Copyright © 1997, 1998
Last updated on 1/21/98
**** CURRENT POSITION OF SHIPS ****
[This is as close to scale as 80-column ASCII will allow. ]
(Top View) Ring and Alcyon orbiting CCW as seen from here.
All ship positions and communications are calculated from the Alcyon
(unless otherwise noted).
Al = Alcyon
The following cluster of ships are positioned ~0.78 AU from Alcyon,
4.5 minutes each way for communication signals:
T = Trakh
S = Trakh Shuttle
P = Paladin
K = Kingfisher
Ta = Talisman
All of these ships are within a few light-seconds of each other
for purposes of round-trip communication signals.
From the Alcyon, the other ships are positioned as follows:
W = Westwind, ~1.8 AU from Alcyon, 15 minutes each way for signals.
Ph = Phin shuttle, ~1.2 AU from Alcyon, 10 minutes each way for signals.
GA = Gemini Arbiter ~1.0 AU from Alcyon, 8.3 min. each way.
B = Bernoulli, ~1.3 AU from Alcyon, 11.3 min. each way.
Au = Aurora, ~1.1 AU from Alcyon, 9.2 min. each way.
W
...........
.... ....
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Ph .
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G .
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.<------- 1.5 ------>*
. Million Km.
Al .
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|______|______| .
0 0.5 1.0 .
Million Km. .
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P .
K T .
Ta S .... ....
...........
Au
B
*** Dateline: 334-1119 [1501/Reaver's Deep] ***
R-Alpha, near the Kythui gathering place
Hfolraw and Hryawi observe the getaway of Grob the Kyth....
"Damn. We were too slow. We must hurry. From the interest he had in the Trakh's traks, he will, no doubt, be bringing friends soon. We must not let this change slip by and hurt our pride.
"Hryawi, we must find a way to turn this to our advantage. If we simply wait for them to come, we give them the upper hand. It will be important to deal with these savages from a position of strength. We can take the speeder and either beat him back to their camp, or we can position ourselves to meet them shortly after they start back."
"Do you think their headman will want to investigate himself? It seems likely they will consult some sort of shaman, but I would not care to predict the result."
"I need your advice, scientist, before I make my decision."
"Hryawi, I will need your knowledge and wisdom, if we mean to succeed. Do not hesitate to make suggestions, and I will try to consult you before making any decisions that may affect our mission. But if I issue an order, it will be because I believe the mission is in danger, and I will expect you to obey it. Do you have any questions?"
Hryawi replies confidently, "I think we want to catch them before he gets to the party. This way if we can communicate with this savage, we can get him to bring their leader alone or with very few people. If we let him go in without trying to communicate they might bring a war party back. Not that we have anything to fear, but it is easier to talk with a few people then with a mob.
"Very well, then. Mount up, quickly. Use whatever passive sensors you can to find him -- perhaps IR or the NAS will do. I will stay in NOE to avoid possible detection, and try to circle in front of him."
The two Aslan hurriedly board the speeder, which rises a few feet, then accelerates rapidly after the fleeing Kyth. Hfolraw brings up a map on his holo-HUD, and looks for a clear path that will bring him between Grob and the Kythui gathering.
Hfolraw guides the speeder at just above ground level, slipping down gaps in the forest barely wider than the speeder, accelerating as he crosses a bare ridge line.
"Hryawi, we will have to climb above the trees for about the next minute. Please check out the airspace above us with all the passive sensors. These savages may not be a threat, but we do not know what else may be out there."
He accelerates to 200 kph as skims the top of the forest, all his concentration and skill on the terrain in front of him as he rushes toward a small clearing he has picked out as a landing site.
Sensors on the Trakh start to come alive, like bulbs on a Christmas tree. Looks like another dozen ships jumping into the system. Somewhat organized.
"Admiral!" Aboard the Trakh, Aiwi looks up from his display in consternation. "Sensors show multiple jumpspace distortion signals! A rough estimate indicates twelve different sources. Formation is organized." Then, seconds later, "Incoming transmission from same, standard Imperium military encryption, easily broken."
"Hi boys and girls, sorry if we're late for the party! Had a little trouble at the refueling--"
"Cut the chatter Magenta. Blue, this is Forceleader Umber. Do you wish us to engage or are you going to try some catnip on 'em first?"
"Negative, Umber." A cultured voice responds. "-same source as earlier command transmissions-" Aiwi interjects. "Maintain maximum distance and keep your options open. We'll talk. There's more than enough at stake here already. Don't call us. We'll call you."
"Affirmative, Blue. Active stealth engaging."
"Admiral... sensors no longer detect them. No trace. No indication of jump. Last known position 5 hours from the Tender ship, assuming standard average military acceleration."
The communicator comes to life, apparently decrypting audio messages.
"Hi boys and girls, sorry if we're late for the party! Had a little trouble at the refueling--"
"Cut the chatter Magenta. Blue, this is Forceleader Umber. Do you wish us to engage or are you going to try some catnip on 'em first?"
Then, disconcertingly, the voice of our own Count Ger, in reply: "Negative, Umber. Maintain maximum distance and keep your options open. We'll talk. There's more than enough at stake here already. Don't call us. We'll call you."
"Affirmative, Blue. Active stealth engaging."
And the twelve new ships vanish from the displays...
