by Reiter
“What will you do?”
“I must implant in the minds of the Enacranites that they wish to see me,” Freund answered as he took his seat. “But first, I will acquaint myself with what they think they know. Even with catching those children in their risky surveillance, I might be too late!”
We all wish to listen earnestly to our inner voice, and that is a wise thing. But it too must be trained to find and hold the proper note!
Osur Nugar
(Rims Time: XII-4112.19)
“It’s funny, Z,” Jocasta said, deactivating her virtual goggles. “How you can see things differently after the right experience. I suppose the same can be said for how you look at things after a bad one, too – so why don’t we just say, after a telling blow is landed, you don’t see the fight in quite the same way. Uncle Alfie and Dr. Light-Boy sure have a way of working you over… head to toe… inside and out! You know what I mean?”
“I understand your meaning, Captain,” Dungias replied as he disengaged forward drives and started using braking and pitch thrusters.
“I mean, before going back to school… I have to say I didn’t have much love for that ship,” Jocasta remarked as she leaned forward in her chair to gaze upon the Xara-Mansura. “I’m sure that comes as no surprise to you.”
“You have mentioned it once or twice before,” Dungias replied. “… in passing.”
“Before getting my entire ass reset, I used to call it everything from a ball bearing in space, to the cosmic cue ball, to the one marble the gods forgot to pick up when they were done with their game. And I know you made her, so that could not have come across as anything remotely supportive.”
“Our understanding will never require you to give false testimony of your feelings, Captain. I have come to think of us as operating on a different plane.”
“That’s good to know, Z,” Jocasta replied. “Because after going at it with the cosmic version of Ebony Night and Ivory Day, I’ve got to tell you… looking at that spacecraft… I’d sure as hell hate to see the bumpers in this pinball game!” Dungias sighed as the bay doors opened to receive the Kulri-Kraythe, and Jocasta cackled as she got up from her seat. “Oh, that could so be our thing!” she exclaimed. “We can design plays and attack forms, all of them named after pinball game stuff!
“Like the cue to throw down would be ‘tilt’ or something funky like that,” she continued, laughing after every idea as if she were going insane.
“Auto-landing sequence engaged,” Dungias muttered as he unfastened his straps and started out of his chair.
“Hip it,” she said as she kicked the side of Dungias’ head. He had received no warning of the attack and without his sight engaged, had been caught unawares, receiving a very hard blow. “… that could mean do whatever you have to in order to throw the target off.” He fell toward the console and his body locked in pain as it received an electric shock, but it did not come from the console.
“Well, at least I know that works,” Jocasta thought, tossing away the smoking jury-rigged capacitor that Beta-Alphexeous had taught her how to make; a one-time usage shock-stick that could be employed to give her the upper hand in a fight. It was among the many Shadow Lessons he had insisted on giving her, and only one of the things which had endeared him to the woman. “But this particular Malgovi has a serious resistance to energies!
“You gotta be careful,” she said, landing a turning back kick to his lower spine. “Hip it just right, and the ball moves the way you want it to. Hip it wrong,” she continued, taking hold of the back of his head. “… and the machine just conks out on you, right?” Jocasta sent his head forward into the console and after a few sparks, Dungias dropped to his knees. Taking another hold of his hair, Jocasta lifted his head away from the damaged console. “Oh, don’t pass out on me, First Mate, the payback for Camp Wonderland has just begun!”
“That trip certainly didn’t take long,” Mel said as he piloted his chair toward the scout ship. “I just got out of the shower. By the way, which setting did you use, radiation, sonics, or water with oils?”
“We were only supposed to use one setting?!” Silnee asked, looking frightful that she had made a mistake. Mel shook his head, laughing.
The door to the scout ship had not fully opened when Jocasta’s body flew out into the bay. Silnee was so surprised at what she saw that she could only gasp as Jocasta collided with her. Mel had managed to throw himself from his chair and avoid the flying body.
