I am editing and cleaning this up for the nice nice and lovely Egosoft forum. Its not the manky potty mouthed original on Cartel.
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He was floating in a glowing pink cloud, eyes closed. The aftermath of dreamlike euphoria swept in waves over him and he laid there, totally contented. He could sense the female drift slowly and elegantly up to him. He could sense her presence from the heartbeat volume of her breath. Slowly, hand brushing along the tips of fur fibres, she reached into his pants, searching.
Goatee stirred from sleep and his eyes snapped open. The pink nebulae vanished replaced by the sight of a grey metal ceiling, coming rapidly into focus.
In flash he remembered. He was in a Cantina at a Cartel pirate base.
And he was not alone.
By feline instinct he shot his hand out and wrapped it around the searching arm. His claws popped involuntarily and sunk deep into pink flesh. A scream erupted from the pick pocket’s mouth, his arm inspiring Goatee's dreams no longer, but punctured with pain.
Before Goatee could hurl the sneak thief across the room his arm erupted into pure white fire. His own yowl of pain paled that of the thief and Goatee let go.
Oblivious to the sound of fast receding footsteps and sobs, Goatee desperately stumbled and groped around the floor. Amid broken glass, soggy food scraps and plastic cups he found a jug still full of liquid. He plunged his hand, claws stretching, into the jug and washed the blood off frantically. As soon as it had started the pain stopped.
In between snatches of breath, Goatee creatively cursed the Boron scientist who had hobbled him with the cruel "Wrack Caps" on his claws and teeth. Being a unique alien, a Khat, in such a small part of the universe was bad enough without his dignity as a predator being neutered as well.
Calming down now, Goatee looked around the Cantina. All was quiet save the clink of glass on glass as the barman loaded the booze recycler and the few whimpers from other sleeping patrons and their exhausted slaves.
Goatee took stock of himself. His suit was rumpled, but no more than usual. He felt the dib of a spaceweed smoking root festering inside one cheek. He spat it out, useless now. Scrabbling with his free hand through his pocket produced a few meagre credit plus the note Torch had passed him the night before. The one that led to all the free drinks.
That moment of generosity last night was the last he remembered. He noted to keep off the beer in future, it obviously wasn’t good for a Khat’s metabolism.
Satisfied that all the blood was rinsed off his claws, Goatee stood and walked over to the bartender. He tried his best to perk up.
“Morning barkeep” he applied in a cheery manner. The bartender ignored him.
Goatee moved on, “I don’t suppose you could tell me who just tried to pick my pocket?”
This time the bartender looked up from his work. He casually looked Goatee up and down.
“I don't give a rats dangle berries what your problem is!” and with that he returned to his work.
Nonplussed, Goatee turned to look the bar over again. It was late in the day and septuplet sunlight drifted in through the viewport, adding an autumn glow to the atmosphere. The air tasted of atmosphere recycling equipment long overdue for a service. Goatee decided he needed to get himself setup with a cash flow as soon as possible. He was not really keen to sort through the dregs of the bar for freebies and decided to check out the maintenance hangar for any opportunities instead. Opportunities both fair and foul.
Probably foul.
Goatee remembered the general direction of the docking bay. As he walked along the station decking he realised just how hotch potch the pirate base was. Flooring would sometimes give way to narrow gangplanks, wiring hung from the occasional bulkhead or roof panel and ship control panels jutted out at odd angles from the walls, jury rigged as station control circuits. But it was reassuring to see capital ship hull plating used in the internal walls and support struts. The station may be a patchwork of improvised engineering, but it was held together with a lot more than just spit and wiring.
The corridors were strangely silent and empty.
The uniform chaos and quiet of the interior design gave way to a dock observation room that reverberated harmoniously to the ship activity nearby. The view port was little more than a series of spacesuit faceplates welded and sealed together to form a wall. They came with radiation filters and opacity cells built in so they made extremely cheap and durable substitutes for port holes. Through this bubbly view port Goatee could see that the dock was where all the action was.
Within, Pirates tended to their cargoes and prizes captured from the five races. Freelance pilots and merchants lined up for these pirate goods and other nefarious services. Bayamon patrols came and went with an almost haphazard disregard for dock traffic in the confined conditions. A variety of pirate crew from all races zipped about in space suits, desperate to keep up with an overwhelming and disorganised maintenance schedule. Engines rumbled and lights flashed in a dizzying ballet of carbon scored geometry and fusion contrails.
In amongst the activity Goatee spotted a ship sized internal airlock on the adjacent wall of the dock, slightly to the right. Goatee assumed this airlock gave access to the maintenance hangar. A narrow doorway leading from the observation room seemed to head in the general direction of the airlock.
He tried the door only to find it jammed shut. Someone had wedged some debris into it. Goatee kicked at the debris and heaved on the door. Nothing happened. He planted his foot on the wall, grabbed on with both hands and brought his entire strength to bear on the handle. With a satisfying crack the debris crumbled, the hinges moved and the door opened. He hadn’t even split his laboured pants, Goatee was pleased. Beyond the threshold lay a long narrow corridor skirting straight and level along the dock wall.
Good enough for a curious Khat.
As Goatee progressed along the narrow corridor, it became tighter. Junctions branching to the right led off into the station. The corridor continued straight and Goatee made sure that he kept on following the left wall of the corridor. The light grew increasingly dim in the corridor but the Khat were used to hunting in such conditions. The way here was bereft of station equipment though gaping holes in the walls indicated where such equipment might fit. He kicked up small puffs of dust with each step, this part of the station had obviously been deserted for quite some time.
He seemed to be walking forever when suddenly, the dim lights in the corridor flicked out. Goatee stopped walking, only his echoing footsteps gave life to the air. They soon faded.
Goatee concentrated. His eyes started strained out the visible spectrum of light, moving up into wavelengths of ultra violet. The improvement in vision was almost negligible but Goatee thought he could avoid bumping into the walls at the very least.
That’s when he heard the slow deep intake of breath, followed by a slow and deep laugh that jangled his nerves.
The laugh turned to a baratone sing song taunt, “Pussy pussy pussy, come here to play, come dance a jog with I, I’ll spin your pelt away.”
Goatee tactfully decided that his situation was not good. He could hear movement break out all around him, then more honestly decided that he was quite buggered.
----------------------------------------------
Hmmm, much better for a fresh edit. My god what an awful first episode it was originally. Hopefully easier to understand now.
A Pirates Life
Moderators: TheElf, Moderators for English X Forum
Frown in confusion? If so then yes, I like to start with a dream sequence, with the old reality switcharoo to follow, as it were.KiwiNZ wrote:Hehehe buggered Khat :lol
Good start for an AussieGood read, nice detail yet not too much. The start had me frown but I am sure this was your intention
Looking forward to see how that develops.
It actually needed a lot of rework from the original, the theif bit wasn't very clear, plus the characters were established before I started this one.
Good timing guys, I did some today.
Part 2
Goatee relaxed. He could hear the owner of the crazy voice breathing,
hollow and rasping. He could tell how far away it was, he well out of
reach. Goatee strained his eyes and could just make out the outline of
small twin circles hovering above the decking from the direction of the
sound. It was moving slowly in his direction.
A UV torch. It had to be. The approaching menace could probably see him
just fine. A whiff of stale air passed by him, filled with the musk of
millennia old hair, skin and sweat. He recognised that smell. It was
typical of the Split.
Goatee tried to provoke the unseen menace, "What's a crazy Split like you
doing out of his home sewer then?"
A grating high pitched growl sounded and the approaching footsteps became
more audible.
Goatee tensed as the presence moved closer. A sound of metal scrapping on
leather followed by a mechanical whirr jangled Goatee's nerves down to his
feet.
"Definitely buggered then eh?", he said at nothing. The bobbing lights came
closer and closer. Goatee waited, soon it would be within striking
distance. Tension spread across his neck and shoulders. His claws slid
involuntarily out of their sheaths. A few steps more, just a few steps more.
Goatee struck out.
He hit air.
The corridor lights flicked back on. The space was empty save his own bulky
self and that musky scent, lingering. Goatee doubled checked. He didn't
see or hear anyone, but he did see a bulkhead door at the end of the
corridor now. Bizarre, he thought, that he hadn't seen it before but then
he did tend to hit on the weed root a little too much these days.
Goatee shrugged the chill feeling off. There was something there, now there
was nothing. No trouble, no stress. He walked, a little less casually than
usual, up to the door. It too was jammed and most probably on the other
side. He did the prudent thing and knocked loudly.
After a moment he heard wrenching and scuffling on the other side of the
door. He straightened his suit and fussed with the collar a little, waiting
for a friendly and welcome greeting from the other side.
With a crack the door swung open and a Cartel Ripper was pressed instantly
into his crotch. For a moment there was a stunned silence, then Rouge
looked up and started.
"Crap Goatee, I almost clear shot your two best mates off!"
Goatee smiled and cleared his throat. He looked down at the barrel planted
firmly on his pride without saying a word.
Rouge followed his gaze, "Oh yeah, don't mind the ole fellas eh?" He pulled
the gun away and popped it onto a tool trolley. "Quick, get your furry
behind in here."
"I will, thanks." Goatee stepped into what appeared to be the maintenance
hangar. Scant few ships sat in gravity dock here. Some were being worked
on enthusiastically by their owners, some completely unattended. A variety
of personal spacecraft and rows of Bayamon fighters lined one wall. The
Bayamons were tended to by station hands.
A clunk sounded behind Goatee as Rouge set the bulkhead door back in place.
"Mind your step eh? I don't want you messing up my work. Come on then,
give us a hand!" Rouge indicated a small pile of scrap metal. Together
they wedged the door shut.
"So tell me kitty man, what the hell were you doing in The Sprawl?"
Goatee shrugged, "I came from the observation deck. I assume that place I
walked through is The Sprawl?"
Rouge's eyes went wide in disbelief. "You mean no one warned you to stay
out of blocked doors when you arrived?"
Goatee chuckled, "To me that sort of comment doesn't mean much. We Khat
will go anywhere, especially if its forbidden."
Rouge nodded, "Righto then. Well, let me fill you in about it then. The
sprawl is what's left of The Bandi, a Split M1 that Cartel scouts found at
this very sector location over a decade ago. It was a solid base to build a
new pirate station off and far out of the way of the jumpgates in this
sector. The initial base was built up pretty quickly and no one spent much
time exploring the wreck apart from sealing it off from space. Soon after
the station came online, people started exploring The Bandi, that's when the
disappearances started. A few posses were put together but they never found
anything. That's when the hauntings were reported on all the freighter
modules attached to the Bandi. Rather than try to keep exploring the Bandi,
all entrances and exits into it were sealed and new walkways were made that
skirt it. The disappearances stopped but people still say its haunted in
there. Damn Split designing, all the space in the universe and they build
such cramped living conditions. That and all the space fuel that gets
guzzled around here makes for far out tales I say."
Goatee nodded, "OK, I'll keep all that in mind then." Goatee looked around
the maintenance hangar. "So, this is the workshop eh? Not too many people
around."
Rouge nodded, "Yeah, odd and sods are coming and going all the time. Most
head straight to the bar from here. Servicing your ship sounds good till
they realise they have to do the work themselves."
"I see, I assume this is your ship?" Goatee walked over to a nearby Boron
Octopus, tools scattered all about the floor below it.
Rouge smiled, "One of them, yeah. This is a little pet project of mine.
Mostly its just a resprayed Octopus, but I've been making some engine
enhancements."
Goatee stepped with Rouge around the ship, surveying its beauty. A slick
chromium blue finish covered most of its hull, apart from the engines which
were in pieces."
"So how fast have you got it going?" Goatee asked while running a paw across
the glass smooth finish.
Rouge frowned, "Not much faster than spec so far. Efficiency is up which is
always nice. I plan on using it to start a security message courier
business, just for laughs really."
"Just for laughs?"
"Yup, for the challenge. The current economy is so stable that the greatest
challenge is opening a brand new market. I've faced most of the challenges
this universe has to offer and have played them all to death. I reckoned it
might be time for something fresh." Rouge patted the ship affectionately.
Goatee laughed, "A secure communications courier service?"
Rouge nodded, "Yep!"
"Run by pirates?" Goatee started laughing again. Rouge smiled.
"Well, not strictly everybody knows I'm a sometimes pirate mate. My record
is squeaky clean like a baby Boron's bum as far as the Argon are concerned."
Goatee nodded, "I see. So tell me, why isn't your ship in lockup if its
going to be so valuable? From the lack of security guards here I'd say this
baby would walk away pretty quickly?" Goatee was worried by what he just
said and wished he hadn't. He may be giving too much away about what he was
thinking.
"Oh, no one steals anything from here. Not so much as a quantum wrench
really."
"Why is that?" Goatee was glad he was getting the answers he wanted.
"It's against the code. Now before you start laughing again, let me
explain. Pirates are thieves and violent bastards by nature right? So how
can they come together and trust each other and make pirate bases and shit
like that? Simple, they have a basic station side code of honour. At
least, Cartel pirates have a code and other pirates mind their P's and Q's
when they are on Cartel territory. Basically, the code says, no challenge
no worth. It kind of protects the weak to a certain degree. Umm..., take
this hangar for example. No security guards, no docking checks, no locked
doors, nothing. The door is wide open like most of the ships here. It
wouldn't be a challenge to steal anything from here. So in fact, if you did
it kind of makes you a coward, see?"
Goatee nodded, "Yes I see. Being a pirate is about being strong and free.
A coward..."
"...is slime." Rouge finished. "They aren't welcome around here. Things
can get tough for a Cartel pirate and when things are tough you need to
count on your trusty wingmen to hold formation. There's no place for a
jelly belly, they all get hunted down when they get found out."
Goatee was glad he had found this out now instead of later. "So you kill
the lot eh?"
Rouge shook his head, "Nup, worse! We capture them and make them..., well,
you were at the bar last night, you figure it out."
Goatee shuddered. It was not a fate he wanted to face anytime soon. He
decided that there wasn't really an opportunity of a free ride for him here.
"So tell me, where can a furry guy make a buck around here?" Goatee asked.
Rouge indicated an open elevator. "Up there is the Dome. It's a lounge
deck, kind of like the Cantina without a bar. There are some mission
terminals there, maybe you can pick up a crew position on a trade run or get
a patrolman route."
"Thank you kind sir. I think I'll do just that then."
"Wait on a sec, do me a favour will you?" Rouge searched through his
pockets. He produced a small, metal box. "Torch is usually up there at
this time of day, watching the first three suns set before she heads out of
the station. Pass this on for me will you?"
Goatee took the small missive. "I certainly will. Take care, good luck and
all with your ship.
"Will do matey, see you round like a Splits severed head!"
They smiled at each other and Goatee made for the elevator. It was a simple
platform with a rail. Purely functional. He stepped on board and hit the
only button available. With a lurch the elevator sprang to life, then
settled into a slow climb up to the Dome.
After a few moments the elevator stopped. Goatee faced a blank wall and
wondered what was happening when the lift started to turn. Slowly, inch by
inch, the platform raised into an open area, the Dome was revealed.
A sight such as he had never seen laid before him.
"Hi Goatee" said Torch.
"The view out the window isn't that bad either" Goatee responded.
Part 2
Goatee relaxed. He could hear the owner of the crazy voice breathing,
hollow and rasping. He could tell how far away it was, he well out of
reach. Goatee strained his eyes and could just make out the outline of
small twin circles hovering above the decking from the direction of the
sound. It was moving slowly in his direction.
A UV torch. It had to be. The approaching menace could probably see him
just fine. A whiff of stale air passed by him, filled with the musk of
millennia old hair, skin and sweat. He recognised that smell. It was
typical of the Split.
Goatee tried to provoke the unseen menace, "What's a crazy Split like you
doing out of his home sewer then?"
A grating high pitched growl sounded and the approaching footsteps became
more audible.
Goatee tensed as the presence moved closer. A sound of metal scrapping on
leather followed by a mechanical whirr jangled Goatee's nerves down to his
feet.
"Definitely buggered then eh?", he said at nothing. The bobbing lights came
closer and closer. Goatee waited, soon it would be within striking
distance. Tension spread across his neck and shoulders. His claws slid
involuntarily out of their sheaths. A few steps more, just a few steps more.
Goatee struck out.
He hit air.
The corridor lights flicked back on. The space was empty save his own bulky
self and that musky scent, lingering. Goatee doubled checked. He didn't
see or hear anyone, but he did see a bulkhead door at the end of the
corridor now. Bizarre, he thought, that he hadn't seen it before but then
he did tend to hit on the weed root a little too much these days.
Goatee shrugged the chill feeling off. There was something there, now there
was nothing. No trouble, no stress. He walked, a little less casually than
usual, up to the door. It too was jammed and most probably on the other
side. He did the prudent thing and knocked loudly.
After a moment he heard wrenching and scuffling on the other side of the
door. He straightened his suit and fussed with the collar a little, waiting
for a friendly and welcome greeting from the other side.
With a crack the door swung open and a Cartel Ripper was pressed instantly
into his crotch. For a moment there was a stunned silence, then Rouge
looked up and started.
"Crap Goatee, I almost clear shot your two best mates off!"
Goatee smiled and cleared his throat. He looked down at the barrel planted
firmly on his pride without saying a word.
Rouge followed his gaze, "Oh yeah, don't mind the ole fellas eh?" He pulled
the gun away and popped it onto a tool trolley. "Quick, get your furry
behind in here."
"I will, thanks." Goatee stepped into what appeared to be the maintenance
hangar. Scant few ships sat in gravity dock here. Some were being worked
on enthusiastically by their owners, some completely unattended. A variety
of personal spacecraft and rows of Bayamon fighters lined one wall. The
Bayamons were tended to by station hands.
A clunk sounded behind Goatee as Rouge set the bulkhead door back in place.
"Mind your step eh? I don't want you messing up my work. Come on then,
give us a hand!" Rouge indicated a small pile of scrap metal. Together
they wedged the door shut.
"So tell me kitty man, what the hell were you doing in The Sprawl?"
Goatee shrugged, "I came from the observation deck. I assume that place I
walked through is The Sprawl?"
Rouge's eyes went wide in disbelief. "You mean no one warned you to stay
out of blocked doors when you arrived?"
Goatee chuckled, "To me that sort of comment doesn't mean much. We Khat
will go anywhere, especially if its forbidden."
Rouge nodded, "Righto then. Well, let me fill you in about it then. The
sprawl is what's left of The Bandi, a Split M1 that Cartel scouts found at
this very sector location over a decade ago. It was a solid base to build a
new pirate station off and far out of the way of the jumpgates in this
sector. The initial base was built up pretty quickly and no one spent much
time exploring the wreck apart from sealing it off from space. Soon after
the station came online, people started exploring The Bandi, that's when the
disappearances started. A few posses were put together but they never found
anything. That's when the hauntings were reported on all the freighter
modules attached to the Bandi. Rather than try to keep exploring the Bandi,
all entrances and exits into it were sealed and new walkways were made that
skirt it. The disappearances stopped but people still say its haunted in
there. Damn Split designing, all the space in the universe and they build
such cramped living conditions. That and all the space fuel that gets
guzzled around here makes for far out tales I say."
Goatee nodded, "OK, I'll keep all that in mind then." Goatee looked around
the maintenance hangar. "So, this is the workshop eh? Not too many people
around."
Rouge nodded, "Yeah, odd and sods are coming and going all the time. Most
head straight to the bar from here. Servicing your ship sounds good till
they realise they have to do the work themselves."
"I see, I assume this is your ship?" Goatee walked over to a nearby Boron
Octopus, tools scattered all about the floor below it.
Rouge smiled, "One of them, yeah. This is a little pet project of mine.
Mostly its just a resprayed Octopus, but I've been making some engine
enhancements."
Goatee stepped with Rouge around the ship, surveying its beauty. A slick
chromium blue finish covered most of its hull, apart from the engines which
were in pieces."
"So how fast have you got it going?" Goatee asked while running a paw across
the glass smooth finish.
Rouge frowned, "Not much faster than spec so far. Efficiency is up which is
always nice. I plan on using it to start a security message courier
business, just for laughs really."
"Just for laughs?"
"Yup, for the challenge. The current economy is so stable that the greatest
challenge is opening a brand new market. I've faced most of the challenges
this universe has to offer and have played them all to death. I reckoned it
might be time for something fresh." Rouge patted the ship affectionately.
Goatee laughed, "A secure communications courier service?"
Rouge nodded, "Yep!"
"Run by pirates?" Goatee started laughing again. Rouge smiled.
"Well, not strictly everybody knows I'm a sometimes pirate mate. My record
is squeaky clean like a baby Boron's bum as far as the Argon are concerned."
Goatee nodded, "I see. So tell me, why isn't your ship in lockup if its
going to be so valuable? From the lack of security guards here I'd say this
baby would walk away pretty quickly?" Goatee was worried by what he just
said and wished he hadn't. He may be giving too much away about what he was
thinking.
"Oh, no one steals anything from here. Not so much as a quantum wrench
really."
"Why is that?" Goatee was glad he was getting the answers he wanted.
"It's against the code. Now before you start laughing again, let me
explain. Pirates are thieves and violent bastards by nature right? So how
can they come together and trust each other and make pirate bases and shit
like that? Simple, they have a basic station side code of honour. At
least, Cartel pirates have a code and other pirates mind their P's and Q's
when they are on Cartel territory. Basically, the code says, no challenge
no worth. It kind of protects the weak to a certain degree. Umm..., take
this hangar for example. No security guards, no docking checks, no locked
doors, nothing. The door is wide open like most of the ships here. It
wouldn't be a challenge to steal anything from here. So in fact, if you did
it kind of makes you a coward, see?"
Goatee nodded, "Yes I see. Being a pirate is about being strong and free.
A coward..."
"...is slime." Rouge finished. "They aren't welcome around here. Things
can get tough for a Cartel pirate and when things are tough you need to
count on your trusty wingmen to hold formation. There's no place for a
jelly belly, they all get hunted down when they get found out."
Goatee was glad he had found this out now instead of later. "So you kill
the lot eh?"
Rouge shook his head, "Nup, worse! We capture them and make them..., well,
you were at the bar last night, you figure it out."
Goatee shuddered. It was not a fate he wanted to face anytime soon. He
decided that there wasn't really an opportunity of a free ride for him here.
"So tell me, where can a furry guy make a buck around here?" Goatee asked.
Rouge indicated an open elevator. "Up there is the Dome. It's a lounge
deck, kind of like the Cantina without a bar. There are some mission
terminals there, maybe you can pick up a crew position on a trade run or get
a patrolman route."
"Thank you kind sir. I think I'll do just that then."
"Wait on a sec, do me a favour will you?" Rouge searched through his
pockets. He produced a small, metal box. "Torch is usually up there at
this time of day, watching the first three suns set before she heads out of
the station. Pass this on for me will you?"
Goatee took the small missive. "I certainly will. Take care, good luck and
all with your ship.
"Will do matey, see you round like a Splits severed head!"
They smiled at each other and Goatee made for the elevator. It was a simple
platform with a rail. Purely functional. He stepped on board and hit the
only button available. With a lurch the elevator sprang to life, then
settled into a slow climb up to the Dome.
After a few moments the elevator stopped. Goatee faced a blank wall and
wondered what was happening when the lift started to turn. Slowly, inch by
inch, the platform raised into an open area, the Dome was revealed.
A sight such as he had never seen laid before him.
"Hi Goatee" said Torch.