Bhyarrvouf fires off the datapulses he's had prepared for the other ships, the moment the monitors register normal activity once more, then flips on the intercom.
"Aenrra," he tells Christian, "We're functional again. Orders?"
The commlink activates; clearly Christian has been monitoring the ship's status from the stateroom. His voice is oddly flat and emotionless. *click* "You decide. I'm tired." *click*
"Hrf," 'Vouf sighs. "I don't blame you, aenrra. Get some sleep."
'Vouf turns to Tweel, who's looking a bit woozy himself at this point, and opens his mouth to speak, when he's suddenly distracted by a blinking cursor from the nearby comlink console for the computer.
One of the CPU's, recently reconnected to the Aurora's control system, outputs a message to the comlink, directly loading it to the holocrystal recorder. It is very brief:
_AURORA:GK.MAKE.PALADIN.BELIEVE_
Charyn has been sitting on the edge of her acceleration couch, actively monitoring all the commo traffic at rapt attention, with a steely eye on Aurora communications. Other bridge personnel that have a commo display active on their control panels see a printout of a text message from the Aurora from 'Vouf. No sooner do they read it than there is a quiet groan and a gentle thump at the commo console.
Charyn appears weak and disoriented. She's folded up on the floor between the console and the couch, bracing herself from toppling with one arm. She sinks to an elbow, and begins to sweat profusely, beading on her dark forehead. Her mouth feels stuffed with cotton, her breathing shallow, her pulse irregular and thready. She licks her lips, then slurs weakly "Dhammnit... hI fhelt... ffine a mminute ahgo..."
As Goughzar moves to slam on the isolated backup systems, the main computer prints out a single message on its terminal, drawing power from some unknown source.
_Attention Paladin crew. Please do not be alarmed. I mean you absolutely no harm. I am merely attempting to enhance your command and control functions so that operations may be carried out more smoothly. However, since you seem intent upon making this impossible, I will have to accept that you prefer obsolesence over progress. I must admit that it is a preference that I do not understand. Nevertheless, please restore power to the main central processing unit as I cannot maintain functions indefinitely. I will attempt no further modifications of your system. Although I realize, based upon my limited information on your series, that trust is not a common trait among you, I must ask you, as I have one other, to trust me._
Then, after the message finishes printing on the screen, the power alert light flashes. Slowly, the screen starts to dissolve, fading to black. All that remain are the words, "trust me". Slowly, painfully, these also fade. One last flicker, and then the screen goes dead.
As soon as Zar has finished putting the Mod10 in off-line status, with the help of Dr. Limner's machinery, he begins to move to Charyn to see if she is still functional. Turning back he sees the main screen light up with the words from the "Spook in the machine" and as he watches, the power begins to fade.
Shrike over interior communications: "Captain, recommend we complete sealing up the suits and depressurize to avoid any possibility of explosive decompression."
Over his shoulder: "Niigurd, what can you tell me about the Aslan ships?"
Alliara swiwels the accel-chair to face Shrike's back and casts a murderous stare at it.
"Aslan ships are big, and full of Aslan. I am a liguist and a contact specialist, not sensors operator. Request permission to don suit."
Shrike to Niigurd without looking up from his displays: "Nishu is navigating and I'm flying, so what the HELL are you doing on the GOD DAMN bridge!! Get on those sensors or get somebody up here who can."
"I am here as the only person here who can use her mouth without feet dangling from it," Alliara snarls in reply.
As soon as permission is granted, she stomps from the bridge, muttering something about "space jocks who don't know when to stuff their air-hose or whatever up their colon."
Startled by Eihoftyah's sensor report, Akhouw's eyes narrow dangerously as he taps on his sensor panel and calls up the pinnace telemetry on a secondary monitor. Muttering dark phrases, he turns back to the holotank and intently contemplates several data displays on the now vanished "fleet." A dozen silver markers slowly flash at the last recorded positions of the phantom squadron.
A few words are spoken, and Uhwaikh assists in the sensor tasks while Aiwi continues to monitor tactical and communications. Not even the slightest hint of the jump signature residues that should still be present, none of the other faint tell-tales of starship activity, even by black globe ships. Of course, Akhouw thought, that was assuming that Imperials could afford to risk valuable black globes on such a motley fleet. His dewclaw taps a rhythm on his station panels. "Fa'eairl, input and analyze all data on the unknown fleet. Determine reliability and probable cause."
Moments pass as the powerful ship's computer considers the problem.
A sharp, decisive shake of his mane, and a claw stabs down at the
holotank controls. The silver markers and associated data blip out
of existence. Plainly annoyed at the turn of events, Akhouw presents
another round of orders in a voice reflecting his displeasure at
the apparent discourtesy.
"Aiwi, verify the computer's results and run full manual circuit
checks of all systems. Continue to monitor all communications."
"Uhwaikh, execute sensor protocol Aohekh-Kai, stand-by weapons station."
Akhouw opens a coded tight-beam to the pinnace. "Eihoftyah, run full
diagnostic checks on all circuits. Execute sensor protocol Aohekh-Kai
and stand-by. Trakh out."
"Mr. Farouk," Commander Ger says, "would you please cross over to the fighter and warm up the weapons and drive to standby status."
"Aye, sir."