“Insane human!” Dungias yelled as he jumped down from the Kulri-Kraythe. He took a single step toward Jocasta when she jumped up to her feet, lifted Silnee from the floor, and threw the young woman at Dungias. “You are mad!” Dungias proclaimed as he caught the unconscious young woman.
“Soft-hearted ball-ship maker!” Jocasta hissed as she lunged, landing a fist to Dungias’ sternum. His hold on Silnee’s body faltered and Dungias stepped forward, catching Jocasta’s roundhouse with one hand, and Silnee with the other. A simple push sent Jocasta back as he laid Silnee down quickly but carefully. Dungias then dove to his right, tucking his head under the sweeping hook Jocasta had launched. If nothing else she had definitely learned to hit harder, and she turned, swinging the back of her fist into the side of Dungias’ jaw. He gave ground one stride and she lunged forward with a kick meant for his sternum. Dungias stepped out of her striking path, caught her body, and dropped her back across his knee. Jocasta grasped as she found she could not move and was rolled off of Dungias’ leg onto the floor.
“Are you all right?” he asked, looking at Mel who was already back in his chair.
“I’m fine, sir,” Mel quickly replied.
“Then please be so kind as to take Silnee to the infirmary,” Dungias said as he walked over to the young woman and lifted her from the floor. He gently laid her body across the front of the chair and Mel nodded as he piloted the vehicle out of the bay.
“Dammit!” Jocasta muttered as Dungias ducked under her leaping tackle attempt. She had all but locked in her choke hold when his head just slipped out of sight. Despite the position she had been left in, she managed to twist and receive the ground with her hands and roll to her feet. “Almost had you, Z,” she warned. “Are you getting slower, or am I just getting really fast?!”
“Is there a point behind this attack, Captain?” Dungias inquired.
“Cute,” Jocasta replied before she charged. Her front kick forced Dungias back as he slapped the foot aside. Jocasta kept her ground as she blocked his hammering right fist and locked her arms around his right cross. She spun around for a shoulder throw and found that her opponent was already coming over her back. He twisted his arm free of her grip and landed on his hand, mule-kicking his feet into her ribs, as she had thought she could press her advantage. The force of the kick lifted her from the floor and sent her sailing a second time. Her back slammed into the wall and she dropped to the floor with her knees almost buckling. “Ouch!”
“Your only response is to attack me?!” Dungias questioned, truly confused as to what was happening. He had read nothing of this aggression in the last mind-mapping. Which could only mean one thing: both Jocasta and Persephone had been planning to attack him. His overview was geared toward targeting discrepancies between the two and choosing one over the other; if they had the same perspective on a subject, all the better and less work for Dungias. “Forgive me, Captain, but I do not see the point of this.”
“My blade!” Jocasta hissed as she struggled to stand. “This is the only way you’ll make my sword. It seems kind of pointless to tell the crew to the hilt and all I’ve got is the flechette sword you gave me. Not to say it stinks or anything, but we both know it’s not as good as a whole and fixed blade.”
“That point is arguable,” Dungias replied quickly. “… but that does not explain–”
“The principles of Gun Gavis,” Jocasta interrupted as she stepped away from the wall. “Nugie told me about your culture. I won’t say I’m a fan, but I can understand how t
hey came to a number of their so-called doctrines. I have to prove my worth,” she stated confidently and Dungias noticed a change in her breathing. She was ready to attack again. “… actual and factual over assumption and belief.”
“Captain,” Dungias said, sighing and holding up his hand, “there is no such thing as a ‘Gun Gavis Principle’. Nugar shot me with a gun,” Dungias explained as he turned so that Jocasta could see his hip. “This gun, actually… shortly after we reached Gavis Station. It was my very first official lesson from him.”
Jocasta’s jaw dropped as her eyes gaped wide in shock. She started to shake her head ‘no’ and Dungias nodded his head ‘yes’. “That old bastard set me up!”
“No, Captain. That old bastard set me up, but your estimation of calling him an old bastard is quite accurate! Are you all right?”
Jocasta winced as she stretched her back before putting her hands on her knees. “I’m going to need a good soak,” she replied. “So… just how much of everything was a joke?”