"The view out the window isn't that bad either" Goatee responded.
Hey look, I gots me some more
Part 3
Torch smiled, "What?"
"Oh nothing, just thinking out aloud", Goatee said.
Her laugh flittered about the room like a spacefly, "Hmm, you old smoothie."
Goatee swept his gaze about the room. He stood on a small platform
suspended on the central axis of a huge transparent bubble. The lift was
the only prominent protuberance on the platform, the rest of the furniture
consisting of low couches and computer terminals bolted to the floor. The
soft brown tones of the décor felt warm and inviting. The platform had no
hand rail.
But if the décor invited ones derriere to rest then the view compelled ones
mind to wander restlessly. The dome was polished to perfection without a
single seam or supporting strut. One might believe they were actually
exposed to space. All the better to enjoy the vista.
The crystalline asteroid field in which the station hid did not seem to
obscure the spectacle directly above the dome. Seven suns of seven
different hues danced around each other in spiral arcs, one major and six
minor balls of nuclear fire. The crystalline crust of the surrounding
asteroid field refracted the hues creating a kaleidoscopic frame for the
cosmic ballet.
"It's the crystals that make the suns appear to move so fast." Torch said.
Goatee dragged himself from the spectacle, "Wh...what?"
"The crystals that grow on the asteroids here, they reflect and refract the
light from the suns in such a way that they appear to snake along their
orbital trajectories. Only here at this exact point in space can you see
it, this platform is the focal point for the shifted light waves. The best
thing is, every day there are subtle differences, like watching a stream
flow into a forest pool." Torch sighed.
"......Wow" replied Goatee.
"Anyway, how are you feeling after your little bender last night?"
Goatee shrugged, "Decidedly crap, but I'll manage. Hey, what's that on your
shoulder."
Torch patted her little pet affectionately, "Ah this. This is Seven."
Goatee felt a feather touch across his frontal lobes. He remembered that
this pet of Torch's had some sort of telepathic ability. He didn't
appreciate it's animal interest so he decided to feed it some animal
interest of his own sort. He conjured up an image and threw a grin at the
small pet, it immediately responded by hissing at him then ducking into
Torch's armpit.
"Oh dear, she says she's worried you're going to eat her! Please, do you
think you could not think about that?" Torch expressed annoyance in her
voice. Torch had an idea about what the Khat had in mind when it came to
interacting with other species. Goatee knew that she was the only person on
the station who did, because he had let it slip the previous evening. He
reminded him self not to mix fuel and weed in the future.
Goatee continued grinning, "For you Torch, anything. If it hadn't fed me so
many graphic images of myself as a mouse sized playtoy I wouldn't have such
culinary inspirations.
"OK, she knows. Just don't be upset if she doesn't come to you for a cuddle
like she does to everyone else." Torch extracted the spooked furball from
her armpit and gently stuffed it under her jacket. A little head with two
baleful eyes popped up under her chin and fixed Goatee with an accusing
stare.
Goatee shrugged and addressed the small pet directly, "I'm sure if I were
one inch tall I wouldn't get a right of appeal off you Seven, it doesn't
matter anyway Torch. She doesn't smell tasty anyway." Goatee turned his
attention skyward again. "So, how can one watch the show without getting a
crick in the neck?"
Torch motioned towards the couches. "Just veg out, there's no formality
here."
Goatee and Torch took up residence on separate couches to watch three of the
suns set in warbling patterns of movement.
Torch hummed quietly to herself. Goatee just absorbed the new experience
with relish.
Torch spoke in a faraway tone, "Ah to be a pirate, it's the life for me.
Free and unbound with all the wonders of the cosmos and life within your
grasp, ripe for the picking. You couldn't pay to see this anywhere and if
it weren't for this station you'd be paying through the nose for the
privilege" She finished with a note of disgust in her voice.
"In all the Astrodesia I have visited I have never seen a natural phenomenon
as beautiful as this" Goatee agreed, "Truly this part of the galaxy has
some of the best surprises."
Torch frowned, "Just what do you mean by Astrodesia? No one I know uses
that term."
Goatee settled further into his couch, wishing he had a weed root to hand to
lubricate his thoughts.
"Astrodesia is a term that roughly translates to sector in your language.
There are many sectors in the galaxy but only specific ones have jump gates.
These sectors that can take a gate are what beings from my part of the
galaxy call Astrodesia."
Torch was further piqued by his answer, "Astrodesia doesn't seem too
unfamiliar a term. I am aware of the word Geodesic, it's a form of
geography based on the shape of a planet."
"Ah, excellent." Goatee sounded pleased. "This will make sense then. We
call them Astrodesia because of a long standing theory regarding the
placement of jump gates. As you know, no one really knows who made the jump
gates in the first place and why, we call them the Cet by the way. Anyway,
even more curious was the gates seemingly haphazard placement. At first our
archaeologists were baffled why some jump gates were placed in barren and
lifeless points in space when more resourceful systems in between were left
unvisited. After a lot of debate a theory developed that the gates of the
Cet are placed according to the shape of the galaxy rather than by choice.
Basically, the influence of singularity gravity wells extends over many many
light-years. At certain points in space several of these influences
intersect within the secondary event horizon of a singularity causing a
natural dimple or weakness in the barrier between normal space and jump
space."
Torch interrupted, "So the jump gates are placed not by choice but by
finding these dimples wherever they may be?"
Goatee nodded, "That's right. They are placed according to the shape of the
galaxy, hence the term Astrodesia. Of course, these dimples are only
required to break out of jump space. So far the races in our little part of
the galaxy haven't found a way to exit at the point of ones choosing making
travel somewhat restricted."
Torch kept running with the theory, "So if these delicate points in space
were interfered with, say by a wandering rouge singularity or a super nova,
then the dimple ceases to exist?"
"Not really, the dimples are created within the host singularity and
eventually wear off. It could depend on the strength of the intersecting
forces when the dimple is created or it could be some other event that
closes them up. No one really knows. My people in particular have based an
entire science on Astrodesic measurement, using astronomy and physics to
predict the possible locations of jump gates. We haven't met with much
success though. We continue to refine our prediction formulae nonetheless,
it is the nature of the Khat to roam. The theory itself remains unproven as
no one has developed gravity sensors sensitive enough to measure the slight
gravitic influences around jump gate locations. Suffice it to say, the
dimples themselves are very wide and sometimes we have been lucky enough to
hit the mark."
They both fell into silence, pondering the bizarre alien theory. They had
been so wrapped up in their dialogue that they hadn't noticed the three suns
had set, leaving only four suns to tangle white-blue and golden threads in
space.
Torch sighed deeply, "So, any other theories to tell me about?"
"Oh sure there are others. Lots of commercial and military interests fund
research into other theories. They also complain a lot about lost test
craft and mechanical complications and sabotage and such. Of all the races
from my part for the galaxy, only the Khat have demonstrated an ability to
locate a jump space dimple without an existing gate. It doesn't happen
often I'll admit, but our theory proves more sound than others."
Torch turned to Goatee, "I guess the competition doesn't appreciate the
gravity of the situation."
They chuckled. The little pet, sensing a smoothing of the social air,
squeezed out of its warm refuge and sat on Torch's chest. It quietly
groomed itself while keeping an eye on the nearby Khat.
Goatee suddenly pointed to the ceiling, "What's that?"
Torch squinted to make out what Goatee was pointing at. At first she saw
nothing, then a tiny red dot appeared at the edge of awareness. Slowly the
diffuse glow sharpened into the fusion fire and contrail of an Argon
military scout craft.
"Congratulations", she said, "Tell me, do you know how to fly craft from
this little astrowhatsit then?"
"Indeed I do, so?"
"Hang tight for a second." Torch sat up abruptly sending her little friend
diving for cover. She reached out to a terminal and started to tap away
furiously.
Goatee sat up and watched, perturbed that his question had not been
answered. "What are you doing?"
"Shush kitty, I'm booking you in." She tapped away for a moment more then
finished with a flamboyant and forceful keystroke.
"There we go.", she spoke in an administrative drawl, "Goatee, as the first
to report a sighting of an unfriendly spacecraft you are booked with full
capture rights on the craft and its cargo." She half spoke her own words
and half read from the terminal. "But its only a scout ship so it probably
doesn't have a cargo. Anyway, quick sticks down to the space dock with you.
Bayamon Theta-30 is ready for you to board and disembark on this intercept
mission."
Goatee was quite surprised, "Urr, Umm... thanks, I think. Are you going to
accompany me?"
Torch stretched languidly back into the couch. "Oh no, this one is yours. I
have to get back to my day. It's been a nice diversion chatting with you
but now you need to haul ass. Go on puss puss, scoot!"
She waved him away and Goatee obeyed, walking quickly to the elevator.
"Oh and Goatee, I laid down the rental and deposit on that Bayamon, so don't
think ejecting and surrendering the ship is a viable survival strategy in
the heat of the moment, ok?" She gave him a playful wink and an evil grin.
The lift turned and descended. Goatee thought it could be sad if he were
forced to eat Torch some day, she made him laugh. He noticed the feather
touch of the small creature leaving his mind. While it worried him that
Torch might hear what he had been thinking about, he decided the furry
little tattle-tale was the least of his concerns for the moment.
Part 3
Torch smiled, "What?"
"Oh nothing, just thinking out aloud", Goatee said.
Her laugh flittered about the room like a spacefly, "Hmm, you old smoothie."
Goatee swept his gaze about the room. He stood on a small platform
suspended on the central axis of a huge transparent bubble. The lift was
the only prominent protuberance on the platform, the rest of the furniture
consisting of low couches and computer terminals bolted to the floor. The
soft brown tones of the décor felt warm and inviting. The platform had no
hand rail.
But if the décor invited ones derriere to rest then the view compelled ones
mind to wander restlessly. The dome was polished to perfection without a
single seam or supporting strut. One might believe they were actually
exposed to space. All the better to enjoy the vista.
The crystalline asteroid field in which the station hid did not seem to
obscure the spectacle directly above the dome. Seven suns of seven
different hues danced around each other in spiral arcs, one major and six
minor balls of nuclear fire. The crystalline crust of the surrounding
asteroid field refracted the hues creating a kaleidoscopic frame for the
cosmic ballet.
"It's the crystals that make the suns appear to move so fast." Torch said.
Goatee dragged himself from the spectacle, "Wh...what?"
"The crystals that grow on the asteroids here, they reflect and refract the
light from the suns in such a way that they appear to snake along their
orbital trajectories. Only here at this exact point in space can you see
it, this platform is the focal point for the shifted light waves. The best
thing is, every day there are subtle differences, like watching a stream
flow into a forest pool." Torch sighed.
"......Wow" replied Goatee.
"Anyway, how are you feeling after your little bender last night?"
Goatee shrugged, "Decidedly crap, but I'll manage. Hey, what's that on your
shoulder."
Torch patted her little pet affectionately, "Ah this. This is Seven."
Goatee felt a feather touch across his frontal lobes. He remembered that
this pet of Torch's had some sort of telepathic ability. He didn't
appreciate it's animal interest so he decided to feed it some animal
interest of his own sort. He conjured up an image and threw a grin at the
small pet, it immediately responded by hissing at him then ducking into
Torch's armpit.
"Oh dear, she says she's worried you're going to eat her! Please, do you
think you could not think about that?" Torch expressed annoyance in her
voice. Torch had an idea about what the Khat had in mind when it came to
interacting with other species. Goatee knew that she was the only person on
the station who did, because he had let it slip the previous evening. He
reminded him self not to mix fuel and weed in the future.
Goatee continued grinning, "For you Torch, anything. If it hadn't fed me so
many graphic images of myself as a mouse sized playtoy I wouldn't have such
culinary inspirations.
"OK, she knows. Just don't be upset if she doesn't come to you for a cuddle
like she does to everyone else." Torch extracted the spooked furball from
her armpit and gently stuffed it under her jacket. A little head with two
baleful eyes popped up under her chin and fixed Goatee with an accusing
stare.
Goatee shrugged and addressed the small pet directly, "I'm sure if I were
one inch tall I wouldn't get a right of appeal off you Seven, it doesn't
matter anyway Torch. She doesn't smell tasty anyway." Goatee turned his
attention skyward again. "So, how can one watch the show without getting a
crick in the neck?"
Torch motioned towards the couches. "Just veg out, there's no formality
here."
Goatee and Torch took up residence on separate couches to watch three of the
suns set in warbling patterns of movement.
Torch hummed quietly to herself. Goatee just absorbed the new experience
with relish.
Torch spoke in a faraway tone, "Ah to be a pirate, it's the life for me.
Free and unbound with all the wonders of the cosmos and life within your
grasp, ripe for the picking. You couldn't pay to see this anywhere and if
it weren't for this station you'd be paying through the nose for the
privilege" She finished with a note of disgust in her voice.
"In all the Astrodesia I have visited I have never seen a natural phenomenon
as beautiful as this" Goatee agreed, "Truly this part of the galaxy has
some of the best surprises."
Torch frowned, "Just what do you mean by Astrodesia? No one I know uses
that term."
Goatee settled further into his couch, wishing he had a weed root to hand to
lubricate his thoughts.
"Astrodesia is a term that roughly translates to sector in your language.
There are many sectors in the galaxy but only specific ones have jump gates.
These sectors that can take a gate are what beings from my part of the
galaxy call Astrodesia."
Torch was further piqued by his answer, "Astrodesia doesn't seem too
unfamiliar a term. I am aware of the word Geodesic, it's a form of
geography based on the shape of a planet."
"Ah, excellent." Goatee sounded pleased. "This will make sense then. We
call them Astrodesia because of a long standing theory regarding the
placement of jump gates. As you know, no one really knows who made the jump
gates in the first place and why, we call them the Cet by the way. Anyway,
even more curious was the gates seemingly haphazard placement. At first our
archaeologists were baffled why some jump gates were placed in barren and
lifeless points in space when more resourceful systems in between were left
unvisited. After a lot of debate a theory developed that the gates of the
Cet are placed according to the shape of the galaxy rather than by choice.
Basically, the influence of singularity gravity wells extends over many many
light-years. At certain points in space several of these influences
intersect within the secondary event horizon of a singularity causing a
natural dimple or weakness in the barrier between normal space and jump
space."
Torch interrupted, "So the jump gates are placed not by choice but by
finding these dimples wherever they may be?"
Goatee nodded, "That's right. They are placed according to the shape of the
galaxy, hence the term Astrodesia. Of course, these dimples are only
required to break out of jump space. So far the races in our little part of
the galaxy haven't found a way to exit at the point of ones choosing making
travel somewhat restricted."
Torch kept running with the theory, "So if these delicate points in space
were interfered with, say by a wandering rouge singularity or a super nova,
then the dimple ceases to exist?"
"Not really, the dimples are created within the host singularity and
eventually wear off. It could depend on the strength of the intersecting
forces when the dimple is created or it could be some other event that
closes them up. No one really knows. My people in particular have based an
entire science on Astrodesic measurement, using astronomy and physics to
predict the possible locations of jump gates. We haven't met with much
success though. We continue to refine our prediction formulae nonetheless,
it is the nature of the Khat to roam. The theory itself remains unproven as
no one has developed gravity sensors sensitive enough to measure the slight
gravitic influences around jump gate locations. Suffice it to say, the
dimples themselves are very wide and sometimes we have been lucky enough to
hit the mark."
They both fell into silence, pondering the bizarre alien theory. They had
been so wrapped up in their dialogue that they hadn't noticed the three suns
had set, leaving only four suns to tangle white-blue and golden threads in
space.
Torch sighed deeply, "So, any other theories to tell me about?"
"Oh sure there are others. Lots of commercial and military interests fund
research into other theories. They also complain a lot about lost test
craft and mechanical complications and sabotage and such. Of all the races
from my part for the galaxy, only the Khat have demonstrated an ability to
locate a jump space dimple without an existing gate. It doesn't happen
often I'll admit, but our theory proves more sound than others."
Torch turned to Goatee, "I guess the competition doesn't appreciate the
gravity of the situation."
They chuckled. The little pet, sensing a smoothing of the social air,
squeezed out of its warm refuge and sat on Torch's chest. It quietly
groomed itself while keeping an eye on the nearby Khat.
Goatee suddenly pointed to the ceiling, "What's that?"
Torch squinted to make out what Goatee was pointing at. At first she saw
nothing, then a tiny red dot appeared at the edge of awareness. Slowly the
diffuse glow sharpened into the fusion fire and contrail of an Argon
military scout craft.
"Congratulations", she said, "Tell me, do you know how to fly craft from
this little astrowhatsit then?"
"Indeed I do, so?"
"Hang tight for a second." Torch sat up abruptly sending her little friend
diving for cover. She reached out to a terminal and started to tap away
furiously.
Goatee sat up and watched, perturbed that his question had not been
answered. "What are you doing?"
"Shush kitty, I'm booking you in." She tapped away for a moment more then
finished with a flamboyant and forceful keystroke.
"There we go.", she spoke in an administrative drawl, "Goatee, as the first
to report a sighting of an unfriendly spacecraft you are booked with full
capture rights on the craft and its cargo." She half spoke her own words
and half read from the terminal. "But its only a scout ship so it probably
doesn't have a cargo. Anyway, quick sticks down to the space dock with you.
Bayamon Theta-30 is ready for you to board and disembark on this intercept
mission."
Goatee was quite surprised, "Urr, Umm... thanks, I think. Are you going to
accompany me?"
Torch stretched languidly back into the couch. "Oh no, this one is yours. I
have to get back to my day. It's been a nice diversion chatting with you
but now you need to haul ass. Go on puss puss, scoot!"
She waved him away and Goatee obeyed, walking quickly to the elevator.
"Oh and Goatee, I laid down the rental and deposit on that Bayamon, so don't
think ejecting and surrendering the ship is a viable survival strategy in
the heat of the moment, ok?" She gave him a playful wink and an evil grin.
The lift turned and descended. Goatee thought it could be sad if he were
forced to eat Torch some day, she made him laugh. He noticed the feather
touch of the small creature leaving his mind. While it worried him that
Torch might hear what he had been thinking about, he decided the furry
little tattle-tale was the least of his concerns for the moment.
Bit the next......
Part 4
Goatee didn’t like the feel of a Pirate Bayamon. The controls didn’t strictly conform to the standard layout. Flying at dock speed was simple enough, the steering yoke and throttle were unambiguous enough. But space combat involved a lot more than steering and cruising. He made a few practice turns and weaved in and out of the dock traffic on his way out of the station.
The thing that concerned him the most was the circuit bypasses available on every ship system. Inertial enforcement, gyroscopic stability, gravity well compensation, deceleration enhancers and even weapon heat lockdown could all be switched off. The things that made space flight easy and safe for squishy and fallible biological beings were incredibly susceptible to a stray elbow. It was quite unlike anything made by legitimate commercial and government shipyards. Goatee calculated the risk inherit in piloting such a craft and smiled.
“What’s life without a little challenge anyway?” he asked the void.
He thought twice about the cramped conditions and tightened the seat straps a little more to make sure he didn’t jiggle around the cabin too much. Shutting down the gyroscopic stabilisers when moving in for the kill would be most embarrassing.
The navigation guide on the cockpit screen imposed a fiery red arrow over the faint blue cross of the HUD crosshairs. Without it he would never find his way out of the Rainbow Hold. That’s what the mission clerk had called the crystalline asteroid field the station was nestled away in. The clerk had then proceeded to make several unsubtle threats to Goatee’s current and future fatherhood prospects should he even so much as get a carbon score on the rented Bayamon.
Goatee was made mindful of the dangers of the Rainbow Hold by the flight tech who led him to his ship. The crystalline growths on the asteroids reflected and refracted most forms of electromagnetic radiation. The effect made it extremely difficult to navigate beyond gravidar. The station had gravitic probes hidden all through the field so they could direct their own ships. Other dangers lurked in the space between asteroids. In particular were Hotspots that formed around the outer regions by the chance intersection of several reflected rays of the pentuplet suns. Some were reputedly so intense they could vapourise a Titan in milliseconds.
As he flew from the station Goatee thought back on what he had just learned. He decided he was more desperate and insane to take on this job than he had ever given himself credit for.
The red navigation arrow piped on to his gravidar steered him true. Slowly but surely, Goatee emerged out of the asteroid field. The cockpit screen went slightly opaque in response to the sudden exposure to all seven of the sector’s suns. Through the torrent of radiation the gravidar stretched its virtual fingers out, searching for the Argon scout. A small blip appeared, the Argon scout craft. Goatee grinned, eased up the throttle and sped towards his prey.
But as he closed, another blip appeared on the gravidar, it was quickly resolved as another pirate ship. It was a Paranid Pegasus by design but heavily modified, Goatee could see the bristling weapon mounts even from a great distance.
The pirate channel on his com crackled to life. A thickly accented Argon voiced bellowed forth.
“Ack ye bastich. Getting you the heck off me mark, thas my ship to be shootin fer matey!”
Goatee took a moment to decipher what he had just heard before replying. ”Ah, This is Bayamon Theta Thirty on mission umm, hang on, five seven zed slash three. I have looting and capture rights on this target. Please respect the….
”FRIKKIN!! Did ye not here wot I is telling ye? Getting the heck out of here or tis the drill for ye. I nowt tha time to be feckin the breeze with ye. Be off ye lubber!”
Goatee started to get the idea, “I’ll have you know that I am backed by the Cartel station in my action. Maybe you know Torch, she could arrange to have you caged with a large and overly friendly Split for your insults to one of her friends you know!”
The bellowing laughter over the channel did not inspire Goatee’c confidence. “Ye a reet mouthy speck in ye? Aye, I noo Tarch, beggest flappa this side a Seizewell. Heck to er, Heck to ye, now ken ye, **** OFF!!”
Goatee decided he didn’t have time to take this lesson in pirate politics. The Argon scout had turned a tight circle and was now on direct approach. It then occurred to Goatee, a direct approach was what pirate etiquette and politics was all about.
Goatee cleared his throat then proceeded, “Ok then, listen up you Split tongued goon. I’m closer to the mark and I got the rights. You want to fight it over, fine, I’m sure my Cartel buddies will be really pleased to see you claim jumping on another pirate’s kill. So you can be getting the ‘****’ off MY mark, understand. I will fire on you if you don’t take off sharpish!”
A high pitched and unbroken “e” rang out of the com, sounding not unlike a kettle with a whistle fit to boil over. “eeeeeesssss reet then ye feckker. Ye’ll be getting ya kill then and a lot more later on I’ll wager.”
The Pegasus started to wheel away and Goatee turned his attention back to the Scout. He was about to charge weapons when his Bayamon shook violently and shield power dropped. The Pegasus had opened up with a turret and left a final word on the matter. Goatee feared it may be more than he was prepared to weather.
He barely had time to check the ships systems before the Scout crept into weapons range. It acted first, opening fire. Goatee recognised the green demons racing from the scout, Beta Plasma Throwers. He threw himself down on the flight stick and the Bayamon pitched into a steep, fast dive. The plasma blasts just scraped by his shields and sucked more life out of them. Goatee checked the shield gauge.
“Fifty seven percent” he said to the void.
His only hope for recovery and counter attack lay in the asteroids. He levered the ship round hard and hit the turbo boosters. The Bayamon kicked like a wild thing and roared back towards the Rainbow Hold. The pursuing scout, no longer the prey, kicked in his own boosters and to Goatee’s amazement it was closing the gap quickly.
Green fire sparkled through space as Goatee weaved to evade. He was so close to cover he could almost taste it.
