. “This is the night of the revolution when we are to rise up as one. They have broken free of the underground to take out the shattered monarchy.”
“Well, they’re in for a surprise”, I noted, seeing the ranks of the Guard line the street, still on high alert.
“We have to do something!” Felipe begged.
I turned to Funkworthy. “Whaddaya say, you think you can set down this bucket of bolts over there?” I said, pointing to the impact site, which lay between the two massing Aplubian forces. “I think we should finish this thing once and for all.”
Funkworthy nodded and took the grip of the wheel one last time. Our trusty balloon chugged through the sky toward the revolution, and I leaned my knee on the starboard bow and rode towards the dawn.
* * *
Chapter Twenty-Three!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
A Gassy Valediction
In which the King’s AI meets a sticky end, an army powers down with seconds to spare and the King arms his final solution.
If flying is just controlled falling, then we were in something like a barely regulated plummet. The forces of motion had been watching us defy them for quite some time in the course of this evening, with all of these aerial antics and plummets from towers and impossible pistol shots. In their infinite wisdom, they had chosen this moment to say ‘Right, enough is enough, now you’re just taking the mick’ and decided that it was about time that Space and I started listening to them. I could feel inertia and entropy claw at the craft, trying to rend it from the sky in the name of sanity and the established logics of known physics. I couldn’t let them. Despite the failing of the engines and the very stark sense that we should be falling like a stone through the skies, I knew we could bring the ship down in what might charitably be considered one piece. We had crewmen manning all of the sails and holding up their own shirts to catch the breeze. The path we were on would set us down on solid ground.
Of course, a landing can only be considered entirely successful, my old flight instructor used to say, if you’re not lynched immediately after it. I had always thought him a fool, but at that moment, by his count, I had to acknowledge that my descent might not be entirely satisfactory. To the left of us, there was a flank of uniformed heavies led by some high ranking officers who Space had, no doubt, spent the last few days slapping about and mildly torturing. There was also the small matter of the widespread belief that we had blown up one queen with croutons and then shot down the second one with massive cannons-actions that even the most generous of hosts would strain to excuse. On the right, there was a rag-tag rebel militia that had fought its way up from the underground with the sole aim of toppling the establishment-a goal they would achieve by first going through or over us.
Space strode over to me, as our craft drew a bigger and bigger shadow on the cobbled streets below us and a landing was almost assured.
“When we land, I’ll head into the banquet hall after the Princess”, he announced.
“What if she’s already dead?”
He shook his head. “She isn’t. Trust me.”
“Fair enough, but then what? Ask her to quell the rebellion? Give a full and frank confession? We’ve got a city that’s about to tear itself apart and the only person whose testimony could settle this might not be quite inclined to help us, since we just shot her out of the sky and jammed up her ship with a baguette.”
“She does seem the type to bear a grudge, doesn’t she? And frankly, I’m not sure my legendary charm will work on her after last time. Honestly, it’s been quite a shake to my confidence in my ability to woo any lady. It’s like that time on the lady-planet of Sappho Prime; so many women, but none of them at all responsive to any of my witty lines or pungent colognes. It doesn’t add up.”
“Yes, well... we can talk about that later, right now we have more pressing concerns than what goes on or does not go on below your belt line.”
His eyes lit up with inspiration. ”That’s it!” he cried, shaking me by the shoulders. “Funkworthy, that’s it! I’m a genius.”
“Oh god, what part of that did you latch on to? There really was nothing helpful in that sentence just then”, I protested.
He looked over the side of the ship and on to the ground that was easing up toward us.
“Just steer the ship. I’ve got a plan.” He looked round to me. “And get your bloody trousers off.”
As I eased the airbrakes on and angled the ship between the two factions, Space tore my boots off and started yanking at the hem of my trousers.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Felipe discreetly look away. I did not relish going into a revolution, I thought, as the ship touched down on the street, but to go in without my trousers on seemed downright rude.
Still, I sighed inwardly, it wouldn’t be the first time.