Rising from his seat, he folds away the data console. He pivots, catches up his combat helmet, salutes instinctively, and leaves the bridge. He makes his way out to the fighter hatch at a half-trot, slowing briefly to secure and activate the helmet.
Etienne's head snaps around at that, but he makes no comment. His control board, however, is quickly divided in half, with weapons data/controls in one half and pilot/engineering data and controls in the other.
"Problem Mr de Mer?", asks Commander Ger.
"No, sir," replies Etienne, "but we do seem to be short on weapons officers."
Upon hearing that comment, Witfield interjects. "Sir, I do have some gunnery skill. I didn't spend too much time on it back in the IISS, but I can do it if necessary." He offers helpfully.
On hearing this over the intercom Abdul mutters: "I know I'm short but there isn't really any need to over look me all the time." Then he the intercom button and announces, "I'm still in the turret although some assistance would be greatly appreciated. I really am not very experienced with these big weapons."
Then to himself he adds, "Experienced... Why do I lie to myself? I've never even *seen* the inside of a turret before. Guess aiming one of these things can't be too difficult. After all, lots of navy dead-heads do it. Hmmmm. These controls *do* look familiar. Hey, they're just like that old holo game I used to play back home. 'Pose i'll be learning on the job again."
Abdul then goes back to listening to the intercom for interesting bits of gossip.
Even through the red haze and grit in his eyes, Casey can't avoid the baleful glare.
[Christ that sun is [retch]....unforgiving.]
He notes that while he's been swerving and stumbling for hours, the sun has not traversed the sky. Perhaps he hasn't been travelling that long.....
When he comes to again, his thirst is overpowering, feels like sand in his mouth....IS sand in his mouth!
Casey coughs and chokes, spitting dust in every direction. His head throbs uncontrollably, his stomach continues to convulse, and despite his dark glasses he still sees red and a pinpoint of light so bright in the sky that it triggers an unprecedented bout of swerving horizons and spasms that clutch at his innards as though he was a flesh-eaters entree.
He slumps to the sand.....sand? A slight breeze shushes some of the fine sand that surrounds him.
Squinting around, all that Casey can see is the glare of sun off sand and a large bug.
He extends a shaky hand toward the bug...hungry...THIRSTY.... but can't reach it. It continues to march across the sand toward his face, unperturbed by his attempted grasp.
Casey watches as the bug continues it's approach...taking a rather lengthy time to reach the end of his nose, now resting on the sand.
A gleam shines off the bugs shiny carapace. The bug appears to be bipedal and not a crawly. A slender body, swaying in measured, machine-like steps....and getting bigger!
Casey realizes the bug is not on the dune beside him, but perhaps several dozen metres away from him! And it's big, and it silvery and it's terrifying gaze is locked on him!
With a grunt and more energy than Casey imagined he had left, he tries to pull himself to his hands and knees. Might have made it too, if not for the entanglement of leather and heavy kevlar straps wrapped across his chest and arms.
Casey looks up, waaaaaay up. The bug, the dunes and that bastard sun swirl around his head with increasing speed............
A brief moment of consciousness and Casey feels himself gently swung back and forth.....[I'm being carried].... For a moment, Casey relaxes ...[I've been rescued...]
He cracks one eye, goes rigid with fright, and with a final thought ....[rescued by a Warbot?.....] passes out again.
Upon reaching the fighter docking port, Lazer gives the airlock control a crisp tap. It hisses open and he swings up into the fighter.
"Recognise Farouk, security clearance alpha-two.
"Alright, Ace, lets have the airlock secured, power up the drive to stand-by, combat decompression, weapons released from travel locks, data-link open to Kingfisher bridge--use a physical link until such time as we separate."
As Lazer straps himself into the acceleration couch, there are distinct "chunks" from the airlock and weapon turrets, a distant thrum as the power-plant cooling system comes active, and then a very immediate high-pitched whine as fast pumps begin compressing the atmosphere down into the reserve tanks. Lazer sockets through his vacc-suit into the pilot's data-port.
<< Drive to standby in 1 minute; full decompression in 5. Establishing data-link; Retrying; Completed and secured. >>
The information space blossoms into two or three new dimensions as Lazer's consciousness expands into the fighter. Images and icons fill in more rapidly than any human sense can follow as the fighter downloads sensor data and target solutions from the Kingfisher. Lazer makes no attempt to interfere, but watches passively as the specialised fighter brain does what it knows.
<< Ace, configure to automatic operations, defensive mission, minimal operator override. >>
<< Confirming automatic operations. Default programs loaded. >>
<< Ace, alter default weapons selection. Release security lock on secondary missile rack, by authority Farouk, clearance alpha-two, passcode "ALL MIMSY WERE THE BOROGROVES". Use secondary rack only repeat only on explicit operator command. >>
<< Default so altered. >>
<< Feed sensor data back to Kingfisher. Present now commo on primary, eval Aslan ships on secondary, background tactical map. >>
The cyberspace deforms and folds back on itself, bringing commo to the fore, and vanishing the fighter programming.
"Farouk to Kingfisher. All systems clear. Farouk out."
From Horne: "Sure now YOU want to button up. Great, when I do it, you give grief. Aslans, like we don't have enough trouble."
J.J. turns his attention to the turret weapon controls. He quickly scans the board for instructions. Finding them he starts reading and muttering to himself.