“Forty eight percent” he said to the void.
Goatee came in straight at an oversized asteroid, pulling back at the last second and skating along the sparkling crystalline surface. He cut the boosters and rode the last of the momentum around to safety. But he knew that safety was fleeting. He quickly looked around the Rainbow Hold, a tight cluster of asteroids glittered and beckoned. Plunging into the depths of the rainbow hold unguided was well known to be suicidal. A pilot might become lost in that cosmic hall of mirrors in the time it took to spit and shine a viewscreen.
Goatee decided to take the chance. Better than ending up a charred cinder, or worse, a unique alien captive of the Argon Secret Service. He drove onwards.
The Scout rounded the asteroid as fast as a comet, hot on Goatee’s contrail. More green fire lit the vacuum and Goatee evaded again. With a sigh of relief he plunged into the dangerous asteroid field, but the scout was close up behind him.
Goatee’s comm. flashed, he was being hailed. He opened the channel but remained silent.
“That’s a superb if somewhat foolhardy strategy ole chap. That’s my speed all up the creek in this asteroid field, I do hope you really know how to handle that rickety beast of yours eh what? Perhaps you will make for some engaging sport?”
Sure enough, the scout had dropped speed to better navigate the obstacle laden battlefield. The two combatants darted back and forth, Goatee evading, the scout hanging on his tail. Meteorites and small rocks bounced harmlessly off Goatee’s shields as he avoided the more deadly plasma fire, yearning to tag him.
Rock and crystal shattered and fogged the way as starry shots impacted around him. Goatee knew he had to level the field more, to come up with some trick now was to save his life. He looked further ahead, a clear corridor of sorts would open up soon. He had an idea. With barely a thought of caution, he shut down the power feed to the aft strafe boosters.
He slid out into a short tunnel of clear space. In one moment he shut down the inertial enforcers and in the next he rammed the forward port strafe drive to maximum. Without slowing the ship spun on its axis. When he could see the scout through his starboard screen he slammed the strafe conduit to reverse and the starboard thrusters slowed his turn.
The scout burst from the asteroids, hungry for a clear shot at the pirate without distraction.
“Tootle pip ole… oh I say!”
Goatee had spun on his axis and the scout was staring straight down four gun barrels. Laser blasts poured into the scout, shaking it badly. The pilot could not risk a sharp evasion and instead relied on shield strength to protect him.
Goatee’s energy reserve went dry and he spun himself back around and hit the turbo booster again.
The com crackled to life, “Astounding play that ole chap, but I’m afraid your pop guns are no match for my superior Argon shielding. Why not pack it in and bail out eh? I give you my word of honour, I won’t blast you to smithereens.”
Goatee checked his target readout and confirmed the scouts boasts, the Bayamon’s lasers has barely dented the scouts schields. Goatee decided to run and was about to make a suicide dive into a lake of asteroid rubble when the universe was suddenly full of blazing red light.
Part 4
Goatee didn’t like the feel of a Pirate Bayamon. The controls didn’t strictly conform to the standard layout. Flying at dock speed was simple enough, the steering yoke and throttle were unambiguous enough. But space combat involved a lot more than steering and cruising. He made a few practice turns and weaved in and out of the dock traffic on his way out of the station.
The thing that concerned him the most was the circuit bypasses available on every ship system. Inertial enforcement, gyroscopic stability, gravity well compensation, deceleration enhancers and even weapon heat lockdown could all be switched off. The things that made space flight easy and safe for squishy and fallible biological beings were incredibly susceptible to a stray elbow. It was quite unlike anything made by legitimate commercial and government shipyards. Goatee calculated the risk inherit in piloting such a craft and smiled.
“What’s life without a little challenge anyway?” he asked the void.
He thought twice about the cramped conditions and tightened the seat straps a little more to make sure he didn’t jiggle around the cabin too much. Shutting down the gyroscopic stabilisers when moving in for the kill would be most embarrassing.
The navigation guide on the cockpit screen imposed a fiery red arrow over the faint blue cross of the HUD crosshairs. Without it he would never find his way out of the Rainbow Hold. That’s what the mission clerk had called the crystalline asteroid field the station was nestled away in. The clerk had then proceeded to make several unsubtle threats to Goatee’s current and future fatherhood prospects should he even so much as get a carbon score on the rented Bayamon.
Goatee was made mindful of the dangers of the Rainbow Hold by the flight tech who led him to his ship. The crystalline growths on the asteroids reflected and refracted most forms of electromagnetic radiation. The effect made it extremely difficult to navigate beyond gravidar. The station had gravitic probes hidden all through the field so they could direct their own ships. Other dangers lurked in the space between asteroids. In particular were Hotspots that formed around the outer regions by the chance intersection of several reflected rays of the pentuplet suns. Some were reputedly so intense they could vapourise a Titan in milliseconds.
As he flew from the station Goatee thought back on what he had just learned. He decided he was more desperate and insane to take on this job than he had ever given himself credit for.
The red navigation arrow piped on to his gravidar steered him true. Slowly but surely, Goatee emerged out of the asteroid field. The cockpit screen went slightly opaque in response to the sudden exposure to all seven of the sector’s suns. Through the torrent of radiation the gravidar stretched its virtual fingers out, searching for the Argon scout. A small blip appeared, the Argon scout craft. Goatee grinned, eased up the throttle and sped towards his prey.
But as he closed, another blip appeared on the gravidar, it was quickly resolved as another pirate ship. It was a Paranid Pegasus by design but heavily modified, Goatee could see the bristling weapon mounts even from a great distance.
The pirate channel on his com crackled to life. A thickly accented Argon voiced bellowed forth.
“Ack ye bastich. Getting you the heck off me mark, thas my ship to be shootin fer matey!”
Goatee took a moment to decipher what he had just heard before replying. ”Ah, This is Bayamon Theta Thirty on mission umm, hang on, five seven zed slash three. I have looting and capture rights on this target. Please respect the….
”FRIKKIN!! Did ye not here wot I is telling ye? Getting the heck out of here or tis the drill for ye. I nowt tha time to be feckin the breeze with ye. Be off ye lubber!”
Goatee started to get the idea, “I’ll have you know that I am backed by the Cartel station in my action. Maybe you know Torch, she could arrange to have you caged with a large and overly friendly Split for your insults to one of her friends you know!”
The bellowing laughter over the channel did not inspire Goatee’c confidence. “Ye a reet mouthy speck in ye? Aye, I noo Tarch, beggest flappa this side a Seizewell. Heck to er, Heck to ye, now ken ye, **** OFF!!”
Goatee decided he didn’t have time to take this lesson in pirate politics. The Argon scout had turned a tight circle and was now on direct approach. It then occurred to Goatee, a direct approach was what pirate etiquette and politics was all about.
Goatee cleared his throat then proceeded, “Ok then, listen up you Split tongued goon. I’m closer to the mark and I got the rights. You want to fight it over, fine, I’m sure my Cartel buddies will be really pleased to see you claim jumping on another pirate’s kill. So you can be getting the ‘****’ off MY mark, understand. I will fire on you if you don’t take off sharpish!”
A high pitched and unbroken “e” rang out of the com, sounding not unlike a kettle with a whistle fit to boil over. “eeeeeesssss reet then ye feckker. Ye’ll be getting ya kill then and a lot more later on I’ll wager.”
The Pegasus started to wheel away and Goatee turned his attention back to the Scout. He was about to charge weapons when his Bayamon shook violently and shield power dropped. The Pegasus had opened up with a turret and left a final word on the matter. Goatee feared it may be more than he was prepared to weather.
He barely had time to check the ships systems before the Scout crept into weapons range. It acted first, opening fire. Goatee recognised the green demons racing from the scout, Beta Plasma Throwers. He threw himself down on the flight stick and the Bayamon pitched into a steep, fast dive. The plasma blasts just scraped by his shields and sucked more life out of them. Goatee checked the shield gauge.
“Fifty seven percent” he said to the void.
His only hope for recovery and counter attack lay in the asteroids. He levered the ship round hard and hit the turbo boosters. The Bayamon kicked like a wild thing and roared back towards the Rainbow Hold. The pursuing scout, no longer the prey, kicked in his own boosters and to Goatee’s amazement it was closing the gap quickly.
Green fire sparkled through space as Goatee weaved to evade. He was so close to cover he could almost taste it.
“Forty eight percent” he said to the void.
Goatee came in straight at an oversized asteroid, pulling back at the last second and skating along the sparkling crystalline surface. He cut the boosters and rode the last of the momentum around to safety. But he knew that safety was fleeting. He quickly looked around the Rainbow Hold, a tight cluster of asteroids glittered and beckoned. Plunging into the depths of the rainbow hold unguided was well known to be suicidal. A pilot might become lost in that cosmic hall of mirrors in the time it took to spit and shine a viewscreen.
Goatee decided to take the chance. Better than ending up a charred cinder, or worse, a unique alien captive of the Argon Secret Service. He drove onwards.
The Scout rounded the asteroid as fast as a comet, hot on Goatee’s contrail. More green fire lit the vacuum and Goatee evaded again. With a sigh of relief he plunged into the dangerous asteroid field, but the scout was close up behind him.
Goatee’s comm. flashed, he was being hailed. He opened the channel but remained silent.
“That’s a superb if somewhat foolhardy strategy ole chap. That’s my speed all up the creek in this asteroid field, I do hope you really know how to handle that rickety beast of yours eh what? Perhaps you will make for some engaging sport?”
Sure enough, the scout had dropped speed to better navigate the obstacle laden battlefield. The two combatants darted back and forth, Goatee evading, the scout hanging on his tail. Meteorites and small rocks bounced harmlessly off Goatee’s shields as he avoided the more deadly plasma fire, yearning to tag him.
Rock and crystal shattered and fogged the way as starry shots impacted around him. Goatee knew he had to level the field more, to come up with some trick now was to save his life. He looked further ahead, a clear corridor of sorts would open up soon. He had an idea. With barely a thought of caution, he shut down the power feed to the aft strafe boosters.
He slid out into a short tunnel of clear space. In one moment he shut down the inertial enforcers and in the next he rammed the forward port strafe drive to maximum. Without slowing the ship spun on its axis. When he could see the scout through his starboard screen he slammed the strafe conduit to reverse and the starboard thrusters slowed his turn.
The scout burst from the asteroids, hungry for a clear shot at the pirate without distraction.
“Tootle pip ole… oh I say!”
Goatee had spun on his axis and the scout was staring straight down four gun barrels. Laser blasts poured into the scout, shaking it badly. The pilot could not risk a sharp evasion and instead relied on shield strength to protect him.
Goatee’s energy reserve went dry and he spun himself back around and hit the turbo booster again.
The com crackled to life, “Astounding play that ole chap, but I’m afraid your pop guns are no match for my superior Argon shielding. Why not pack it in and bail out eh? I give you my word of honour, I won’t blast you to smithereens.”
Goatee checked his target readout and confirmed the scouts boasts, the Bayamon’s lasers has barely dented the scouts schields. Goatee decided to run and was about to make a suicide dive into a lake of asteroid rubble when the universe was suddenly full of blazing red light.
Bit the ...... fifth. Short but tasty.
Part 5
Goatee’s eyes stung, like they had been doused with nostrop. He blinked, once, twice. He couldn’t see a thing. His hands fumbled out, looking for the inertial enforcer controls. He found it easily, familiar with its location. He flicked it back on and the engines cut in, slowing him down. Now that he was flying blind through an asteroid field, the tricked up Bayamon was more a hindrance than a help. All the safety devices installed in every legitimate ship throughout the universe were made for times like this, he felt lucky he was able to switch them back on.
The risk inherit in piloting such a craft was no longer to Goatee’s liking.
The comm crackled to life. It was his adversary “I say, how very interesting yes? It would seem your laser blasts have been reflected back on us. I can barely see a thing, that was quite a flare you managed to create. You must be using gamma class lasers, that is so last decade don’t you know old chap. Not at all of concern to my shields of course, but that rum flare has added a certain diverting twist to our sport yes? Now, speaking of concerns, what is of concern to me is, has your craft any instruments for sense fighting?”
Goatee didn’t like the sound of that. Sense fighting. Even blinded the Argon Ace still indicated an advantage. Goatee needed to see, the sooner the better.
“You see old chap, we Argon have learnt many useful tricks during our wars with the Xenon.”
Goatee wasn’t listening, he was concentrating very hard.
“The Xenon are somewhat of a relentless enemy. Their ruthlessness and tenacity are quite renowned throughout all the sectors. Also of particular note is their ingenuity. For example, some years ago those crafty clockwork fellows deployed a new weapon that was as ingenious as it was simple.”
Goatee’s eyes shifted, rods and cones slipped backward, spirals and points moved forward.
“That marvellous new technology was a simple cluster of magnetically focussed broad spectrum beam flares. But of course, that cluster had no ill effect on mechanical Xenon senses at all, but mere flesh and blood pilots like you and I would be blinded by them. Though the effect was temporary it was suffice to cause the deaths of many pilots. It was quite the quandary for Argon intelligence services. Not one strategist could mount an effective defence against such a diabolical and cowardly assault.”
Goatee slowly opened his eyes, for a moment all was blank until slowly, very slowly, the cockpit controls resolved themselves into lavender tinged shadows. The ultra violet spectrum was opening up to him.
“Naturally, where the greatest minds could devise no adequate solution the common man stepped in with their own practical field experience. Hence sense fighting was born along with a variety of implements to support it. Flying blind was no longer such a burden. Let me give you an example. Mass shadow pinpoints on holographic gravidar would have an interesting side effect on flesh. When one places their fist into the hologram the mass indicators could not manifest due to the obstruction. But they would manifest as points of heat. So, with some practice one could feel their way, as it were, around their immediate environment. There are other devices one can use to help out of course, but shall we find out what they are as we go, it would be ever so more entertaining for me and frustrating for you.”
Goatee was listening now, hoping the foppish Ace would reveal some more tactical hints. His vision was yet to clear beyond the edge of the cockpit. Gradually, ever so gradually, it did.
A ballet of lavender arcs, dancing beams and dark purple clouds danced through space. The asteroids and their crystal coats reflected the UV rays, sparkling and shining as hordes of sunlight played across their surfaces. The forms bloated and pulsated slightly as refraction also occurred, making them alive and changing like a rain of lava drifting through zero-G. All was soft chaos around him but there was enough permanence to find ones way, Goatee was grateful for that. It was a visual wonder of the Crystal Hold that Goatee felt privileged to discover. But despite the beauty of the new dancing light show before him, there was business to attend to.
Feeling out the near invisible controls of the cockpit, he checked the ships systems. He had no way of knowing what his shield status was, but he was sure the ship was stationary because of the analogue throttle being fully pulled back. The safety systems had indeed brought the ship to a stop.
“Come come now my pirate foe, shall we dance some more?”, asked the Ace. A swell of confidence filled Goatee.
He flipped the comm switch and spoke, “Sorry me old boot, but I daresay you just lost your advantage.”
“Ah, radio lock. Excellent, Thanks ever so much.” Goatee cursed his overconfidence and glared out at space. Just on the edge of vision, he caught sight of a dark shadow drifting slowly past his flank. Pale nebulous blobs detached themselves from the shadow and darted toward his ship. Goatee reached for the throttle, but too late. The plasma blasts filled the vacuum around him and pummelled his shields.
The ship trembled but Goatee managed a burst from his engines, moving out of the line of fire. At that moment Goatee wished he was flying a Khat hunter class Harpoon with a fully optioned UV interior. He was sure that light were flashing warnings all through the cockpit of the Bayamon. Ships systems were failing but he had no idea which ones. The ships computer sounded a verbal warning, “Shield’s Failing”, Goatee needed to escape.
He gained his bearings and deciding to head straight for the nearest asteroid for cover then double back to the field edge. Form there he could get help finding his way back to the Cartel station. He needed to move fast though, one more blast from the Ace and his ship would disintegrate.
He reached for the throttle controls and slammed them up while holding down the booster switch. The Bayamon lurched, shuddered, lay still, then rocked as the engines failed and spat out the main plasma manifold through the exhaust vents. The manifold exploded, pasting fire over the aft of the ship. Goatee cursed his bad luck as a chuckle sounded in the cabin.
“I say, that’s quite a heat flare showing up on my Infra Red missile lock. Thanks ever so much for the sport? Enjoy your trip, give my best to your gods eh? Tootle pip!”
Goatee heard the shields fail and the sizzle of mosquito missile impacts on steel bubbling angrily. Without thinking Goatee slammed down the eject button as sparks flew through the cockpit. The Bayamon belched fire and he rode the wave of death out of the cockpit and into open space.
Part 5
Goatee’s eyes stung, like they had been doused with nostrop. He blinked, once, twice. He couldn’t see a thing. His hands fumbled out, looking for the inertial enforcer controls. He found it easily, familiar with its location. He flicked it back on and the engines cut in, slowing him down. Now that he was flying blind through an asteroid field, the tricked up Bayamon was more a hindrance than a help. All the safety devices installed in every legitimate ship throughout the universe were made for times like this, he felt lucky he was able to switch them back on.
The risk inherit in piloting such a craft was no longer to Goatee’s liking.
The comm crackled to life. It was his adversary “I say, how very interesting yes? It would seem your laser blasts have been reflected back on us. I can barely see a thing, that was quite a flare you managed to create. You must be using gamma class lasers, that is so last decade don’t you know old chap. Not at all of concern to my shields of course, but that rum flare has added a certain diverting twist to our sport yes? Now, speaking of concerns, what is of concern to me is, has your craft any instruments for sense fighting?”
Goatee didn’t like the sound of that. Sense fighting. Even blinded the Argon Ace still indicated an advantage. Goatee needed to see, the sooner the better.
“You see old chap, we Argon have learnt many useful tricks during our wars with the Xenon.”
Goatee wasn’t listening, he was concentrating very hard.
“The Xenon are somewhat of a relentless enemy. Their ruthlessness and tenacity are quite renowned throughout all the sectors. Also of particular note is their ingenuity. For example, some years ago those crafty clockwork fellows deployed a new weapon that was as ingenious as it was simple.”
Goatee’s eyes shifted, rods and cones slipped backward, spirals and points moved forward.
“That marvellous new technology was a simple cluster of magnetically focussed broad spectrum beam flares. But of course, that cluster had no ill effect on mechanical Xenon senses at all, but mere flesh and blood pilots like you and I would be blinded by them. Though the effect was temporary it was suffice to cause the deaths of many pilots. It was quite the quandary for Argon intelligence services. Not one strategist could mount an effective defence against such a diabolical and cowardly assault.”
Goatee slowly opened his eyes, for a moment all was blank until slowly, very slowly, the cockpit controls resolved themselves into lavender tinged shadows. The ultra violet spectrum was opening up to him.
“Naturally, where the greatest minds could devise no adequate solution the common man stepped in with their own practical field experience. Hence sense fighting was born along with a variety of implements to support it. Flying blind was no longer such a burden. Let me give you an example. Mass shadow pinpoints on holographic gravidar would have an interesting side effect on flesh. When one places their fist into the hologram the mass indicators could not manifest due to the obstruction. But they would manifest as points of heat. So, with some practice one could feel their way, as it were, around their immediate environment. There are other devices one can use to help out of course, but shall we find out what they are as we go, it would be ever so more entertaining for me and frustrating for you.”
Goatee was listening now, hoping the foppish Ace would reveal some more tactical hints. His vision was yet to clear beyond the edge of the cockpit. Gradually, ever so gradually, it did.
A ballet of lavender arcs, dancing beams and dark purple clouds danced through space. The asteroids and their crystal coats reflected the UV rays, sparkling and shining as hordes of sunlight played across their surfaces. The forms bloated and pulsated slightly as refraction also occurred, making them alive and changing like a rain of lava drifting through zero-G. All was soft chaos around him but there was enough permanence to find ones way, Goatee was grateful for that. It was a visual wonder of the Crystal Hold that Goatee felt privileged to discover. But despite the beauty of the new dancing light show before him, there was business to attend to.
Feeling out the near invisible controls of the cockpit, he checked the ships systems. He had no way of knowing what his shield status was, but he was sure the ship was stationary because of the analogue throttle being fully pulled back. The safety systems had indeed brought the ship to a stop.
“Come come now my pirate foe, shall we dance some more?”, asked the Ace. A swell of confidence filled Goatee.
He flipped the comm switch and spoke, “Sorry me old boot, but I daresay you just lost your advantage.”
“Ah, radio lock. Excellent, Thanks ever so much.” Goatee cursed his overconfidence and glared out at space. Just on the edge of vision, he caught sight of a dark shadow drifting slowly past his flank. Pale nebulous blobs detached themselves from the shadow and darted toward his ship. Goatee reached for the throttle, but too late. The plasma blasts filled the vacuum around him and pummelled his shields.
The ship trembled but Goatee managed a burst from his engines, moving out of the line of fire. At that moment Goatee wished he was flying a Khat hunter class Harpoon with a fully optioned UV interior. He was sure that light were flashing warnings all through the cockpit of the Bayamon. Ships systems were failing but he had no idea which ones. The ships computer sounded a verbal warning, “Shield’s Failing”, Goatee needed to escape.
He gained his bearings and deciding to head straight for the nearest asteroid for cover then double back to the field edge. Form there he could get help finding his way back to the Cartel station. He needed to move fast though, one more blast from the Ace and his ship would disintegrate.
He reached for the throttle controls and slammed them up while holding down the booster switch. The Bayamon lurched, shuddered, lay still, then rocked as the engines failed and spat out the main plasma manifold through the exhaust vents. The manifold exploded, pasting fire over the aft of the ship. Goatee cursed his bad luck as a chuckle sounded in the cabin.
“I say, that’s quite a heat flare showing up on my Infra Red missile lock. Thanks ever so much for the sport? Enjoy your trip, give my best to your gods eh? Tootle pip!”
Goatee heard the shields fail and the sizzle of mosquito missile impacts on steel bubbling angrily. Without thinking Goatee slammed down the eject button as sparks flew through the cockpit. The Bayamon belched fire and he rode the wave of death out of the cockpit and into open space.
Goatee dared not open his eyes. He was sure to be spinning, wildly out of control. One look and the feeling of vertigo would make him lose his lunch. He felt forces play over his spacesuit and make it wrench against his weightless form. Suddenly the hum of EVA thrusters filled his ears. Slowly, ever so slowly, the spinning slowed and he juddered to a halt. The suits AI had achieved inertia, a return to stability. Goatee was thankful he hadn’t slammed into an asteroid or drowned in his own vomit from the spinning.
“Inertia achieved” his suit informed him well after the fact. Goatee opened his eyes. He was still looking in layers of ultra violet. He deployed the suits mouth toggle, gripping it gingerly with his pointed teeth. He performed a slow rotation, searching his surrounds. He spotted a dark shadow rippling through space, getting bigger and bigger. It was as he feared, the ace was coming for him. Goatee kept spinning, looking for cover.
He was too far from any asteroid. He had no where to run.
As he spun, searching for options, a flash of light caught his eye then was gone. Goatee slowed then reversed his spin, moving at a more leisurely pace. The light appeared again, stayed longer, then vanished once more. Goatee realised what it was.
He had a chance.
He toggled up the control for the EVA thrusters. Slowly, intolerably, he accelerated. The EVA pushed with its puny rockets to propel him forward towards his target. Goatee looked for the ace, sure enough, he caught sight of the black shadow coming around, tracking him. Goatee checked his bearings, he was cutting it close but he may just make it to his objective in time.