Dungias took a moment before answering. He needed to compose himself and his thoughts. “Nugar’s sense of… everything is unique and therefore difficult to follow at times. I can assure you nothing of your training was a joke to him and his… duplicity has brought about two things that are important to you.”
Jocasta’s head dropped as she laughed. “You’re gonna stand there and make this all seem like a good thing he did?! What happened to you as a child? Too many blows to the head? Not enough hugs?”
“Yes to both actually,” Dungias replied and the lack of mirth in his tone or face made Jocasta curl her bottom lip under her teeth. “Think for a moment, Captain. You were able to land several attacks and defend yourself against an opponent who is many years your senior. As unorthodox as biting and foot stomps might be in the arena of combat, you have found your own voice within the techniques you were taught.”
“And number two?”
“Even if the ‘Gun Gavis Principle’ were an actual thing, you would have already earned the making of a blade,” Dungias proclaimed. “What sort of sword shall I make for my Captain?”
“Surprise me,” Jocasta smiled as she stood up. “And mission accomplished. You made what he did sound downright noble.”
“It was, Captain. Whatever jest Nugar intended was meant for me.” Dungias started back toward the scout ship. “Once I am done with the repairs to the scout ship, I will begin the construction of the Captain’s Blade.”
“You need a hand with that?” Jocasta quickly asked. “Seeing as how Chiaro made sure I know what a circuit is and how to work it. I’m not just a bad-ass pilot who can shoot and kick ass anymore.”
“Then you would do well to see to the mystery of the new and improved JoJo Starblazer,” Dungias replied. “I would start with the date and time if I were you. And kindly leave your weapons belt. That too will need some adjusting.”
“Thanks, Z.”
“No, Captain,” Dungias said as he stopped and turned to face Jocasta. “Thank you!” With a slight smile and reassuring nod, the First Mate of the Xara-Mansura boarded the scout ship. He was followed by two of his flying robot drones; one carrying the engineer’s tool belt, the other carrying what looked to be a new console board. Jocasta watched him walk aboard the Kulri-Kraythe and shook her head once he was out of sight.
Jocasta chuckled, shrugged her shoulders and started for the door leading out. “I bum-rush him, clean his clock, bite him and damn near stomp his foot through the flooring of the scout ship,” she muttered. “Come to think of it, that spinning backhand caught him too. When it’s all said and done, he thanks me and makes me feel like it’s genuine gratitude. I saw Scim fight Rouge once. It only led to one incredible sexual apology. We didn’t go there, did we, Z? Nope, he just says good job and recognize the fact that you can now hit me…”
Jocasta stopped just as the doors to the corridor opened. She looked down at her hands and feet in amazement. “Holy crapstacks, I hit him! I even managed a block in there!” Jocasta smiled as she looked up at the clock… and very slowly… lost her smile, but none of her amazement. “That… can’t… be… right!” She looked at her brace-com and it read the very same time at the wall-mounted timepiece.
“We left the ship an hour ago?!” she thought as the gangplank to the scout ship lifted up into the spacecraft. She turned to look at the ship and recalled what her First Mate had said to her. “…you would do well to see to the mystery of the new and improved JoJo Starblazer.
“Mystery, my ass!” she whispered. “We folded eight months into an hour!” Jocasta looked at the flooring and held her hands out from her sides as if she was pushing toward the floor. “Hold on there, girl! The man said mystery! And you did just spend eight months with the copies of freakin’ legends!
“So this is it!” she said softly as her arms relaxed. “This is the definition of no holding back for Z. No fanfare, no parades… no, he’ll leave the dressing to me while he tinkers in the background making some sort of planet-killing gun that doubles as a cigar-lighter!” The imagery of such a device came quickly to her mind and suddenly it was all too real. She pulled her right hand back from a device that Z had not made and could not have been handing her. Jocasta’s left hand went to her stomach as she contemplated having that kind of power in her grasp. “Okay, I just threw up in my mouth a little bit! Bring it back down, Jo. Easy girl. Trust Z to be Z, and recognize he wouldn’t give you a planet-killer for fear that you’d use it! And I probably would!