I took off as soon as we bumped to the ground, vaulting over the side of the ship and into the banquet hall. Two factions of rabble flanked me at either side, and both presumably had some kind of beef with me-one for the whole regicide debacles and the other for being an imperialist lapdog or something. I didn’t have time for any beefs, so I sprinted into the empty and shadow-wreathed banquet hall, closing the enormous door behind me.
I looked around, remembering that I had been here as the dying evening light had filtered through the stained glass window, mottling my meeting with the Princess in a romantic hue. It seemed so long ago. As I entered the grand chamber again, surveying the crash of brick, wood and sail that had smashed through the old windows, it was the stark early light of the morning that coloured the floor and chased the shadows toward the corners.
I picked my way through the minefield of broken glass and detritus, cautiously approaching the downed craft. It smoked and baked, turned upside down as a sea of ingredients pooled out around it. Perhaps I could have been mistaken about the chances of her survival, I thought grimly. An Aplubian in a crashing balloon is one thing, but one in the same balloon that was full of flour was quite another.
As I thought that, the side of the bedroom opened up and a gloved hand groped around in the air. I instinctively felt myself move to help. Damn my insatiable chivalry! I stopped myself and circled cautiously around. The figure extracted itself from the wreckage and flopped down on the floor like a dizzy fish. She was hermetically sealed into what looked like an old-fashioned spacesuit, complete with a glass-bowl helmet and a nozzle where a bellows could be inserted. I had been wrong to underestimate her, it seemed; she was prepared to handle her people’s poison.
She climbed to her feet unsteadily and wavered, seemingly unaware of her surroundings. She hobbled over the wreckage around her and clambered over to the throne, where she collapsed, grasping at the leg of the impressive chair. That chair, I thought bitterly, was what all of this had been about: the struggle for power, the need for dominance. She clasped one weary hand to one of its legs. As I slowly approached, she carefully removed the helmet with her other hand and eased it off of her head, looking blearily around at me.
“W... well played... Captain. That is you, isn’t it?”
“It is”, I announced. “It’s over.”
She rocked her head back and laughed bitterly. “Over? Over?! Listen, just listen to what’s happening outside, Captain. This is just the beginning.”
I obliged and listened. There was rabble all right; both sides, divided by our crashed ship, were shouting threats and remonstrations at each other.
“I could have solved it all....”
“By murdering most of the royalty and having the underclass build a fleet of galactic destroyers?”
She looked at me sourly. “You judge harshly, Captain. But tell me, as you look around the chaos of the universe, all of the disparate factions vying for power and money and status, does my
plan really seem so mad?”
I looked at her and thought about it seriously. I had seen a lot in my time, maybe too much.
“Yes”, I replied.
“Does it?” She repeated poignantly.
“Um... yes.”
“Does it?!”
“Yes!”
“Does it really, though, Captain?”
“Yup.”
“But does it?” she whispered fiercely.
“Uh huh. Look, your bedroom turned into a zeppelin. That’s a rough start for a non-mad plan, your highness.”
She bowed her head and winced, either out of pain or recognition of my logic. “But now madness is all that’s left. The rebels will dash themselves off the scattered monarchy and die in the fight. The royals will elect a new head of state and the whole rotted mess will rearrange itself around the whims of that one unstable person. I would have united us all. The monarchy would have been destroyed entirely, and the rebels would have no longer had to toil under the class that they hated! Instead, they would have toiled under me!”
“I really don’t think that’s what they were shooting for.”
“But don’t you see, after I built my fleets, they could have been the ones to pilot my fighters! The first Aplubians to leave the bounds of the planet. What an honour. All that I would have asked is that they give their lives in the many bombing runs and dogfights required to exert Aplubia’s fledgling power on the verse’s stage. Is that so much to ask?”
“Kinda, yeah.”
“Is it?!”
“Alright, let’s not go down that road again. You never intended to give the rebels freedom, did you?”
She laughed a hollow laugh. Tee hee hee, it echoed hollowly in the chamber. “They would have served their purpose well enough, but they have lived underground for too long now. They would not be able to handle true freedom. It would tear them apart. My rule would be as close to real freedom as they needed.”
The Court of Crusty Killings: A Captain Space Hardcore Adventure Page 24