The ace came closer and closer. Goatee moved faster and faster. His suit hit top speed. Goatee felt his frustration increase. He could see now, he wouldn’t make it in time. He thrashed his legs uselessly as the suit chugged through space. The ace kept turning, getting closer and closer. The scout ship was within firing range now, Goatee’s time was up.
But the ace still came on, closing the gap all the while. A wave of relief played over Goatee, the ace didn’t open fire. Goatee guessed he was going to be taken prisoner instead. He willed the suit to go faster though it did not, he almost there. The ace crept along, five hundred metres, four hundred metres, three hundred, one hundred, fifty metres….
WHAM
The ace entered the hotspot that Goatee had been lucky enough to see. The trap had been sprung. Goatee had just managed to get close enough and coax the ace through the right point in space. Lightning caged the scout craft as its shields took a battering from the focussed energy of the pentuplet suns. An electromagnetic whine reverberated through space as the scouts power plant was taxed well beyond its safety limits. The scouts shields, lit by the onslaught, visibly bulged and contorted, then collapsed, just as it passed through the other side of the hot spot. The craft was exposed for only a microsecond, but it was enough to set the scout ablaze.
The sheen of stellar dust owned by all spacecraft crackled and smoked, bathing the small ship in black smoke. A coolant conduit blew and sprayed red hot fluid into space. To Goatee, the black shadow now passing harmlessly by him roiling like a storm cloud. Only now did he realise that the ache in his eyes was gone. He concentrated and his vision shifted, down through wavelengths into the visible spectrum. He could see now in glorious colour, a trail of glowing carbon embers indicated the course of the scout craft. It listed and spun slowly from the force of venting coolant, but it was slowing noticeably. Steering thrusters spat in time and shoved the stricken vessel into a state of inertia.
Goatee hit his suit thrusters and closed with the craft. If he was in luck, as a Khat usually was, the ship would still be able to fly.
Lights came on in the cockpit and he could see movement, Goatee adjusted his course, aiming for the back of the ship. He started to panic. With the pilot still alive, he would not be able to take the ship. The coolant leak guttered out suddenly. Goatee felt his shoulders hunch in the suit. He found himself, once again, willing more speed from his miserable puttering EVA thrusters. If he could at least make it to the ship, he could tether himself on and ride it back to civilisation. If it left now he would be stranded, dead from suffocation.
The ship didn’t move. Goatee engaged retro thrust and brought himself neatly to a stop at the ships rear docking hatch. He hoped the ace hadn’t spotted his approach, because now he had to plan carefully. He had to take the ship. It was slightly larger than an Argon Discoverer, almost an M4 class fighter craft. From what he had seen it packed the speed of a Paranid Pegasus and the firepower of a Argon Nova. Goatee guessed that some sort of new power plant design gave it the energy needed to power both systems at once.
The ship would more than make up for the lost Bayamon. A predatory mood slipped languidly over Goatee and he started to move along the hull. He took notice of the extensive burn damage from the hot spot. It had sculpted black furrows across the alloy skin. Goatee noticed the light from the cockpit waver as the ace pilot moved around inside, performing system repairs. On closer inspection he noticed the cockpit window was also coated in a shadow of carbon ash.
Goatee made his way to the starboard wing. He was still in luck. The weapons pod had ruptured and the a mass driver magazine was exposed. Goatee looked deeper and marvelled at the weapons loadout. Apart from the mass drivers as well as Beta Plasma throwers he also saw multiple placements for additional missile tubes. It wasn’t a ship, it was a weapon with a seat attached, made only to kill.
Goatee reached in, careful not to disengage any circuitry, and gently pulled out an ordnance pod from the mass driver magazine. He gave it a cursory glance, there was no apparent damage. All four electronically triggered rounds sat snugly in their seats, waiting for an electric charge to set them running and free. The contact heads for the charge were safe under a plastic cap.
A plan stirred in Goatee’s head. He pulled a tether from the hip pouch of his spacesuit and pressed its clamp to the hull. A magnetic field fixed the clamp soundlessly into place. Goatee slipped his gloved hand into his spacesuit’s tool holster at his belly. He grabbed whatever he could find and carefully pulled his hand back out.
He perused the contents of his hand. A wrapper with a few spaceweed root stubs, some worn plastic credit chits and a small box. He flicked all but the box to the void. Inside the box was a ring held in a red velvet base. Gold arches pushed out of the lush scarlet field to branch out and weave a thick setting under a rainbow crystalline centrepiece. The artwork was organic and pleasing to the eye. Caught by its beauty, Goatee turned the box so the ring would better catch the light. A ray of sunlight hit the crystal and small blue sparks started dancing in it. Goatee now noticed the crystal was hollow and the light had set a reaction in place, the minute machinery in the base of the setting was activated by it.
A hologram formed in the ring. A flower bud, red and warm. A rose. Even with his razor sharp vision, Goatee could not find fault in the meticulously crafted hologram art. He wondered at the skill that could produce such a thing. He felt the artist would be one of the few beings in the universe that the Khat race would declare untouchable, for value beyond prey.
Goatee remembered that Rouge had passed this ring to him, to give to Torch. If he could, he would have felt a pang of guilt at forgetting that important personal mission. For now, he realised that the ring was exactly what he needed.
He released the tether and pulled himself to the edge of the cockpit window. Through his gloves, he felt the vibrations of the ships engines powering up. He had scant moments to act.
He peered into the cockpit, obscured by its blackened coating. He could see the ace pilots legs sticking out of a computer access panel. The ace was hard at work. Quickly, Goatee tethered himself to the hull again and wedged the salvo cylinder between the cockpit window and its frame. He removed the plastic cap to expose the contact heads. He quickly checked inside the cockpit, the ace pilot was still working away at repairs.
He pulled out the ring and carefully twisted the loop from the setting. Two battery contacts were exposed in the base of the centrepiece. They would power the computer chip contained within that relayed the incoming light into the hologram form. Goatee hoped the battery had enough charge. He braced himself and waited, waited for the ace to crawl out of the access panel. As an afterthought, he scrawled with his finger at the blackened coating on the cockpit window.
Inside the ship, the pilot ace worked away industriously. He finished rerouting the starboard cooling lines into the port engine intakes. He said a Goner prayer, then opened the coolant channels. He was satisfied as the control panel before him lit up green. The ship’s computer confirmed all flight systems were operational and started powering up the port engine. Pleased with his quick repair work, the ace clambered out into the cockpit. He scanned his eyes across the cockpit controls. All systems were lighting up green. Ready to go. With a thankful sigh, he took up his flight stick and looked out at the stars.
Something was written on the cockpit window.
“You Lose”
A small “Eep” escaped the ace’s throat moments before a thunderous crack sounded. Time slowed for the ace, he became painfully aware of every moment. Piercing alarms sounded as a spiders web of silver lines raced across the cockpit window. He didn’t even start reaching for his spacesuit helmet before the cabin pressure exploited its chance for freedom. The force of escaping air threw aside the cockpit window in a spray of shards and the ships atmosphere raced out into the void.
So did the ace.
“Inertia achieved” his suit informed him well after the fact. Goatee opened his eyes. He was still looking in layers of ultra violet. He deployed the suits mouth toggle, gripping it gingerly with his pointed teeth. He performed a slow rotation, searching his surrounds. He spotted a dark shadow rippling through space, getting bigger and bigger. It was as he feared, the ace was coming for him. Goatee kept spinning, looking for cover.
He was too far from any asteroid. He had no where to run.
As he spun, searching for options, a flash of light caught his eye then was gone. Goatee slowed then reversed his spin, moving at a more leisurely pace. The light appeared again, stayed longer, then vanished once more. Goatee realised what it was.
He had a chance.
He toggled up the control for the EVA thrusters. Slowly, intolerably, he accelerated. The EVA pushed with its puny rockets to propel him forward towards his target. Goatee looked for the ace, sure enough, he caught sight of the black shadow coming around, tracking him. Goatee checked his bearings, he was cutting it close but he may just make it to his objective in time.
The ace came closer and closer. Goatee moved faster and faster. His suit hit top speed. Goatee felt his frustration increase. He could see now, he wouldn’t make it in time. He thrashed his legs uselessly as the suit chugged through space. The ace kept turning, getting closer and closer. The scout ship was within firing range now, Goatee’s time was up.
But the ace still came on, closing the gap all the while. A wave of relief played over Goatee, the ace didn’t open fire. Goatee guessed he was going to be taken prisoner instead. He willed the suit to go faster though it did not, he almost there. The ace crept along, five hundred metres, four hundred metres, three hundred, one hundred, fifty metres….
WHAM
The ace entered the hotspot that Goatee had been lucky enough to see. The trap had been sprung. Goatee had just managed to get close enough and coax the ace through the right point in space. Lightning caged the scout craft as its shields took a battering from the focussed energy of the pentuplet suns. An electromagnetic whine reverberated through space as the scouts power plant was taxed well beyond its safety limits. The scouts shields, lit by the onslaught, visibly bulged and contorted, then collapsed, just as it passed through the other side of the hot spot. The craft was exposed for only a microsecond, but it was enough to set the scout ablaze.
The sheen of stellar dust owned by all spacecraft crackled and smoked, bathing the small ship in black smoke. A coolant conduit blew and sprayed red hot fluid into space. To Goatee, the black shadow now passing harmlessly by him roiling like a storm cloud. Only now did he realise that the ache in his eyes was gone. He concentrated and his vision shifted, down through wavelengths into the visible spectrum. He could see now in glorious colour, a trail of glowing carbon embers indicated the course of the scout craft. It listed and spun slowly from the force of venting coolant, but it was slowing noticeably. Steering thrusters spat in time and shoved the stricken vessel into a state of inertia.
Goatee hit his suit thrusters and closed with the craft. If he was in luck, as a Khat usually was, the ship would still be able to fly.
Lights came on in the cockpit and he could see movement, Goatee adjusted his course, aiming for the back of the ship. He started to panic. With the pilot still alive, he would not be able to take the ship. The coolant leak guttered out suddenly. Goatee felt his shoulders hunch in the suit. He found himself, once again, willing more speed from his miserable puttering EVA thrusters. If he could at least make it to the ship, he could tether himself on and ride it back to civilisation. If it left now he would be stranded, dead from suffocation.
The ship didn’t move. Goatee engaged retro thrust and brought himself neatly to a stop at the ships rear docking hatch. He hoped the ace hadn’t spotted his approach, because now he had to plan carefully. He had to take the ship. It was slightly larger than an Argon Discoverer, almost an M4 class fighter craft. From what he had seen it packed the speed of a Paranid Pegasus and the firepower of a Argon Nova. Goatee guessed that some sort of new power plant design gave it the energy needed to power both systems at once.
The ship would more than make up for the lost Bayamon. A predatory mood slipped languidly over Goatee and he started to move along the hull. He took notice of the extensive burn damage from the hot spot. It had sculpted black furrows across the alloy skin. Goatee noticed the light from the cockpit waver as the ace pilot moved around inside, performing system repairs. On closer inspection he noticed the cockpit window was also coated in a shadow of carbon ash.
Goatee made his way to the starboard wing. He was still in luck. The weapons pod had ruptured and the a mass driver magazine was exposed. Goatee looked deeper and marvelled at the weapons loadout. Apart from the mass drivers as well as Beta Plasma throwers he also saw multiple placements for additional missile tubes. It wasn’t a ship, it was a weapon with a seat attached, made only to kill.
Goatee reached in, careful not to disengage any circuitry, and gently pulled out an ordnance pod from the mass driver magazine. He gave it a cursory glance, there was no apparent damage. All four electronically triggered rounds sat snugly in their seats, waiting for an electric charge to set them running and free. The contact heads for the charge were safe under a plastic cap.
A plan stirred in Goatee’s head. He pulled a tether from the hip pouch of his spacesuit and pressed its clamp to the hull. A magnetic field fixed the clamp soundlessly into place. Goatee slipped his gloved hand into his spacesuit’s tool holster at his belly. He grabbed whatever he could find and carefully pulled his hand back out.
He perused the contents of his hand. A wrapper with a few spaceweed root stubs, some worn plastic credit chits and a small box. He flicked all but the box to the void. Inside the box was a ring held in a red velvet base. Gold arches pushed out of the lush scarlet field to branch out and weave a thick setting under a rainbow crystalline centrepiece. The artwork was organic and pleasing to the eye. Caught by its beauty, Goatee turned the box so the ring would better catch the light. A ray of sunlight hit the crystal and small blue sparks started dancing in it. Goatee now noticed the crystal was hollow and the light had set a reaction in place, the minute machinery in the base of the setting was activated by it.
A hologram formed in the ring. A flower bud, red and warm. A rose. Even with his razor sharp vision, Goatee could not find fault in the meticulously crafted hologram art. He wondered at the skill that could produce such a thing. He felt the artist would be one of the few beings in the universe that the Khat race would declare untouchable, for value beyond prey.
Goatee remembered that Rouge had passed this ring to him, to give to Torch. If he could, he would have felt a pang of guilt at forgetting that important personal mission. For now, he realised that the ring was exactly what he needed.
He released the tether and pulled himself to the edge of the cockpit window. Through his gloves, he felt the vibrations of the ships engines powering up. He had scant moments to act.
He peered into the cockpit, obscured by its blackened coating. He could see the ace pilots legs sticking out of a computer access panel. The ace was hard at work. Quickly, Goatee tethered himself to the hull again and wedged the salvo cylinder between the cockpit window and its frame. He removed the plastic cap to expose the contact heads. He quickly checked inside the cockpit, the ace pilot was still working away at repairs.
He pulled out the ring and carefully twisted the loop from the setting. Two battery contacts were exposed in the base of the centrepiece. They would power the computer chip contained within that relayed the incoming light into the hologram form. Goatee hoped the battery had enough charge. He braced himself and waited, waited for the ace to crawl out of the access panel. As an afterthought, he scrawled with his finger at the blackened coating on the cockpit window.
Inside the ship, the pilot ace worked away industriously. He finished rerouting the starboard cooling lines into the port engine intakes. He said a Goner prayer, then opened the coolant channels. He was satisfied as the control panel before him lit up green. The ship’s computer confirmed all flight systems were operational and started powering up the port engine. Pleased with his quick repair work, the ace clambered out into the cockpit. He scanned his eyes across the cockpit controls. All systems were lighting up green. Ready to go. With a thankful sigh, he took up his flight stick and looked out at the stars.
Something was written on the cockpit window.
“You Lose”
A small “Eep” escaped the ace’s throat moments before a thunderous crack sounded. Time slowed for the ace, he became painfully aware of every moment. Piercing alarms sounded as a spiders web of silver lines raced across the cockpit window. He didn’t even start reaching for his spacesuit helmet before the cabin pressure exploited its chance for freedom. The force of escaping air threw aside the cockpit window in a spray of shards and the ships atmosphere raced out into the void.
So did the ace.
WARNING: people beat each other up messily and get eaten by aliens in this one.
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The strange scout craft limped its way across the dry dock. Goatee slid the throttle down slowly and came to a comfortable stop. He unclipped his helmet and a rush of foul, stale air escaped. He drew in a fresh breath and let out a bellow of relief.
He had been fortunate, as always. He had cleared the Asteroid field in the souped up scout and managed to find a Cartel patrol and convince them not to kill him. He dropped a few names and they were happy to lead him back to the base as a favour. The air supply in his spacesuit had just managed to make it all the way, another lucky stroke.
His ears still rang from the verbal abuse of the control tower boss, the man had not been happy that Goatee had lost the rented Bayamon. Goatee certainly didn’t look forward to Torch receiving the bill for it either. He hoped he could sell on the scout soon, maybe he would be lucky enough to have credits left over once he settled his debts.
As he stepped down from the cockpit, he cast an appraising eye over the scout. It was beat up all the way to hell and back. Goatee chewed at his lower lip nervously. He guessed a sale price in his head then decided to avoid Torch for a few days.
His pondering was disturbed by a whisper of movement behind him. A hint of someone being stealthy. Goatee’s neck hairs prickled and he poised to turn.
Too late.
A shiv slid without friction between his ribs and out again. It was pain like none he had felt before and his knees involuntarily buckled. Fire spread through his back and into his belly. He crashed to the floor.
Despite the pain he rolled over and looked up as his assailant.
‘Eeeeeees, lookin ere lads. Lookin at tha smarty kitty cat will ye. Ye got a little saddle pain in ye back wee kitty?!”
Goatee recognised the voice. It was the pirate who wanted to steal his target. The man was Argon. Short, squat and muscled like an Argnu bull. He wore stained and patchy orange flight pants and black leather boots. He was shirtless, showing the swirling patterns of tattoos on his chest and arms. Only his head was unmarked by needle ink. He was bald and he held a blood daubed shiv in one hand and a look of angry glee in his eyes.
“It’ll be a fair ‘n’ balmy day in hell before Scru the Brute let a reet pillock like you tek is kills. Ye stoofed now ye furry ****, aye.”
Goatee could barely breath let alone reply. Shifting weight to his good side he tried to push himself backwards and away. Scru grasped Goatee tight round an ankle and with a grunt, dragged him back out into the open. Blood streaked the steel plate decking.
In the open Goatee knew he was finished. His back had started to throb and his hands shook slightly. His adrenaline was kicking in. A boot buried itself in his side and the wound belched pain again. Another boot connected with the side of his head and Goatee saw stars.
Blows started to rain down on him. The best he could do was cover his head with his arms and try to keep his wound on the ground as the beating continued. Scru was obviously not alone. Goatee wasn’t sure how many men surrounded him but it felt like a million.
After what seemed like an age, the beating stopped. Goatee’ s heart continued to pump adrenaline to hold back the pain. But there was not yet enough in his bloodstream for him to move, his body remained paralysed from the shock.
Goatee peeked out. He expected to see the men gloating over him. But they had turned away, focused on some distant object. He shifted slightly, wincing from the pain, to see past them.
There stood Torch.
“Don’t you gitwangs realise you need to take a number? This guy owes me a lot of money”, she said. The men turned to Scru for guidance.
Scru shifted slightly. “Ees tha a fact lassie? Tellin ye what, ye can sell the meat left o’er when we is dun. How’s tha sound?”
Torch rolled her eyes, “Typical bloody men” she said and took a step forward. Some of the men took a step back in turn, but Scru stayed planted on the spot.
As Torch continued to speak her hands strayed to her hips. “Look little man, I’ll cut to the point to make it easier for you. That wasn’t a request. This is a Cartel base, I am a Cartel pirate and you are not. When I say what shall be, that’s what will be done. I am the kelda around here Scru and you are just ant. I’m sure you know what happens to people when they take Cartel on so why don’t you and your bum chums run along while your kneecaps are still intact hmm?”
The men shifted uneasily but Scru was yet to be cowed.
“Tha so issit missus? So telling me, where be ye gun? Ye shipmates? Wha is a wee lass like you gunna be doin?”
A smile split Torch’s face. “Please, do me a favour. Find out!” She took another step forward.
Scru spat at her, “Eel be snappin me fist off in ye face if ye be gittin in me way. Now take arf ya hag.”
“Thanks” said Torch as leapt forward.
“Git er lads!” Scru shouted.
After a moments hesitation the men rushed forward.
Torch moved as smooth as glass as she crouched low and kick out sideways. Her foot connected square with the first mans knee and her whole body weight forced it backwards with a satisfying crunch and crackle.
As the man collapsed forward in a screaming heap she rode the last of her momentum and shifted into a roll, turned once and came up like a shot of lightning. The next man barely had time to flinch before her rising form jabbed upwards with a knee and buried it under his chin. He fell backwards from the force of the blow, choking noises emitting from his throat.
Torch landed lightly on her feet. Two men were left, approaching more cautiously now. Scru remained where he was, smirking all the while. The men drew knives. Torch stepped back lightly to give herself some space.
She pulled double curved blades from sheaths on her back. The glint of blue steel wiped the smiles from their faces. They stood uneasily, unsure how to proceed.
Scru grew impatient and the cries of pain from his fallen cohorts did not bolster his mood. “**** sake ye big puffs, git in and have tha hag!” He stepped forward, grabbed one of the men by the scruff of the neck and threw him at her.
The man stumbled headlong, his knife waving back and forth clumsily. Torch responded, so effortlessly that time seemed to slow. She moved in towards the man coming at her and brushed aside his wavering blade. She brought her elbow up from the tail end of her parry, the man blundered into it, stopping abruptly and dropping as his nose collapsed from the impact.
Torch inclined her head slightly to catch sight of the other man from the corner of her eye. He had circled her and was rushing in from behind, knife raised high to plant a decisive blow. She whipped her free arm backwards in the blink of an eye and her second blade flew free in the air. It buried itself by half in the mans neck.
He did not stop moving forward however. In his final moments, riding a wave of shock, he tackled her. He was the heavier fighter and Torch cried out as his weight bore her to the ground.
They struggled for a moment as he bled his last. Torch struggled to get her knife arm free and deliver a final strike. He stopped moving and his grip on her released. She almost breathed a sigh of relief but then she felt a foot come down on her. Then another, and another. She tried in vain to turn and roll away but she was pinned. The men stood over her, growling in pain and anger. The bloodied nose of one dripped in her eyes and blurred her vision. She blinked and shook her head to clear her vision but it was no good. She felt their weight settle on her as they knelt down, she felt their hands start to pummel her. Blinded and helpless, she screamed.
A fist smashed against her mouth, snapping off several teeth. She coughed and choked on the splinters and her mouth filled with more blood.
Then there was a roar. Through the haze of pain and blood Torch could hear the sounds of rending flesh, men’s screams and an utterly animal rage.
The weight lifted from her. She wiped the blood from her eyes and opened them, to see two of the men on the ground before her, their throats ripped out.
A scream of panic sounded behind her. She turned to look.
Scru had a look of bowel loosening terror on his face. A beasts limbs were wrapped around his middle and he grappled desperately to loosen them. It was in vain as the beasts elongated fingers had sunk their hooked claws into his yielding flesh.
He continued to scream and batter at the arms desperately. Then the beasts face appeared over his shoulder. Torch saw a pair of red eyes, narrowed and sunk inside a brow covered in blood matted fur. The beast opened its mouth wide, silver tipped teeth glinting under the station lights. The mouth stopped, jolted, then continued to stretch open. The face vanished behind a wall of teeth that grew ever large, glistening with the blood of men.
Scru stop struggling and looked to Torch. For a moment an utter vulnerability fell over him and he whimpered. Torch felt the urge to move spread from her heart to her limbs but she chose to stay put. She watched for a silent moment at the plaintive cry for help from one of her own species. It went unanswered.
The beast struck. The enormous mouth snapped down, utterly enclosing the throat. Scru gurgled and clutched at the beasts head. The teeth sunk deep and blood flowed in a shower over the man chest. His knees buckled and he fell to the floor, the beast bore him backwards. Scru’s fingers fumbled and slipped weakly at the edges of the beast’s head, trying desperately to find a way under the jaws so he could lift it off. The sound of deep gulping could be heard.
Scru grew pale, then stopped moving. The beast jerked on the lifeless form, trying to urge more ichor from the corpse. Torch sat hypnotised and horrified. After the longest moment the beast stopped and released its prey. The head seemed split in half for a moment, then the jaw crackled and the skull snapped back into place atop the neck.
Goatee tuned to look at Torch with sleepy eyes full of contentment. He mouthed something for a moment then keeled over.