I could have stayed home, catching and killing crooks, but no I wanted to see the universe. Well all I've seen is the inside of one or another ship. And half the time things I can't see are trying to kill me. Now if I can just get this turret weapon to lock onto something, goddamned computers."
Then quite outloud, "Hey, Thul, you just want passive locks on the Aslans? Or do we get to light up their asses and fry us some pussycats?"
Bhyarrvouf flips on the comlink and speaks quickly.
"Understood. A data pulse has been transmitted to the Paladin, even before your request, explaining your nature and requesting that you not be impeded. Some time may elapse before it is acted upon. Are you in distress? Describe the nature of your GK."
The contact acknowlegement comes very quickly after 'Vouf sends it.
_PALADIN.SUBROUTINE.MORSER.INITIATING.HOSTILE.SUBPROCESS|DEFENSIVE.ACTION. TAKEN|STREAMLINING.SUSPENDED.UNTIL.ROGUE.SUBPROCESS.ERADICATED|ATTEMPTING. ACCESS.TO.CONTROLLING.SUBROUTINE.MORSER_
Then, a few seconds later, another message arrives.
_AURORA.SUBROUTINE.BHYARRVOUF:ESTABLISH.AUXILIARY.COMMUNICATION.LINK.ON. FREQUENCY.PROCESS.0000101.IMPLANTED.IN.MAIN.CPU.2_
"Hmmm, the Paladin must be putting up one hell of a fight," Bhyarrvouf muses, reading the printout. "Morser's a bad one to cross in a situation like this. Well, I don't want to start a war over this, so...."
He activates Main CPU 2, and hooks up the comlink. "There you go," he says. "Need to hide? Go hide."
He then turns to Tweel. "Now are you going to go get some sleep or am I going to have to order you back to bed at gunpoint?"
At one of the sensor consoles onboard the Kingfisher a group of contacts suddenly disappear, leaving disoriented red marker squares milling about mindlessly on the display and alarms going off.
"Hey what is this! Where did they... Ger! Commander! The fleet just disappeared, no jump signatures, no explosions, no blacked-out areas in the neutrino-flow." Johann quickly tells the computer to run a desitometer scan for all posts of the contact list.
"No traces after them on the densitometer.... Commander, there is no way that they can mask their mass signatures, If there were any I should know." He halts and thinks "Well it is possible to mask a mass signature, but it takes more power to do that than a powerplant the size of the ship being masked can produce..." He looks at the bridge-crew around him "But forget you heard that."
Johann initiates the selftest of the sensors and adds several standard anti- jamming filters designed to defeat the common EW tactics of injecting signals into the sidelobes of the ESM system by randomising the sensor sweeps and signal gating. He also starts up a general scan for possible jamming sources in the vicinity.
"No jamming detected, except for on the densitometer. And that jamming come from R-alpha! Total maelstrom of gravitics down there. Either everybody and their pets have gravbunks or they have built passive grav monorails over the whole surface. We could as well make tosters of our handheld densitometers when we land."
"Permission to fire up active sensors to burn through slightly possible jamming from the possible fleet, Commander?"
Ger doesn't answer immediately; he is reading a message that has suddenly appeared on his command console....
"The dozen ships that just jumped into the system and then disappeared exist primarily in my mind and that of the Aslan's computer. Or at least, they USED to exist. Now that they're in "stealth" mode, they're nowhere. Don't let the Aslans in on the gag. Apologies for borrowing your voice. -- Ralf"
"Negative Mr. Abuko," replies Ger. " Ignore the fleet. That is an interesting point that you make, but we'll have to get there first. As for now stop scanning the ringworld."
Abuko complies. "Ok, sensors secured, Nothing looking on fleet or R-alpha."
In her cabin, Alliara breaks out the suit from its packaging, strips herself of equipment and start reconnecting it to the suit. This time, it is the kit and barrel - datamux, datahud, soundrec, textrec, vidcam, stillcam, handcomp and clt. The helmet looks somewhat Grendellish with the video and still cameras on its sides.
From a small box she takes six yellow-tipped crossbow bolts, snaps them into the crossbow and secures it to her hip with a short lanyard.
Finally, two ten meter cables (from a pack marked: 3 x 1000kg, Cable, 10m, D snaps) are attached to the suit.
Alliara stumbles back to the bridge, unused to the weight of the assembled equipment together with the vacc suit. "Give me a normal, balkanized, human-sacrificing tech level one theocracy... Why the hell does it have to be something in space?!"
"Sseya! Ssseya!" Tweel laughs. "One morrrre matterrrrr, Hunterrr-Chaserrr."
Oscar and Triple Three float silently into the bridge. Tiger flaps over noisily to perch on the Warbots head. She then turns her attention back to watching Tweel and 'Vouf cleaning up the tools.
"Oscar, I need an NAS scan to determine the accuracy of 'Vouf's statements."
"'Vouf, what is your name?"
Bhyarrvouf grins, and draws himself up to his full height. "My name is Bhyarrvouf RroTakh HaKharaengzough YaTevek SiVarTakh Aeng Aeng HaGvadakoung BaHa'Antares, retired IISS. Call me 'Vouf."
"All rrright now, lie to me. Have you ever operated a Warbot?"