“So, this is what a Malgovi calls the beginning of piracy! I suppose that is the upside to moving about in my own private moon: storage space. Time to collect the booty!
“Satithe, how are you doing, sweetheart?” Jocasta spoke aloud as she walked out of the bay and toward the Bridge.
“Captain, you’re back!”
“Can it, sister,” Jocasta quickly shot back. “The white-haired blue wonder doesn’t scratch his scalp without having you scan if first. I take it Nulaki is still aboard?”
“Yes he is, Captain.”
“Have him meet me on the Bridge,” she commanded as a certain degree of swagger found its way into her walk. At the time, it had been one of the silliest lessons Beta Alphexeous had taught, and it had been on the very first day of instruction. But by the end of that week she had hated him for having such a cool walk. By the end of the fifth month, Jocasta had developed her own special gait.
“How long did it take you to teach that stiff engineer of mine to walk?” she had asked.
“We never taught Dungias anything,” Beta-Alphexeous had answered and Jocasta always maintained the notion that he might have been lying. “Dungias is more like the by-product of some of our very first students. Only one of the Beta-Forms ever taught him anything, and I’m not that one!”
“Hasn’t kept him from learning things too well though, has it?” she had asked, speaking in a dazed voice.
Beta-Alphexeous chuckled and nodded. “Yeah, now you’re starting to get it. Not sure what slot machine you were playing when it paid Dungias out into your life, but I figure that’s a wave of luck you gotta ride!”
“Sounds like,” she had agreed before the Soul Fighter took her by the hand and gave the young woman her very first Shadow Lesson.
“So… let me tell you about the Star-Wing Corps!” It was a term Jocasta had only heard in passing, and mostly from flight crews who had complained about the condition she would return a spacecraft in after a mission. They would complain about the damage and she would fire back with the shortcomings of the ships and how they could not keep up with her.
“Whaddaya think you are, some kinda Star-Wing?!” was one of the more popular responses but she had never been told what that meant. Ground crewmen would never tell her, and they seemed frightened that she had expressed an interest in learning. But Beta-Alphexeous had not shirked away from the subject. If anything, he seemed anxious to tell her... to show her… to teach her.
“You want to be a Star-Win
g,” he had said with his hands on his hips. “… you gotta start with The Sticks!”
The Sticks! Jocasta cringed at the memory of them as she made her way to the Bridge. All anyone needed to start the lesson was a chair and three sticks. Two of the sticks were the manual controls the pilot used while seated in the chair. The instructor would then call out a heading, expecting the student pilot to move the sticks precisely to bring the nose of the ship to the heading given. The third stick was used when they student got it wrong… and they always got it wrong! The Soul Fighter doppelganger had traded out sticks whenever he broke one over Jocasta’s body, or at the beginning of each new week. By the time he had offered the battered woman his hand to lift her from the chair, he had broken forty-six sticks; the first forty in the first month of training. The Star-Wing Corps were the aces of the stars – and the more Jocasta learned, the more she wanted to be one.
But centuries had passed since the real Alphexeous departed from the Rims. The Star-Wing Corps was now the stuff of myth, and Jocasta was desperate to find them. Beta Alphexeous warned her that much of what they were had faded over time. The lesson of The Sticks had been passed along from pilot to pilot, but the third stick was hardly ever used, and the means of grading had been loosened. A student could be up to ten degrees off and still go without a lick.
“And don’t even get me started on the amount of time they’re given to get it right,” the Soul Fighter had complained.
Being a pirate was what Jocasta wanted; there was no doubt of that. But it felt to her that she would forever be in the shadow of her memories of Rouge. A Star-Wing would be something that would be all hers, not borrowed from the iconic woman who had been at one time her mentor and most prized friend.
“He gave me the lessons, told me about them, and handed me the token,” Jocasta thought as she stepped onto the Bridge. Olkin stood up from his chair and announced her arrival. “Which means they’re still around… I just don’t know where they are. Fortunately, I have someone who is pretty good at appropriating valuable acquisitions!