He purred loudly in his sleep.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
The strange scout craft limped its way across the dry dock. Goatee slid the throttle down slowly and came to a comfortable stop. He unclipped his helmet and a rush of foul, stale air escaped. He drew in a fresh breath and let out a bellow of relief.
He had been fortunate, as always. He had cleared the Asteroid field in the souped up scout and managed to find a Cartel patrol and convince them not to kill him. He dropped a few names and they were happy to lead him back to the base as a favour. The air supply in his spacesuit had just managed to make it all the way, another lucky stroke.
His ears still rang from the verbal abuse of the control tower boss, the man had not been happy that Goatee had lost the rented Bayamon. Goatee certainly didn’t look forward to Torch receiving the bill for it either. He hoped he could sell on the scout soon, maybe he would be lucky enough to have credits left over once he settled his debts.
As he stepped down from the cockpit, he cast an appraising eye over the scout. It was beat up all the way to hell and back. Goatee chewed at his lower lip nervously. He guessed a sale price in his head then decided to avoid Torch for a few days.
His pondering was disturbed by a whisper of movement behind him. A hint of someone being stealthy. Goatee’s neck hairs prickled and he poised to turn.
Too late.
A shiv slid without friction between his ribs and out again. It was pain like none he had felt before and his knees involuntarily buckled. Fire spread through his back and into his belly. He crashed to the floor.
Despite the pain he rolled over and looked up as his assailant.
‘Eeeeeees, lookin ere lads. Lookin at tha smarty kitty cat will ye. Ye got a little saddle pain in ye back wee kitty?!”
Goatee recognised the voice. It was the pirate who wanted to steal his target. The man was Argon. Short, squat and muscled like an Argnu bull. He wore stained and patchy orange flight pants and black leather boots. He was shirtless, showing the swirling patterns of tattoos on his chest and arms. Only his head was unmarked by needle ink. He was bald and he held a blood daubed shiv in one hand and a look of angry glee in his eyes.
“It’ll be a fair ‘n’ balmy day in hell before Scru the Brute let a reet pillock like you tek is kills. Ye stoofed now ye furry ****, aye.”
Goatee could barely breath let alone reply. Shifting weight to his good side he tried to push himself backwards and away. Scru grasped Goatee tight round an ankle and with a grunt, dragged him back out into the open. Blood streaked the steel plate decking.
In the open Goatee knew he was finished. His back had started to throb and his hands shook slightly. His adrenaline was kicking in. A boot buried itself in his side and the wound belched pain again. Another boot connected with the side of his head and Goatee saw stars.
Blows started to rain down on him. The best he could do was cover his head with his arms and try to keep his wound on the ground as the beating continued. Scru was obviously not alone. Goatee wasn’t sure how many men surrounded him but it felt like a million.
After what seemed like an age, the beating stopped. Goatee’ s heart continued to pump adrenaline to hold back the pain. But there was not yet enough in his bloodstream for him to move, his body remained paralysed from the shock.
Goatee peeked out. He expected to see the men gloating over him. But they had turned away, focused on some distant object. He shifted slightly, wincing from the pain, to see past them.
There stood Torch.
“Don’t you gitwangs realise you need to take a number? This guy owes me a lot of money”, she said. The men turned to Scru for guidance.
Scru shifted slightly. “Ees tha a fact lassie? Tellin ye what, ye can sell the meat left o’er when we is dun. How’s tha sound?”
Torch rolled her eyes, “Typical bloody men” she said and took a step forward. Some of the men took a step back in turn, but Scru stayed planted on the spot.
As Torch continued to speak her hands strayed to her hips. “Look little man, I’ll cut to the point to make it easier for you. That wasn’t a request. This is a Cartel base, I am a Cartel pirate and you are not. When I say what shall be, that’s what will be done. I am the kelda around here Scru and you are just ant. I’m sure you know what happens to people when they take Cartel on so why don’t you and your bum chums run along while your kneecaps are still intact hmm?”
The men shifted uneasily but Scru was yet to be cowed.
“Tha so issit missus? So telling me, where be ye gun? Ye shipmates? Wha is a wee lass like you gunna be doin?”
A smile split Torch’s face. “Please, do me a favour. Find out!” She took another step forward.
Scru spat at her, “Eel be snappin me fist off in ye face if ye be gittin in me way. Now take arf ya hag.”
“Thanks” said Torch as leapt forward.
“Git er lads!” Scru shouted.
After a moments hesitation the men rushed forward.
Torch moved as smooth as glass as she crouched low and kick out sideways. Her foot connected square with the first mans knee and her whole body weight forced it backwards with a satisfying crunch and crackle.
As the man collapsed forward in a screaming heap she rode the last of her momentum and shifted into a roll, turned once and came up like a shot of lightning. The next man barely had time to flinch before her rising form jabbed upwards with a knee and buried it under his chin. He fell backwards from the force of the blow, choking noises emitting from his throat.
Torch landed lightly on her feet. Two men were left, approaching more cautiously now. Scru remained where he was, smirking all the while. The men drew knives. Torch stepped back lightly to give herself some space.
She pulled double curved blades from sheaths on her back. The glint of blue steel wiped the smiles from their faces. They stood uneasily, unsure how to proceed.
Scru grew impatient and the cries of pain from his fallen cohorts did not bolster his mood. “**** sake ye big puffs, git in and have tha hag!” He stepped forward, grabbed one of the men by the scruff of the neck and threw him at her.
The man stumbled headlong, his knife waving back and forth clumsily. Torch responded, so effortlessly that time seemed to slow. She moved in towards the man coming at her and brushed aside his wavering blade. She brought her elbow up from the tail end of her parry, the man blundered into it, stopping abruptly and dropping as his nose collapsed from the impact.
Torch inclined her head slightly to catch sight of the other man from the corner of her eye. He had circled her and was rushing in from behind, knife raised high to plant a decisive blow. She whipped her free arm backwards in the blink of an eye and her second blade flew free in the air. It buried itself by half in the mans neck.
He did not stop moving forward however. In his final moments, riding a wave of shock, he tackled her. He was the heavier fighter and Torch cried out as his weight bore her to the ground.
They struggled for a moment as he bled his last. Torch struggled to get her knife arm free and deliver a final strike. He stopped moving and his grip on her released. She almost breathed a sigh of relief but then she felt a foot come down on her. Then another, and another. She tried in vain to turn and roll away but she was pinned. The men stood over her, growling in pain and anger. The bloodied nose of one dripped in her eyes and blurred her vision. She blinked and shook her head to clear her vision but it was no good. She felt their weight settle on her as they knelt down, she felt their hands start to pummel her. Blinded and helpless, she screamed.
A fist smashed against her mouth, snapping off several teeth. She coughed and choked on the splinters and her mouth filled with more blood.
Then there was a roar. Through the haze of pain and blood Torch could hear the sounds of rending flesh, men’s screams and an utterly animal rage.
The weight lifted from her. She wiped the blood from her eyes and opened them, to see two of the men on the ground before her, their throats ripped out.
A scream of panic sounded behind her. She turned to look.
Scru had a look of bowel loosening terror on his face. A beasts limbs were wrapped around his middle and he grappled desperately to loosen them. It was in vain as the beasts elongated fingers had sunk their hooked claws into his yielding flesh.
He continued to scream and batter at the arms desperately. Then the beasts face appeared over his shoulder. Torch saw a pair of red eyes, narrowed and sunk inside a brow covered in blood matted fur. The beast opened its mouth wide, silver tipped teeth glinting under the station lights. The mouth stopped, jolted, then continued to stretch open. The face vanished behind a wall of teeth that grew ever large, glistening with the blood of men.
Scru stop struggling and looked to Torch. For a moment an utter vulnerability fell over him and he whimpered. Torch felt the urge to move spread from her heart to her limbs but she chose to stay put. She watched for a silent moment at the plaintive cry for help from one of her own species. It went unanswered.
The beast struck. The enormous mouth snapped down, utterly enclosing the throat. Scru gurgled and clutched at the beasts head. The teeth sunk deep and blood flowed in a shower over the man chest. His knees buckled and he fell to the floor, the beast bore him backwards. Scru’s fingers fumbled and slipped weakly at the edges of the beast’s head, trying desperately to find a way under the jaws so he could lift it off. The sound of deep gulping could be heard.
Scru grew pale, then stopped moving. The beast jerked on the lifeless form, trying to urge more ichor from the corpse. Torch sat hypnotised and horrified. After the longest moment the beast stopped and released its prey. The head seemed split in half for a moment, then the jaw crackled and the skull snapped back into place atop the neck.
Goatee tuned to look at Torch with sleepy eyes full of contentment. He mouthed something for a moment then keeled over.
He purred loudly in his sleep.
Goatee slowly drifted back into consciousness. He was completely relaxed and laying on a soft surface. A wash of memories came over him and he stifled a purr in his throat. He hadn’t moved yet as it was quiet. Too quiet. As he listened he could pick out the soft sound of someone breathing nearby. He smelled the air slowly and deeply, he could smell Torch.
He opened his eyes and sat up. He was surprisingly pain free considering the fight he had just been through. He turned to hop off the bed and winced. The stab wound in his back was bandaged and he could feel the pull of stitches. It was still very tender. He looked around, he was obviously in an infirmary room. Unlike the rest of the station, the walls were painted white and sparkling clean. The bed he had been lying on was covered with fresh linen. He was not used to such luxury in the folds of space.
He then noticed Torch, sitting by a porthole and staring out into the Rainbow Hold. Her legs were tucked up onto her chest and she hugged them close. She looked sad.
“You took your sweet time getting better you furry fool. I was worried for a minute there.” she said.
“How long was I out?” he replied.
“Two days. Sawbones had to work on you for six hours before your vital signs stabilised. You’re lucky to be alive.”
“Why? Did I get stabbed in an artery?”
Torch laughed without humour, “No, Sawbones has no formal medical training.”
Goatee smiled at her, “Well, I am impressed nonetheless. By rights I should indeed be dead.”
Torch turned to look at him. “What do you mean by that? That stab wound wasn’t deep you know.
“Yes” he replied, “But I went into rapture.”
“Oh that’s what you call it when you eat people is it?“
Goatee nodded, “More or less, it releases all sorts of natural stimulants into my system to jack one up. But it usually results in cardiac arrest within minutes. It’s a sort of a biological bad sportsmanship if you will. Khat don’t like to lose”
“Well then, that explains all the crap we strained out of your blood with the dialysis machine.” She reached down and held up a bottle of clear red fluid streaked with opaque yellow streamers.
Goatee was visibly impressed, “I don’t think anyone has ever had a Khat in a post rapture state before. I will have to get a hold of one of those dialysis machines.” Goatee hopped off the bed and stretched his muscles for the first time in days. “So, it must have been quite a sight to see me in a frenzy.”
Torch’s demeanour darkened. “Personally I like to think of it as a wild animal attack.” Her hand strayed to her belt, towards one of her blades.
Goatee waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t concern yourself. I only popped my cork because I was in so much pain. They really kicked the living hell out of me you know.”
Torch smirked, “You’ll forgive me if I don’t see it that way. Just what sort of race are you from?”
Goatee considered the question for a moment. He decided to tell the truth. “The Khat have no society, no colonies, no bases, no scientists to speak of and no particular leaders. We are all hunters and we hunt anything that moves including each other. We live off the spoils of our prey. That’s pretty much it. Our culture revolves around the act of catching other species and eating them, with a few rules of engagement and sexual traditions for each other. We survive well this way because the civilised species in our part of the galaxy are constantly at war. There is always lots of prey running around, always running.”
Torch’s blade hissed sharply as she drew it. She stood from her place by the window. “Then give me a reason not to cut you down right now” she said.
Goatee shrugged. “Since I arrived in your part of space I have had to adapt in order to survive. I must seek co-existence so the old ways are no longer a threat to those that would leave me be. Also, I have these” He indicated the silvery caps on his claws and teeth, “ should I ever stray from this. I have had change forced upon me. Put simply, there is to much peace and co-operation here for me to survive using the Khat way. Fortunately for all concerned, I am quite enjoying the change in lifestyle. If that’s not good enough, well, do what you feel you can.”
Torch considered his words carefully. She knew deep down that he was still the killer she saw two days ago on the flight deck. She wondered if he would have killed her as well if he had not passed out. Would she be betraying her own species if she let him live?
She decided to make it someone else’s problem. She sheathed her blade.
“Fine, whatever. Look, we have to get you out of here. It’s not going to be easy.”
Goatee frowned, “Why’s that”.
“Well, word has spread about that little tussle we had on the flight deck. Every pirate on this station is now gunning for the bounty that Scru’s clan put on your head. You’re not a Cartel clanner so Grimm wouldn’t offer you protection.” Torch picked up a bundle from the floor and threw it to Goatee. “Which means, hair ball, that the odds of you getting off this station in one piece are two notches less than stuff all right now. So gear up and lets put the stick to the floor okay?”
Goatee unravelled the bundle. It was his flight suit, repaired, a cred voucher and an access card. He held up the access card, “What’s this for?”
“That my feline friend is your only ticket out of here. While you were out I handled the brokering of that ship you brought back. Lucky you that Grimm was on station, he took a keen interest in it. I got enough cred to pay off your debts for that Bayamon and get you a second hand Barracuda, outright.”
Goatee was impressed, “Goodness. Well, thank you I guess. You didn’t have to.”
“That’s okay” Torch replied, “I took a hefty percentage. Anyways, I needed something to do, distract me from the all the crap that’s been happening in the last couple of days.”
“Really? What sort of crap?”
“Never mind, just get your gear on, we have to step.”
Goatee dressed while Torch opened the med bay door and took a look outside. “Okay” she said, “The coast is clear. Follow me.”
They stepped out into the corridor. Here the walls and floor were painted white and scrubbed clean as well. Everything looked modern and well maintained. The corridor itself was three times the standard width. There was a blast door at one end and a bar at the other.
All deserted. Only the creak and groan of the decrepit station could be heard.
“OK” said Torch, “The infirmary is through the blast door. It’s a no guns area so we should be clear of trouble there. It has five exits so we should get out without being spotted, with luck. Just stay close to me and don’t stop for anything. Remember fuzz ball, keep moving.”
Goatee nodded. Torch punched a code into a keypad by the blast door. The door opened into a vestibule that displayed the decayed rust tones of the rest of the station. The pair entered, the blast doors closed.
“Ready?” asked Torch.
“Khat are born that way” replied Goatee.
Torch smiled, drew a blade, then punched the control to open the infirmary door.
Wails of pain and desolation met their ears. The doorway on the infirmary side opened out into a wide but short corridor and was guarded by a single man wearing Cartel uniform. He was asleep on the floor. Beds on rollers lined the corridor on either side leaving little room to walk. The beds were mostly empty and the wards open. Rubbish was everywhere.
The closest wails of pain stopped and a man walked out of swinging door marked surgery. He approached Torch.
“Yer right Torchie?” he said.
“Hi Sawbones, been having a good day I see.”
Sawbones looked down at his surgical apron. It was covered in blood and what Goatee recognised as nubs of brain matter. If it weren’t for the stench of methyl and rubbing alcohol he feared Torch may have vomited from the underlying bouquet of butchery.
“Sright, been patching up some scallywags from the Cantina celebrations last night. On of them was talking bout getting back at Grimm for slaving his missus as he slept. So yer, I had to go and teach him a lesson dinnit? Sides, I needed a few donor organs for me collection like.”
Torch shuddered, “Yeah, good one Sawbones.” She did not sound amused.
Sawbones chuckled. “Yer never did have the right stomach for face to face pirating girly. So’s I take it you’ll be leaving with your hairy friend then?”
“Yeah, things are too hot to stay around here. Plus I can’t keep him safe from you forever if we stay here.”
Sawbones laughed out loud at her remark. “Yep, was all I could do not to strap him down and have my way with him, being a new species and all. Look, head out by the Cantina exit, all the others are being watched but the Cantina should be busy enough for you to slip away all quiet like.”
Torch nodded to Goatee and moved off quickly. “Thanks Sawbones. See you later” she said to him over her shoulder.
“No problems girly. Make sure you leave a few alive on your way out. Shaping up to be a boring night otherwise.”
Goatee and Torch moved quickly, keeping an eye on the wards for hidden surprises as they left. In one ward a drugs cabinet lay on the floor with a pack of Teladi junkies around it, doing lines off it’s broken glass door. In another an old spacer lay wasting away on a bed with no linen, poor from the cost of living out his last days safe beyond the reach of the law in the arms of barbarians, weak and alone. In another ward the mess and piles of waste obscured the desiccated carcass of an alien long forgotten by Sawbones and by his own pirate brothers. The last ward gave cause for concern, but the fighting within was not disturbed by their passage. One lone Argon pirate was clutching desperately at a satchel as a group of Paranid and Teladi corsairs kicked and clawed him, trying to pry it loose.
“Such is a pirates life” Goatee declared. Torch seemed not to pay attention.
They turned down a long narrow corridor smooth from constant passage, the end of which led out into the Cantina. Torch moved low into the bar and Goatee did the same. They moved through the crowd which was quite preoccupied. A debauched stage show featuring two PVC clad Paranid and an naked Argon female on a rack was taking place. The moans of pleasure and occasional cries of “The Priest Duke says open up” were drowned out by the cheers of the crowd as the pair moved out of the Cantina into the corridor.
Torch paused to scan the crowd going about their business in the busy corridor. There were no cargo droids and no large groups of people to take cover in.
“Lets keep this simple. Walk with me, lets take it slow”. Torch stepped out and a laser blast sizzled the Cantina entrance just by her head. The flash of light and heat dazzled her and she stumbled forwards. More laser blasts filled the air but Goatee hooked her belt and yanked her back into the bar.
Goatee kept Torch moving back, taking cover in the crowd. She was clutching at her ear, blood was running between her fingers.
“Scratch that plan Torchie. Are you OK?”
“You tell me, it hurts like hell”, Torch removed her hand. Goatee could smell singed flesh. He could see a tracery of cauterized black left by hot metal droplets from the laser blast. Her ear was ruined.
“You’ll live. Now, how are we going to get out of here?”
Torch looked about the bar for ideas. She also fumbled at her belt, producing a hypo-ampule. “We could try and get everyone to run out of the bar for cover, but you know pirates. They are more likely to brawl than stampede if trouble starts. Grimm does have riot gas canisters hooked into the sprinkler system but the release button is behind the bar. Not much chance of getting at it.” She stabbed the Hypo-ampule through her pants and sighed with relief as it emptied into her blood stream.
“Why can’t we get at this riot button? Is it locked?”
“No. No one has ever gotten over the bar before. The bar tender is, well, he learned everything he knows about brawling from Oldman and he is as wide as an Argnu bull. As tough as they come I’m told.”
Goatee smirked, “Is that it? For ****’s sake Torchie, this is me you’re talking too. I’ll be right back.”
“Goatee don’t…” but it was too late. Goatee was already heading fast for the bar.
The bar was mostly deserted as all the patrons were enjoying the interspecies show on the stage. Goatee marched up with a big smile on his face to catch the barman’s attention. He was indeed a large man, but then so was Goatee.
“What can I get you?” asked the barman as Goatee approached.
“A nosebleed” replied Goatee and then planted his fist in the barman’s face.
The barman staggered back a step, but reached for his sidearm without missing a beat. Goatee was already over the bar. Through his watering eyes the barman couldn’t see properly and failed to react when Goatee hooked the gun from his hand and swept his feet out from under him. The barman went down like a sack of chelt dung.
Gun in hand, Goatee looked behind the bar and spotted a large blue knob that stuck out from the bottles, bins and grease spattered shelves. He hit it.
Instantly the sound system in the bar cut off and the lights turned red. A hiss sounded and rattled through the sprinkler system, growing in volume. Shouts of complaint sounded through the crowd. Those that knew what was about to happen shouted in fear as they pushed for the Cantina door. Torch was among them.
“Run you stinky cat, RUN!” she screamed as she barged her way toward the door.
Goatee leapt back over the bar just as the sprinklers released their payload.
The room was instantly awash with a gale of white smoke and it was getting thicker. People took great lungfuls and felt their chests burn. Sweat soaked skin itched maddeningly. Eyes stinged, noses bled and mouths swelled as the riot gas sunk in and went to work on nervous systems. A blind stampede broke out and the bar started to empty.
Through the haze and his watering eyes, Goatee couldn’t see ahead. He knew he was heading for the door though so he pressed on. He trampled over lesser beings in the mad rush and lost his footing on their soft bodies more than once. But he managed to keep moving.
He was clear of the Cantina door and running down the main corridor with the crowd when a strong pair of arms grabbed him from behind. The strong grip pulled Goatee down a side passage, never relenting the vice like grip. Goatee was too stunned from the riot gas to fight back.
In the clean air his vision cleared quickly and he could see a small Split standing in the corridor ahead. The creature looked old and wizened in the manner of his species. Years of ritual combat had left an intense litany of scars on his body and he displayed it proudly, naked to the waist. Many weapons were hung on his belt.
“I Kage. Split get good money for you. Split say you special man eater. Me like man eating, but like bounty more. You fight Split, you lose arms. Then legs. Creature understand?”. It drew a blade and waved it at Goatee for emphasis.
“Yes, I surely…” started Goatee, but the grip on him had suddenly lifted, with a scream. Goatee looked back. There stood Torch, Blades daubed in Split blood. On the floor lay a large Split bruiser, screaming over the loss of his arms.
Kage was visibly furious, “Damn Torch meatstick! Hurt Split minder!. Kage say Torch owe Split for loss of minder!”
“Kage, How you been? Look, I don’t have time to beat you down right now. Time to scurry off okay?” She spun her blades and shifted to an attack stance for emphasis. Goatee backed up and papered himself to the wall.
Kage gave her a defiant look but his stance spoke otherwise. He put away his blade and ignoring the plaintive cries of his former bodyguard, he moved past Goatee and Torch.
“Kage say look out Torch. Kage get Torch one day. Split not forget easileeeeeeee.” he was swept up by the passing crowd and gone.
Torch sighed. “Of all the things I hate about being a pirate, rape and little men are the worst and far too common. Good to see you make it out of the bar anyway kitty. You okay?”
Goatee stepped over the widening pool of blood on the floor and pocketed the gun still in his hand, “Yep, sure. Come on, lets go.”
Torch held him back. “Not that way, there’s five bounty groups out there and Kage will be rattling worse than his sabre about us. We can follow this corridor but…”
“Then lets GO” shouted Goatee. He grabbed Torch and started her running as bounty hunters stepped in from the main corridor and opened fire. Laser blasts sizzled around them as they turned the first corner.
Goatee shouted, “That makes us even I guess, you were saying?”
“This corridor is a dead end. It leads to an old dock observation room but there aren’t any exits.”
“This room, it has a wall of helmet visors right?”
“Yeah, so?”
“It’s not a dead end, there’s a door there.”
“Believe me, we’d have more chance of a stand up battle than going through that door. It leads to the Sprawl. The Sprawl is a bad bad place.”
Goatee and Torch rounded another corner as fresh laser bursts hounded their steps. They stumbled into the observation room, safe for scant moments. Goatee noted the door was still open. He could feel the cold air seep out of it and pool on the floor at odds with the stale station atmosphere. Torch was already kneeling by the room entry and pulling a sidearm.
“Come on Torch, it’s open, lets go.”
“I said no Goatee. No one has ever come out of there alive!”
Goatee smirked, “No one but me my dear, no one but me.”