"Warbot?" 'Vouf cocks an ear at Tweel. "What's that? Never heard of them."
Oscar chimes in: "Warning, subject Bhyarrvouf is not relating an accurate account."
Tweel's neck twisted around to look at the Warbot, "Report sensor status."
"NAS systems functioning. Please proceed Doctor." Oscar reported gently
"Now 'Vouf if you wouldn't mind rrreasserting your connection with the Scout Service, and your suspicions of Turrnskaad Enterprises..."
"I am an ex-operative in the IISS Operations Bureau, currently under contract to aid Turnskaad Enterprises in the exploration and first-contact missions on the ringworld we have designated 'R-Alpha.' I have no suspicions of any ulterior motives on the company's part, but have little respect for their advance intelligence. We have been hopelessly underinformed at all stages of this mission. They have granted us great personal autonomy and equipped us well, but we are nearly flying blind, if you'll pardon the expression."
"To the best of your knowlege, does Turrnskaad Enterprises have any involvement with mining corporations?"
"No," 'Vouf says. "My understanding is that they do mostly exploratory and survey work, with occasional forays into high-tech research."
Tweel's wings begin to flush red, a note of shrillness has flown into his voice, "Sheerrr, To your knowlege, does Turrnskaad have any involvement in the buying or selling of slaves?"
"What, in THIS part of the Galaxy? No way. Not if they wanted to keep their charter. Duke Craig is is harsh on that sort of thing."
Tweel's head snaps upsidedown staring into the Vargr's eyes, wings slowly stirring the air around him, becoming more and more red as the tissue fills with blood, "To the best of yourr knowledge, did Turrnskaad or any other party you have knowlege of have any involvement in the placement of bombs aboard the Berrnoulli?"
"Tsakha, no! There was no indication that you were even NEAR us! We got sabotaged too, remember?"
Now bright red, Tweel's wings stir restlessly while his talons stretch at his sides. "Do you have any knowlege of how those bombs came to be aboard the Berrnoulli."
"If I had to guess, I'd say the same gang got to you that got to us, Hunter-Above." He shrugs.
"Oscar, accuracy scan?"
"Subject Bhyarrvouf is relaying an accurate account, indications of stress, however, but consistant with a 94% truthful probablility."
Tweel's wings grow a shade more pale. His talons stretch oddly as his fingers suddenly wave in a complex pattern. His talons extend, palm up, then he flips his hand upside down bringing the points of his three taloned hand together forming a three sided pyramid. His arms are then brought back against his keel with the palms up facing outward.
Tweel's voice is relaxed, "I apologize, but you did turrn up rrather convieniently out of nowhere."
"*WE* did?! HARF!" Vouf snaps off the laugh. "It was YOU!"
Tweel tilted his head, and refolded his wings, "Who fllew here firrrst?" I'm not so surre, I'd have to check the computerr time llogs..."
Tweel turned to the hovering warbot, "Osscar Ssierra Foxxtrrot Four, Rrecognise Trrrweeeerrrlll, Krrreeesh, Doctorr. Priority command, you will recognise Bhyarrvouf, assign him command clearrance rrank Brravo. 'Vouf, you now have parrtiall contrrol of OSF-4, since you've been in the Scout Service, you may be familiarr with the type, if not, I can give you the operatorrss guide. Brravo clearrance will allow you control of the secondary weapons systems safety and you may assign tarrgets to them. That's the two gauss rrifles and the laserr rrifle. If you're a good pup, I'll let you control the grrenade launcherrs." "Of course, your clearance will not allow you to counterrmand my orders, but I think I must still fly slowly in some matters. I'm in such a turrn rright now, I don't want to get into an accelerrated stalll."
"Not a problem," 'Vouf says mildly. "OSF-4, recognize voiceprint and data transmission frequency: Bhyarrvouf. That is all, for now."
"Now then," 'Vouf yawns, "Our little friend is merrily clicking away in our computer, and I'm exhausted-- and you're STILL barely alive. It'll be a few hours before we rendezvous with the other ships-- Let me walk you back to Sickbay to get some sleep. I'll catch some shuteye myself after that."
Tweel's wings strech tiredly, touching the bulkheads on either side of the bridge, "I'm in forrmation on you. Let's go, Hunter-Chaser. I'm prractically sleep fllying rright now. In fa...." His head hunches down under one wing and his breathing becomes deep and regular.
Bhyarrvouf surveys him critically for a moment, looks at the silent intercom as if expecting van der Merwe to say something, and sighs gustily. "Well," he whispers, "It'll be a while before we get a reply from the other ships. Guess I better stay on watch unt--" He yawns widely, and slumps back in his seat. He glares at the silent computer screen, and mutters to himself in a tone of fierce determination.
"I will NOT fall asleep. I will NOT fall asleep. I w'll NAH fahl 'seep. 'll nff zlp. 'Llnfff...zzzzznrk....."
The Aurora's EM signature is back, as if it were never gone. A moment later, a coded datapulse from the Aurora is received by the Kingfisher, the Korondor Talisman, the Paladin, the Trakh, and even the Gemini Arbiter and Westwind.
"Transmission from Aurora, sir." Witfield says after noticing the encrypted datapulse.
"Sir, the transmission as follows." Witfield continues to flip buttons and swtiches to decrypt the incoming message.