He dived through the doorway as laser bursts lit up the room. Torch returned fire, swore, then dove after him.
He opened his eyes and sat up. He was surprisingly pain free considering the fight he had just been through. He turned to hop off the bed and winced. The stab wound in his back was bandaged and he could feel the pull of stitches. It was still very tender. He looked around, he was obviously in an infirmary room. Unlike the rest of the station, the walls were painted white and sparkling clean. The bed he had been lying on was covered with fresh linen. He was not used to such luxury in the folds of space.
He then noticed Torch, sitting by a porthole and staring out into the Rainbow Hold. Her legs were tucked up onto her chest and she hugged them close. She looked sad.
“You took your sweet time getting better you furry fool. I was worried for a minute there.” she said.
“How long was I out?” he replied.
“Two days. Sawbones had to work on you for six hours before your vital signs stabilised. You’re lucky to be alive.”
“Why? Did I get stabbed in an artery?”
Torch laughed without humour, “No, Sawbones has no formal medical training.”
Goatee smiled at her, “Well, I am impressed nonetheless. By rights I should indeed be dead.”
Torch turned to look at him. “What do you mean by that? That stab wound wasn’t deep you know.
“Yes” he replied, “But I went into rapture.”
“Oh that’s what you call it when you eat people is it?“
Goatee nodded, “More or less, it releases all sorts of natural stimulants into my system to jack one up. But it usually results in cardiac arrest within minutes. It’s a sort of a biological bad sportsmanship if you will. Khat don’t like to lose”
“Well then, that explains all the crap we strained out of your blood with the dialysis machine.” She reached down and held up a bottle of clear red fluid streaked with opaque yellow streamers.
Goatee was visibly impressed, “I don’t think anyone has ever had a Khat in a post rapture state before. I will have to get a hold of one of those dialysis machines.” Goatee hopped off the bed and stretched his muscles for the first time in days. “So, it must have been quite a sight to see me in a frenzy.”
Torch’s demeanour darkened. “Personally I like to think of it as a wild animal attack.” Her hand strayed to her belt, towards one of her blades.
Goatee waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t concern yourself. I only popped my cork because I was in so much pain. They really kicked the living hell out of me you know.”
Torch smirked, “You’ll forgive me if I don’t see it that way. Just what sort of race are you from?”
Goatee considered the question for a moment. He decided to tell the truth. “The Khat have no society, no colonies, no bases, no scientists to speak of and no particular leaders. We are all hunters and we hunt anything that moves including each other. We live off the spoils of our prey. That’s pretty much it. Our culture revolves around the act of catching other species and eating them, with a few rules of engagement and sexual traditions for each other. We survive well this way because the civilised species in our part of the galaxy are constantly at war. There is always lots of prey running around, always running.”
Torch’s blade hissed sharply as she drew it. She stood from her place by the window. “Then give me a reason not to cut you down right now” she said.
Goatee shrugged. “Since I arrived in your part of space I have had to adapt in order to survive. I must seek co-existence so the old ways are no longer a threat to those that would leave me be. Also, I have these” He indicated the silvery caps on his claws and teeth, “ should I ever stray from this. I have had change forced upon me. Put simply, there is to much peace and co-operation here for me to survive using the Khat way. Fortunately for all concerned, I am quite enjoying the change in lifestyle. If that’s not good enough, well, do what you feel you can.”
Torch considered his words carefully. She knew deep down that he was still the killer she saw two days ago on the flight deck. She wondered if he would have killed her as well if he had not passed out. Would she be betraying her own species if she let him live?
She decided to make it someone else’s problem. She sheathed her blade.
“Fine, whatever. Look, we have to get you out of here. It’s not going to be easy.”
Goatee frowned, “Why’s that”.
“Well, word has spread about that little tussle we had on the flight deck. Every pirate on this station is now gunning for the bounty that Scru’s clan put on your head. You’re not a Cartel clanner so Grimm wouldn’t offer you protection.” Torch picked up a bundle from the floor and threw it to Goatee. “Which means, hair ball, that the odds of you getting off this station in one piece are two notches less than stuff all right now. So gear up and lets put the stick to the floor okay?”
Goatee unravelled the bundle. It was his flight suit, repaired, a cred voucher and an access card. He held up the access card, “What’s this for?”
“That my feline friend is your only ticket out of here. While you were out I handled the brokering of that ship you brought back. Lucky you that Grimm was on station, he took a keen interest in it. I got enough cred to pay off your debts for that Bayamon and get you a second hand Barracuda, outright.”
Goatee was impressed, “Goodness. Well, thank you I guess. You didn’t have to.”
“That’s okay” Torch replied, “I took a hefty percentage. Anyways, I needed something to do, distract me from the all the crap that’s been happening in the last couple of days.”
“Really? What sort of crap?”
“Never mind, just get your gear on, we have to step.”
Goatee dressed while Torch opened the med bay door and took a look outside. “Okay” she said, “The coast is clear. Follow me.”
They stepped out into the corridor. Here the walls and floor were painted white and scrubbed clean as well. Everything looked modern and well maintained. The corridor itself was three times the standard width. There was a blast door at one end and a bar at the other.
All deserted. Only the creak and groan of the decrepit station could be heard.
“OK” said Torch, “The infirmary is through the blast door. It’s a no guns area so we should be clear of trouble there. It has five exits so we should get out without being spotted, with luck. Just stay close to me and don’t stop for anything. Remember fuzz ball, keep moving.”
Goatee nodded. Torch punched a code into a keypad by the blast door. The door opened into a vestibule that displayed the decayed rust tones of the rest of the station. The pair entered, the blast doors closed.
“Ready?” asked Torch.
“Khat are born that way” replied Goatee.
Torch smiled, drew a blade, then punched the control to open the infirmary door.
Wails of pain and desolation met their ears. The doorway on the infirmary side opened out into a wide but short corridor and was guarded by a single man wearing Cartel uniform. He was asleep on the floor. Beds on rollers lined the corridor on either side leaving little room to walk. The beds were mostly empty and the wards open. Rubbish was everywhere.
The closest wails of pain stopped and a man walked out of swinging door marked surgery. He approached Torch.
“Yer right Torchie?” he said.
“Hi Sawbones, been having a good day I see.”
Sawbones looked down at his surgical apron. It was covered in blood and what Goatee recognised as nubs of brain matter. If it weren’t for the stench of methyl and rubbing alcohol he feared Torch may have vomited from the underlying bouquet of butchery.
“Sright, been patching up some scallywags from the Cantina celebrations last night. On of them was talking bout getting back at Grimm for slaving his missus as he slept. So yer, I had to go and teach him a lesson dinnit? Sides, I needed a few donor organs for me collection like.”
Torch shuddered, “Yeah, good one Sawbones.” She did not sound amused.
Sawbones chuckled. “Yer never did have the right stomach for face to face pirating girly. So’s I take it you’ll be leaving with your hairy friend then?”
“Yeah, things are too hot to stay around here. Plus I can’t keep him safe from you forever if we stay here.”
Sawbones laughed out loud at her remark. “Yep, was all I could do not to strap him down and have my way with him, being a new species and all. Look, head out by the Cantina exit, all the others are being watched but the Cantina should be busy enough for you to slip away all quiet like.”
Torch nodded to Goatee and moved off quickly. “Thanks Sawbones. See you later” she said to him over her shoulder.
“No problems girly. Make sure you leave a few alive on your way out. Shaping up to be a boring night otherwise.”
Goatee and Torch moved quickly, keeping an eye on the wards for hidden surprises as they left. In one ward a drugs cabinet lay on the floor with a pack of Teladi junkies around it, doing lines off it’s broken glass door. In another an old spacer lay wasting away on a bed with no linen, poor from the cost of living out his last days safe beyond the reach of the law in the arms of barbarians, weak and alone. In another ward the mess and piles of waste obscured the desiccated carcass of an alien long forgotten by Sawbones and by his own pirate brothers. The last ward gave cause for concern, but the fighting within was not disturbed by their passage. One lone Argon pirate was clutching desperately at a satchel as a group of Paranid and Teladi corsairs kicked and clawed him, trying to pry it loose.
“Such is a pirates life” Goatee declared. Torch seemed not to pay attention.
They turned down a long narrow corridor smooth from constant passage, the end of which led out into the Cantina. Torch moved low into the bar and Goatee did the same. They moved through the crowd which was quite preoccupied. A debauched stage show featuring two PVC clad Paranid and an naked Argon female on a rack was taking place. The moans of pleasure and occasional cries of “The Priest Duke says open up” were drowned out by the cheers of the crowd as the pair moved out of the Cantina into the corridor.
Torch paused to scan the crowd going about their business in the busy corridor. There were no cargo droids and no large groups of people to take cover in.
“Lets keep this simple. Walk with me, lets take it slow”. Torch stepped out and a laser blast sizzled the Cantina entrance just by her head. The flash of light and heat dazzled her and she stumbled forwards. More laser blasts filled the air but Goatee hooked her belt and yanked her back into the bar.
Goatee kept Torch moving back, taking cover in the crowd. She was clutching at her ear, blood was running between her fingers.
“Scratch that plan Torchie. Are you OK?”
“You tell me, it hurts like hell”, Torch removed her hand. Goatee could smell singed flesh. He could see a tracery of cauterized black left by hot metal droplets from the laser blast. Her ear was ruined.
“You’ll live. Now, how are we going to get out of here?”
Torch looked about the bar for ideas. She also fumbled at her belt, producing a hypo-ampule. “We could try and get everyone to run out of the bar for cover, but you know pirates. They are more likely to brawl than stampede if trouble starts. Grimm does have riot gas canisters hooked into the sprinkler system but the release button is behind the bar. Not much chance of getting at it.” She stabbed the Hypo-ampule through her pants and sighed with relief as it emptied into her blood stream.
“Why can’t we get at this riot button? Is it locked?”
“No. No one has ever gotten over the bar before. The bar tender is, well, he learned everything he knows about brawling from Oldman and he is as wide as an Argnu bull. As tough as they come I’m told.”
Goatee smirked, “Is that it? For ****’s sake Torchie, this is me you’re talking too. I’ll be right back.”
“Goatee don’t…” but it was too late. Goatee was already heading fast for the bar.
The bar was mostly deserted as all the patrons were enjoying the interspecies show on the stage. Goatee marched up with a big smile on his face to catch the barman’s attention. He was indeed a large man, but then so was Goatee.
“What can I get you?” asked the barman as Goatee approached.
“A nosebleed” replied Goatee and then planted his fist in the barman’s face.
The barman staggered back a step, but reached for his sidearm without missing a beat. Goatee was already over the bar. Through his watering eyes the barman couldn’t see properly and failed to react when Goatee hooked the gun from his hand and swept his feet out from under him. The barman went down like a sack of chelt dung.
Gun in hand, Goatee looked behind the bar and spotted a large blue knob that stuck out from the bottles, bins and grease spattered shelves. He hit it.
Instantly the sound system in the bar cut off and the lights turned red. A hiss sounded and rattled through the sprinkler system, growing in volume. Shouts of complaint sounded through the crowd. Those that knew what was about to happen shouted in fear as they pushed for the Cantina door. Torch was among them.
“Run you stinky cat, RUN!” she screamed as she barged her way toward the door.
Goatee leapt back over the bar just as the sprinklers released their payload.
The room was instantly awash with a gale of white smoke and it was getting thicker. People took great lungfuls and felt their chests burn. Sweat soaked skin itched maddeningly. Eyes stinged, noses bled and mouths swelled as the riot gas sunk in and went to work on nervous systems. A blind stampede broke out and the bar started to empty.
Through the haze and his watering eyes, Goatee couldn’t see ahead. He knew he was heading for the door though so he pressed on. He trampled over lesser beings in the mad rush and lost his footing on their soft bodies more than once. But he managed to keep moving.
He was clear of the Cantina door and running down the main corridor with the crowd when a strong pair of arms grabbed him from behind. The strong grip pulled Goatee down a side passage, never relenting the vice like grip. Goatee was too stunned from the riot gas to fight back.
In the clean air his vision cleared quickly and he could see a small Split standing in the corridor ahead. The creature looked old and wizened in the manner of his species. Years of ritual combat had left an intense litany of scars on his body and he displayed it proudly, naked to the waist. Many weapons were hung on his belt.
“I Kage. Split get good money for you. Split say you special man eater. Me like man eating, but like bounty more. You fight Split, you lose arms. Then legs. Creature understand?”. It drew a blade and waved it at Goatee for emphasis.
“Yes, I surely…” started Goatee, but the grip on him had suddenly lifted, with a scream. Goatee looked back. There stood Torch, Blades daubed in Split blood. On the floor lay a large Split bruiser, screaming over the loss of his arms.
Kage was visibly furious, “Damn Torch meatstick! Hurt Split minder!. Kage say Torch owe Split for loss of minder!”
“Kage, How you been? Look, I don’t have time to beat you down right now. Time to scurry off okay?” She spun her blades and shifted to an attack stance for emphasis. Goatee backed up and papered himself to the wall.
Kage gave her a defiant look but his stance spoke otherwise. He put away his blade and ignoring the plaintive cries of his former bodyguard, he moved past Goatee and Torch.
“Kage say look out Torch. Kage get Torch one day. Split not forget easileeeeeeee.” he was swept up by the passing crowd and gone.
Torch sighed. “Of all the things I hate about being a pirate, rape and little men are the worst and far too common. Good to see you make it out of the bar anyway kitty. You okay?”
Goatee stepped over the widening pool of blood on the floor and pocketed the gun still in his hand, “Yep, sure. Come on, lets go.”
Torch held him back. “Not that way, there’s five bounty groups out there and Kage will be rattling worse than his sabre about us. We can follow this corridor but…”
“Then lets GO” shouted Goatee. He grabbed Torch and started her running as bounty hunters stepped in from the main corridor and opened fire. Laser blasts sizzled around them as they turned the first corner.
Goatee shouted, “That makes us even I guess, you were saying?”
“This corridor is a dead end. It leads to an old dock observation room but there aren’t any exits.”
“This room, it has a wall of helmet visors right?”
“Yeah, so?”
“It’s not a dead end, there’s a door there.”
“Believe me, we’d have more chance of a stand up battle than going through that door. It leads to the Sprawl. The Sprawl is a bad bad place.”
Goatee and Torch rounded another corner as fresh laser bursts hounded their steps. They stumbled into the observation room, safe for scant moments. Goatee noted the door was still open. He could feel the cold air seep out of it and pool on the floor at odds with the stale station atmosphere. Torch was already kneeling by the room entry and pulling a sidearm.
“Come on Torch, it’s open, lets go.”
“I said no Goatee. No one has ever come out of there alive!”
Goatee smirked, “No one but me my dear, no one but me.”
He dived through the doorway as laser bursts lit up the room. Torch returned fire, swore, then dove after him.
WARNING: Gratuitous maiming of pirates by robot monsters and aliens. You have been warned
Goatee didn’t like being chased. Ever since he had come to this miniature part of the gatenet he had been constantly on the run. Khat were supposed to be the hunters, not the hunted. He wasn’t sure if he could hold his composure much longer amongst the constant fear.
He contemplated this from the floor, laying where he had dived through the bulk head door. Torch had already picked herself up and slammed the door shut. A few well placed laser blasts and it was welded shut.
“OK stinky kitty, that should buy us a few minutes. It’s your show now. Ride em out.”
Goatee nodded and stood. They set off down the corridor to the sound of thumping on the bulkhead door. They quickened their pace as the thumps grew louder.
The lights in the corridor dimmed the further they ran. From far behind them they could hear the echo of a crash as the bulkhead door was forced from it’s hinges. The clattering sound of pursuit followed. The corridor lights were almost completely black now, as though something was siphoning the power from them. Torch grabbed something from a pocket and lit it. It was a flash light and she adjusted the beam width to show the corridor. It only illuminated a few meters before them.
“Lets pick it up then furball. I’m not dying in this rotted junkheap.” Grimy dust and flakes of rust were kicked up by their passage, as if to accentuate the point
“Ok, but kill that light.” Goatee said, “I can find the way better and avoid danger without that light ruining my night vision.”
Torch shot him a look, “What do you mean avoid danger? They’re right behind us.”
Goatee shook his head, “Not them.” He moved off before Torch could swear at him. Torch had heard the tales of what happened to people who survived a trip through The Sprawl. She preferred the stories about people who didn’t survive. Stories of mysterious disappearances were less gory in the telling.
Torch caught up with Goatee and grabbed his hand before switching off her flash light. In the pitch dark they moved slowly as he forced his vision down. Down through the layers of light and colour until the shadows switched and the walkways were etched in ultra violet relief.
They continued together for what seemed like forever through the blackness The sounds of their own footsteps gave Torch the only clues about their surrounds. Close and quick reports down corridors, echoing back to them at junctions, rattling the walls around them in less stable sections and flying away to nothing in what were probably large rooms.
All the while Goatee followed the dim trail of ultra violet bread crumbs that led to the flight deck. He remembered the path well, Khat were attuned to finding their way. He mused on all the other ways of the Khat, especially those he had had to abandon and the alien ones he had adopted, in order to survive. Their ways of peace and coexistence settled with displeasure on his shoulders, but Goatee was pleased nonetheless that he was finding success in it. But still the old desires held fast to his heart. He toyed with them now, musing to himself about taking Torch in his claws and slicing her open without anyone ever knowing it. Down here, alone.
Feasting, in the dark.
A shudder through his feet snapped him back to reality. It was a hypersonic flutter no stronger than the beat of a Markus Fly wing, but it was clear to Goatee. Something else was stirring down here. He could now feel the distant movements on the air in his whiskers. Though the sound of their pursuers was always with them, drawing closer, he could still hear the others. The sounds were high and low through the audible scales and well beyond human range. Treble whines like clustered transistors and bass thumps of heavy movement reverberating in the air, accompanied by a rhythmic tapping passed along exposed conduits. Whatever lived down here, it was mobilising.
Goatee moved quicker and Torch moved in kind. Then quicker and quicker until they broke into a run.
Torch was flustered, “Goatee, what the hell, I can’t keep up, slow down.”
“Change of plan sweetie. We need to make a stand somewhere” Goatee replied.
“What? We can’t fight them there’s too many.”
“Trust me, if they keep on making all that racket chasing us then we’ll have more to worry about than a few pirate scum looking to fill us with bullet holes.”
They pushed on, Goatee somewhat more frantically, Torch trying her best not to stumble in the dark. He was hoping to find a good position to fight from. Somewhere where he could have the element of surprise. The distant echoes of tapping on pipes becoming more frequent and insistent. It did not improve his composure.
Ahead, Goatee could see some light. He felt somewhat irked, he didn’t remember this from the last time he came through here. He blamed his panic for losing the way and pushed on regardless.
They emerged into a great round room. The pair stopped their headlong rush and stared in awe at the scale of it. They had entered the cooling vent of a warship reactor core. The corridor had become a hotch potch of found steel fashioned into a suspended walkway. It dangled over a chasm walled with immense pipeworks and cabling, much of it hanging loose and dangling across and around the room. The pipeworks snaked their way from a cold and dead reactor block below to a ceiling crowned with plasglass far above their heads. The transparent ceiling was holding back the void of space. Subdued light from the Rainbow hold cast a ghostly pallor through. The walls felt strangely close.
From the ceiling to the terminus below, the rotted detrius of ancient engineering had made a mess of itself. The broken pipes hung out from the walls as artifical gravity pulled them free from rusted bolts and brackets. Black and corroded cabling had fallen from sockets and lay pooled untidily on the walkway or dangled in midair across the chasm. The whole room was a demolition held in stasis a mere moment after it had started to fall in on itself. A true steel jungle.
Torch knew something of what she was looking at. “Goatee, this stuff is pre-contact technology. Back when the Argon ran their M2’s on nuclear power.”
“How old is that then?” he asked.
“Centuries” she replied. “They don’t make them like this anymore. All this would be pure copper wiring and solid core titanium struts.”
“It’s Perfect’ said Goatee.
“What? For a trap?” replied Torch, “Not really , we’d need some explosives to cut this walkway and I don’t carry any.”
Goatee led her on. “The only TNT we need”, he said, “is me”.
They ran the length of the walkway to the far side of the room. There the wall had been rent open and the walkway breached into the side of the corridor, back into the innards of the Sprawl. It made for excellent cover and Goatee set her in place there. The sounds of their pursuers was growing louder and echoing through the cooling tower room.
“You’ll have some trouble tracking me in this light, so only shoot them if they come all the way down this end ok. Don’t try to watch my back or anything, I’ll be moving too fast.”
“If you think you can take them out hand to hand on your own then I suggest you stop smoking spaceweed roots.”
“Torch, I don’t have time to argue with you…”
Torch cut him off angrily, “Hold up stinky, like I was saying, you need to stop smoking spaceweed roots” she produced something from her belt, “or take this.”
She held up a bundle of rolled black leather in her hand, offering it to Goatee. It unrolled as he took it. It was a simple black leather and PVC glove, tough yet flexible. The knuckles had squat pyramid studs and from the fingertips sprang tapered blades. Short, curved and razor pointed. Like claws.
Goatee pulled it on. “Damn straight!” he exclaimed.
He leapt up the wall and clambered soundlessly away, into the rusting metal jungle, gone from sight. Torch crouched and drew her weapon. Despite Goatee’s warnings, she was not going to sit idly by.
She waited. The dark waited with her. A knot formed in her belly. Something, somewhere, wasn’t right. She could feel it in the air. It crawled up her spine and sat tingling in the base of her neck making the hairs there stand up. She fancied she could feel it in her fingertips as well. Then she realised it wasn’t just instinct, something was thrumming through her fingertips where she touched the walls and her feet where they touched the floor. Something deep and bass. She had no time to guess at the source because she could see the spots of light now moving, back from where she and Goatee had come.
The pirates pursuing them came down the corridor brandishing flash lights. In the shafts of light Torch could see the lead pirate was not holding a flash light, but a small chrome device. The pursuers came nearer and nearer the entry of the room. None had noticed her in her hiding place, not yet. She hoped it stayed that way
They slowed as they entered the room, stopping just past the threshold. The lead pirate tapped at the device which beeped back at him compliantly. The assembled pirates behind him searching the walls with their lights. Suddenly the leader dropped the device to his belt and drew a gun.
“They’re here, Draw” he shouted.
Torch saw a dark shape start to fall from above them.
The pirates had barely brought out their weapons when the dark shape passed by the leader on it’s way down and past the walkway, fur glowed briefly in the torchlight. The leader jerked and flew sideways violently, coming to rest over the railing.
His gun clattered and echoed as it made its way to the bottom of the chasm.
The pirates started shouting in surprise and anger. They examined their fallen leader. Four rippling and red lines made their way from the ravaged remains of one ear, down the mans throat, across his torso and ended at his groin. He had been gutted instantly by whatever had hit him, the force of the blow so heavy it had thrown him bodily. The pirate’s torches traced the line of hastily unravelled intestine back across the walkway and over the opposite railing.
Swearing and bellows of rage erupted as the pirates brandished their weapons and formed into a tight pack. They shouted challenges and curses into the darkness as they tried to pierce with the feeble lights in their hands. Their composure returned and the ruckus died down. They strained their ears for the slightest sound of movement.
The drip, drip, drip of blood pooling far below echoed back at them through the silence.
Another pirate gave a yelp of surprise, his feet shifted sideways and he fell over. The pirates turned to him, some shooting blind into the darkness about his feet. The pirate lay there stricken and cringing from the gunfire for a moment, sure that he was doomed. Nothing happened.