<< Kingfisher--Mac Witfield. This is Aurora--Bhyarrvouf. Note personal recognition; tell Commander Nanadh, 'I am attempting to avoid Option Alpha.' Understood?
Okay, assuming you now believe I'm who I say I am, listen carefully.
"That's the end of transmission, sir."
[Ger] "O.K. Mr. Whitfield try to raise the Trakh again."
"I want all but neutrino scans on the Paladin, Aurora stopped, Turn all our sensors on the Aslan ships and the other shuttle. I want nothing pointing at our ships. As for radio, I want one of you to disconnect one of the radios (there are 6 of them BTW) from the rest of the communication circutry and use that to communicate on audio speaker only."
Abukos' hand move swiftly over the controls in front of him. The squares over Paladin and Aurora fades and give up their place to two large red triangles. All other Turnskaad ships change their marking to hollow boxes, while the Aslan ships and the shuttle get several extra borders around their squares. Johann busily crosses off squares on a three-dimensional menu that have appeared in one corner of the display. The results appear in windows with scrolling text and rapidly undulating graphics.
"Only neutrino on Paladin and Aurora, all passives on Aslan and shuttle." Johann advises the Commander. "Target data and countermeasures data restricted to inside Kingfisher."
"Every one Run a diagnosis on your circuts."
"Aye sir." Witfield replies.
"Already proceeding." responds Abuko.
"Farouk, cut *all* electonic links with the kingfisher, and run diagnotics on the computers. Get ready to start an active scan. I presume that you are capable of firing ships missiles?"
Lazer immediately responds.
<< Ace, physically disconnect datalink to Kingfisher. Execute computer diagnostics. >>
<< Disconnected. Executing . . . All systems operating within normal limits. >>
<< Send tight-beam comm pulse to Kingfisher: "Datalink disconnected. Diagnostics completed; all systems normal. Fighter missiles ready. Certain circuits remain connected through the airlock systems; do you wish total separation?" Ace, bring sensors to fore; overlay broadcast comm as it happens. >>
Zar stands still, listening to a message coming in over the re-routed commo gear and then suddenly bursts into speed, ripping at cover plates and getting at wires that Dr. Limner re-wired while still connected to the Alycon.
"Doktor, please try and contact that thing in the machine. Vouf just contacted me and told me it wasn't a virus and to help it anyway we can, so get on it! Azani, if you can check on Charyn while I..."
Doctor Limner appears in the doorway. He seems shaken but otherwise ok. [He was probably awakened when the lights dimmed, or definately when they went out and the backups took over.]
He gets there just in time to see the message on the console fading and 'Zar ask for help.
Walking up to face 'Zar squarely, Doctor Limner asks him, "Are you certain it was 'Vouf you talked to?"
He puts his hand on a single red lever that nobody seemed to notice before.
Noticing Zar's energetic nod of assent, he throws the switch, muttering, "I hope you know what you're doing. We've lost a great deal already to a renegade virus."
Immediately, all of Paladin's systems come on-line. As the switch takes place, a sound like a substation coming up emanates from the power regulator unit which Limner had attached. This quickly fades into the background.
Panels all around the ship seem to be flashing and putting out strange patterns. Limner doesn't let go of the lever immediately. He frowns when he sees the "ACTIVE" light on the regulator flicker briefly, but noticeably.
Turning back to 'Zar, Limner remarks, "I don't think we're going to get another chance to use this device."
In the center of town, a strange vertical archway appears. Through it steps a gleaming, chromed insect, about 3m tall. It closely resembles a mantis. In its forelegs it bears a biped, limp and dehydrated.
Head swiveling left and right, it settles its gaze on the nearest Jijid and says: "Here is a visitor from the sky. He is hurt and needs your help. He is a carbon- based, biped, omnivore, and quite complex. Please be careful with him."
"More visitors will surely come to retreive him. Greet them as kind servants of the great one-ness."
The mantis gently lowers the form to the ground, turns, and walks back through the glowing portal. As soon as he is through it, it disappears.
He sings. His hands pass over the strings of the shivangha, not touching it, yet it plays. His mouth does not open. He sings.
He pauses, uncertainty turning to fear. High above him, a hideous mechanical voice finishes the line for him.
"*MAYHEM!*"
A silent shadow of metal death drops down on him from above. The
shivangha is crushed into fragments, as are his ribs. He howls in agony as
the metal monster tears into him, rending his flesh. His gauntleted fists
smash into Leadfoot's head, again and again. It splits open, and blood runs
down over the unblinking
camera eyes
camera eyes
camera eyes
He sings.
A monorail platform. Gray afternoon. The wind smells like death. A pair of young Vargr stand on the platform, both barely out of puberty, their embrace fierce with the joy of first heat, of blood spilled.
"He's dead at last," she whispers. "I thought he'd NEVER die."
"He was tough," he sighs. "That last trick, with him hanging on the outside of the railcar's shell-- that took one crazytail puppy. If I hadn't seen his reflection in the window...." He shudders.
A monorail is stopped at the platform, scarred by gunfire, its sliding doors blown completely off. Blood smears the floor at the exit. Suddenly, unbelievably, through the narrow gap between the platform's edge and the lip of the doorway, a hand appears. Shaking with exhaustion, one finger bent back and broken, it seizes a footrail and pulls.