He moved to get to his feet when they all heard a gurgling sound behind them. They turned to see one of their number clutching at his throat and falling to his knees. While they had been distracted, something had snuck up behind them and torn out his throat. They all knew this from the blood spraying between the mans fingers and coating their boots.
More swearing along with panic broke out as the pirates started shooting blind into the dark. They started to back up the way they had come when the walkway started to rattle. As if in answer, the junk hanging from the walls started to squeal and creak as it to began to moved. Cables that had remained unmoving for years wobbled and pipework shuddered emitting small puffs of rusty dust, straining further from their hangings with the movement.
Torch could feel it as well. The tingling in her toes had become a rhythmic rumble. Something big was moving down here and she wasn’t sure she should wait to find out what it was. As if in answer to her concerns, Goatee climbed up onto the walkway in front of her.
She had barely opened her mouth to speak when he grabbed her and dragged her down to the floor next to him. He stank of blood and viscera. “Don’t move” he whispered into her ear as they crouched there. The pirates continued their panicked gun fire. Their enthusiasm petered off as sections of the chasm wall peeled away noisily and thundered to the chasm floor far below. Despite the hubbub surrounding them, the sounds of footsteps loud, metallic and booming were now audible.
What happened next would haunt Goatee and Torch forever. From their viewpoint, huddled together in the dark, they could see everything that happened. The pirates were bunching together and facing out into the chasm. Their hands trembled and their bowels loosened as they realised just where they were and how deep they had run into it.
Looking through the Ultraviolet, Goatee recognised something familiar. pinpoints of soft purple glows as he had seen on his previous trip through The Sprawl, floating up and out of the corridor behind the pirate band. Only this time there were more.
Many more.
A section of plasma duct ripped free of the wall and crashed in a cloud of dust down the chasm wall and past the walkway, close enough to breath a cloud of dust over the pirates. At this they decided their taste for bounty did not match their taste of fear and they turned at once to run away. None even took the first step as they stared at the thing blocking the way back.
It was tentacled and it’s gigantic form loomed over them. It’s thumping footsteps were now silent. There was no apparent core to the being, no base visible from which the horde of glinting metal tendrils sprang.
The tentacles lashed out, thin as whips, and entered the nearest pirate by every available orifice. His blood sprayed out as the tentacles struck barriers in his body but pushed on regardless. His scalp writhed and pulsed unnaturally as they worked their way under his skin and around his skull, searching for flaws to push through. He was lifted off the ground as his head started to turn at an odd angle under the pressure, though the bones in his neck failed to snap. He scrabbled uselessly with blood slickened fingers at the polished steel tendrils, slithering across every inch of his skin looking for purchase to dig deeper. They bunching up around his pelvis and his jumpsuit ripped and fell away. The poetic justice of the tentacles more intimate searches there could clearly be seen. Blood now poured from him like a sieve. Another pirate was plucked from the floor in the same fashion before the group reacted.
Howls of rage and fear ripped into the tentacled thing along with bullets. Step by step they backed away from the thing, not taking their eyes off the grisly scene. The pirates were so distracted they didn’t notice the next beast until it was on them. It flashed out and over the mass of tentacles from behind, moving with cat like grace and supernatural speed. It flashed past the group, snagging one of their number with it’s heavily spined jaws. It barely lost speed and darted, a black steel cannonball with legs, along the walkway. As it passed near Goatee and Torch they could hear the pirate dangling in it’s jaws, high pitched sucking at the air was emitted as he attempted to draw breath for a scream. They were spattered by blood spraying in the wake of his movement. The beast sprang from the walkway and ran vertically up the chasm wall then disappeared down a large pipe. The pirates flesh snagged on the pipe’s jagged steel edge but was quickly, almost effortlessly, ripped and pulled along. A leg had torn clean off in the process and fell to the walkway below, throwing off a wet thump and a splatter when it hit. The echoes of flesh being rendered and screams being exhaled could be heard far above.
The fate of the few remaining pirates was sealed by a swarm of crawling insect things. Their eyes were pinpricks of red in the dark and electric sparks burst from mechanical leg joints. There the similarities ended, no two of them were the same. All seemed oblivious to the bullets ricocheting off their carapace. Some crawled with hooked toes up the pirates legs, resisting the pirates panicked shoves to remove them and sunk barbed sucking needles in the more choice organs as they went. Some pounced from the floor onto the men’s backs and wrapped serrated limbs around the men’s midriffs, the crunch of ribs loud in the din. One simply scrabbled along the floor from man to man, closing it’s mouthparts with a maniacal zest among the pirates, neatly snipping off feet at the ankles to fell them and get at their heads. Another monstrosity leaped from man to man on articulated limbs, mating with each man as it went via the medium of a sharpened electro lance.
The grisly slaughter came to a close as each man screamed their last. Then the sounds of feasting began. Metal monsters lapped at spilled gore, drained vital fluids from corpses and fussed fastidiously over every scrap and slice of meat. Torch felt her bile finally rise as the sounds of air mixing with fluids inside sucking proboscis gurgled noisily through the room.
She felt a tug on her sleeve. Goatee inclined his head down the waiting passageway. It was time to leave. She was scared but still sensible and followed on with light feet. But she did breath an exasperated, shuddering sigh.
Something heard her.
They had barely left behind the sounds of offal being consumed when the clatter of feet, metallic and running fast, sounded out behind them.
‘RUN!’ shouted Goatee.
Torch was happy to oblige.
Goatee didn’t like being chased. Ever since he had come to this miniature part of the gatenet he had been constantly on the run. Khat were supposed to be the hunters, not the hunted. He wasn’t sure if he could hold his composure much longer amongst the constant fear.
He contemplated this from the floor, laying where he had dived through the bulk head door. Torch had already picked herself up and slammed the door shut. A few well placed laser blasts and it was welded shut.
“OK stinky kitty, that should buy us a few minutes. It’s your show now. Ride em out.”
Goatee nodded and stood. They set off down the corridor to the sound of thumping on the bulkhead door. They quickened their pace as the thumps grew louder.
The lights in the corridor dimmed the further they ran. From far behind them they could hear the echo of a crash as the bulkhead door was forced from it’s hinges. The clattering sound of pursuit followed. The corridor lights were almost completely black now, as though something was siphoning the power from them. Torch grabbed something from a pocket and lit it. It was a flash light and she adjusted the beam width to show the corridor. It only illuminated a few meters before them.
“Lets pick it up then furball. I’m not dying in this rotted junkheap.” Grimy dust and flakes of rust were kicked up by their passage, as if to accentuate the point
“Ok, but kill that light.” Goatee said, “I can find the way better and avoid danger without that light ruining my night vision.”
Torch shot him a look, “What do you mean avoid danger? They’re right behind us.”
Goatee shook his head, “Not them.” He moved off before Torch could swear at him. Torch had heard the tales of what happened to people who survived a trip through The Sprawl. She preferred the stories about people who didn’t survive. Stories of mysterious disappearances were less gory in the telling.
Torch caught up with Goatee and grabbed his hand before switching off her flash light. In the pitch dark they moved slowly as he forced his vision down. Down through the layers of light and colour until the shadows switched and the walkways were etched in ultra violet relief.
They continued together for what seemed like forever through the blackness The sounds of their own footsteps gave Torch the only clues about their surrounds. Close and quick reports down corridors, echoing back to them at junctions, rattling the walls around them in less stable sections and flying away to nothing in what were probably large rooms.
All the while Goatee followed the dim trail of ultra violet bread crumbs that led to the flight deck. He remembered the path well, Khat were attuned to finding their way. He mused on all the other ways of the Khat, especially those he had had to abandon and the alien ones he had adopted, in order to survive. Their ways of peace and coexistence settled with displeasure on his shoulders, but Goatee was pleased nonetheless that he was finding success in it. But still the old desires held fast to his heart. He toyed with them now, musing to himself about taking Torch in his claws and slicing her open without anyone ever knowing it. Down here, alone.
Feasting, in the dark.
A shudder through his feet snapped him back to reality. It was a hypersonic flutter no stronger than the beat of a Markus Fly wing, but it was clear to Goatee. Something else was stirring down here. He could now feel the distant movements on the air in his whiskers. Though the sound of their pursuers was always with them, drawing closer, he could still hear the others. The sounds were high and low through the audible scales and well beyond human range. Treble whines like clustered transistors and bass thumps of heavy movement reverberating in the air, accompanied by a rhythmic tapping passed along exposed conduits. Whatever lived down here, it was mobilising.
Goatee moved quicker and Torch moved in kind. Then quicker and quicker until they broke into a run.
Torch was flustered, “Goatee, what the hell, I can’t keep up, slow down.”
“Change of plan sweetie. We need to make a stand somewhere” Goatee replied.
“What? We can’t fight them there’s too many.”
“Trust me, if they keep on making all that racket chasing us then we’ll have more to worry about than a few pirate scum looking to fill us with bullet holes.”
They pushed on, Goatee somewhat more frantically, Torch trying her best not to stumble in the dark. He was hoping to find a good position to fight from. Somewhere where he could have the element of surprise. The distant echoes of tapping on pipes becoming more frequent and insistent. It did not improve his composure.
Ahead, Goatee could see some light. He felt somewhat irked, he didn’t remember this from the last time he came through here. He blamed his panic for losing the way and pushed on regardless.
They emerged into a great round room. The pair stopped their headlong rush and stared in awe at the scale of it. They had entered the cooling vent of a warship reactor core. The corridor had become a hotch potch of found steel fashioned into a suspended walkway. It dangled over a chasm walled with immense pipeworks and cabling, much of it hanging loose and dangling across and around the room. The pipeworks snaked their way from a cold and dead reactor block below to a ceiling crowned with plasglass far above their heads. The transparent ceiling was holding back the void of space. Subdued light from the Rainbow hold cast a ghostly pallor through. The walls felt strangely close.
From the ceiling to the terminus below, the rotted detrius of ancient engineering had made a mess of itself. The broken pipes hung out from the walls as artifical gravity pulled them free from rusted bolts and brackets. Black and corroded cabling had fallen from sockets and lay pooled untidily on the walkway or dangled in midair across the chasm. The whole room was a demolition held in stasis a mere moment after it had started to fall in on itself. A true steel jungle.
Torch knew something of what she was looking at. “Goatee, this stuff is pre-contact technology. Back when the Argon ran their M2’s on nuclear power.”
“How old is that then?” he asked.
“Centuries” she replied. “They don’t make them like this anymore. All this would be pure copper wiring and solid core titanium struts.”
“It’s Perfect’ said Goatee.
“What? For a trap?” replied Torch, “Not really , we’d need some explosives to cut this walkway and I don’t carry any.”
Goatee led her on. “The only TNT we need”, he said, “is me”.
They ran the length of the walkway to the far side of the room. There the wall had been rent open and the walkway breached into the side of the corridor, back into the innards of the Sprawl. It made for excellent cover and Goatee set her in place there. The sounds of their pursuers was growing louder and echoing through the cooling tower room.
“You’ll have some trouble tracking me in this light, so only shoot them if they come all the way down this end ok. Don’t try to watch my back or anything, I’ll be moving too fast.”
“If you think you can take them out hand to hand on your own then I suggest you stop smoking spaceweed roots.”
“Torch, I don’t have time to argue with you…”
Torch cut him off angrily, “Hold up stinky, like I was saying, you need to stop smoking spaceweed roots” she produced something from her belt, “or take this.”
She held up a bundle of rolled black leather in her hand, offering it to Goatee. It unrolled as he took it. It was a simple black leather and PVC glove, tough yet flexible. The knuckles had squat pyramid studs and from the fingertips sprang tapered blades. Short, curved and razor pointed. Like claws.
Goatee pulled it on. “Damn straight!” he exclaimed.
He leapt up the wall and clambered soundlessly away, into the rusting metal jungle, gone from sight. Torch crouched and drew her weapon. Despite Goatee’s warnings, she was not going to sit idly by.
She waited. The dark waited with her. A knot formed in her belly. Something, somewhere, wasn’t right. She could feel it in the air. It crawled up her spine and sat tingling in the base of her neck making the hairs there stand up. She fancied she could feel it in her fingertips as well. Then she realised it wasn’t just instinct, something was thrumming through her fingertips where she touched the walls and her feet where they touched the floor. Something deep and bass. She had no time to guess at the source because she could see the spots of light now moving, back from where she and Goatee had come.
The pirates pursuing them came down the corridor brandishing flash lights. In the shafts of light Torch could see the lead pirate was not holding a flash light, but a small chrome device. The pursuers came nearer and nearer the entry of the room. None had noticed her in her hiding place, not yet. She hoped it stayed that way
They slowed as they entered the room, stopping just past the threshold. The lead pirate tapped at the device which beeped back at him compliantly. The assembled pirates behind him searching the walls with their lights. Suddenly the leader dropped the device to his belt and drew a gun.
“They’re here, Draw” he shouted.
Torch saw a dark shape start to fall from above them.
The pirates had barely brought out their weapons when the dark shape passed by the leader on it’s way down and past the walkway, fur glowed briefly in the torchlight. The leader jerked and flew sideways violently, coming to rest over the railing.
His gun clattered and echoed as it made its way to the bottom of the chasm.
The pirates started shouting in surprise and anger. They examined their fallen leader. Four rippling and red lines made their way from the ravaged remains of one ear, down the mans throat, across his torso and ended at his groin. He had been gutted instantly by whatever had hit him, the force of the blow so heavy it had thrown him bodily. The pirate’s torches traced the line of hastily unravelled intestine back across the walkway and over the opposite railing.
Swearing and bellows of rage erupted as the pirates brandished their weapons and formed into a tight pack. They shouted challenges and curses into the darkness as they tried to pierce with the feeble lights in their hands. Their composure returned and the ruckus died down. They strained their ears for the slightest sound of movement.
The drip, drip, drip of blood pooling far below echoed back at them through the silence.
Another pirate gave a yelp of surprise, his feet shifted sideways and he fell over. The pirates turned to him, some shooting blind into the darkness about his feet. The pirate lay there stricken and cringing from the gunfire for a moment, sure that he was doomed. Nothing happened.
He moved to get to his feet when they all heard a gurgling sound behind them. They turned to see one of their number clutching at his throat and falling to his knees. While they had been distracted, something had snuck up behind them and torn out his throat. They all knew this from the blood spraying between the mans fingers and coating their boots.
More swearing along with panic broke out as the pirates started shooting blind into the dark. They started to back up the way they had come when the walkway started to rattle. As if in answer, the junk hanging from the walls started to squeal and creak as it to began to moved. Cables that had remained unmoving for years wobbled and pipework shuddered emitting small puffs of rusty dust, straining further from their hangings with the movement.
Torch could feel it as well. The tingling in her toes had become a rhythmic rumble. Something big was moving down here and she wasn’t sure she should wait to find out what it was. As if in answer to her concerns, Goatee climbed up onto the walkway in front of her.
She had barely opened her mouth to speak when he grabbed her and dragged her down to the floor next to him. He stank of blood and viscera. “Don’t move” he whispered into her ear as they crouched there. The pirates continued their panicked gun fire. Their enthusiasm petered off as sections of the chasm wall peeled away noisily and thundered to the chasm floor far below. Despite the hubbub surrounding them, the sounds of footsteps loud, metallic and booming were now audible.
What happened next would haunt Goatee and Torch forever. From their viewpoint, huddled together in the dark, they could see everything that happened. The pirates were bunching together and facing out into the chasm. Their hands trembled and their bowels loosened as they realised just where they were and how deep they had run into it.
Looking through the Ultraviolet, Goatee recognised something familiar. pinpoints of soft purple glows as he had seen on his previous trip through The Sprawl, floating up and out of the corridor behind the pirate band. Only this time there were more.
Many more.
A section of plasma duct ripped free of the wall and crashed in a cloud of dust down the chasm wall and past the walkway, close enough to breath a cloud of dust over the pirates. At this they decided their taste for bounty did not match their taste of fear and they turned at once to run away. None even took the first step as they stared at the thing blocking the way back.
It was tentacled and it’s gigantic form loomed over them. It’s thumping footsteps were now silent. There was no apparent core to the being, no base visible from which the horde of glinting metal tendrils sprang.
The tentacles lashed out, thin as whips, and entered the nearest pirate by every available orifice. His blood sprayed out as the tentacles struck barriers in his body but pushed on regardless. His scalp writhed and pulsed unnaturally as they worked their way under his skin and around his skull, searching for flaws to push through. He was lifted off the ground as his head started to turn at an odd angle under the pressure, though the bones in his neck failed to snap. He scrabbled uselessly with blood slickened fingers at the polished steel tendrils, slithering across every inch of his skin looking for purchase to dig deeper. They bunching up around his pelvis and his jumpsuit ripped and fell away. The poetic justice of the tentacles more intimate searches there could clearly be seen. Blood now poured from him like a sieve. Another pirate was plucked from the floor in the same fashion before the group reacted.
Howls of rage and fear ripped into the tentacled thing along with bullets. Step by step they backed away from the thing, not taking their eyes off the grisly scene. The pirates were so distracted they didn’t notice the next beast until it was on them. It flashed out and over the mass of tentacles from behind, moving with cat like grace and supernatural speed. It flashed past the group, snagging one of their number with it’s heavily spined jaws. It barely lost speed and darted, a black steel cannonball with legs, along the walkway. As it passed near Goatee and Torch they could hear the pirate dangling in it’s jaws, high pitched sucking at the air was emitted as he attempted to draw breath for a scream. They were spattered by blood spraying in the wake of his movement. The beast sprang from the walkway and ran vertically up the chasm wall then disappeared down a large pipe. The pirates flesh snagged on the pipe’s jagged steel edge but was quickly, almost effortlessly, ripped and pulled along. A leg had torn clean off in the process and fell to the walkway below, throwing off a wet thump and a splatter when it hit. The echoes of flesh being rendered and screams being exhaled could be heard far above.
The fate of the few remaining pirates was sealed by a swarm of crawling insect things. Their eyes were pinpricks of red in the dark and electric sparks burst from mechanical leg joints. There the similarities ended, no two of them were the same. All seemed oblivious to the bullets ricocheting off their carapace. Some crawled with hooked toes up the pirates legs, resisting the pirates panicked shoves to remove them and sunk barbed sucking needles in the more choice organs as they went. Some pounced from the floor onto the men’s backs and wrapped serrated limbs around the men’s midriffs, the crunch of ribs loud in the din. One simply scrabbled along the floor from man to man, closing it’s mouthparts with a maniacal zest among the pirates, neatly snipping off feet at the ankles to fell them and get at their heads. Another monstrosity leaped from man to man on articulated limbs, mating with each man as it went via the medium of a sharpened electro lance.
The grisly slaughter came to a close as each man screamed their last. Then the sounds of feasting began. Metal monsters lapped at spilled gore, drained vital fluids from corpses and fussed fastidiously over every scrap and slice of meat. Torch felt her bile finally rise as the sounds of air mixing with fluids inside sucking proboscis gurgled noisily through the room.
She felt a tug on her sleeve. Goatee inclined his head down the waiting passageway. It was time to leave. She was scared but still sensible and followed on with light feet. But she did breath an exasperated, shuddering sigh.
Something heard her.
They had barely left behind the sounds of offal being consumed when the clatter of feet, metallic and running fast, sounded out behind them.
‘RUN!’ shouted Goatee.
Torch was happy to oblige.
Warning: Implied Xenophile sexual encounter. No pink bits but still, some people have just GOT to be self important net nannies.
You have been warned
Finale
Their legs ached but they ran on. Their lungs burned but they ran on. Their hearts hammered but they ran on.
They pushed through the pain and did not stop, for the sound of metal feet on metal decking karanged loudly in their wake. Whatever it was pursuing them, it was gaining.
Goatee half led and half dragged Torch onwards. For all he knew he was pulling her further and further into the depths of the sprawl, maybe even towards whatever those robotic things considered a home. But he was soon assured otherwise, for before him loomed a hatch. All too familiar, the hatch to the Stations hangar bay.
“Goatee, it’s almost got us!!”
“Hang on, we are almost out!”
Torch could just make out the door ahead. “We won’t make it!” she screeched.
“No we won’t, but for a hunch” replied Goatee.
Their headlong rush came to an abrupt halt at the bulkhead door. Goatee whipped Torch past him, grabbed her ripper and stood between her and the approaching metal beast. In the near distance he could see the ghost drops of gore sluicing from it’s spiny jaws. He could see the shadows of sparks raised from the decking by it’s claws. But he was looking for something else.
He saw it. With moments to spare he raised the ripper and aimed it dead centre of two floating dots of light flying just above the beast. It came on regardless, so he fired.
The ripper unloaded it’s quarrel which spun at super sonic speeds. Within a blink of an eye from the barrel, the bolt started to unfold. A heartbeat down the corridor and it had opened completely into a wafer thin disk of razor edged titanium. A breath along it’s path and the edge was charged with an ultrasonic field of universal cutting force.
A moment later it slammed into some object. Some thing beyond normal sight that flared blue briefly as it’s EM shroud was intersected by the ripper disk. The disk ricocheted off, shaving steel in it’s wake and the unseen device bounced off the walls and whirred, trying to regain control of it’s trajectory.
The beast came to an abrupt halt.
“Torch, be a dear and get that damn door open with all speed.”
“Sure thing stinky.”
Goatee waited. The beast waited. Both soundlessly, Goatee not losing his aim at the twin dots of ultra violet glow that sat closer to the beasts head now, though wavering slightly. Only the echo of the ripper disks impact down the long corridor flavoured the tense atmosphere.
“Torch?”
“Almost got it.”
The beast took a step forward. Goatee brandished the Ripper, reminding the… whatever it was of his threat. Torch heaved noisily now and the door started to move. With a crash and rumble of steel the door swung out and Torch fell through.
The beast leapt. Goatee flinched and stumbled backwards to the door. He triggered the Ripper randomly now, hoping to catch or slow the beast. By luck he did and it landed halfway through it’s pounce from the impact of disks. Goatee tripped and fell backwards through the door way as it leapt again.
Torch slammed the door shut and placed a laser shot on the jamb, welding the point of impact, with a hairs width of the beasts movement to spare. It beat against the door but she continued welding the door until she had literally sealed it shut.
The banging subsided.
“Screw you!” Torch shouted at the door as she flipped her middle finger at it. “Are you okay pal?”
Goatee picked himself up, “I need new underwear bur apart from that I’ll live.”
“Good, lets go.”
They crossed the hangar floor, which was oddly quiet, and boarded Torch’s ship, a Split Mamba dubbed The Fang.
“Glad I came in the old Fanger, we’ll need the speed to get out in one piece.”
Goatee started to strap himself in but paused, “What about my ship? You said you bought me a Barracuda?”
“I did, “ said Torch as she strapped herself in the pilots chair and flipped switches, “But it’s at the wharf in PTNI Headquarters. Which is, of course, our immediate destination.”
They lifted off smoothly from the deck and raced for the exit. As they approached Torch keyed in the airlock cycle code. But it didn’t open.
“That’s odd”, Torch said, she sounded quite concerned. She keyed in the code again but nothing happened. “What the hell is happening?”
Goatee pointed at the gravidar, “That” he said.
Multiple ships has peeled away from niches in the docking bay. All sorts of makes and models swung menacingly into view and charged their weapons.
Torch indicated a dark glass panel on the dash, “Goatee, open that panel and push the red button would you?”