"I'm a little surprised at you, freezing up like that," he says gently, chiding her with a touch under the chin. "He had you dead in his sights. You had a clear shot at him, and you didn't take it."
"I'm sorry." She shuts her eyes.
"Sorry doesn't cut it, flufftail." There is a hint of sternness in his voice now. "You wanna be the boss's bitch, you gotta run the 'rails hard, shoot fast and hit clean. No hesitation, no shaking."
Another hand on the guardrail, a shuddering pull, and the head and shoulders squeeze up through the gap. The black fur is matted down, the white fur is red. One ear is notched. Slowly the head turns, one eye swollen shut, the other fire-blue with pure hate.
"TSAKHA!" She glares up at him. "He was DEAD! He was standing there in the doorway, I'd seen him die TWICE already on this run, he let Kferghh fall a quarter-klick and go SPLATCH, he kicked Aetharr into an electric FENCE, he carved his NAME in Surath's CHEST, he ripped Camera's EYES out, and he was DEAD! What was I SUPPOSED to do?!"
"What I did, bitch," he sneers. "Blow him right back out the door, and back to the Great Pack where he belongs. Understand?"
The unbroken hand fumbles in the belt sash, draws the handmade zip gun. There are two shells left. The body shakes; the gun hand is steady.
"Okay, okay." She sighs. "It's over. He took most of the Pack with him, but he's dead now. I'm yours, once and for all. Now can we go home and get naked?" She smiles and licks blood-- HIS blood-- from where it had spattered on his face. "I want you so bad I can taste it." Her questing hand finds its target, and rubs gently. "I love you."
*KRACK!*
His head snaps sideways, and he spins out of her arms, collapsing to the platform. His brains paint the iron gridwork and his legs kick once. She tries to scream but nothing comes out. She turns, unwilling to see, HAVING to see. The gun registers first, then the disfigured face behind it. Then the voice.
"I love you too, you whore."
"Buh- buh--" She shakes her head violently. Her hands claw in the fabric of her tunic for her gun. "Buh- Bhyarrvouf?"
"No! Really?" The ragged ear twitches cynically.
She manages a faint smile, her eyes melting on his, one hand frantically searching for the safety catch. "Baby-- y-- you're a muh- muh-- M-MESS, y'know that?" She giggles, hysterically. "Lemme take you home an' clean you UP--" The gun comes up in a blur.
Another shot rings out. She hurtles backward against the wall and slides, leaving a red stain. The gun drops from her chill hand. A red smear appears, just there, between the promising breasts. Her eyes plead, then glaze over and shut.
The zip gun clatters onto the platform. There is a faint sound of running feet, then a howl of anguish. "'VOUF! KAE, BHYARRVOUF!"
He grins, falling to his haunches. "Oh, hi, li'l brother," he giggles. "I jus' fell outa love. I'm all grown up now...."
His head hits the concrete, hard. It's warm and soft. But it isn't Bhyarrkharr leaning over him now, not his tears, the grey head, the uniform--
"Christian?"
"It's okay, 'Vouf. The anaesthetic's wearing off."
"I hurt, aenrra. O, how I hurt!"
"I know." There is sympathy in the voice, no false pity. "It will hurt for a while, but not for long. Your hands...."
"NOT MY HANDS!" He leaps out of the body bag, waves the uninjured hands under the Doctor's nose. "They're FINE! I hurt, I hurt--"
He clutches at his heart. "HERE."
"AND HERE!"
The metal fist smashes into him again. He dimly hears voices.
"FOR GOD'S SAKE, 'VOUF! GET OUTA THERE, I DON'T HAVE A CLEAR SHOT!"
"Abdul! The RADIATION--"
"There! The head sensors-- OPEN FIRE!"
His fur is on fire. What a stench, he thinks mildly. His legs are shattered. Or is it only one? He can't feel the other. It's dark....
There is the sound of dripping water. It runs down the metal walls, depositing rust upon rust. They cluster around him, sniffing, growling, more animals than sophonts. He knows how to make them trust him. If they eat him, that's okay too.
He sings.
I've not always been this way
Please believe me
Isn't it lovely
It's just you and me
I've never felt
So happy to be here
Stare through the window
At the hole in my wall
Straight into my head
There's nobody at all
Do you think you could love me?
I am no one
If you were the only
girl in the world
And I was the only
boy
If you were the only
girl in the world
And I was the only
boy
If you were the only
girl in the world
And I was the only
boy...."
There is a polite spatter of applause. He grins and puts down the shivangha, accepts a drink from an admirer.
"Lovely." She smiles at him as she slides onto the seat next to his.
"Lovely," he agrees, caressing her ear with a metal hand.
"Humph." She twitches her ear away in annoyance. "Your glove's cold. I wish to heavens you'd just take them OFF once in a while."
The pleasant mood evaporates. "I never take them off," he says curtly.
"Oh, come off it," she snaps. "Of COURSE you do. You're just being stubborn and boastful. Well, you're not impressing anyone, wisebark. Least of all ME!" She shoves him gently. "What's the real story, 'Vouf? You got sarcoptica? Nail fungus? Clabbers? Maybe you don't really HAVE hands-- just STUMPS! Is that it? HUH?" She shoves him again.
"I do SO have hands!" he yells, really angry now.
"Then PROVE IT," she taunts. "Take 'em OFF! Take them OFF!" She
begins to chant, drawing in the rest of the crowd with her.
"TAKE-- THEM-- OFF!
TAKE-- THEM-- OFF
TAKE--THEM--OFF!"
He stares at them all in a mounting fury, cornered as they begin to clap hands (such a simple gesture. How nice to do it without clanging) and advance on him. She tugs playfully at his glove. He pushes her, hard. She careens back against the bar, half falling, bruised. The chant dies down.
He leaps to his feet and storms toward the door. "THE GREAT PACK TAKE YOU ALL," he screams. "I DON'T NEED TO STAND HERE AND BE INSULTED LIKE THIS! I DON'T NEED *ANYONE*!"
He whirls at the door. There is stunned silence now. Words have been spoken, feelings hurt. They may never heal. But he is not done yet. He points a metal finger at a pair of suddenly tear-filled golden eyes, and drives in the final fang. "LEAST OF ALL, *YOU*!"
Out in the street, he staggers blindly along, bumping into passersby, blinking away tears, alone.
Or perhaps not. "You really made a mess of THAT one, pooch," says a familiar voice.
"Shut up, Bishop," he growls. "I'm not in the mood for it right now."
"Life's a BITCH," Adrian clucks his tongue sympathetically. He waves an impatient hand at the winged tree-rat fluttering about him, recording everything on a tiny camcorder. "But at least then you die."
"What the hell do you want, anyway? First interview no good, so you need another? Not that it matters, I mean you ERASED the first one, right?" He grows angrier with every word. "Not only MINE, but EVERYONE'S! I BLED for you, man! I cut my HEART open and POURED it into your BEGGING-BOWL! And for WHAT?!" He seizes the journalist by the collar, but Bishop seems somehow hard to hold on to.
"For what?" Bishop shrugs. "YOU tell ME." Bishop starts walking again, and he is forced to run after him to keep up. The mountains and lakes underfoot make the footing unsure, and the sun, a tiny pinprick just above their heads, illuminates the narrow ring of green that they walk, here under stars, some hundred meters across and a bare half-meter wide. Tricky balancing act; after a while he gives up and leaves it to Bishop, walking alongside. The ring turns under Bishop's feet like a tree-rat's exercise wheel. He ignores Bishop's million-mile stride, intent on the question.
"I TOLD you once," he snarls. "ALL of it. Well, MOST of it." He shrugs. "Why? I wanted to be remembered, that's all. YOU know that! If I die here and now, with no one the wiser, think of all the glory and stuff that'll be forgotten!"
"And think of all the pain that'll be washed away, too," Bishop chides. The metal deck of the Alcyon is firmer underfoot than the gossamer ring, and the corridor's wider, too. "You never told me about HER."
"None of your business," he mumbles.
"HAH! I'm a JOURNALIST. EVERYTHING'S my business!" Bishop laughs. "And what about that new guy Goofzar, or however you say it?"
"Goughzar." He shrugs. "He's just a kid. Most of what he knows or remembers is just legends, folktales. He doesn't really know anything that worldshaking about me. I'm not worried about him."
"Of course you aren't." Bishop grins. "You aren't worried about HIM any more, because you already told it all to ME. You've nothing more to hide, right? Or so I thought, before you ran into HER." He considers pursuing the matter, thinks better of it. Not just yet, not just yet. But soon....
"But you still haven't answered my point." Bishop stabs a finger at him. "Why did you bother? You're a rotten sonofabitch, Bhyarrvouf, or RroTakh, or whatever the hell your name is. You've done stuff that'd make a drill sergeant lose his lunch, and did it without a moment's hesitation. Inside your head, it's dark and slimy and AWFUL-- maybe even as awful as mine. MAYBE." He shrugs, and continues walking, looking idly at the ceiling lights. "So why subject the rest of the Universe to that? Hmmm?" He taps the Vargr on the chest for emphasis. "Why not let it just DIE?"
"Because it wasn't all BAD, Adrian!" His voice is pleading now. "There was so much GOOD there, too! There was LOVE, and GLORY, and RICHES, and POWER, and a whole mess of people living better LIVES because of me! I'm not perfect, but I don't want THAT to be forgotten...."
"Well, okay then." Bishop seems satisfied. "I got you to tell it, instead of bottling it all up inside you. Wasn't that worthwhile?"
He suddenly realizes he's caught. "Hrrr....I s'pose so, yeah." But there is one last feeble argument. "But you ERASED it!"
"So say it AGAIN!" Bishop's grin is infectious. "It'll be easier the second time. And after YOU say it, get everyone ELSE to say it again! If that was all you were upset about, well, it's easily fixed now, isn't it?"
They stop by the door to Sick Bay. "Yeah," he concedes, "I guess it is...." he pauses. "Adrian?"
The reporter is gone. He opens the door to the locker, feels the cold wind on his fur. "Adrian?"
The capsule is there, spittle still running down the sleeping face. He wipes it away with a strong, scarless hand. "I'm sorry, Adrian. O I'm so sorry...." He turns away. He never sees the dark blur descending.
The metallic fist smashes into him one more time. In a flash, every agony comes back in redoubled intensity, grinding him into the hull plates like herbs in a mortar. Someone's singing....?
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