“Sure”, he said compliantly.
The Fang rumbled and bucked as it flung a full cargo load of SQUASH mines into the docking bay. Chaos erupted as Ships scrambled and collided in a rush to dodge the mines. The mines themselves started impacting and filling the station interior with explosions.
The bay became, in essence, a tin can full of rapidly expanding gas. The space airlock doors began to buckle.
“Hold on!” screamed Torch as she tilted The Fang as close to the doors as she dared. The Fangs shields dipped dangerously low in the flame and turmoil of random explosions. The door, mercifully, bent, snapped and rushed outwards into space, carrying The Fang after it. The ship pitched violently on the front of the fireball belching out from the now ruined docking bay. Torch and Goatee felt their bodies might fly apart from the shaking when Torch managed to reach out and hit the booster switch. The Fang’s engines roared and pushed it away from the field of fire and ship debris rapidly expanding out from the hole in the station.
The comm came alive with curt expletives and panicked orders as station personnel tried to contain the damage. People screamed as emergency doors shut themselves against the vacuum of space and trapped people on the wrong side. Others screamed as fire sucked what oxygen it could from the station and burned anyone in its path. Someone yelled uselessly for fighter squads to launch and track down the culprits. “Grimm shall be rather upset with you my friend” yelled Goatee.
“I don’t give a rats to tell you the truth Goatee. He cut you off, denied me any help and what’s more, there’s no way those ships could have ambushed us without support from the station controllers. If he didn’t bring this about then I would severely doubt it. Stuff him, he can keep his pirate clan. I’m going back to solo.” She spat the last words viciously into the cockpit.
As they made their way out of the Rainbow Hold they talked of Torch’s history with the Cartel. She spoke of battles that had left a heavy toll on her conscience, of choices she felt she didn’t make herself, about freedom she had surrendered more and more with each passing day. All she had received in return was fear, the fear of living life on the run. A pirates life. It was a floodgate of regret that Goatee found surprising. He also noticed that Torch’s demeanour seemed to brighten as she spoke. She no longer seemed stooped and the frown lines around her mouth had dissipated. But she was still holding something back, pausing from time to time halfway through a sentence before continuing on a totally different track.
She didn’t mention Rogue, not even once.
“But anyway, there’s no going back to my old boring life so I’ll just have to make it as an outlaw on my own from now on. Back to business then, we should make it out of the field in about 5 minutes. I’ll jump to PTNI after that.”
“Why not jump now?” Goatee asked.
Torch shrugged, “Because the Hold messes with gate tunnels. Don’t ask me why, it just does.”
Goatee nodded. They spent the next few minutes in silence until the Fang emerged from the asteroid field.
“Goodbye and good riddance” she said as the jump drive powered up and pitched them across the galaxy. They slid without so much as a murmur into PTNI Headquarters. Torch tapped some commands into the navigation console. The computer affirmed clearance and the autopilot kicked in. The control yoke drifted from Torch’s hands.
“And that is that. We’ll be in station in thirty minutes and then…”
“.. it’s goodbye.” said Goatee.
“Ya.” replied Torch. They sat in awkward silence for a moment. Goatee stared out of the view screen, pretending to take interest in some random object. Torch merely sat staring at him for a time.
“Goatee, do you know what a xenophile is?”
Goatee considered for a moment, “No, not really”
“Good”, she said. “Because I need you to help me with something.” She reached up to the neck of her flysuit, unclasped a press stud and drew the zip downwards.
Goatee started salivating. He swallowed. “What is it you want help with?” he asked softly.
“I need you to help me forget someone.” The zip passed by red cloth under the suit, showing bare skin here and there. The zip reached her navel and continued down. She parted her legs and tilted her hips back to pass it all the way past her crotch where the suit hugged her tight. She then stood from the chair and stepped free of the flysuit. She wore intricate red spaceweave undergarments and nothing else. She let out her red and black dyed hair and it fell free across her shoulders, framing her face and breasts as one.
“This may be problematic” said Goatee.
“Good” said Torch, “I love a challenge”.
“Really?” asked Goatee as he reached forward and drew her to him. “Well, it is an acting challenge.”
“Role play? Even better” she cooed as she straddled his leg and bent in to kiss him.
His lips were coarse and hard. It was not pleasant and she drew away. “Hmmm, well, I bet you have other surprises in store than that. So, what’s the challenge?”
“Well, can you hide somewhere on the ship, naked, and pretend to be asleep?” Goatee looked slightly tense as he said it.
Torch laughed, “And I suppose you’ll stalk me and give me a little surprise while I’m taking a nap will you?”
“Exactly, I can’t get aroused otherwise. It is the Khat way. I have to hunt you.”
She smiled again, sympathetically he thought, and hopped playfully off his knee. She toggled a switch on the dashboard and an engineering conduit opened leading into the engine bays.
“See you in about 5 minutes then?” she asked.
“Sure” Goatee replied.
Goatee felt very angry with himself. What he was about to do was an abomination to his people. A sickness that was to be hunted and the reason he had fled his home territory. He had promised himself not to stray again but he could not help it.
To develop empathy and respect for other species as equal beings had undone the first Khat terrordom. His fetish was but one of the many things that brought such undermining perspectives about.
He was angry because he was going to open a weakness of himself to this civilisation once again. But Goatee noted, somewhat cynically, that he had gone much further than this in order to peacefully coexist. Though he remembered regretting it, he couldn’t deny this urge. Not now. Not after all she had done for him, he had to pay back some of the debt.
He stripped, lowered himself to all fours and stalked into the open engine bay door.
The engine bay was much larger than he had anticipated. He guessed it took up twice as much room than required to cater for the crawl spaces. Being a Split ship, the lighting was extremely subdued and red, the crawl spaces were especially cramped. The engine hum was also much louder. He breathed the smell of rancid rastar oil deeply, trying to filter out Torch’s scent. It came to him and he moved after it.
The lighting made it difficult to spy out colour variations and spot Torch through the tangle of pipes. But the scent of her skin clung underneath the industrial bouquet and led him on. Goatee noticed the heat of the engine bay through his fur and he began to sweat.
Then her scent intensified drastically. He knew she was near. All the required erotic set pieces fell into place and a small door opened in the back of his mind. He felt himself quicken. He climbed silkily and soundlessly over conduits, power cells and engine blocks as her smell drew him on. Over steaming heat exchangers and shuddering plasma pumps he stalked.
He found her. Naked. Seemingly asleep. He pounced.
Much later Torch woke up. Still covered in sweat and feeling supremely contented. But alone. Goatee was not beside her where he had fallen asleep.
She rose, collected her garments and made her way shakily back to the cockpit. The Fang has already docked at the Wharf. She checked the chronometer and saw that she had been sitting in dock for over two hours. Goatee was nowhere to be seen.
“Pig bastard” she said, and decided she needed a shower desperately. The crew compartment was as she had left it, he had not entered. She sighed to herself, dumped her clothes and activated the water recycler. The shower cube was a tight fit but enough to move around in. She took her time, her muscles in a highly relaxed state. Goatee had warned her during their labours not to do anything too physical when she woke up. Something about certain hormones in the Khat metabolism secreted to prevent love prey from escaping in a post coital moment. Torch did notice that she was more relaxed now that she could ever remember. Goatee had performed his favour well.
But she still hated him for leaving without so much a goodbye.
Torch returned to the cockpit of The Fang refreshed as well as relaxed. She mused on what she might try as a way to make a living for now on. The Khakk Threat to her civilisation was still present in many sectors. One could make a good living on bounty and resale of Khakk ships as well as pirate vessels. But she decided piracy on pirates would attract too much attention from those with vested interests in her destruction.
She sat at the console and decided she needed to upgrade her lifestyle. She had the credits she needed so she ordered a Teladi Osprey from the nearby shipyard. It would take her some time to fully fit it out with the best weapons and full shields. But until then she would enjoy making her way about the universe in her own private fortress.
As she prepared to leave the dock she noticed something embedded in the co-pilots seat. It was fully unfolded and stuck halfway into the seat. Blood burnished the exposed edge, a slightly different shade of red to her own.
He had left a message after all. A token, marking and guarding his place. The territory he would one day return to. A home of the heart he would hunt for once more.
“Well, not a bastard, but still a pig” said Torch.
The Barracuda was in excellent condition for a used military vehicle. When Goatee had surveyed the paperwork he was somewhat concerned that it had already seen over ten years of service. But the finesse of Boron engineering had preserved it well, along with the Teladi custom of attention to quality goods. The combat load out was unimpressive, it held a set of beta particle accelerators and a single high wattage shield. He decided this was adequately compensated by the low price Torch had negotiated for him and he had signed the receipt.
As he left the wharf he blew a kiss to The Fang with his wounded hand. He hoped Torch would appreciate the token he had left behind. It was genuine, he had bonded with her but was unsure if she would understand what that meant. Why he had to leave.
From the wharf he flew straight for the nearest Nostrop refinery and picked up his first load of trade goods. Just as the Teladi salesman had advised him at the wharf, it was always best to start out small so one wouldn’t attract attention.
It was as anathema a statement about his encounters so far in this part of the galaxy as he would ever find. He thought for a moment, fingering at the blood spotted bandage on his right hand where he had cut himself with the ripper disk, then tapped something in to the command console. He then activated the navigation system, entered a course to the next sector and grasped the steering yoke. He felt happiest like this. It was good to feel free again.
As he flew on to the next sector, many a freighter pilot raised an eyebrow at the name of the ship they scanned as it whirled its way past. Even more strange was the name of the one who flew it on, to parts unknown.
Ship Name: “Anathema State of Being”
Pilot: Goatee the Khat.
You have been warned
Finale
Their legs ached but they ran on. Their lungs burned but they ran on. Their hearts hammered but they ran on.
They pushed through the pain and did not stop, for the sound of metal feet on metal decking karanged loudly in their wake. Whatever it was pursuing them, it was gaining.
Goatee half led and half dragged Torch onwards. For all he knew he was pulling her further and further into the depths of the sprawl, maybe even towards whatever those robotic things considered a home. But he was soon assured otherwise, for before him loomed a hatch. All too familiar, the hatch to the Stations hangar bay.
“Goatee, it’s almost got us!!”
“Hang on, we are almost out!”
Torch could just make out the door ahead. “We won’t make it!” she screeched.
“No we won’t, but for a hunch” replied Goatee.
Their headlong rush came to an abrupt halt at the bulkhead door. Goatee whipped Torch past him, grabbed her ripper and stood between her and the approaching metal beast. In the near distance he could see the ghost drops of gore sluicing from it’s spiny jaws. He could see the shadows of sparks raised from the decking by it’s claws. But he was looking for something else.
He saw it. With moments to spare he raised the ripper and aimed it dead centre of two floating dots of light flying just above the beast. It came on regardless, so he fired.
The ripper unloaded it’s quarrel which spun at super sonic speeds. Within a blink of an eye from the barrel, the bolt started to unfold. A heartbeat down the corridor and it had opened completely into a wafer thin disk of razor edged titanium. A breath along it’s path and the edge was charged with an ultrasonic field of universal cutting force.
A moment later it slammed into some object. Some thing beyond normal sight that flared blue briefly as it’s EM shroud was intersected by the ripper disk. The disk ricocheted off, shaving steel in it’s wake and the unseen device bounced off the walls and whirred, trying to regain control of it’s trajectory.
The beast came to an abrupt halt.
“Torch, be a dear and get that damn door open with all speed.”
“Sure thing stinky.”
Goatee waited. The beast waited. Both soundlessly, Goatee not losing his aim at the twin dots of ultra violet glow that sat closer to the beasts head now, though wavering slightly. Only the echo of the ripper disks impact down the long corridor flavoured the tense atmosphere.
“Torch?”
“Almost got it.”
The beast took a step forward. Goatee brandished the Ripper, reminding the… whatever it was of his threat. Torch heaved noisily now and the door started to move. With a crash and rumble of steel the door swung out and Torch fell through.
The beast leapt. Goatee flinched and stumbled backwards to the door. He triggered the Ripper randomly now, hoping to catch or slow the beast. By luck he did and it landed halfway through it’s pounce from the impact of disks. Goatee tripped and fell backwards through the door way as it leapt again.
Torch slammed the door shut and placed a laser shot on the jamb, welding the point of impact, with a hairs width of the beasts movement to spare. It beat against the door but she continued welding the door until she had literally sealed it shut.
The banging subsided.
“Screw you!” Torch shouted at the door as she flipped her middle finger at it. “Are you okay pal?”
Goatee picked himself up, “I need new underwear bur apart from that I’ll live.”
“Good, lets go.”
They crossed the hangar floor, which was oddly quiet, and boarded Torch’s ship, a Split Mamba dubbed The Fang.
“Glad I came in the old Fanger, we’ll need the speed to get out in one piece.”
Goatee started to strap himself in but paused, “What about my ship? You said you bought me a Barracuda?”
“I did, “ said Torch as she strapped herself in the pilots chair and flipped switches, “But it’s at the wharf in PTNI Headquarters. Which is, of course, our immediate destination.”
They lifted off smoothly from the deck and raced for the exit. As they approached Torch keyed in the airlock cycle code. But it didn’t open.
“That’s odd”, Torch said, she sounded quite concerned. She keyed in the code again but nothing happened. “What the hell is happening?”
Goatee pointed at the gravidar, “That” he said.
Multiple ships has peeled away from niches in the docking bay. All sorts of makes and models swung menacingly into view and charged their weapons.
Torch indicated a dark glass panel on the dash, “Goatee, open that panel and push the red button would you?”
“Sure”, he said compliantly.
The Fang rumbled and bucked as it flung a full cargo load of SQUASH mines into the docking bay. Chaos erupted as Ships scrambled and collided in a rush to dodge the mines. The mines themselves started impacting and filling the station interior with explosions.
The bay became, in essence, a tin can full of rapidly expanding gas. The space airlock doors began to buckle.
“Hold on!” screamed Torch as she tilted The Fang as close to the doors as she dared. The Fangs shields dipped dangerously low in the flame and turmoil of random explosions. The door, mercifully, bent, snapped and rushed outwards into space, carrying The Fang after it. The ship pitched violently on the front of the fireball belching out from the now ruined docking bay. Torch and Goatee felt their bodies might fly apart from the shaking when Torch managed to reach out and hit the booster switch. The Fang’s engines roared and pushed it away from the field of fire and ship debris rapidly expanding out from the hole in the station.
The comm came alive with curt expletives and panicked orders as station personnel tried to contain the damage. People screamed as emergency doors shut themselves against the vacuum of space and trapped people on the wrong side. Others screamed as fire sucked what oxygen it could from the station and burned anyone in its path. Someone yelled uselessly for fighter squads to launch and track down the culprits. “Grimm shall be rather upset with you my friend” yelled Goatee.
“I don’t give a rats to tell you the truth Goatee. He cut you off, denied me any help and what’s more, there’s no way those ships could have ambushed us without support from the station controllers. If he didn’t bring this about then I would severely doubt it. Stuff him, he can keep his pirate clan. I’m going back to solo.” She spat the last words viciously into the cockpit.
As they made their way out of the Rainbow Hold they talked of Torch’s history with the Cartel. She spoke of battles that had left a heavy toll on her conscience, of choices she felt she didn’t make herself, about freedom she had surrendered more and more with each passing day. All she had received in return was fear, the fear of living life on the run. A pirates life. It was a floodgate of regret that Goatee found surprising. He also noticed that Torch’s demeanour seemed to brighten as she spoke. She no longer seemed stooped and the frown lines around her mouth had dissipated. But she was still holding something back, pausing from time to time halfway through a sentence before continuing on a totally different track.
She didn’t mention Rogue, not even once.
“But anyway, there’s no going back to my old boring life so I’ll just have to make it as an outlaw on my own from now on. Back to business then, we should make it out of the field in about 5 minutes. I’ll jump to PTNI after that.”
“Why not jump now?” Goatee asked.
Torch shrugged, “Because the Hold messes with gate tunnels. Don’t ask me why, it just does.”
Goatee nodded. They spent the next few minutes in silence until the Fang emerged from the asteroid field.
“Goodbye and good riddance” she said as the jump drive powered up and pitched them across the galaxy. They slid without so much as a murmur into PTNI Headquarters. Torch tapped some commands into the navigation console. The computer affirmed clearance and the autopilot kicked in. The control yoke drifted from Torch’s hands.
“And that is that. We’ll be in station in thirty minutes and then…”
“.. it’s goodbye.” said Goatee.
“Ya.” replied Torch. They sat in awkward silence for a moment. Goatee stared out of the view screen, pretending to take interest in some random object. Torch merely sat staring at him for a time.
“Goatee, do you know what a xenophile is?”
Goatee considered for a moment, “No, not really”
“Good”, she said. “Because I need you to help me with something.” She reached up to the neck of her flysuit, unclasped a press stud and drew the zip downwards.
Goatee started salivating. He swallowed. “What is it you want help with?” he asked softly.
“I need you to help me forget someone.” The zip passed by red cloth under the suit, showing bare skin here and there. The zip reached her navel and continued down. She parted her legs and tilted her hips back to pass it all the way past her crotch where the suit hugged her tight. She then stood from the chair and stepped free of the flysuit. She wore intricate red spaceweave undergarments and nothing else. She let out her red and black dyed hair and it fell free across her shoulders, framing her face and breasts as one.
“This may be problematic” said Goatee.
“Good” said Torch, “I love a challenge”.
“Really?” asked Goatee as he reached forward and drew her to him. “Well, it is an acting challenge.”
“Role play? Even better” she cooed as she straddled his leg and bent in to kiss him.
His lips were coarse and hard. It was not pleasant and she drew away. “Hmmm, well, I bet you have other surprises in store than that. So, what’s the challenge?”
“Well, can you hide somewhere on the ship, naked, and pretend to be asleep?” Goatee looked slightly tense as he said it.
Torch laughed, “And I suppose you’ll stalk me and give me a little surprise while I’m taking a nap will you?”
“Exactly, I can’t get aroused otherwise. It is the Khat way. I have to hunt you.”
She smiled again, sympathetically he thought, and hopped playfully off his knee. She toggled a switch on the dashboard and an engineering conduit opened leading into the engine bays.
“See you in about 5 minutes then?” she asked.
“Sure” Goatee replied.
Goatee felt very angry with himself. What he was about to do was an abomination to his people. A sickness that was to be hunted and the reason he had fled his home territory. He had promised himself not to stray again but he could not help it.
To develop empathy and respect for other species as equal beings had undone the first Khat terrordom. His fetish was but one of the many things that brought such undermining perspectives about.
He was angry because he was going to open a weakness of himself to this civilisation once again. But Goatee noted, somewhat cynically, that he had gone much further than this in order to peacefully coexist. Though he remembered regretting it, he couldn’t deny this urge. Not now. Not after all she had done for him, he had to pay back some of the debt.
He stripped, lowered himself to all fours and stalked into the open engine bay door.
The engine bay was much larger than he had anticipated. He guessed it took up twice as much room than required to cater for the crawl spaces. Being a Split ship, the lighting was extremely subdued and red, the crawl spaces were especially cramped. The engine hum was also much louder. He breathed the smell of rancid rastar oil deeply, trying to filter out Torch’s scent. It came to him and he moved after it.
The lighting made it difficult to spy out colour variations and spot Torch through the tangle of pipes. But the scent of her skin clung underneath the industrial bouquet and led him on. Goatee noticed the heat of the engine bay through his fur and he began to sweat.
Then her scent intensified drastically. He knew she was near. All the required erotic set pieces fell into place and a small door opened in the back of his mind. He felt himself quicken. He climbed silkily and soundlessly over conduits, power cells and engine blocks as her smell drew him on. Over steaming heat exchangers and shuddering plasma pumps he stalked.
He found her. Naked. Seemingly asleep. He pounced.
Much later Torch woke up. Still covered in sweat and feeling supremely contented. But alone. Goatee was not beside her where he had fallen asleep.
She rose, collected her garments and made her way shakily back to the cockpit. The Fang has already docked at the Wharf. She checked the chronometer and saw that she had been sitting in dock for over two hours. Goatee was nowhere to be seen.
“Pig bastard” she said, and decided she needed a shower desperately. The crew compartment was as she had left it, he had not entered. She sighed to herself, dumped her clothes and activated the water recycler. The shower cube was a tight fit but enough to move around in. She took her time, her muscles in a highly relaxed state. Goatee had warned her during their labours not to do anything too physical when she woke up. Something about certain hormones in the Khat metabolism secreted to prevent love prey from escaping in a post coital moment. Torch did notice that she was more relaxed now that she could ever remember. Goatee had performed his favour well.
But she still hated him for leaving without so much a goodbye.
Torch returned to the cockpit of The Fang refreshed as well as relaxed. She mused on what she might try as a way to make a living for now on. The Khakk Threat to her civilisation was still present in many sectors. One could make a good living on bounty and resale of Khakk ships as well as pirate vessels. But she decided piracy on pirates would attract too much attention from those with vested interests in her destruction.
She sat at the console and decided she needed to upgrade her lifestyle. She had the credits she needed so she ordered a Teladi Osprey from the nearby shipyard. It would take her some time to fully fit it out with the best weapons and full shields. But until then she would enjoy making her way about the universe in her own private fortress.
As she prepared to leave the dock she noticed something embedded in the co-pilots seat. It was fully unfolded and stuck halfway into the seat. Blood burnished the exposed edge, a slightly different shade of red to her own.
He had left a message after all. A token, marking and guarding his place. The territory he would one day return to. A home of the heart he would hunt for once more.
“Well, not a bastard, but still a pig” said Torch.
The Barracuda was in excellent condition for a used military vehicle. When Goatee had surveyed the paperwork he was somewhat concerned that it had already seen over ten years of service. But the finesse of Boron engineering had preserved it well, along with the Teladi custom of attention to quality goods. The combat load out was unimpressive, it held a set of beta particle accelerators and a single high wattage shield. He decided this was adequately compensated by the low price Torch had negotiated for him and he had signed the receipt.
As he left the wharf he blew a kiss to The Fang with his wounded hand. He hoped Torch would appreciate the token he had left behind. It was genuine, he had bonded with her but was unsure if she would understand what that meant. Why he had to leave.
From the wharf he flew straight for the nearest Nostrop refinery and picked up his first load of trade goods. Just as the Teladi salesman had advised him at the wharf, it was always best to start out small so one wouldn’t attract attention.
It was as anathema a statement about his encounters so far in this part of the galaxy as he would ever find. He thought for a moment, fingering at the blood spotted bandage on his right hand where he had cut himself with the ripper disk, then tapped something in to the command console. He then activated the navigation system, entered a course to the next sector and grasped the steering yoke. He felt happiest like this. It was good to feel free again.
As he flew on to the next sector, many a freighter pilot raised an eyebrow at the name of the ship they scanned as it whirled its way past. Even more strange was the name of the one who flew it on, to parts unknown.
Ship Name: “Anathema State of Being”
Pilot: Goatee the Khat.
No rant required Goatee, and please, put that thing away will ya, you'll frighten the kiddies.
Have resisted commenting till the end. Won't get all arty and literary on you, but that is one heck of a tale. To just say 'Good stuff' or such after that seems a little understated, but what the hell.
Good stuff!!!
Cheers,
Rob.
Have resisted commenting till the end. Won't get all arty and literary on you, but that is one heck of a tale. To just say 'Good stuff' or such after that seems a little understated, but what the hell.
Good stuff!!!
Cheers,
Rob.